Descent

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

Part 6

The Present...

"It had all been over so fast," he thought. "Two years suffering couldn't be avenged in a few short minutes of devastation."

For days afterwards he'd searched the rubble for survivors, hardly caring if he found any of his fellow prisoner but eagerly searching for someone responsible, someone he could inflict suffering on. He'd searched in vain. He managed to unearth the lab and the bodies of Sinister's captives, their cells had survived the destruction intact but the superheated air had roasted them where they stood. In all his searching he didn't find a single living soul, nor did he find the bodies of Sinister or Gambit.

Eventually he'd moved on, the lab's location had been remote and the locals hesitant to pay attention to anything that happened there, but eventually the authorities came and he didn't want to face their questions or the fear and disgust that he knew would fill their eyes at the sight of him.

He'd returned to Philadelphia and the tunnels where the Morlocks had lived. A decomposing coloring book had been the only sign they'd ever been there. He never learned if they'd been taken by Sinister or if they'd gotten suspicious and fled after his disappearance.

After that he'd drifted, alone, purposeless, disconnected from the world. He'd stumbled across a few creatures of evil, but destroying them brought only short-lived triumph.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd had anything even resembling a good day, until today. Until he'd seen the tall, russet haired boy stowing a duffle bag in a locker at the airport before heading out into the city of New York.

At first it had been hard to believe what his instincts were telling him. Dressed in slightly tattered cargo pants, sunglasses and a tee shirt with a coat tucked into his backpack strap, the boy wasn't the most respectable looking high schooler he'd ever seen, but there was nothing about him that screamed demonic minion of evil incarnate either.

Still he'd become accustom to acting on his instincts so he followed the boy on silent wings. Eventually the boy had briefly pushed up his sunglasses. The flame on ebony eyes were incontestable proof that Gambit had somehow survived the lab's destruction nearly two years ago.

A cruel smile crossed the watcher's face, this time he wouldn't make the mistake of ending things quickly. This time he'd be repaid in full, scream for scream. Each wound to his body or soul returned in kind, until he was finally free of the hell Gambit had led him into so long ago.

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