Illyana was sweating. She was pushing her newly reformed body beyond its limits to do her Master's bidding, maintaining portals across the globe and keeping them chronologically stable. She could feel the power of the blood magic flowing backwards through her discs, swirling around Belasco as he gathered the energy for the final Master spell. Out of the corner of her eye, behind the sorcerer's cloak, beyond the outer ring of demons that had formed a circle around them, she detected a flash. She forced her eyes forward, hoping it was what she thought it was and struggling to keep any of that hope from reaching her face and tipping off her hated enemy.
Over in the corner, the merged Doug/Lock entity was focused solely pushing a single tendril across the floor, using the last of their energy to do so. Both had been moments from death prior to forming the gestalt, and pooling that precious resource had not gained much – they couldn't even maintain Ramsey's humanoid shape. And so it was that one solitary pseudopod inched its way towards the nearest living creature.
The goblin felt the touch, but even as he looked down to see what had hit his foot he found himself instantly transformed by the techno-organic virus, and the life energy siphoned back along the link. "Power reserves above critical levels," thought the Technarch/human hybrid. Two more tendrils shot out, then five more. Lifeforce was converted to megawatts of energy, which flowed freely back to them, and as more and more demons were converted to circuitry-based statues, Doug and Warlock's combined form became more solid and distinct.
Doug/Lock was conflicted. Part of them regretted the loss of life- that however necessary it may have been, these were sentient beings they were draining, and Warlock had been taught that was wrong. But there was part of them, from Doug having spent years at the side of the evil sorcerer who had rescued him, that reveled in the process, in the increasing flow of power and in the destruction of his enemies. And logically, he also knew that every enemy he could dispatch in this manner would not only make him stronger, but represented one fewer opponent to face later.
They looked down at the form they had taken upon the merge. The human body of Douglas Ramsey had asserted itself, but with skin and hair of yellow techno-organic mesh. Strangest of all, the medallion given by Belasco, the amulet that allowed him to utilize his language talent to access and perform magickal spells, had embedded itself in their chest. Running a system diagnostic, they noted that the energy they were draining from the demon host was fulfilling both their physical needs, and also providing a significant degree of mystical power.
Fully a third of Belasco's assembled host had been rendered inert, and a tangled web of circuitry-laden tendrils covered the floor seeking out new victims. They found it difficult to control the intensity of their glow, so flush were they with the demons' life energy. It was during such a moment that the bright white of the circuitry on their body caught the eye of a hobgoblin. Doug/Lock noted the recognition in the creature's eyes and demeanor, and sent a pseudopod hurtling towards it.
It let out a croak even as it found itself impaled on the yellow and black protrusion, and that sound reached S'ym's ears. Belasco's lieutenant turned towards the Technarch form with a roar, "Hey Boss, looks like ya left unfinished business in the corner. But don'tcha fret none, ol' S'ym'll take care of it for ya!"
Doug/Lock reacted instantly; pulling in the net of themselves they had spread while simultaneously thrusting their left arm at the large purple demon, spanning the distance in a fraction of a second. As quick as they had been, S'ym was quicker, catching the approaching limb in his right hand.
"Ya may have zilched the foot soldiers, but S'ym ain't a chump," the hulking figure snarled. He then grabbed Doug/Lock's arm with his left hand and snapped it like a twig.
The part that was Warlock started to scream at the trauma of the injury, but Doug shoved that personality out of the way. Pain was something he was accustomed to, and was easily borne. He reformed his hand and hit Belasco's servant with an uppercut to the jaw, sending him flying.
The movement distracted the Demon Lord, who arched an eyebrow. With a flicker of annoyance, he traced a quick sigil in the air, never breaking the Master spell he was incanting. Black lightning streaked from the vaulted ceiling, crashing again and again at the combined form of Doug and Warlock. But the hybrid was quicker, and the embedded amulet flashed, throwing up a shield that the mystic energy could not penetrate. They processed another spell, summoning his obsidian blade from nothingness. "Belasco! I challenge you! Face me, or crawl back to the deepest of the splinter realms like a sniveling coward!"
