CHAPTER NINE -- "EVIL REINCARNATE"
Slowly, and with pain pulsing through his brain with every breath, Bobby raised his head, looking first at Hank and then at Jubilee. Both of them, crouching gently beside him, had concern and sympathy pasted across their faces, and, as he caught the gleam of pity in their eyes, Bobby felt a momentary twinge of humiliation.
He was the Barbarian, the wild warrior, the one who feared nothing. Why were they wasting their time feeling sorry for him? He was unstoppable, indestructible, unbeatable. Death would not stop him, least of all the death of another. He was strong, he was brave, and he was tough. And nothing, not the agonising horror of what he had just witnessed, not the pain-clouded empathy in Hank's blue eyes, not the loving compassion in Jubilee's, *nothing* would be able to bring him down.
But he knew, and the knowledge scared him far more than even the realisation of his own weakness, that if he was indeed as strong and courageous as his mind claimed, then he would not have spent the last ten minutes weeping like the frightened child that lurked so deeply inside him. He was not a coward, he realised, and that thought, more even than Jubilee's quiet consolation, comforted him beyond all measurement; far from this, in fact, he was simply a lost child, wise beyond his years, and it was this that forced him to experience this paralysing fear, this overwhelming humiliation of weakness. Much as he longed to believe that he *was* the emotionless Barbarian, the heroic and courageous role that had been assigned to him for the duration of this bizarre game, he knew, deep inside of him, that he was not, and he would never be, this non-existent character.
He was a child, nothing more. And children became frightened. He took a deep breath and wiped away the tears that stained his cheeks the colourless pallor of suffering. Still, for as long as he had been chosen to play "The Barbarian", he would do all within his power to uphold the character, and all that it stood for. As afraid and upset as little Bobby was by this terrifying situation, the Barbarian was not, and, even if it killed him, he would only display that stoic fearlessness, that which had become as much a part of his character as the heavy club and horned helmet.
"Hey," Hank said, speaking softly as he helped the boy to his feet. "You feeling better?"
Bobby nodded, mustering an artificial grin. "Of course I am! Nothing keeps Bobby the Barbarian down!" He smiled heroically at Jubilee, and raised his club; still, despite his facade, he was still trembling inside, and he knew that it would take a very *very* long time before he truly recovered. "Now I say we get out of here and find ourselves some ice-cream!"
Jubilee rolled her eyes at Hank, and winked at the Barbarian. Bobby considered telling her that she had won their little bet, that their quest for the 'mighty' dragon Tiamat had actually been a complete waste of time, but even as he tried, he found himself unable to bring the words to his lips, knowing that if he mentioned the dragon's name, he would collapse once again. He had no idea how much time had passed between the death of Tiamat and the destruction of the Quintessence, and, in all honesty, he did not care; however long it had been--seconds, minutes, hours...?--it had not been nearly long enough.
Placing a hand on his shoulder, Hank smiled. "I'm glad you're okay, Bobby," he said. "I know this has been difficult." He grinned with inexpressible pride. "You're the bravest little Barbarian I know..."
Bobby groaned. "Aw, c'mon, Hank," he said, blushing slightly in response to Jubilee's laughter. "You're embarrassing me!" Still, even as he cringed, he was entirely unable to keep the smirk from his face; to receive such a great compliment from Hank almost made the entire torturous experience worthwhile. Almost... but not quite. Sighing softly and shaking his head, Bobby wondered if there was anything in the Universe that would be able to remove the agony and regret that clenched around his heart.
Then Jubilee kissed him, and he realised that, perhaps, there was. It was just a little kiss on the cheek, more a celebration of the end to the nightmare than an expression of real emotion, but it was a kiss nonetheless, and in that instant, Bobby felt his qualms dissolving, just like that. But, the moment she released him, they returned with a vengeance, haunting him, and causing him to struggle against the urge to collapse again. Closing his eyes, he fought the temptation to politely ask Jubilee if she would mind repeating her action, and fought his terror the way he fought everything else that upset him; he clenched his fists and yelled.
At that moment, just as he was about to break down and start crying again, he felt an unnatural cold descending upon him. He frowned and looked up at Hank, shivering spasmodically. "What the--" the Ranger cried out, moving to wrap his arms around himself; Bobby raised his club, beginning to feel a deep dread settling in his stomach.
Under any normal circumstances, he would have turned to DungeonMaster, who still stood, alone and silent, gazing at his young pupils with pain and regret in his ancient features. However, considering the bitterness and hatred with which Hank and Diana had addressed the old man--whom Bobby suddenly felt able to describe for the first time as truly pathetic--he decided that perhaps attempting to speak to him was not the brightest idea; after all, he thought sadly, had DungeonMaster not placed these devastating demands upon the impressionable Young Ones, the entire situation would never have arisen, and Bobby would have remained secure in the incorrect--but far less psyche-damaging--knowledge that he, the fearless Barbarian, was immortal.
Besides, he thought with a touch of childish hopefulness, perhaps the cold would leave of its own accord. He smiled slightly as he thought back to his time back home in the 'real' world, time spent watching horror movies that described the 'icy chill of death'--the selfsame movies that, he recalled with painful nostalgia, his over-protective sister reprimanded him for watching. Still, surely it was conceivable--if not likely--that the unnatural frigidity that slashed so painfully into his chest was nothing more than an after-effect of the joint demise of Venger and Tiamat. But even as the thoughts wriggled their way into his shattered mind, he knew that they were mere fancies, unspoken prayers for a simple answer to a question that had no answers, simple or otherwise.
"What's going on?" cried Eric, stumbling towards Hank and the others with Wolverine, Diana, and Presto. "Who's the bright-spark that decided to turn off the heating system?"
Storm and the other X-Men were also moving to join them, and, judging by their expressions, they too felt the sinister chill. Bobby smiled a little, relieved that he was not imagining it, then blinked with concern as he realised that the figure in Gambit's arms was *not* his sister, and he glanced around in an attempt to catch sight of Sheila. It struck him as something of a worrying surprise to realise that she had been standing beside him the whole time, and he couldn't quite keep the puzzlement from his face as she smiled proudly at him; had he been so absorbed in his own suffering to have completely lost track of his beloved sister's movements? He frowned slightly at the maternal love that emanated so clearly from her features, and shook his head, wondering briefly how in the world he had failed so completely to acknowledge her protective aura in his vicinity. He shrugged slightly, dismissing it, and placed one arm over Jubilee's shoulder in a futile attempt to keep her a little warmer, even as he felt what little heat remained within his own body being drained from him with ruthless efficiency.
Wolverine glared at Storm. "If this is some kinda joke, Darlin', then I got news for ya. Nobody's laughing." He scowled, rolling his eyes slightly, then his disdain gave way to concern as he acknowledged the panic in her eyes.
"I have done nothing, Logan," she said, ever the quiet and thoughtful one. "This is not a meteorological event. It is something else. Something evil." She trembled and raised her hands. "Forces of Nature, respond to my instruction. Bring the desert heat to vanquish this malevolent cold." The Young Ones and the other X-Men watched expectantly for the effects of her labours to make themselves apparent, but even a full minute later, there was no sign of anything breaking through the increasing frigidity. Storm ceased her efforts, stepping back towards Hank with defeat pasted across her perfect features. "I do not understand..."
"You cannot penetrate this cold, my child," DungeonMaster whispered fearfully. "It is the chill of pure evil." Bobby turned to face him, noting with a brief sigh of relief that, in spite of their previous angry words, Hank and Diana were moving to do the same. "We have failed," the old man murmured, lowering his face, in a combination of humiliation and the deepest sorrow Bobby had ever seen-even when compared to his own earlier inconsolable distress. "Failed," the word reverberated emptily. "The Quintessence of Evil continues to live. We are all doomed."
Blinking, Bobby turned back to the Quintessence's body, expecting to see the same sickening corpse that had existed moments earlier; however, this was not what he saw, and the sight that met his eyes caused his blood to run colder than even the sub-zero room. "Oh no..." he heard somebody whisper, though his mind was too numb to place a name to the awe-filled voice. "It can't be... After all the hell he's put us through... It *can't* be!" The person, whoever it was, began to weep with pure, unbridled emotion.
The Quintessence's frozen features were smiling, and his previously empty eyes were glowing with a dark, impenetrable energy. And--the fact that frightened Bobby more even than the heartbreaking agony of all that he had witnessed since the arrival of the X-Men to the Realm--he was standing up, his entire body once again embraced by inextinguishable flames.
*****
Rogue lay in Gambit's arms and groaned. She could hear the frightened whimpers of the others, and was faintly aware of the newly reborn Quintessence standing smugly before them, smiling as if nothing had happened. But the experience, the entire existence of all that she found herself gazing at in dissociated disbelief, was witnessed from an endless distance, viewed helplessly from the wrong side of a mighty chasm that she was unable to leap across, despite her mutant powers.
