Deathless
By
Jeremy Harper
Note – The Astonishing X-Men are the property of Marvel Comics and are used without permission.
Chapter 7 – The Gilded Cage
The greedy darkness clutching at her shredded in a brief prismatic burst and Kitty Pryde awoke, finding herself surrounded by gentler shadows. She sat upright violently, staring ahead unseeing as she took in great, ragged gasps of air, her breasts heaving. A soft, distressed moan escaped her lips and she buried her face in her hands. What had hit her? It felt as if a thousand thunderbolts had streaked from the heavens to strike her down. As she wondered scraps of memory floated to the forefront of her consciousness, intruding into her awareness, knitting into a tapestry depicting her life. Kitty shuddered as pains long dulled, anxieties long forgotten, returned with renewed poignancy. She remembered falling from her bike and breaking her right arm when she was six; felt a heavy lead ball well in the pit of her stomach as she crouched in the stairway, listening to her parents fight; prayed to God to take away the chronic headaches threatening to split her skull apart. She could taste fear, in her mouth, thick and coppery, as she fled from Hellfire mercenaries. She bit down on her scream as N'gari claws tore through her ephemeral form. She remembered her outrage when Professor Xavier demoted her to the status of New Mutant, and how it tainted her every pleasure. Heat ravaged her skin as Plague's loathsome touch worked its malice on her system. She felt something fragile wither in her chest as Peter's gentle yet relentless words echoed in her mind, and recalled how she wanted to curl up and die, not knowing how she would ever survive someone she loved and desired so much telling her he no longer returned her feelings.
Kitty gritted her teeth as tears welled in her eyes, willing herself not to shed them as more memories came. Harpoon's disintegration blast washed over her, setting her nerves afire. She felt again an enervating listlessness envelope her soul as her molecules slowly spread apart, bringing down onto her complete annihilation. She remembered the devastation she felt when she watched the X-Men die in Dallas, and how she raged when she learned a year later that they were still alive, that the three people who held such large parts of her heart, Storm, Logan and Peter, had not seen fit to tell her.
Kitty folded herself nearly in two, gasping a sob into her hands. Please stop please stop please stop. But the touch of Misery knew no mercy, and the memories continued. Again before her eyes Illyana died, destroyed by the mad Legacy of Stryfe. She watched Peter, in righteous wrath, denounce all he once stood for and pledge fealty to Magneto. Cold rain whipped at her on Muir Island as she felt her heart shatter as she tricked Peter into the hands of the X-Men, its place then filled by an aching loneliness as he left for Avalon on his brave but futile quest to reform the Acolytes.
For a brief moment Kitty rose above her pain, and in that slight span thought in amazement just how much of her life revolved around Peter. They were like twin stars, dancing through time and space, desiring to come close, yet tearing unwittingly at each other when they did. Then the voracious pain seized her again, submerging her beneath its savage currents. Fear for Pete Wisdom surged through her as Peter battered him with primal strength, and her anger at Peter for this vicious, selfish act scalded her anew. She remembered nights where uncertainty twisted inside her as she realized that, despite all Pete meant to her, she still loved Peter very much, and how those growing seeds of doubt drove her to commit an act that hurt Pete cruelly and drove him away. She recalled the bitter sorrow that seeped into her when, months later, after she, Peter and Kurt had returned to the X-Men, and after a period of time where she and Peter were slowly growing closer, they mutually, silently, broke away from one another, Kitty because of the guilt she still felt over how she treated Wisdom, Peter because he was afraid he would hurt her again, doubting that he was worthy of her. Her previously bright, cheery outlook soured, and she became dour, savage.
Her resistance worn away, Kitty began to cry, great sobs wracking her body, the way she cried for hours when the Professor told her Peter had committed suicide in order to cure the Legacy virus once and for all.
And then the pain faded, leaving her drained and tired and hollow. She fell back into yielding softness and wholesome, welcome slumber overtook her.
In his chambers, Nikolai the Deathless sat before the great fireplace, staring sightlessly at the crackling flames. For the second time in four days he cried, silent tears, crystalline in the fire's light, running down his face, crossing the curving tracks of his black thorn-vine tattoos. Visions he could not correlate, memories he could not possibly possess, scourged his thought and his soul. He closed ocean-blue eyes, bared his teeth, hissed in distress. The void within his chest howled.