This captured the sorcerer's attention. "I don't have time for this, boy. Not when my final victory is at hand. You should both have just taken the quick deaths I offered."
"You are too weak and too much a failure, old man. You play around this dimension like a petty king, but your schemes have always been for naught! My gauntlet is thrown – will you take it up?"
"So be it." Belasco's calm voice took on an edge, and his smile faded. He jerked his blade from his scabbard and strode forward.
The shadowight was gone. The very substance of it, those dark, unholy magicks, had been purged, erased from existence. The toll had been high; Dr. Strange was gasping for air on bended knee, one hand steadying him against the charred remains of a light pole. He'd had to call in nearly every marker owed him amongst the celestial host, and had gone into karmic debt besides, but he'd defeated the horror.
"Master?"
Strange looked up. He knew he hadn't the time to recuperate before he would be needed once more, but that didn't keep the fatigue from his voice, "Yes, Wong?"
"It is Colonel Fury, Master, on the phone." His manservant held up the iPhone that he'd purchased in a moment of vanity and had then enchanted to allow his fellow defenders of humanity to be able to contact him.
He reached out, his long thin fingers grasping the device. "Yes, Colonel? I take it this threat is enough to bring you from wherever you had secreted yourself?"
"Actually Doc, no. There's not much a guy with a machine pistol can do when the skies are bleeding. I'm working on something else – something big – so I'm counting on you and the other capes to do your job and save the day."
"We appreciate your confidence. So this is a courtesy call? Because I'm afraid I just don't have the time-"
"Listen – not all of the old crew considers me persona non grata. They've got ways to get the word out, and the word is that Stark's in it up to his eyeballs. I may not agree with everything he and his god complex have done of late, but it sounds like he's getting his ass handed to him over in Madripoor, and if he goes down, SHIELD Command and Control will be compromised, and this sure ain't the time for that."
The Sorcerer Supreme sighed. "I will see what I can do."
"I owe ya one. And so will Stark."
The line went dead.
Belasco's attack was a flurry of motion, as he spun both his own blade and Illyana's Soulsword in a whirling tornado of razor-sharp edges and magic. Doug/Lock was faster, physically stronger by virtue of the energy they'd just absorbed, able to cast spells at an incredible rate due to the integrated amulet of power, and could use Cypher's mutant ability to read his former Master's body language to anticipate each strike. Still, they found themselves hard-pressed by the intensity of the assault.
But even as their own ebon blade traced an intricate pattern to parry and block the onslaught, an observational subroutine took stock of their opponent. The Soulsword gleamed in Belasco's restored right hand, his own weapon in his left. The Beatrix medallion hung from his neck. The sorcerer's eyes narrowed slightly before he cast a spell of destructive intent; his left eyebrow raised a millimeter when the incantation was defensive. There was a tightening around his throat when he would lunge with his own blade and the Soulsword was moving in what appeared to be an inverted variation of DiGiovanni's form number three.
Sickly-green and blood-red fire streaked, glowing and sparking in the dim light. The duel was even at this point, but Doug/Lock took no comfort in this success. Illyana remained a slave, and her discs continued to funnel hordes to the Earth to kill and maim, and the resulting blood power continued to fuel the Master spell. The hybrid being could not afford to maintain the status quo. Strategies and gambits flashed in their collective mind, with distressingly low probabilities of success attached to them.
Squirrel Girl chittered soothingly to her companion as she worked diligently to get the stain out of the pink bow her friend wore. "Oh, I am so sorry, Tippy-toe!" I didn't think that evil, evil creature was full of such nasty ichor! I'm sure Mr. Stark will buy you a new bow!"
