Descent

Disclaimer: Characters and Premise are borrowed from the Marvel, I'm not making any money.

Part 5

The little office near Remy's quarters was an eerie place at 2:00 in the morning, lit only by the light coming off the computer screen. The shadow cast by the gooseneck lamp had the look of a dragon leaning over his shoulder. The whisper of air through the vents sounded like the sighs of a mournful ghost, while the creak of the chair's casters became the sound of a cell door being shut. All in all haunted houses had nothing on this place.

"Or mebbe it was de readin' material," Remy thought to himself. Getting into Essex's records had been surprisingly easy, the lab journals were clear, concise and fully illustrated.

Remy shuttered, quickly closing the link he'd just opened, wishing he could erase the image from his mind as easily as he'd erased it from the computer screen. The worst thing about it was that she was still recognizable despite everything that had been done to her. He'd known her, he'd brought her here, he was responsible for what had been done to her, there was no way to deign that, not with her once lovely, now tortured eyes staring into his from the depths of the computer screen.

And the records went on and on, stretching back across decades. Coldly analytical descriptions of atrocities committed in the name of science, recorded without a hint of remorse or regret for the lives destroyed. And for two years Remy had unknowingly facilitated this horror.

"Mais, I don' understand, he saved me," the boy whispered to himself. "Dis ain't what he taught me. Why would he do dis?"

****** ****** ******

Warren had struggled until Archlight cracked him upside the head hard enough to knock him out.

He woke-up back in his cell instantly knowing what had happened. For months, possibly over a year, his wings had been crippled by the damage they'd sustained, a useless, unresponsive weight dragging at his shoulders. He would have given anything to have that weight back. It held the promise that some day he might heal and fly again. Now there was nothing at all.

Warren didn't bother to move from where he'd been dropped. Even the minimal effort required to shift his body to a more comfortable position seemed like too much work, the reward not worth the bother.

When they came for him Warren hung limp and unmoving between Sinister's lackeys. He barely blinked as the ground rushed up at him. He cursed the chain that arrested his fall before he could reach the oblivion it promised.

Warren's lethargy remained as they hauled back to his cell and several days later put him back on the table where Sinister welded metal wings to his shoulder in place the organic ones he'd taken from him.

****** ****** ******

"So dis is where it happens," Remy said stepping into the lab. He wasn't supposed to be in this section of the base, but Sinister didn't seem surprised to see him.

"Yes, this is my lab, I knew you'd come here after accessing the files," the scientist said. "Do you have any questions?"

"Yo' lied to me," Remy cried. "Yo' said yo' were tryin' to minimize de cruelty and de sufferin'. Yo' create it."

"I told you that evolution does not work on a human scale, neither do I," Essex replied, unperturbed. "If you look at my research on an individual basis it does appear cruel and inhumane, but these are natures failures, destined to be discarded as the species finds more viable paths to follow. They would have served no purpose in the greater scheme, but by studying them, I can glean knowledge and in some cases push them in a more advantageous direction. I collect their genetic material and recombine it with proper matches, allowing them to find the immortality their lines would most like fail to obtain if left to their own devices. My work will ensure that humanity is the species to evolve to the next plain of existence rather than becoming a chapter in the planet's history like the dinosaurs."

"Yo' said dat yo' be makin' de transition to de new species easier," Remy protested, his temper beginning to manifest itself through his powers as a glowing nimbus surrounding him.

"And I have, the number of generations until Homo Sapien Superior inherits this world may very well be halved because of my efforts," Sinister said calmly. "I understand that this is a lot for you to absorb, your emotions are obviously running very high at this moment, interfering with your reason. It would be advisable for you to spend some time meditating on what you have learned and examining it with logic rather than allowing your behavior to be ruled by a 'gut reaction'."

"Yo' tell me I should ignore dere pain, cause it don' mattah in de long run, but how can' yo'?" Remy said making a final plea. "Can't yo' feel dem? Dis whole room, it be chokin' wid deir misery."

