Chapter Two: A Means for War
The sun was an orb of flaming, claret beauty as it slowly heaved itself above the long belt of the horizon. The nimbus of its dancing rays, like fairies round firelight, paused to hold the ocean in a brief but longing kiss before flitting away to join the earth to the sky.
They whirled upon the mountains bordering the sea and swept inward. Then, as though remembering something long forgotten in their haste, they whirled round again and hurled out to sea to embrace the lone, emerald-dotted island that stood solitary, mist-wreathed, nameless. The light flooded into the crevices, awakening the tiny creatures that dwelled there, warming them after the cold Atlantic night, and then came round and knocked upon a stone and metal door, and waited patiently. No answer came, and soon the sunlight, being short for time, turned and flitted away again, leaving behind only the slightest kiss of light to chase away the night-things.
Within the inky atmosphere of the rooms within the isle, the air was cold and smelled vaguely of pounded steel and swampland. The air was punctuated constantly with a myriad of tiny chirps as minute frogs and other amphibians scurried about in the shadows, hunting the fireflies and dragonflies that hovered like iridescent helicopters over the gently bobbing indigo waters. Beyond stretched an arm of metal; a catwalk that led through the caves and into rooms both natural and manmade but had yet to see the light of day.
Within one such room, furnished only with gray, chilled metal, crouched a smallish figure, obviously just shy of human. His name: Mortimer Toynbee. From his green skin and hair to his unnatural bone structure and long, flexible spine, he looked every bit a creature born from the mossy depths of the mysterious island. He peered down to the floor where the tiny carcass of a tree frog lay, and blinked his sad, moist yellowblack eyes that were large and set deeply in the refined structure of his features. A frown graced his lips as he extended a finger, long and curiously webbed, to stroke the tiny body. A sigh escaped him when there was no response to his prodding, and after a time he rose and slunk out of the room to disappear into the shadows that hugged the chamber outside.
Toad.
He emerged into a great cavern, the main room of what his master called the Lair. Across the gently bobbing waters, slashed down the middle by the metal catwalk, another room, entirely metal, seemed to glow from within as the halogen lights embedded in its walls reflected off the steel surfaces. From its depths rose an angry, masculine voice, stately and refined, yet frightening in its tone. Presently, two shadows, one much larger than the other, puddled out of the doorway and grew longer as two figures rapidly approached.
Toad quickly straightened his posture and went calmly answer to his master: a man named Eric Magnus Lenscherr; slim of build, sharp of mind, cunning and lord of all over which he presided. To his subjects he was known as Magneto, and it was a name that lived in infamy.
Beside the older man hulked the great mass of Sabretooth, alias Victor Creed, whose donning of pelts was appropriate on his feline form, which always harbored round it the faint smell of blood, like an aura of red. His massive hands were equipped with heavy, knife-sharp claws, his mouth was full of cruelly sharp teeth, and he was hairy. He looked down at Toad with coal-black eyes.
Toad regarded him impassively. Things had changed slightly between them since the young boy, Jacob, had fallen to his death from the cliffs of the island. They rarely baited one another now, and physical run-ins were at an all-time low. The animosity, once raging within them, had subsided to a dull throb, as if the boy had taken the spark that kept it aflame and extinguished it in the icy waters where he died.
Toynbee had changed as well. During the weeks that followed the boy's death, grief and guilt had hounded him, made him weak and lethargic, until his mastery of stoicism finally kicked in again and shoved the whole thing to the very back of his mind, where he never dared to tread for fear of what lurked there. He still found a unique friend in Mystique, but she had done the same as he and both now conversed mainly for the purpose of business. True fondness and caring had muted itself and was now just shy of indifference, and idle talk had dissipated into silence and separation. They had hardened again, but the disfigurement of their ordeal was evident still: some physical, like the scars on Toad's forehead and round his neck, and some mental. Deep within they never forgot what had transpired.
Magneto never forgot, either. Jacob's power had unsettled him immensely; reminded him of when he was of that age- of that day where his will made itself known in the new emergence of his mutant powers in the death camp Auschwitz. When he looked into the defiant eyes of the boy just seconds before his death, Magneto had seen staring back at him the very same resolve and power that had regarded him from his mirror. Outwardly he was relieved when Toad killed the boy, but within he was filled with questions and perhaps even a bit of regret. What if he had lived? What would things be like now? His subjects had returned to silent obedience, and from his observations he found them rarely speaking to one another- nothing like they had been a year before.
Something had died in Toad. Even Magneto noticed it; though he paid close attention to his Brotherhood's health, lest a member be unable to work, he rarely took any notice in what took place in their lives. Toad did his work as usual, perhaps with even more attention to detail, but he seemed distant somehow. Almost distracted, but, curiously, there was nothing to distract any longer. He had become a machine.
" Have you maintenanced the air cooling unit like I asked?" Magneto inquired of Toad.
" Yes."
" Good," Eric nodded as Mystique materialized at his side, a small smile in her beautiful saffron eyes. " Now that you're all here, I have an assignment for you. There is an anti-mutant meeting that has been rumored to take place tonight in Westchester. Mystique will disguise herself and infiltrate the meeting. You two will wait outside in hiding. Her signal will be the means of your attack. Take out as many as you can, any way you see fit."
" Why would we risk bringing negative attention to mutants?" Toad could not help but ask.
Magneto smiled, a coldness creeping into the fringes of his gaze that only made itself known when he was wanting for war or revenge.
" Because I want to get Charles' attention. We have a score to settle with him."