On his bed in the corner Danila Volkevich rolled over, propped himself on an elbow and peered sleepily at Nikolai. "Elder Brother, what is wrong?"
Nikolai shook his head. "Nothing. Go back to sleep, Danila." Danila frowned, settled back down and for the remainder of the night watched Nikolai through slit eyelids, disquieted by the sight of his elder brother silently grieving for something lost, forgotten, yet still dearly missed.
After an interminable period Kitty awoke again. Her eyes blinked open and she let out a soft sigh as she stared up at gray, diffuse shadows. She felt completely empty, as weightless and delicate at a crystal figurine. Turning her head to one side seemed a task of Olympian proportions and simple cognitive thought was beyond her. She lay still and rested, waiting patiently for her will and soul to return to the empty vessel of her body. Volition returned to her limbs and the veil of lassitude lifted from her mind. She sat up, ran a hand across her bleary eyes. She remembered waking up earlier, but thankfully her recollection of it was dim. She vaguely recalled being in a state of intense emotional pain, but that was all. With one final sigh she dropped her hand and looked around, taking stock of her surroundings.
Kitty was in a canopied bed, its velvet burgundy curtains drawn tight, dim light seeping between their ruffled tops and the canopy itself. The mattress and pillows were the softest and most comfortable she had ever laid on, putting even the bed she used when she lived briefly with Courtney Ross to shame. The blankets were thick yet light, and the silken sheets felt deliciously cool against her skin. She realized then with a start that she was naked. That panicked her, but she calmed after checking herself and discovered no sign that anyone had taken liberties with her. She exhaled in relief, reached up to rub the side of her neck, her palm coming into contact with something cool and hard. She blinked and frowned, exploring with her fingers the band of smooth metal encircling her throat, with what felt like a small, faceted jewel set in the section beneath her chin. She attempted to phase it off, but could not. Her frown deepened. She reached out, trying to phase her hand through the curtain to her right. No matter how hard she tried she could not pass through it.
"Perfect," Kitty groaned, and fell back into the pillows. If it had not been obvious before, it most certainly was now – Peter had escaped and captured her. She covered her face with both hands and vented a soft growl of frustration. What a predicament; she was stark naked, her powers inhibited and she had no clue where in the world she was, save that she was pretty sure it was neither Westchester or Kansas. Things could be worse, she thought. Least I'm not locked up in some dank, rat-infested dungeon, or at the top of the highest tower of the farthest castle. She smiled at that thought, but it faded quickly. At least I'm not dead. She grimaced, let her arms drop to her sides and listened, stretching out with all of her awareness. She sensed nothing nearby. Kitty rolled on her sided, pulled a curtain back a bit and cautiously peeked out.
The large room Kitty found herself in was sumptuously appointed. Golden carpet covered the floor, with intricately patterned Oriental rugs thrown about here and there. The walls were paneled with dark, polished wood. An elegant cherry wood nightstand was close at hand, right by the head of Kitty's bed, set against the closest wall. A fine wrought brass lamp was the source of the gentle light illuminating the room. Beyond it, in a corner, was a clothes stand, a number of robes carefully arrayed on it. Kitty looked around further, saw hanging tapestries, tables, beautifully made chairs, a divan, and more, but found no sign of her clothes, or of any guards. She pursed her lips, gave one last look around, then slipped out of bed, padded to the stand and took down the nearest robe. It was made of blood red silk, embroidered with golden birds and roses. On the back, its wings outstretched and its head pointed upwards, was something that looked like a phoenix sigil, but not quite. Kitty examined it closely and realized it was a depiction of Zhar Ptitsa, the Firebird, the most beautiful of animals in Russian legend. Kitty slipped on the robe, tying its golden belt tight. It fit her perfectly, as if tailored just for her. The fine-woven silk felt wonderful against her bare skin, clinging to her, caressing her intimately. Kitty shivered, a slight pink starting to stain her cheeks. She wrapped her arms around her chest and glanced around the chamber. A full-length mirror, framed in gold, hung on one wall. She looked at herself in it and let out a soft breath. The robe looked like liquid ruby laced with gold, shaping itself against the contours of her body, forming a scintillating corona that enhanced her natural beauty. The metal collar around her neck was a slim silver band, set with a single blue gemstone, gorgeous in its simplicity. Kitty stared at herself, awestruck. Am I being ensorcelled? Is Peter trying to tempt me with this beautiful prison? With a wrench she tore gaze away from the mirror. Mild vertigo washed over her, but it quickly passed. She began to further explore her bedroom, careful not look back into the mirror, wary of other subtle traps.
