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Knights Of Time
Author: Jenskott
Summary: Shortly after of the battle on the Alkali Lake, the X-Men discover the true war is merely beginning.
Notes: This is my first shot in a X-Men movie fic. In this tale I try carrying on the long-standing Marvel tradition of time travels. There will be influences of 'Days of Future Past', 'Age of Apocalypse', 'The Twelve', and much of comic cannon, like 'Dark Phoenix Saga'. However there're certain assumptions you must do in this fic: The Scott and Jean's pasts remain comic canon; there is less age difference between Scott and Jean; Scott, Jean, Warren and Hank were the first school's students and Bobby is kind of a little brother to them; Phoenix is Jean with hers powers boosted to the maximum, no a construct of alien energy.
Continuity: X2, tweaking the end.
Disclaimer: X-Men belong to Marvel, and their movie versions belong to Twentieth Century Fox. And writing nonsense disclaimers to disown stuff that all know aren't yours is boring.
Dedications: To Minisinoo for being the best X-Men movie writer I've read ever, and one of the best Scott/Jean writers: and to Mara Greengrass and Lisea for inspiring me to try fanfics based on the movie.
Feedback: To jorgisimox@hotmail.com. I can't stress enough how badly I need advices and supports. English isn't my primary language, so excuse my mistakes.
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Prologue: Risen From the Waters-
"NO!"
A cry of horror.
"OPEN THE HATCH!"
A shout of despair.
"Damn you, let me go!"
A bellow of anguish.
"LET ME GO!"
A chill of horror gnawed his bones and froze his blood in cold ice. Sorrow, grief, hopelessness ahead of the unavoidable was overwhelming him, pushing him. Denial, fear and strong protective love was flooding him and driving him. He wanted tearing apart the cursed hatch with his bare hands, the boisterous metal sheet parting him of his love and go with her to save her or die together at least. The ominous, foreboding feeling what was going to happen unless he did something -whatever- was pushing him violently. And he was a maelstrom of conflicting emotions among his duty and the knowledge he was ready to blow apart whoever tried stopping him if it was required, loyalties forgotten for an emotion so strong that transcended him.
But he was holding him, seizing him, forbidding him of opening the hatch to go out. Scott shoved and thrust, but it wasn't enough. He pleaded, but wasn't listened. He glared balefully in his eyes, but he found only a sorrow matched his. He slumped over him, whimpering between sobs, and the man who had thought of himself being his rival hugged him, sharing his pain. A part of him hated him for it, for giving up his pride and impeding him die.
Outside, the world was a vortex of chaos.
Gallons and gallons of dark, icy water rushed wildly in a flood, dragging with irresistible force everything in the wake of their trail. Massive waves slid onwards with a ear-deafening, terrific rumble, flooding the wide snowy valley and swallowing ground, trees, hills, everything. The tide streamed over the country with unstoppable momentum, and the ferocious waves clashed and crashed among them making quick whirlpools. The path of destruction of the high wall of solid liquid went on, ravaging and razing the plain, when it collided with an invisible wall dared to oppose to them. The water roared and smashed the barrier with its power, but it endured.
The X-Men gaped in awe the sight of Jean Grey, alone, with her arms spread outwards, shaping a cross, facing rolling waves of tons of water. Her black-clad, slender body erupted with crackling, flaring blazes of unnatural fire, dancing around of her and glowing with golden intensity. The very air boiled and sizzled with the heat, albeit the vapor of the water obstructed the sight. As she was gesturing idly with both hands, hovering the Blackbird and handling its controls with the reared hand, and with the most forward rising a wall of thought between the tidal and them.
A tempest of blue liquid stampeded brutally against her shield, and it shivered in its very foundations, but endured bravely the onslaught. Rivers of water flowed towards her, over loading her telekinesis, but she withstood. The water swirled and accumulated, gaining in height and making a massive wave, gigantic as a mountain of liquid, exercising an unimaginable weight upon the progressively thinner shield the puny human had risen to defy to the forces of the nature.
