Going legit, as it were, had given Jonathan Randolph opportunities. He wasn't about to fall at his knees and work for these fools at La Famiglia, nor was he going to truly 'go legit' and spend the rest of his life wielding his powers on behalf of some billionaire. The sad truth was, that while his powers were vast, incredible, they weren't enough for his dreams of conquest all on their own. His experiments to instill his powers into objects were mostly failures; at best, he had been able to cause a wire to continue behaving in a set pattern for hours after his last command.
So, he needed minions. Servants. And the best way to acquire those was, of course, money. And fear. But mostly money.
His powers were... incredibly useful when it came to construction work. He'd made millions causing metal to reshape itself on behalf of La Famiglia, and then on other projects. His fame; and infamy; had assisted as well; he could command top dollar, and just a few years of 'legit' work had earned him hundreds of millions of dollars.
His nice suit; Armani. His boat; purely custom-built, all his own, better than anything any navy had at sea. The waitresses? Fan-girls eager to be around him, and yet still paid well enough to enjoy life on the Iron Dreadnaught; he'd developed thousands more of those after the Ascension incident, and, well. That wasn't bad.
Even before, he'd had fans. When he'd uprooted the statue of liberty, and marched her through new york? Well. It was inspiring. They'd even made a movie about it while he was in prison; though he wasn't fond of the man they'd chosen to play him, and had words with the producers after his escape that had prevented some of the more objectionable parts from appearing in the future, anywhere outside of bootleg cuts on the dark web.
Unfortunately, being of german origin, and a villain, they'd portrayed him as a bit of a Nazi. Completely ignoring that his grandfather had fought for America, and he himself had never shown any sort of... anti-semitic.. beliefs, this meant that, until recently, most of his fangirls had been... well. Neo-nazi lunatics. Swastika tattoos, so thin they were practically anorexic...
The more recent group was... more varied. Should he have an Empress of Iron to show off when he conquered the world? Or be more akin to King Solomon, with more wives than days of the year?
He looked out over the ocean as the Iron Dreadnaught pushed itself along, faster than any other oceangoing craft; its very hull reshaping and shifting to give it a perfectly smooth ride along the surface as he sipped a tequila, and nodded at the waitress; a cute ... probably american girl. She looked hispanic, but while he had plenty of fans from mexico, the dyed blonde hair just screamed american. He smiled as he looked back to the water, the girl standing back against the wall, waiting for anything else he might need.
Yes... life going legit could be extremely pleasant. But that wasn't his destiny. His destiny was conquest. And he knew just where to start. No more of this butting heads with the DMA. He would handle things better this time. Start small. A few teams of mercenaries bought with his wealth, this nice boat... and, well. Opportunity.
***
Almasi looked out over the rows of soldiers, smiling. Most of them were teenage boys; only the leaders were older, more competent, loyal. But they would all do as he commanded; and tomorrow, he would push the Federalists out of his homeland. He calmly rolled a diamond across his palm; his skin bearing the same dull black shade as the rock itself; and stuffed it up his sleeve. So long as he kept it in contact with his skin, he could be just as hard as the diamond itself; and make any possible assassin's attempt pointless.
He turned way from the crowd of boys saluting, and stepped back into his tent, looking at his... 'generals'. Before the interference of the villainous De Beers, this place had been called Namibia. Thousands of natives had been worked to death in the mines before the uprising; and while the westerners supported the government, they simply had too many matters of their own to deal with to intervene; the final seeds of the Federalist demise had been planted when Mexico had drawn the world's eyes... and armies. While, officially, this land was called Azania, and was supposedly a single, large, united country, ruled by the remnants of Colonial government... the truth was that warlords like Almasi ruled much of it.
And soon, would rule it all. His Generals were, like himself, local metahumans; mutants with significant, dangerous powers; not as tough as Almasi himself, but able to hurl fire, blast victims with lightning... one young woman could actually turn herself into living magma. Almasi's own faction was not the largest; but it was the most powerful. Any mutant who joined him was made a general, given his own lands, his own servants; even those of armies he'd defeated.
While he promised the people the final end of Colonialist rule, the destruction of those villainous nations which had oppressed them for centuries.. to the people who mattered, the end goal was clear. A pyramid of the powerful, where Almasi and his friends ruled all, and any who interfered would be crushed.
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As he laid out the map, and began outlining the next incursion into Azania, the flap suddenly opened; a boy of perhaps 13 charging in, and raising a hand in saluet. "Mfalme Almasi! Something is coming! Something big!"
***
The Lord of Iron settled into his 'uniform'. A suit of armor he had formed from thousands of metal wires, with welding torches, cutters, and various equipment hidden among its mass; allowing him to freely reshape it, though he couldn't shrink it below perhaps seven feet tall. As the Iron Dreadnaught approached the shoreline, figures scattered about had gathered to watch; likely assuming that, of course, the boat would stop at the water's edge, pull up to the docks.
