Kurt vs Kurt vs Kurt (Movie-Comic-Evo Crossover) – Requested by Christa Winters

Kurt Wagner rubbed his eyes as he stared around himself in wonder. A short moment ago, he'd been preparing to leave the Institute for the Sunday mass. Dressed in his usual black clothes, the white collar shining at his neck, he'd planned to be at the Cathedral within half an hour. Teleporting from his room, he'd aimed at the kitchen downstairs.
But now, as the smoke cleared, it seemed he was already at Church. Or would, if his own Church were even partially as magnificent as this.
This room alone seemed to be the size of a stadium. The roof was divided into four incredible domes, held up with beams, and many pillars that stretched down to the tiled floor, some sixty feet below. Many, many doors faced out from each wall, with twice as many windows letting streams and shafts of light into the enormous hall. At one end - the end nearest to him - was a magnificent display of stone and ivory sculpture, depicting several figures of power standing around a centrepiece, a symbol of a five-pointed star, the sides carved with archaic runes.
It was then that he realised this was no Church - for one thing, the room was devoid of any known religious symbols, though the architecture was similar.
And for the first time, he suddenly wondered where on Earth he was.

----

Kurt Wagner nervously cracked open his eyes. Under him he heard a muffled voice.
"Kurt? Did he hit us?"
When the elf made no reply, Jean pushed him off and looked around herself. Her jaw dropped.
"My God..." she whispered. "Kurt... what is this place?"
"I do not know..." he answered softly, gazing wide-eyed at the magnificent structure around them. "...I have never seen this place before..."
At that, the redheaded telepath returned her attention to him. "Huh? Did you teleport blind?"
"No," he answered, still looking around him. "I aimed near the grove of trees, twenty metres south of the Blackbird. I was trying to get you away from Sabretooth, not leave the others behind us."
"I didn't think you were. But if you weren't trying to come here..."
"...Where are we?" he finished for her. "I have no idea. I can't feel anything familiar about this place."
A look of concentration crossed Jean's features for a moment, swiftly replaced by a worried frown. "Kurt… try to teleport again."

He did so.
And failed.
"Was?" he asked, wide-eyed. "I can't!"
Jean nodded. "Yeah. That's what I thought. None of my powers are working for some reason."
Kurt drew in a deep breath. "So. We are taken from a battle with the Acolytes to some bizarre masonite hall where we cannot use our abilities."
Jean let out a breath. "I don't like the look of this..."

----

Kurt Wagner's eyes flashed briefly, the only thing that betrayed his confusion, as he landed lightly on the stone floor, the residue of his teleport clearing around him.
He'd aimed for the Oval Office.
This was not the Oval Office.
Even as he stood there, a voice replayed through his mind.
Your target is the President of the United States of America. You will find and eliminate the target. All other personnel are incidental. Eliminate them as the need arises.
He never once paused to look closely at the marvellous building around him. He never stopped for more than an instant to decide which way to turn next. He said nothing.
Your target is the President of the United States of America. You will find and eliminate the target. All other personnel are incidental. Eliminate them as the need arises.
Bounding up, he began to scale one of the many huge pillars that filled the hall, heading for the roof. A faint growling sound issued from deep in his throat as he went. He was intent on his instructions, and nothing else mattered.
Your target is the President of the United...

----

Kurt strolled casually through the enormous hall, still looking about him in wonder. Picking a door at random, he strode up to it, opened it, and walked through.
Through the door was an identical hall - which, a moment later, he realised was exactly the same hall.
"Ah, the joys of a circular world," he muttered under his breath. He was, however, in a different part of the hall, and from where he now stood he could hear faint voices. Encouraged, he trotted off in that direction.

