I have received my bounty.

My brother is no tyrant; he is a good man and wonderful father, I have witnessed him wailing with authentic grief with the passing of his youngest son. If my own life were on the line, I am fully confident that he would throw down his own in substitution.

My intent is not to weigh his virtues.

They crowd the door of my cell, my brother and a small legion of his bodyguards, bustling with plans for my execution. Their excitement is coupled with fear and anger, my actions have destroyed the tribe's land. I have made it a small fruitless desert.

Malik is of course at the helm, he doesn't bother with questions of my motives or the obvious recriminations, he merely orders his men to cut me down.

Their wills are weak and it doesn't take much effort to impress my objective as their own; they slay Malik viciously and my only regret is that in my enthusiasm, his pain wasn't lasting.

I feel myself disassociate.

Rain leaks into the hut, partially, and I can feel lightning pound against the earth and a negligible shock wave from the whip of thunder in the sky.

"Do you see the risks?" She asks, gathering her hands into her lap.

I don't answer her.

"Your magic is much more powerful than that of those before you. I fear its true scope."

"So do I," I say, feeling it teem within me and I know that no other human being has ever felt this way. I fear that only the Bright Lady could possibly identify.

"Goodbye, Shanti." I say, and for her, my teleportation is as if I'm pixels that disappear one by one.

"Are you saying that her power is comparable to the Phoenix?" Scott asks.

They don't think that I can hear them.

"No Scott," Charles says, considering his words. "What I'm saying is that the power of the Phoenix isn't comparable to Ororo."

I can practically sense the change in the dynamic of his heartbeat.

"What do we do?" he asks, his fear is for me; the pain he felt when we lost Jean was more complete than my own and the emotional wounds haven't healed for any among our ranks.

"Nothing," Charles says, I can't tell where he's moved but I can sense that his position has shifted.

"Nothing?"

"Ororo and Jean are very different Scott; since the inception of her mutant powers Storm has worked to keep almost complete control over her emotions. In effect she has fostered a strength of will second to no one.

"While there are risks, I don't see her posing any immediate threat."

"The way that you anticipated the threat with Jean?"

As good as any time to interject.

"Scott, my plans aren't to realize any seamless potential." I say, holding his hand in my own. "I have played the role of Goddess and while in youth I desired the wherewithal to answer all prayers and promote peace. I no longer care to parent the world."

"I couldn't go through it again, Ororo." Tears slip down his cheeks, unaffected by the irresistible force of his optic blast. "The X-men are my family, I don't have anyone else."

"You forget Madelyne, Scott. You forget the child that she bears." I say, moving in to hug him. "Leave them in my charge, I will take care of our family."

Through the use of magic I have regained my elemental powers and introduced a measure of invulnerability and strength. I fear that these additions will prove me greedy, but my intent is only to be the leader that the X-men need.

Scott's concerns have capped much of my use of magic, I do not wish to become the X-men's second Phoenix.

It seems, however, that we do have it's second coming.

Rachael Summers came to the X-men a hard version of her mother, with the same fire red hair, slightly tom-boyish , she is nonetheless every bit of what her mother was visually. When it comes to personality, I've never known Scott or Jean to ever be so angry.

She was wounded severely by Wolverine, merely weeks before, to prevent her attack on Selene, the Black Queen of the Hellfire Club. I did not question his motives, because he made a necessary decision; the X-men are not executioners and that was Rachael's role in her attacking the Black Queen. While the team was borne of the ideal of not killing, we have all been forced to chose between our survival or the survival of another.

While healing her, I was tempted to scale down her powers.

I decided that that would be a step in a direction that I was not willingto take. To alter another person, would be a practice incontrol that ultimately destroyed my forbearer. And while I was her, I loved the revenge rested upon Malik, it is now evident that it was the correlation of grief and power.

While power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely.

It's beautifully executed and if it were the X-men proving themselves capable of such teamwork I would beam with pride. Alas, my admiration is due to the Marauders; Scrambler, Riptide and Vertigo.

With one touch, Scramblers powers open the floodgates of Phoenix's telepathy, throwing her to her knees at the mercy of the empathic pain of the falling Morlocks. Insecond front, Vertigo unleashes her powers to ensure that Rachael remains on her knees and Riptide finishes with a barrage of flying shrapnel that are flung with the speeds of hurricane force winds.

I doubt that she even realizes that she is dead.

Funny, my relationship with her was nothing in comparison to the teammates that have fallen before.

Still, this is what leaves me broken.

I scream, it's shrill and I feel my powers overflowing, reeling to get out, much larger than myself.

All it takes is the desire and will to make it happen and the Marauders are gone, snuffed out of existence. The bodies of the Morlocks make it evident that they did exist, but through my magic I took them away. They are neither in Heaven or Hell, they are gone and not one atom of them remains on any plain of reality.