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Age Of Apocalypse: Shifting Times
Author: Jenskott
Summary: What if had Weapon-X not rescued to Jean Grey out of the pens?
Notes: Here shows up the AOA Marrow's version. The issue of making up her character bothered me, since she's one of my favorites. She had to follow the AOA rules, and it means getting fundamental differences of personality, but with core parts of it intact, and her aspect couldn't be exactly equal. I preserved the personality rules, but I couldn't do something too radical to her features -like a maimed arm or large and ugly scars crisscrossing her hide- because according my judgment her mutant power implies some healing factor. At the end I opted for using the personality rules and the rule of adding an ironical twist to her background story.
Rating: PG-13.
Disclaimer: Sadly they belong to Marvel Comics.
Feedback: To jorgisimox@hotmail.com. Very cherished and appreciated and beloved. However English isn't my native language, therefore forgive my very obvious mistakes. Still I'll thank polite advices.
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Part Two. The Beginning of the End-
Winds of numbing frostiness blew with a sinister hissing around of the ghastly, wretched mansion, frowzy and looming with its bleak, crumpled facade shrouded in the shadows of the murky sky. The grim, haunted appearance of the large house -a lavish manor in happier times- was eerie and unsettling to anyone. Nobody could possibly want inhabiting that place, with the walls collapsed, the bricks and the plaster eroded with rain, wind and ivy, shattered windows with black pits on them and craters splitting the floor around the house. Cracked boulders, debris and dirt littered the erstwhile green lawn, and dry and scrawny skeleton of burnt and blackened trees -nobody recalled their species anymore- circled the state, quivering and shuddering with each passing gust of fresh wind.
No person might, effectively, reside in that barren wasteland at its own volition. And it was exactly what the X-Men wished seemed. Hide in plain sights a motto to live, literally in this instance.
The torn and ravaged appearance of the haven was deceiving, since it stood out to any random foreigner, who didn't notice the little, telltale signs there was all over the place. The windows locked deliberately to obscure the darker shadows danced behind the shades, the exaggerated destruction some walls had endured -brickwalls of mostly unused and too visible corners-, the heaps of cracked bricks piled in front of doors and corners as masking something or blocking up some way in, footprints faked with rubble and pebbles, and the tiny and faint noises the wind carried, muffled with the deep howls of the moaning air.
Deep in the mansion, a bellow of fury, of barely restrained rage and indignation was voiced, with a lurking, almost pleading despair vibrating subtly in its roughed, harsh tone. Was plainly clear even with the hostile, wild anger flaring in it, the person was shaken with a distraught grief and a tormenting guilt.
"Damn you, Lensherr, let me go!" Snarled Weapon-X, his furry fists crossing in front of his glowering face. With a slashing noise his claws unsheathed, a slayer glint shining on their razor surface. He seemed ready to chop and quarter gleefully to the speedster if he followed on restraining him.
Pietro remained downright undaunted, hurling an unyielding stare with a curt frown. To reinforce the impression he folded his arms with a care painstaking to such rash person like himself. "No, Logan"
Both were facing to each other in a room over the South side. A couch torn and tattered, and several chairs and one table were the only furniture in the room, barely lightened with a meager bulb light.
The place lacked of the splendid luxury once possessed, but it didn't mean Magneto wasn't mindful of the comfort necessary they needed to carry on their war. He was determined to do the daily life in the mansion maybe no entirely enjoyable, but at least comfortable and bearable to his X-Men, so they didn't fall apart altogether. The furniture was sparse and there wasn't artificial light in any room other than the living quarters and chambers where machinery was stored or in use. The hidden life of guerrillas and undercover war demanded austerity, thrift and prudence, but the X-Men knew better than complain, and had learnt to be happy with the little they had. Agree the life the remainder world bore was another matter, utterly different.
So in that former living room, two men were regarding to each other warily, albeit Pietro maintained a mask of nonchalant aloofness and Logan concealed it with his usual rage. Quicksilver perused carefully to his partner, taking no only in his physical looks -the bluish black outfit clung tightly to his stout and muscular body, the disheveled and long black hair wildly unruffled, the snarling expression of his stony face- but also in his emotions, the ones he could read at least, and that were most important anyway. He was downright choleric and outraged, on the brink of one of his known and furious berserker attacks, but it barely squished down and masked the emotions he was trying cover. Under that film of unleashed fury, he was edgy, next to frantic. He was fretful and afraid. Afraid of what?
Pietro rubbed his temples with the fingertips, wondering why he had to be doing this, and glanced to Logan with sadness and severity at once. "No, Logan. It was no half-hour ago, it's no now, and it'll keep on being no! Don't matter how much effort you put in looking dangerous and ominous. You aren't going."
Logan lashed furiously his arm on a wall. Three deep gashes dented the plaster. "Don't say me what I have to do, Quicksilver! I don't follow your stupid rules and I'll do as fucking pleases me!"
A silver brow arched infinitesimally. "Then why are you here yet? If you aren't willing obey-"
He cut off him "Don't tempt me. Sometimes I do that question to myself."
"And the answer is?" The field commander temporized, hoping quelling him. If he only worked with him...
Weapon-X turned thoughtful suddenly. "Because I don't like the shit Apocalypse is feeding to the world with, and this seems the best place to stop it. And I don't get a hell of many other options. Many times I've thought leave you in the lurch, walk out and no looking back. But I can't look aside and ignore to Blue Lips because sooner or later the shit will reach with me; and I can't fight him alone and expect seriously win. Only Magneto has enough sources and wits to use them. Besides, without Jeannie would be no worth."
Wide opening here. "Then you must understand. She's doing an important job in that hellhole. She's helping to save lives, helping to the cause and protecting to the people. She can't leave it now. You bursting into, slicing your way through waves of Infinites and snatching her away would turn to be disastrous to her and likely to our single ally over there. It could even get them killed. She pleaded me tell you don't rescue her. Will you not listen her pleads? Can't you grant her the only favor she asked?"
"You don't understand!" He protested, waving angrily his arms. "There's no way I'm leaving her in that lair of fucking bastards, with Summers on her trail-"
He gasped and trailed off abruptly.