"But I don't feel it," Sinister replied. "Not the way you do. You are an empath. The talent is quite useful, even when used subconsciously without training. I believe it's a simple defensive reaction, whenever you interact with people you naturally persuade them to like you, to agree with you. You sense what they feel and know how to reach them, further you can change how they feel. A telepath can plant thoughts in a person's mind, but they can be dissuaded, easily in truth, if their feelings run contrary, but when a strong enough empath changes a person's feeling they will come up with their own reasons. Furthermore they defend and justify those reasons even to the death. Very few are capable of truly shutting out their emotions and acting on logic, mores the pity for the species."

"Yo're saying dese people only gave demselves to yo' 'cause I made dem?" Remy asked, horrified.

"Of course, you play on their fears and hopes. I've never been able to gauge your true strength, but I believe you should be able to eliminate all the suffering in this room and make my subjects into willing martyrs to the cause of science," Sinister said.

"Non! Dis is wrong," Remy protested.

"Your abilities do come with drawbacks," Sinister sighed. "It is bad enough to be swayed by one's own emotion, but you must also guard against being swayed by the emotions of others. Their feelings are nothing more than tools at your disposal, and should be treated as such."

****** ****** ******

Back in his cell, recovering from the surgery, a black hatred began rising in Warren. The dead mass of the metal wings Sinister had welded to his shoulders were a mockery of those that had been taken from him. Ridged and unwieldy, the things would never fly. They were a lie and a cruel joke, a reminder of what had been stolen from him.

Warren forced himself to remain complacent as they pulled him up to the roof once more, but when he found himself under the gray, stormy sky he broke away, plunging over the side of the building and hopefully to his death.

Then the impossible happened. An updraft caught the metal wings and bore Warren aloft. The sight of the ground falling away beneath him and the feel of the winds surrounding him awoke a fierce joy in his heart. Seconds later it ended as gravity reasserted its claim.

Warren's whole being cried out at this new torment and that thing inside him that Sinister had been trying to find awoke and twisted. The metal wings went liquid for a moment, reformed by the blackest hate and wild desperation. The metal flowed into his muscles and nerves making itself a part of him, turning his skin the bluish cast of steel, and as the ground rushed back toward him the newly forged wings stretched, caught the air and flapped propelling him back into the sky.

For a moment Warren hovered, feeling the changes in his being settling into his soul, then he dove back toward the roof and those who had tormented him for so long. He slashed at them with wings as sharp and cold as hate.

Sinister's body flowed and reformed behind Warren's cuts, leaving him untouched but Archlight and Scalphunter bled and died quite satisfactorily.

Warren took another slashed at Sinister and the villainous creature caught him by the arm and hurtled him into the access door.

As Warren's wings extended the structure was torn apart. He hovered among the debris, a blue skinned avatar of death and destruction. He wanted nothing more than to tear Sinister limb from limb, but the weapons his fury had forged for him weren't capable of the task.

With a shriek of rage Warren turned and flew into the base, looking for more effective weaponry or easier targets for his vengeance.

****** ****** ******

Remy stole a quick glance into the lab, upon finding it empty of Sinister or his henchman, he slipped inside. "Essex says I can take 'way deir sufferin', an' I will, for real," Remy said determinedly.

He drew a card from the pocket of his coat and infused it the lurid glow of his power; he threw the card at the base of one of the class cells. The card exploded on impact, but to Remy's shock left the glass unscathed.

His efforts didn't go unnoticed by the prisoners. A number of them rose to their feet, beating on the glass, staring at him with dreadful hope in their eyes, he could see their mouth moving in soundless pleas.

" 'M tryin'," Remy said grabbing up a book from Sinister's desk and charging it. The resultant explosion filled that corner of the room with flames. When the air clear the cell that had taken the brunt of the blast was still intact, but a near by stack of papers was smoldering. Remy put out the fire, his expression drawn into a frown as his plans began to fall apart.