"How's it going, Doreen?" asked Big Bertha. When they had arrived in São Paulo, the members of the Great Lakes Initiative had fought their way to the open teleport circle, where Bertha's massive girth was able to temporarily seal it. "Y'know, my agent – well, Ashley Crawford's agent anyway – was trying to get me to move down here to Brazil for years. I can't say the locals leave much of a positive impression."
Flatman, the two-dimensional member of the team, poked his head around an alley corner. "Have either of you seen Craig? I lost track of him an hour ago."
"There's his head," said Doorman, matter-of-factly. "Over there, in that gutter. I don't know about the rest."
"Chrrt! Chk-chk chrrt!"
"Tippy-toe saw that thing eat him." Squirrel Girl said, pointing at the corpse of a twenty-five foot monstrosity with a head like an isosceles triangle.
"Gross."
"Yeah, and then that foul creature had the nerve to ruin my friend's lovely bow!"
"DeMarr? Val? Could you?" Big Bertha asked, "I'm a little tied up here."
With a resigned shudder, Flatman assented, "Fine. Go ahead, Doorman, make me an entrance." His companion positioned himself in front of the creature's stomach, activating his limited teleportation power to create a portal inside. Then he extended his arms through, and, after a few moments, announced, "Got it. And, just to reiterate – gross." He pulled the headless body back through Doorman and placed it in contact with the recovered head.
A few minutes later, Mr. Immortal opened his eyes and looked around. "Great job, team! This one will really look great, really show the teams in Michigan and Minnesota what we're made of!"
"Yeah! And thanks for letting yourself get eaten like that, Mr. I! The distraction really made it a lot easier!"
"Always glad to do my part. Thanks for mopping up for me, SG."
"Chrrrt!"
"And you too, Tippy-toe. Sorry about your bow."
It was the Warlock aspect that analyzed the situation and deduced the flaw in their attack. Not a fatal flaw – the duel was still relatively even – but one that was costing other people their lives.
As a half-Technarch being, with all the enumerated advantages, they should have totally dominated their flesh and blood opponent, particularly since Belasco's normal advantage was nullified by the flashing pentacle in the middle of their chest. Their current impasse, then, must have had root in some illogic loop. Diagnostics pointed towards an organic source to the problem.
The part that was Doug almost laughed. He had been weakening the Team Supreme by allowing the combat to remain on his former Master's terms, as if he were serving him even still. Recognition flowed into immediate and drastic action, as they began the fight in earnest.
Additional limbs sprang from their torso, flashing at Belasco's body and arms and impeding his attack. They changed size, stretching and compacting, twisting and coiling. They manifested weaponry to pester the sorcerer with particle beams and lasers, driving him back and forcing him to waste his magic defensively.
Beads of sweat appeared on the reddish face of the Demon Lord. None of the symbiote's attacks truly threatened him – only the sword, forged with the esoteric knowledge only the Elder Gods could provide, could cause him harm. But this new many-pronged attack forced him to divert his attention in multiple directions, lest he be tripped up and left vulnerable to that black blade. Rage burned inside – he was used to a measure of disloyalty from his vassals as the cost of having demonic servants – but he took Ramsey's betrayal personally. He'd taken great pains, after all, to pluck him from that Island, leaving a crosstime corpse in his place. He'd grown fond of the boy as he drew out the potential inside, and had considered him almost an apprentice. It was a shame Ramsey had no innate magickal talent, but the Pentacle of Paimon had allowed him to cast any spell he could speak, which, coupled with the boy's mutant talent, was practically any spell he encountered. Now that same artifact was being used to thwart him.
He cast a circle of hellfire around himself to ward off Doug/Lock's attacks. He needed to get rid of the amulet – without it, the chimera would fall easily to his power. The Pentacle had its own defenses; nothing in his arcane arsenal would be able to permanently nullify its power. Instead, a more direct approach was needed.
