xXx
Peter slowly shook his head. From his perch on the ceiling, he watched the huge hulking man stalk towards the armored figure. The armor was sleek and elaborate, not a baroque curl anywhere. The upper arms and legs had peculiar suggestions of muscle, while the greaves and bracers, boots, gauntlets, chest plate, plastron, and helmet were all one shaped suggestion of vision and style. Dark eye slits revealed nothing. The knight awaited the beast's approach.
"No sword?" Creed grinned. "This where you call for backup, or are you a dirty spy too?"
"I am not a spy," the suit said. "Pretend I am the Grail's guardian."
"Not so good at make believe," Creed said. "Let's pretend you're just so much scrap and smear. Yeah, I can see that. Any minute now."
"Yap yap yap," the armor said. "They use you for infiltration?"
Creed sprang, and the armor's hands snapped up. Peter gasped as a shock of light erupted, and a crack like a sonic boom rolled through the floor. Creed was airborne, sailing back. He flew a good fifteen feet before he crashed to the ground and slid another ten feet, sprawling and breathless.
"Ow," grunted Creed.
"Neat," the armor said, looking down at its smoking palms. Each one had a disc, an energy conduit.
"Les," Creed drooled, trying to roll to his feet, "les try dat 'gain."
"Fair enough," shrugged the armor. Twin lances of energy zipped out and snapped into Creed's smoking body, lifting him up and hurling him all the way back to the doorway this time. The repulsor beams cracked louder than a gunshot, and Peter began working his way to a different position. Just in case. That was a mean personal arsenal.
Creed managed a drunken retreat, wobbling along the wall, blood pouring off his punctured skin. "Ow!" he grunted. Then he leaped up, coordination returning to him, and caught a pillar. He scuttled up the pillar like a massive lethal monkey, and he looked down.
"Can you climb in that thing?" he hollered down.
The armor shrugged. "The world may never know," it said, and it took two steps and leaped into the air. Discs the size of dimes flared all over the soles of the armor's boots. The subtle, flat backpack let out a high pitched whine as it fired up into the air towards Creed.
Creed leaped out at him; the armor opened up its wide beam close range blasts and flayed the skin off his face and chest; skull gleamed. Then Creed smashed into the armor, momentum reduced but not eliminated.
The armor fired its jets, the backpack jets firing too. Creed clung to the armor, squeezing, and the armor rammed its palms into his ribs and opened up with a full power blast.
Creed could not scream; the blast might have killed him, but the power wasn't there. The jets sputtered out, and they dropped.
Creed twisted so they landed with the armor on the bottom. A muffled clang resounded through the room. Creed dragged himself up, his blood sluicing down his legs and spattering across the armor. He could not speak.
His muscles still worked.
Bending down, he picked up the suddenly tractable armor. He cranked back and threw the armor as hard as he could at close range into the pillar. A resounding gong sounded, and the armor clattered to the floor.
"Howzabout I rips er fath off," Creed managed. He reached down and gripped the head. "Tuth to muv th no power. Hevy, innit."
"It speaks! Rolls over! Plays dead!" echoed a voice from the shadows. "But is it housebroken?"
"Not gin," Creed managed.
Then the foot covered in deceptively sleek mesh rammed into Creed's exposed facial bones with the power of a sledgehammer. Creed staggered back, but Peter landed right in front of him and lashed out.
Peter didn't give him a chance. He kicked his knee, hard, then crushed a blow in to his exposed ribs. A satisfying meaty crunch there. Crushed his heel into his throat, and spun with a punch to the torso that knocked Creed sailing, gore arcing after him.
Peter spun, leaping, as the bullets zipped through space after him. He ended behind a pillar.
"Whoah," he said, glancing around his cover. "I'm one of the good guys!"
"Bully for you," purred a smooth voice. "I'm not. Creed?"
"Guth," he managed. "Guth n mnt."
"He'll be fine," Peter reassured her. "Although he hasn't looked this bad since the time he chased that bulldozer; whooeee, he picked the wrong one to catch up to."
"Har har," grunted the blood-smeared cripple. "Laf whil yu can."
"Okay, lady," Peter said. "I'm gonna take your gun now."