His presence had finally left her completely, returning to him and bringing him back from the eternity that Wolverine had condemned him to. He was back, unharmed and completely unfazed by all that had occurred, and she realised, in an instant of pure unabashed agony, that all the torture she had put herself through had been in vain. And this, the sudden wrenching pain of futility, crushed her, sending her teetering once more towards the brink of insanity, though it was decidedly lessened by the sudden realisation that her mind had once again fallen under her own control.
She knew that the realisation of his return to life should have filled her with the selfsame terror that seemed to incapacitate her companions, yet she found herself suddenly unable to break away from the incredible, surreal, wave of cool relief that swept through her as she realised, in a time-stopping heartbeat, that she was finally free. Fragmentary particles of evil still clung to her consciousness, circling through her brain in an attempt to drive her crazy, but she knew that, painful as they were, they would not succeed. She was physically exhausted, and mentally shattered, but she was *whole*, and the relief was indescribable; her mind was clear, and, for the first time in as long as she could recall, she was in control, though how long this tenuous grip upon rationality would last was indeterminable. She leaned back against Remy's chest and allowed a serene--almost delirious--smile to cross her lips.
After this frightening experience, she knew, she would never again be the same. She had been Touched by Pure Evil, and it would forever remain a part of her, controlled and subdued as with all the other personalities, thoughts, and memories hidden within her deepest mind, but it would be there nonetheless, and consequently, she would never again be able to fully trust herself. Never in her life, neither before nor after her powers had first manifested themselves within her--that fateful kiss, all those years ago--had she ever felt so much a part of something so pure, something so perfectly and truly *Evil*.
And its presence would linger within her forever.
She had been tainted--to some extent, violated, though the choice had been hers--and the trauma was incomparable. As she gazed up from the sanctuary of Gambit's embrace, she felt a rage welling up within her, a power that she had never felt before. How dare he take her innocence from her? How dare he infect her with this all-invading evil? How dare he transform her into this fragmentary monster who suddenly found herself unable to trust even the most fundamental of simplistic judgements?
She had absorbed evil before, she knew, but never anything like this. Never anything so pure and powerful and complete. Up until the point where her fingers had first grazed the Quintessence's skin, she had truly believed that no evil existed that was so powerful that a single flickering sliver of goodness could not be found within it; this contact, this painful, frightening experience, had taught her otherwise, and it had left her physically and mentally devastated. Whenever she had been forced to absorb something--a power, a thought, a memory--she had always stolen a small part of her victim, sucked a fragment of their life-essence into herself. But not this time. This time *he* had taken a part of *her*. And this part, this insignificant trace of self that he had taken from her, was something that, no matter how many times she touched him, she would never be able to get back.
And, now, just as she had begun to truly believe that the nightmare was drawing to a final climactic close, she realised with a sense of dulled horror, that it had only just started. Her sacrifice--which went deeper than any of her companions would ever comprehend--had been in vain, and she sighed unhappily, acknowledging the fact that, unless she had absorbed his powers permanently--the mere thought of which filled her with a sick dread--she could never have stopped him. Immortality could not be destroyed, unless it was stolen; simply borrowing it was no good, as evidenced by his laughing rebirth.
"What do we do now?" asked Scott from a short distance away; his voice was decidedly hushed as it reverberated against the walls. "If Wolverine's attack didn't destroy him, what do we do now?"
Rogue shivered, realising suddenly that the room was unnaturally cold, and struggled out of Gambit's arms, much against the Cajun's protest. "Leave me alone, Swamp Rat," she said weakly. "I'm fine." She limped towards where Cyclops and Storm had moved to the Young Ones' sides. "I can--" She paused, swallowing hard and biting back the queasy terror that bubbled in her stomach at the thought of what she was about to suggest. "I can try again, if ya want me to."
Scott shook his head. "No," he said. "All you'd be able to do is remove his powers temporarily. As soon as they left you again, he would be just as powerful as he is now. We need a permanent solution, not a quick fix." Sighing softly, he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Thank you for the offer, though. I know it can't have been easy for you."
She smiled faintly. "Ya bet it wasn't." Taking a deep breath, she turned to study the leering features of the one who had caused all this internal torment and, in that moment, she knew what she had to do. "Cyke... Let me try an' take him on. Ya know, one-on-one." She spoke with unwavering determination, even as she heard Scott's sharp inhalation at the thought of what she was suggesting. She smiled confidently, steeling herself for what she knew would be the toughest battle in her life. "I wanna take him down the hard way." Cyclops frowned, and Gambit stepped forwards to protest against this obvious suicide attempt, but Rogue held up a hand to silence them, her mind already made up as she clenched her fists and took a deep breath. "Look, y'all know I'm stronger'n all of ya put t'gether, an' if anyone can take him out, it's gonna be me. Sorry Logan," she said, grinning at Wolverine's angry growl, "but ya know it's true." She gazed steadily at all of her comrades. "Most of our mutant powers don't work against him--or if they do, it ain't for long--an' we're runnin' out of time ta think up new ideas. We gotta take him out the old-fashioned way. So, whether ya like it or not, ya better start wishin' me luck, 'cos I'm goin' in!"
"Don't be stupid!" shouted Eric, the young Cavalier. His eyes were partially downcast as he spoke, and there was a decided blush to his otherwise ashen complexion. "He's indestructible! Monkey-Boy's claws didn't hurt him, so what makes you think you can do anything to stop him?" He sighed and took her hand. "Don't throw your life away. It's not worth it... nothing's worth it."
Rogue blinked; from the little that she had learned about the boy, he had not struck her as the type to offer any words of kindness, even during life-or-death situations such as this one, and she found herself unable to determine whether to feel insulted or flattered by this sudden uncharacteristic display of gentleness. Instead of consigning herself to either of these emotions, she simply smiled and pulled her hand away. "I've gotta try, sugar," she said. "Ya can't understand, but I've gotta."
Sighing, Cyclops nodded. "All right, but *only* because we need to take him down *now* and we're out of options. But if you can see that what you're doing is no good, then get out of there as quickly as possible." He took a deep, nervous breath, and squeezed her shoulder. "And, for God's sake, be careful. We have no idea what we're up against here."
She tightened her fists until they hurt. "Maybe *ya* don't," she snarled, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice as she rose into the air. "But *I* know exactly what I'm dealin' with." As she prepared herself, she looked down to the others, smiling bravely in what she knew would be her last moment. The Young Ones appeared concerned, but otherwise indifferent--with the sole exception of Eric, who had his hands clenched together in a silent, desperate prayer for her safety. In contrast, the X-Men--and Remy in particular--seemed truly frightened. And, she knew, their fear was well founded. If the Quintessence had sustained after his death even a third of the power that she had absorbed, then she would not live through the encounter. It was not a question, a consideration, or a thought. It was a fact, pure and simple.
However, even with this knowledge in her mind, she knew that it was something she had to do. She had to avenge the hell that she had been put through, to try and put an end to that which had destroyed all that she held sacred within herself. She needed to do this, or remain forever tortured by the deep-set seeds of malevolence that had been sown within her fragile mind. This was no longer a mere battle between Good and Evil. It was a fight for her sanity, her sense of reason, her *life*. It was a struggle against the unspeakable horror that she had, in fact, brought upon herself.
Remy was gazing at her. "Don't do it, Chere," he pleaded, speaking very softly. "Gambit don't wanna lose ya. You've done all you can. Step down an' let someone else try." His dark red eyes were begging her, even as, lurking deep beneath their mysterious surface, she could see that he understood why she *needed* to do this, to prove herself against the one who still gripped her senses in such unbreakable bondage. As she ignored him, he sighed very softly, and closed his eyes with depthless regret. "Be strong out there, Chere. Gambit loves you."
"Fool," said the Quintessence, shaking his head in disgust at Gambit's sentimentality. "Your emotions mean nothing. Be silent, and you may extend your own mundane existence for a few more moments." He smiled sadistically and turned back to Rogue, and, as he did so, the icy chill that had enveloped the entire room seemed to grow, becoming more intense, crueller. "You will be the first," he growled. "You, the one who thought that my supreme powers were mere toys to be borrowed and then returned. Your actions have done nothing but prolong the inevitable, and sealed your fate." He raised a hand, extending it towards her, beckoning. "How does it feel, innocent one?" he asked softly, a dangerous smile tugging at his lips. "To have such deep evil inside of you, trapped forever within the claustrophobic confines of your insignificant mortal mind? Like a small animal, it shall remain for all eternity, waiting for the correct moment to be unleashed."
"Stop it!" she shouted, flying towards him, in spite of Cyclops and Storm's warning cries. "It ain't never gonna be unleashed. I've kept all these memories and feelings stuck inside me, this one ain't gonna be no different. I won't *let* it get out!" She threw herself against him, lashing out with both fists in what could only be described as an act of pure, unrestrained fury. "Ya hear me? It's gonna stay right where it is, deep inside of me, and it'll *never* get out!" She screamed and slashed at his face with her flailing arms. "NEVER!"