Jean sweated and panted, his teeth grind together and bit her lips until shedding blood. Her head buzzed with the aloud rumblings of the wind and the waves, and pounded with a tension, an effort she never believed to herself capable. He shield was flickering and wavering, and she gasped laboriously. With a glimpse of thought, she reshaped and molded the surface to mirror a triangular wedge, leaving to the crushing mass of water parting in two. Rivers of ivory, bubbling foam slid around her, rushing in coiling tongues of splashing liquid, and she exhaled air.
However the pressure of the water was too strong, far stronger than she was. The Blackbird wasn't yet ready to go off, but her power didn't bear more. Her barrier was strained to the maximum, flickering dangerously, threateningly, and she gasped with the sensation of vessels of blood about of bursting in her brain. She screeched with agony and mustered more power, more energy, more force, speeding up to start and move away the airship earlier. She grunted and pushed, but it was useless. It was overwhelming her. She'd reached her limit and barely endured, but the wall of war continued growing and overflowing her barrier. She couldn't do anymore.
But she couldn't fail. She had to do this. She HAD to defeat this, even though it took her life.
She needed power. More power. Far more power. She needed shatter her limits, blow in smithereens and draw the required force out of wherever. She had to be a very force of the nature to overpower other.
She grunted and resorted to her last stores, moaning while she forced her body where she had never been in, seeking power and drawing it out of nowhere. With a yell, Jean blew up her own safeties, and tapped in a power unbeknownst to her, something she had always but never had found out or imagined ever.
Blistering ivory light exploded out of her glaring, frowning eyes, and her body went up in flames. She crossed her arms and lashed outwards slashing the air. A bolt of telekinetic erupted at the wall of air, and it pounded unexpectedly on the waters, which splashed foam and recoiled startled, abruptly caught off guard.
A warning blared in her head, and she beamed with a pleasant, relieved smile of elation beamed brightest than the tongues of flames surrounding her. The Blackbird was out of danger already. She had accomplished her purpose.
Free at last, she lowered her force field of sudden, no longer caring her what happened from now. She beamed beatifically, a smile of acceptation embraced the death was lunging on her, whose tendrils of liquid oblivion coiled around her and wrapped her body. Tons of tough lake water impacted over her head.
And inside the cockpit, a crowd of horrified mutants gaped in shock the display of the water rushing over her, washing over her, swirling on a wild, frenzied whirlpool, which did a unbearably loud rumbling noise. Fresh surf erupted in tall columns that blasted skywards, and thick billows of dense mist floated upwards. Slowly, steadily the majestic funnel calmed down, and the waters quieted.
Storm covered her mouth with a grief-stricken expression. The Professor was shutting his eyes to hold back the tears, and Kurt Wagner chanted low-voice versicles of the Psalms. Wolverine stared at the glass with a glazed, faraway expression, and the kids were deeply shocked and distraught, living the final chapter of one nightmare had began few hours ago. Time enough to the foundations they had built over their beliefs shattered and crumpled.
The school had been violated without the X-Men were able of stopping the assailants, and Doctor Grey was dead. Many of those cold, scared children, mainly Jubilee, were got used to believe nothing can kill a hero. The heroes are supposed to be indestructible, invincible; when all is said and done they will always triumph over.
But the worst was, by far and noticeably, Scott Summers. He was hunched over the pad, his eyes frozen on the rippling waters flowing with rushed movement towards the lower valley. His body was rocked with strong trembles and convulsions, and his hands gripped deeply the metallic layer. His fingers were actually carving their prints on the controls, and strings of blood trickled down, dripping on the floor. Short gasps escaped out of his thin lips. His body was yearning to weep, but he was holding it together barely and tightly. Partially because he knew if he started, he would never stop, and partially because realization hadn't reached with him yet.