"...we can get home?"
Kurt sighed. "Jean, if I don't know how we got here, and I cannot teleport besides, how can I get us home?"
Jean's temper flared, ever-so-slightly. "Look, Kurt, it's not my fault we're here!"
"Oh, so I take it it's mine?"
"Well, I wasn't the one who teleported us into oblivion!"
"Fein! Next time, I won't! You can just deal with Sabretooth yourself, if my help is not welcome. Most people would have at least thanked me by now for saving their verdammt life, but nooooo, you yell at me because something bad happened that I didn't cause..."
That stopped her. She sighed. "Alright. I'm sorry, Kurt. Thank you for helping me. But I'm just a little panicked, here, and you just shrugging and saying 'I don't know' isn't helping."
Kurt snorted. "Oh? So what would you have me say? It's not like I planned this. Still, if me being here isn't helping, fine - you can stay here and panic in solitude. I'm going to look around."
So saying, he stepped away, walking around a nearby pillar. Jean immediately ran after him.
"Kurt! Look, I'm sorry! I just-"
She cut herself off as she saw him, standing perfectly still, just around the pillar. When he took a step back, she walked up behind him to see what was wrong.
And gasped.

It was like looking into a mirror - a mirror that allowed a transition through space and time, one side young, the other old. Jean's head swivelled back and forth between the two figures, mouth hanging open in astonishment.
There were two of him. Two Kurts. One, she knew - normal, teenage Kurt, dressed in his black-red-and-yellow uniform. The other... he looked around thirty, though it wasn't easy to tell the age of the blue-furred figure. And his clothes; he was dressed like... a priest?
In perfect unison, the two Kurts spoke.
"Who are you?"
They blinked.
"What is this place?"
Priest-Kurt held up his hand. "Alright. Hold on a moment, ne?"
Teen-Kurt nodded. "That's best. You first."
Speaking slowly, the older Kurt never broke eye contact with his younger counterpart. "My name is Father Kurt Wagner. Nightcrawler. I am a member of an organisation known as the X-Men. Five minutes ago I was about to leave for a service, and teleported. I arrived here. I have no idea where I am, and less idea how to get home."
The younger Elf nodded. "And I'm the same person. Five minutes ago I was in a fight with my friend here. I teleported us out of danger. Now we have the same problem you have, it seems."
At that, the older Kurt noticed the redhead, still standing stunned.
"Jean?"
She started. "You know me?" she asked incredulously.
"Ja. Well, sort of. I know an older version of you. I did, I mean. You look just like the old photos of her, anyway."
Something there had caught her attention. "What do you mean, did?"
Priest-Kurt fidgeted nervously. "You... you were slain, almost a month ago."
At which point, Jean's brain threw up its hands and officially quit its job.

----

"...good, now keep the pressure on her wrist, and she should wake - ah!"
Jean's eyes fluttered open. Two Nightcrawlers grinned down at her. Above them, light shone on the domed roof.
She squeezed her eyes shut again.
"Damn..." she muttered. "...Wasn't a dream..."
"Nein, we're still here," agreed Teen-Kurt, releasing her wrist. She glanced at Priest-Kurt.
"I'm dead?" she asked plaintively.
He nodded. "Ja. I'm afraid so. But don't worry - it's almost been a month. You usually come back about now."
Teen-Kurt and Jean blinked in unison. "What?"
"Well, you see..." Priest-Kurt shrugged. "You tend to die a lot. But you always come back. We don't really know why. This is the third time."
Jean slumped back again. "Great," she groaned. "I'm going to grow up to be a zombie..."
Teen-Kurt just looked up at his older self. "So... what do we do now?"
"Perhaps I can help with that," came a voice from one side.

