*********************************************************************************
The Second Ascension
Author: Jenskott
Summary: After of the Gathering of The Twelve the machine and the technology of Apocalypse was abandoned and forgotten in Akkaba. Suddenly the reality has changed drastically, without anybody realizing. What happened and who is the responsible? Can the X-Men stop and reassert the timeline in its path?
Notes:
Continuity: Comic.
Disclaimer: X-Men belong to Marvel due to some sort of cosmic disaster. And writing nonsense disclaimers to disown stuff that all know aren't yours is boring.
Feedback: To jorgisimox@hotmail.com. I can't stress enough how badly I need advice and supports. English isn't my primary language, so excuse my mistakes.
*********************************************************************************
Part Eight-
Charles Xavier was engrossed in sorting out the sheaves of unclassified paperwork scattered throughout his desk when the hushed noise of the door opening and soft footsteps walking on the carpet drew his thoughts. A very familiar and dear presence sauntered in his office, and he smiled broadly. He didn't require his telepathy to recognize to Moira in his unexpected visitor. He looked up and at the Scottish, middle-aged woman, so beautiful like always even with the grey streaks showing among her auburn locks. She was sporting a nice smile on her face, undeterred by the crow's feet, and an envelope in her hand.
"Hi, Charlie. Have one second to spare to me? I can come back later if you're too busy"
Charles Xavier took his spectacles with a radiant grin splitting his face. "I have always time to my friends, Moira. Especially when in theirs kindness they lend me an excuse to put off bureaucratic job."
His old friend ogled dubiously to the wads of papers typed with tiny print. Blurry rows and columns of names, numbers, percentages and additions filled them endlessly. Revenue stamps and scrabbled signs were imprinted everywhere. "Crazy man" She wiggled an accusatory forefinger "Your eyes will fall out of their sockets when or if you accomplish to go through this."
"Being that the reason because no one else wants or intends make it. Everyone prefers I make the sacrifice. Except Robert, but he only works with taxes, filling forms, writing accounts and doing the records of the school." He replied with amusement. "What did you want talk with me about, Moira? Is it about Rhane?"
She shook her head. "No, she's doing it terrific in the college." Moira waved up her hand and the Charles eyes locked on the envelope with whimsical curiosity. The upper side was torn. "Terry has sent one letter. Well, she sent it to Sean, but I'm allowed snoop about."
"Oh" The telepath said blankly, reclining lazily his back on the chair and entwining his hands. Moira rolled up her eyes. He could be pretending mild interest or passivity, but she knew better. Not matter how many years had passed by, still irked him his second generation of students had chosen one most violent and most radical interpretation of his dream.
"She tells they are doing it fine in San Francisco, but the place is, quote 'too monotonous and dull' unquote. They have been arguing about head to more conflictive regions, where they can fix the troubles before they degenerate in disasters."
"Great. Their judgment seems very sound. And Sam, Bobby, Danny, Tabitha, James, Julio, Shatterstar?"
"She talks a lot about them, mainly about Jimmy. I believe she likes him." Moira locked eyes with him, leveling him with a piercing gaze. "It is about time you let them go, Charlie."
He sighed. "I try, Moira, believe me. It was their choice and my duty of teacher is respect it. They aren't kids anymore. However still hurts see your children flying off the nest."
She was about of reply something kind and reassuring when the door of mahogany slammed open again. Ororo Munroe stepped into with her usual serene stride -only she knew how seem so graceful and casual at once-. Her chocolate-brown skin and her snow-white, one-piece uniform glimmered richly with the last sunrays.
"Good evening, Moira. Excuse me, I didn't know I was intruding" She stared questioningly at her mentor.
"No at all, Ororo. By the way, this magnificent sunset is your work?" Charles stated casually, pointing behind of him. The square glass panes were lightened for the beginnings of the dusk. The day was dying, and choose perish with an orgy of colors. The sky was streaked with bright flares of golden, orange, red, violet and indigo, casting their intricate patterns of lights and shadows across the country.
"You flatter me undeservedly, Charles. The merit belongs fully to the nature and its own inherent beauty." She walked towards the desk and handed him over a folder. "This is the summary of the last reports and news. Miss Cooper has supplied kindly with some of them."
The Professor unclipped attentively the portfolio and started to turn leaves, examining the reports with his customary expression of thorough focusing.
"After of our last skirmishes the terrorist organization FOH has decreased drastically its activities" Ororo quoted. "After of the Graydon's death they have seen their flow of money dramatically cut. With lesser budget to their criminal activities and with the recent governmental animosity after of the attempts of Oklahoma they lack of money to finance their activities and of popular approval to back up them."
"Any movement, political, ideological, terrorist or whatever needs money to function in a permanently basis." Moira sentenced off-handily, like an afterthought voiced aloud.
"Exactly. On the other hand Shaw has reappeared and relieved to his son of his CEO role. Of course that is the edited version the newspapers have just broadcast. The translation is Sebastian wasn't dead after all, has crushed and humbled to Shinobi before of taking back his Black King's garb, and now is mustering forces and resources to fight us. Fortunately for our sake, nowadays he is engaged in saving his firm of the bankrupt, so it can give us a respite before of the outbreak of the war."
Charles nodded. "Indeed it's an excellent new, but we can't rely on it. We have to be prepared and expect anything at anytime. Go on, please."
"There has been Acolyte activity in Genosha and the Middle East. It seems that Fabian Cortez is resurfacing again. His mob is nothing but an incompetent and bloodthirsty pack of coward murderers, but they are dangerous and attack places like hospitals, schools and orphanages. They kill innocent and helpless people and give bad press to mutants everywhere. I recommend their obliteration without delay."
"I'm absolutely in agreement with you, Ororo. Schedule training sessions. Devise strategies to attack them, and after run them with me. The sooner arrangements are done the better. By the way, and Erik?"
The Ororo's lips corners tugged upwards. "I was going with it now. Magnus has declared again having nothing to do with Cortez, and after of expressing his nonchalance regarding the Earth, and his boredom and intolerance regarding politicians and authorities he has expelled out of his home to the SWAT troops were questioning him. I opine was very unkind and rude treat so badly to persons who traveled all the way up to his asteroid to speak with him. Afterwards he has made a very long-distance call to SHIELD and us to comment his patience is ebbing and he DOESN'T wish by any means get bothered or importuned."
Moira clicked her tongue in distaste. "Those dimwit morons are going to piss off him for real one of these days. If Erik has wanted remaining confined in his chunk of stellar rock since he left the X-Men, who we are to bug him during his retirement? Right, Charles? Charles, are you fine?"
The Professor was suddenly prone on the wooden board, squeezing his temples with a wretched expression of pain. He looked up and around to see Moira and Ororo were instantly by both of his sides, scrutinizing his face in alert for the slightest sign of suffering. Actually the Scottish doctor was touching his forehead, checking it in search of signs of fever.
He rubbed softly his eyelids. "Calm down, please. It is nothing. I'm feeling suddenly very tired and dizzy, that's all. Fretting and getting worried about me is an utterly needless waste of your time and energies."
Moira felt his eyebrows twitching, nearing perilously to her hairline. He might be neither sweaty nor clammy but still his gall was... "Don't lecture about health to one doctor, Charlie. You need rest."
He shook his head, but the lingering daze clouding his mind wasn't so kind of obliging him and fading away. A throbbing headache hammered his brain, insistently. "You are right, Moira. I'm going to sleep. I'm sure of I'll be feeling reasonably better tomorrow morning."
"I'll run and check over analysis in the morning nonetheless" The auburn woman sentenced, ruthless and unyielding.
"Of course, Moira."
"Charles Francis Xavier being reasonable about doctors in health matters? Wonders will never cease." She remarked, mollified albeit no placated. With a last sidelong glance she headed at the door.
Ororo smiled and bid her good-byes likewise, leaving him alone to rest.