Two doors led out of the bedroom. Kitty tried the nearest and found it locked. The other was opposite the right side of the bed. As she approached it its knob turned and was slowly pulled open. Kitty stopped, settling into a ready stance. A woman stepped into the bedroom. She was slightly taller than Kitty, slightly older. Her skin was pale, almost as white as snow, her hair was like lambent jet, and her eyes were a misty, unfocused gray. She was dressed in a simple dress of checkered yellow and white, trimmed in black. The woman looked oddly translucent, insubstantial, like a weak image projected onto a wall. She took hold of her long skirt and curtsied low to Kitty, bowing her head and looking down at the floor. As she moved, she seemed to flicker and shimmer, her form fading then sharpening before Kitty's eyes. Looking at her made Kitty feel strange, causing the fine hairs on the back of her neck to stand up. The woman straightened, stepped to one side and gestured at the doorway she entered through. Kitty stayed still. The woman tilted her head slightly and gestured again. Kitty glanced around the bedroom, pursed her lips and walked to the door. The woman stepped back, head bowed submissively.
The next chamber was a spacious marble tiled bathroom. Soft, pastoral murals decorated the whitewashed walls, lending the room an atmosphere of relaxing tranquility. A huge golden bathtub dominated the room. Its four curving legs rested on large onyx spheres clutched in falcons' claws. Two more women, looking like sisters of the first, stood by the tub, one filling it with buckets of steaming water, the other holding a silver tray, on which were folded white linen towels and washcloths and various small stoppered crystal bottles. Both women turned towards Kitty, took a step back and curtsied deeply.
Kitty glanced around the bathroom, and could not help feeling a little overawed. If more super-villains treated me like this, I'd let myself get captured more often. Kitty shook her head sharply, chastising herself for her mental quip. The sense of subtle peril passed through her again. She looked over her shoulder at the first woman, who waited patiently behind her, barring her way back to the bedroom. Kitty frowned and looked back into the bathroom, her tongue pressing against her cheek in thought. Her body ached faintly, and the hot water looked very tempting. The women watched her, servile yet expectant. Kitty sighed and decided to risk it – if she had not been bothered while she slept, she reasoned a bath would be no more dangerous. She stepped into the bathroom. As she did, gentle hands grasped the shoulders of her robe. Kitty gave a little squeak of surprise, turned and brushed the first woman's hands away hard. The woman stepped away, looking at her questioningly. It took Kitty a moment to realize what was going on. "I'm sorry," she stuttered. "I- I didn't mean to be rough. I can take care of myself. You all can go." Kitty made a waving gesture to include all three women. They did not move. Kitty frowned and repeated the order in Russian. The women stayed. Evidently they were here to attend her, but were not beholden to her commands. She thought momentarily of returning to the bedroom, but did not want to risk a commotion yet. Well, when in Rome...Biting her lower lip, she untied and removed her robe, holding it in front of her to preserve her modesty. She felt faintly ridiculous, being embarrassed like this, but she could not help it. Taking showers with Pete Wisdom was one thing, but being attended to like medieval royalty by ghostly women was quite another. Sensing her discomfort, the first woman took a large towel from her sister holding the tray of bathing utensils and exchanged it with Kitty for the robe. Kitty wrapped the towel around herself. As she did, the serving woman who had filled the tub left the bathroom. The other two remained. Kitty took a deep breath, gave her attendants a weak smile, and climbed into the steaming bathtub. The hot water felt wonderful. Almost instantly her muscles began to relax, the tension that had tightened them the moment she realized her precarious situation dissipating with the steam. Kitty sat, took another breath, submerged herself beneath the water. She held herself there for almost a minute before coming back up, a pleasurable lassitude suffusing her being. She leaned back against the tub, her neck pillowed on a folded cloth placed on the rim by one of her attendants. Her golden-brown eyes glittered beneath half closed, hooded lids. Her earlier inhibitions forgotten, she did nothing when her towel fell loose from her body and floated away from her.
