CHAPTER SEVEN -- "FIRE AND ICE"
There were no fireworks, no dramatic explosions, not even the faintest trace of a struggle. Hank was dimly aware of his numb fingers releasing their death-grip on his bow, and he could hear the deafening noise of the useless weapon clattering to the ground moments before he even realised that he had dropped it. Unable to move, breathe, or even think, he felt his knees weakening, and forced them to lock, knowing that, if he allowed himself to fall to the ground, he would be completely unable to climb back to his feet.
Somewhere behind him, he could hear Bobby's terrified scream, followed by a sharp inhalation from Sheila; turning almost on instinct, Hank watched, overpowered by a helpless paralysis, as the colour drained, with alarming--and somewhat frightening--speed, from her already-pallid face, and she collapsed into Gambit's waiting arms.
Tiamat was dead. Tiamat the immortal. Tiamat the indestructible. Tiamat the undefeatable. The words reverberated loudly through his frozen mind, searching desperately for some rational connection, but finding nothing more than a crumbling wall of disbelief. It was not conceivable. No, worse; it was not possible. Tiamat could not die. She was immune to death, immune to everything. Even as he gazed at the smouldering remains of the Realm's greatest predator, Hank struggled to piece together an explanation for this surreal, incomprehensible turn of events. What had Venger--or, more specifically, the creature that had once been Venger--done? Hank had witnessed every last moment, every pulsing heartbeat, and yet he found himself just as lost for an explanation as Sheila, who, he knew, had closed her eyes and, fortunately, prevented herself from seeing the incomprehensible act of destruction.
It had happened so quickly. Tiamat had attacked Venger, had struck out with all that she had. Her five heads had worked in perfect synch with each other, producing a blazing maelstrom of explosive energy, directed straight at the sneering would-be Quintessence. It had been a perfect shot, and, had its victim indeed been the Force of Evil known as Venger, it would have destroyed even him. But, as it was, the attack had done nothing. The self-proclaimed Quintessence of Evil had stood in the midst of Tiamat's inferno, smiling with shameful pity at the futility of the dragon's attack. And then, without moving, without even shifting his facial features, he had destroyed her. A single beam of dark energy had released itself from his one raised hand, and it had destroyed her.
Just like that.
In that moment, Hank experienced a depth of mourning that he could neither explain nor justify. True, Tiamat had been a killer, a bloodthirsty and murderous butcher, but, in spite of this, Hank found himself entirely unable to believe that she had been truly evil. Her intents, her countless acts of bloodshed, had been solely primitive in nature; of all the violent acts that Hank had observed, none had ever been ruthless or pre-meditated attempts at murder. She had been a scavenger, a hunter, and a killer, admitted, but through all of this, she had never been anything more than a wild beast. Her destruction--as brief, incomprehensible, and horrendously silent as it had been--struck a chord of sorrow within the young Ranger that he could not understand, but which moved him to a depth that he had not thought was possible. Having spent so much time in the Realm, having endured so much pain and suffering-at his own hands, and those of others-he had long come to accept the bizarre situation that he and his friends had found themselves in, and the horrors that came along with it. Still, the gut-wrenching shock of seeing the invulnerable dragon--the selfsame dragon as had been completely unaffected by any of their magical weapons, or Venger's energy bolts--being reduced to little more than another lifeless corpse, and the knowledge that this sickening act had been allowed to occur solely due to the intervention of Hank himself, resulted in a wave of agony so pure and paralysing that he seriously began to fear for his own sanity.
He had killed her.
Not Venger. Not the Quintessence. Hank.
He felt Storm's hand on his shoulder, heard her murmuring softly at him, but could not bring himself to respond. The pain within him was too deep, too raw, too real. Tiamat was dead, and it was his fault. The indestructible had been destroyed, and he was to blame. He sank to his knees, unwilling and entirely unable to sustain his facade of strength and heroism any longer.
Tiamat had died, and with her, Hank had lost a part of himself. The part that trusted his own judgement, and held unshakable faith in his decisions, no matter what Eric or anyone else said. The part that defined who and what he was.
"Do you understand now?" whispered the Quintessence. "Are you now beginning to comprehend the true depth of my power?" Hank did not look up as the voice crooned into his mind, soothing and gentle in spite of the abusive cruelty that it was speaking. "The most powerful dragon in this insignificant Realm is no match for my awe-inspiring greatness. Is it not obvious, therefore, that you and your foolish friends have no chance against one as powerful as me? Surrender. Bow before me."
"Sorry, Bub!" Hank glanced up in a state of delirious curiosity--he was far beyond the experience of surprise--at the sound of Wolverine's vicious snarl. "I bow to no-one. It's adamantium tastin' time!"
Hank blinked the tears from his eyes as the blurred yellow-and-black streak leaped upon the back of the glowing figure, slashing at it with obvious relish. Wolverine's screams of rage were blood-chilling, and Hank was suddenly aware of Storm and Jubilee as they cried out for their comrade to cease his pointless bombardment. For the briefest of moments, Hank wondered why the mutant was not showing any signs of injury from Venger's previous attack, but before the thought was able to complete itself, he saw the distant shapes of the other X-Men and the three Young Ones also coming around, apparently unharmed. It seemed, Hank mused, not particularly caring that the idea was entirely unimportant, that the Quintessence had simply wanted to subdue the intruders while he waited for Hank and the others to show up. Yet another failure on Hank's part, allowing the sinister creature's plan to complete itself. He swore silently and wished himself dead.
"Wolverine, stop it!" cried Cyclops.
Bobby yelled out in delight at the sight of his friends staggering unsteadily to their feet. "Eric, Diana, Presto!" he yelled with unrestrained delight, and as Hank turned to look at the tear-streaked joy on the young Barbarian's face, he found himself unable to come to terms with Bobby's courage and strength; the boy remained on his feet, and his wide eyes--though filled with moisture--shone with determination. "You're all right!" His enthusiasm was refreshing, and Hank felt a weak smile lifting his features, even as his legs trembled beneath him and his fingers refused to curl around his bow. "I thought you guys were down!"
"Down," cried Diana, winking at him; her courage mingled with the young Barbarian's, offering Hank a heady combination from which to drink "But not out! When did the rest of you show up?"
Hank cleared his throat, forcing the words to escape his lips, even as the contents of his stomach threatened to join them. "About three minutes ago," he croaked, hearing his voice wavering. "I'm sorry..." He could not quite figure out what he was apologising for, whether it was the dragon's demise, his own pathetic weakness, their untimely arrival, or something completely different-although no less significant in his feverish mind. "Venger took out Tiamat," he continued, feeling tears brimming once again in his eyes at the impact of hearing the words spoken aloud, from his own lips. "We're on our own."
Eric paused in the process of helping Presto to his feet, then choked, stumbling backwards in disbelief. "*WHAT*?" he screamed. "He took her out? You mean... no more Tiamat? No more evil dragon?"
Hank nodded, swallowing his sobs; there would be time for regret later. "He took her out, Eric. Without even breaking a sweat. And he's not Venger anymore. He likes to be called the 'Quintessence of Evil'." The words were thick and heavy, weighing on both his tongue and his mind as he uttered them, watching in his mind's eye the light of his hope beginning to dwindle. "And we don't stand a chance, X-Men or no X-Men."
Wolverine was still slashing at the unresponsive Quintessence, and Cyclops was still yelling at him to stop; Hank felt a momentary rush of awe at the mundane pointlessness of these two actions. The creature was making no attempts to remove the growling mutant from his back, much to Wolverine's obvious infuriation. In a last-ditch attempt to dissuade his headstrong companion from his fruitless task, Cyclops released a searing red bolt from his visor, striking the creature at such a point that simultaneously engulfed his crackling form in glowing energy, and forced the other mutant to leap down and rejoin his companions. Hank watched this, once again dumb and emotionless.
"Foolish creatures," said the Quintessence. "Your powers are not strong enough to hurt me. I cannot be harmed by paltry energy blasts or primitive claws. Why can you not simply accept defeat?"
Snarling at Cyclops, Wolverine turned to gaze at the Quintessence with renewed passion and heightened vigour. "Why?" he snorted, retracting his claws with obvious reluctance. "*Why*? 'Cos we're still breathin', that's why! If ya want us, yer gonna have ta take us down fightin'!"
"Very well," shrugged the Quintessence. "It makes no difference whether you die struggling ineffectually against my power or pleading for your worthless lives." Once again, he reached out with one hand, and a single point of glittering energy formed at his fingertips; Hank had never seen the attack before, but the sudden gasp that left Cyclops' lips unchecked, and the panic-stricken screams that exploded out of Eric with characteristic predictability, suggested that they *had* witnessed it, and, more importantly, that it was not something Hank wanted to see. "You may wish to pray to your precious gods," he suggested, "if you believe in such things. Otherwise, prepare yourselves for death."
Hank took a breath, closing his eyes and awaiting the inevitable. The game was over; he had lost. Still shaken by the anti-climactic demise of Tiamat, he found himself unable to muster any form of emotional response to this frightening fact. Bobby and Jubilee were audibly struggling to suppress their terror, but failing in their attempts; in the same way, Hank mused deliriously, as he had failed in his attempt to save the Realm. Sheila was groaning softly, and, even with his eyes squeezed tightly shut, Hank could see her arms wrapped around Gambit's neck, and he fought a wave of bitter jealousy. Eric was wailing, and Wolverine was growling; their voices clashed painfully against each other, and the sound caused the fillings in Hank's teeth to vibrate. Storm, Diana, and Presto remained silent; Hank expected no less from Diana, and accepted Storm's stoic silence as part of her character, but Presto's lack of reaction struck Hank as faintly surprising, as the impressionable Magician was often startled by even mundane occurrences.