Doug/Lock retreated from the heat of the fiendish blaze. They continued to cast a wide spectrum of shield spells and a modulating mystic interference field. With a childlike curiosity, they watched how the amulet processed the ambient background magic to fuel the incantations that rippled off their tongue. They knew that Belasco would make it his priority to rid them of its power, and this would afford them their last, best chance.
The hellfire circle exploded, battering and overwhelming their shields. The amalgam of man and machine became nearly liquid as they streamed under the flames, regaining human shape almost immediately. The swords clanged again as the mêlée resumed with a vengeance. Belasco was brutally efficient with his twin weapons, attacking with renewed vigor even as he muttered a new invocation; one not referenced in any of Doug/Lock's memory banks. A sense of heaviness descended on them, and the glow from the amulet reduced to a flicker.
"A negation spell, not found in any grimoire you may have found," the sorcerer sneered. "Surprised, peasant, that you were unable to see this coming?"
"No. Not that," answered the techno-organic/human combination. "I do find it odd you would handicap yourself in the same way."
"You challenged me to a duel – so we shall duel. Without magic." With that, he swung his own blade in a wide arc while launching a thrust with the Soulsword. Doug/Lock moved to parry the direct attack with the obsidian weapon they held while sending three appendages to immobilize the other strike, grabbing Belasco's wrist, elbow and shoulder. With a deft hand, the hybrid being spun Illyana's sword out of his hand. It arced through the air even as they followed up with his own reciprocal thrust at his opponent's throat.
Belasco managed to break the three handed grip on his left arm to block the danger plunging towards his neck, deflecting it just enough that it grazed his skin. Their eyes met as they struggled against one another. The Demon Lord was able to push forward, forcing Doug/Lock's sword away. As they turned back to face him, his free right hand slammed into their chest like a sledgehammer.
Red shoulders tensed, just a moment, and then he suddenly shoved his hand forward, having it burst through their shoulder blades, the Pentacle of Paimon clutched in his fingers. He pulled it back through, holding the amulet aloft.
Doug/Lock's eyes grew wide at the turn of events, but even as Belasco lopped off their head with a casual backhand swipe of his blade, a faint smile creased their face. The last they saw was the Beatrix medallion fall to the ground, still tangled around the ebony sword that now dropped from their own fingers. The sorcerer had not seen them catch it with their strike, severing the chain along his neck, and as they'd hoped, Belasco's need for vengeance meant that he did not notice its absence.
"Now," he said, straightening his tunic and sheathing his sword, "Where were we?"
"We," came a female voice barely holding back the anger, "were just about to kick your evil, murdering, sorcerous ass." Kitty's voice was hard, here eyes flat.
The X-men were free; their bonds dissolved by an equally angry Illyana, who said, "You seem to have dropped something, 'Boss.'" Had he still been human, her tone would have chilled him to the bone. "Like your control over my soul."
The sound reverberated throughout the diner, making the dishes rattle. The customers looked amongst themselves – they had grown accustomed to odd noises since the Norse god Thor had recreated his home of Asgard on the Oklahoma plain, but there was a different flavor to this one. This was the clang of metal on metal, and more. And it sounded more desperate.
Bill Junior, son of Little Bill, grandson of Big Bill, wondered if it had anything to do with the news on the radio, of the atrocities being performed around the world. He'd always considered tales of superheroes and man-eating demons are something that happened somewhere else to other people. In the big cities. Yeah, they had the Initiative team in the capital, but he couldn't even name one of the members. They didn't come out here – they didn't need to. Who was going to mess with a bunch of gods?
There was obviously someone, he thought, or the china wouldn't be shaking like that. "Hang in there, big guy," he said, softly.
From the battlements of restored Asgard, a raven-tressed goddess watched the fight through narrowed eyes. Thor was far too engaged to see it, but it was clear as day to one of her background – the way the supposed Destroyer armor would flicker when Thor would hit it. There were underlying magicks here, and strong ones. Thor, for all his power, simply did not have the experience with such perfidy.