Somewhere, countless miles away, she could hear the stunned murmurs of her friends and companions. "What's she doing?" That was Hank, the leader of the Young Ones, speaking with refreshing sanity. "Is she crazy?"
"Woah!" That was Jubilee; Rogue recognised well her teenaged disbelief. "I've never seen her like *that* before!" The distant blur that was the young mutant turned to face the smudged figure of Storm.
Storm--or what Rogue assumed to be Storm--shook her head. "And nor have I," she whispered, and the fearful concern in the gentle mutant's voice touched Rogue at a level that she had thought had been destroyed when *that* force had invaded her mind. "I am extremely concerned about her," Storm continued, placing an arm across Jubilee's shoulder. "If she is able to survive this encounter, I do not believe that her mind will be able to endure the pressure that has been placed upon it." Even from her fog-enshrouded haze of hatred, Rogue could see the tears of mourning already beginning to flow in the quiet mutant's eyes. "She has been truly consumed by the conflict within herself, and I fear she knows not what she does."
"Oh, she knows what she's doin', all right," grated the harsh voice of Wolverine, and Rogue felt a dim, distant flicker of pleasant surprise at the realisation that he at least was able to understand her situation--a situation that she herself still could not completely comprehend. "She's tryin' ta put an end to this crazy jerk. He's taken outta her somethin' that she ain't never gonna get back, but she's gotta try--" He paused, and the distant entity that was Rogue's rational self blinked in surprise. "Hell, it don't matter. All you cowards need ta know is that this guy has to be stopped right now... So shut the hell up and let her try it her way!"
The young boy Eric, the one who had expressed such deep anxiety about watching her 'throw her life away', was crying out in utter shock. "She doesn't stand a chance against him!" he shouted angrily. "What the heck are you freaks doing, standing there while she flies right into his arms! Won't *any* of you even *try* and stop her? She's your friend, for crying out loud!"
Rogue frowned as she observed with a silent curse her fists sliding through the Quintessence's semi-translucent face as if it did not exist. The boy was being noble; for the first time since she had laid eyes on him, Eric the loud-mouthed Cavalier was being noble. Judging from the streaked figures that were the others, they were finding it just as hard to believe as she. All of them, with the sole exception of Wolverine, who seemed suddenly not to care-just as, Rogue realised, she was beyond caring about anything but the revenge she needed so desperately. "Shut yer mouth, kid," he shouted, raising his claws in a warning. "She's gotta do this! Fer us an' fer herself!" He turned to watch her efforts and, for only the briefest of moments, she was certain she detected a brief gleam of empathy in his dark eyes. "If she don't take that jerk on now, he'll torture her for the rest of her life, inside that damned head of hers, so screw the odds an' *let her try*."
The Quintessence was laughing, and with every failed attack that she directed towards him, his laughter increased in volume and the temperature of the room fell by another few degrees. It was becoming difficult to keep from shivering as she forced herself to remain steady and focused on her target; it was fairly obvious that her attempts were fruitless, yet she was unable to do as Cyclops had instructed and draw back. Something inside, something beyond her comprehension and control, demanded that she keep up her efforts, that she continue until either she or he had been completely destroyed. The feeling, whatever it was, was more powerful than anything that she had ever experienced, even the evil that still lurked within her, and, for the first time in her life, she realised just how out-of-control Logan felt when under the influence of yet another mindless rampage, and understood, in an instant of clarity, just how perfectly he understood her insatiable need to destroy that which had done this to her.
She drew back for just a second, breathing hard. Inside her tormented brain, she could see the fire and ice of her previous attack, and the evil inside her--the selfsame evil that she claimed to be able to control--began once again to surface. She cried out, gripping her head in a futile attempt to push it back, screaming at the top of her lungs as she did so, and feeling her self-control--that which kept locked away the thoughts, feelings, and memories of all those unfortunate individuals she had drained throughout her life--starting to falter, and long-hidden snatches of never-experienced moments began to surface. She was losing herself, and there was nothing she could do but weep in terror as she felt herself drowning in a boundless ocean of mental backwash.
It was at that moment that the Quintessence chose to make his move. His hand--that which had remained outstretched for the duration of her attack, that which seemed to be constantly in the process of forming some attack or another--began to glint slightly beneath the room's dim light, as if becoming coated in the ice that seemed to engulf the entire area, and then, with a speed that Rogue had never before witnessed, a snakelike creature leaped out from his palm and wrapped itself around her body. It was not until moments later, when the 'snake' solidified into something faintly reminiscent of solidified lightning, that the physical pain began to manifest itself, and within a matter of seconds, it had become paralysing.
What was this? She was not supposed to feel pain, to hurt, to fear for her life. Surely the chaos within her mind was punishment enough for whatever sins she had committed in past lives... Why the physical pain as well? Why the agony, the torture, the-- "AAAAAAAH!" She could no longer keep the chaos inside, could no longer subdue the suffering, could no longer silence the morbid insanity that not only threatened to destroy her mind, but now emanated from her body as well.
The others were calling her name, begging her to respond, even as she felt herself falling. She hit the ground hard and lay still, not even trying to muster strength enough to move. The crystalline lightning still squeezed her with its hot electric fingers, and she was now powerless to fight it; she had never before experienced a pain like this-very rarely experienced pain of any form-and so had no idea how to cope. She could hear the Quintessence's laughter reverberating throughout the room, a room that, through tear-filled eyes, appeared to gleam prettily as the walls and floor became ice. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see, hear, think, or, least of all, feel. She just wanted to end the pain and the insanity and the evil.
And, as the pure physical agony finally overpowered her saturated senses, sending her over the tenuous borderline between the Hell of Reality and the Solace of Unconsciousness, she realised with dulled senses that the tempest within her head had finally ceased.
*****
The temperature was too cold to allow for rational thought. Never in her entire life had Diana experienced such frigidity. Having spent countless hours training on a frozen track in sub-zero climates with nothing but a tracksuit to keep her warm, she had truly believed that she could understand what *real* cold was. This sensation, however, had proved her completely wrong.
She frowned up at the Quintessence, whose eyes were narrowed with concentration as he focused all of his energy on attacking Rogue, and as the mutant lapsed into unconsciousness, the effort in his eyes lessened and he returned his attention to the others. Frowning with deep anxiety, Diana guessed that Rogue, even with her super-human powers, would not survive for very long without assistance. His sparking lightning still engulfed her, slowly draining the life from her, though its intensity diminished greatly as he looked away with weary carelessness, moving to incorporate the other X-Men and the Young Ones into his intent maleficent gaze.
"When will you learn?" he asked softly. "I cannot be defeated. I am no mere mortal, no simple villain, to be struck down. I am Pure Evil. I am the personification of all that cannot be destroyed. Surrender now."
Hank stepped forwards, eyes burning. "No," he cried, and his voice crackled with the selfsame passion that Diana believed had been destroyed in the previous battle. "As long as we're breathing, we will *not* bow down to you. Everything can be defeated... It's just a matter of figuring out how to do it." He turned to Wolverine, who stood proudly at his side, and Diana noted a solemn smile gracing the primitive mutant's rabid features. "Right?"
"Right!" Logan replied, raising his claws and leering at the Quintessence with a cruel iciness that rivalled even the impenetrable cold permeating the room. "This stuff put an end to ya once, Bub! It can do it again!"
The Quintessence laughed. "Indeed?" he lowered his arms to his side, smiling with amusement. "Perhaps, then, you would like the opportunity to try and 'cut me down'?" He smiled, tilting his head towards the snarling mutant by way of invitation. "Come then. Perhaps my memory is faltering, but I recall a previous *failed* attempt on your part *before* your disrespectful companion took the matter into her own hands... and was consequently punished." He glanced briefly back at Rogue, and her body heaved violently, lifting off the ground with the force of some internal spasm. "Surely you comprehend that, had it not been for *her*, your second attempt would have been equally ineffective." He shrugged slightly. "But, if you wish, please, try once again."
"No, Wolverine!" shouted Cyclops as Logan moved forwards once again. "Stop it. Unless you want to end up like Rogue, keep *calm* and *stay back*. That's an order. I may not particularly enjoy your company at times, but I'm *not* willing to let you kill yourself on a whim." He paused, and his shielded eyes moved once again to take in his twitching comrade. Diana winced in response to the grief that racked his features as he gazed upon Rogue's dying body, longing to take his hands and tell him that everything would be all right. She knew, however, that this would not only be a lie, but would also go unappreciated. He would fight his suffering in his own way, and she would not interfere.
Hank looked from Cyclops to Wolverine and back again, then shook his head and released a flaming arrow towards the Quintessence. It drifted towards him in surreal slow-motion, and--much to Diana's surprise and Hank's apparent disbelief--stopped in mid-flight, remained fixed in position halfway between the two. As the group watched, it solidified, turning dull blue as it hung suspended for several long and heartstopping moments, then fell to the ground, shattering into countless useless shards.