"Not so fast, sugar!"
Recognising the voice as belonging to the sixth member of the X-Men team, the woman named Rogue, Hank opened his eyes, blinking in surprise as he observed the mutant flying directly into the path of the energy ball. "What's she doing?" he heard himself cry, then, as the overwhelming shock of the mutant's suicide attempt finally jolted him back to the painful world of sanity, he felt his fingers finally clasping once again around his discarded bow.
Cyclops was staring open-mouthed at his comrade, and his taut features suddenly paled; Hank frowned, once again turning to stare at the hovering mutant. She was removing her gloves, smiling with confident determination. The Ranger whirled around again, searching for any kind of explanation from the other X-Men. Jubilee was squeezing Bobby's hand, fear evident in her every feature even as she struggled to sustain her facade of bravery. Storm's perfect face was twisted into a mask of panicked concern, and Hank found himself placing a hand upon her arm in an attempt to console her against a horror that he, in his half-delirious state of blissful ignorance, could not comprehend.
Gambit was crushing Sheila's fragile body against him, taking out his obvious distress on the helpless Thief as he begged his comrade to return to the safety of the ground. "Rogue!" he yelled. "It be too dangerous! Don't do it!"
The female mutant ignored his pleas, swooping towards the Quintessence with fiery dedication blazing in her emerald eyes. "Sorry, Swamp Rat," she shouted above the electric crackle of the Quintessence's blue flame. "But a gal's gotta do what a gal's gotta do." Taking a deep, frightened breath, she reached out and gripped Venger's wrist with both hands, clinging to the creature's flesh as if her life depended on it.
At first, nothing happened.
Moments later, everything happened.
"What is this?" demanded the Quintessence, smiling bemusedly. "Another attempt to stop me? Honesty, you pathetic insects really must learn to accept defeat." He made no attempt to pull the desperate mutant from his arm, even as he shook his head in reprimand at her dangerous attempt to stop him. "This foolishness is becoming extremely tedious. Could you please remove yourself from my omniscient vicinity, so that I may proceed to destroy you?" He sighed wearily as she grit her teeth and shook her head defiantly. "Very well. I shall remove you myself."
Hank raised his bow, knowing that it would do little good. "What's she doing?" he cried. "Trying to get herself killed?" He groaned and released an arrow, cursing himself as he watched it fly wide; the squealing explosion that reverberated through the room as it crashed into the far wall offered an audible confirmation of his own worthlessness. It seemed like, all of a sudden, every action he made served to remind him that he had lost his once-heroic status.
"She gonna try t'absorb his power!" Gambit managed to choke out. "She be crazy!"
"Shut it, Gumbo!" snarled Wolverine, raising a threatening fist. "She's tryin' ta save our hides! Try showin' a little respect!" He stepped back, placing a hand upon Presto's shoulder, an act that struck Hank, even at this tense and inappropriate moment, as markedly unnerving. "Watch this kid work, buddy. Y'ain't never gonna see nothin' like it again, so watch an' learn."
The Quintessence was reaching up to grip Rogue's throat tightly with his free hand; just as his fingers contacted with her skin, the strange glowing sphere in his other palm began to flicker. In the instant that the ball of energy dissolved completely, Rogue began to scream; the sound was like nothing Hank had ever heard before, so filled was it with limitless suffering. Hank certainly did not need DungeonMaster's vast wisdom to realise that the mutant's blood-curdling shrieks had no connection whatsoever to the vicelike strength with which the Quintessence held her throat.
Even as she screamed, both of their bodies choked by searing azure flames, Rogue did not once release her hold on the Quintessence's wrist; her eyes were blank, and her fire-shrouded body was wracked with violent spasms. Hank watched, sickened by this display of pure altruism, and prepared another arrow, watching as it sailed neatly towards the bubbling conflagration, and praying that his unprofessional shakiness would hold itself in check just long enough to produce one accurate shot.
Somehow, through some bizarre miracle, his prayers were answered, and the arrow slashed directly into the centre of the ominously glowing energy, striking the Quintessence in the chest, and exploding noisily on impact. It was followed in quick succession by several more, and as Hank watched his blasts striking the creature, again and again, with such perfect accuracy, he felt suddenly at a loss to explain his sudden skill--certainly, considering his current level of dissociation and the blinding nature of his target, a single direct hit would have been miraculous; to pull off so many was nothing short of impossible. As impossible, he mused-and at the thought, he felt the bow becoming heavier as it returned, almost of its own accord, to his side-as the incomprehensible demise of mighty Tiamat.
In response to the Ranger's barrage, however, Venger's body remained totally unaffected, sustaining the unnatural aura of power that surrounded him so completely, and standing as strong as ever, the sobbing mutant still clinging desperately to his arm.
"No..." wailed Rogue. "*NO*!"
"Stop it!" cried Cyclops, firing a useless blast of energy. "Damn! Storm, can't you try something? I don't care what. Anything that'll get her out of there alive, and without his mind permanently inside her!"
Nodding, Storm rose into the air, flexing her fingers as she glared at the maelstrom that enveloped both Rogue and the Quintessence. "I call upon the Arctic winds to aid me!" she shouted, and Hank was once again astonished by the power in her voice, which somehow made itself heard through all the chaos. "Freeze their actions before it is too late!" Extending her fingers towards the fire, she directed a stream of icy wind towards Rogue and her victim.
St. Elmo's Fire solidified right before Hank's eyes. The searing hot flames solidified and cracked, and within the frozen fire, Hank saw Rogue's body, rigid and unmoving, still squeezing the Quintessence's glass wrist in her crystalline fingers.
He stared dumbly at the situation, wondering briefly whether the unfortunate mutant would be able to breathe, enveloped as she was by frozen flames; the thought created no reaction within him, and he realised with pained acceptance that Tiamat's demise had drained him of all grief. He had not known the female mutant for very long, had not spoken more than five words to her, and so could not bring himself to feel anything for her, though he knew that the 'old' Hank, the caring and confident Hank, would have been able to muster even the slightest twinge of regret for her mourning companions. As it happened, though, this momentary questioning of the energetic mutant's fate was unnecessary, as it was clear, even through the semi-transparent diamond that engulfed them, that she was still breathing, and the petrified agony on her features became tighter with every beat of Hank's own heart.
The ice shattered.
Lethal slivers of blazing frost exploded in all directions, and Hank raised an arm to shield his eyes; when the deafening shriek of the eruption finally died down, the room was choked by silence. Slowly, cautiously, Hank lowered his arm and gazed upon the remains of the chaos, praying for the sake of the X-Men that no harm had come to their comrade.
Rogue was kneeling over Venger's prone body. The Quintessence lay unmoving on the ground, coated in a fine layer of ice shards and debris; at first glance, he appeared unconscious, but Hank knew from experience that, even in his non-omniscient form, Venger would never have been so easily defeated. In direct contrast to her motionless victim, Rogue was highly animated; her entire body, glowing with a power so fierce that it hurt Hank's eyes to gaze upon it, was trembling violently as she huddled over the creature's unresponsive form, and, through the deafening silence that ensued after the shattering of her frozen prison, he could hear her laboured breathing and frightened sobs.
"Chere!" cried Gambit; with terror glowing in his eerie red eyes, he gently helped Sheila to climb out of his arms, then rushed towards the whimpering Rogue. "Chere, it gonna be okay. Gambit's here now. Chere!"
"Gambit, no!" shouted Cyclops, reaching for his companion. "Stay back!"
The Cajun paused in mid-step, turning to gaze at him with desperation painted across every line on his face. "But she need Gambit..." he whispered, then, noting the hardened anxiety on the other mutant's face, moved back to stand once again beside Sheila, who took his hand and held it tight, pained empathy visible in her liquid eyes and freckled face. "It gonna be okay, Chere," he whispered over and over again. "Gambit promise. It gonna be okay."
Hank winced at the words, unable to determine whether he was addressing Sheila or attempting to communicate with the trembling Rogue, or indeed, if he was simply trying to reassure himself. In truth, though, Hank knew that it did not matter, because even as the passionate words left the Cajun's lips, Hank could see that every one of them was a bitter lie.
*****
Rage. Anger. Hatred. Death.
Freedom.
The sweet seduction of Evil.
It wrapped itself around her helpless body, drawing her close and holding her down. She could feel it inside her, and the devastating, uncontrollable power of its raging fury within her mind threatened to push her even further into the dangerous realm of insanity. She could not fight it; nothing could fight it. Not even the combined psychic powers of Jean Grey and Charles Xavier would have been able to offer even a brief challenge to such raw power, and this realisation--this sudden blinding comprehension of the purity of the Quintessence's evil--frightened her, even more than the terrifying knowledge that she was on her own in this battle.
She had always believed that her so-called mutant 'gifts' had forced her to spend her entire life in total solitude, but to suddenly gaze upon this eternity of wild and helpless loneliness, with her loved ones remaining forever distant from her separated self, made her realise the true meaning of the word 'alone'.
The creature was tearing her brain apart, crushing her consciousness, destroying her from the inside, and there was nothing that she or anyone else could do to stop it. The enemy was inside her; it was a part of herself. How could she be expected to battle an adversary that was as much a part of her as her own unstoppable willpower?
She was going to die.
