Gwen stretched her arms, watching the last of the financial transfers finalize on her screen. Billions of dollars—Magneto's billions—were now securely funding Otto Octavius' experimental fusion research. The scientist himself, standing in the dimly lit lab, adjusted his glasses and looked over the data streaming in. "With this kind of funding," he muttered, "I can push fusion technology past its limits." His hands shook slightly, overwhelmed by the sheer scope of resources now at his disposal. Gwen, leaning casually against a nearby workstation, sipped her coffee. "Great," she said, voice smooth and unbothered. "Just don't blow up the city." Otto barely heard her, too lost in calculations, his mind already racing toward breakthroughs he had only dreamed of. Gwen watched him for another moment before checking the time. Kara and the others should have landed in England by now.
Across the Atlantic, L.E.Y.A. 1—a massive, gold-trimmed luxury 747, fully customized with Magneto's money—descended onto the private runway of London's elite airstrip. Inside, the mood was relaxed. Rogue swirled a glass of champagne, eyeing the lavish interior with appreciation. "This is way better than the X-Jet," she remarked, stretching her legs. Kara, lounging comfortably in an oversized seat, glanced up from the map of England spread across the table in front of her. "This," she said, gesturing to the sheer decadence surrounding them, "is villain luxury."
The plane touched down smoothly, and within moments, the group stepped onto British soil. Wanda adjusted her coat as the cool London air greeted them, while Mystique, ever composed, walked ahead, leading them toward the awaiting convoy of sleek black vehicles. Their destination was clear—the most expensive hotel in the country. The hotel manager, a middle-aged man in a crisp suit, visibly paled as the group approached the front desk. His fingers trembled slightly as he read over the reservation details. "You… wish to book… the entire hotel?" he asked, voice wavering. Mystique, unbothered, nodded. "Yes. All of it." The manager swallowed. "But that would cost—" Rogue, without waiting for him to finish, pulled out Magneto's black credit card and dropped it on the counter. "Run it," she said, her expression unreadable. The machine beeped once, and then—approval. The manager's mouth opened and closed, but no words came.
Hours later, settled into the penthouse suite, L.E.Y.A. gathered around a digital map of England projected onto a sleek, glass-top table. Kara stood at the head, eyes gleaming. "Ladies," she began, "we're going to infiltrate British high society." She let the words hang for a moment before turning dramatically. "And then… I will become the rightful Queen of England."
Jean raised an eyebrow. "And how, exactly, are we going to pull that off?" Kara grinned. "Simple. We rewrite history." Jean exchanged a glance with Storm before looking back at her. "Go on." Kara leaned over the map, pointing at key government locations. "Jean, you're going to plant the idea into the minds of British officials—make them believe I'm the long-lost, illegitimate daughter of King Arthur."
Storm folded her arms. "That's… actually kind of brilliant." Kara continued, excitement building. "Once the belief is strong enough, the people will demand my rightful place on the throne. They'll think it was always true." Jean nodded slowly, the plan taking shape in her mind. "I can work with that."
Rogue, lounging on the couch, lifted a brow. "Hold on a sec. Don't you need a sword or somethin' to prove that claim? Like Excalibur?" Kara waved a hand dismissively. "Swords are so 17th century. I have brute strength." To emphasize her point, she casually punched a nearby steel support beam, denting it inward like it was made of paper. The room fell silent for a beat. Then Kara dusted off her knuckles. "Excalibur?" she said flatly. "I AM Excalibur."
Mystique, watching from her seat, exhaled through her nose. "That's… surprisingly clever." Kara turned to face them all, her expression serious now. "And to make this official," she said, "we need an order. A new Knights of the Round Table." She gestured toward the group. "I declare that we are the new Knights of Camelot."
Wanda tilted her head. "So… we're knights now?"
Kara nodded. "Yes. But, like… the evil kind."
There was a long pause before Rogue let out a soft chuckle. "Hell," she muttered, shaking her head, "why not?"
Storm smirked slightly. "I suppose if we're rewriting history, we might as well go all the way."
Kara grinned, then turned back to Jean. "Start the process."
Jean closed her eyes, focusing, and sent out psychic waves, planting seeds in the minds of high-ranking officials, historians, and government figures. The belief began to spread like wildfire. Within hours, whispers of a forgotten royal bloodline began circulating among Britain's elite.
Somewhere in Parliament, a British Minister rubbed his temples, confusion clouding his features. "Of course… yes… it makes sense… King Arthur's lineage… how did we miss this?"
Jean's influence solidified the thought, ensuring no one questioned it.
Later that evening, the penthouse suite was alive with celebration. L.E.Y.A. toasted to their plan, watching as news articles began hinting at rumors of an unknown heir.
Kara raised her glass, the golden liquid inside reflecting the city lights beyond the window. "To destiny," she murmured. "And to England's new Queen."
Across the Atlantic, in a dark South African mine, Magneto swung a rusted pickaxe, his muscles aching. The weight of the chains around his wrists made every movement harder. Above him, an Evil Banker stood, tapping away on a tablet, reviewing Magneto's latest financial disaster.
The banker sighed, shaking his head. "This man is never getting out of debt."
Back in London, L.E.Y.A. continued planning their final move.
The monarchy was about to be rewritten.
And soon, Kara Zor-El would claim her throne but first it was time for tea.
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