Shaking, Hank raised his bow once again, struggling to remain steady as he took aim once more. The Quintessence sighed and shook his head, raising his hands with an air of boredom. "I tire of this foolishness. Begone." He snapped his fingers, and Diana watched in helpless terror as a ball of liquid fire screamed through the air, heading of its own accord towards the paralysed Ranger.
"Hank!" Sheila shrieked.
Diana extended her javelin, moving towards the danger zone with every intention of intercepting the Quintessence's attack; however, before she had even traversed half of the necessary distance, the fireball slammed with sickening force into the Ranger's side, and as he writhed in response to its searing power, it grew, enveloping him completely.
He stared out from his pyroclastic prison, and Diana skidded to a halt, just short of the fire's reach. She could feel its heat, could see the burns already forming on Hank's face as the unnatural flames began to eat their way through his clothing. "Damn it!" she heard herself shouting, stabbing ineffectually at the fire with her javelin. "Hold on, Hank!" she screamed. "Just hang on, we'll get you out of there!" She considered briefly throwing herself at him, in the attempt to displace some of the flames, or, at the very least, attract some of them away from Hank--assuming, of course, that they contained the sensible consciousness they seemed to develop as they swarmed hungrily over the helpless Ranger. "You hear me? We're gonna get you out! Just hang on!"
The Quintessence laughed and shook his head. "Indeed." He held out his hand, then slowly drew his fingers together into a fist; as he did so, the bubble of fire around Hank began to tighten, and his body began to convulse.
"Stop it!" wailed Bobby, raising his club and slamming it with full force to the ground. Diana felt the ground wobbling beneath her, and fell to one knee. "Leave him alone!" The young Barbarian had murderous tears in his eyes, and as he brought his club up for another attack, face blank and emotionless, Diana began to realise, for the first time, that Hank and Presto were not the only ones she needed to worry about; she had known that the strain of watching Venger die had been hard on the boy, but had assumed that, as strong and brave as he was, he would pull through with little damage. Obviously-and as she gazed into those deep blue eyes, so filled with hatred, it became all the more frighteningly apparent-she had been wrong.
The shock of Bobby's attack seemed to momentarily disorientate the Quintessence, who stumbled unsteadily for the briefest of seconds, before regaining his balance and turning to smile at the young boy with apology in his dark eyes. Diana found herself wondering, as she watched him regain his footing, how it had come to pass that the supposed Ultimate Personification of Evil had such a sensitive sense of equilibrium; she smiled slightly at the thought, allowing herself the moment of solace from the violence and destruction, then returned her attention to the matter at hand, namely Bobby's impending demise.
"Bobby, don't!" she cried, watching as Sheila and Jubilee moved to hold the raging Barbarian down, then turning back to Hank and the Quintessence. "Let him go, Venger," she shouted. "If you're going to kill us, take us *all* out together, or don't bother. Now let him go, and face us all. Or are you afraid that together we're strong enough to defeat you if you try and take us all on at the same time?" The words were empty, hollow threats gleaned from old movies, and she shook her head in disgust at what she was being forced to resort to. "Come on, you coward! Let Hank out of that thing and take all of us on, if you're strong enough!"
Grinning with false confidence, she turned to face Presto, Cyclops, and Eric, who had moved to her side. Presto, the angsty Magician, remained emotionless, and the emptiness in his usually-expressive features struck her as something of a momentary relief; taking into consideration Hank's breakdown, and Bobby's decline, seeing one other member of their team so well-adjusted was an enormous weight lifted from her shoulders. However, the moment was extremely short-lived as she realised, a little too late to stop herself from feeling the brunt of her own unabashed dismissal, that the bittersweet carelessness in Presto's face was almost as unnatural as the frigid chill that still engulfed the room. Whatever the Magician's kinship with the wild Logan had been, it certainly did not appear to have been particularly beneficial--though, judging by the uncharacteristically self-satisfied smirk that covered Presto's pale face, it seemed *he* would disagree with that assessment.
By contrast, Cyclops had the pained tension of leadership on his face, and Diana smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. She could see that Rogue's torture had been difficult for him to observe, but knew that, as long as the unconscious mutant remained alive, Cyclops too would be all right. The watery grin that Diana manufactured as she turned back to face the evil one was for his benefit; she knew that, if she could not remain calm and loose, she would become just as helpless as Rogue and Hank, whether or not the Quintessence actually saw fit to attack her. She needed to prove to Scott that being relaxed, even in the most desperate of no-win situations, was often what kept you alive. For some reason, even as she contemplated the all-too-real possibility that she would be the Quintessence's next target, it meant far more to her that she took his attack with a smile on her face, if for nothing more than to see the pride on Scott's face as he finally realised that to be relaxed was *not* necessarily to be vulnerable. She had always known that she would go down in a legendary Blaze of Glory, and now, with Cyclops and the others as witnesses, she would finally have her chance.
Eric, ever Diana's polar opposite, was quivering, holding his shield high as he gazed at the Quintessence through half-closed eyes. He whimpered softly as he stepped towards his smouldering leader. His eyes, Diana noticed, though they remained steadily focused on Hank's writhing body, occasionally flickered to Rogue, who remained trapped in the unbreakable grip of the Quintessence's frozen lightning. His posture was rigid with horror at seeing the horrors that had befallen both his long-time leader *and* the courageous mutant who had stood up to Wolverine on his behalf so many times since their arrival in the Realm. Suddenly, and in complete contrast to his usual cowardly uselessness, the Cavalier growled and took a step towards Hank, ignoring Diana's gentle warnings, Scott's harshly grated orders, and Presto's uncharacteristically tongue-in-cheek observations.
The Quintessence remained oblivious to the Cavalier's approach, still shaking his head in disbelief at Diana's previous comment. "Do you truly believe that?" he asked softly, lowering his hands and taking a single resounding step forwards. "Do you truly believe that I am *afraid* of your collective 'strength'?" He shook his head. "Foolish child! I am the Quintessence of Evil, the physical embodiment of all that you pure-hearted mortals cannot comprehend. I fear *nothing*, for there is nothing in existence that can harm me." He smiled. "I am beyond emotion, and beyond the mortal prison of limitations and fears. I am supremacy personified."
Diana grabbed Eric's cape and held him back before he was able to draw too close to the Quintessence's mighty wrath. "Oh yeah?" she demanded, knowing her words were futile, but searching desperately for time enough to allow Cyclops or Storm--or indeed anybody else--to think of something, *anything* to either stop the Quintessence or help their suffering friends. "You fear nothing, huh? There isn't anything any of us can do to hurt you, huh? Well, if you're so damned all-powerful, then why are you so eager to destroy us?" As the words left her lips, she found herself looking back to Hank, clenching her fists tightly as she floundered for something significant to say, something that would make him pause to think. "If we're no *threat* to you, why waste your 'supreme evil' on us? Why bother killing us, instead of going out and taking over the Realm, like you've always wanted?" She was firing questions with growing rapidity now, shooting them out without even pausing to consider their impact, in the vain hope that *one* of them would cause him to stop and contemplate what she was saying.
"Because, insignificant one," he replied, speaking with the sluggish air of carelessness, "you *exist*. You have chosen to infiltrate my home, my castle. You have offered yourselves as sacrifices to me. Why, indeed! Why does any living thing destroy any other? Why do you mortals waste your 'supreme knowledge' destroying lower life forms? Because they are there for you to destroy. Because you, in your lowly 'wisdom' see fit to destroy those below you on your primitive evolutionary scale." He smiled, and Diana was certain that the expression was merely a crude statement that said 'I'm humouring you, idiot'. "As, my friend, do I."
He gazed around, taking in each of his victims. The unconscious Rogue, the still-struggling Hank. The defiant Diana, the untamed Wolverine, the furious Bobby. The stoic Presto, the quiet Storm, the angry Cyclops. The sobbing Sheila, the devastated Gambit, the silent Jubilee, the terrified Eric. All of them. And as his eyes passed over each, they became filled with a deeper sense of satisfaction. This, Diana realised, was the definition of true evil... To ruthlessly and purposelessly kill those who could do no harm, to toy with those who were small and weak and unable to fight back. This was true malevolence, pure and unbridled darkness, and Diana trembled before it, deciding, in a moment of light-hearted insanity, that she would never again be able to spray a caterpillar or swat a fly without thinking of the morbid and terrifying speech of this life-altering moment.
It was at that moment that she realised how wrong she had been for all those innocent years. Fighting back and being strong was sometimes *not* good enough to pull through, and sometimes bad things *did* happen to good people, for no reason and with no moral or lesson to validate its occurrence. Never again would she be foolish enough to believe in such foolishness as Good and Purity. Why bother trusting in these artificial fancies, when the mere presence of the Quintessence in a previously utopian existence showed, beyond any shadow of doubt, that they did not exist?
And so, because she was out of time, out of willpower, and out of options, she closed her eyes--suddenly finding herself unable to look at any one of her companions, but most of all the courageous Scott Summers--and bowed before the Quintessence.