His shifting mood didn't go unnoticed to his opponent. Pietro stared at him, blinking. "Do you mean this is for you being jealous?" He queried incredulously.
"No, it isn't" Logan shouted, kicking the floor in frustration, disliking the annoyance, surprise and mild disappointment he could smell and hear from Quicksilver. "You only don't understand!"
"Make me"
Logan paced the floor around, moving in relentless circles. The fury he had used to disguise his fear and agitation, his guilt, had worn off, striping him off defensive illusions and leaving the peevish misery was cloaked beneath it, written all over his face to all stare at. "Do you remember when we saw her after of leaving her behind? When she was sticking up for Summers and claming have defected?" He muttered ruefully, not looking at Pietro. "I doubted of her. I DARED to doubt of her. And now, knowing I've doubted for years of her, years that she spent helping us from the inside, watching for us while rescued people, stepping on eggshells amidst that pack of creeps… it's most I can bear, Lensherr."
Pietro kept his silence, respecting the grief of his teammate. He shook his head, utterly mortified. "I've let down her. It will never happen again. I've to redeem to myself, Pete. I must save her before she gets killed in reward to her altruism, and ask her for forgiveness. I owe it to her."
Pietro sighed inwardly. He stepped forward enough to give to the remorseful Logan some of closure, but without violating a personal space he could wish maintain. "You –we- doubted of her because she INTENDED we did, Logan. You did just you were supposed to do. I'm sure she felt hurt, but she knew beforehand it had to be of this way."
"But Logan, if you act now, you will throw her whole effort by the wayside. You will do what YOU want, no she wants and trusts you do. She needs being left alone now. And don't get worried for her; one of the Prelates is siding with her, and she can handle him to the other. And the rest are quite lame."
"Yes, I'm sure he'll be falling in with her a lot." Logan growled with a noncommittal tone.
Pietro gazed at him, exasperated, having grasped at the double sense and the sarcasm Logan shaded his words with. His suspects had just been confirmed. "Don't get ridiculous, Logan" He huffed. "If you and she are for real, she won't feel tempted for working along with other man, or will give up you not matter what. And if she decides she like him better, then she never was yours to begin with."
Logan cringed with it. "But-"
Pietro stepped forward, crossing the thin line they had established to peaceful conversation, and placed a tentative, reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You whined earlier of having doubted of her, and promised to yourself never do it again. Then why are you doubting now?" He stated calmly. Then chuckled ironically. "I am not a fine example to explain whatever the love is, but I AM what love is like. And of the little experience I have got, love is all about trust. Confidence. Belief. If you can't trust in her to choose you over someone else, then you can't love her with your whole heart. There will be always some corner filled with suspects and insecurities."
Weapon-X closed his mouth. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, meek. "You're right."
Pietro nodded eagerly, pleased of having talked him into that matter. "Of course I am-"
The grating noise of wood skimming over stone, and the feeling of someone entering in the room halted whatever reply of agreement was about of departing of Quicksilver's lips. Both men spun around to face the newcomer, a figure very hard of missing. The overpowering presence of Magneto always flooded the room, even if he didn't wear his gaudy costume, dark red as thick spilled blood, and the ample cloak billowing with each motion.
Magneto did a polite bow to his father, greeting with the apprehension of someone get used to receive bad news, while Logan chose give a lopsided, perusing gaze at the side of Magneto, mainly to the figure trailing beside to Erik, with a murky countenance steeling her features. She looked ignore defiantly the comforting gesture of the X-Men founder, the way his gloved hand grabbed her shoulder and ushered her calmly in the room.
Pietro noted the presence of the unknown girl with noncommittal surprise, and looked at the eyes of the red garbed man, grey-blue eyes that could have passed like his own. "One new recruit, Father?" He guessed.
The girl was a teenager, younger even than Clarice, with glaring eyes simmering with fury as blazing blue coals, and offering a stark contrast to her pale and emaciated, but stern and unyielding face. Her skin was of white-peachy color, pierced in several spots for dagger-like splinters of jagged bone, jutting out of each joint. On the forehead, thorax, forearms and shins the bones had outgrown enfolding the body as an armor, and out of her back protruded several long spikes of bone. Rests of tattered, frayed red rags covered scantily the bare parts of her skin, as a soiled and holed drape.
Pietro shivered inwardly. There was something absolutely off about the girl. Maybe the way she'd assessed to both when she showed, like trying to guess weak points and vulnerabilities. It recalled to one hawk sizing up a rabbit as a possible prize to hunt on the future. It was a scary, eerie in such young kid, albeit part of him labeled it as a welcome change to the soulless, hollow depths used to be the eyes of the writhing, weeping girls he had rescued.
Meanwhile Magneto nodded solemnly to his query with a quiet expression, and took off calmly his helmet. "Indeed. Victor and Kyle have just met her recently in her last exploration. She had killed a Madri on her own with one of her weapons."
Pietro arched his brows and Logan whistled. Both of they had slaughtered Madri in a regular, daily basis, but they were alpha-levels. If the girl had ended with one of those priests of the Devil, she was to be reckoned with. It wasn't her ferocious, untamed aspect and her forbidding scowl, ever present on her sharp face, said otherwise.
"It was sheer luck. I was tracking down a lot of Madri casually were stalking to that bulk of meat and his pet. I attacked right when they were ambushing them, killing to one of them and alerting to Creed and that lapdog. We saved mutually our lives and they talked into join me to the X-Men" She breathed deeply. "I'll be more than glad of helping to slit some throats of Blue Lips and his lackeys, but bear in mind I'm not being a good-goodie altruist. I want revenge, and working with you is a fine way of obtaining it. Besides, it's damned better to keep on scavenging ruins for an ounce of food."
Quicksilver had to give it, the girl was blunt and straight. And whereas her motivations might be too troublemaker, she seemed enough sincere and relatively trustworthy. Relatively. It was obvious a probation period was in order to admit her in the team.
Logan meanwhile had advanced to his orders and was stalking around of the girl, boring his hard eyes on her, and scrutinizing her with an unreadable, shady gaze. His nose breathed in deeply, very deeply, inhaling scents had little to see with the flavors the humans usually smell. The girl didn't flinch ever, neither squirmed, and if she was annoyed -and ought to be-, masked it very well.