The realisation came with the dulled knife-edge of carelessness, and she felt her mind's eye narrowing slightly at the suggestion; she, die? Surely that was impossible! Certainly, death was the preferable option; given the choice she would have selected it in a moment over the alternative--an eternal infinity spent alone, helpless, and insane. But she could not choose; his grip held her down, and as strong as her body was, her mind was not, and she could not resist its gentle pull.
Like a moth to the flame, a guppy to the boundless ocean, she was drawn to it. Its evil tempted her, seduced her, nurtured her. She had allowed herself to be swallowed by evil many times before, she knew, but this situation was different. Through the pain, the terror, the subconscious smell of her own blood--blood that she had not shed--she enjoyed it. This unnatural being, this ethereal manifestation of fury, was like nothing she had ever felt before. Its mind, that breathtaking power exploding maddeningly within her mind--to an extent far deeper than any of her previous 'victims'--felt *right*. The Quintessence belonged inside her. They belonged together, forever as one almighty cataclysm of unadulterated, unstoppable POWER.
Their oneness was destined to be.
And so it would be.
She stood up, feeling the surge of newfound strength pulsing through her body. Distantly, she could hear Scott, Logan, and the others calling her name, but she could not respond to them. With the tentative innocence of a child, she extended her arms, gazing at them with no recognition. They were glowing with a dazzling intensity, engulfed in the selfsame flames that had covered the Quintessence in the moments before she had drained him; they were his arms, not hers.
"No!" she heard herself shouting, but the voice was not hers. "I shall not be defeated. The power is mine, and your futile attempts to stop me shall inevitably be quashed. Surrender now, and bow before me."
She fought the power, fought the howling spectre of his mind, suppressed it. She gripped it tightly, holding it down in the same way as the creature's evil temptation had forced down her fighting spirit. This one would not become a part of her. Still, even as her mind struggled to regain control of itself, her clenched fingers exploded, sending countless balls of crackling lightning in all directions; some small part of her was faintly aware of her friends and the Young Ones crying out and diving for cover, but it was no more than a tiny and unimportant fragment of the twisted monster that she had become, and as such, was easily dismissed; against her conscious effort, in spite of her struggle to keep the mania inside, her lips parted, and a cold, emotionless laugh escaped them.
Her mind was clouding over; she could no longer recall her own name, or those of the pathetic insects that scattered beneath the force of her all-powerful supremacy. Suddenly, and with no conceivable change, nothing mattered. Those microscopic beasts were nothing to her; what did she care if her newfound powers destroyed them? Her abused and exhausted mind found itself unable to summon the strength to *feel*. Her thoughts were filled with blood and power, and everything else was irrelevant. What was wrong with her? It was not merely the Quintessence's presence inside her mind, *he* was doing nothing. This hatred, this blind carelessness was the product of her own thoughts, her feelings, her malevolence.
Her evil.
Screaming breathlessly she leaped into the air, throwing her airborne body into the nearest wall again and again, in an attempt to quell the rising insanity; she needed to be *herself* for a moment, to be able to think. The Quintessence was no longer a threat, but *she* was. She needed to control the searing evil that burned so fiercely within the fragmented chaos of her mind. And if this meant destroying the physical being that contained all of this destruction, then so be it.
*****
Gambit felt like he was dreaming. The entire adventure had been laced with a surreal sense of nightmarish unreality, and as he watched Rogue, engulfed in blazing fire, screaming and hurling herself as hard as she could against the nearest wall, he found himself praying that he would wake up. Never in his life had he allowed something as trivial as a nightmare to so move him, but this... *this* did. Indeed, the sharp pressure of Sheila's fingernails digging into the palm of his hand was evidence enough of the painful reality of this deadly situation, and he reached into his trenchcoat, feeling for a card. This was no nightmare, and it hurt him more than he could express to realise this.
The six Young Ones, as well as Cyclops and the other X-Men, were all focused on the unmoving form of the Quintessence, glancing up at brief intervals to gaze upon Rogue's howling frenzy, but Gambit was completely unable to tear his eyes from her glowing body. The Quintessence, after all, was not about to get up and walk away, and so the Cajun saw no benefit in watching him. Cyclops and the Young Ones would find a way of dealing with him--preferably before his powers re-manifested themselves--and so Gambit gratefully took the freedom of not being watched to edge his way over towards the raging Rogue.
"Chere," he called softly, allowing his deep love for her to show through in that one simple word. "Chere..."
She paused in her attack on the wall and turned to glare at him, face suddenly void of all things human, eyes little more than liquid reflections of the conflagration that engulfed her body. "Be gone, Insignificant One," she snarled, raising a hand, and directing a bolt of frost-coloured energy towards him. He stared in disbelief, then leaped backwards and watched fearfully as the ground where he had been standing mere moments earlier exploded loudly, projecting debris in all directions.
"Chere, it's Gambit!" he cried, yelling out as she prepared her fingertips for another blast. "Stop this, Rogue! That power be controlling you... You gotta fight it, Chere! Gambit needs you... please come back."
Almost in response to his pleas, her screams became louder, harsher, more pain-filled. Shaking in response to the motion, her fingers moved of their own accord, releasing another searing bolt towards him. Gambit cried out and dodged, knowing deep inside him that she--somewhere deep inside that tormented body--was struggling in a life-and-death battle against the power that held so tightly to her consciousness. She would not leave him without a fight, he knew. She couldn't.
He still could not believe that she had tried-much less, actually succeeded-to absorb this supernatural being's power. He, in the instant that she had contacted with the creature's skin, had been certain that the attempt would fail and she would die. Gazing upon her helpless features, knowing that, somewhere inside that tortured mind lurked his beloved Chere, he found himself wondering if, perhaps, death would have been the less painful option for her.
"Gambit, stop fooling around!" snapped Cyclops, glaring up at the Cajun from where he and the others still frowned cautiously at the unconscious Quintessence. "We need your help over here."
Muttering under his breath, and turning to offer one last lingering gaze at his Southern Belle, he moved to join Scott. "Gambit wasn't fooling around," he growled. "Gambit was tryin' ta help Rogue. You remember, your team-mate? The one with all that evil power inside of her?" He rolled his eyes in disgust.
"Now is not the time, Gambit," Scott said angrily. "We need to deal with this guy *now* before he gets his powers back." He turned to face Hank and the other Young Ones. "So how do we go about doing it?"
Everybody looked at everybody else. After several moments of painful silence, Hank cleared his throat. "I don't know," he admitted, with obvious embarrassment; Gambit frowned at his weak voice. He had seen the Ranger's momentary collapse during the previous battle, and found himself wondering if indeed the poor boy would survive to see the end of the confrontation; his previous unshakable dignity was no more, and it had destroyed his once-incomparable spirit. "He's never had his power drained before, at least not that *we've* been witness to. We don't even know if he's still invulnerable." Frowning slightly, he took a breath. "The most important thing, I guess, would be to restrain him, so that if he did get his powers back, he'd still be subdued... well, for a minute or two anyway." He turned to the Magician, and Gambit once again noted the emptiness in his expressive eyes. "Presto?"
Turning crimson, the Magician removed his hat, stammering slightly before bursting into verse. "Uhh... Venger's going to make us frown, so give me something to hold him down!" He grinned around at his comrades, and Gambit grunted as Wolverine mock-punched the boy's arm. "Uhh, not one of my better spells..." he admitted, blushing even deeper. "But what do you guys expect? I'm under pressure here..."
The hat glowed magenta for a few seconds, then forcefully spewed several heavy iron chains onto the Quintessence's unresponsive body, considerately fastening them tightly to the floor. Gambit blinked, undeniably impressed, even as Jubilee broke in with traditional childish sarcasm. "That's one cool hat you've got there," she said with a grin, "but do you *really* think those little things are gonna be able to hold that guy down when his powers come back?"
Wolverine smirked and extended his claws. "The kid's right," he said, glancing momentarily back at Rogue, whose attacks on the wall were causing huge cracks to appear in the stonework. "Let's waste this jerk before he gets the chance to do any more damage!" Making a conscious effort not to look at Cyclops, he held his arm high.
"Logan, stop this," Storm said gently, placing a restraining hand on his arm as he began to bring it down towards the Quintessence's chest. "You know that murder is never the solution to a problem, even one as serious as this."
Snarling, Wolverine shook her hand off. "Are you nuts?" he cried. "Even that weird little freak Dungeon Person said that this guy is pure evil! What the hell could it possibly benefit anyone by letting him live? Ya think he's gonna sit up and say 'I've seen the errors of my ways, and I promise to be a good little boy from now on'? Get real, willya! We gotta take him out *now*!"
"You know I hate to admit it," Eric spoke up, speaking exclusively to Hank, "but I'm with the primate on this one. We've been hunted down by Venger ever since we got dumped in this stupid world. Now it's payback time. I say we let the big monkey take a swing, and if we're real lucky, he might just hit his target, and we'll have one less Force of Evil to deal with."
Logan growled, but Cyclops held him back. "Stop it. Storm's right. As long as there are other options, we aren't going to kill him." Sighing tightly, he looked desperately at the Young Ones. "Any ideas?"
Hank and Diana looked at each other, shrugging in perfect unison. Sheila gripped her little brother's shoulders, and Gambit fought the urge to take her once again into his arms. Bobby was gazing helplessly around him, seemingly unable to fix on everything, wide-eyed terror in his eyes as he moved away from the protection of his sister's embrace, and took Jubilee's hand; the young mutant also had frightened disbelief in her dark eyes as she squeezed his hand in response. Eric rolled his eyes and winked at Wolverine, who in turn flashed his claws dangerously. Presto too was looking at Wolverine, but his eyes held something deep, something that Gambit had never seen from anyone who had known Logan for more than five seconds: Trust.