A tiny little man. No more than four feet high, with white hair that hung down past his waist, and a soft, smooth voice. His eyes were a vibrant green, and he was dressed in a flowing white robe. An enigmatic smile was on his face as the three gaped at him.
Teen-Kurt spoke first. "...and you are..?"
The little man bowed. "I am Guel-därn," he answered, bowing. "Custodian of the Chamber of the Vortex Lords."
Priest-Kurt blinked. "Where?"
"The Chamber of the Vortex Lords," Guel-därn repeated. "Where we now stand."
Teen-Kurt frowned. "Who are the Vortex Lords?" he asked.
Guel-därn smiled again. "Beings of awesome power," he responded. "They rule the Great Vortex and all of the Domains within - what I believe you refer to as the Universe, and the Worlds from which it is made."
"Different dimensions?" asked Jean in bewilderment.
"Yes, if you prefer. That will suffice. But I believe you know of the Vortex Lords, or at least some of them. One is known as the Phoenix; another is the Apocalypse. Such are the Vortex Lords. There are Seven. I am the custodian of this Chamber, the keystone to their united power, which holds the Great Vortex together."
Priest-Kurt nodded, taking this in. "And how did we come here?" he asked.
Guel-därn held his hands out apologetically. "This was no design of mine," he said simply. "It is the nature of your being that you can navigate the Vortex. One of the Lords - Selexor, if you are interested - sent a great wave of energy through the Vortex not long ago. It ensnared three travelers, bringing them here. A pure accident."
"So how do we get home?" Teen-Kurt asked.
"We shall wait. One of the Lords will doubtless come in time. He shall return you to your rightful Domains. That is, once we have found the third traveller..."
Priest-Kurt looked puzzled. "But there are three of us here..."
Guel-därn shook his head respectfully. "No. You number two travellers, and one passenger. She has come by the will of a traveller. But there is a third traveller - one such as you - somewhere in this hall. Doubtless we shall come upon him soon."
Jean frowned. "Can't you just find him?" she demanded.
"I am afraid that I cannot. No such power can be wielded here, save by only the Vortex Lords. As you have no doubt realised."
"Then how did you find us?"
"I heard your voices," Guel-därn explained simply. "Soon he too will be sure to do so. At which time, we can await the arrival of a Lord, who can right this wrong."

----

Kurt gripped the column of stone with his hands and feet. For some reason, he could not use his power - there was something in the atmosphere that prevented it. His other abilities, however, were still functioning. As were his heightened senses.
He spun horizontally, like a spider, so that he peered down at the floor, far below. He could hear voices, and soon four figures came into his sight.
Instantly the old voice replayed in his mind.
All other personnel are incidental. Eliminate them as the need arises.
He began to descend.

----

Jean looked around her in bewilderment. The two Kurts, satisfied with Guel-därn's explanation, had stepped away and were discussing the similarities and differences between their lives with palpable interest. Guel-därn stood in the same place, hands behind his back, smiling politely. Jean approached him.
"So... how long will it be until one of these 'Lords' gets here?" she asked.
Guel-därn seemed to consider this. "I do not know," he admitted. "But it should not be too long. They frequent this place."
"And what do you do here?"
"Such as I am doing now. I ensure that all remains in harmony in the Chamber. It is a duty I have performed since the Vortex first came to be."
"And how long is that? Jean asked curiously.
The little man smiled apologetically. "I am afraid that I do not know. I have no means with which to measure the passage of time, here. But it has been long."
Jean paused for a moment, considering her next question.
She never asked it.
A sudden weight dropped from above, crashing into her, wrapping itself around her. Staggering under the weight, she screamed. Then she felt firm hands grasp either side of her head.
And twist. Hard.

The two Kurts spun at the sound of the scream - just in time to hear a sharp crack, to see Jean slump to the ground, her head twisted unnaturally to one side. A dark shape bounded off the crumpled body, slamming into Guel-därn.
The little man let out a sudden howl of terror, but too late to do anything - the new arrival swung him like a rag doll against one of the stone pillars. The little man's head exploded in a spray of gore, his scream cut short, and he was dropped as the dark shape stepped into a shaft of sunlight.
Dressed in striped pants and a light brown jacket. Panting. Slavering. Stained with blood, some of it fresh from Guel-därn's demise, some of it old.
The third Kurt Wagner.

----

"NOOOOOOO!"
The scream was ripped from the younger Kurt's throat as he saw his friend fall. The next instant, he hurled himself at his older self, hurtling through the air at a speed that no ordinary human being could ever have achieved from a standing position.
He collided with the new Kurt, his head impacting on his target's chest, one arm already swinging upwards. It landed with a meaty thump on the murderous Nightcrawler's jaw, sending them both crashing to the floor.
The killer, however, was only caught off guard for an instant. Every bit as fast as his younger counterpart and far stronger into the bargain, he whipped his tail into the teenager's face and hurled him away to roll to a stop against another pillar. He flipped to his feet just as the priest arrived.