Weapon-X at last stopped his pacing, standing three inches away from the lass. "What?" She snapped, folding her arms impatiently.
"You have the reek of Dark Beast all over you, lass."
She shook her head dismissively. "I was one of the mutants inhabited the Manhattan sewers." She stated.
Magneto remained quiet and reserved as the two men gasped in surprised astonishment. They had heard vague rumors, news lost among the tide of horrors assaulted constantly his ears and did their consciences to burn and smolder in indignant rage. The bloody tales reached them used to be so twisted and warped, but so believable in that maddened world, they were helpless to choose believe or not every gossip was spread.
And now they were facing one direct witness of the massacre years ago.
"My name doesn't matter, but my foes call me Marrow" She muttered softly. "When Apocalypse conquered New York many of the low-level mutants hid in the forgotten sewers and subways in the underground before being captured by Sinister or even worst, McCoy. We lived content and relatively happy down there, knowing we were at least, free and secure, and now I suppose we should have foreseen what happened next; Apocalypse wouldn't tolerate anybody content with his or her live. That bitch of Callisto, our supposed leader, betrayed us to save her worthless hide, and Sinister sent to his Elite Guards in the sewers, led by his damned Prelate Havok. They committed a savage carnage, killing innocent people, helpless people, good people who wanted nothing more than being left alone. I was about of getting away, but that dumb Guthrie blonde-boy caught me. We fought, and I nearly gutted him, when Moonstar nailed me with her arrows and I fainted."
"When I woke up, was one of the experiments of Dark Beast -who I'll met plenty pleasure in disemboweling, be sure-. He did me weird stuff, sliced me open and sewed, ripped off bones of mine to investigate their growing, and experimented with me, doing me things as speed up and increase my healing factor. It went on, until one night a shadow rescued me from the pens, evading the guards." Magneto and his two warriors exchanged swift glances. It wasn't unnoticed by Marrow, but she passed by. "Since then I've been surviving in my best, running away and hiding me, feeding me with anything remotely edible, when your the X-Men met me."
The group shut up, mulling on her words. The girl was definitely angry and resentful, and it could be highly dangerous. However, if that fury was channeled correctly, it might be a very useful weapon against Apocalypse. And above of all, the girl deserved other opportunity for knowing a better kind of life she had led.
Pietro weighed up slowly the words of Marrow, and the unspoken details and things he'd guessed perusing her as she narrated her past. He glanced askance to his father. He was so austere and circumspect as ever. He wasn't sure that some day he understood him ever.
"She can be a fine fighter, father, but she isn't ready yet for team work. Don't you believe she should work out for a while with Kitty and Piotr?" He suggested encouragingly.
Before Marrow protested with a scathing comeback, Magneto denied with his head. "No, Pietro. I don't believe. She wouldn't fit in with the members of the Next Generation. But she needs still learn to blend in the team." He mumbled.
We're traveling now to Seattle. Logan I require that you remain in the mansion with several X-Men, patrolling the grounds and watching over until our return. Also show to Marrow around and teach her the first things she must know."
Logan nodded reluctantly. Being left behind while his partners fought to protect innocent people and smash Infinites wasn't a task he enjoyed performing, but he was aware of the importance of defending one of their last refugees. And privately he was pleased of Magneto decided entrust him with that duty, considering him the best asset to protect them all.
"This is foolish" Marrow shouted suddenly "I can go along with the group, and sure as the hell you could need people"
"Ma-" Magneto began, but Pietro was resting a kind hand on her spiky and tough shoulder before he opened the mouth.
"Everyone of us are sure you are up to the fight, Marrow." He stated, careful of being polite and reassuring without coming out patronizing. It was hard, but his father relied on him to settle leadership troubles, and he yearned for opportunities to prove him right. "But this isn't about pride, revenge or chance. You must learn like we operate, act and fight, what are our norms and methods, and how your fighting style can merge better with ours. We aren't letting you aside, girl. We are merely getting ready you to field missions. Before you only get to take care from yourself, but now you're with others, and there're rules to be respected as long as you want remaining with us. You custom to work alone can be such handicap like anything else. Do you understand?"
She stiffened, and he thought for a second she'd snarl with a rebuke. But her darkened expression eased, and she averted her piercing stare. For a moment a wide window was open, and he caught a glimpse of the vulnerable, lonely kid she could have been. Sorrow and grief lurked on her eyes.
"I do." She mumbled. "It doesn't get to like me, but I do. Yet I can't promise I'll give away always so easy"
Pietro nodded, beaming. "Then that's all my father, Rogue and me can ask of you."
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Grotesque.
It was the reflection of Scott Summers, regarding the chaotic scene.
A column of burning red energy blasted through the chamber, slicing the air and striking head-on to his unsuspecting, airborne target. The crimson bolt rammed it with irresistible strength towards the opposite wall, thrusting with no effort the massive heap and plunging it in the wall.
A rain of debris and shrapnel of steel and wires exploded outwards, bouncing in walls and floor, and spreading a blanket of metallic garbage around of the place. The numb heap remained still and motionless, imbedded in weird and odd-looking machinery with the two legs sticking out, stiff as broad as two pillars.
Scott observed with a prominent frown the crumbled waste was now that evil-stinking cell, with the scattered debris scattered all about the floor like rubbish littering the dark and cold place. It remembered him to old films about Frankenstein. However those movies were old tributes to the literature of terror and fantasy, whereas that was the hard, palpable reality, seen with the full spectrum of colors. All right, to he was the entire spectrum of red, shades of red, and colors filtered through a red tint, but the phrase stood.
Grotesque, he thought again. McCoy and his brother had been about of getting turned into smeared puddles of flesh and blood, oozing over the filthy floor of the lab room, mixed with dry mottles of blood, grease and oil. And it would be brought about by the mutant they had been torturing and laughing about, bringing the punishment for their sins on their own heads, like in some strange kind of karmic balance or justice poetic. Right now the twisted, monster-like form of McCoy strolled towards him with an infectious smirk, trying dissipate his forbidding grimace and his taut motions with folly flattery, and idle questions about the Jean's whereabouts Scott knew he wasn't interested about at all. Dark Beast could be many and very unpleasant things, but on of them wasn't he was unfocused or slacking on his job.