She took her time, to allow the thunder god to struggle a bit to better appreciate her intervention.
Thor was indeed hard-pressed. Prior to gaining the Odinpower, the Destroyer was much stronger than he, capable of killing him. With his elevation to King of the Norse pantheon upon his father's death, however, he had become its equal. Since his return, he had to face it but once, animated by the spirit of Balder, and he had been hard-pressed once again.
This one, if it were real and not as much of an imposter as that thing bearing Odin's visage, was different, and he knew had he time to figure out what those differences was, he would be able to end this easily. But taking that time would most likely prove fatal.
"Ho, Thor!" called a voice from the battlements. Loki. He was not yet accustomed to the female form that his half-sibling had taken upon reincarnation, and despite her claims to she'd turned over a new leaf, he was not quite ready to fully trust her. He spun Mjolnir to block his adversary's eyebeam.
"Brother, allow me to aid you – by revealing the true forms of your plaything there." Ancient magic burst across the plain, enveloping the suit of armor in a suffusion of yellow. Silvery plates dropped away, leaving instead a troll-like creature, eight feet tall and massively muscled. Behind him, the form of Odin fizzled as well, and was replaced by a hideous many-tentacled blob with two glowing antennae.
Both of these froze at their guises being dissipated. This gave Thor the time he needed, and he smashed his hammer to the ground, knocking them off their feat. He then thrust Mjolnir skyward, summoning the lightning that was his birthright. It slammed into both monsters again and again, until they were reduced to nothing but smoldering ashes.
Loki smiled at the result. She was the savior of the day, and would surely receive fulsome praise in the hall tonight. If Thor were to fall, it would be by her design, not the machinations of some upstart Italian sorcerer.
Belasco looked over at the assembled heroes casually. "I am simply awash in trepidation. So, little Rasputina is off her leash for the moment – and I stress, for the moment. As soon as I reclaim the sword and medallion, you will be mine again." He began walking to his left. "And once I have you back safely under my thrall, I think I shall have you kill your friends. Slowly and painfully."
Illyana looked shaken at that, and glanced over at Kitty and her brother, "I'd die first-"
"You won't have a choice!" snapped the sorcerer.
Nightcrawler stepped forward. He stole a glance at Amanda, who was chanting softly but incessantly. Their eyes met, and she seemed to impart her meaning wordlessly. Keep him talking, just a few more moments. "Now, now. That's no way to talk to a lady. You've been down in the splinter realms too long." Kurt could see Belasco step over to the fallen Soulsword. If he could make him pause just long enough for Amanda to break the spell nullifying their powers, he could 'port over there and grab it, possibly ending the whole thing with one sword stroke.
He thought of something Kitty had related while they'd been held captive. To truly win the day, they would need to give Belasco a chance to repent. Only by slaying him without evil intent would such a death be final. Otherwise, should they kill him out of rage, or vengeance, it would only twist their souls and bind themselves to the Demon Lord's evil purpose. Kitty had confessed that she would be unable to offer clemency, and Piotr's darkened expression at the idea ruled him out immediately.
Kurt was the one who had aspired to the collar, the man of faith. He looked deep within himself. Could he find it in his heart, to forgive a man become less than man in the service to evil beyond comprehension? To someone to whom torture and murder were not just as natural as drawing breath, but were sources of delight?
And if he couldn't, what did his belief really mean? He began to understand what Dr. Strange had meant – to be mindful of his faith and his heart. What sterner test could he face? He took a deep breath.
"I forgive you."
Belasco looked shocked as he bent over to pick up the Soulsword. Then he began to laugh. "Oh, do go on! You forgive me? Are you trying to move me to surrender, to don sackcloth and beg your Savior's forgiveness for a misspent life? How rich! How delightful! For that, I shall have the Darkchylde kill you last, for providing this last bit of entertainment." He brandished Illyana's sword, "None of you can cross the floor in time before I retrieve the amulet and reassert control." He began to stride purposefully towards the fallen Beatrix medallion.
