Chapter One: Evil Parasitic Entities and How to Exorcise Them
Chase sat in the bedroom she shared with Warren Kenneth Worthington III. The Phoenix within her spoke gently, brushing against her mind like the rippling murmur of a distant brook. She communed with her inner strength, soothed it, restrained it. She couldn't help but notice the similarities between herself and the two resident feral mutants, Wolverine and WildChild—the way they all fought for dominance over some inner power that, once unleashed, threatened to engulf the human side of them.
The door opened, but she neither turned nor scanned telepathically to see who it was. To tell the truth, she didn't much care. "Devoneaux?"
"Yes, Bishop,"
"Warren wants to leave. He's in the lawn arguing with Jean."
"Where does he want to go?" her voice was expressionless.
"England."
"To see Mr. Braddock, undoubtedly? Why must he argue with Jean? He's his own man."
"She thinks it will reverse his grieving process."
"His grieving process is his own business."
"You're his psychiatrist."
"I'm a caregiver, yes. But I cannot dictate what he should do, where he should go."
"I'd like it if you'd have a few words with him." Bishop took a few steps forward and put a heavy hand on her shoulder as it lifted in a shrug.
Chase pursed her lips. Rare was the occasion at which Bishop expressed an emotion. For him to say something like that must denote an event of significance. She nodded. "I'll go down."
"I'll escort you."
"Certainly." She rose with the grace of youth, and turned to look into the soldier's eyes, holding them only momentarily, before falling into step with him toward the door. When they reached the front lawn, Jean was screaming at the top of her lungs at Warren, interspersing pleading with hurled imprecations of disloyalty and hysterical sobbing. Warren was standing erect with his arms crossed over his chest. His blue eyes were soft-edged and looked to be on the verge of shedding tears, while his face was resolute and firm, his nostrils dilated, his jaw clenched, and his lips pressed so tightly together that they described a perfect line.
Chase rushed down to Jean's side, calling for Nathan through their link.
On my way, he answered, with a comforting smile.
"Mrs. Summers," she whispered as she approached the frenetic woman. "Mrs. Summers, calm down, please." The moment she stepped into Jean's aura, it was like a tranquilizer to her stunned emotions, and she took the time to take two deep breaths.
"Chase, you can't let him go." Her tone was still high and jittery.
"I'll speak with him, Mrs. Summers, I will, and if he has a good enough reason to—" Chase cut herself off as Archangel grabbed her around the waist and launched them both into the sky. "Warren," she began in a warning tone, "If you do not put me down this instant, I am going to let Phoenix go, and I warn you, she isn't happy with you."
"I'm not staying here, Chase. I'm finished grieving for Betsy, and I just want a change of pace."
"I understand that," she replied, her heart falling into her shoes as she realized a fear confirmed. But instead of giving in to the sudden sting, she grinned wryly. "Are you firing me, Warren?"
"No, I'm not. I think I still—forget think. I still need you."
"So why are you going to England?"
"I need a vacation. That's all."
"Then put me down and we'll discuss it."
He sighed, and let go of her. She caught herself in mid-air and floated gently down to the ground beside him. "There's nothing to discuss, Chase." He ran a hand through his perfectly groomed blond hair. "I'm going to Muir first, and then I'm going to take a holiday in Cardiff."
"And why am I not invited?"
Warren shrugged. "I need some time away from this shrink thing, all right?"
"I suppose. I've been shadowing you for months now. But you're sure you're all right?"
"Yeah, I'm great. Hey, aren't your parents in Montana? You should go visit them."
"I might. They're not really interested in their schizophrenic daughter who hangs out with a bunch of outlaw superheroes, anyhow."
"Well, they're taking the mutant thing in good stride, anyhow. I guess you can't expect them to keep up with everything."
She was thinking about replying, "Especially since my dad still thinks it's the seventies." When Cable's voice blasted through their link.
Chase, get out here!
Instead of wasting time, she rose into the air and sped back toward the mansion, flying low to the treetops, noting idly that Warren was following her. When she arrived at her destination, Cable was on his knees in front of both Professor Xavier and Jean, hands clutched to his head, the pencil-thin lines at the corners of his eyes tight and screaming from his face. Chase didn't waste time assessing the situation, and slipped directly into his mind.
All she saw was a barren landscape; the ground was cracked and dry, with only a few cacti springing up from the desert sands. But there was no one there, even when she shot up into the green-gray sky and peered down from her superior perspective.
Nathan! She screamed psionically, panic laying a sinuous finger across her soul. Nathan Christopher Charles Summers Dayspring Askani'Son, where ARE you?