"I don't know," Hank said softly, and his bow was shaking as he gripped it with white-knuckle. "We've never been in this situation before. Venger's never been this powerful, the entire Realm has never been at stake... He's never been at our mercy before!" As he spoke, his voice became louder, and the self-contempt that seemed to be constantly bubbling beneath the surface trickled through the cracks in his defence, as they had moments before during the heat of the battle; there was no doubt about it, Gambit thought. The great hero was beginning to crumble. "We're out of out depth here, just like you guys. Why don't you think of a better solution?"
Storm gripped his shoulder very gently, as Gambit had seen her do several times since the beginning of their adventure. "Be strong, my friend," she said, speaking very quietly. "It is all right."
Hank nodded, though it was obvious from the torment on his face that knew all too well that 'it' was far from all right. He sank to his knees staring with bitter hatred at the unconscious Quintessence, and Diana moved to place a hand on his arm, saying nothing but visibly reassuring him nonetheless. "I don't know," he said after a few moments, and his stoic leader's mind had slipped perfectly back into place, though Gambit found himself wondering sadly how long the boy's facade would endure for *this* time. "I don't want to kill him unless we really have to." He glanced briefly back at Bobby and Jubilee. "I'm not sure I *could* kill him... There has to be another way, another solution, another answer."
"Like what?" demanded Wolverine. "You want us to wait until he gets his powers back, then just go up and *ask* him if there's anythin' that can take them out without destroyin' him? Yeah, right. We gotta strike now!"
Gambit looked back to Rogue; the flickering flames that still engulfed her seemed to be growing in intensity, writhing over her body like so many snakes. Her face, contorted with pain as it was, still held that characteristic air of courageous pride, and Gambit felt the agony in his heart at seeing her so devastated ascending to a new level; in that moment, he agreed with Wolverine, wholly and completely for possibly the first time in his life. The Quintessence must be destroyed. For the Realm, for Wolverine, and for the long-suffering Young Ones. For all that was good or worth fighting to preserve. For everyone and everything that had ever known true fear, or at any time, trembled helplessly before a superior enemy. For peace and purity.
For Rogue.
He didn't say anything out loud; though his mind was made up, he could not find the words to express his opinion. Instead, he turned back to the others, forcing his eyes not to linger on Rogue's wild delirium, and listened for any signs of support in either direction of the life-or-death debate. Everybody, all ten of them, seemed torn in some way. Though they had all clearly taken sides, it was evident by the uncertainty on their faces that they could, with worryingly little effort, be swayed.
All of them, except Hank and Wolverine. The two extremists. Hank stood on one side of the unmoving Quintessence, hands shaking with determination as he glared at Logan with unwavering certainty. Beside him stood Storm, Cyclops, and Diana, and behind them Bobby and Jubilee whimpered. Wolverine snarled from the other side of the creature's unconscious form; Presto stood proudly by the headstrong mutant's side, shaking his head sadly. Gambit stood a little way back from the growling Wolverine, still gripping Sheila's hands tightly in his own. A slight distance away, but clearly having accepted Logan's standpoint, in spite of the obvious antipathy between the two, Eric stood, gazing at his former leader with pained apology.
"Hank, I'm sorry," whispered Sheila, moving a little closer to Gambit. "But Wolverine and Eric are right. We were sent here to put a stop to the evil, and we have to do it. This has to end, right now, before it gets the chance to do any more damage."
The Ranger gazed at her with heartbroken betrayal, as if his entire world had collapsed through those words. "Sheila..." His voice was choked with pain. "Of all people... how could you--" he broke off, unable to finish.
Sheila turned away, burying her face in the Cajun's long coat. Gambit held her gently. "Easy, Chere," he whispered, feeling her trembling as he ran his fingers through her red hair. "It gonna be okay, Gambit promise." She looked up at him, eyes overflowing with tears, and, for the briefest of moments, a tremulous smile touched her lips. Gambit hugged her tighter, entirely unable to resist the urge to protect this frightened little girl, in spite of the pain in his heart as he recalled uttering those same words to Rogue, what seemed to be only a few scant moments ago, with deeper feeling than he had ever experienced in his life. Still, he held Sheila's trembling body in his arms, murmuring gentle reassurances into her ears as she fought to remain strong. "It be the only way, Mes Amis," he said softly, turning to gaze unhappily at Hank and Cyclops.
"No it isn't!" shouted Diana, and would have stepped over the Quintessence's unmoving body and taken the Cajun by the throat had Hank not held her back. "You cowards! You're too scared to try and think of something better!" Pushing Hank's restraining hands away with violence, she stepped forwards, approaching not Gambit but Wolverine, and staring him down with impressive determination. "You're just looking for the fastest way out of a situation that scares you, and screw the consequences!"
Wolverine raised a threatening fist. "Watch yer mouth, kid, before I remove it" he snarled. "I ain't scared of nothin'. I'm just lookin' at this creep lyin' unconscious an' at our mercy, an' I'm wonderin' what the hell you lightweights think yer doin' standin' around and discussin' the Meaning of Life and trash like that! This ain't some stupid game. If that jerk gets his powers back, we're all gonna be dead, so I say we waste him before he gets the chance!"
"He's a *living being*, Logan," Cyclops said softly, stepping forwards and pulling the furious mutant away from the girl before either of them did something that they would regret. "No matter what he's done, what he's going to do, we *can't* just kill him without making sure there's no other way around it. You're crazy if you think I'm going to stand back and let you play God with this guy's life, irregardless of what he's threatened to do. If you'll think for a second, you'll realise that he *hasn't* killed anyone yet, and talk is cheap." He stepped back, looking at Hank and his friends. "*And*, in case you haven't noticed, these guys are still alive after who-knows how long fighting against him."
Presto shook his head, gazing at Hank, Diana, and Bobby with shadowed eyes. "Yeah, well... maybe..." he admitted reluctantly. "But he said himself that he's not Venger anymore. Who knows what this 'Quintessence' will do to us when he comes around." He paused, swallowing hard. "I'm not happy about it, either... but if it needs to be done, then it needs to be done."
"But it *doesn't*!" cried Diana.
"Yes, it does."
Hank whirled around, stunned, and Gambit groaned as he recognised the soft-spoken voice of the old man that had greeted them upon their arrival to the Realm, the man that called himself DungeonMaster.
"D-DungeonMaster...?" Bobby whispered, squeezing Jubilee's hand harder. "You think we should kill him? Even after everything you've taught us...?"
DungeonMaster stepped out from non-existent shadows, moving to survey the unmoving creature. "My dear pupils," he whispered. "You must understand... The Evil that you are battling is far greater than anything any of you could imagine. It must be destroyed before it has the chance to rejuvenate and grow. Do you not think that I would offer a peaceable solution, if one existed?" He lowered his face, looking at his pupils with obvious sadness. "There is no other way."
"No," said Storm. "This cannot be true. There is always peace, even in the darkest of situations." She moved to kneel gracefully beside the old man's hunched figure, begging him unabashedly. "I cannot believe that this situation cannot be resolved without the use of thoughtless violence. Even those of pure evil do not deserve to be carelessly slaughtered. I will not allow these children to be forced to commit such an unjustifiable act." She stared at him, eyes burning with characteristic passion.
He shook his head, tears in his eyes. "I wish that was possible," he said, almost inaudibly. "But this is beyond peace and war, violence, slaughter, light and darkness. There is nothing more. Only evil. And evil must be vanquished, at all costs, or everything that you have fought for, and everything that I have surrendered my life to protect, will be destroyed. I am sorry, truly I am...but I *cannot* allow that to happen. This is not murder, it is the protection of all that is pure and good in the Realm." His depthless eyes moved over each of the Young Ones in turn, ignoring the X-Men--an act that struck Gambit as decidedly rude, but he did not protest--and the expression in those ancient depths changed slightly as he gazed at each of them, speaking their names in turn.
"Bobby." Sorrow and deep, deep pity; pain at seeing one so young grappling with such terrifying monsters. Unspoken apologies, regret. So innocent, yet wise so far beyond his years. The young Barbarian.
"Sheila." Understanding, acceptance; a sense of loving sympathy, and a similar degree of apology. Desperation, compassion, and, above all, hope. So frightened, yet so profoundly brave. The gentle Thief.
"Presto." Contentment, satisfaction; silent and cherished approval. Praise, support, and appreciation. Calmness, a silent and passionate expression of honour, faith, and dedication. The thoughtful Magician.
"Eric." Gentleness, empathy; paternal love, devoted friendship. Forgiveness. A bittersweet mingling of long-enduring cruelty and hard-earned respect shared equally among the two. The honest Cavalier.
"Diana." Trust, dignity; unobtrusive and covert encouragement. Pride overshadowing everything else. A blazing, incomprehensible depth of faith, passion, and respect. The courageous Acrobat.
"Hank." Inspiration, purity; admiration beyond all measure. Warmth, intimacy, kinship. A love so pure and unadulterated that it could not be rivalled by even the most doting of fathers. The heroic Ranger.
Gambit stumbled back in shock at the determination, the pained certainty in the old man's voice as he spoke the names of his dumbstruck young pupils. It was agonising to behold, even to one as ignorant as Gambit. The discomfort at seeing this wise ancient so reduced wrenched at the Cajun's heart, even more than the sight of Rogue finally breaking through the wall and collapsing through the crumbling bricks. As his eyes finally fell upon Hank, DungeonMaster stopped, staring at the boy with an intensity that pained even Gambit, a mere witness to the intangible explosions of passion. "Hank. Destroy him. Now."