She spent a half-hour bathing, letting the two servants add salts, soaps and oils to the water but refusing to let them wash her body or her hair. That she attended to herself. When Kitty reluctantly got out, the women moved to dry her off. She took their offered towels but ordered them away. They complied grudgingly. Kitty was somewhat relieved that she had some measure of command over them, and somehow felt she had circumvented another trap by not letting them pamper her completely. The first woman offered her the Zhar Ptitsa robe. She slipped it on and returned to her bedroom. The servant that had slipped out was there. She had pulled a plush stool in front of the full-length mirror and held an ivory comb and an ivory handled brush. Kitty let her self be seated but took the comb and brush and again did her own grooming. The other women left the bedroom through the locked door, but returned just as Kitty finished, carrying with them clothes for her. It consisted of a shimmering gown of blue samite, the gold thread woven into the silk forming gorgeous patterns, abstract yet feminine, a white silk blouse and slip, a red and gold sash, and slippers trimmed with gold and seed pearls. Kitty looked at the clothing, wide-eyed, then at her servants. With a sigh of resignation she allowed them to help dress her, since she was not quite sure how to handle such elaborate clothing. When they finished Kitty gazed in the mirror, enraptured. Like the robe, these clothes fit her perfectly, the gown molding itself to her figure, accentuating it in all the right places. The sash ran through a loop at the small of her back and its ends tied gently around her wrists. As she looked at herself, Kitty recalled her early days with Excalibur, during what they had ended up calling the Cross-Time Caper, when they visited an alternate, fantasy version of England. Briefly engaged to the heir of the realm, she had worn some beautiful, costly gowns, but this one made those seem mere tinsel. Again she had to force her eyes from the mirror, and again a sense of vertigo swept through her, a little stronger than before. She turned to face the servants.
"It is our greatest pleasure to serve thee, knyazhna," the women whispered as one. "Call us at your need, and we will come." Their forms wavered, dissipated into milky mist and vanished. Kitty stared at the space they had occupied, then passed her hand over her eyes and shook her head. "Rusalki..." she murmured to herself, remembering stories of ghostly young who haunted Russian streams and lakes. She sighed, rubbed her arms, and then tried the door the women had gone through to fetch her clothes. It was now unlocked. Kitty pulled it open. It led to a large sitting chamber, as richly appointed as the bedroom. A fire crackled in a large fireplace, comfortable plush chairs and silken divans set near it. Tapestries and paintings showing scenes out of Russian legend decorated the walls. An oaken door was set in the far wall, opposite of the bedroom door. A small dining table stood in the room's center. On it were set platters of sliced, sugared apples, pears and grapes, sweet pastries topped with white cream, halves of a steaming fresh loaf of bread, crystal pitchers of water, milk and wine, with matching crystal goblets. Kitty's stomach complained softly and she licked her lips. She had no idea of when she last ate. She went to the table and reached for a slice of apple, but stopped, her hand hovering over the fruit before she curled it close and drew it back. Could this be another trap? Thoughts of the legend of Persephone, stories of mortals partaking of faery food, came unbidden. She could recall no analogues of such in Russian folklore, but that did not mean it was not possible. Her lips curved in a small frown.
"Have no fear, the food is untainted." Kitty started and looked up. She had not heard the man enter the chamber. He stood in front of the oaken door, tall and thin, his features concealed by shadow. "To poison a guest is an unforgivable breach of hospitality." His voice was thin, sardonic, as cold as an artic wind. A chill chased up and down Kitty's spine. He stepped forward into the light, and Kitty let out a startled gasp. The man was emaciated, little more than a skeleton with yellowing, parchment thin skin stretched drum-tight over its bones. Agate hard eyes set deep in cavernous eye-sockets gleamed unblinking. Thin, black lips curled away from prominent, yellowing teeth, forming an obscene leer. Thatches of coarse white hair sprouted from his skull. A golden circlet decorated his broad brow, a red caftan of rotting silk covered his wasted body, and he held a gold and ivory scepter in a withered, claw-fingered hand. As he walked further into the room, the fire began to gutter and the air chilled perceptibly. He halted by the table, standing five feet from Kitty. She found it very hard to meet this hideous man's eyes. The man bowed slightly. "Greetings to thee, Katerina Anna. I am Koschei the Deathless."
Kitty's eyes went wide and she fell back a step. She stared at Koschei, speechless, then closed her eyes tight. "Stupid," she gritted through clenched teeth. "Stupid, stupid, stupid. I should have guessed. The title Peter was using – God, I was staring right at it..."