*****
Slowly, and with pain pulsing through his brain with every breath, Bobby raised his head, looking first at Hank and then at Jubilee. Both of them, crouching gently beside him, had concern and sympathy pasted across their faces, and, as he caught the gleam of pity in their eyes, Bobby felt a momentary twinge of humiliation.
He was the Barbarian, the wild warrior, the one who feared nothing. Why were they wasting their time feeling sorry for him? He was unstoppable, indestructible, unbeatable. Death would not stop him, least of all the death of another. He was strong, he was brave, and he was tough. And nothing, not the agonising horror of what he had just witnessed, not the pain-clouded empathy in Hank's blue eyes, not the loving compassion in Jubilee's, *nothing* would be able to bring him down.
But he knew, and the knowledge scared him far more than even the realisation of his own weakness, that if he was indeed as strong and courageous as his mind claimed, then he would not have spent the last ten minutes weeping like the frightened child that lurked so deeply inside him. He was not a coward, he realised, and that thought, more even than Jubilee's quiet consolation, comforted him beyond all measurement; far from this, in fact, he was simply a lost child, wise beyond his years, and it was this that forced him to experience this paralysing fear, this overwhelming humiliation of weakness. Much as he longed to believe that he *was* the emotionless Barbarian, the heroic and courageous role that had been assigned to him for the duration of this bizarre game, he knew, deep inside of him, that he was not, and he would never be, this non-existent character.
He was a child, nothing more. And children became frightened. He took a deep breath and wiped away the tears that stained his cheeks the colourless pallor of suffering. Still, for as long as he had been chosen to play "The Barbarian", he would do all within his power to uphold the character, and all that it stood for. As afraid and upset as little Bobby was by this terrifying situation, the Barbarian was not, and, even if it killed him, he would only display that stoic fearlessness, that which had become as much a part of his character as the heavy club and horned helmet.
"Hey," Hank said, speaking softly as he helped the boy to his feet. "You feeling better?"
Bobby nodded, mustering an artificial grin. "Of course I am! Nothing keeps Bobby the Barbarian down!" He smiled heroically at Jubilee, and raised his club; still, despite his facade, he was still trembling inside, and he knew that it would take a very *very* long time before he truly recovered. "Now I say we get out of here and find ourselves some ice-cream!"
Jubilee rolled her eyes at Hank, and winked at the Barbarian. Bobby considered telling her that she had won their little bet, that their quest for the 'mighty' dragon Tiamat had actually been a complete waste of time, but even as he tried, he found himself unable to bring the words to his lips, knowing that if he mentioned the dragon's name, he would collapse once again. He had no idea how much time had passed between the death of Tiamat and the destruction of the Quintessence, and, in all honesty, he did not care; however long it had been--seconds, minutes, hours...?--it had not been nearly long enough.
Placing a hand on his shoulder, Hank smiled. "I'm glad you're okay, Bobby," he said. "I know this has been difficult." He grinned with inexpressible pride. "You're the bravest little Barbarian I know..."
Bobby groaned. "Aw, c'mon, Hank," he said, blushing slightly in response to Jubilee's laughter. "You're embarrassing me!" Still, even as he cringed, he was entirely unable to keep the smirk from his face; to receive such a great compliment from Hank almost made the entire torturous experience worthwhile. Almost... but not quite. Sighing softly and shaking his head, Bobby wondered if there was anything in the Universe that would be able to remove the agony and regret that clenched around his heart.
Then Jubilee kissed him, and he realised that, perhaps, there was. It was just a little kiss on the cheek, more a celebration of the end to the nightmare than an expression of real emotion, but it was a kiss nonetheless, and in that instant, Bobby felt his qualms dissolving, just like that. But, the moment she released him, they returned with a vengeance, haunting him, and causing him to struggle against the urge to collapse again. Closing his eyes, he fought the temptation to politely ask Jubilee if she would mind repeating her action, and fought his terror the way he fought everything else that upset him; he clenched his fists and yelled.
At that moment, just as he was about to break down and start crying again, he felt an unnatural cold descending upon him. He frowned and looked up at Hank, shivering spasmodically. "What the--" the Ranger cried out, moving to wrap his arms around himself; Bobby raised his club, beginning to feel a deep dread settling in his stomach.
Under any normal circumstances, he would have turned to DungeonMaster, who still stood, alone and silent, gazing at his young pupils with pain and regret in his ancient features. However, considering the bitterness and hatred with which Hank and Diana had addressed the old man--whom Bobby suddenly felt able to describe for the first time as truly pathetic--he decided that perhaps attempting to speak to him was not the brightest idea; after all, he thought sadly, had DungeonMaster not placed these devastating demands upon the impressionable Young Ones, the entire situation would never have arisen, and Bobby would have remained secure in the incorrect--but far less psyche-damaging--knowledge that he, the fearless Barbarian, was immortal.
Besides, he thought with a touch of childish hopefulness, perhaps the cold would leave of its own accord. He smiled slightly as he thought back to his time back home in the 'real' world, time spent watching horror movies that described the 'icy chill of death'--the selfsame movies that, he recalled with painful nostalgia, his over-protective sister reprimanded him for watching. Still, surely it was conceivable--if not likely--that the unnatural frigidity that slashed so painfully into his chest was nothing more than an after-effect of the joint demise of Venger and Tiamat. But even as the thoughts wriggled their way into his shattered mind, he knew that they were mere fancies, unspoken prayers for a simple answer to a question that had no answers, simple or otherwise.
"What's going on?" cried Eric, stumbling towards Hank and the others with Wolverine, Diana, and Presto. "Who's the bright-spark that decided to turn off the heating system?"
Storm and the other X-Men were also moving to join them, and, judging by their expressions, they too felt the sinister chill. Bobby smiled a little, relieved that he was not imagining it, then blinked with concern as he realised that the figure in Gambit's arms was *not* his sister, and he glanced around in an attempt to catch sight of Sheila. It struck him as something of a worrying surprise to realise that she had been standing beside him the whole time, and he couldn't quite keep the puzzlement from his face as she smiled proudly at him; had he been so absorbed in his own suffering to have completely lost track of his beloved sister's movements? He frowned slightly at the maternal love that emanated so clearly from her features, and shook his head, wondering briefly how in the world he had failed so completely to acknowledge her protective aura in his vicinity. He shrugged slightly, dismissing it, and placed one arm over Jubilee's shoulder in a futile attempt to keep her a little warmer, even as he felt what little heat remained within his own body being drained from him with ruthless efficiency.
Wolverine glared at Storm. "If this is some kinda joke, Darlin', then I got news for ya. Nobody's laughing." He scowled, rolling his eyes slightly, then his disdain gave way to concern as he acknowledged the panic in her eyes.
"I have done nothing, Logan," she said, ever the quiet and thoughtful one. "This is not a meteorological event. It is something else. Something evil." She trembled and raised her hands. "Forces of Nature, respond to my instruction. Bring the desert heat to vanquish this malevolent cold." The Young Ones and the other X-Men watched expectantly for the effects of her labours to make themselves apparent, but even a full minute later, there was no sign of anything breaking through the increasing frigidity. Storm ceased her efforts, stepping back towards Hank with defeat pasted across her perfect features. "I do not understand..."
"You cannot penetrate this cold, my child," DungeonMaster whispered fearfully. "It is the chill of pure evil." Bobby turned to face him, noting with a brief sigh of relief that, in spite of their previous angry words, Hank and Diana were moving to do the same. "We have failed," the old man murmured, lowering his face, in a combination of humiliation and the deepest sorrow Bobby had ever seen-even when compared to his own earlier inconsolable distress. "Failed," the word reverberated emptily. "The Quintessence of Evil continues to live. We are all doomed."
Blinking, Bobby turned back to the Quintessence's body, expecting to see the same sickening corpse that had existed moments earlier; however, this was not what he saw, and the sight that met his eyes caused his blood to run colder than even the sub-zero room. "Oh no..." he heard somebody whisper, though his mind was too numb to place a name to the awe-filled voice. "It can't be... After all the hell he's put us through... It *can't* be!" The person, whoever it was, began to weep with pure, unbridled emotion.
The Quintessence's frozen features were smiling, and his previously empty eyes were glowing with a dark, impenetrable energy. And--the fact that frightened Bobby more even than the heartbreaking agony of all that he had witnessed since the arrival of the X-Men to the Realm--he was standing up, his entire body once again embraced by inextinguishable flames.
*****
Rogue lay in Gambit's arms and groaned. She could hear the frightened whimpers of the others, and was faintly aware of the newly reborn Quintessence standing smugly before them, smiling as if nothing had happened. But the experience, the entire existence of all that she found herself gazing at in dissociated disbelief, was witnessed from an endless distance, viewed helplessly from the wrong side of a mighty chasm that she was unable to leap across, despite her mutant powers.