"Enough!" He roared with very little mood and less patience to fake smiles. "Jean is where she pleases or is needed, Henry, don't try averting the conversation. In what sins' name are you doing this? You were ordered closing the lab" An ugly and dark grin enlightened his glum countenance. "Perhaps Sinister should be reported of your transgression."
McCoy cringed, stepping back, but before Scott could press further and corner him, Alex got in the way, snarling at him and grabbing one of his arms."
"Wait a damned minute, traitor to your country!" He growled, his temper flaring.
"Let me go, Alex" He commanded, feeling likewise a surge of fury, but refusing to yield to it.
He ignored him foolishly. "Even here, out of the pens, I'm still the security chief. And I take my duties very seriously! I'm not like some brats who emerge out of the pens only for showing off!"
Scott witnessed the storm with the same dispassionate, imperturbable posture of always. His controlled calm and coldness used more often than not pissing the hell out of Alex. Nothing fazed him. "Brats? Showing off?" He repeated with a dejected, sardonic grimace. "I believe you're mistaking me with YOURSELF, _little_ brother. You are the youngest, you're the driven in showing off to the whole wide fucking spinning world, and you were here not for performing your duties but for watching this" He paused with a disgusted snarl "torture. By the way, little brother, if I don't happen come by, what would have happened?"
"I'd have got by alone, arrogant-"
"It's enough!" exclaimed a voice, annoyed and disappointed, but refined. Its level had been low and mild, but sounded as a thunder to both siblings.
They turned instantly to greet to his adoptive father, Mister Sinister, who showed up with his costumed flamboyant manners and lord-like walking, amidst the floating rust and dust. The black-red ribbons of his shredded cape swayed slightly with its movements, and his pale metallic body glinted under the bulb lights giving him an appearance clearly gave away his name.
Sinister walked with paused stride as far as Scott, and shook his head with sad diffidence, and glanced to both. "Kids, kids. Haven't I educated you to both rightly by any chance? Never the Summers brothers shall you get along well?"
"I... I'm sorry, Sinister" mumbled Scott with disciplined and apologetic sincerity.
"Me too, Sinister, but you must understand. My brother was beginning to-"
"It isn't my business who started the fight, Alex; I am ending up it. Oh, and Henry" He stated off-handily at the perverse genius, with a lopsided gaze. "I observe you pursue with your experiments."
"I... this... isn't... what it looks like" McCoy stammered dully, stepping backwards with convulsive fear.
"Be sure it continues being that. Agreed?" The Apocalypse right-hand stated with a stern glint of his bloody eyes. The implied menace was painfully patent and implicit. Without waiting for an answer, he turned to Scott, beckoning him with a gesture to go with him outside. "Alex, clean this wrecked mess. Scott, accompany me a moment."
Both men left the lab, ignoring the murderer glow shimmered on the Alex eyes, scorned in his mind once more.
Father and son walked together and in silence along the winding hallways of the Tower, climbing upwards slowly. Soon they had emerged out of a balcony. Greeted by the wind, very cold at that height, and the lights pierced the thick layers of raven clouds and pollution, they rested on the railing. Scott Summers kept silent and hoped, knowing Sinister would choose speak when he considered both were ready to the conversation. Meanwhile he struggled against the wind, bent obstinately in snatching his long brown locks and covering his face with them. While his hands parted away the strands, bothered with the itching sensation on his skin and mouth, he felt the strange sensation of a weight choking him and taking his breath away him.
From that height, the majestic but fearsome Tower of the citadel, stood out against the remainder buildings of Manhattan, the capital of the Empire, and it hovered about the rest of the city like a devilish and threatening claw. The dim lights glittered meekly on the overcast sky, giving to the clouds shades of red and black as in a distorted reflection of the world below, and enlightened up the city with shimmering, dusky rays. The Tower stood alone and sovereign like a mountain, and around it advanced rows and rows of skyscrapers, tiny as ants. An endless landscape of buildings, whole and upright, or crumbled and fallen, stretched as far as the sight reached. Over other side could be seen New Nile -Scott had never understood why Apocalypse renamed it. Hudson River never resembled the African River, being a streamlet in comparison-, laden with the cadavers and skeletons and toxic wastes the river flowed into the ocean, where odd fishes and mutated carrion eaters scavenged among the corpses.
A more violent gust of air flowed towards both men, and it dragged with itself the endless howl was the bloodcurdling cries and screeches and shouts of the people suffering and dying thousand of feet underneath of them. The grief, the despair, the torment, the pain, the misery gathered and blended, stirring and warping. The hopeless, frightened shrieks of the doomed and dying, the starving and sick swirled making a vortex of screams, a nauseous and horrifying cacophony of sounds did the hairs stand on their end. It was a sort of yell come from the Hell did always to Scott step back nervous. Each time he heard that, a strong, nagging feeling of guilt assaulted his senses, and he felt something strangling him, the thick and intense feeling overwhelming and washing over him until he was rendered a soulless carcass.
He shivered. Then he realized his father was coughing to earn his attention, and Scott turned to him, anxious for something, anything to escape from that. Anything to escape to the dawning of his city was a mirror of the Hell, the incarnation of the Pandemonium on the Earth, with Satan ruling in the heights.
"I was to hopeful you followed on my footsteps some day" A reflective pause. "Scott, I have to go away"
A minute of stunned, shocked silence. "What?" Then came distress and denial. "No, sir! If it's cause of something I did-"
Sinister put up his wave up. "No all the things rotate around of yours, Scott." He sighed heavily. "Dementia has taken over to one of us. A madness I fear head us straight towards the Armageddon."
A gulp to unstuck a knot on the throat. "May it come to pass? So explosive is the situation between the humans and us?"
He queried that even though knew perfectly well the obvious answer.
"Listen me, Scott." Sinister spun sideways and moved his wave to circle the entire monstrous and misshapen city, the ominous and twisted buildings, the fires burning in many places, the airships sailing constantly and shooting randomly, the heaps of decayed and fetid bodies carpeting the murky roads. "We are gazing the end of world, and the worst is it looks back, granting us time only for regrets. Ahead of you stands mine ones. I have hardly spent one dozen of lives giving birth to one Hell on Earth, and now... Now I shall never be able enjoy of it."
