AN: So, this is the second-to-last chapter, if anyone's still reading this. I had fun writing it, and you all are going to have to wait two weeks for the last chapter because I'm going out of town. After that, though, there will be a second Indomitable story, if anyone cares to read it.

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Indomitable X-Men

To Me, My X-Men!

Chapter Nine

The Avenging Angel

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Torpid ran, panting, down the streets of Chicago. The young mutant's overly large hands flailed wildly through the air as she attempted to escape the horror coming for her. "Mutant apprehension in progress," droned the Sentinel chasing her. Torpid had been scrounging for food when the android had detected her, and now she was running for her life and freedom.

The three-foot-tall, seventeen year old girl ducked down an alleyway, eyes pointed down, searching for a way out. Finally, she saw it—a manhole, leading down to the sewers. Torpid pulled off her thick, rubber gloves in order to get a better grip, and began attempting to pry the cover up. She was too slow. There was a heavy clanking sound as the thirty-foot-tall Sentinel rounded the corner, one hand raised and ready to deliver a stun blast. "Mutant apprehension in progress," it droned for what seemed like the millionth time.

Closing her eyes, Torpid awaited the tingling sensation that would mean the beginning of her life in a cage—but it never came. Instead, there was a whistle, and the shrieking sound of metal cutting through metal. She opened her eyes to see the Sentinel reeling backwards with a sword, of all things, stuck through its head!

"Let vengeance be done!" a voice howled, coming from seemingly everywhere at once. There was a flurry of white, and when it cleared, a young man was standing in front of Torpid, offering her a hand to help her up.

Torpid shook her head and got up herself, retrieving her gloves and getting a good look at her savior. He was dressed in a medieval tunic with a Roman breastplate over it. A sheath for the sword currently stuck in the Sentinel's head was belted at his waist, and he wore a gladiator's helmet with a face mask, through which could be glimpsed his gleaming blue eyes.

However, his clothes were not the strange part. The strange part was the two long, feathered, snow-white wings that rose above his back, giving him an unearthly appearance.

"You all right?" he asked. Torpid nodded, and the young man smiled. "Good. Everything's gonna be okay. I'm the Avenging Angel. I'm here to help."

"Hostile combatant detected," the Sentinel grated, removing the blade from its head and dropping it on the ground. "New directive: Engage and capture combatant." It held out a hand to fire a laser, the sword-cut in its head sparking eerily. "Surrender or be destroyed. There is no alternative."

"There's always an alternative!" the Angel said, flapping his wings hard. Getting a bit of height, he dove between the Sentinel's legs, snatching up his sword as he did so. Torpid gasped as he narrowly avoided a blast from the robot's shoulder-mounted particle cannon. "Vengeance!" he yelled, slashing down with his sword and severing the Sentinel's head. The android rocked back and forth for a long moment, finally collapsing with an ear-shattering crash.

The Avenging Angel landed by Torpid, folding his wings behind his back. "The mardies should be showing up any second," he said. "We've gotta get you out of here. Where do you live?"

Torpid pointed to the manhole and made a motion to signal that he should pry it up. The Angel clicked his tongue disapprovingly and shook his head.

"That's no good," he said, starting to pry the cover up with his sword. "I'll help you down there for now, but as soon as possible, you should head to Cabrini Green. There's a building there that has 'die Mutante' written on it. It sounds bad, but it's actually German—'the mutant'. Knock on the door and ask for Spyke, okay?"

Torpid nodded gratefully and grasped the manhole cover as it finally rose from its place, helping the Angel to move it aside. She held out one gloved hand, and the Angel grasped it and shook it firmly. "See you soon, kid," he said, helping her down into the hole. "Good luck."

When Torpid had vanished down the sewer line, the Angel shifted the manhole cover back into place and took off, flapping his wings. As he got high in the air he resisted, as he always did, the urge to buzz the Willis Tower. "Someday," he muttered to himself. For now, he could not take the risk of being seen.

Swooping towards a high-rise, the Angel landed, balancing carefully, on the balcony outside the open window of a penthouse apartment. He quietly slipped inside and took off his helmet, releasing a cascade of shoulder-length blond hair. Putting the helmet down on his bed, he quickly changed clothes. Once done, he had completely changed from the Avenging Angel into the heir to Worthington Industries, seventeen-year-old Warren Kenneth Worthington III.

Folding up his wings as small as he could, Warren pulled a leather harness from his closet and proceeded to buckle it on. The harness was built in such a way as to keep his wings folded and unnoticeable, as long as he wore his customary trench coat over them. This coat, a black coat in a decorative faux-military style, Warren now took from its hanger and buttoned it on, covering his wings completely. He winced at the slight discomfort before opening his door and heading out to the dining room.

"Ah, Warren," his father, Warren Worthington, Jr., said as he walked into the room. "I didn't think you were going to show up."

"I almost didn't," Warren said, sitting down at the other end of the table from his father. "I'm still angry about your decision. I just don't think it's right."

"Don't be so naïve," said the elder Worthington. "Mutants are sick. The sooner we find a cure for these people, the better."

A servant swept in and placed a plate of fried chicken in front of Warren. He looked at the cooked chicken wings in disgust for a long moment before calling the man back. "Uh, Edwin?" he asked. "Do you think I could just have a salad tonight?"

"Certainly, sir," Edwin said, removing the chicken. Warren nodded his thanks and turned back to his father.

"Have you ever considered that maybe mutants aren't sick, Dad?" he demanded. "Maybe this is all perfectly natural—the next step in evolution!"

"Would the next step in evolution be so disgusting?" Worthington said, calmly taking a sip of his wine. "Remind me to take you down to the Mutant Response Division cells someday. The deformities…" he shook his head. "It's pitiful."

Warren shifted in his seat, thinking of his own extra appendages. He thanked his stars, and not for the first time, that his father did not know about them. He was all but certain that the elder Worthington would not hesitate to throw even his own son into an MRD cage, to be experimented on like a lab rat. The thought made Warren nauseous.

"I gotta go," he said, pushing his chair away from the table and standing up. "I promised some of my friends that I'd meet them tonight. Can we finish this tomorrow?"

"Of course," said Worthington. He got up from the table and walked over to his son, placing his hand on the young man's shoulder, which made Warren flinch. "You know, if something's bothering you, I'd like you to tell me about it."

"Yeah, sure, Dad," Warren said, shrinking away from his father's touch.

"You can tell me anything, you know that, right?"

Warren looked into his father's eyes and offered a false smile. "Yeah, I know," he lied before leaving. He went back to his room and changed back into his Avenging Angel costume. Opening his window, he dove from the balcony. He turned his fall into a graceful glide and turned, heading towards Cabrini Green.

…

To be concluded…