His presence had finally left her completely, returning to him and bringing him back from the eternity that Wolverine had condemned him to. He was back, unharmed and completely unfazed by all that had occurred, and she realised, in an instant of pure unabashed agony, that all the torture she had put herself through had been in vain. And this, the sudden wrenching pain of futility, crushed her, sending her teetering once more towards the brink of insanity, though it was decidedly lessened by the sudden realisation that her mind had once again fallen under her own control.
She knew that the realisation of his return to life should have filled her with the selfsame terror that seemed to incapacitate her companions, yet she found herself suddenly unable to break away from the incredible, surreal, wave of cool relief that swept through her as she realised, in a time-stopping heartbeat, that she was finally free. Fragmentary particles of evil still clung to her consciousness, circling through her brain in an attempt to drive her crazy, but she knew that, painful as they were, they would not succeed. She was physically exhausted, and mentally shattered, but she was *whole*, and the relief was indescribable; her mind was clear, and, for the first time in as long as she could recall, she was in control, though how long this tenuous grip upon rationality would last was indeterminable. She leaned back against Remy's chest and allowed a serene--almost delirious--smile to cross her lips.
After this frightening experience, she knew, she would never again be the same. She had been Touched by Pure Evil, and it would forever remain a part of her, controlled and subdued as with all the other personalities, thoughts, and memories hidden within her deepest mind, but it would be there nonetheless, and consequently, she would never again be able to fully trust herself. Never in her life, neither before nor after her powers had first manifested themselves within her--that fateful kiss, all those years ago--had she ever felt so much a part of something so pure, something so perfectly and truly *Evil*.
And its presence would linger within her forever.
She had been tainted--to some extent, violated, though the choice had been hers--and the trauma was incomparable. As she gazed up from the sanctuary of Gambit's embrace, she felt a rage welling up within her, a power that she had never felt before. How dare he take her innocence from her? How dare he infect her with this all-invading evil? How dare he transform her into this fragmentary monster who suddenly found herself unable to trust even the most fundamental of simplistic judgements?
She had absorbed evil before, she knew, but never anything like this. Never anything so pure and powerful and complete. Up until the point where her fingers had first grazed the Quintessence's skin, she had truly believed that no evil existed that was so powerful that a single flickering sliver of goodness could not be found within it; this contact, this painful, frightening experience, had taught her otherwise, and it had left her physically and mentally devastated. Whenever she had been forced to absorb something--a power, a thought, a memory--she had always stolen a small part of her victim, sucked a fragment of their life-essence into herself. But not this time. This time *he* had taken a part of *her*. And this part, this insignificant trace of self that he had taken from her, was something that, no matter how many times she touched him, she would never be able to get back.
And, now, just as she had begun to truly believe that the nightmare was drawing to a final climactic close, she realised with a sense of dulled horror, that it had only just started. Her sacrifice--which went deeper than any of her companions would ever comprehend--had been in vain, and she sighed unhappily, acknowledging the fact that, unless she had absorbed his powers permanently--the mere thought of which filled her with a sick dread--she could never have stopped him. Immortality could not be destroyed, unless it was stolen; simply borrowing it was no good, as evidenced by his laughing rebirth.
"What do we do now?" asked Scott from a short distance away; his voice was decidedly hushed as it reverberated against the walls. "If Wolverine's attack didn't destroy him, what do we do now?"
Rogue shivered, realising suddenly that the room was unnaturally cold, and struggled out of Gambit's arms, much against the Cajun's protest. "Leave me alone, Swamp Rat," she said weakly. "I'm fine." She limped towards where Cyclops and Storm had moved to the Young Ones' sides. "I can--" She paused, swallowing hard and biting back the queasy terror that bubbled in her stomach at the thought of what she was about to suggest. "I can try again, if ya want me to."
Scott shook his head. "No," he said. "All you'd be able to do is remove his powers temporarily. As soon as they left you again, he would be just as powerful as he is now. We need a permanent solution, not a quick fix." Sighing softly, he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Thank you for the offer, though. I know it can't have been easy for you."
She smiled faintly. "Ya bet it wasn't." Taking a deep breath, she turned to study the leering features of the one who had caused all this internal torment and, in that moment, she knew what she had to do. "Cyke... Let me try an' take him on. Ya know, one-on-one." She spoke with unwavering determination, even as she heard Scott's sharp inhalation at the thought of what she was suggesting. She smiled confidently, steeling herself for what she knew would be the toughest battle in her life. "I wanna take him down the hard way." Cyclops frowned, and Gambit stepped forwards to protest against this obvious suicide attempt, but Rogue held up a hand to silence them, her mind already made up as she clenched her fists and took a deep breath. "Look, y'all know I'm stronger'n all of ya put t'gether, an' if anyone can take him out, it's gonna be me. Sorry Logan," she said, grinning at Wolverine's angry growl, "but ya know it's true." She gazed steadily at all of her comrades. "Most of our mutant powers don't work against him--or if they do, it ain't for long--an' we're runnin' out of time ta think up new ideas. We gotta take him out the old-fashioned way. So, whether ya like it or not, ya better start wishin' me luck, 'cos I'm goin' in!"
"Don't be stupid!" shouted Eric, the young Cavalier. His eyes were partially downcast as he spoke, and there was a decided blush to his otherwise ashen complexion. "He's indestructible! Monkey-Boy's claws didn't hurt him, so what makes you think you can do anything to stop him?" He sighed and took her hand. "Don't throw your life away. It's not worth it... nothing's worth it."
Rogue blinked; from the little that she had learned about the boy, he had not struck her as the type to offer any words of kindness, even during life-or-death situations such as this one, and she found herself unable to determine whether to feel insulted or flattered by this sudden uncharacteristic display of gentleness. Instead of consigning herself to either of these emotions, she simply smiled and pulled her hand away. "I've gotta try, sugar," she said. "Ya can't understand, but I've gotta."
Sighing, Cyclops nodded. "All right, but *only* because we need to take him down *now* and we're out of options. But if you can see that what you're doing is no good, then get out of there as quickly as possible." He took a deep, nervous breath, and squeezed her shoulder. "And, for God's sake, be careful. We have no idea what we're up against here."
She tightened her fists until they hurt. "Maybe *ya* don't," she snarled, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice as she rose into the air. "But *I* know exactly what I'm dealin' with." As she prepared herself, she looked down to the others, smiling bravely in what she knew would be her last moment. The Young Ones appeared concerned, but otherwise indifferent--with the sole exception of Eric, who had his hands clenched together in a silent, desperate prayer for her safety. In contrast, the X-Men--and Remy in particular--seemed truly frightened. And, she knew, their fear was well founded. If the Quintessence had sustained after his death even a third of the power that she had absorbed, then she would not live through the encounter. It was not a question, a consideration, or a thought. It was a fact, pure and simple.
However, even with this knowledge in her mind, she knew that it was something she had to do. She had to avenge the hell that she had been put through, to try and put an end to that which had destroyed all that she held sacred within herself. She needed to do this, or remain forever tortured by the deep-set seeds of malevolence that had been sown within her fragile mind. This was no longer a mere battle between Good and Evil. It was a fight for her sanity, her sense of reason, her *life*. It was a struggle against the unspeakable horror that she had, in fact, brought upon herself.
Remy was gazing at her. "Don't do it, Chere," he pleaded, speaking very softly. "Gambit don't wanna lose ya. You've done all you can. Step down an' let someone else try." His dark red eyes were begging her, even as, lurking deep beneath their mysterious surface, she could see that he understood why she *needed* to do this, to prove herself against the one who still gripped her senses in such unbreakable bondage. As she ignored him, he sighed very softly, and closed his eyes with depthless regret. "Be strong out there, Chere. Gambit loves you."
"Fool," said the Quintessence, shaking his head in disgust at Gambit's sentimentality. "Your emotions mean nothing. Be silent, and you may extend your own mundane existence for a few more moments." He smiled sadistically and turned back to Rogue, and, as he did so, the icy chill that had enveloped the entire room seemed to grow, becoming more intense, crueller. "You will be the first," he growled. "You, the one who thought that my supreme powers were mere toys to be borrowed and then returned. Your actions have done nothing but prolong the inevitable, and sealed your fate." He raised a hand, extending it towards her, beckoning. "How does it feel, innocent one?" he asked softly, a dangerous smile tugging at his lips. "To have such deep evil inside of you, trapped forever within the claustrophobic confines of your insignificant mortal mind? Like a small animal, it shall remain for all eternity, waiting for the correct moment to be unleashed."
"Stop it!" she shouted, flying towards him, in spite of Cyclops and Storm's warning cries. "It ain't never gonna be unleashed. I've kept all these memories and feelings stuck inside me, this one ain't gonna be no different. I won't *let* it get out!" She threw herself against him, lashing out with both fists in what could only be described as an act of pure, unrestrained fury. "Ya hear me? It's gonna stay right where it is, deep inside of me, and it'll *never* get out!" She screamed and slashed at his face with her flailing arms. "NEVER!"