"You should not be so harsh on yourself. You were understandably... disconcerted, not performing at your best."
Kitty shook her head. "That's no excuse. Not being at my best gets me into situations like this."
"There are worse places you could be, my lady Pryde."
"That's debatable. I know your reputation, Koschei." Kitty shuddered, inhaled deeply and pulled herself together. She opened her eyes and looked unflinching at the man. As strange as it seemed, she was not quite as frightened as before. True, she was in the presence of an undead sorcerer of legendary might, but at least she now knew what she was facing. As Scott said, it is better to know than not to. "Shouldn't you be hanging on a hook in some noblewoman's closet, begging for three sips of water?"
Koschei threw back his head and laughed. "How audacious... courage, wits and beauty – a rare combination. My son has taste, though his common sense leaves something to be desired."
Kitty bristled. "Peter is not your son."
Koschei nodded. "True, Piotr is not, but Nikolai is. Through arcane art and matchless craft I brought him into this world, taught him lore, focused his ambitions. I am more his sire than any illiterate peasant."
"How did you do it?" Kitty demanded. "Why did you do it?"
"Because I desired to," said Koschei carelessly. "It would have been a shame, to let the legacy he is heir be lost amongst the dust of centuries."
Kitty's eyes narrowed. "I don't know what you mean."
"I am surprised that you don't; you have been touch by it. But then I must make allowances... would you like to hear a story, my lady Pryde? I think it is one owed to you, since you have played a part in it."
Kitty considered the wizard's words carefully. "All right, go ahead. It isn't like I have anything pressing to do right now."
Koschei chuckled. He reached for a slice of apple and in his hand it crusted over with frost; it crunched loudly as he chewed and swallowed it. He then poured for himself a glass of wine. He turned his back to Kitty, held his glass to his eye, swirling the dark, rich liquid. He downed his drink in one crude gulp and without looking threw the goblet into the fireplace. "Rasputin," he whispered. "Consider that name. It is one replete with power, with darksome history." He glanced over his shoulder at Kitty. "You know of me, so I surmise you are familiar with the great stories of Russia, the skazki and the byliny, correct?" Kitty nodded once. Koschei turned his head away. "Then you are no doubt aware of a theme running through many of them, how, in families, great power always descends to the youngest children - the youngest son, for example, the third of three, and the youngest daughter. Children such as your precious Piotr and Illyana."
Kitty's mouth was suddenly very dry. She swallowed with difficulty. "Peter and Illyana only had one brother," she said softly.
"No, there were two. They and Mikhal did not know of their eldest brother Alyosha. It was a strenuous pregnancy and a difficult birth. He lived but a week, and the Rasputins thought it best not to tell their surviving children." Koschei turned to face Kitty. His agate eyes burned with a hot, greedy light. "Third son and youngest daughter, scions of a bloodline of sorcerers which had not manifested its powers for centuries... imagine the violence released when a mighty river balked for too long finally sunders its dam – that is how great their potential was. In my sleep, I dreamed of their coming. When they were born I heard dragons roar out in homage. When they walked, I felt the earth tremble beneath their tread. Ah! If only I could have taken them as apprentices when they were young! What miracles we could have wrought..." The greedy light vanished from Koschei's eyes like snuffed candle-flames. He scowled, making himself even more hideous. "Unfortunately I could not. I slumbered, bound by my enemies in fetters of banality. When I finally shook free of my chains, it was too late – Piotr was too old, his mind set down prosaic paths by his parents, his community, and your Professor Xavier, and Illyana was corrupted beyond recovery by that bungler Belasco. Even when she reverted back to a younger age, the taint of his tutelage prevented me from taking advantage of her. So I forgot them, pursued other paths." His scowl faded, his thin lips contorting into a mocking smile. "But then, when least expected, fortune favored me. You came, my lady, bringing your first love back to his home in a most... vulnerable... state. And for that, Katerina Anna, I will be forever grateful to you."
The blood left Kitty's face in a sudden rush, blanching her white. She began to tremble violently, and placed a hand on the table for support. Koschei's leer widened. "Yes, I am grateful to you and your friends and the foolish games you played with the dregs of the so-called superior men. Grateful for the role you all played in driving Piotr from a fruitless life-"
Kitty looked away from Koschei and looked into the fire. Her breathing came hard and harsh. "Shut up," she rasped.