*****
There were no fireworks, no dramatic explosions, not even the faintest trace of a struggle. Hank was dimly aware of his numb fingers releasing their death-grip on his bow, and he could hear the deafening noise of the useless weapon clattering to the ground moments before he even realised that he had dropped it. Unable to move, breathe, or even think, he felt his knees weakening, and forced them to lock, knowing that, if he allowed himself to fall to the ground, he would be completely unable to climb back to his feet.
Somewhere behind him, he could hear Bobby's terrified scream, followed by a sharp inhalation from Sheila; turning almost on instinct, Hank watched, overpowered by a helpless paralysis, as the colour drained, with alarming--and somewhat frightening--speed, from her already-pallid face, and she collapsed into Gambit's waiting arms.
Tiamat was dead. Tiamat the immortal. Tiamat the indestructible. Tiamat the undefeatable. The words reverberated loudly through his frozen mind, searching desperately for some rational connection, but finding nothing more than a crumbling wall of disbelief. It was not conceivable. No, worse; it was not possible. Tiamat could not die. She was immune to death, immune to everything. Even as he gazed at the smouldering remains of the Realm's greatest predator, Hank struggled to piece together an explanation for this surreal, incomprehensible turn of events. What had Venger--or, more specifically, the creature that had once been Venger--done? Hank had witnessed every last moment, every pulsing heartbeat, and yet he found himself just as lost for an explanation as Sheila, who, he knew, had closed her eyes and, fortunately, prevented herself from seeing the incomprehensible act of destruction.
It had happened so quickly. Tiamat had attacked Venger, had struck out with all that she had. Her five heads had worked in perfect synch with each other, producing a blazing maelstrom of explosive energy, directed straight at the sneering would-be Quintessence. It had been a perfect shot, and, had its victim indeed been the Force of Evil known as Venger, it would have destroyed even him. But, as it was, the attack had done nothing. The self-proclaimed Quintessence of Evil had stood in the midst of Tiamat's inferno, smiling with shameful pity at the futility of the dragon's attack. And then, without moving, without even shifting his facial features, he had destroyed her. A single beam of dark energy had released itself from his one raised hand, and it had destroyed her.
Just like that.
In that moment, Hank experienced a depth of mourning that he could neither explain nor justify. True, Tiamat had been a killer, a bloodthirsty and murderous butcher, but, in spite of this, Hank found himself entirely unable to believe that she had been truly evil. Her intents, her countless acts of bloodshed, had been solely primitive in nature; of all the violent acts that Hank had observed, none had ever been ruthless or pre-meditated attempts at murder. She had been a scavenger, a hunter, and a killer, admitted, but through all of this, she had never been anything more than a wild beast. Her destruction--as brief, incomprehensible, and horrendously silent as it had been--struck a chord of sorrow within the young Ranger that he could not understand, but which moved him to a depth that he had not thought was possible. Having spent so much time in the Realm, having endured so much pain and suffering-at his own hands, and those of others-he had long come to accept the bizarre situation that he and his friends had found themselves in, and the horrors that came along with it. Still, the gut-wrenching shock of seeing the invulnerable dragon--the selfsame dragon as had been completely unaffected by any of their magical weapons, or Venger's energy bolts--being reduced to little more than another lifeless corpse, and the knowledge that this sickening act had been allowed to occur solely due to the intervention of Hank himself, resulted in a wave of agony so pure and paralysing that he seriously began to fear for his own sanity.
He had killed her.
Not Venger. Not the Quintessence. Hank.
He felt Storm's hand on his shoulder, heard her murmuring softly at him, but could not bring himself to respond. The pain within him was too deep, too raw, too real. Tiamat was dead, and it was his fault. The indestructible had been destroyed, and he was to blame. He sank to his knees, unwilling and entirely unable to sustain his facade of strength and heroism any longer.
Tiamat had died, and with her, Hank had lost a part of himself. The part that trusted his own judgement, and held unshakable faith in his decisions, no matter what Eric or anyone else said. The part that defined who and what he was.
"Do you understand now?" whispered the Quintessence. "Are you now beginning to comprehend the true depth of my power?" Hank did not look up as the voice crooned into his mind, soothing and gentle in spite of the abusive cruelty that it was speaking. "The most powerful dragon in this insignificant Realm is no match for my awe-inspiring greatness. Is it not obvious, therefore, that you and your foolish friends have no chance against one as powerful as me? Surrender. Bow before me."
"Sorry, Bub!" Hank glanced up in a state of delirious curiosity--he was far beyond the experience of surprise--at the sound of Wolverine's vicious snarl. "I bow to no-one. It's adamantium tastin' time!"
Hank blinked the tears from his eyes as the blurred yellow-and-black streak leaped upon the back of the glowing figure, slashing at it with obvious relish. Wolverine's screams of rage were blood-chilling, and Hank was suddenly aware of Storm and Jubilee as they cried out for their comrade to cease his pointless bombardment. For the briefest of moments, Hank wondered why the mutant was not showing any signs of injury from Venger's previous attack, but before the thought was able to complete itself, he saw the distant shapes of the other X-Men and the three Young Ones also coming around, apparently unharmed. It seemed, Hank mused, not particularly caring that the idea was entirely unimportant, that the Quintessence had simply wanted to subdue the intruders while he waited for Hank and the others to show up. Yet another failure on Hank's part, allowing the sinister creature's plan to complete itself. He swore silently and wished himself dead.
"Wolverine, stop it!" cried Cyclops.
Bobby yelled out in delight at the sight of his friends staggering unsteadily to their feet. "Eric, Diana, Presto!" he yelled with unrestrained delight, and as Hank turned to look at the tear-streaked joy on the young Barbarian's face, he found himself unable to come to terms with Bobby's courage and strength; the boy remained on his feet, and his wide eyes--though filled with moisture--shone with determination. "You're all right!" His enthusiasm was refreshing, and Hank felt a weak smile lifting his features, even as his legs trembled beneath him and his fingers refused to curl around his bow. "I thought you guys were down!"
"Down," cried Diana, winking at him; her courage mingled with the young Barbarian's, offering Hank a heady combination from which to drink "But not out! When did the rest of you show up?"
Hank cleared his throat, forcing the words to escape his lips, even as the contents of his stomach threatened to join them. "About three minutes ago," he croaked, hearing his voice wavering. "I'm sorry..." He could not quite figure out what he was apologising for, whether it was the dragon's demise, his own pathetic weakness, their untimely arrival, or something completely different-although no less significant in his feverish mind. "Venger took out Tiamat," he continued, feeling tears brimming once again in his eyes at the impact of hearing the words spoken aloud, from his own lips. "We're on our own."
Eric paused in the process of helping Presto to his feet, then choked, stumbling backwards in disbelief. "*WHAT*?" he screamed. "He took her out? You mean... no more Tiamat? No more evil dragon?"
Hank nodded, swallowing his sobs; there would be time for regret later. "He took her out, Eric. Without even breaking a sweat. And he's not Venger anymore. He likes to be called the 'Quintessence of Evil'." The words were thick and heavy, weighing on both his tongue and his mind as he uttered them, watching in his mind's eye the light of his hope beginning to dwindle. "And we don't stand a chance, X-Men or no X-Men."
Wolverine was still slashing at the unresponsive Quintessence, and Cyclops was still yelling at him to stop; Hank felt a momentary rush of awe at the mundane pointlessness of these two actions. The creature was making no attempts to remove the growling mutant from his back, much to Wolverine's obvious infuriation. In a last-ditch attempt to dissuade his headstrong companion from his fruitless task, Cyclops released a searing red bolt from his visor, striking the creature at such a point that simultaneously engulfed his crackling form in glowing energy, and forced the other mutant to leap down and rejoin his companions. Hank watched this, once again dumb and emotionless.
"Foolish creatures," said the Quintessence. "Your powers are not strong enough to hurt me. I cannot be harmed by paltry energy blasts or primitive claws. Why can you not simply accept defeat?"
Snarling at Cyclops, Wolverine turned to gaze at the Quintessence with renewed passion and heightened vigour. "Why?" he snorted, retracting his claws with obvious reluctance. "*Why*? 'Cos we're still breathin', that's why! If ya want us, yer gonna have ta take us down fightin'!"
"Very well," shrugged the Quintessence. "It makes no difference whether you die struggling ineffectually against my power or pleading for your worthless lives." Once again, he reached out with one hand, and a single point of glittering energy formed at his fingertips; Hank had never seen the attack before, but the sudden gasp that left Cyclops' lips unchecked, and the panic-stricken screams that exploded out of Eric with characteristic predictability, suggested that they *had* witnessed it, and, more importantly, that it was not something Hank wanted to see. "You may wish to pray to your precious gods," he suggested, "if you believe in such things. Otherwise, prepare yourselves for death."
Hank took a breath, closing his eyes and awaiting the inevitable. The game was over; he had lost. Still shaken by the anti-climactic demise of Tiamat, he found himself unable to muster any form of emotional response to this frightening fact. Bobby and Jubilee were audibly struggling to suppress their terror, but failing in their attempts; in the same way, Hank mused deliriously, as he had failed in his attempt to save the Realm. Sheila was groaning softly, and, even with his eyes squeezed tightly shut, Hank could see her arms wrapped around Gambit's neck, and he fought a wave of bitter jealousy. Eric was wailing, and Wolverine was growling; their voices clashed painfully against each other, and the sound caused the fillings in Hank's teeth to vibrate. Storm, Diana, and Presto remained silent; Hank expected no less from Diana, and accepted Storm's stoic silence as part of her character, but Presto's lack of reaction struck Hank as faintly surprising, as the impressionable Magician was often startled by even mundane occurrences.
