Note; This chapter contains some mature content and language.
A TEST OF POWER
BY DR
Chapter 15
If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds,
and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them.
But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being,
and who is willing to destroy his own heart?
Alexander Solzhenitsyn
No man, who is not inflamed by vain-glory into enthusiasm,
can flatter himself that his single, unsupported, desultory, unsystematic endeavors,
are of power to defeat the subtle designs and united cabals of ambitious citizens.
When bad men combine, the good must associate; else they will fall,
one by one, an unpitied sacrifice in a contemptible struggle.
Edmund Burke
Thoughts on the Cause of Present Discontent
The Present
The room seemed unbearably frigid, enveloped in an impenetrable cold that would never thaw -- but it had nothing to do with the temperature. The confluence of evil, this degree of malevolence, like a blood clot, coagulated to prevent even the hint or idea of warmth from developing. Even the bright lab lights were muted and became indistinct, their very presence somehow seemed to exude a cloak of darkness that ate away at their radiance. It was as if their combined company was a focal point and created a small microcosm of the iniquitous universe of their origin -- that now dead reality.
The three mutants watched impassively as the test subject frenetically struggled to free herself. Her eyes bulged from their sockets as she strained every muscle in her body and violently thrashed against her adamantium restraints. The veins in her neck stood out in livid ridges and like cracks of an earthquake propagating from a major fault line, spread across the deeply striated muscles of her body.
Her endurance was amazing. The four-hundred and fifty pound woman had maintained this fever pitch for three straight days -- without food or water. The skin tone of her heavily muscled body was cherry red and her blood pressure was so off the charts that she should have had a heart attack or stroke by now. She pulled against her chains so ferociously that her efforts looked more like a spasm or seizure than an attempt to get loose. Even as she threw her head from side to side, her rage filled eyes remained fixed on her captor -- her personal tormentor, her creator, who only stared back with cold purpose -- and there was no mistaking the cruelty in his eyes as well. She returned his stare, and there was no misinterpreting the homicidal gaze that burned through the knotted strands of her grease coated hair, which covered and cast a dark shadow over her face.
The repetitive punishment and abuse -- relentless torture was probably a more apt description, because she had done nothing to deserve this brutal conduct towards her. The barbaric treatment was by no means arbitrary -- although it could have been. It was simply the best method to determine both her physical and mental limits. Up to this point, her healing factor had been able to cope with an assortment of physical injuries that would have instantly killed any human being and even some of the hardiest mutants. She had suffered deep wounds from point blank high caliber weapons fire, serious lacerations from stabbing and cutting instruments, multiple concussions from repeated blows to the head, tremendous blood loss, and third degree burns. She had even been exposed to a variety of the most virulent diseases and had always fully recovered. Of course she was never administered any medicine or something to help her cope with the pain -- it might have influenced or adversely affected the results of the experiment.
Unclothed since her creation and almost always under observation, she still couldn't possibly understand concepts such as modesty or privacy, yet it was quite clear that she despised the constant scrutiny that she was subjected to. Her screams didn't sound like anything that would issue from any female member of the human or mutant race, but were low and guttural and were a mixture of both pain and murderous fury. She sounded like a grizzly whose foot was caught in a bear trap and was willing to gnaw off its own leg to free itself -- or to get at the individual who had trapped it. Nor was there anything that could be mistaken for the spoken word in her inarticulate expressions of rage and pain. She was grown in an incubation accelerator for a little over six months and was administered a daily regiment of drugs that artificially matured her to an age equivalent to eighteen years. This was all accomplished in just over thirteen months. She had no vocabulary and her creator was not yet sure she was even capable of learning the art of language.
He tore out the long needles that bit into her flesh -- specialized pain inducers, along with monitoring probes that were imbedded under her skin. As usual, she tried with all her might to get at him but even her great strength could not break her restraints, which allowed her very little freedom of movement. This was not an unusual way for her captor to spend his time. Although she had no knowledge of this, he had done this to thousands of test subjects, both human and mutant. He had visited every type of horror and hell on what he considered no more than expendable guinea pigs, sometimes for some obscure scientific pursuit and other times for some perverse personal pleasure. Many times he was unsure of the reasons himself, nor did he care. Whether they were his creations or simply those he had captured and made prisoner, there was never any pity or remorse for these unfortunate individuals -- only suffering.