"Perhaps." Nightcrawler said, "But perhaps not!" The spell blocking their mutant abilities was nearly gone. He gritted his teeth and triggered his power.
The double bamf of disappearance and appearance was nearly simultaneous as he teleported. Their fiendish adversary had broken to a run at the sound, stabbing out with his right hand right where the medallion lay. Kurt materialized to find a sword in the middle of his chest and a satisfied look on Belasco's face.
"Touché, mein herr." Kurt said, with his eyes wide.
The sorcerer reached for the glittering object in the blue-furred mutant's hand.
Nightcrawler continued, "Too bad that the Soulsword has no effect on normal people." And before the evil mage could react, he'd teleported back to his friends.
Anger burned in Belasco's eyes, and the cords bulged in his neck. He finally took a breath and said, "No matter. The spell of nullification will end momentarily. And then I shall simply take it and the witch's soul, finish freeing my masters and eradicate the rest of you."
The nonchalance of it all irritated Illyana. "Eat hellfire and die!" With that, she extended both hands, launching a white-hot burst across the room at him. He arched an eyebrow as the blast slowed, diminishing moment by moment, until finally dispersing a few inches before his face. He reached out, caught a wisp of it before it vanished completely.
"S'ym, I believe now would be the time."
"Gotcha, boss," the hulking demon said. He looked around at the remaining troops, decimated by Doug/Lock's attack. "C'mon guys, you won't believe how good hero blood tastes."
Upon hearing this, hungry expressions appeared on scores of faces, and a low hooting and hollering started in the back, reaching a crescendo.
"CHARGE!"
It was the silence that tipped him off in the end. The Void, representing his equal in power and his polar opposite in morality, simply could not keep his mouth shut this long. Too many opportunities had passed for his shadowy counterpart to belittle him, to hammer him psychologically as much as physically.
"I know."
Reed Richards' voice broke over his intercom, "Bob, that isn't - oh, good. I knew something was wrong - I'd appropriated some of the Stark satellites to maintain a constant vibrational-spectral scan for certain global level threats I have indexed, and it didn't read the Void's signature frequency."
"Reed, could you get to the point?" The Sentry was breathing heavily, a shocking enough sign.
"Based on my analysis, whatever you are fighting is mostly illusory."
"Tell that to my aching jaw," he replied, even as he hit the thing with enough force that the shockwave sent five-foot waves along the ocean's surface. "It's not the Void, but it's real enough to do some serious damage. Any thoughts?"
"Perhaps, if you could pull your adversary up about twelve hundred meters, I have an idea."
Reynolds could almost hear the gears turning in his friend's mind. He flew at the figure and grabbed hold desperately. "Gotcha. Heading?"
"Three feet north by northeast."
Locking his arms around the waist of his nemesis, absorbing the blows to his kidneys and the heat butt to his jaw, he flew as hard as he could in the direction indicated.
"Three… two… one… engaging now," came Reed's voice. A signal from space, hyperwaves of an almost tangible frequency that vibrated wildly between the yellow, purple and green range of his enhanced senses, slammed into them both.
The creature seemed to begin to melt, right there in his bear hug. It writhed and squirmed, threatening to ooze its way free. The Sentry tightened his grip, applying enough pressure to grind diamonds to powder. The creature thrashed about, the appearance of the Void having burned away.
"Enough!" yelled the Golden Guardian of Good. The thing's power level had dropped considerably since Mr. Fantastic's gambit. He continued to constrict the terror, but began to fly upwards at an unbelievable speed, through the atmosphere into the cold of space.
The demon began to crystallize almost immediately. He threw it into the moon, where it fractured to dust, and then flew back to Earth.
"Thanks for the assist, Reed. Neat trick… thaumaturgic resonant frequency?"