There was a clattering slide, and the gun ended up at Peter's feet. He glanced around the pillar.
"I'll keep him busy for you, Creed," Mystique said softly. "Get well soon." She relaxed.
Peter strolled out. "C'mon, you're making me feel guilty about this. You couldn't possibly know, after all. I'm out of your league, lady. Even if you are blue. I'm fast, and fast trumps blue."
"Well then," she purred, "why don't you come to me."
He sprang, but she took the smallest step to the side, just out of his reach. He whipped around in midair and landed turning, so the wicked blade she drew out of nowhere skimmed his back instead of plunging through his ribs. With a twitch he was to the side and facing her, but a sidestep moved her enough to slice a thrust at his face. He easily caught her wrist, but he did not sense her foot lashing down until it drove painfully between the bones of his foot, mashing his instep.
A lesser man would have been crippled, and his grip loosened. She whirled with almost lazy grace, whipping her elbow into the side of his head. He spun free as she slung around low, her leg sweep catching his ankle as he darted back. He landed unsteadily. She was there in a fluid recovery from the sweep, her blade flicking towards his thigh. He slapped it away in time to catch her distended knuckle in the back of his elbow, right in the nerve cluster.
He lashed out with a strike, but she moved just slightly and his fist slashed through her hair as her shin locked with his, her instep against his heel. He was knocked off balance, and he fell and rolled with superhuman speed, popping up in time to deflect her slash.
He knocked it to the side and would have been wide open for the spinning kick that went with it, but his reflexes dropped him under that too, and he zipped web into the ankle she stood on and hopped back, tugging.
She gasped as her ankle whipped out from under her, but she slapped the ground as she landed, channeling the force of the impact away. A quick twist and the lethal knife slid through the thin web strand and she did a kip up, landing in a spring.
"Did I say fast trumps blue?" Peter said, catching his breath. "I meant fast trumps blue and sexy."
She smiled. "Charming."
Wrong Wrong WrongPeter's senses lit up, alarmed! He whirled as Creed's fist smashed into his back, sending him flying at Mystique. She neatly sidestepped with everything but her leg, so he tumbled over it and sprawled, sliding, on the floor.
Creed, feeling much friskier, pounced. Peter came up with everything he had, landing a blow square in Creed's chest. Bones snapped, flesh tore, and Creed lifted up off the ground and smashed down on his back.
"Oh look," Mystique said coolly, inspecting the gun in her hand. "We're back to this."
Peter was moving, the bullets lashing in his wake. Then his web zipped out, snagged the gun.
"I told you I was gonna hafta take your gun," Peter said, shaking his head as he tugged it out of her hand.
"Yow," he yelped as Creed loomed over him again. "Bad dog! Obedience school wasn't worth the paper you trained on."
Peter leaped back out of Creed's slashing range. "Bad dog!" he shouted, bounding in. "Down!" He punched him in the eye. "Stay down!" He slapped his ear with a cupped palm, rupturing the eardrum. Creed grunted. "Play dead, dammit!" Peter said, driving a two fisted blow into his upper leg.
Creed connected with a backhand that sent Peter skidding across the floor, but it didn't have Creed's usual power behind it.
"Heh," Peter managed, struggling to rise, "gettn tired, ol man?"
The gun barked, and a bullet slammed into Peter's leg. He screamed as the impact spun him around; he clutched his leg and scrabbled back in one unwieldy thrash of limbs.
Creed was still fast. Peter got one shot in before Creed gripped him.
"Now," Creed said. "Now we done."
Then everyone in the room froze to the slow lethal sound of distending adamantium claws.
"Not nice," Logan said, slowly shaking his head. "That's just not nice."
"hep," Peter said in a small strangled voice.
Logan nodded. "You got it."
"Damn," Mystique murmured, swiftly reloading the gun. "This is not good."
Peter whipped both his legs up and crushed a kick into Creed's upper chest. Collarbones snapped and Creed let go. Peter twirled and landed on his feet, favoring one leg. Creed let him go, turning to face Logan.
Logan walked down the short flight of steps from one of the doors that had been sealed. His wild mane of fierce dark hair swept up behind him. His short, hard body was dressed in canvas pants and an undershirt. His claws gleamed in the dim light of the shadowed room. He squared off with Creed.