My "brother" never told me he had so many names, a rough psionic voice jolted her. She wheeled around, but there was no one. Adding to her trepidation was the Phoenix calling to get out, preparing itself to fight.
Nathan?
No. Not really. A shadow fell over her, and she turned, holding the Phoenix within her back lest it manifest fully and damage Nathan's psionic landscape. Standing before her was her mentor and confidant, the man without whom she might still be a shivering, silent child weeping every moment for a brother she would never see again.
Nathan, what's wrong? Why did you call me?
Not Nathan, my dear.
How do you mean, my friend? What…what is wrong? She extended a hand to him, only to find that his skin bristled gleaming metal spikes where she meant to touch him.
I've been watching you, little one, the man who was, and yet was not Nathan. He loves you very much, my "brother." I cannot blame him, though. He's always gone for pretty young girls. The man laughed quietly, a disturbing sound to the young woman. She tensed for an attack, and yet was afraid, as this man wore the face of one she loved dearly.
I am going to ask you once more, sir. Who are you?
My name is Stryfe. Doubtless you've heard of me. Chase called upon the memories Nathan had channeled into her that day in the forest, the memories of a life on the lam, and her eyes opened wide at the sight of a man who'd made Nathan's life so hateful, yet who'd brought his greatest joy and sorrow, Tyler Dayspring, into the world.
More than heard of you, she murmured.
You aren't frightened of me, are you?
Should I be?
Of course you should be! I've been cooped up in here for far too long. Nathan has suppressed my psyche within him for long enough, and I am taking over.
No, you aren't.
And you're going to stop me? How droll. You know that I've killed Nathan already.
What?
Close to it, anyhow. He's in bad shape. Stryfe's ensuing laugh sounded suspiciously and disturbingly like a giggle. I put him through Akkaba again, only this time, he didn't win.
Neither will you. Nathan reasserted himself last time, he'll do it again.
No, he won't, my dear. Stryfe reached forward and stroked her hair. Such a lovely face. What a shame I must dispose of you, as well.
Chase rolled her eyes, and stepped back. You know what the Phoenix is, don't you, Stryfe?
Most certainly. But I do not see what Fire and Life incarnate has to do with…oh.
Say oops, Stryfe. Chase manifested her sweeping fiery cloak as a quiet smile crept across her peaceful features.
XXX
Chase sat in the bedroom she shared with Warren Kenneth Worthington III. The Phoenix within her spoke gently, brushing against her mind like the rippling murmur of a distant brook. She communed with her inner strength, soothed it, restrained it. She couldn't help but notice the similarities between herself and the two resident feral mutants, Wolverine and WildChild—the way they all fought for dominance over some inner power that, once unleashed, threatened to engulf the human side of them.
The door opened, but she neither turned nor scanned telepathically to see who it was. To tell the truth, she didn't much care. "Devoneaux?"
"Yes, Bishop,"
"Warren wants to leave. He's in the lawn arguing with Jean."
"Where does he want to go?" her voice was expressionless.
"England."
"To see Mr. Braddock, undoubtedly? Why must he argue with Jean? He's his own man."
"She thinks it will reverse his grieving process."
"His grieving process is his own business."
"You're his psychiatrist."
"I'm a caregiver, yes. But I cannot dictate what he should do, where he should go."
"I'd like it if you'd have a few words with him." Bishop took a few steps forward and put a heavy hand on her shoulder as it lifted in a shrug.
Chase pursed her lips. Rare was the occasion at which Bishop expressed an emotion. For him to say something like that must denote an event of significance. She nodded. "I'll go down."
"I'll escort you."
"Certainly." She rose with the grace of youth, and turned to look into the soldier's eyes, holding them only momentarily, before falling into step with him toward the door. When they reached the front lawn, Jean was screaming at the top of her lungs at Warren, interspersing pleading with hurled imprecations of disloyalty and hysterical sobbing. Warren was standing erect with his arms crossed over his chest. His blue eyes were soft-edged and looked to be on the verge of shedding tears, while his face was resolute and firm, his nostrils dilated, his jaw clenched, and his lips pressed so tightly together that they described a perfect line.
Chase rushed down to Jean's side, calling for Nathan through their link.
On my way, he answered, with a comforting smile.
"Mrs. Summers," she whispered as she approached the frenetic woman. "Mrs. Summers, calm down, please." The moment she stepped into Jean's aura, it was like a tranquilizer to her stunned emotions, and she took the time to take two deep breaths.
"Chase, you can't let him go." Her tone was still high and jittery.