She couldn't be dead. She couldn't, his wretched soul screamed in anguish and despair. She hadn't gone away, she couldn't have left him behind. Death wasn't supposed to happen. No her, for the pity's sake.
He rose up his head, oblivious to the stealthy peeps all were giving him. He couldn't see their contrite faces of regret and mourn, he couldn't hear their hushed whispers. He couldn't hear anything, only the deafening silence blaring in his head. One second before she was engulfed by the raging waters, he had felt something in his head. An inward farewell, filled with love and an odd peace of mind. And then it blacked out. Then, a searing pain, the feeling of part of your brain ripped off. And after, silence and loneliness. Now there was only darkness and numbness instead light and warmth.
He had felt her dying. He knew she had perished, just wouldn't admit it to himself.
His motionless, unblinking stare was trapped, locked on the spot where she had been, battling the tempest of the current. The harsh wind continued bent on shaking the waters, blowing ripples of waves on the murky surface. The pale northern sun cast a dulled light on the glossy surface. The sunrays split touching the crystalline and uneven plane, and played with the undulations of the water.
He blinked, shocked. There was something weird down there. He couldn't make out the colors, seeing the world through shades of red, but some of the lights were of a definitely distinct tint, a hue very unlike of the dark purple and stark red he was watching. But the main motive he had caught on it was it moved different, obeying another pattern than the dot lights spotting the sea. They were stuck to the physics of reflection and refraction, whereas it was moving at their own volition, almost premeditatedly. And it wasn't specks of sun, but wisps of light underwater. His imagination suggested wildly in tongues of fire dancing and recoiling within the lake water, but it was impossible. His sight had to be playing tricks on him.
"Are you seeing anything odd or amiss down there?" He queried aloud to nobody in particular.
An ebony and ivory shadow -Ororo- approached to him, and followed the direction of his stare. "Yes, I do" She stated, surprised and bewildered.
The entire lot crowded together, whispering and murmuring. Logan, who Storm had passed the controls to, simply craned his neck to peak better.
Thus, everyone saw in awe an intricate pattern of orange beams ascending at the surface lazily. When it touched the thin line parting air and water, tendrils of flares erupted out of the air, impossibly unaffected for the mass of gelid water should have them put off by all rights.
With a sickening slow pace, the thin sheen between liquid and gas wavered and broke, and a glowing, five-feet-wide fireball, emerged out of the water, its dazzling light gleaming the waters with hot orange. Suddenly it shivered, and bolted towards the Blackbird, searing the screeching air as a shooting star.
Everyone screamed, the awe replaced by fright, and Scott hurried at the controls at the same time Wolverine tried fly the airplane out of the way.
It wasn't of use. The blast of fire struck head-on the flight, and it flared up in shimmering white. Blank light washed over the compartments of the plane, dimming shapes and colors. The X-Men were blinded with the dazzling brightness, but simultaneously felt a warm, smooth feeling brushing over them, and lingering before of leaving. And Cyclops particularly sensed a world of flaming light flashed in his mind, erasing the feeling of anguish, awful solitude had gnawed his bones earlier.
When the glow put off, everyone blinked and rubbed their eyes, slightly dazed, when a Scott's cry did them focus their attention on him. They led their stares to him and after to the center of the cockpit. They regained their awareness at a stroke, and their eyes bulged out of the sockets.
Because on the middle of the floor was sprawled the inerm and still body of Jean Grey. She lied down with her arms stuck to the sides and the legs straight and together, but despite of that rigid posture, her self seemed utterly relaxed. And despite of having been submerged underwater Jean was dry, no with her hair, clothes and hide drenched and dripping water on the floor until making a puddle. She was giving off heat even, like a furnace, although the water would be below zero.
Suddenly her body stirred and jolted violently on the floor. Her eyelids snapped open abruptly, lit with a golden glimmer flickered and shimmered on the air.