"Not so fast, sugar!"
Recognising the voice as belonging to the sixth member of the X-Men team, the woman named Rogue, Hank opened his eyes, blinking in surprise as he observed the mutant flying directly into the path of the energy ball. "What's she doing?" he heard himself cry, then, as the overwhelming shock of the mutant's suicide attempt finally jolted him back to the painful world of sanity, he felt his fingers finally clasping once again around his discarded bow.
Cyclops was staring open-mouthed at his comrade, and his taut features suddenly paled; Hank frowned, once again turning to stare at the hovering mutant. She was removing her gloves, smiling with confident determination. The Ranger whirled around again, searching for any kind of explanation from the other X-Men. Jubilee was squeezing Bobby's hand, fear evident in her every feature even as she struggled to sustain her facade of bravery. Storm's perfect face was twisted into a mask of panicked concern, and Hank found himself placing a hand upon her arm in an attempt to console her against a horror that he, in his half-delirious state of blissful ignorance, could not comprehend.
Gambit was crushing Sheila's fragile body against him, taking out his obvious distress on the helpless Thief as he begged his comrade to return to the safety of the ground. "Rogue!" he yelled. "It be too dangerous! Don't do it!"
The female mutant ignored his pleas, swooping towards the Quintessence with fiery dedication blazing in her emerald eyes. "Sorry, Swamp Rat," she shouted above the electric crackle of the Quintessence's blue flame. "But a gal's gotta do what a gal's gotta do." Taking a deep, frightened breath, she reached out and gripped Venger's wrist with both hands, clinging to the creature's flesh as if her life depended on it.
At first, nothing happened.
Moments later, everything happened.
"What is this?" demanded the Quintessence, smiling bemusedly. "Another attempt to stop me? Honesty, you pathetic insects really must learn to accept defeat." He made no attempt to pull the desperate mutant from his arm, even as he shook his head in reprimand at her dangerous attempt to stop him. "This foolishness is becoming extremely tedious. Could you please remove yourself from my omniscient vicinity, so that I may proceed to destroy you?" He sighed wearily as she grit her teeth and shook her head defiantly. "Very well. I shall remove you myself."
Hank raised his bow, knowing that it would do little good. "What's she doing?" he cried. "Trying to get herself killed?" He groaned and released an arrow, cursing himself as he watched it fly wide; the squealing explosion that reverberated through the room as it crashed into the far wall offered an audible confirmation of his own worthlessness. It seemed like, all of a sudden, every action he made served to remind him that he had lost his once-heroic status.
"She gonna try t'absorb his power!" Gambit managed to choke out. "She be crazy!"
"Shut it, Gumbo!" snarled Wolverine, raising a threatening fist. "She's tryin' ta save our hides! Try showin' a little respect!" He stepped back, placing a hand upon Presto's shoulder, an act that struck Hank, even at this tense and inappropriate moment, as markedly unnerving. "Watch this kid work, buddy. Y'ain't never gonna see nothin' like it again, so watch an' learn."
The Quintessence was reaching up to grip Rogue's throat tightly with his free hand; just as his fingers contacted with her skin, the strange glowing sphere in his other palm began to flicker. In the instant that the ball of energy dissolved completely, Rogue began to scream; the sound was like nothing Hank had ever heard before, so filled was it with limitless suffering. Hank certainly did not need DungeonMaster's vast wisdom to realise that the mutant's blood-curdling shrieks had no connection whatsoever to the vicelike strength with which the Quintessence held her throat.
Even as she screamed, both of their bodies choked by searing azure flames, Rogue did not once release her hold on the Quintessence's wrist; her eyes were blank, and her fire-shrouded body was wracked with violent spasms. Hank watched, sickened by this display of pure altruism, and prepared another arrow, watching as it sailed neatly towards the bubbling conflagration, and praying that his unprofessional shakiness would hold itself in check just long enough to produce one accurate shot.
Somehow, through some bizarre miracle, his prayers were answered, and the arrow slashed directly into the centre of the ominously glowing energy, striking the Quintessence in the chest, and exploding noisily on impact. It was followed in quick succession by several more, and as Hank watched his blasts striking the creature, again and again, with such perfect accuracy, he felt suddenly at a loss to explain his sudden skill--certainly, considering his current level of dissociation and the blinding nature of his target, a single direct hit would have been miraculous; to pull off so many was nothing short of impossible. As impossible, he mused-and at the thought, he felt the bow becoming heavier as it returned, almost of its own accord, to his side-as the incomprehensible demise of mighty Tiamat.
In response to the Ranger's barrage, however, Venger's body remained totally unaffected, sustaining the unnatural aura of power that surrounded him so completely, and standing as strong as ever, the sobbing mutant still clinging desperately to his arm.
"No..." wailed Rogue. "*NO*!"
"Stop it!" cried Cyclops, firing a useless blast of energy. "Damn! Storm, can't you try something? I don't care what. Anything that'll get her out of there alive, and without his mind permanently inside her!"
Nodding, Storm rose into the air, flexing her fingers as she glared at the maelstrom that enveloped both Rogue and the Quintessence. "I call upon the Arctic winds to aid me!" she shouted, and Hank was once again astonished by the power in her voice, which somehow made itself heard through all the chaos. "Freeze their actions before it is too late!" Extending her fingers towards the fire, she directed a stream of icy wind towards Rogue and her victim.
St. Elmo's Fire solidified right before Hank's eyes. The searing hot flames solidified and cracked, and within the frozen fire, Hank saw Rogue's body, rigid and unmoving, still squeezing the Quintessence's glass wrist in her crystalline fingers.
He stared dumbly at the situation, wondering briefly whether the unfortunate mutant would be able to breathe, enveloped as she was by frozen flames; the thought created no reaction within him, and he realised with pained acceptance that Tiamat's demise had drained him of all grief. He had not known the female mutant for very long, had not spoken more than five words to her, and so could not bring himself to feel anything for her, though he knew that the 'old' Hank, the caring and confident Hank, would have been able to muster even the slightest twinge of regret for her mourning companions. As it happened, though, this momentary questioning of the energetic mutant's fate was unnecessary, as it was clear, even through the semi-transparent diamond that engulfed them, that she was still breathing, and the petrified agony on her features became tighter with every beat of Hank's own heart.
The ice shattered.
Lethal slivers of blazing frost exploded in all directions, and Hank raised an arm to shield his eyes; when the deafening shriek of the eruption finally died down, the room was choked by silence. Slowly, cautiously, Hank lowered his arm and gazed upon the remains of the chaos, praying for the sake of the X-Men that no harm had come to their comrade.
Rogue was kneeling over Venger's prone body. The Quintessence lay unmoving on the ground, coated in a fine layer of ice shards and debris; at first glance, he appeared unconscious, but Hank knew from experience that, even in his non-omniscient form, Venger would never have been so easily defeated. In direct contrast to her motionless victim, Rogue was highly animated; her entire body, glowing with a power so fierce that it hurt Hank's eyes to gaze upon it, was trembling violently as she huddled over the creature's unresponsive form, and, through the deafening silence that ensued after the shattering of her frozen prison, he could hear her laboured breathing and frightened sobs.
"Chere!" cried Gambit; with terror glowing in his eerie red eyes, he gently helped Sheila to climb out of his arms, then rushed towards the whimpering Rogue. "Chere, it gonna be okay. Gambit's here now. Chere!"
"Gambit, no!" shouted Cyclops, reaching for his companion. "Stay back!"
The Cajun paused in mid-step, turning to gaze at him with desperation painted across every line on his face. "But she need Gambit..." he whispered, then, noting the hardened anxiety on the other mutant's face, moved back to stand once again beside Sheila, who took his hand and held it tight, pained empathy visible in her liquid eyes and freckled face. "It gonna be okay, Chere," he whispered over and over again. "Gambit promise. It gonna be okay."
Hank winced at the words, unable to determine whether he was addressing Sheila or attempting to communicate with the trembling Rogue, or indeed, if he was simply trying to reassure himself. In truth, though, Hank knew that it did not matter, because even as the passionate words left the Cajun's lips, Hank could see that every one of them was a bitter lie.
*****
Rage. Anger. Hatred. Death.
Freedom.
The sweet seduction of Evil.
It wrapped itself around her helpless body, drawing her close and holding her down. She could feel it inside her, and the devastating, uncontrollable power of its raging fury within her mind threatened to push her even further into the dangerous realm of insanity. She could not fight it; nothing could fight it. Not even the combined psychic powers of Jean Grey and Charles Xavier would have been able to offer even a brief challenge to such raw power, and this realisation--this sudden blinding comprehension of the purity of the Quintessence's evil--frightened her, even more than the terrifying knowledge that she was on her own in this battle.
She had always believed that her so-called mutant 'gifts' had forced her to spend her entire life in total solitude, but to suddenly gaze upon this eternity of wild and helpless loneliness, with her loved ones remaining forever distant from her separated self, made her realise the true meaning of the word 'alone'.
The creature was tearing her brain apart, crushing her consciousness, destroying her from the inside, and there was nothing that she or anyone else could do to stop it. The enemy was inside her; it was a part of herself. How could she be expected to battle an adversary that was as much a part of her as her own unstoppable willpower?
She was going to die.
The realisation came with the dulled knife-edge of carelessness, and she felt her mind's eye narrowing slightly at the suggestion; she, die? Surely that was impossible! Certainly, death was the preferable option; given the choice she would have selected it in a moment over the alternative--an eternal infinity spent alone, helpless, and insane. But she could not choose; his grip held her down, and as strong as her body was, her mind was not, and she could not resist its gentle pull.