Somewhere, countless miles away, she could hear the stunned murmurs of her friends and companions. "What's she doing?" That was Hank, the leader of the Young Ones, speaking with refreshing sanity. "Is she crazy?"
"Woah!" That was Jubilee; Rogue recognised well her teenaged disbelief. "I've never seen her like *that* before!" The distant blur that was the young mutant turned to face the smudged figure of Storm.
Storm--or what Rogue assumed to be Storm--shook her head. "And nor have I," she whispered, and the fearful concern in the gentle mutant's voice touched Rogue at a level that she had thought had been destroyed when *that* force had invaded her mind. "I am extremely concerned about her," Storm continued, placing an arm across Jubilee's shoulder. "If she is able to survive this encounter, I do not believe that her mind will be able to endure the pressure that has been placed upon it." Even from her fog-enshrouded haze of hatred, Rogue could see the tears of mourning already beginning to flow in the quiet mutant's eyes. "She has been truly consumed by the conflict within herself, and I fear she knows not what she does."
"Oh, she knows what she's doin', all right," grated the harsh voice of Wolverine, and Rogue felt a dim, distant flicker of pleasant surprise at the realisation that he at least was able to understand her situation--a situation that she herself still could not completely comprehend. "She's tryin' ta put an end to this crazy jerk. He's taken outta her somethin' that she ain't never gonna get back, but she's gotta try--" He paused, and the distant entity that was Rogue's rational self blinked in surprise. "Hell, it don't matter. All you cowards need ta know is that this guy has to be stopped right now... So shut the hell up and let her try it her way!"
The young boy Eric, the one who had expressed such deep anxiety about watching her 'throw her life away', was crying out in utter shock. "She doesn't stand a chance against him!" he shouted angrily. "What the heck are you freaks doing, standing there while she flies right into his arms! Won't *any* of you even *try* and stop her? She's your friend, for crying out loud!"
Rogue frowned as she observed with a silent curse her fists sliding through the Quintessence's semi-translucent face as if it did not exist. The boy was being noble; for the first time since she had laid eyes on him, Eric the loud-mouthed Cavalier was being noble. Judging from the streaked figures that were the others, they were finding it just as hard to believe as she. All of them, with the sole exception of Wolverine, who seemed suddenly not to care-just as, Rogue realised, she was beyond caring about anything but the revenge she needed so desperately. "Shut yer mouth, kid," he shouted, raising his claws in a warning. "She's gotta do this! Fer us an' fer herself!" He turned to watch her efforts and, for only the briefest of moments, she was certain she detected a brief gleam of empathy in his dark eyes. "If she don't take that jerk on now, he'll torture her for the rest of her life, inside that damned head of hers, so screw the odds an' *let her try*."
The Quintessence was laughing, and with every failed attack that she directed towards him, his laughter increased in volume and the temperature of the room fell by another few degrees. It was becoming difficult to keep from shivering as she forced herself to remain steady and focused on her target; it was fairly obvious that her attempts were fruitless, yet she was unable to do as Cyclops had instructed and draw back. Something inside, something beyond her comprehension and control, demanded that she keep up her efforts, that she continue until either she or he had been completely destroyed. The feeling, whatever it was, was more powerful than anything that she had ever experienced, even the evil that still lurked within her, and, for the first time in her life, she realised just how out-of-control Logan felt when under the influence of yet another mindless rampage, and understood, in an instant of clarity, just how perfectly he understood her insatiable need to destroy that which had done this to her.
She drew back for just a second, breathing hard. Inside her tormented brain, she could see the fire and ice of her previous attack, and the evil inside her--the selfsame evil that she claimed to be able to control--began once again to surface. She cried out, gripping her head in a futile attempt to push it back, screaming at the top of her lungs as she did so, and feeling her self-control--that which kept locked away the thoughts, feelings, and memories of all those unfortunate individuals she had drained throughout her life--starting to falter, and long-hidden snatches of never-experienced moments began to surface. She was losing herself, and there was nothing she could do but weep in terror as she felt herself drowning in a boundless ocean of mental backwash.
It was at that moment that the Quintessence chose to make his move. His hand--that which had remained outstretched for the duration of her attack, that which seemed to be constantly in the process of forming some attack or another--began to glint slightly beneath the room's dim light, as if becoming coated in the ice that seemed to engulf the entire area, and then, with a speed that Rogue had never before witnessed, a snakelike creature leaped out from his palm and wrapped itself around her body. It was not until moments later, when the 'snake' solidified into something faintly reminiscent of solidified lightning, that the physical pain began to manifest itself, and within a matter of seconds, it had become paralysing.
What was this? She was not supposed to feel pain, to hurt, to fear for her life. Surely the chaos within her mind was punishment enough for whatever sins she had committed in past lives... Why the physical pain as well? Why the agony, the torture, the-- "AAAAAAAH!" She could no longer keep the chaos inside, could no longer subdue the suffering, could no longer silence the morbid insanity that not only threatened to destroy her mind, but now emanated from her body as well.
The others were calling her name, begging her to respond, even as she felt herself falling. She hit the ground hard and lay still, not even trying to muster strength enough to move. The crystalline lightning still squeezed her with its hot electric fingers, and she was now powerless to fight it; she had never before experienced a pain like this-very rarely experienced pain of any form-and so had no idea how to cope. She could hear the Quintessence's laughter reverberating throughout the room, a room that, through tear-filled eyes, appeared to gleam prettily as the walls and floor became ice. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see, hear, think, or, least of all, feel. She just wanted to end the pain and the insanity and the evil.
And, as the pure physical agony finally overpowered her saturated senses, sending her over the tenuous borderline between the Hell of Reality and the Solace of Unconsciousness, she realised with dulled senses that the tempest within her head had finally ceased.
*****
The temperature was too cold to allow for rational thought. Never in her entire life had Diana experienced such frigidity. Having spent countless hours training on a frozen track in sub-zero climates with nothing but a tracksuit to keep her warm, she had truly believed that she could understand what *real* cold was. This sensation, however, had proved her completely wrong.
She frowned up at the Quintessence, whose eyes were narrowed with concentration as he focused all of his energy on attacking Rogue, and as the mutant lapsed into unconsciousness, the effort in his eyes lessened and he returned his attention to the others. Frowning with deep anxiety, Diana guessed that Rogue, even with her super-human powers, would not survive for very long without assistance. His sparking lightning still engulfed her, slowly draining the life from her, though its intensity diminished greatly as he looked away with weary carelessness, moving to incorporate the other X-Men and the Young Ones into his intent maleficent gaze.
"When will you learn?" he asked softly. "I cannot be defeated. I am no mere mortal, no simple villain, to be struck down. I am Pure Evil. I am the personification of all that cannot be destroyed. Surrender now."
Hank stepped forwards, eyes burning. "No," he cried, and his voice crackled with the selfsame passion that Diana believed had been destroyed in the previous battle. "As long as we're breathing, we will *not* bow down to you. Everything can be defeated... It's just a matter of figuring out how to do it." He turned to Wolverine, who stood proudly at his side, and Diana noted a solemn smile gracing the primitive mutant's rabid features. "Right?"
"Right!" Logan replied, raising his claws and leering at the Quintessence with a cruel iciness that rivalled even the impenetrable cold permeating the room. "This stuff put an end to ya once, Bub! It can do it again!"
The Quintessence laughed. "Indeed?" he lowered his arms to his side, smiling with amusement. "Perhaps, then, you would like the opportunity to try and 'cut me down'?" He smiled, tilting his head towards the snarling mutant by way of invitation. "Come then. Perhaps my memory is faltering, but I recall a previous *failed* attempt on your part *before* your disrespectful companion took the matter into her own hands... and was consequently punished." He glanced briefly back at Rogue, and her body heaved violently, lifting off the ground with the force of some internal spasm. "Surely you comprehend that, had it not been for *her*, your second attempt would have been equally ineffective." He shrugged slightly. "But, if you wish, please, try once again."
"No, Wolverine!" shouted Cyclops as Logan moved forwards once again. "Stop it. Unless you want to end up like Rogue, keep *calm* and *stay back*. That's an order. I may not particularly enjoy your company at times, but I'm *not* willing to let you kill yourself on a whim." He paused, and his shielded eyes moved once again to take in his twitching comrade. Diana winced in response to the grief that racked his features as he gazed upon Rogue's dying body, longing to take his hands and tell him that everything would be all right. She knew, however, that this would not only be a lie, but would also go unappreciated. He would fight his suffering in his own way, and she would not interfere.
Hank looked from Cyclops to Wolverine and back again, then shook his head and released a flaming arrow towards the Quintessence. It drifted towards him in surreal slow-motion, and--much to Diana's surprise and Hank's apparent disbelief--stopped in mid-flight, remained fixed in position halfway between the two. As the group watched, it solidified, turning dull blue as it hung suspended for several long and heartstopping moments, then fell to the ground, shattering into countless useless shards.