He blinked aghast behind of his red visor. "I don't understand how you could give birth to one Hell. What do you mean with 'the End'? And who is the madness of?"
In better circumstances Essex could have found his eager and naive curiosity endearing.
Such like they were now, he merely turned around, and walked away from him.
"Alas, Scott, I've overprotected you. I have protected you too much. And for motives you can't imagine ever." He lowered his head, the proud figure seeming hunched and downcast for a passing moment. "And now you must seek knowledge on your own, for first time. Farewell, son of mine. Make me proud."
And with that he was gone.
Scott leaned against the rail, griping the metallic rafts with both hands while observed the last of the retreating shape of his father and mentor. His mind was a shaken, swirling turmoil. He tipped his head backwards, letting to the sunrays peeked out of the haze glimmering on his visor and stroking his forehead. He had believed having all the answers till he ran into Jean. And now the rug had been swept off his feet still again. He knew now he hadn't even the questions he had to figure out.
They were his grimy thoughts when several beams of golden light showed up Eastwards, searing the sky leaving a path of smoke and yellow fire, bent ninety degrees approaching to the shoreline, and skimmed near of Heaven. He bit his lips, alarmed and disquieted.
Scott? A concerned, helpful voice echoed within his mind, and he sensed a presence flaring into his head. He closed his eyes, basking in the glow and the warmth her soothing telepathic voice was giving him. I've felt you shaken of sudden. Is there any trouble?
He could have snickered. Any trouble? Well, it depended exclusively on your definition of the term. Nevertheless, he shut up that, albeit was likely she felt it. No. Only Sentinels. By the way, Jean I've just had with Sinister the conversation weirdest...
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The deafening silence of the trees was thick and weighed, creating an asphyxiating atmosphere of lacking of live and of decay. The forest was so dead and unfathomable as the silence shrouding it with a blanket of fake quietude.
The rumbling murmur of swift footsteps disrupted the heavy and numb air. The steady and pounding sound of a short figure sprinting through the woodland, dodging trees, ducking of branches and leaping about fallen trunks, all without missing the rhythm of the run. Suddenly the swift, nimble figure halted abruptly, hunkering down on the floor, and looking over. And sniffing.
Weapon-X inspected the floor, scrutinizing attentively the crunched twigs and the trails of fresh footsteps. Someone was baiting him, goading him to one confrontation, he was sure. The smell was familiar, but the whitened bones of a nearby hare, and the flies flying in circles over them were distracting his nostrils. That unlucky mammal had remained dead by starving for years, but he could sense still the fear, the despair and the begging yowls of the poor animal. He nearly could listen to its shivers and whimpers.
Focus He roared inwardly, straightening his body and steadying his nerves. This wasn't moment to reveries.
Magneto was out with Quicksilver, Rogue, and a mixture of both of their respective teams. Blink and Sunfire were scouting over the Middle West, and he was half fearing half expecting they would find -Neither of them trusted in the promises of the so-called treaty-. Exodus, Banshee, and Dazzler remained with him in the mansion, watching their lair, protecting to the toddler Charles and teaching around to the new one, Polaris, Psylocke and Marrow. They were vulnerable nowadays, and he had to be careful.
With that determination, he started to walk soundlessly. If someone was trying provoking a confrontation, he or she ought to face him sooner or later.
"I estimate we are enough farm from the mansion and deep in the erstwhile forest to remain unperturbed. Don't you opine likewise, X-Man?"
Whirl around on his feet and spring widely with the claws extended and shining with bloodlust was done with a single motion. He DID know the voice. He had heard it and cursed too often in his nightmares to don't. He clenched his knuckles and blades of adamantium sought for the vital organs. Maiming, evisceration and vivisection would make it nicely, but he'd finish quickly if he had.
Mister Sinister extended an arm and gripped the Logan's neck, halting dead his impressive and long jump. A scornful huff twisted his stony, unyielding features, and his steeled fist squeezed the windpipe to reinforce his point across. "Blood-thirsty as a tiger and wild as a wolverine. Mutants such like you and you partner Creed are really prime material of study about the human evolution, and a fine example of what the man mustn't be. An animal moved by instincts and passions, by its hunger and its mating urges, tossed around by emotions befuddle the rationality, obfuscate the fair judgment, and insult the brain millions of years of evolution gave us."
"F-fuck yourself" Logan grated. He wouldn't permit that man to see it, but it had strung painful chords inside him. He was sick and fed up of the people who insulted him and whispered behind of his back calling him a dimwit animal. He was a man. A man. He had proved it true plenty times, and certainly he considered to himself more human Sinister would never be able claim.
Though Sinister was obviously aware of it, of the insecurities, doubts, and fears undermining the bolstering confidence and unwavering pride of Logan. And he brought up it, used it and exploited with expertise and without any remorse to pull the strings suited him, obtaining the reaction he wanted. He smirked derisively, looking down to Weapon-X.
"Before continuing our instructive conversation, let me bring up your attention several facts: I'm here, alone and unarmed. Whereas if I truly wished to see your quarry annihilated, a whole company of Infinites, supported by Madri and Balrogs would be laying siege on the X-Men, with Apocalypse undoubtedly on the forefront of the storming invasion. Therefore my presence here can be due to other set of circumstances you can be drew in attending to"
Without hoping for an answer, Sinister arched backwards his arm and hurled viciously to Logan at the floor with a disdainful, mocking toss. During the fall, Logan reacted, pivoting his body to land on his four limbs, and barely had touched the dusty soil when he whirled impossibly swift, standing on his feet and leaning on a crouch while brought forward his claws.
Sinister disregarded the menacing stand and the lightning speed Weapon-X had moved with, and tossed to his feet with apathy one folder of plain light brown color.