Other eyes were locked on her but for different reasons. Had Dr. Frankenstein put together Humpty Dumpty using parts from the deceased like those used to make his famous creation, this hideous mutant might have been the result. Like Humpty Dumpty, his entire body was no more than an enormous egg-shaped head, which sat atop impossibly small legs. The proportions of both his legs and arms were almost comical and very similar in proportion to the arms of a Tyrannosaurus Rex. The dinosaur's ridiculously small arms were completely out of proportion to the rest of its body. The Sugar Man shared that visual oddity with the prehistoric carnivore but while the dinosaur's arms were virtually useless, the mutant's limbs were anything but. For any size they possessed incredible strength and endurance. He also had four of them, two of which sprouted from the very top of his head.
The head itself was odd, not only because of its size, but because of its make-up as well. Its most prominent feature and one that dominated its facial landscape was a mouth -- or something more aptly described as a maw, which was filled with banana sized and colored serrated teeth. A relatively thin tongue of seemingly infinite length made its home there, and served more as a limb than a sensory organ for taste. Under Sugarman's skillful command he was able to deftly manipulate and grasp either slight or exceedingly heavy objects, lifting and maneuvering practically anything, usually used in his endless search for sustenance. This versatile muscle also had a sharp bony tip that could be used to spear and penetrate incredibly dense hides, and made a formidable and deadly weapon. The prehensile appendage unaided could be used as an efficient killing instrument to stab, whip, and strangle both innocent prey and adversaries alike, and often had been used like a straw to drain every ounce of fluid from the bodies of its unfortunate victims. As for the rest of his appearance, it was equally unattractive. He possessed a fleshy face that was mottled with a variety of ugly brown discolorations and skin tags of every shape and size. Tufts of course hair sprouted from boils speckled all over an unsymmetrical facial terrain, which looked like dying scrub brush on a desert dune. He had a large, wide nose that hung down over his front lip, evil slits for eyes and horns that would have made Lucifer himself green with envy.
Despite his freakish appearance, he was quite capable. With no forewarning, his short legs carried his body forward with terrible purpose as he simultaneously opened his mouth and quickly moved toward the shackled mutant. The inner recesses of his cavernous oral cavity was clearly visible as a bucketful of saliva swished around the interior and like an overloaded soap filled washing machine, spilled a fair amount of the frothing contents onto the floor.
The others watched, not surprised by his actions, and in no way tried to stop him. If anything they seemed expectant -- morbid curiosity colored their features.
He stopped abruptly, seeming anxious, yet his tongue uncoiled and languorously caressed first her cheek, then slithered down wrapping around her throat, and slowly slid down to more private areas leaving a trail of thick mucous to mark its passage. His eyes were ravenous, but not with sexual desire. They reflected a greedy and insatiable appetite for living flesh -- a voracious hunger that no amount of food could ever satisfy -- although Sugarman's unique physiology allowed him to metabolize anything he consumed. Whether it was organic or inorganic, his digestive system could assimilate anything. Dirt, rocks, glass, a hodgepodge of garbage, it made little difference. But he did have his preferences.
He reached out tentatively, almost shyly at first, and placed the palm of one of his small-clawed hands on the fleshiest portion of her buttocks. He squeezed gently, and an instant look of satisfaction appeared on his face because the texture and firmness of the skin and muscle beneath his hand seemed to meet or exceed some personal criteria. It was his way of determining suitability -- his way of sampling and then tenderizing his meat -- bringing the natural juices to the surface before consuming his succulent meal. The other hand wrapped around her calf anchoring him in place. Although he possessed an enormous appetite, which he pandered to at every turn, the bones seem to lie above the surface of the hand, the flesh under the bones making that component of his body appear skeletal and malnourished. Despite having no life experience other than being chained to a table, she seemed very aware of what was coming. Her struggles before seemed docile -- almost compliant in comparison. She became like a crazed and rabid animal, thrashing, contorting in seemingly multiple directions all at once.