When the door slammed shut and the sound of footsteps along the hallway receded, he allowed to himself exhale the breath he had been holding back. He motored tiredly at the door linking his office with his bedroom.
At the end he had been caught. Moira and the rest had to have been pretty engaged in their own troubles and lives so his façade withstood so long.
Since weeks ago he was feeling remarkably unwell. More tired, more restless, more uneasy and edgy. It was like if anything was no right or out of place, and his unsettled mind rebelled against it. Or maybe tried giving him a message. But for his life he couldn't figure out what was wrong. His students were alive and fine, and many had matured and started their own lives. The world was in relative and momentary peace, a peace not threatened with omens of incoming storms, and the society was giving short steps in the correct direction. They were working hard and well, and his lifetime's work was fructifying at last. They were seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.
Then what on the Earth was his trouble? Couldn't he accept the good things without fussing over them? Sometimes he seemed more pessimistic than Erik himself did.
He wished to Jean was here. She helped him always, prompt and quick to give a kind word, a nice smile, a smart speech or an encouraging pat on the back. It was selfish hoping she was permanently to his disposal to understand him and cheer him up, but... She knew him better than anybody, and if she was available he would have explained her about his headaches and his concerns long ago. Jean had absorbed it as a sponge, just like when they were professor and spunky student. Then she would calm him down, soothe his fears or share her own. She was a medicine to him. Unjust, callous, but true.
Unfortunately Jean hadn't talked with him for a long time. She hadn't been even permanently in the mansion for years now. And Scott had left with her. When all was said and done they had chosen to each other before than him. And reluctantly he had to acknowledge it irked him with irrational rancor. It was a fool thing to feel, but that acknowledgment didn't erase it, although he wouldn't let that obnoxious and absurd emotion to spoil his relationship with them. However he was pained their first and best disciples were living in the furthest and most faraway area of the country, and didn't bother in contacting or phoning periodically at least. They weren't interested in him or the Dream anymore.
They just came when there was some emergency and left immediately afterwards, too hurried to talk. They perpetually passed up the chance of kept in touch, not taking it even when they could. He had been incredibly shocked, amazed and hurtful when he found out -and thanks to John and Elaine for the Christ's sake- they had been every so often in New York and neither warned nor visited the mansion.
Perhaps had Jean taken a dislike for him? During the fewer times they had exchanged pleasantries she looked like stiff and tense, and he believed recognizing new fear, old resentment and fresh fury simmering on her. No, that was preposterous and scurrilous. He hadn't done anything to earn her anger or fear.
Except no aiding her when she needed to HIM desperately, when she was winding down a spiral of madness, a descent to the Hell ended up when she committed suicide to save the last shreds of her humanity. When she returned from the death yet again he was wandering around the universe, and when he turned to the Earth they hadn't talked things over. Merely had defeated to the Shadow King in Muir. No words, no idle chat, only harsh strategies and fight. And shortly after she and Scott flew to Alaska, leaving plenty matters unresolved.
His mind drifted towards other paths, but the issue kept on nagging him. He tried and reflected in other situations, but always he returned to Jean. He realized the buzzing in his head was less aching when he pondered on Jean. Perhaps his situation with her was really what was troubling him, altering the picture. Or was anything else? He wasn't sure. However his instincts aimed determinedly at that direction.
In the bowels of shadows of his pitch-dark chamber, and dressed in his bedclothes, Charles Xavier tucked up the layers of sheets of his bed and closed his eyes, letting to his mind mulling in his worries. And dreaming about them.
*********************************************************************************
INTERLUDE
The massively wide pillar of raw unbridled power blasted slowly upwards, winding as a swirling whirlpool of energy, to exit through the skylight and spear the atmosphere with its brightness. It resembled a monstrous column, chimney or funnel. The crackling blazes of energy stirred winds of hundreds of miles per hour and whipped mercilessly the ageless dunes around of the ancient pyramid.
The chamber was a furnace of shimmering light, an oven of blistering heat, a hearth of crackling lightnings, bursting out of the central contraption and rippling in a tidal wave of light and racket and chaos. Ten figures were hovering above of a ring-like device, trapped within transparent spheres hooked with each other by tendrils of electricity. Theirs despaired screams filled the chamber as they deployed vainly their vast powers to escape.
That maelstrom was contemplated for one person. Satisfaction and insane mirth dawned on her face. She was clad with an one-piece spandex suit of very dark red color, with gloves, leggings and sash of bright golden color, as well as golden was a bird-shaped symbol emblazoned on her chest. However the shimmering glow of the chamber was coloring her body with a hue of luminous ivory.
Jean observed enthralled the scenery with odd and whimsical complacence, feeling a bizarre glee bursting in her belly. She didn't understand why she was finding so outright funny that sight, the one of the machine her heart once cursed. Or the clamors and outbursts of the battle raging out of the grave for that matter. She discarded those reflections while her legs drove her towards it. She was linking hands with a blonde kid, almost a toddler, whose image provoked shock gasps and horror cries.
They reached the round rim of the mechanism, in front of one of the two empty spots. She grasped softly his tiny fingers, waiting with well-disciplined patience his decision.
"Go ahead, kid" She beckoned pleasantly, ignoring blatantly the screeches of her preys.
"Will my family be all right? Won't you hurt them?" Franklin queried for the last time.
"Of course not, kid." She assured with a wink. "We have a deal. And I fulfill my promises." Unlike other people, she added mentally.
Ignoring to the grownups and theirs warning exclamations, Franklin hopped determinedly the step, landing onto the platform. Right away a crystalline sheen coalesced around his body, shaping an energy globe. Shutting his blue eyes he kneeled down and glued weakly his palms on the barrier. His digits sparkled with blinding light, and he felt his power drained through his skin. The vortex speeded up its relentless spinning, hungry and ravenous of more feeding. Jean smirked blithely.
"Goddess, Jean. How have you could sink to yourself so low to use a little child?" She listened the cry and frowned. She spun briskly towards the source, narrowing her eyes. They glinted with a frosty coldness unknown to the ones once were her friends.
"Ororo, do you think truthfully I could have pushed him or forced? Do you think I didn't beg him, explaining him what I wanted and needed? Do you think he isn't doing this out of his own free will?"
All shut up, dumbfounded with that piece of information. With the idea of the Fantastic Four's heir agreeing to this. Every of them, except one.
"Please, Jean, cease this madness! I don't know what has pushed you over your edge to do this, but you have to stop before it goes too far! Please, trust in us and stop to yourself. You need help."
Jean shot at him a scornful, burning glare. How did he dare? "It's a possibility. But why do you opine you can give me? You never did. In fact, the last time I listened to your advice, I became a mourning widow. Never again. This time I'm taking matters in my own hands, Professor."
Charlse Xavier gulped, determined to try again "I know it isn't you speaking. It's the power, warping your mind" He prodded pleadingly, willing reaching her. "Can't you see what it is doing you? You have given in your lowest and darkest instincts! And now you are using the Apoca-"
He didn't go further. His head rocked backwards with the momentum of the telekinetic slap.
"SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!" She roared. "I don't want hear pronounced one syllable of that accursed name ever again! Understood?"
Everyone cringed and shrunk in their prisons. Her eyes were now bloodshot instead blank, her jaws were grinding together, her lips were curled in a foaming snarl, and her fists were balled. She was about of blowing up in seething rage. And although they weren't the cause, they were convenient scapegoats.
Jean breathed heavily, laboriously, with ragged gasps. Emotions choked her, strangled her. She gave them the evil eye. "That vermin was a foolish, short-sighted, conceited, rotten bastard, who thankfully will be burning during thousand eternities in the Hell's ovens. And he had no idea of what means the power, which is its true nature and its possible uses. On the other hand I do, and I know what I want."