Like a moth to the flame, a guppy to the boundless ocean, she was drawn to it. Its evil tempted her, seduced her, nurtured her. She had allowed herself to be swallowed by evil many times before, she knew, but this situation was different. Through the pain, the terror, the subconscious smell of her own blood--blood that she had not shed--she enjoyed it. This unnatural being, this ethereal manifestation of fury, was like nothing she had ever felt before. Its mind, that breathtaking power exploding maddeningly within her mind--to an extent far deeper than any of her previous 'victims'--felt *right*. The Quintessence belonged inside her. They belonged together, forever as one almighty cataclysm of unadulterated, unstoppable POWER.
Their oneness was destined to be.
And so it would be.
She stood up, feeling the surge of newfound strength pulsing through her body. Distantly, she could hear Scott, Logan, and the others calling her name, but she could not respond to them. With the tentative innocence of a child, she extended her arms, gazing at them with no recognition. They were glowing with a dazzling intensity, engulfed in the selfsame flames that had covered the Quintessence in the moments before she had drained him; they were his arms, not hers.
"No!" she heard herself shouting, but the voice was not hers. "I shall not be defeated. The power is mine, and your futile attempts to stop me shall inevitably be quashed. Surrender now, and bow before me."
She fought the power, fought the howling spectre of his mind, suppressed it. She gripped it tightly, holding it down in the same way as the creature's evil temptation had forced down her fighting spirit. This one would not become a part of her. Still, even as her mind struggled to regain control of itself, her clenched fingers exploded, sending countless balls of crackling lightning in all directions; some small part of her was faintly aware of her friends and the Young Ones crying out and diving for cover, but it was no more than a tiny and unimportant fragment of the twisted monster that she had become, and as such, was easily dismissed; against her conscious effort, in spite of her struggle to keep the mania inside, her lips parted, and a cold, emotionless laugh escaped them.
Her mind was clouding over; she could no longer recall her own name, or those of the pathetic insects that scattered beneath the force of her all-powerful supremacy. Suddenly, and with no conceivable change, nothing mattered. Those microscopic beasts were nothing to her; what did she care if her newfound powers destroyed them? Her abused and exhausted mind found itself unable to summon the strength to *feel*. Her thoughts were filled with blood and power, and everything else was irrelevant. What was wrong with her? It was not merely the Quintessence's presence inside her mind, *he* was doing nothing. This hatred, this blind carelessness was the product of her own thoughts, her feelings, her malevolence.
Her evil.
Screaming breathlessly she leaped into the air, throwing her airborne body into the nearest wall again and again, in an attempt to quell the rising insanity; she needed to be *herself* for a moment, to be able to think. The Quintessence was no longer a threat, but *she* was. She needed to control the searing evil that burned so fiercely within the fragmented chaos of her mind. And if this meant destroying the physical being that contained all of this destruction, then so be it.
*****
Gambit felt like he was dreaming. The entire adventure had been laced with a surreal sense of nightmarish unreality, and as he watched Rogue, engulfed in blazing fire, screaming and hurling herself as hard as she could against the nearest wall, he found himself praying that he would wake up. Never in his life had he allowed something as trivial as a nightmare to so move him, but this... *this* did. Indeed, the sharp pressure of Sheila's fingernails digging into the palm of his hand was evidence enough of the painful reality of this deadly situation, and he reached into his trenchcoat, feeling for a card. This was no nightmare, and it hurt him more than he could express to realise this.
The six Young Ones, as well as Cyclops and the other X-Men, were all focused on the unmoving form of the Quintessence, glancing up at brief intervals to gaze upon Rogue's howling frenzy, but Gambit was completely unable to tear his eyes from her glowing body. The Quintessence, after all, was not about to get up and walk away, and so the Cajun saw no benefit in watching him. Cyclops and the Young Ones would find a way of dealing with him--preferably before his powers re-manifested themselves--and so Gambit gratefully took the freedom of not being watched to edge his way over towards the raging Rogue.
"Chere," he called softly, allowing his deep love for her to show through in that one simple word. "Chere..."
She paused in her attack on the wall and turned to glare at him, face suddenly void of all things human, eyes little more than liquid reflections of the conflagration that engulfed her body. "Be gone, Insignificant One," she snarled, raising a hand, and directing a bolt of frost-coloured energy towards him. He stared in disbelief, then leaped backwards and watched fearfully as the ground where he had been standing mere moments earlier exploded loudly, projecting debris in all directions.
"Chere, it's Gambit!" he cried, yelling out as she prepared her fingertips for another blast. "Stop this, Rogue! That power be controlling you... You gotta fight it, Chere! Gambit needs you... please come back."
Almost in response to his pleas, her screams became louder, harsher, more pain-filled. Shaking in response to the motion, her fingers moved of their own accord, releasing another searing bolt towards him. Gambit cried out and dodged, knowing deep inside him that she--somewhere deep inside that tormented body--was struggling in a life-and-death battle against the power that held so tightly to her consciousness. She would not leave him without a fight, he knew. She couldn't.
He still could not believe that she had tried-much less, actually succeeded-to absorb this supernatural being's power. He, in the instant that she had contacted with the creature's skin, had been certain that the attempt would fail and she would die. Gazing upon her helpless features, knowing that, somewhere inside that tortured mind lurked his beloved Chere, he found himself wondering if, perhaps, death would have been the less painful option for her.
"Gambit, stop fooling around!" snapped Cyclops, glaring up at the Cajun from where he and the others still frowned cautiously at the unconscious Quintessence. "We need your help over here."
Muttering under his breath, and turning to offer one last lingering gaze at his Southern Belle, he moved to join Scott. "Gambit wasn't fooling around," he growled. "Gambit was tryin' ta help Rogue. You remember, your team-mate? The one with all that evil power inside of her?" He rolled his eyes in disgust.
"Now is not the time, Gambit," Scott said angrily. "We need to deal with this guy *now* before he gets his powers back." He turned to face Hank and the other Young Ones. "So how do we go about doing it?"
Everybody looked at everybody else. After several moments of painful silence, Hank cleared his throat. "I don't know," he admitted, with obvious embarrassment; Gambit frowned at his weak voice. He had seen the Ranger's momentary collapse during the previous battle, and found himself wondering if indeed the poor boy would survive to see the end of the confrontation; his previous unshakable dignity was no more, and it had destroyed his once-incomparable spirit. "He's never had his power drained before, at least not that *we've* been witness to. We don't even know if he's still invulnerable." Frowning slightly, he took a breath. "The most important thing, I guess, would be to restrain him, so that if he did get his powers back, he'd still be subdued... well, for a minute or two anyway." He turned to the Magician, and Gambit once again noted the emptiness in his expressive eyes. "Presto?"
Turning crimson, the Magician removed his hat, stammering slightly before bursting into verse. "Uhh... Venger's going to make us frown, so give me something to hold him down!" He grinned around at his comrades, and Gambit grunted as Wolverine mock-punched the boy's arm. "Uhh, not one of my better spells..." he admitted, blushing even deeper. "But what do you guys expect? I'm under pressure here..."
The hat glowed magenta for a few seconds, then forcefully spewed several heavy iron chains onto the Quintessence's unresponsive body, considerately fastening them tightly to the floor. Gambit blinked, undeniably impressed, even as Jubilee broke in with traditional childish sarcasm. "That's one cool hat you've got there," she said with a grin, "but do you *really* think those little things are gonna be able to hold that guy down when his powers come back?"
Wolverine smirked and extended his claws. "The kid's right," he said, glancing momentarily back at Rogue, whose attacks on the wall were causing huge cracks to appear in the stonework. "Let's waste this jerk before he gets the chance to do any more damage!" Making a conscious effort not to look at Cyclops, he held his arm high.
"Logan, stop this," Storm said gently, placing a restraining hand on his arm as he began to bring it down towards the Quintessence's chest. "You know that murder is never the solution to a problem, even one as serious as this."
Snarling, Wolverine shook her hand off. "Are you nuts?" he cried. "Even that weird little freak Dungeon Person said that this guy is pure evil! What the hell could it possibly benefit anyone by letting him live? Ya think he's gonna sit up and say 'I've seen the errors of my ways, and I promise to be a good little boy from now on'? Get real, willya! We gotta take him out *now*!"
"You know I hate to admit it," Eric spoke up, speaking exclusively to Hank, "but I'm with the primate on this one. We've been hunted down by Venger ever since we got dumped in this stupid world. Now it's payback time. I say we let the big monkey take a swing, and if we're real lucky, he might just hit his target, and we'll have one less Force of Evil to deal with."
Logan growled, but Cyclops held him back. "Stop it. Storm's right. As long as there are other options, we aren't going to kill him." Sighing tightly, he looked desperately at the Young Ones. "Any ideas?"
Hank and Diana looked at each other, shrugging in perfect unison. Sheila gripped her little brother's shoulders, and Gambit fought the urge to take her once again into his arms. Bobby was gazing helplessly around him, seemingly unable to fix on everything, wide-eyed terror in his eyes as he moved away from the protection of his sister's embrace, and took Jubilee's hand; the young mutant also had frightened disbelief in her dark eyes as she squeezed his hand in response. Eric rolled his eyes and winked at Wolverine, who in turn flashed his claws dangerously. Presto too was looking at Wolverine, but his eyes held something deep, something that Gambit had never seen from anyone who had known Logan for more than five seconds: Trust.