With a primal roar, he drew back his lips and sank his teeth into the fleshy part of her thigh, tearing a huge chunk off and swallowed it whole. She screamed and reacted like a wild horse that had been simultaneously branded by a dozen searing hot irons and all her nerve endings were exposed to an insidiously synchronized torrent of pain. Blood sprayed and streamed in multiple directions as arteries and veins were liberated to spill their contents in huge splattering bursts and pool onto the floor. The wound was so deep and large that almost the entire length of her femur and the bottom portion of her hipbone were clearly visible.
He stepped back, his eyes were closed and a look of absolute bliss was clearly apparent across his ugly features. A lustful grunt of satisfaction bubbled up from some deep hellish recess and escaped his lips. Covered in blood, he began to cackle insanely like a monster from some B grade horror film, seeming to take great pleasure in his handiwork, and then abruptly his laugh withered like a delicate flower deprived of water. He then stared as if hypnotized -- transfixed solely on the injury he had inflicted. He secured his grip on her once again, and gingerly wrapped his ruddy colored lips around the chasm of missing flesh. His lips swelled obscenely as if inflated with air, completely covering the huge open wound making a perfect seal. Resembling a newborn baby, Sugarman gently suckled at the gash -- and then began to draw more forcefully, greedily, gulping as if he had been stranded in the desert and was dying of thirst.
Moans of pain or more probably despair escaped her lips as she quite possibly realized that her very life was being slowly drained away and she was helpless to stop this nightmarish mutant who was attached to her like an overgrown leech. The anger that she had embraced and held onto to like a life raft left her along with perhaps some vestige of hope no matter how misplaced, and seemed to drain away at a commensurate rate with her blood. Her skin color took on a sallow look -- anemic, as her head began to bob rhythmically up and down and then fell one final time, forcefully -- her chin striking her chest with a dull thump. Tears could be seen running down her cheeks. Her passing did not cause Sugarman to relinquish his grip as he still clung to her like some monstrous tick.
Her creator was shocked -- well quite surprised -- she was crying. Perhaps she had finally reached the breaking point or had achieved a level of sentience and recognized that this pitiless treatment was all that her life had in store for her. Or perhaps it was nothing more than instinct. It was his experience with other test subjects was that one's imminent demise often brought out the more base emotions. The lines between instinct and acquired or learned behavior were often blurry but that just made his experiments all the more interesting and provided the motivation to take them further. He discovered that his own creativity was often directly proportional to the amount of pain that he was able to inflict on his test subjects. He supposed that certain mental health professionals might categorize him as disturbed or psychopathic, but he couldn't ignore the positive benefits and results that his brand of experimentation resulted in. Although he was disappointed that her healing factor was somehow thwarted by Sugarman's saliva, which possessed some unknown agent that inhibited her ability -- up to this point that is, to recover from practically any wound. Sugarman, the buffoon that he is, was often full of surprises and he would have to study what had transpired in detail at some other time.
One of the mutants casually raised an arm -- or something that was once and arm, and an eruption of energy shot out blowing her torso away from the rest of her body. Her head fell to the ground while portions of her arms and legs remained attached to the adamantium shackles. There was little or no blood. The heat from the blast cauterized the wounds. Charred body parts were all that remained. He did not kill her out of pity. It was more out of irritation or perhaps that he just liked to kill.
Possessing something akin to a sixth sense, Sugarman abruptly stopped feeding and jumped away from the dead mutant just before the destructive beam of bio-energy tore her body apart. Like a cornered rodent he peered out from behind a large piece of lab equipment he had hidden behind and cautiously ventured back to his valuable and tasty meal. He greedily began to gather-up her remains, looking over his shoulder to insure another blast was not forthcoming and hastily placed her severed head under one arm and scuttled away into a corner of the lab. There he began to selectively pick and rend small parts of her face off with his razor sharp front teeth -- like tearing at the skin of a peach or a plum to get at the more moist and fleshy parts of the fruit underneath.