"In that file you will find facts very interesting: details and reports about the last culls and plans to future ones –infringing blatantly the treaty-, accurate descriptions about the stronghold of the citadel, defensive systems of the Atlantic Wall and its weakest points, the plans of High Lord to the ultimate war he intends unleashing in Europe... Well, it is an educated guessed, since the strategy and attack lines haven't been specified and delineated yet, being it a mere draft, but I've sketched it bearing in mind the way of thinking of Holocaust and Apocalypse, thus I reckon it is accurate enough..."
Logan stood still, staring at him in stupefaction. Hesitantly he kneeled to pick up the folder, all the time without averting his sight away of Sinister, and opened slowly the folder, almost like if he expected a bomb blew up on his face. He leafed through slowly, scrutinizing to Sinister with a wary eye. The Horseman was giving him a mild, nonchalant look.
The Canadian man closed the document with studied calm, and faced to Sinister with a glare filled with suspects. "Now why have I so tough time believing you'd double-cross to Apocalypse all of a sudden?"
Essex remained impassive to it. After all, he waited some questioning, they would fools to accept that without any reason. "I'd like explain the why of this rash action, Weapon-X, but it'd mean explain my motivations, and I'm not supporter of broadcasting important information. However, I shall endeavor provide you with a stark resume, indeed: It benefits me."
Sinister shut up, no telling more, but the wary and distrustful Logan leer signaled him clearly was preposterous think he could get over with this so easily. With a low grumble, he dropped his arrogance mask and continued. "Not matter how ends the Armageddon Apocalypse plans, it'd spoil my own schemes right when they are ready for fructifying. Hence I'm giving away important information to his adversaries."
A hard, red-gleaming glare was hurled at Logan. "Don't confuse this, X-Man. I'm not a warrior thirsty of blood and cadavers as Apocalypse, but more of a chess player. I yearn to be the potter who moulds the next generation of living beings in this planet, the new God maker and forger of life, but Apocalypse only embraces the death, and seeks for a war where nobody shall survive, a development I haven't any interest for. Thus, knowing this time would come, I've passed years setting in motion my own designs. For that reason I found the last sanctuary of the X-Men, but I didn't notify of it. For it I'm giving you now this invaluable and useful piece of information. For it I let to my son acting freely to his heart's content, albeit I didn't ignore he'd been deluded to your side cause of that telepath."
Logan couldn't help gape foolishly, caught utterly off guard. Sinister waved a hand haughtily. "The way you use the information is up to you and is irrelevant to me: Keep in it, pass on to the Human Council... Yet don't make profit of it would be truthfully foolish. Besides" He turned around slowly, giving a sidelong glance at Weapon-X, who wrestled to keep his emotions in check and his composure neutral "if you're drawn into the welfare of your ex-member, I highly recommend you use that soon. I can't protect to Scott longer. And if he falls, nobody shall be able protect to Jean Grey."
And with the last statement, he spun fully, flapping his cloak pompously. A glowing tear flashed in the air and it split open, revealing a teleporting doorway. Sinister stepped into, and his figure faded away.
Logan remained motionless for minutes, leaving to the wind to dash and scurry among the trees and whip to his roughened face. He bit his lip and slid his blades into his forearms. A futile gesture of sheer and helpless impotence, meant to no more than relax him. His mind was shaken and feverish, looking over possibilities and trying to decide what had just happened. If he didn't know better, he'd be tempted of forgetting the entire matter, or labeling it as an odd hallucination.
"Shit!" He exclaimed, and hurried back to the mansion.
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I'm downright, redemptionless crazy Jean chastised to herself fervently, acidly, while she squatted carefully in the concealment of her proverbial watchtower, the lookout she was using.
The redhead telepath pressed her body onto the floor, propped on shoulders and knees would be sore later, and peeped attentively the scene unfolding underneath. She was perfectly aware of the least mistake in this situation, and she would be annihilated with the same easiness and simplicity someone snuffs out a candle with a gust of breath.
One thing was to disguise and get free prisoners out of the pens. Other entirely different matter was spy a council of Apocalypse and his Horsemen. If they found her, they'd be blistered to her bones swiftly, and no one would know ever.
No, that was untrue. They would interrogate to Scott later on, and perhaps find out he was in cahoots with her. And then they would get him executed. And it would be her blame.
But discover their evil schemes, their machinations, their war plans, could be worth of the risk.
She wasn't such of a fool to think she could run the risk of using her telepathy without being detected, but there were ways and methods craftier. So she was being conniving and creative.
The place was well secured, and using her psychic powers was out of question. However she had studied painstakingly the plans of the Tower, and had found a blind spot near of the dome. Around the circle there were tall columns built in spiral, winding upwards. And among the twists and curls the spears of metal did, she had found a shaft enough dark and tiny to hide one person, and covered of possible flying spies. Near of it had a hatch used to access to the top of the dome, but the hole was too tiny and was too out of sight to be easily noticed. And she might look over the heads of the upper class of the empire, and listen from that spot the conversations they held. The aloud and strident tone they used to spout their tiresome speeches of arrogance helped a lot to grasp the discussion. Apocalypse and his acolytes were so arrogant and spiteful of the smartness or resources of the enemy they were vain and flaunted, disregarding prudence and wariness. It was a wonder hadn't more leaks of secrets.
She put off her reverie to later, and focused on the conversation, so difficult as Apocalypse was doing that. His speeches of self-worshipping and harvesting of the fit ones were boring and dull. Took job no dozing off. Above all they were all equal, as a droplet to another. She marveled often he didn't record his talks and after turned the tape on whenever he wished to speak. It would be easier.
Although now was happening something out of the script.
She didn't expect Sinister questioned to Apocalypse, and least on his face. He had backed down at once, but the fact remained and was disturbing. Holocaust -the Wanda's slayer- had sneered at him, with a mocking tone with an underlying menace lingering on it. However the moment had passed, and Apocalypse and Holocaust were busy making up and rehearsing their plans, while Abyss was hanging around idly, and Sinister was sulking careful of being unnoticed by the other Horsemen.
Part of her was intrigued about the whereabouts of Mikhail Rasputin and the cause of his lateness, but she was really more drawn into the explication of the war plans. She felt a deep chill biting her bones and nailing splinters of icy fear in her belly. If they accomplished to carry out that atrocity... if they managed do that... She recalled the smoking ruins America had been turned into after of the War of the Ascension, and the daily horrors performed there, and imagined it spread to the remainder world. She shuddered. They had to impede it, but... How? Scott and she couldn't warn to Magneto, Logan and the rest. They couldn't release a prisoner and entrust him or her with that mission. Mainly because wasn't guaranteed the poor soul didn't run away right after.
