Chapter II

The summons to the "new world" they were promised came soon after victory...which, as part of the winning side, Pyro would've like to have been awake when it happen. Winning, that is. That was happen in war, right? Someone won at the end? Had to win. Could be the right side. Could be the wrong side. But somebody won. That was why people fought them in the first place.

But having been knocked -blasted- aside onto the cold ground; drifting somewhere between dreamland, and the rest of the known universe by some insane fire wave -Pyro wasn't too sure about that, as he lay spewed on his side, next to his former prick of a best friend.

The call came again.

"Arise my Brothers! Rise to your feet!" -Magneto's voice...and somehow...not Magneto's voice.

Yeah that makes sense, something inside him mocked. He drowsily snapped at it to shut the hell up and tried to think, although his brain was like melted wire. Oh, the voice was as determined, elegant, and convinced -as fucking always- of the rightfulness of the Brotherhood's cause...but...something was off now. Missing. Something that made it seem like the voice was echoing from a long tunnel.

"Rise!"

Pyro's entire body ached, and then groaned in savage protest. His shut eyelids argued furiously with themselves while another, slow-burning flood of consciousness began forcing him back to the waking world; as unwilling as the dead, and just as bad-tempered. Snarky and defiant, even when unconscious, Pyro mentally tried shoving the rousing flood away so he just lay there and come to at his own damn pace-

But apparently, this God-sent wake up call wasn't optional.

And would not be denied.

Somewhere, there was a tut. And then there was hot pain ripping across his skull, his mind. Hazel eyes flying open, Pyro sat up with a howling, blue-cursing gasp, long fingers clutching his spiked blond hair against his scalp, to keep his frayed brain from pouring out his eyeballs.

Mother-a...! What the hell?! his mind gasped, his adrenaline-slapped memory racing to find answers, clues. And slowly, as the pain -apparently satisfied now that he was well and truly awake- retreated, images filtered back to him, the facts lining up.

He was at Alcatraz. With the Brotherhood. They'd been after the Cure source.

Humans had tried to stop them -like they always did. And the X-men with them. Gene Traitors, all of them. Ms. Monroe, Mr. McCoy, Wolverine, Icepick, Piotr-

Kitty.

And they had brawled. Not battled. Brawled. Battle Royal. Storm against Calisto, Beast against a dozen, him against Bob...Icepick.

Kitty against fucking Juggernaut.

And Wolverine against Dr. Grey.

Pyro froze...right. Dr. Grey. Now that jogged some memories. By now, the ringing of his skull had toned down, and he could hear the moans and groans of people around him. Lifting his head, the fire starter could see the various members of Brotherhood slowly coming round: hands to heads, limbs flexing cautiously.

And eyes widen just as his were, at the scene before them. Only one word could described it, what they were feeling, as they all scrambled to their feet.

His former teacher stood -hovered- over the bridge, her white skin cracked and darken by black veins to resemble sun spots, and entirely pearl-black eyes shinning with deadly, focused, hard-breathing intent now. Whereas before, there had been only a bemused impartiality. Dr. Grey was literally on fire, a fire Pyro could just barely sense, a fire that burned away her crimson tunic-suit, but somehow didn't leave her naked. The smoky, crackling stripes of energy condensed themselves, before pulling back to her, and coiling around her form -almost like twin pairs of children's hula hoops, back at the institution.

A star, was Pyro's first irrational thought, as he and the most of the others instinctively backed away, his hand flicking open his lighter. She's turning into a star...the ultimate flame.

Not merely a star, dear boy, Magento's voice chuckled in his mind, sending chills down his spine. Since when was Bucket-head a fricking telepath?!

There wasn't any time to answer that, however.

"My brothers!" the Master of Magmatism boomed out, as he stood before the burning woman, her light casting his shadow upon them. His eyes looked almost as black as hers. "Behold the bringer of our victory! She is the Morning Star, our Venus, the Bringer and Queen of our new age...she is Mother Phoenix, and thanks to her, we are no longer enslaved. We shall love her-"

He said more after this...but to be honest, Pyro wasn't really listening. He couldn't. Something in his brain had glitched at the words and refused to register anything else beyond them.

Queen.

Dark Queen. Unwillingly, his mind filtered to his dog-ear copy of Lord of the Rings. Kit-cat had given it to him for his first Christmas (Hanukkah! -she'd protested -Whatever, he'd smirked back) at Xavier's.

"In place of the Dark Lord you will set up a Queen, Pyro remembered. And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the Morning... stronger than the foundations of the earth."

All shall love me and despair...

His gut churned uncomfortably. Well, this would be interesting, he reflected, even as the Brotherhood around him started cheering. The despair part was defiantly proving to be true -as the limp forms of the X-men were telekinetically floated over from wherever they laid, only to dangle horizontally in the air as stunned trophies, crying out (in Wolverine's case cursing) squirming, trying to use their powers. Failing that, their eyes darted wildly, filled with disbelieving horror.

"Jean!" Storm gasped out, desperate in a way Pyro had never seen the Wind-Rider. "Jean, please-"

"Jean is no more," the being answered, her voice over-lapping, echoing, as she rose even higher into the sky. "There is only Phoenix..."

"Forget it Darlin'," Wolverine muttered gruffy besides the weather witch, jaw-set, clearly seeing what Pyro was seeing. "Jean ain't there now."

From anyone else, that would've been a sign of defeat, and from the taunts of the crowd, that was how they were taking it. Pyro knew better -the Wolverine was saving his strength for the next battle. Kitty choked back a sob, turning her head so loose strands of her ponytail fell in mahogany ribbons over her throat's blood-stained porcelain. Their eyes met, and Pyro pretended not to see, his jaw working. His lighter flicked more intensely.

"But victory is not complete yet, brothers," Magneto carried on. "But Mother Phoenix will defend us. She will lead the way. Our conquest continues...but not without the spoils of war."

There was a gleam in his eye as he said this, and Pyro felt his stomach drop out, his zippo still. Oh no...

Phoenix breathed, and lifted her arms, all that energy unfurling around them to streak across the sky above, and sink down into the earth below...

And them it started to shake. Everyone shrieked, trying to keep their balance before tumbling over like dominos. Pyro merely crouched, hand plastered to the dirt to avoid that shame. The ripping, roaring sound of braking metal and rushing water and crumpling earth tore at their ears-

And Alcatraz Island rose up into the sky, moving at a steady pace over the country, while the screaming fire image of the Phoenix raced through the clouds ahead of them. Swept below them. Setting the world on fire. Cleansing it as the Government and the Friends of Humanity would've like to have cleanse them.

John blinked as wisps of clouds brushed past him, and the wind teased his outfit, dumbfounded. The last time something had so shocked him had been when Kitty phased him for the first time, giggling even as he swore. He'd hated that...

She was still staring at him, now -probably because she thought he was the least threatening person to look at on this rock, Pyro though sourly. Wanting to change that, he smirked at her; freely letting his gaze wander over the gentle arch of her body, hung like it was. Like there was a rope tied around her petite waist; keeping her suspended.

His eyebrow arched to make her believe he was thinking things he wasn't -well, at least not completely. Face burning red, Kitty gave him one last furious, tearful glare before whipping her head the other way.

Yeah. He may not have been awake for this victory, but it was looking pretty complete to him.

That's what he tells himself at least.