Magneto, who had been deadly silent so far, bored his eyes in her. "Which is your goal, Jean?"
Jean paused, meditating the question. Her eagle-like eyes surveyed very seriously the shaky crowd. She knew beyond any doubt that they would attack her with no hesitation if they were released. It was nice knowing how meaningless were the friendship bonds when she and her own might were involved.
"I hate this world." She muttered darkly. "I hate this fight for saving to this fucking spinning world never sets right and to people who would rather see my throat slit for no reason. I hate this godforsaken excuse for a timeline where honorable persons as John Proudstar die while fuckers as Nefaria get to live to destroy more lives again and again. And fundamentally, mainly and certainly hate this stupid, fucking death-trap you called dream!" She bellowed.
"I hate having devoted my life to shadows and smoke, to risk and perish and bleed for an ill world and people who hates and fears me. I loathe having given all for it to lose it all, sacrificing my life and my happiness and handing over parts of my soul until being rendered to an empty husk. My husband lived his entire life to achieve that fantasy. He fought and battled and struggled, marched thousand times to the battlefield where he was beaten, broken, shattered, torn, wounded and scarred. He saved this planet hundreds of times, and was just so often on the brink of getting killed for protecting the innocents. The world owes him an unimaginable debt. And look which was the payment in return! Look what it did him! Look to my children, lost in the time, sent through the darkness and the insanity, through war and suffering and death and hatred, raped and abused for theirs powers. Look to me and to my life, turned into a nightmare. I'm goddamned sick of grieving and weeping and agonize over it! AND. I. WANT. IT. STOP! I'm going to use yours powers to recreate this world, like or not!"
She went up in flames, a predator and choleric Phoenix spreading blazing wings behind her, with its claws open and craving for killing. An eerie silence followed on her words. The only sound were the cracks and hisses of the energy gathering and coiling in a funnel, the Earth quaking with the sheer power unleashed on such reduced space, and the outside mayhem. A wild chorus of angry shouts, ear-shattering discharges of energy, rocks and rubble exploding and metal clanging against metal.
Jean smirked, satisfied. She had never grasped the reason of why the villains hired always severely incompetent manpower to support their operations, instead expert soldiers. Those troops used to be clumsy and brainless minions never lasted one round against a superhero, even with blatant and crushing superiority of numbers. But now she knew.
They constituted wonderful and expendable cannon fodder, and there wasn't real danger of mutiny. And right now her cannon fodder was holding up to the X-Men, blocking their way and hindering their arrival to the pyramid. They would lose eventually, of course, but she was gaining precious time. Moreover, she had programmed them to give them a good workout.
Who did know Sentinels might turn out to be useful?
However they had to allow one specific X-Man trespassed the barricade and broke into the stronghold. Install that set-up hadn't been easy. She needed devise and bring about a situation where only he got the chance of walking into and he decided act alone, without realizing the snare or no caring for it. Besides she required foresee what route he was liable to follow. And foretell his path was the tricky part. She could have inspected the forsaken citadel, but he possessed the memories of its builder. But if push came to shove, she had an edge: She knew him better than he gave her credit for.
Hence she raised a hand swiftly.
One split-second later a bulwark exploded, drilled by a scarlet column of energy. The unstoppable blast powdered the stone into debris, sliced the air and rammed in a seamless telekinetic barrier, which shielded efficiently the grotesque device. The blast struggled against the shield, pushing with mountain-splitting power to shatter it, but it lost force and dissipated. Straight after a thin red beam darted at Jean, who neither sidestepped nor protected to herself. Moreover, she hardly stared at it with boredom. The bolt went through her body, piercing it like if she was a ghost made of fluid air.
Dark Phoenix snickered. That display had been pity. The bolt had been meant to stun, but it had been his weakest, and besides he had held back his strength. It couldn't have fazed her or winded even.
Her legs pivoted slightly to face once and for all the last and more important piece of her jigsaw.
When the force blast shattered the stone wall, it split open a wide gap amidst of the wall. Rocky debris of ashlars and metallic shrapnel lay scattered on its foot now. And he stood upright on the entrance, panting laboriously. The tight black leather outfit was filthy with dust and cobwebs and his visor shimmered with red glints. The bright light of the column was bathing his body and lightening his face.
Scott shuffled into the chamber, treading among the powdered and crunched boulders, and he faced her reluctantly. She noted the tension shaking his taut muscles, an uptightness he tried hiding. Unfortunately his facial muscles tightened and his lips ground together with strain and fear. Jean shook her head and giggled as a schoolgirl to mask the longing she felt staring at him.
"It's been a while, darling. You wouldn't hope seriously that I hadn't figured out your plan, right? Or what I would permit the machine was damaged." She scoffed in a bantering tone, tilting her head.
Scott studied her quietly, observing the way her hand combed her long locks, the reposed and tranquil motions of her legs shifting the stance, the lewdness of her fingers curling idly crimson strands.
"Please, Jean, surrender." He begged "Don't force me to do anything I'll regret for the rest of my life."
He lifted his hand up to his visor. It twinkled ruby dangerously.
Jean blinked. Her lips curved in a grin. She sputtered, then snickered, then guffawed, and then burst in laughs. Her clamorous, hysteric chuckles sounded nearly to nutty cackles. Scott started to get freaked, when she managed restrain to herself. Her body kept quivering with the bout of laughter, though.
Without looking at him, Jean moved her hands to the center of her chest, over the golden banner. Her fingers grabbed a fistful of the fabric and with a vigorous yank she ripped a tear right above of the sternum, displaying her creamy skin. Scott backed down, unsure of where this was going at.
She hurled him a mocking and dream-like gaze, fluttering her eyelashes innocently. "Go right ahead. My heart is just here so you have a clear target. I'm waiting."
He reeled backwards, like if someone had slapped him. His face was ashen and aghast. In answer Jean chortled with so much frenzy her eyes watered. She dried them off with a swift swipe, and glowered.
"Who are you trying kidding to, Scott? You can't kill me as well as I can't kill you. And both of us know that" Jean scowled. "Not even in the Moon you aimed a single straight beam at me. You couldn't hurt me. Why did you think this time would be different?"
Abruptly her arm darted onwards and the golden visor of sudden flew of its own volition towards her, hopping in her open palm. Instantly Scott shut his eyes tightly, and covered his face with a forearm. He was so predictable, Jean thought. And now he was powerless and impotent as a newborn.
"Yet I'm not so naive of believing I've defeated you so easily. I'm sure you planned some twisted maneuver to stun me or cheat me, didn't you?" Jean stated while walked towards him. "Of course still you can win. Simply open your eyes now and unchain your full power on me." Her lips mused softly. She saw him cringing, squirming with shudders, and she felt dread and horror flowing from him. It delighted her.
"Imagine" She purred huskily. "Slam open your eyelids, unleashing an unstoppable force blast. When the glow dims there will be a bloody pulp on the floor, a gory and writhing mass of splattered flesh and broken bones, swimming on a pool of oozing blood. And amidst of that mass you will find the crunched remains of my face. My eyes will be glazed and lifeless, stained with mottles of red, nailing an accusatory stare on you. Then the idea of having slain me mercilessly will catch with you. And you will scream."
Hectic tremors shook his body. "Give me back the visor, please."
Jean laughed, and her arm drew an arc on the air. The esteemed gadget brushed his chest with the brisk lightness of a soft feather. "Your toy is right in front of you. If you want it, just take it." She tainted with a hoarse voice masked the sound of metal shattering, crushed by a clenched fist.
Lost in helplessness, Scott spread his arm onward and hesitantly groped for his visor. Amazingly, Jean grasped delicately his hand and led him gently forward. Scott gasped when he touched something very soft and spongy. Realizing what it was he pulled out, but she didn't allow him. Her hand clutched his backhand, forcing it to fondle her, and her other hand grabbed his crown and drew him in a hungry kiss.