She went on scrutinizing the scene unfolding beneath her, lurching in her shelter, and meditated in the words and facts and vibes she was sensing even with her telepathy repressed. Sinister was turning out to be unpredictable, having expressed openly his dislike and after concealing it, and could become a loose cannon, an unreliable nuisance. Still was the Apocalypse's Heir, that golden armor restraining a burning furnace of hot-melting flames, who was giving her a curious misgiving. Her instincts were screaming her for some reason. She was next to sure he possessed an agenda of his.
Apocalypse had mustered to his generals before the final raid, but she was sensing his plans and ideals weren't followed very faithfully. Sinister had his own ideas about this, Mikhail hadn't showed up, Holocaust kept back his own secret intentions, she was certain of it, and Abyss simply didn't matter it.
Separated we shall fall apart, she mused joyously. Yes, hide here was risky, but she was learning plenty. And their stupid overestimation of their powers and their neglect of the imagination, creativity and intelligence provided an extra helping. The only single thing they understood -except Sinister- was the violence and the physical strength. Stealth and cleverness weren't qualities they granted some worth.
All other than Sinister, and she guessed that was the reason he had favored so handsomely to Scott.
Scott said his advantage wasn't the optic beams his eyes poured but his wits, his tactical ability: he saw and thought different than the rest. Patterns of space and movement were carved in his memory as a red brand, and his mind related elements apparently opposite or irreconcilable, and made plans and strategies instantly. It was his greatest asset, what had won countless battles through America.
Smartness, craftiness, slyness, subtlety, whatever you wished call it, were little valued in that accursed of God stronghold, and few possessed them, too fond and obsessed in raw strength and brutality. And it might be their downfall at the end.
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The round and majestic globe of the full moon glittered hung on the nightly sky, glistening with silvery moonlight, casting its pale rays over the Earth and bathing it with a snowy, soft glimmer. The aura of the satellite dulled the milky path of stars dotted the black canvas enveloping half planet.
He let the whitish beams stroked his face and dallied with his silvery hair. He liked stargazing. It was an acquired habit throughout his long years. Since the Camp, since Auschwitz, when he stared up to the stars, pleading the release of that death in life, and screaming in defy against a God who had given up them. When the war was over, he gazed still at them, asking why he survived and his entire family not. Since then, each time a fundamental, shaker of his foundations, change happened in his life, he contemplated the stars, looking for an answer never came.
Like twenty years ago. For once the stars had given him the answer.
He remembered steadily the words of his greatest friend in the world: Any dream worth of having is a dream worth of striving for, because you can't imagine the difference a dream can do.
Indeed, he couldn't have imagined it.
He stared the dazzling shining of the stars and the titillating glow of the moon, and briefly wondered what he would be doing if his friend had survived. And how would the stars be?
For once, he had got his answer. And he hated it. The popular wisdom was right. Ignorance was blessing.
"My God, Charles. Is that the reason you died for? You had to perish so I realized of the wrong of my ways? Did you relinquish your life to save my soul?"
"Love"
That simple statement cut off his monologue, and he turned around slowly. Rogue was over there, peering at him with extreme worrying creasing her features. She had, obviously, heard his voice, listened the racked with pain, anguished tone of his reverie.
"All are over the courtyard, Erik. Peter, Kitty... Gambit and the rest... are awaiting you talk to them."
He felt the urge of stare at the floor. He was feeling really gloomy. "Do they consider me their leader yet?"
"They have never quitted of doing it... Although they can't help to wonder about the curses of the foreigner" She stepped forward firmly, approaching towards him and grabbing a handful of his crimson cloak, like willing to give him reassurance. "He called you criminal, murderer... But it isn't true. Never mind what he gets stuck in his head."
He pulled in himself to the only woman he had loved after of Magda, and squeezed her in his strong arms, needing, yearning the soothing warmth, the tender passion and sincere love she offered freely. One he wasn't sure of deserving anymore.
"His memories... You saw them too." He muttered. His throat was dry and cracked. He hesitated, fearing it might to break. "Memories of a world such unlike this... Where the X-Men and me, where you and me..."
"They weren't real, Erik. Everything we saw... were nothing but a dream" She protested, screwing shut her eyes, wishing being so sure as her voice suggested.
He paused, and tilted his head over her, resting his chin on her forehead. "If it was, was fascinatingly familiar. But neither mine, nor of the foreigner."
He straightened his body, feeling his body taken over by a resolution more unbending the metal he ruled over, the same fervor and unyielding, unbeatable will had gathered and held to the X-Men during years of war, losses and pain.
"Let's go" He whispered. "There are many tasks to be done."
He ushered her at the house, resting a hand on her shoulder. She nodded, averting her sorrowful, tear-filled eyes away him. The charming was shattered.
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Several figures were standing on the lobby. Waiting. Anticipating. Nerves oozed distress and fear in the semi-darkness of the room.
A door opened and whirled ninety degrees with a creak of his old and rusty hinges, displaying to Magneto and Rogue standing on the threshold. Even in those quizzical circumstances, the leaders of the Rebellion managed being commanding and imperious.
Magneto bore his cobalt, electrifying eyes on each one of the gathered, looking over them. His son Pietro, Gambit, Nightcrawler, Piotr and Kitty, Weapon-X and Psylocke. His piercing pupils inspected to each one of them, assessing their state, judging their readiness to the impossible labor he'd demand, and pondering with chagrin what he was about of asking of them. He was asking them to die.
Later he would be talking heartily with the members of the team, but he now needed bid very particular and definite orders.
"Pietro!" He called. "After of this meeting gather to the X-Men available in the Situation Room. I... shall need talk with them. I must also explain the next mission: the evacuation of thousands of humans in Maine. We shall wait though for the return of Blink and Sunfire of their quest before making specific arrangements. Whatever Holocaust is up, can't be by any means good."