Imagine a pair of identical twins. One is dressed in ill-fitting, loud clothing, torn and stained with blood, his hair dishevelled. The other is immaculate, dressed entirely in close-fitting black aside from the brilliant white collar at his throat.
Imagine them fighting, trading blow for blow at speed, but never connecting, always blocking one another's attack.
Such was the short, sharp battle that took place here. The two Kurts, of equal size, strength and speed, seemed to know beforehand what the other would do. Each blow was caught with dazzling speed and returned even faster, so that there seemed to be not four blue hands moving, but eight. But it could not last.
The killer, tiring of the fruitless action of swinging at the priest, tried a new tactic - a maneuver known in some circles as the 'Lecter Move'. Suddenly holding the priest's hands in place with his own, he lunged forward, fangs bared, biting at his opponent's face. The priest jerked back, gasping ? but unable to escape from the grip on his forearms, and unwilling to return the attack in form. The slashing teeth came within an inch of his face…

And the teenager returned. Leading at his opponent once more, he spun sideways, slamming his heel into the killer's face. He was lucky. And he was unlucky.
Lucky, because his attack worked. The killer was sent flying backwards, crashing into the same pillar he'd crushed Guel-därn's skull against. But unlucky, because it put his foot in range of the razor-sharp teeth.
Teen-Kurt howled in sudden agony as deep rends were scored in his heel from the bites. Landing awkwardly, he fell on his side, blood spurting out from his torn Achilles' tendon. The foot itself hung limp, the nerves severed

The priest gasped at his near escape, casting a glance down at the young man who'd saved him, but unable to spare any more effort - for at that moment, the killer got back up.

----

Kurt's vision wavered. He peered at the two enemies standing nearby, at the fallen ones to one side, back at his enemies. For an instant, his vision seemed to clear.
They were just like him. Why was he fighting them? Why did he attack the others? Where was he? How could he...
He suddenly doubled over, clutching at his temples, crying aloud at a sudden thunderous pain. A voice like rending metal boomed in his head.
Your target is the President of the United States of America! You will find and eliminate the target! All other personnel are incidental! Eliminate them as the need arises!
He straightened. He had lost control once more.
He advanced.

The priest ducked the first lightning-fast blow. Stepped back to avoid the second. And leaped into the air, over the third, to kick his opponent in the face with desperate strength. The killer staggered back, blood squirting from his nose, then suddenly dove forward, underneath the priest's legs even as he landed. His tail lashed up, whipped around the priest's throat, and brought him down onto the hard tiles. In instant later, a blue-furred fist crashed into the priest's chest with terrible strength.
Four ribs shattered at that single blow. The shards were driven deep, into the priest's chest, piercing his lungs.
The priest screamed, a sound that was cut off in a gurgle of blood.
Then he returned a thunderous blow, striking the killer's windpipe directly. Flattening it.
And then collapsed. The last effort had been too great; something deep inside him had been torn. Blood pouring from his nose and mouth, Father Kurt Wagner passed out of life and light in the arms of one he could have been, with just a simple twist of fate.
A minute later, gasping futilely, the killer slumped beside him.
The teenage Kurt had lost consciousness.

----

"Kurt? Kurt? Can you hear me?"
A bright white light shone in his eyes. Kurt Wagner flinched as he cracked them open.
He was lying on his back in the hospital wing of the Institute. One foot was entirely wrapped in white bandages, held in a sling above the bed. Dr. Hank McCoy stood to one side, Scott next to him.
"My foot..." Kurt managed thickly. A shadow passed over Hank's face.
"Yes. Your foot. It was... badly damaged, Kurt. Very badly damaged. Do you know what it was?"
Kurt shook his head. He couldn't tell that story now. It was too hard.
Scott spoke up. "We arrived back here after the fight. About ten minutes later, there was a flash of light and you just appeared on the Kitchen floor, bleeding like a stuck pig. You've been unconscious for two days."
"Two... days..?"
Hank nodded. "We've done all we can for your foot, Kurt. With hard work, there is definitely a possibility that you will one day walk on it again."
"...Walk... gain..?"
Hank passed one enormous hand over Kurt's forehead. "Alright. Sleep now. You can talk later."
Scott suddenly pushed forward. "No, wait! Kurt," he said urgently. "Where is Jean? She vanished when you teleported. She didn't come back with you. Where is she?"
Kurt said nothing, just stared at his friend.
"Kurt, where is she?"
He was wondering how, in the name of God, he was to answer that question.