In the blink of an eye, their shapes blurred and vanished in a flash of bright light. They faded in the existence in other distinct chamber.
What the hell- Scott thought, having noticed the disturbing shift of his molecules.
Don't worry for it, love. Very soon you will be beyond of the point of concern He listened into his head. It didn't bode him well, and Scott didn't know whether get scared or elated.
With a private, inward smirk, Jean rested both hands on his cheeks, holding him in his place with her telekinesis. She had craved badly this for months. She shoved her face on his passionately, with that yearning long bottled-up, and her lips devoured greedily his mouth, sucking air out of his lungs. Her tongue slid between his glistening lips and sneaked into his mouth.
Scott tried to resist it, wrestle against the longed for sensations traveled up and down his body, sparking and flaring up feelings he believed lobotomized or long-lost. But she smelt and tasted so good and the feeling was so heavenly and it woke memories so sweet he was overwhelmed. Her mouth was hot, incredibly hot. Her lips and tongue burnt, and he believed burn with it.
Then it dawned him. He was burning! Blistering fire erupted out of her and penetrated inside his body through his mouth. A stream of lava flowed down his esophagus as a blaze-made serpent, charring all in its path, including his flesh. He struggled frenetically for wrenching away, but she held him strongly. Jean went up in hot-melting flames, and the fire embraced his body. He was swallowed whole.
Scott believed die for a moment, but he didn't. To his surprise, he kept on living, in spite of the searing fire engulfing him. He then noticed the flames consuming him were painful, very painful, but no lethal. It doesn't feel like if he was dying actually. Rather shifting. But into what? And why?
"Come on, honey. Let's burn together in the oblivion" She whispered huskily.
Jean linked hands with him and levitated him onto a platform. She laid him down, put off the fire with one mere thought, and perused his likeness. He resembled a sacrifice placed on the altar and ready to be immolated. The fire had scorched and singed his outfit, rendering it to steaming, hot ashes. She swept them with a fanning of her hand, and crawled on the sturdy board. His closed eyes caught her attention.
"By the way, you can open your eyes now. Your beams won't function here."
His brows arched in disbelief. Slowly he lifted his lids, marveled when nothing happened, and surveyed his surroundings and himself. He looked to her, feeling uncomfortably aroused with his predicament. Jean chuckled and straddled on top of him.
"You and me are so alike" She drawled "You like it, don't you? You enjoy with my dark side. You have fear of touching me, fright of feeling, dread of loving, but you love my shadows. It arouses you, turns on, and inflames you with lust, with craving, with lewdness. You worship my evil, the black abysses where I hid my worst bits. And you do because it means I'm not pure, an untouchable goddess, thus you can love me and desire me without sully me or pollute me. Burn together in the purificator fire, my love."
After of repeating that phrase her hand suddenly bolted towards his head, placing around it a metallic crown. Scott touched gingerly the headband, giving her a quizzical stare. Jean shrugged.
"It's a portable and individual version of the big junk-machine of the other room. Now stay still." With those last words, Jean leaned on him. Her flowing locks dropped on his chest and her limbs entangled around his body, wrapping him tightly. She claimed his lips and nibbled his taut neck.
A whir and hum of the ring and the weakening sensation of his energy being sapped were the warning signals.
The oval platform pulsated with sparks, flashed with light, glowed with brightness and crackled with lightnings. Shimmering glow engulfed them and Jean moaned when her body lit and shone with luminescence while energy started to coalesce around her and pumped into her body.
Jean was shivering with an eerie mixture of agony and rapture, moaning in pleasure and pain at once. The power gathering had disintegrated her clothes and she was now clinging to Scott, maybe seeking shelter of the tempest of sensations assaulting her or maybe releasing her distress. Her slim frame arched over and over in wild frenzy and her fingers scratched red-brand scars on his shoulder plates. He screamed, but she merely trapped his tongue with her own. Then Scott glanced at her eyes, burning slits without pupils and charring with an inner fire of passion of love, hate and all in-between. Witnessing that inhuman, godlike countenance, he felt fear.
Jean meanwhile believed die with every convulsion rocked her fragile human frame. As she ascended to the cosmic level, she was deadly horrified and anxiously expectant of the next evolutionary step.
Telepathy. Telekinesis. Chrono-variancy. Absorption, storing, transformation and channeling of the energy. Force blasts. Heated plasma beams. Magnetism. Manipulation of weather. Manipulation of humidity and cold. Manipulation of fire and heat. Transformation of the reality.
Her body was absorbing every of them, and her mind was expanding and seeing the universe in ways and concepts nobody could understand or grasp. Now she was All, and all was She. The crazy flood of images assailing her mind was unbearable, but Jean managed to cope with it and endure it. The only time she had felt such glory ever was in the M'Kraan Crystal.
"Oh, yes. Yes!" She shouted, mad of pleasure and delight. She ground her body with the man beneath her, and peeped stealthily to Scott while her tongue licked her glossy and glistening lips, wet with drool. With a pang of regret she perceived and recognized the dread on his eyes, the chill on his heart.
She pecked his cheek, showing him a loving gaze. "I shall never stop of caring for you, Scott. I'll make you happy. This I can vow you." Then she kissed him, and he kissed back.
She motioned to herself and Scott in a seated position, and with a last gesture sent into Scott all the love, the devotion, the tenderness, the passion and the lust he provoked in her and she could show him. She felt his feelings throbbing behind of the thick layers of choking fear and aching pain and self-destructive doubts, and with her telepathy peeled each stratum one after other, erasing them and freeing his emotions.
Suddenly the stone gate burst in rubble. The Twelve along with a tide of X-Men in tow bolted in the room, fighting stances at ready. Jean contemplated their faces before laughing loudly.
"You are late, guys. I HAVE WON ALREADY!"
And with that last shout of challenge and victory, the Phoenix spread her wings. And the chamber, the pyramid, the desert and the very reality shattered.
Another replaced it. One preferred by Jean.
*********************************************************************************
Eyes snapped open with a start, and he felt the impulse of lurching forward.
The strong jerk of the dead weight was his lower body reminded him of his disability painfully. Another cruel moment where he recalled obligatorily he was perpetually, forever crippled. They happened daily every time he need help to go out of the bed or shower or descend the stairs. He hated them.
Xavier prodded laboriously his trunk with his elbows, seating on his baldachin, and willing calm the frantic, shaken thumps of his heart. His windpipe seemed suddenly obstructed and his mouth was dry as sandpaper. He rubbed his temples, feeling the whirlwind of years of remembrances twisted, warped, altered or wiped rushing back in his brain, free of the long prison. It was like if a dam had cracked and a violent flood rushed out of the gates. Or, if his mind was right, it was like the breaking of the padlock sealing the Pandora's Box. Yes, that simile was more accurate.
It wasn't a wonder his head ached.
He started to rebuild his memory, patch his shields and reflect. Seconds added, turning in minutes. And these in hours.
X-Men He summoned. We have a problematic situation
*********************************************************************************
Now do you know why Jean was so reluctant to visit to the Professor? It wasn't only because she was aware of his feelings but also because she knew a telepath as powerful as Xavier might remember she had altered the reality.
Why Apocalypse intended to use a host and Jean didn't? Because whereas Nur needed a body capable of handling the power of the Infinite, the transformation in Phoenix implied shifting the body into energy for wielding properly such massive power. Cable and his doppelgangers kept theirs flesh-and-bone bodies, and thus theirs energies burnt them down. On the other hand Jean and Rachel haven't physical bodies and the energy doesn't damage them, albeit it messes dangerously with the minds. Hence Jean needed to nobody.
The next chapter is the end! We return to Scott and Jean in Alaska. Jean gives full explanations to her family (including certain alternate relatives) before the X-Men arrive to force her to relinquish her new power. What will happen? All last secrets revealed!