"- and placing him on the path of his rightful destiny, as a Great Prince of the Earth, my beloved son and childe."
"I said shut up!" Kitty screamed, glaring at Koschei, her golden-brown eyes burning, brimming with tears. A great rage roared within her, demanding release. It took all her will to keep from attacking Koschei. His eyes gleamed and his leer was so wide it transformed his face into a grotesque, mocking death's head. Suddenly her wrath vanished, drenched by a cold blast of satori. He is deliberately goading me. She breathed in softly. But why? She turned her back on Koschei, wrapped her arms around herself and stepped a few paces away. "It won't work," she whispered. "You can't trap me and you can't trick me. I won't do what you want."
Koschei's black lips flattened into a thin line, and the amused look in his eyes went flat. "I want nothing more than to continue my story and finish my explanation of the realities of your situation, Katerina Anna."
"Then go on. The sooner you finish, sooner you can get the hell out of here."
"You are overly pert, girl," growled Koschei. "Perhaps I will have Nikolai instruct you in proper matters, before all is done. Yes... My Nikolai, my precious son... let me tell you of his birth. It is a legendary tale. Two years ago you scattered Piotr's ashes to the four winds. I was there when you did. I gathered them in an acorn shell and kept them close to my heart." He touched a bony finger to his withered breast. "Here in my hall, I carved a coffin from crystal. In it I mixed the ashes with Russian soil, Russian steel, and the blood of the zemi, the great dragons of Hell. For seven days and seven nights I baked that mixture with sorcerer's fire, tending it ceaselessly, exerting all my craft and thought upon it. And at the end of the seventh night, when in the land above the cock crowed, greeting the dawn, the lid of the coffin shattered. Reborn, my servants helped pull him out, wet and glistening and beautiful – my son, my fist, my heir... my darling Nikolai. At my feet, he learned lore. At the hands of the war gods of Hell, he learned how to fight. My will is his will; he knows nothing else."
Kitty turned to face Koschei. "You are wrong. He knows me."
Koschei sneered. "He is mine, girl, body and soul. Nothing you can do can change that."
"We'll see." For a long, interminable time they locked eyes, Koschei sneering, Kitty righteous and determined, their wills clashing. Finally Koschei chuckled and bowed slightly. "I have bored you long enough. Farewell, my lady Pryde."
"What are you going to do with me?" demanded Kitty.
"Nothing. I but wanted to take measure of you. I am suitably impressed."
Kitty snorted. "You'll be even more impressed when I kick your ass."
Koschei chuckled again. "A shame, a beautiful woman possessing such a vulgar mouth."
"Laugh all you want, but I promise you, Koschei: I will free Piotr, and I will see you destroyed." Indifferent, Koschei shrugged.
"I have heard such boasts before. I live, while those who made such vows are dust. Not even Illya Muromets or Dobrynya Nikitich could slay me forever. Think you will succeed, girl, where such mighty heroes of antiquity failed? Now and forever, I am Deathless." Koschei sighed. "But come, such talk is wearisome. I owe you a debt, and as my son's... guest... I also owe you hospitality. Enjoy the comforts of my hall, explore as you will – all doors are open to you, save those that are locked." He turned, walked to the oaken door and opened it. Before he stepped from the room, he glanced back over his shoulder and leered. "But of course," he added. "Those lead to places you will not wish to go." Koschei left, shutting the door behind him.
Kitty shuddered violently, sat down in the plush chair closest to the fireplace, droping her face into her hands. With Koschei's leaving the fire roared back to life. Warmth returned to the room, but Kitty still felt abominably cold.
I originally planned on this chapter being longer, but decided to stop it here for a few reasons. One is that, at my best estimate, it would have ended up being about fourteen or fifteen thousand words. While I'm not afraid of long chapters (War In San Francisco pushed close to ten thousand) something that long felt a bit unwieldy. Another is that I couldn't think of a smooth way to segue from Kitty's meeting with Koschei to her dealings with the other inhabitants of the Hall. Finally, continuing with the chapter would have probably meant not posting any more Deathless for at least another week or two. I did not want to wait that long, and I felt that stopping after Koschei's revelations and Kitty's vow made for a good place to break off and cool down. Anyhow, I hope you all enjoyed this.
