Narrative: Magneto Who: Eric Lehnsherr When: Evening, Friday, March 14, 2008 Where: Eric's bedroom, the White House, Washington D.C. What: Magneto knows that battle is approaching and he contemplates what he feels is an inevitable showdown between him and his old friend.
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They were coming.
He didn't know when, but he knew that with Scott's rescue, they were coming. The X-Men and whoever they were bringing along. The Brotherhood was assembled, waiting for them. Ready to fight at a moment's notice. Ready to kill without thinking about it. Magneto hadn't given the order to kill. He wasn't capable, thanks to what Charles Xavier had done to his mind. Mystique had given that order, without consulting him, and all the better for it. Otherwise Magneto would have tried to stop her.
He knew he was going to come down to him and Charles. Always, always it would come down to him and Charles, and for the first time in years, he feared that it would be the last time----and that he wouldn't be the victor. Now he knew that the only reason Charles wasn't already dead was not because of Eric's own weakness but because Charles had used his telepathy to deliberately block the will to murder Charles or any of the X-Men. Eric couldn't kill him, and now, Charles's flawless ethics were in such question that he believed that Charles wasn't above outright killing him this time.
Had he climbed too far? Had he tried too hard? Worst of all, was he continuing to underestimate his old friend----and had he pushed Xavier so far that the man's ideals were no longer enough to keep him from victory? He gazed out at Washington from his window, his arms folded across his chest. This might be the last day he ever looked on it.
All he knew was that he had fought too hard for too many years for this, and he wasn't going down without a fight.