The Second Ascension
Author: Jenskott
Summary: After of the Gathering of The Twelve the machine and the technology of Apocalypse was abandoned and forgotten in Akkaba. Suddenly the reality has changed drastically, without anybody realizing. What happened and who is the responsible? Can the X-Men stop and reassert the timeline in its path?
Notes:
Continuity: Comic.
Disclaimer: X-Men belong to Marvel due to some sort of cosmic disaster. And writing nonsense disclaimers to disown stuff that all know aren't yours is boring.
Feedback: To jorgisimox@hotmail.com. I can't stress enough how badly I need advice and supports. English isn't my primary language, so excuse my mistakes.
*********************************************************************************
Part Eight-
Charles Xavier was engrossed in sorting out the sheaves of unclassified paperwork scattered throughout his desk when the hushed noise of the door opening and soft footsteps walking on the carpet drew his thoughts. A very familiar and dear presence sauntered in his office, and he smiled broadly. He didn't require his telepathy to recognize to Moira in his unexpected visitor. He looked up and at the Scottish, middle-aged woman, so beautiful like always even with the grey streaks showing among her auburn locks. She was sporting a nice smile on her face, undeterred by the crow's feet, and an envelope in her hand.
"Hi, Charlie. Have one second to spare to me? I can come back later if you're too busy"
Charles Xavier took his spectacles with a radiant grin splitting his face. "I have always time to my friends, Moira. Especially when in theirs kindness they lend me an excuse to put off bureaucratic job."
His old friend ogled dubiously to the wads of papers typed with tiny print. Blurry rows and columns of names, numbers, percentages and additions filled them endlessly. Revenue stamps and scrabbled signs were imprinted everywhere. "Crazy man" She wiggled an accusatory forefinger "Your eyes will fall out of their sockets when or if you accomplish to go through this."
"Being that the reason because no one else wants or intends make it. Everyone prefers I make the sacrifice. Except Robert, but he only works with taxes, filling forms, writing accounts and doing the records of the school." He replied with amusement. "What did you want talk with me about, Moira? Is it about Rhane?"
She shook her head. "No, she's doing it terrific in the college." Moira waved up her hand and the Charles eyes locked on the envelope with whimsical curiosity. The upper side was torn. "Terry has sent one letter. Well, she sent it to Sean, but I'm allowed snoop about."
"Oh" The telepath said blankly, reclining lazily his back on the chair and entwining his hands. Moira rolled up her eyes. He could be pretending mild interest or passivity, but she knew better. Not matter how many years had passed by, still irked him his second generation of students had chosen one most violent and most radical interpretation of his dream.
"She tells they are doing it fine in San Francisco, but the place is, quote 'too monotonous and dull' unquote. They have been arguing about head to more conflictive regions, where they can fix the troubles before they degenerate in disasters."
"Great. Their judgment seems very sound. And Sam, Bobby, Danny, Tabitha, James, Julio, Shatterstar?"
"She talks a lot about them, mainly about Jimmy. I believe she likes him." Moira locked eyes with him, leveling him with a piercing gaze. "It is about time you let them go, Charlie."
He sighed. "I try, Moira, believe me. It was their choice and my duty of teacher is respect it. They aren't kids anymore. However still hurts see your children flying off the nest."
She was about of reply something kind and reassuring when the door of mahogany slammed open again. Ororo Munroe stepped into with her usual serene stride -only she knew how seem so graceful and casual at once-. Her chocolate-brown skin and her snow-white, one-piece uniform glimmered richly with the last sunrays.
"Good evening, Moira. Excuse me, I didn't know I was intruding" She stared questioningly at her mentor.
"No at all, Ororo. By the way, this magnificent sunset is your work?" Charles stated casually, pointing behind of him. The square glass panes were lightened for the beginnings of the dusk. The day was dying, and choose perish with an orgy of colors. The sky was streaked with bright flares of golden, orange, red, violet and indigo, casting their intricate patterns of lights and shadows across the country.
"You flatter me undeservedly, Charles. The merit belongs fully to the nature and its own inherent beauty." She walked towards the desk and handed him over a folder. "This is the summary of the last reports and news. Miss Cooper has supplied kindly with some of them."
The Professor unclipped attentively the portfolio and started to turn leaves, examining the reports with his customary expression of thorough focusing.
"After of our last skirmishes the terrorist organization FOH has decreased drastically its activities" Ororo quoted. "After of the Graydon's death they have seen their flow of money dramatically cut. With lesser budget to their criminal activities and with the recent governmental animosity after of the attempts of Oklahoma they lack of money to finance their activities and of popular approval to back up them."
"Any movement, political, ideological, terrorist or whatever needs money to function in a permanently basis." Moira sentenced off-handily, like an afterthought voiced aloud.
"Exactly. On the other hand Shaw has reappeared and relieved to his son of his CEO role. Of course that is the edited version the newspapers have just broadcast. The translation is Sebastian wasn't dead after all, has crushed and humbled to Shinobi before of taking back his Black King's garb, and now is mustering forces and resources to fight us. Fortunately for our sake, nowadays he is engaged in saving his firm of the bankrupt, so it can give us a respite before of the outbreak of the war."
Charles nodded. "Indeed it's an excellent new, but we can't rely on it. We have to be prepared and expect anything at anytime. Go on, please."
"There has been Acolyte activity in Genosha and the Middle East. It seems that Fabian Cortez is resurfacing again. His mob is nothing but an incompetent and bloodthirsty pack of coward murderers, but they are dangerous and attack places like hospitals, schools and orphanages. They kill innocent and helpless people and give bad press to mutants everywhere. I recommend their obliteration without delay."
"I'm absolutely in agreement with you, Ororo. Schedule training sessions. Devise strategies to attack them, and after run them with me. The sooner arrangements are done the better. By the way, and Erik?"
The Ororo's lips corners tugged upwards. "I was going with it now. Magnus has declared again having nothing to do with Cortez, and after of expressing his nonchalance regarding the Earth, and his boredom and intolerance regarding politicians and authorities he has expelled out of his home to the SWAT troops were questioning him. I opine was very unkind and rude treat so badly to persons who traveled all the way up to his asteroid to speak with him. Afterwards he has made a very long-distance call to SHIELD and us to comment his patience is ebbing and he DOESN'T wish by any means get bothered or importuned."
Moira clicked her tongue in distaste. "Those dimwit morons are going to piss off him for real one of these days. If Erik has wanted remaining confined in his chunk of stellar rock since he left the X-Men, who we are to bug him during his retirement? Right, Charles? Charles, are you fine?"
The Professor was suddenly prone on the wooden board, squeezing his temples with a wretched expression of pain. He looked up and around to see Moira and Ororo were instantly by both of his sides, scrutinizing his face in alert for the slightest sign of suffering. Actually the Scottish doctor was touching his forehead, checking it in search of signs of fever.
He rubbed softly his eyelids. "Calm down, please. It is nothing. I'm feeling suddenly very tired and dizzy, that's all. Fretting and getting worried about me is an utterly needless waste of your time and energies."
Moira felt his eyebrows twitching, nearing perilously to her hairline. He might be neither sweaty nor clammy but still his gall was... "Don't lecture about health to one doctor, Charlie. You need rest."
He shook his head, but the lingering daze clouding his mind wasn't so kind of obliging him and fading away. A throbbing headache hammered his brain, insistently. "You are right, Moira. I'm going to sleep. I'm sure of I'll be feeling reasonably better tomorrow morning."
"I'll run and check over analysis in the morning nonetheless" The auburn woman sentenced, ruthless and unyielding.
"Of course, Moira."
"Charles Francis Xavier being reasonable about doctors in health matters? Wonders will never cease." She remarked, mollified albeit no placated. With a last sidelong glance she headed at the door.
Ororo smiled and bid her good-byes likewise, leaving him alone to rest.