"Let's dance," he growled, his eyes dark and smoldering with fury.
Creed lowered his head for a moment, and his shoulders sagged. He gathered his strength. Then he looked up, and there was death in his eyes. Logan slowly smiled. This time, Creed got to drop the hammer first.
"You know what, lady?" Peter said, squinting at her. "You are a cool customer. I've enjoyed our little tango. Thanks for playing."
"You think I'm done?" she said, arching an eyebrow.
"Yep. That's pretty much the size of it," Peter said. Then he was moving.
Web plopped across the barrel of the gun, wet and sloppy. As Mystique spun to remove the gun from Peter's line of fire, she felt web snap into her hair. Before she could react, she was jerked off her feet. She hit the floor and web slopped into her shoulder. She rolled as fast as she could, but after one roll she stuck to the floor. Another strand, and another. Webs piled on her as Peter used his devastatingly precise aim to slow her down, then disable her.
"On second thought," he said, "I guess you can keep the gun." Then another layer hissed out at her.
Logan walked towards Creed, shaking his head. "Creed, Creed, as much fun as this little reunion is, what are you doin here? Don't you know better? How the hell did you get away from the Swordbearer?"
"Aint here ta talk," Creed managed.
Logan shrugged. "Come get some."
Creed sprang, and Logan sidestepped, whirling low. Adamantium claws snagged in the muscle mass above Creed's knee and tugged his foot off balance while tearing a chunk of flesh out. Creed staggered and Logan pounded claws through the back of his knee. He ripped free and darted back before Creed's backhand arrived. Then he was moving; one set of claws rammed through Creed's elbow and the other through neck muscles, then Logan spun and tucked his back against Creed as he leaned forward, hurling. Claws slashed free of Creed with a disturbing spray of blood, but the behemoth flipped over Logan and smashed down on all fours. His knees cracked.
Logan lashed out, his claws going through Creed's shoulder muscles. Then Logan jumped back, his claws bright red, blood trailing in the air behind him.
Creed struggled to rise, but his heart wasn't in it. He was racked with agony; so much pain. Too much pain. He wasn't psyched for Logan. The incinerator, then the repulsor blasts and the beating from Peter had worn him down too far. He had not gotten a chance to recover.
"Yeah," Logan said, his voice soft and full of pity. "I guess that's it." He moved to the side, and raised his claws to bring them down on Creed's exposed neck.
"What are you doing?" Peter demanded.
"Just look the other way, kid," Logan said, and his claws lashed down.
Web snagged his fist and yanked him off balance. His forearm thudded down hard onto Creed's neck.
Logan twisted his wrist and the webs sheared through like tissue paper. For just a moment he stared at Peter.
Peter stared back, unmoving. Logan's eyes narrowed.
"I got involved to stop a cold blooded murder," Peter said quietly, gesturing at the armor. "I can't just stand here and let anybody get killed."
Logan let Creed slump to the ground. "If you decide to keep Creed alive, you murder a lot of people, kid. This may be the only chance we get."
"Then we'll have to miss it. There has to be another way."
"Stupid!" Logan growled. "Dance a round or two with him and you'll change yer mind. I'm doing this, even if I have to go through you ta do it. I've sacrificed too much, kid, I'm sorry."
Peter nodded. "I took a beating from him, but that doesn't change my mind. I'm sorry it has to be this way."
Logan flexed. "Your call. Let's dance."
Peter darted in, favoring his wounded leg, and cut loose with a punch. It slammed into Logan's head, a meaty ringing sound, and Logan took it. Before Peter could recover, claws flung themselves into his face—
Retracted at the last instant; a metallic thud as Logan's fist smashed into Peter's forehead. Peter's head snapped back, and he stumbled; Logan was a lot stronger than he looked, especially with his adamantium knuckles. Peter reached out and caught Logan's retreating fist with his fingertips.
Calling on all his adhesion, he stuck to the fist and spun. Power flowed through his body and Logan was yanked off the ground and sent sailing through the air.
The short man spun and slammed feet first onto the pillar, then flipped down and landed upright. Peter had caught up to him by then.
