Marvel's master of cosmic magic

Chapter 574

"Back you go."

Rowan Mercer rolled his eyes.

Every missile, rocket, and machine-gun round suspended in midair snapped around and screamed back along its original path, now moving even faster.

The sky erupted.

One explosion after another tore through the air as Behemoth’s gunships detonated like fireworks, vanishing in blazing fragments. In a matter of seconds, Behemoth’s air superiority was wiped out completely.

For Rowan, this was effortless.

Even without magic, his control over metal alone made modern weapons obsolete. Missiles, bullets, aircraft frames, guidance systems—anything powerful enough to matter was built on metal. Against him, they were toys begging to be broken.

"King! King! King!"

Behind him, the palace hall erupted in cheers. Ordinary Sentinels and islanders shouted until their voices cracked. What little fear remained dissolved, replaced by absolute faith in their new ruler and the Sacred Tree he commanded.

On the flagship, Ron Keller was still staring at the screen when Gade’s voice cut in.

"Ron, he’s controlling metal. Don’t use conventional weapons. Send in the Hunter teams."

Gade had already pieced it together. Analysts were shouting the same conclusion across the command deck.

Ron’s shock gave way to excitement.

"So that’s it," he said sharply. "Hyena. Demoman. Capture him. Preferably alive. His ability is worth studying. Everyone else, support."

Hope surged back through him.

Abilities always had limits. No matter how exaggerated they looked, once you understood them, you could counter them.

Behemoth had dealt with worse.

Someone who could manipulate metal only looked terrifying because they’d walked straight into his advantage. Remove the weapons, and he was just another powerful mutant. And Behemoth had plenty of those.

If they captured him, dissected that power, replicated it...

The future opened wide.

Hyena cracked his neck, grinning.

"Nearly scared me there. Metal control? Thought it was something else."

He exploded forward, leaving a blurred afterimage behind. His body was pure physical enhancement, second only to Sean among Behemoth’s assets.

Demoman followed, energy swelling in his palms as he ran.

"You can stop missiles," he snarled, "but can you stop this?"

Behind them, more than twenty enhanced operatives surged up the palace steps, abilities flaring.

Below, disguised operatives from other factions hesitated.

"Do we move now?"

After a moment, they shook their heads.

Their goal wasn’t to save Natson Island. It was to destroy the Sacred Tree.

If Behemoth won, they could strike afterward.

If Behemoth lost, the Sentinels and islanders would be exhausted. Either way, they would still get their chance.

They were wrong.

This wasn’t a fight between equals.

This was a dragon watching birds argue over who got to peck first.

"Worthless insects," Rowan said calmly. "You dare act unruly before your King?"

He handed his teacup to Mila Moore, then raised a single finger.

A black magic circle unfolded in the air above the palace steps.

The world slammed downward.

Gravity crashed like an invisible ocean.

Hyena. Demoman. The Hunters halfway up the stairs. Ron Keller below. Gene-soldiers. Disguised infiltrators from every faction.

All of them.

Every single body was forced to the ground.

They dropped to their knees as if the planet itself had decided they no longer deserved to stand. The harder they struggled, the heavier the pressure became.

Bones creaked. Muscles tore. Breath vanished.

This wasn’t simple force.

Rowan’s gravity magic had been refined, layered, rewritten. Within its domain, resistance only increased the weight. Unless someone surpassed him outright, they would kneel—no exceptions.

That was why Hyena, whose body could crush steel, was pinned just as firmly as Ron Keller, an ordinary man.

If the same gravity had applied to both equally, Ron would have been reduced to pulp. Instead, the spell scaled perfectly, crushing intent rather than flesh.

"How... how is this possible..."

Shock rippled across the battlefield. On the ships offshore, Gade and the analysts froze in disbelief.

Metal control could explain the missiles.

This could not.

Dozens of elites. Entire factions. Not one of them could stand.

If Rowan wanted them dead, they would already be corpses.

They weren’t attackers anymore.

They were livestock.

"Oh, right," Rowan added lightly, glancing toward the horizon where Behemoth’s warships loomed. "You still have friends outside."

He smiled.

"Why don’t they come in and kneel as well?"

The gravity surged outward, racing toward the fleet.