Remy placed his hands on the glass. As he poured his power into wall of the cell, Remy realized it was something more than glass or plastic. The substance absorbed and dispersed his power, refusing to take a charge. Angry and determined Remy pushed more and more power into the cell, until he overloaded it.

The blast threw Remy across the room slamming him violently into a wall. For a moment the boy blacked out. The unfortunate occupant of the cell was incinerated by Remy's efforts on his behalf. By the time Remy began stirring, sparks from the explosion had grown into a full-fledged blaze, merrily eating it's way toward Sinister's chemical stores.

Remy turned to Sinister's computer terminals and began pounding on the keys practically at random, trying desperately to unlock the cells, glancing back at the advancing flames every few minutes.

Remy flinched at the first explosion not of his making; the stink of burning chemicals filled the lab. Remy bit his lip and kept typing. More explosions followed the first. Remy coughed harshly as the foul smoke invaded his lungs, his skin shown with sweat from the heat of the fire.

"Dammit open!" Remy yelled slamming a fist into the keyboard; an errant burst of his power shattered the computer terminal. He stared at the destruction in dismay. The heat of the fire gradually drove him back from the cells. "Je desole," Remy whispered staring helplessly at Sinister's victims. "I wanted to save yo'."

Remy managed to take two steps back toward the cells before he was over come with a fit of coughing that drove him to his knees. "I did m' best, mais I can't get yo' free. Je tres desole."

The boy turned and fled the inferno by a side door. After several turns Remy entered a room packed with coils of machinery. Remy hurried to the control panel, forcing himself to remember what he'd seen Essex do to activate it, then punched the proper sequence of keys. A moment later the equipment whirred into action and Remy felt the cold blast of air from the portal seeping in from the neighboring room.

He couldn't be sure where the portal would end, but anywhere was better than here, taking a deep breath he dove into the swirling tear in reality.

****** ****** ******

Warren's new wings were less cumbersome in the tight spaces than his original ones had been, his flight faster and more precise. That his wings, which had once been beautiful, giving him the appearance of a symbol of light and hope, should become cruelly efficient instruments of death and carnage seemed oddly fitting to Warren. That those who'd taken his life, his very soul, should provide him with the means to destroy them seemed a poetic irony.

In his heart Warren knew there would be no mercy for any of those associated with Sinister.

He came on Harpooner in an eye blink, the dark, stocky villain managed to hurl one of his energized spears. Warren pulled his wings in tight, spiraling out of the spear's path, and then extending them to all but cut Harpooner in half. The man died before he hit the floor. Vertigo fell even faster.

As Warren approached the lab were he had been held prisoner an explosion drove him back. A second explosion, even larger, followed the first. Warren tumbled backward, head over heels, propelled by the blast.

A third and fourth explosion came in quick succession, almost over lapping, and the smell of chemicals filled the air.

Warren took to the air, flying as quickly as he could through the twisting halls, harried on by the increasingly violent explosions at his back.

Sinister appeared at the top of a stairwell, striding toward the source of the chaos a determined frown on his face.

All though of escape fled Warren's mind at the sight of his torturer. Warren flew at Sinister at full speed, intending to decapitate the man.

Sinister fired a bolt of power from his hands, deflecting Warren's flight. Warren spun out of control, plowing into Sinister.

In close combat Warren should have been murderous, his wings a virtual barrage of swords, each feather sharper than the finest katana blade and backed by his powerful flight muscles. But his opponent's body split and reformed like liquid and Sinister's superior strength quickly began to turn the battle in his favor.

The vampiric looking man threw Warren against the wall and sent a devastating blast of energy after him. Reflexively Warren's wings wrapped around him, shielding him from the bolt, it ricocheted, striking Sinister and sending him to his knees.

Flames from the most recent explosion shot up the stairwell as if it were the mouth of a cannon.

Warren smiled vindictively, then tackled the stunned villain sending him tumbling down the stairwell as another explosion raced up to engulf him.

Warren rode the shockwave up, out of the building. Several dozen feet in the air he hovered watching as explosions consumed the compound.

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