She raised a tentative, writhing hand, as reaching for someone to hold her, and her mouth opened laboriously. "Fire... Life... Scott!" She shrieked, and slumped on the floor, fainted again.
Everyone rushed towards her, including Logan after setting the automatic flight control on, but Scott was by her side embracing and holding her surprising fragile body before than anyone. He squeezed it with his hug as if feared it'd vanish if he stopped, and stroked constantly her back to reassure to himself she was solid, real. Tears flowed uncontrollably down his face and trickled from his chin.
Everyone stated away, giving them a respectful wide space and an understanding silence. Thus, Scott was the only in hearing the hushed, slurred words she was whispering, fainted and dozing. They sounded fearful, beseeching, as if she was in the throes of a nightmare.
"Scott, help me."
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Outside of the military plane, an puny hurricane streamed along the frozen, frigid waters, rippling the wavering lake surface and blowing tall waves.
A lonely, darkened figure, unfitting on that scenery, was hovering quietly above the rushed waters. Once on a while, the water rippled, curling in a tall wave dropped over it, menacing swat him and crushing him; only to crash in a translucent, immaterial barrier, where the water and the bubbling froth slid down, displaying its curvy outline and spherical shape. That bubble was batting aside contemptuously the power of the elements had whipped that landscape, now an endless plain of water. It held efficaciously at bay the gusts of air, the hammering lashes of the sea, and the frostbitten cold, chilling to the bones.
Inside it, a young man, likely in his middle twenties, gazed piercingly the shining and black speck was the shape of the Blackbird soaring across the sky. His face was very handsome, with short dark-brown hair framing his features, almost boyish in spite of he was a grownup: thin and smart brows, high cheekbones, square chin and slim lips, tightly gritted. His eyes were intensely blue, but frowning and harsh, and reflecting twice the age he looked. An odd sheen of grey and white shrouded his irises.
His dressing showed he remained oblivious to the chilled weather. Pants and thick jacket, kevlar of glossy black color, matching the ones of the X-Men. The jacket was open, and underneath it there was a blue suit with a yellow draw. His arms were folded over the broad chest, doing impossible making out the picture. Behind him was strapped to his back a long staff of metal, with a side blunt and other ended on a sharp, curvy blade. His vicious razor edge glinted dangerously with each stray beam of the pale sun.
He uncrossed lazily his arms, displaying the image emblazoned on his thorax. An inverted isosceles triangle, golden color flashing on it and bordered with a jagged black line. His left eye glowed with an amber shimmer. His entire ocular globe, pupils, irises and white part were pulsating with bright golden.
Psychic probes slipped around of his shields as oily grease, his will dodging mental scans that if detected his presence and realized of the shudder he generated on the astral plane, would shrink on abject horror. But they wouldn't spot him unless they were looking precisely for him. And they wouldn't do because they didn't know he was there, and he'd not let it.
He remained peering at the flying away vehicle, perusing the sky with boring, penetrating eyes. The sharp furrow of his brows revealed the engrossed concentration of his mind. Suddenly his left eye blazed dazzlingly with a wild, orange blaze, throwing sparks everywhere.
"It's begun" He stated evenly. His non-committal voice sounded hoarse and croaked.
One hand wandered backwards, as far as the pike. Fingers clasped firmly the threatening-looking spear, gripping it until knuckles turned whitened. A thumb traced with slight, meditative brushes the faint ridges carved on the hilt. The weapon felt so right and fitting in his hands like always. Light and lethal.
A blinding flash of light, and he had vanished away without a trace.
Waterfowls and seagulls squawked and shrieked impassively, flying slowly in circles overhead.
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End of Prologue
Notes: Surprised? This is my try of adding to Nathan and Rachel to the movieverse. By the way, there's neither T-O virus nor Askani here, but he's more Nathan Summers 'Cable' than Nate Grey 'X-Man'. Regarding to personality, at least.
Next Part: The very foundations of the reality are torn apart in the First Chapter: When Proteus Strikes.