It just kept moving. Enormous tendrils of steel emerged from the sides as the vessel moved; sliding directly onto the shore like some sort of horrific giant octopus, hundreds of thousands of tons of metal moving as if it were a single living thing. A few scattered souls actually fired at it; and were simply ignored as the Dreadnaught settled in place. The Lord of Iron settled near the bow; one of his mercenaries; a man with inhuman reflexes and durability who called himself Bolt-action; standing beside him, his preferred weapon; a .50 sniper rifle; resting in his arms.
Bolt-Action frowned as he looked over the side. Undoubtedly, a few people had been crushed to death when they failed to run. Some might even be hurt by the ricochets from the bullets. He glanced over at the boss, and at the boat they were riding in. This thing... was a monster. It would take either a Titan, or a full-sized army, to take it on. As he looked it over, he wondered... was the Lord of Iron a titan as well? How close to his limits was this thing? "Lord. We're at the first target. Your orders?"
Randolph glanced over at the man. "We need to meet the man in charge. Did we send our invitation?"
"Of course. What... exactly is our objective here?"
"Oh, we're going to make them an offer they can't refuse."
As the two men looked out over the bow, they could see dozens of armed soldiers appearing; young men in camo, wielding assault rifles, all wearing the same diamond-shaped patch of the Diamond King; the man who slew the De Beers tyrants, one of the leading warlords of the region. And in front of them.. a massive figure of a man stepped out, wearing a similar uniform. His skin a dull, dark grey; looking to be made of some sort of greyish gemstone. Beside him, a few figures stood; most looking normal, though one seemed to be made out of living magma.
Randolph smiled, and focused for a moment. A single massive tendril suddenly emerged; one with a platform at it's end... and settled down in front of the smaller group. The platform was large enough for several people to stand on; and after a bit of discussion, the diamond-skinned man and the magma woman both stepped onto it.. gripping tightly onto the edge as it lifted them hundreds of meters into the air... and brought them to a stop at the railing.
"Hello there, Diamond King. I... am the Lord of Iron. And I'm here to make you an offer you would be foolish to refuse."
***
The table was beautiful, made of what appeared to be oak; but was in reality a polymer over a layer of shaped metal wire. Like everything of any reasonable size on the boat, something that Randolph could control with a thought. As Almasi and his cohort sat down, Bolt-Action settled in beside the door; studying the duo. His gun... would definitely take out a diamond the size of a man's head. The woman, though? Could she simply reshape if she had holes in her?
He glanced at The Lord of Iron; who didn't seem concerned, as a waitress settled plates and wineglasses before them.
"So, my friend. You're setting yourself up with a little kingdom. Fight off the enemies, conquer the colonials, carve yourself out a chunk of Anzania. You're looking at pitting a few dozen mutants and hundreds of poorly trained boys against an admittedly also poorly trained Federalist army, which also had a dozen other warlords to deal with. Any day now you'll make your next strike. Take out another military base. The other warlords will likely be doing the same, only with more poorly trained boys and less mutants."
Almasi frowned, leaning forward onto the table; glanced around him at the ship. A ship... that must be a kilometer long, simply standing on giant legs far from the water. What was this thing capable of? Was he going to be offering his services?
"And what. You want me to let you be the king, and be one of your subjects?"
Randolph leaned forward, smiling. "No. I have greater ambitions than that. I want to be Emperor of the world. And I want you to be King of, say... the African continent. I feel things will work best in the end if each continent is ruled by a native, after all."
"... You've been going on about that world-conquering nonsense for a decade now, haven't you? Or more? I saw you that time you turned the Statue of Liberty into your weapon of choice."
"Yes, yes. My failures against Titans... beings of literally infinite power... are well-known. But the only Titans left on earth either have powers that aren't quite so combat-effective as Spike or Lightning... or aren't inclined to face off against me once more. Especially not if, say... we conquer Africa. Then you help me conquer South America. Then we conquer Australia. At that point, our next step would largely be dependent on the state of the world. But I envision a united world beneath my grasp; divided neatly up among a series of Kings."
Almasi looked around at the boat once again. "... I must admit, your ideas sound insane. Far-fetched. But... this monster you're driving around makes the Statue of Liberty... or a whole army of tanks... look insignificant. Can you really hold it together long enough to conquer the whole of Africa?"
"How about a proof of concept, first. We gather up your forces and prepare. Pick a day to start the attack, when you're as strong as you could possibly be; I can defend your interests on my own until you're ready. When the moment comes... I'll shut down the power grid of Anzania, use its wires to secure or destroy all of its military vehicles, and then we simply march across the country; crushing anyone foolish enough to stand against us. If you still think my idea is far-fetched after that? We can part ways, and I'll find a different general to work with. I must admit, though; your ideals and methods are the closest to my own. Its why I'm here, making this offer."