AmoKitty – Glad you enjoyed the last chapter. I'm surprised at how easy the characterizations of everyone has become, though I did have a bit of trouble with Scott and Emma. Afraid the story won't be as ensemble for another chapter or so, but I hope the focus on Kitty this chapter (along with learning more about Koschei) and on Kitty and Nikolai/Piotr the next one will make up for it.
As for Nikolai/Piotr, as the brief glimpse of him this chapter shows, he is in a terrible state of confusion. Kitty's surmise in Chapter 6 was correct – Koschei's sorceries are preventing Nikolai from realizing the visions he's seeing are past memories. It is confusing him to no end. But perhaps those bindings are not as strong as Koschei thinks – in previous chapters there are a few hints that Piotr's old morality has a powerful hold over his new incarnation as Nikolai. We'll hopefully be getting a bit into his mind next chapter. I also have an idea for a story concerning Piotr's training under the 'war gods of Hell' Koschei mentioned, but that is a while down the road. As you can imagine, it was far from pleasant...
Yup, Nikolai won this round. He has two-thirds of the key and has captured Kitty. But the X-Men aren't down yet, and there are a few surprises ahead. And I'll see what I can do about more Solovey. Thank you very much again for the kind words.
Darkstorm 5000 – Thanks for the review and the praise! I'm sorry I'm so far behind on reviewing your work, which is very good. I'll try to catch up soon. I'm glad you've liked what you've read so far. I'm pretty proud of the Kitty/Emma fight myself, and yeah, I'm pretty sure too a situation like that would go down that way. As I've said before, I'm a bit surprised it didn't garner more comment, but no matter. I hoped you enjoyed The Gilded Cage, and I'll have the next chapter out as soon as feasibly possible.
B – Thanks for the praise and the words of encouragement. I have plans for quite a few Peter/Kitty stories rumbling about in my hollow little skull. I've been neglecting my original fiction something fierce, but I've really been enjoying myself. Also keep your eyes peeled for something special Lia Fail and I are cooking up.
And speaking of my partner-in-crime... ;)
Lia Fail – Please please please don't hate me! ;) I know I told you therer would be Kitty-Nikolai/Piotr interaction for this chapter, but as I said, things didn't quite work out. Next chapter will be almost entirely Kitty and Nikolai and Kitty/Nikolai, I promise. Scout's honor.
Thanks for the kind words. I'm surprised on how much Hank has grown on me. I'm really enjoying writing the big blue guy a lot. I have some Avengers trades that have him hanging out with Simon Williams, and they're lots of fun. I like Wing, and I think Hisako is adorable. I have some small plans for them in the future, though it won't be in Deathless.
More back-story on Koschei this time out, with the reason he reincarnated Piotr revealed. Hope you didn't mind the 'revelation' of a third Rasputin brother. Don't worry; I have no plans on having him show up anytime soon. No Summers nonsense here! As for Savin, there is a line in the wonderful haunted house novel The Haunting of Hill House and the excellent movie based on it, The Haunting (the old black and white one, not the dreadful remake) about the dangers of having a mind closed like a locked door. Savin never believed his father's stories about Koschei. When Nikolai and Danila Volkevich confronted him, the lock door to his mind was ripped asunder, and it destroyed him. Also, I see what you mean about Koschei being vindictive. You are quite right about that, as future events will show.
No problem about plugging Moving Forward. It deserves all the kudos it gets. I think I've managed to shake off the last vestiges of burn out for now. I plan on finishing Deathless, and I hope to write some more stories after it. I have plans. And no, Koschei is not happy, but he has reasons for tolerating what Nikolai did for now. All will be revealed, including the location of the Hall.
Thanks for the heads-up on Secret Wars. I will give it a miss. I remember hearing about Zsaji's empathy having manipulative effects; wasn't Johnny Storm also lusting after her? From the blurb I read over in the Colossus bio at Uncanny , you are right about poor Peter being out of character. It's hard to believe that someone with that much integrity would forget so easily about someone he cared for so much. Hell, I remember hearing that Pete took down the entire Wrecking Crew, a team that gives Thor headaches, all by himself, because he wanted to get back to Kitty. Ah well... stuff happens. Let's just keep our fingers cross with Whedon.
And thanks for the favorable comparison to Cassaday here and Whedon over in your notes to The Knight and the Maiden. Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Talk to you soon.
Next up – Deathless Chapter 8: Remembrances.
Thanks for your time and tolerance,
Jeremy Harper