Logan popped his claws and slashed, and Peter leaped up backwards, the claws hissing under him.
"Hey Moe!" Peter yelped, conking the top of Logan's head with his fist as he sailed past.
"Hey Moe?" Logan grunted, trying not to laugh. Then he stopped, and his shoulders shook. He threw back his head and started laughing.
Peter stumbled on his bad leg then leaned back on the pillar and started laughing too. They both stood there and laughed, until their sides hurt, until they couldn't breathe.
Logan stopped laughing and stared hard at the door a moment before Peter's senses kicked into high gear—
Logan plowed into Peter as the spray of bullets slammed across where they had been. Peter's acute senses felt every thudding impact of the bullets that smashed into Logan's back as they tumbled. They landed rolling and ended up behind a pillar.
Garrett moved in, low and fast, submachine guns smoking. "Creed, get up," he said, low and urgent. He dropped a rifle and picked up Tymaz Nine where it lay on the floor.
Creed roused himself and crawled over to Mystique.
"Leave her," Garrett said without emotion.
"No," snarled Creed. "She can imitate Stark, be our hostage."
Garrett scowled, picking up the submachine gun he had dropped. "Be quick."
Creed tore at the webbing around Mystique. "When we get that thing out it's gonna transmit," he said.
"I'll swallow it if it does," Garrett shrugged. "Then it will be shielded."
Creed ripped Mystique free of the web. She reared up, gasping. Creed scooped her up in his arms. "You okay, Misty?"
"Don't call me that," she gasped.
Creed grinned. "She's okay. Just like old times."
"Oaf," she managed.
Mystique shifted to a very battered and abused Anthony Stark. The trio headed for the exit, slipping away. The door slid shut behind them.
"Are you okay?" Peter asked, rolling Logan over.
"Fine," Logan said, pulling out a cigar. "Just gimmie a minute to let the sting wear off. Better check on the armor."
Peter gently slapped his forehead. "I forgot about him!" He limped over to where the armor lie in a crumpled heap.
For a moment he let his hyper-alert senses play over the armor, then he reached down and gently undid several clasps. The faceplate slid off easily enough, demagnetized and disengaged.
A handsome aristocratic face was revealed. The injured man was still breathing, barely.
Peter heard Logan walk up behind him. "Stark, you alive?"
The man's eyelids fluttered, then slowly drifted apart. "Logan?"
"I'm here, Mister Stark," Logan said, bending down.
"Dija trip the exit alarms?" Stark slurred.
"You bet," Logan nodded.
Stark relaxed. "Take me to the control room."
"I don't think so," Peter said. "You're in no shape to move."
"Who are you?" Stark asked, his face pale but his eyes shining.
"This," Logan said, putting his arm over Peter's shoulder, "is a friend of mine from way back. He saved your bacon while I was tryin ta get out of the security suite. I damaged some assets on my way over."
"Forgiven," Stark breathed. "You a spy?" he asked Peter.
"No," Peter said, glancing at Logan. "I was invited to this party." Logan grinned.
"I… I don't feel so good," Stark said.
"Give me a hand, kid," Logan muttered.
"I still don't think we should move him," Peter grumbled as he helped pick up the fallen armor-clad warrior.
xXx
Creed leaned against the wall, Mystique propped up behind him. Garrett was dispassionately reloading.
"Gonna be a lotta bodies gettn outa this one," Creed mumbled, trying to find the strength to go on.
"Yes," Garrett said softly, cocking the rifle.
Then there was a muffled crack and a plume of brimstone. Garrett spun firing, but Trespasser was too quick for him. He bounded up in the air, snatched the canister, bounced off the rifle barrel, and clung to the ceiling. Then he smiled, and the smile seemed to linger as he teleported out, leaving a white afterglow in the blast of brimstone.
"Gone," Garrett mumbled, staring at the slowly swirling smoke. "The whole reason… gone… just like that…" he quivered on the edge of being pushed too far.
"I got what I came for," Creed said softly, and he felt Mystique rub against him.
"We aren't out yet," she said crisply. "I've been after this thing twice. Third time's a charm."
"Gone," Garrett mumbled…