When the door slammed shut and the sound of footsteps along the hallway receded, he allowed to himself exhale the breath he had been holding back. He motored tiredly at the door linking his office with his bedroom.
At the end he had been caught. Moira and the rest had to have been pretty engaged in their own troubles and lives so his façade withstood so long.
Since weeks ago he was feeling remarkably unwell. More tired, more restless, more uneasy and edgy. It was like if anything was no right or out of place, and his unsettled mind rebelled against it. Or maybe tried giving him a message. But for his life he couldn't figure out what was wrong. His students were alive and fine, and many had matured and started their own lives. The world was in relative and momentary peace, a peace not threatened with omens of incoming storms, and the society was giving short steps in the correct direction. They were working hard and well, and his lifetime's work was fructifying at last. They were seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.
Then what on the Earth was his trouble? Couldn't he accept the good things without fussing over them? Sometimes he seemed more pessimistic than Erik himself did.
He wished to Jean was here. She helped him always, prompt and quick to give a kind word, a nice smile, a smart speech or an encouraging pat on the back. It was selfish hoping she was permanently to his disposal to understand him and cheer him up, but... She knew him better than anybody, and if she was available he would have explained her about his headaches and his concerns long ago. Jean had absorbed it as a sponge, just like when they were professor and spunky student. Then she would calm him down, soothe his fears or share her own. She was a medicine to him. Unjust, callous, but true.
Unfortunately Jean hadn't talked with him for a long time. She hadn't been even permanently in the mansion for years now. And Scott had left with her. When all was said and done they had chosen to each other before than him. And reluctantly he had to acknowledge it irked him with irrational rancor. It was a fool thing to feel, but that acknowledgment didn't erase it, although he wouldn't let that obnoxious and absurd emotion to spoil his relationship with them. However he was pained their first and best disciples were living in the furthest and most faraway area of the country, and didn't bother in contacting or phoning periodically at least. They weren't interested in him or the Dream anymore.
They just came when there was some emergency and left immediately afterwards, too hurried to talk. They perpetually passed up the chance of kept in touch, not taking it even when they could. He had been incredibly shocked, amazed and hurtful when he found out -and thanks to John and Elaine for the Christ's sake- they had been every so often in New York and neither warned nor visited the mansion.
Perhaps had Jean taken a dislike for him? During the fewer times they had exchanged pleasantries she looked like stiff and tense, and he believed recognizing new fear, old resentment and fresh fury simmering on her. No, that was preposterous and scurrilous. He hadn't done anything to earn her anger or fear.
Except no aiding her when she needed to HIM desperately, when she was winding down a spiral of madness, a descent to the Hell ended up when she committed suicide to save the last shreds of her humanity. When she returned from the death yet again he was wandering around the universe, and when he turned to the Earth they hadn't talked things over. Merely had defeated to the Shadow King in Muir. No words, no idle chat, only harsh strategies and fight. And shortly after she and Scott flew to Alaska, leaving plenty matters unresolved.
His mind drifted towards other paths, but the issue kept on nagging him. He tried and reflected in other situations, but always he returned to Jean. He realized the buzzing in his head was less aching when he pondered on Jean. Perhaps his situation with her was really what was troubling him, altering the picture. Or was anything else? He wasn't sure. However his instincts aimed determinedly at that direction.
In the bowels of shadows of his pitch-dark chamber, and dressed in his bedclothes, Charles Xavier tucked up the layers of sheets of his bed and closed his eyes, letting to his mind mulling in his worries. And dreaming about them.
*********************************************************************************
INTERLUDE
The massively wide pillar of raw unbridled power blasted slowly upwards, winding as a swirling whirlpool of energy, to exit through the skylight and spear the atmosphere with its brightness. It resembled a monstrous column, chimney or funnel. The crackling blazes of energy stirred winds of hundreds of miles per hour and whipped mercilessly the ageless dunes around of the ancient pyramid.
The chamber was a furnace of shimmering light, an oven of blistering heat, a hearth of crackling lightnings, bursting out of the central contraption and rippling in a tidal wave of light and racket and chaos. Ten figures were hovering above of a ring-like device, trapped within transparent spheres hooked with each other by tendrils of electricity. Theirs despaired screams filled the chamber as they deployed vainly their vast powers to escape.
That maelstrom was contemplated for one person. Satisfaction and insane mirth dawned on her face. She was clad with an one-piece spandex suit of very dark red color, with gloves, leggings and sash of bright golden color, as well as golden was a bird-shaped symbol emblazoned on her chest. However the shimmering glow of the chamber was coloring her body with a hue of luminous ivory.
Jean observed enthralled the scenery with odd and whimsical complacence, feeling a bizarre glee bursting in her belly. She didn't understand why she was finding so outright funny that sight, the one of the machine her heart once cursed. Or the clamors and outbursts of the battle raging out of the grave for that matter. She discarded those reflections while her legs drove her towards it. She was linking hands with a blonde kid, almost a toddler, whose image provoked shock gasps and horror cries.
They reached the round rim of the mechanism, in front of one of the two empty spots. She grasped softly his tiny fingers, waiting with well-disciplined patience his decision.
"Go ahead, kid" She beckoned pleasantly, ignoring blatantly the screeches of her preys.
"Will my family be all right? Won't you hurt them?" Franklin queried for the last time.
"Of course not, kid." She assured with a wink. "We have a deal. And I fulfill my promises." Unlike other people, she added mentally.
Ignoring to the grownups and theirs warning exclamations, Franklin hopped determinedly the step, landing onto the platform. Right away a crystalline sheen coalesced around his body, shaping an energy globe. Shutting his blue eyes he kneeled down and glued weakly his palms on the barrier. His digits sparkled with blinding light, and he felt his power drained through his skin. The vortex speeded up its relentless spinning, hungry and ravenous of more feeding. Jean smirked blithely.
"Goddess, Jean. How have you could sink to yourself so low to use a little child?" She listened the cry and frowned. She spun briskly towards the source, narrowing her eyes. They glinted with a frosty coldness unknown to the ones once were her friends.
"Ororo, do you think truthfully I could have pushed him or forced? Do you think I didn't beg him, explaining him what I wanted and needed? Do you think he isn't doing this out of his own free will?"
All shut up, dumbfounded with that piece of information. With the idea of the Fantastic Four's heir agreeing to this. Every of them, except one.
"Please, Jean, cease this madness! I don't know what has pushed you over your edge to do this, but you have to stop before it goes too far! Please, trust in us and stop to yourself. You need help."
Jean shot at him a scornful, burning glare. How did he dare? "It's a possibility. But why do you opine you can give me? You never did. In fact, the last time I listened to your advice, I became a mourning widow. Never again. This time I'm taking matters in my own hands, Professor."
Charlse Xavier gulped, determined to try again "I know it isn't you speaking. It's the power, warping your mind" He prodded pleadingly, willing reaching her. "Can't you see what it is doing you? You have given in your lowest and darkest instincts! And now you are using the Apoca-"
He didn't go further. His head rocked backwards with the momentum of the telekinetic slap.
"SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!" She roared. "I don't want hear pronounced one syllable of that accursed name ever again! Understood?"
Everyone cringed and shrunk in their prisons. Her eyes were now bloodshot instead blank, her jaws were grinding together, her lips were curled in a foaming snarl, and her fists were balled. She was about of blowing up in seething rage. And although they weren't the cause, they were convenient scapegoats.
Jean breathed heavily, laboriously, with ragged gasps. Emotions choked her, strangled her. She gave them the evil eye. "That vermin was a foolish, short-sighted, conceited, rotten bastard, who thankfully will be burning during thousand eternities in the Hell's ovens. And he had no idea of what means the power, which is its true nature and its possible uses. On the other hand I do, and I know what I want."