Shaking, Hank raised his bow once again, struggling to remain steady as he took aim once more. The Quintessence sighed and shook his head, raising his hands with an air of boredom. "I tire of this foolishness. Begone." He snapped his fingers, and Diana watched in helpless terror as a ball of liquid fire screamed through the air, heading of its own accord towards the paralysed Ranger.
"Hank!" Sheila shrieked.
Diana extended her javelin, moving towards the danger zone with every intention of intercepting the Quintessence's attack; however, before she had even traversed half of the necessary distance, the fireball slammed with sickening force into the Ranger's side, and as he writhed in response to its searing power, it grew, enveloping him completely.
He stared out from his pyroclastic prison, and Diana skidded to a halt, just short of the fire's reach. She could feel its heat, could see the burns already forming on Hank's face as the unnatural flames began to eat their way through his clothing. "Damn it!" she heard herself shouting, stabbing ineffectually at the fire with her javelin. "Hold on, Hank!" she screamed. "Just hang on, we'll get you out of there!" She considered briefly throwing herself at him, in the attempt to displace some of the flames, or, at the very least, attract some of them away from Hank--assuming, of course, that they contained the sensible consciousness they seemed to develop as they swarmed hungrily over the helpless Ranger. "You hear me? We're gonna get you out! Just hang on!"
The Quintessence laughed and shook his head. "Indeed." He held out his hand, then slowly drew his fingers together into a fist; as he did so, the bubble of fire around Hank began to tighten, and his body began to convulse.
"Stop it!" wailed Bobby, raising his club and slamming it with full force to the ground. Diana felt the ground wobbling beneath her, and fell to one knee. "Leave him alone!" The young Barbarian had murderous tears in his eyes, and as he brought his club up for another attack, face blank and emotionless, Diana began to realise, for the first time, that Hank and Presto were not the only ones she needed to worry about; she had known that the strain of watching Venger die had been hard on the boy, but had assumed that, as strong and brave as he was, he would pull through with little damage. Obviously-and as she gazed into those deep blue eyes, so filled with hatred, it became all the more frighteningly apparent-she had been wrong.
The shock of Bobby's attack seemed to momentarily disorientate the Quintessence, who stumbled unsteadily for the briefest of seconds, before regaining his balance and turning to smile at the young boy with apology in his dark eyes. Diana found herself wondering, as she watched him regain his footing, how it had come to pass that the supposed Ultimate Personification of Evil had such a sensitive sense of equilibrium; she smiled slightly at the thought, allowing herself the moment of solace from the violence and destruction, then returned her attention to the matter at hand, namely Bobby's impending demise.
"Bobby, don't!" she cried, watching as Sheila and Jubilee moved to hold the raging Barbarian down, then turning back to Hank and the Quintessence. "Let him go, Venger," she shouted. "If you're going to kill us, take us *all* out together, or don't bother. Now let him go, and face us all. Or are you afraid that together we're strong enough to defeat you if you try and take us all on at the same time?" The words were empty, hollow threats gleaned from old movies, and she shook her head in disgust at what she was being forced to resort to. "Come on, you coward! Let Hank out of that thing and take all of us on, if you're strong enough!"
Grinning with false confidence, she turned to face Presto, Cyclops, and Eric, who had moved to her side. Presto, the angsty Magician, remained emotionless, and the emptiness in his usually-expressive features struck her as something of a momentary relief; taking into consideration Hank's breakdown, and Bobby's decline, seeing one other member of their team so well-adjusted was an enormous weight lifted from her shoulders. However, the moment was extremely short-lived as she realised, a little too late to stop herself from feeling the brunt of her own unabashed dismissal, that the bittersweet carelessness in Presto's face was almost as unnatural as the frigid chill that still engulfed the room. Whatever the Magician's kinship with the wild Logan had been, it certainly did not appear to have been particularly beneficial--though, judging by the uncharacteristically self-satisfied smirk that covered Presto's pale face, it seemed *he* would disagree with that assessment.
By contrast, Cyclops had the pained tension of leadership on his face, and Diana smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. She could see that Rogue's torture had been difficult for him to observe, but knew that, as long as the unconscious mutant remained alive, Cyclops too would be all right. The watery grin that Diana manufactured as she turned back to face the evil one was for his benefit; she knew that, if she could not remain calm and loose, she would become just as helpless as Rogue and Hank, whether or not the Quintessence actually saw fit to attack her. She needed to prove to Scott that being relaxed, even in the most desperate of no-win situations, was often what kept you alive. For some reason, even as she contemplated the all-too-real possibility that she would be the Quintessence's next target, it meant far more to her that she took his attack with a smile on her face, if for nothing more than to see the pride on Scott's face as he finally realised that to be relaxed was *not* necessarily to be vulnerable. She had always known that she would go down in a legendary Blaze of Glory, and now, with Cyclops and the others as witnesses, she would finally have her chance.
Eric, ever Diana's polar opposite, was quivering, holding his shield high as he gazed at the Quintessence through half-closed eyes. He whimpered softly as he stepped towards his smouldering leader. His eyes, Diana noticed, though they remained steadily focused on Hank's writhing body, occasionally flickered to Rogue, who remained trapped in the unbreakable grip of the Quintessence's frozen lightning. His posture was rigid with horror at seeing the horrors that had befallen both his long-time leader *and* the courageous mutant who had stood up to Wolverine on his behalf so many times since their arrival in the Realm. Suddenly, and in complete contrast to his usual cowardly uselessness, the Cavalier growled and took a step towards Hank, ignoring Diana's gentle warnings, Scott's harshly grated orders, and Presto's uncharacteristically tongue-in-cheek observations.
The Quintessence remained oblivious to the Cavalier's approach, still shaking his head in disbelief at Diana's previous comment. "Do you truly believe that?" he asked softly, lowering his hands and taking a single resounding step forwards. "Do you truly believe that I am *afraid* of your collective 'strength'?" He shook his head. "Foolish child! I am the Quintessence of Evil, the physical embodiment of all that you pure-hearted mortals cannot comprehend. I fear *nothing*, for there is nothing in existence that can harm me." He smiled. "I am beyond emotion, and beyond the mortal prison of limitations and fears. I am supremacy personified."
Diana grabbed Eric's cape and held him back before he was able to draw too close to the Quintessence's mighty wrath. "Oh yeah?" she demanded, knowing her words were futile, but searching desperately for time enough to allow Cyclops or Storm--or indeed anybody else--to think of something, *anything* to either stop the Quintessence or help their suffering friends. "You fear nothing, huh? There isn't anything any of us can do to hurt you, huh? Well, if you're so damned all-powerful, then why are you so eager to destroy us?" As the words left her lips, she found herself looking back to Hank, clenching her fists tightly as she floundered for something significant to say, something that would make him pause to think. "If we're no *threat* to you, why waste your 'supreme evil' on us? Why bother killing us, instead of going out and taking over the Realm, like you've always wanted?" She was firing questions with growing rapidity now, shooting them out without even pausing to consider their impact, in the vain hope that *one* of them would cause him to stop and contemplate what she was saying.
"Because, insignificant one," he replied, speaking with the sluggish air of carelessness, "you *exist*. You have chosen to infiltrate my home, my castle. You have offered yourselves as sacrifices to me. Why, indeed! Why does any living thing destroy any other? Why do you mortals waste your 'supreme knowledge' destroying lower life forms? Because they are there for you to destroy. Because you, in your lowly 'wisdom' see fit to destroy those below you on your primitive evolutionary scale." He smiled, and Diana was certain that the expression was merely a crude statement that said 'I'm humouring you, idiot'. "As, my friend, do I."
He gazed around, taking in each of his victims. The unconscious Rogue, the still-struggling Hank. The defiant Diana, the untamed Wolverine, the furious Bobby. The stoic Presto, the quiet Storm, the angry Cyclops. The sobbing Sheila, the devastated Gambit, the silent Jubilee, the terrified Eric. All of them. And as his eyes passed over each, they became filled with a deeper sense of satisfaction. This, Diana realised, was the definition of true evil... To ruthlessly and purposelessly kill those who could do no harm, to toy with those who were small and weak and unable to fight back. This was true malevolence, pure and unbridled darkness, and Diana trembled before it, deciding, in a moment of light-hearted insanity, that she would never again be able to spray a caterpillar or swat a fly without thinking of the morbid and terrifying speech of this life-altering moment.
It was at that moment that she realised how wrong she had been for all those innocent years. Fighting back and being strong was sometimes *not* good enough to pull through, and sometimes bad things *did* happen to good people, for no reason and with no moral or lesson to validate its occurrence. Never again would she be foolish enough to believe in such foolishness as Good and Purity. Why bother trusting in these artificial fancies, when the mere presence of the Quintessence in a previously utopian existence showed, beyond any shadow of doubt, that they did not exist?
And so, because she was out of time, out of willpower, and out of options, she closed her eyes--suddenly finding herself unable to look at any one of her companions, but most of all the courageous Scott Summers--and bowed before the Quintessence.
*****