"I'll speak with him, Mrs. Summers, I will, and if he has a good enough reason to—" Chase cut herself off as Archangel grabbed her around the waist and launched them both into the sky. "Warren," she began in a warning tone, "If you do not put me down this instant, I am going to let Phoenix go, and I warn you, she isn't happy with you."
"I'm not staying here, Chase. I'm finished grieving for Betsy, and I just want a change of pace."
"I understand that," she replied, her heart falling into her shoes as she realized a fear confirmed. But instead of giving in to the sudden sting, she grinned wryly. "Are you firing me, Warren?"
"No, I'm not. I think I still—forget think. I still need you."
"So why are you going to England?"
"I need a vacation. That's all."
"Then put me down and we'll discuss it."
He sighed, and let go of her. She caught herself in mid-air and floated gently down to the ground beside him. "There's nothing to discuss, Chase." He ran a hand through his perfectly groomed blond hair. "I'm going to Muir first, and then I'm going to take a holiday in Cardiff."
"And why am I not invited?"
Warren shrugged. "I need some time away from this shrink thing, all right?"
"I suppose. I've been shadowing you for months now. But you're sure you're all right?"
"Yeah, I'm great. Hey, aren't your parents in Montana? You should go visit them."
"I might. They're not really interested in their schizophrenic daughter who hangs out with a bunch of outlaw superheroes, anyhow."
"Well, they're taking the mutant thing in good stride, anyhow. I guess you can't expect them to keep up with everything."
She was thinking about replying, "Especially since my dad still thinks it's the seventies." When Cable's voice blasted through their link.
Chase, get out here!
Instead of wasting time, she rose into the air and sped back toward the mansion, flying low to the treetops, noting idly that Warren was following her. When she arrived at her destination, Cable was on his knees in front of both Professor Xavier and Jean, hands clutched to his head, the pencil-thin lines at the corners of his eyes tight and screaming from his face. Chase didn't waste time assessing the situation, and slipped directly into his mind.
All she saw was a barren landscape; the ground was cracked and dry, with only a few cacti springing up from the desert sands. But there was no one there, even when she shot up into the green-gray sky and peered down from her superior perspective.
Nathan! She screamed psionically, panic laying a sinuous finger across her soul. Nathan Christopher Charles Summers Dayspring Askani'Son, where ARE you?
My "brother" never told me he had so many names, a rough psionic voice jolted her. She wheeled around, but there was no one. Adding to her trepidation was the Phoenix calling to get out, preparing itself to fight.
Nathan?
No. Not really. A shadow fell over her, and she turned, holding the Phoenix within her back lest it manifest fully and damage Nathan's psionic landscape. Standing before her was her mentor and confidant, the man without whom she might still be a shivering, silent child weeping every moment for a brother she would never see again.
Nathan, what's wrong? Why did you call me?
Not Nathan, my dear.
How do you mean, my friend? What…what is wrong? She extended a hand to him, only to find that his skin bristled gleaming metal spikes where she meant to touch him.
I've been watching you, little one, the man who was, and yet was not Nathan. He loves you very much, my "brother." I cannot blame him, though. He's always gone for pretty young girls. The man laughed quietly, a disturbing sound to the young woman. She tensed for an attack, and yet was afraid, as this man wore the face of one she loved dearly.
I am going to ask you once more, sir. Who are you?
My name is Stryfe. Doubtless you've heard of me. Chase called upon the memories Nathan had channeled into her that day in the forest, the memories of a life on the lam, and her eyes opened wide at the sight of a man who'd made Nathan's life so hateful, yet who'd brought his greatest joy and sorrow, Tyler Dayspring, into the world.
More than heard of you, she murmured.
You aren't frightened of me, are you?
Should I be?
Of course you should be! I've been cooped up in here for far too long. Nathan has suppressed my psyche within him for long enough, and I am taking over.
No, you aren't.
And you're going to stop me? How droll. You know that I've killed Nathan already.
What?
Close to it, anyhow. He's in bad shape. Stryfe's ensuing laugh sounded suspiciously and disturbingly like a giggle. I put him through Akkaba again, only this time, he didn't win.
Neither will you. Nathan reasserted himself last time, he'll do it again.
No, he won't, my dear. Stryfe reached forward and stroked her hair. Such a lovely face. What a shame I must dispose of you, as well.
Chase rolled her eyes, and stepped back. You know what the Phoenix is, don't you, Stryfe?
Most certainly. But I do not see what Fire and Life incarnate has to do with…oh.
Say oops, Stryfe. Chase manifested her sweeping fiery cloak as a quiet smile crept across her peaceful features.
XXX