Magneto, who had been deadly silent so far, bored his eyes in her. "Which is your goal, Jean?"
Jean paused, meditating the question. Her eagle-like eyes surveyed very seriously the shaky crowd. She knew beyond any doubt that they would attack her with no hesitation if they were released. It was nice knowing how meaningless were the friendship bonds when she and her own might were involved.
"I hate this world." She muttered darkly. "I hate this fight for saving to this fucking spinning world never sets right and to people who would rather see my throat slit for no reason. I hate this godforsaken excuse for a timeline where honorable persons as John Proudstar die while fuckers as Nefaria get to live to destroy more lives again and again. And fundamentally, mainly and certainly hate this stupid, fucking death-trap you called dream!" She bellowed.
"I hate having devoted my life to shadows and smoke, to risk and perish and bleed for an ill world and people who hates and fears me. I loathe having given all for it to lose it all, sacrificing my life and my happiness and handing over parts of my soul until being rendered to an empty husk. My husband lived his entire life to achieve that fantasy. He fought and battled and struggled, marched thousand times to the battlefield where he was beaten, broken, shattered, torn, wounded and scarred. He saved this planet hundreds of times, and was just so often on the brink of getting killed for protecting the innocents. The world owes him an unimaginable debt. And look which was the payment in return! Look what it did him! Look to my children, lost in the time, sent through the darkness and the insanity, through war and suffering and death and hatred, raped and abused for theirs powers. Look to me and to my life, turned into a nightmare. I'm goddamned sick of grieving and weeping and agonize over it! AND. I. WANT. IT. STOP! I'm going to use yours powers to recreate this world, like or not!"
She went up in flames, a predator and choleric Phoenix spreading blazing wings behind her, with its claws open and craving for killing. An eerie silence followed on her words. The only sound were the cracks and hisses of the energy gathering and coiling in a funnel, the Earth quaking with the sheer power unleashed on such reduced space, and the outside mayhem. A wild chorus of angry shouts, ear-shattering discharges of energy, rocks and rubble exploding and metal clanging against metal.
Jean smirked, satisfied. She had never grasped the reason of why the villains hired always severely incompetent manpower to support their operations, instead expert soldiers. Those troops used to be clumsy and brainless minions never lasted one round against a superhero, even with blatant and crushing superiority of numbers. But now she knew.
They constituted wonderful and expendable cannon fodder, and there wasn't real danger of mutiny. And right now her cannon fodder was holding up to the X-Men, blocking their way and hindering their arrival to the pyramid. They would lose eventually, of course, but she was gaining precious time. Moreover, she had programmed them to give them a good workout.
Who did know Sentinels might turn out to be useful?
However they had to allow one specific X-Man trespassed the barricade and broke into the stronghold. Install that set-up hadn't been easy. She needed devise and bring about a situation where only he got the chance of walking into and he decided act alone, without realizing the snare or no caring for it. Besides she required foresee what route he was liable to follow. And foretell his path was the tricky part. She could have inspected the forsaken citadel, but he possessed the memories of its builder. But if push came to shove, she had an edge: She knew him better than he gave her credit for.
Hence she raised a hand swiftly.
One split-second later a bulwark exploded, drilled by a scarlet column of energy. The unstoppable blast powdered the stone into debris, sliced the air and rammed in a seamless telekinetic barrier, which shielded efficiently the grotesque device. The blast struggled against the shield, pushing with mountain-splitting power to shatter it, but it lost force and dissipated. Straight after a thin red beam darted at Jean, who neither sidestepped nor protected to herself. Moreover, she hardly stared at it with boredom. The bolt went through her body, piercing it like if she was a ghost made of fluid air.
Dark Phoenix snickered. That display had been pity. The bolt had been meant to stun, but it had been his weakest, and besides he had held back his strength. It couldn't have fazed her or winded even.
Her legs pivoted slightly to face once and for all the last and more important piece of her jigsaw.
When the force blast shattered the stone wall, it split open a wide gap amidst of the wall. Rocky debris of ashlars and metallic shrapnel lay scattered on its foot now. And he stood upright on the entrance, panting laboriously. The tight black leather outfit was filthy with dust and cobwebs and his visor shimmered with red glints. The bright light of the column was bathing his body and lightening his face.
Scott shuffled into the chamber, treading among the powdered and crunched boulders, and he faced her reluctantly. She noted the tension shaking his taut muscles, an uptightness he tried hiding. Unfortunately his facial muscles tightened and his lips ground together with strain and fear. Jean shook her head and giggled as a schoolgirl to mask the longing she felt staring at him.
"It's been a while, darling. You wouldn't hope seriously that I hadn't figured out your plan, right? Or what I would permit the machine was damaged." She scoffed in a bantering tone, tilting her head.
Scott studied her quietly, observing the way her hand combed her long locks, the reposed and tranquil motions of her legs shifting the stance, the lewdness of her fingers curling idly crimson strands.
"Please, Jean, surrender." He begged "Don't force me to do anything I'll regret for the rest of my life."
He lifted his hand up to his visor. It twinkled ruby dangerously.
Jean blinked. Her lips curved in a grin. She sputtered, then snickered, then guffawed, and then burst in laughs. Her clamorous, hysteric chuckles sounded nearly to nutty cackles. Scott started to get freaked, when she managed restrain to herself. Her body kept quivering with the bout of laughter, though.
Without looking at him, Jean moved her hands to the center of her chest, over the golden banner. Her fingers grabbed a fistful of the fabric and with a vigorous yank she ripped a tear right above of the sternum, displaying her creamy skin. Scott backed down, unsure of where this was going at.
She hurled him a mocking and dream-like gaze, fluttering her eyelashes innocently. "Go right ahead. My heart is just here so you have a clear target. I'm waiting."
He reeled backwards, like if someone had slapped him. His face was ashen and aghast. In answer Jean chortled with so much frenzy her eyes watered. She dried them off with a swift swipe, and glowered.
"Who are you trying kidding to, Scott? You can't kill me as well as I can't kill you. And both of us know that" Jean scowled. "Not even in the Moon you aimed a single straight beam at me. You couldn't hurt me. Why did you think this time would be different?"
Abruptly her arm darted onwards and the golden visor of sudden flew of its own volition towards her, hopping in her open palm. Instantly Scott shut his eyes tightly, and covered his face with a forearm. He was so predictable, Jean thought. And now he was powerless and impotent as a newborn.
"Yet I'm not so naive of believing I've defeated you so easily. I'm sure you planned some twisted maneuver to stun me or cheat me, didn't you?" Jean stated while walked towards him. "Of course still you can win. Simply open your eyes now and unchain your full power on me." Her lips mused softly. She saw him cringing, squirming with shudders, and she felt dread and horror flowing from him. It delighted her.
"Imagine" She purred huskily. "Slam open your eyelids, unleashing an unstoppable force blast. When the glow dims there will be a bloody pulp on the floor, a gory and writhing mass of splattered flesh and broken bones, swimming on a pool of oozing blood. And amidst of that mass you will find the crunched remains of my face. My eyes will be glazed and lifeless, stained with mottles of red, nailing an accusatory stare on you. Then the idea of having slain me mercilessly will catch with you. And you will scream."
Hectic tremors shook his body. "Give me back the visor, please."
Jean laughed, and her arm drew an arc on the air. The esteemed gadget brushed his chest with the brisk lightness of a soft feather. "Your toy is right in front of you. If you want it, just take it." She tainted with a hoarse voice masked the sound of metal shattering, crushed by a clenched fist.
Lost in helplessness, Scott spread his arm onward and hesitantly groped for his visor. Amazingly, Jean grasped delicately his hand and led him gently forward. Scott gasped when he touched something very soft and spongy. Realizing what it was he pulled out, but she didn't allow him. Her hand clutched his backhand, forcing it to fondle her, and her other hand grabbed his crown and drew him in a hungry kiss.