"Good catch! I've been toying with some counter measures against some of our opponents that pursue quasi-scientific paranormal avenues of attack…"
"Reed- I will happily talk shop with you later, but right now I need to get to Brazil."
"Oh," replied the leader of the Fantastic Four, somewhat disappointed, "About that – the Initiative teams were able to contain São Paulo – actually, based on the incoming data, you're really needed back in Madripoor."
"Madripoor? OK, I'm on my way. Say hi to Susan and the kids for me."
At the Baxter Building, Dr. Reed Richards smiled and signed off, then went to settle down the Human Torch, who was complaining that whoever the enemy was, he hadn't considered the Fantastic Four deserving of special attack.
"What's the matter with us? Has our rep really fallen that far? Dr. Strange, the Sentry, Iron Man… Thor? What do they have that we don't?" Johnny Storm was literally in flames at the perceived insult.
"My thanks, Amanda, for restoring our abilities," commented Colossus as he swatted demons left and right. "I would not relish facing these enemies unarmored."
"Anytime, Peter," the witch replied, casting hex after hex at the swarm of creatures. "I fear, however, that there may not be a next time." She looked around them, and then up at the foreboding mists covering the ceiling, before continuing, "The tactical advantage Doug and Warlock gave us seems to have disappeared – I can only think that the dimensional barrier has been weakened enough for the Elder Gods to repopulate the place."
"Ah. That explains the seemingly unending supply."
Rachel was firing off blasts of pure telekinetic fury. "Well, how do we shut things down?" she yelled. "Not even I can keep this up forever!"
"Belasco. He's the key. He's tied it to his lifeforce. So long as he lives, the Master spell endures."
"But Belasco's effectively immortal in this place!" shouted Kurt. He'd wrested an axe from a goblin, having lost his swords during the fight with the dragon, and was leaving streaks of devastation among the ranks of his foes with multiple, lethal teleports.
"And you would do well to remember that," said the sorcerer. "Now if you would return that medallion, our Darkchylde can relieve you of the burden of your pathetic life."
"I told you," said Illyana, her voice tinged with rage, "that will never happen!" The stream of eldritch flames she directed at him as even hotter than the first.
Belasco watched it approach him and noting that it didn't dissolve like the last one, calmly held his hand up and caught the hellfire, gathering it into an incandescent ball in his palm. "The nullification spell is gone… Your fire is impressive, my apprentice, but you still lack precision."
He cast the ball back at her, where it slammed against a hastily erected shield, scorching her hair and the simple tunic that she wore.
"Illyana!" Kitty yelled, running straight through the crowd to get to her friend. "Are you all right?"
"Fine. Just a little singed. I'll survive."
"Stay behind me – I'll protect us." Shadowcat brandished her twin photonic blades and yelled out to Belasco, "You still owe me that fight, Hornhead!"
"The kitten bares her claws. How adorable."
Illyana whispered fiercely, "Kitty! You can't do this!"
"I'm not going to let him get you, 'Yana," she said, resolutely.
"Kitty, remember what I told you before. Remember what I asked you to do!"
The chestnut haired mutant turned around in shock, "Don't ask me! Please! I can't!"
"You have to! Tell Piotr – tell him what has to be done. Amanda only got it half right – Belasco tied the spell into two lifeforces – his… and mine! As long as his taint is on my soul, the Elder Gods will be freed, even if you could kill him. I have to die too!"
A/N: OK, seriously, this was the last chapter, only that it ran 27 pages long and needed to be split. Many, many, many thanks are due to Amokitty for the beta reading, and to my friends in the kiotr community for their insight, advice, support and knowledge. You are all the best!
Chapter 14 will be up VERY soon, as will chapter 15. Thanks to everyone for their patience.
And of course, all the X-men and superheroes (and most of the locations!) belong to Marvel… no profit is being made or sought on my part. I'm just having fun.