His son nodded. "Understood, Father."
Magneto whirled at Piotr and his wife. He was with his arms flexed to both sides of the body, and seemed anxious, tense. Kitty perused the floor while lit up a cigarette, but the futile gesture, the dim light and the rivulets of smoke didn't cloak her nerves. "Colossus, Shadowcat, you will go back to Colorado, with your students and prepare them while await my coming. They must be ready to be mobilized in any moment."
The wedded pair nodded numbly. When Magneto turned at other, the Kitty's hand traveled up, towards the bulky, broad Piotr's arm. Her fingers lingered on the bands of smooth metal, with the ridges and curves of the powerful muscles. He clasped her hand and squeezed gently.
"Kurt, you will travel to Avalon and look for the woman named Destine. I require she opens my eyes, and confirms or denies the Bishop's message. To that end, you mother will meet with you."
Kurt stalled his time before answering, supported on the floor with his four limbs. He had doubts about that man called 'Bishop', and plenty more about that plan. Yet he wasn't going to argue publicly with his leader and founder. He'd express his doubts in private, later. "Ja, sir."
Magneto faced to the tall and slim man dressed in soiled clothes and a tattered trenchcoat, resting nonchalantly on the wall. The thief was glancing down diffidently, apparently oblivious or unaffected for the tension surrounding him. However the noncommittal way he was lightning up his cigarette, with an artificial lowering of head to dodge his pupils, and the stealth glances he was shooting him were treacherous telltales of the nervousness and the fear were gripping him. He couldn't hide it to Magneto, his former best friend, with those cold and half-lidded eyes. Piercing and charming eyes framed with disheveled brown hair, beaming on a face of exquisitely chiseled features had scared him once upon a time, when Rogue hadn't given away the person who really held her heart, her passion and her devotion.
Gambit was deadly still, and for once the cynical, sardonic smirk beaming on his face was off. His chest swelled slowly with a slow intake of air. This could be difficult. He had called him for a specific mission required his talents but now it was put indefinitely in hold, in favor of saving the universe.
"Gambit, let me be blunt and go to the point" He blurted. "I need you and your Externals travel to the most faraway edge of the universe to steal a jewel is the focus point of all the realities, thus I can use it to remake the reality."
Gambit blinked. "Right. No problem." He mumbled, sizing him with a glazed stare usually reserved to lunatics. "And exactly how do you plan we do the trip?"
"Lila is an alpha-level teleporter. She can open a spatial wormhole to any area of the cosmos."
"Oh, yes, sure." He retorted, shaking his cigarette to drop the ash. Magneto disregarded his obvious expression of disbelief. He knew Remy LeBeau wouldn't disappoint him when the time came.
"Weapon-X" He enunciated. "You'll travel to Europe to hand over to the Council the information Sinister volunteered us so kindly. You will help with the evacuation from the outside. Psylocke will go along with you to aid in your task. She knows Europe and will serve of liaison with the Council."
Logan growled in agreement. Psylocke closed her purple eyes in torment, not looking forward to see to his brother, and acquiesced with a nod.
Pietro raised his hand. "Permission to speak freely, sir"
"Permission granted. Tell me, Pietro."
"Is wise Elisabeth departs with Logan? She is making great progresses with Miss Dane. Separate them now, in the middle of the treatment-"
"Son" He interrupted softly. "I understand your concerns and accept your viewpoint. Nevertheless, I dread a comparative and eyeful look to the bigger picture does it nonsensical. I know it comes out hugely callous and harsh, but it is unfortunately true. Nowadays we must run the risk and pray for the best."
Quicksilver bit his lip without replying anything. Magneto acknowledged he was partially right, but he was helpless. Elisabeth could assist to Logan in Europe, and he missed work with a telepath. She was the most proper to back him.
And still he would rather Psylocke kept on healing the brain damage of the green-haired woman. She was awakening of the haze numbing her senses and wreaking havoc into her mind, but she wasn't ready altogether to go on her own. The woman still hesitated whether he was or wasn't her father, and often went out of her way to avoid to Rogue. His wife, who dodged her frequently, shared that feeling of dread and pain, and that drive to run away. When Magneto decided she joined to the Quicksilver team, nobody was surprised.
He looked over to his warriors. They were more than soldiers, they were friends, practically family. And he was sending them in suicide missions, one after other. Because in the deepest of his heart, he knew even if they triumphed over insurmountable obstacles, the exit of his missions and the survival through them would guarantee their demises.
But maybe they could obtain a free life in that new world, a blank slate to write down their own and bright destine. And that hope bolstered up him.
The final stage of the game he had spent twenty years playing was nearing, he could feel it. Floating on the air, whispering in his ears, crawling under his skin, bristling to every strand of hair.
The last movement between Apocalypse and him was about of beginning. But this time he would win the game, and Apocalypse would be powerless to stop him. He'd kick the board before the game started ever, and would fix it with new pieces, which would be set in their proper places when his enemy tries to arise, to annihilate him once and for all.
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End of the Part Two.
Final Notes: Yes, I know Blink was with the team in Seattle in X-Men Alpha, but bear with me. Besides, this is AU. By the way, I don't want anybody thinks I hate to Alex Summers for his portrait here. He's a cool character, but this is the Age of Apocalypse. And in that timeline, our lovely, bouncy blue-eyed beast is a sick and psychopath bastard, whereas Sabretooth behaves as a human being.
This has been shorter than I had planned beforehand, but I think it can stand alone without further additions. Or with a good trimming and perhaps some extra scene, or elaborating better some. Feel free to opine.
Thank very much for the reviews. Keep on sending. And to Optic Red: I know I commit mistakes; I warned of it. I always use a spell and grammar check, but it doesn't find every of them. I try improving, nevertheless. And by the way, your 'Optic Evolution: Ruby Quartz' liked me a lot. Especially with the references to the original comics and the early nineties animation series.
In the next part, Weapon-X and Psylocke arrive to Europe to conference with the Human Council, and Betsy is reunited with a Brian Braddock very different. Meanwhile, the defection and runaway of Sinister speeds up the events on the pens. Cyclops and Marvel Girl investigate in secret as Havok looks for a noose to tie around his brother's neck.