In the blink of an eye, their shapes blurred and vanished in a flash of bright light. They faded in the existence in other distinct chamber.
What the hell- Scott thought, having noticed the disturbing shift of his molecules.
Don't worry for it, love. Very soon you will be beyond of the point of concern He listened into his head. It didn't bode him well, and Scott didn't know whether get scared or elated.
With a private, inward smirk, Jean rested both hands on his cheeks, holding him in his place with her telekinesis. She had craved badly this for months. She shoved her face on his passionately, with that yearning long bottled-up, and her lips devoured greedily his mouth, sucking air out of his lungs. Her tongue slid between his glistening lips and sneaked into his mouth.
Scott tried to resist it, wrestle against the longed for sensations traveled up and down his body, sparking and flaring up feelings he believed lobotomized or long-lost. But she smelt and tasted so good and the feeling was so heavenly and it woke memories so sweet he was overwhelmed. Her mouth was hot, incredibly hot. Her lips and tongue burnt, and he believed burn with it.
Then it dawned him. He was burning! Blistering fire erupted out of her and penetrated inside his body through his mouth. A stream of lava flowed down his esophagus as a blaze-made serpent, charring all in its path, including his flesh. He struggled frenetically for wrenching away, but she held him strongly. Jean went up in hot-melting flames, and the fire embraced his body. He was swallowed whole.
Scott believed die for a moment, but he didn't. To his surprise, he kept on living, in spite of the searing fire engulfing him. He then noticed the flames consuming him were painful, very painful, but no lethal. It doesn't feel like if he was dying actually. Rather shifting. But into what? And why?
"Come on, honey. Let's burn together in the oblivion" She whispered huskily.
Jean linked hands with him and levitated him onto a platform. She laid him down, put off the fire with one mere thought, and perused his likeness. He resembled a sacrifice placed on the altar and ready to be immolated. The fire had scorched and singed his outfit, rendering it to steaming, hot ashes. She swept them with a fanning of her hand, and crawled on the sturdy board. His closed eyes caught her attention.
"By the way, you can open your eyes now. Your beams won't function here."
His brows arched in disbelief. Slowly he lifted his lids, marveled when nothing happened, and surveyed his surroundings and himself. He looked to her, feeling uncomfortably aroused with his predicament. Jean chuckled and straddled on top of him.
"You and me are so alike" She drawled "You like it, don't you? You enjoy with my dark side. You have fear of touching me, fright of feeling, dread of loving, but you love my shadows. It arouses you, turns on, and inflames you with lust, with craving, with lewdness. You worship my evil, the black abysses where I hid my worst bits. And you do because it means I'm not pure, an untouchable goddess, thus you can love me and desire me without sully me or pollute me. Burn together in the purificator fire, my love."
After of repeating that phrase her hand suddenly bolted towards his head, placing around it a metallic crown. Scott touched gingerly the headband, giving her a quizzical stare. Jean shrugged.
"It's a portable and individual version of the big junk-machine of the other room. Now stay still." With those last words, Jean leaned on him. Her flowing locks dropped on his chest and her limbs entangled around his body, wrapping him tightly. She claimed his lips and nibbled his taut neck.
A whir and hum of the ring and the weakening sensation of his energy being sapped were the warning signals.
The oval platform pulsated with sparks, flashed with light, glowed with brightness and crackled with lightnings. Shimmering glow engulfed them and Jean moaned when her body lit and shone with luminescence while energy started to coalesce around her and pumped into her body.
Jean was shivering with an eerie mixture of agony and rapture, moaning in pleasure and pain at once. The power gathering had disintegrated her clothes and she was now clinging to Scott, maybe seeking shelter of the tempest of sensations assaulting her or maybe releasing her distress. Her slim frame arched over and over in wild frenzy and her fingers scratched red-brand scars on his shoulder plates. He screamed, but she merely trapped his tongue with her own. Then Scott glanced at her eyes, burning slits without pupils and charring with an inner fire of passion of love, hate and all in-between. Witnessing that inhuman, godlike countenance, he felt fear.
Jean meanwhile believed die with every convulsion rocked her fragile human frame. As she ascended to the cosmic level, she was deadly horrified and anxiously expectant of the next evolutionary step.
Telepathy. Telekinesis. Chrono-variancy. Absorption, storing, transformation and channeling of the energy. Force blasts. Heated plasma beams. Magnetism. Manipulation of weather. Manipulation of humidity and cold. Manipulation of fire and heat. Transformation of the reality.
Her body was absorbing every of them, and her mind was expanding and seeing the universe in ways and concepts nobody could understand or grasp. Now she was All, and all was She. The crazy flood of images assailing her mind was unbearable, but Jean managed to cope with it and endure it. The only time she had felt such glory ever was in the M'Kraan Crystal.
"Oh, yes. Yes!" She shouted, mad of pleasure and delight. She ground her body with the man beneath her, and peeped stealthily to Scott while her tongue licked her glossy and glistening lips, wet with drool. With a pang of regret she perceived and recognized the dread on his eyes, the chill on his heart.
She pecked his cheek, showing him a loving gaze. "I shall never stop of caring for you, Scott. I'll make you happy. This I can vow you." Then she kissed him, and he kissed back.
She motioned to herself and Scott in a seated position, and with a last gesture sent into Scott all the love, the devotion, the tenderness, the passion and the lust he provoked in her and she could show him. She felt his feelings throbbing behind of the thick layers of choking fear and aching pain and self-destructive doubts, and with her telepathy peeled each stratum one after other, erasing them and freeing his emotions.
Suddenly the stone gate burst in rubble. The Twelve along with a tide of X-Men in tow bolted in the room, fighting stances at ready. Jean contemplated their faces before laughing loudly.
"You are late, guys. I HAVE WON ALREADY!"
And with that last shout of challenge and victory, the Phoenix spread her wings. And the chamber, the pyramid, the desert and the very reality shattered.
Another replaced it. One preferred by Jean.
*********************************************************************************
Eyes snapped open with a start, and he felt the impulse of lurching forward.
The strong jerk of the dead weight was his lower body reminded him of his disability painfully. Another cruel moment where he recalled obligatorily he was perpetually, forever crippled. They happened daily every time he need help to go out of the bed or shower or descend the stairs. He hated them.
Xavier prodded laboriously his trunk with his elbows, seating on his baldachin, and willing calm the frantic, shaken thumps of his heart. His windpipe seemed suddenly obstructed and his mouth was dry as sandpaper. He rubbed his temples, feeling the whirlwind of years of remembrances twisted, warped, altered or wiped rushing back in his brain, free of the long prison. It was like if a dam had cracked and a violent flood rushed out of the gates. Or, if his mind was right, it was like the breaking of the padlock sealing the Pandora's Box. Yes, that simile was more accurate.
It wasn't a wonder his head ached.
He started to rebuild his memory, patch his shields and reflect. Seconds added, turning in minutes. And these in hours.
X-Men He summoned. We have a problematic situation
*********************************************************************************
Now do you know why Jean was so reluctant to visit to the Professor? It wasn't only because she was aware of his feelings but also because she knew a telepath as powerful as Xavier might remember she had altered the reality.
Why Apocalypse intended to use a host and Jean didn't? Because whereas Nur needed a body capable of handling the power of the Infinite, the transformation in Phoenix implied shifting the body into energy for wielding properly such massive power. Cable and his doppelgangers kept theirs flesh-and-bone bodies, and thus theirs energies burnt them down. On the other hand Jean and Rachel haven't physical bodies and the energy doesn't damage them, albeit it messes dangerously with the minds. Hence Jean needed to nobody.
The next chapter is the end! We return to Scott and Jean in Alaska. Jean gives full explanations to her family (including certain alternate relatives) before the X-Men arrive to force her to relinquish her new power. What will happen? All last secrets revealed!