"I don't know," Hank said softly, and his bow was shaking as he gripped it with white-knuckle. "We've never been in this situation before. Venger's never been this powerful, the entire Realm has never been at stake... He's never been at our mercy before!" As he spoke, his voice became louder, and the self-contempt that seemed to be constantly bubbling beneath the surface trickled through the cracks in his defence, as they had moments before during the heat of the battle; there was no doubt about it, Gambit thought. The great hero was beginning to crumble. "We're out of out depth here, just like you guys. Why don't you think of a better solution?"
Storm gripped his shoulder very gently, as Gambit had seen her do several times since the beginning of their adventure. "Be strong, my friend," she said, speaking very quietly. "It is all right."
Hank nodded, though it was obvious from the torment on his face that knew all too well that 'it' was far from all right. He sank to his knees staring with bitter hatred at the unconscious Quintessence, and Diana moved to place a hand on his arm, saying nothing but visibly reassuring him nonetheless. "I don't know," he said after a few moments, and his stoic leader's mind had slipped perfectly back into place, though Gambit found himself wondering sadly how long the boy's facade would endure for *this* time. "I don't want to kill him unless we really have to." He glanced briefly back at Bobby and Jubilee. "I'm not sure I *could* kill him... There has to be another way, another solution, another answer."
"Like what?" demanded Wolverine. "You want us to wait until he gets his powers back, then just go up and *ask* him if there's anythin' that can take them out without destroyin' him? Yeah, right. We gotta strike now!"
Gambit looked back to Rogue; the flickering flames that still engulfed her seemed to be growing in intensity, writhing over her body like so many snakes. Her face, contorted with pain as it was, still held that characteristic air of courageous pride, and Gambit felt the agony in his heart at seeing her so devastated ascending to a new level; in that moment, he agreed with Wolverine, wholly and completely for possibly the first time in his life. The Quintessence must be destroyed. For the Realm, for Wolverine, and for the long-suffering Young Ones. For all that was good or worth fighting to preserve. For everyone and everything that had ever known true fear, or at any time, trembled helplessly before a superior enemy. For peace and purity.
For Rogue.
He didn't say anything out loud; though his mind was made up, he could not find the words to express his opinion. Instead, he turned back to the others, forcing his eyes not to linger on Rogue's wild delirium, and listened for any signs of support in either direction of the life-or-death debate. Everybody, all ten of them, seemed torn in some way. Though they had all clearly taken sides, it was evident by the uncertainty on their faces that they could, with worryingly little effort, be swayed.
All of them, except Hank and Wolverine. The two extremists. Hank stood on one side of the unmoving Quintessence, hands shaking with determination as he glared at Logan with unwavering certainty. Beside him stood Storm, Cyclops, and Diana, and behind them Bobby and Jubilee whimpered. Wolverine snarled from the other side of the creature's unconscious form; Presto stood proudly by the headstrong mutant's side, shaking his head sadly. Gambit stood a little way back from the growling Wolverine, still gripping Sheila's hands tightly in his own. A slight distance away, but clearly having accepted Logan's standpoint, in spite of the obvious antipathy between the two, Eric stood, gazing at his former leader with pained apology.
"Hank, I'm sorry," whispered Sheila, moving a little closer to Gambit. "But Wolverine and Eric are right. We were sent here to put a stop to the evil, and we have to do it. This has to end, right now, before it gets the chance to do any more damage."
The Ranger gazed at her with heartbroken betrayal, as if his entire world had collapsed through those words. "Sheila..." His voice was choked with pain. "Of all people... how could you--" he broke off, unable to finish.
Sheila turned away, burying her face in the Cajun's long coat. Gambit held her gently. "Easy, Chere," he whispered, feeling her trembling as he ran his fingers through her red hair. "It gonna be okay, Gambit promise." She looked up at him, eyes overflowing with tears, and, for the briefest of moments, a tremulous smile touched her lips. Gambit hugged her tighter, entirely unable to resist the urge to protect this frightened little girl, in spite of the pain in his heart as he recalled uttering those same words to Rogue, what seemed to be only a few scant moments ago, with deeper feeling than he had ever experienced in his life. Still, he held Sheila's trembling body in his arms, murmuring gentle reassurances into her ears as she fought to remain strong. "It be the only way, Mes Amis," he said softly, turning to gaze unhappily at Hank and Cyclops.
"No it isn't!" shouted Diana, and would have stepped over the Quintessence's unmoving body and taken the Cajun by the throat had Hank not held her back. "You cowards! You're too scared to try and think of something better!" Pushing Hank's restraining hands away with violence, she stepped forwards, approaching not Gambit but Wolverine, and staring him down with impressive determination. "You're just looking for the fastest way out of a situation that scares you, and screw the consequences!"
Wolverine raised a threatening fist. "Watch yer mouth, kid, before I remove it" he snarled. "I ain't scared of nothin'. I'm just lookin' at this creep lyin' unconscious an' at our mercy, an' I'm wonderin' what the hell you lightweights think yer doin' standin' around and discussin' the Meaning of Life and trash like that! This ain't some stupid game. If that jerk gets his powers back, we're all gonna be dead, so I say we waste him before he gets the chance!"
"He's a *living being*, Logan," Cyclops said softly, stepping forwards and pulling the furious mutant away from the girl before either of them did something that they would regret. "No matter what he's done, what he's going to do, we *can't* just kill him without making sure there's no other way around it. You're crazy if you think I'm going to stand back and let you play God with this guy's life, irregardless of what he's threatened to do. If you'll think for a second, you'll realise that he *hasn't* killed anyone yet, and talk is cheap." He stepped back, looking at Hank and his friends. "*And*, in case you haven't noticed, these guys are still alive after who-knows how long fighting against him."
Presto shook his head, gazing at Hank, Diana, and Bobby with shadowed eyes. "Yeah, well... maybe..." he admitted reluctantly. "But he said himself that he's not Venger anymore. Who knows what this 'Quintessence' will do to us when he comes around." He paused, swallowing hard. "I'm not happy about it, either... but if it needs to be done, then it needs to be done."
"But it *doesn't*!" cried Diana.
"Yes, it does."
Hank whirled around, stunned, and Gambit groaned as he recognised the soft-spoken voice of the old man that had greeted them upon their arrival to the Realm, the man that called himself DungeonMaster.
"D-DungeonMaster...?" Bobby whispered, squeezing Jubilee's hand harder. "You think we should kill him? Even after everything you've taught us...?"
DungeonMaster stepped out from non-existent shadows, moving to survey the unmoving creature. "My dear pupils," he whispered. "You must understand... The Evil that you are battling is far greater than anything any of you could imagine. It must be destroyed before it has the chance to rejuvenate and grow. Do you not think that I would offer a peaceable solution, if one existed?" He lowered his face, looking at his pupils with obvious sadness. "There is no other way."
"No," said Storm. "This cannot be true. There is always peace, even in the darkest of situations." She moved to kneel gracefully beside the old man's hunched figure, begging him unabashedly. "I cannot believe that this situation cannot be resolved without the use of thoughtless violence. Even those of pure evil do not deserve to be carelessly slaughtered. I will not allow these children to be forced to commit such an unjustifiable act." She stared at him, eyes burning with characteristic passion.
He shook his head, tears in his eyes. "I wish that was possible," he said, almost inaudibly. "But this is beyond peace and war, violence, slaughter, light and darkness. There is nothing more. Only evil. And evil must be vanquished, at all costs, or everything that you have fought for, and everything that I have surrendered my life to protect, will be destroyed. I am sorry, truly I am...but I *cannot* allow that to happen. This is not murder, it is the protection of all that is pure and good in the Realm." His depthless eyes moved over each of the Young Ones in turn, ignoring the X-Men--an act that struck Gambit as decidedly rude, but he did not protest--and the expression in those ancient depths changed slightly as he gazed at each of them, speaking their names in turn.
"Bobby." Sorrow and deep, deep pity; pain at seeing one so young grappling with such terrifying monsters. Unspoken apologies, regret. So innocent, yet wise so far beyond his years. The young Barbarian.
"Sheila." Understanding, acceptance; a sense of loving sympathy, and a similar degree of apology. Desperation, compassion, and, above all, hope. So frightened, yet so profoundly brave. The gentle Thief.
"Presto." Contentment, satisfaction; silent and cherished approval. Praise, support, and appreciation. Calmness, a silent and passionate expression of honour, faith, and dedication. The thoughtful Magician.
"Eric." Gentleness, empathy; paternal love, devoted friendship. Forgiveness. A bittersweet mingling of long-enduring cruelty and hard-earned respect shared equally among the two. The honest Cavalier.
"Diana." Trust, dignity; unobtrusive and covert encouragement. Pride overshadowing everything else. A blazing, incomprehensible depth of faith, passion, and respect. The courageous Acrobat.
"Hank." Inspiration, purity; admiration beyond all measure. Warmth, intimacy, kinship. A love so pure and unadulterated that it could not be rivalled by even the most doting of fathers. The heroic Ranger.
Gambit stumbled back in shock at the determination, the pained certainty in the old man's voice as he spoke the names of his dumbstruck young pupils. It was agonising to behold, even to one as ignorant as Gambit. The discomfort at seeing this wise ancient so reduced wrenched at the Cajun's heart, even more than the sight of Rogue finally breaking through the wall and collapsing through the crumbling bricks. As his eyes finally fell upon Hank, DungeonMaster stopped, staring at the boy with an intensity that pained even Gambit, a mere witness to the intangible explosions of passion. "Hank. Destroy him. Now."
*****