Well, well, that didn't exactly go as planned, he thought. An autopsy would have provided him with valuable data, which he could have utilized in future generations of Infinites, but his ill-tempered fellow expatriate had now made that impossible. The click-clack sound of his long talons as he rhythmically tapped the tabletop was the only outward sign of his impatience. Clearly, they were his obsequious underlings -- or they certainly made him believe that they were. He dared not show how he truly felt due to the volatile nature of his present company -- one individual in particular. Yes indeed, he had to be very careful when dealing with one of his current guests -- and if anything, he was a survivor. His continued existence, in a completely different reality no less, was proof of that.
He warily watched as this dangerous individual impatiently paced the room, his huge bulk, due to the containment suit that he himself designed, barely left him enough room to maneuver around the densely packed research equipment scattered about the lab. He was not exactly an ally - nor was he really an enemy - and he was by no means an ordinary mutant. Holocaust, purported son of Apocalypse, was an omega mutant of unbelievable power. His unpredictable behavior was fueled by an aberrant hate of all things living. His other guest, who also wasn't quite an ally either, was more of a collaborator by necessity. By comparison between the two, Sugarman wasn't nearly as powerful and much more prone to open panic, but in some ways, was almost as dangerous.
Holocaust just stood there waiting. He glowed like an ingot of molten hot steel. Even the containment suit could not completely keep all of the raging energy subsumed. The outline of his entire body could be seen through the suit almost as if the suit was transparent, which it was not -- except for the faceplate on his astronaut-like helmet. His head appeared as a flaming skull -- roiling, angry energy, which gave him the semblance of a biblical demon from the lowest levels of Hell. Like his supposed father Apocalypse, Holocaust was able to drain the life energies of both humans and mutants' augmenting his own great power -- and it was that power that literally boiled out of the suit.
He decided to break the uncomfortable silence in an attempt to diffuse what he knew would be viewed as his own personal failure. "Well gentlemen, this isn't exactly like old times but your more familiar company is most certainly welcome," the Dark Beast said with as much genuine enthusiasm as he was capable of mustering.
A broad smile spread across his face. Sharp white teeth gleamed brightly reflecting the intense laboratory lights, although there wasn't a degree of warmth associated with the Dark Beast's grin. He was an escapee from a bleak and shadowy reality, an alternate universe where Apocalypse had come to power -- the same place his present company came from -- fellow refugees. He had very little in common with this universe's version of Henry McCoy. They looked alike and both possessed a mind of exceptional genius but that is where the similarities stopped -- abruptly. A self-centered and sadistic research scientist who had absolutely no regard for life, human or mutant, the Dark Beast was responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands -- and he reveled in it.
"I'm not interested in good company, Beast," Holocaust snapped, his voice sounding eerily mechanical even to McCoy who designed the suit and voice modulator. "You waste time on creating these weak and pathetic creatures as nothing but personal play things. It does nothing to further our cause. We have to wrest control of this planet from the sickening humans who somehow control it. The way to do that is to contact my father -- join with him on his endless and glorious crusade to annihilate the weak, leaving only strong. Together, we will recreate the mutant world we came from, and the humans and mutants who oppose us will be crushed under my father's heel."
"My experiments are all geared towards furthering our cause. To secure our place in this reality, we will need new and better Infinites. She was a precursor, the first step in creating a superior Infinite, and an army that will be needed to conquer this universe. And ah yes, who couldn't resist the allure of the pristine paradise we came from?" He paused, his own innate cruelty overshadowing his common sense. "That all ended rather badly and as I recall, your father was killed by Magneto. Who knows what the Apocalypse of this world has done or is doing? He may already have a son or daughter. He is certainly not your father, nor will he take kindly to you..."
Holocaust crossed the room in few short strides and had his one normal hand around McCoy's throat.
He had forgotten how quickly Holocaust could move, even wearing the bulky containment suit. And he had let his cruel sarcasm escape his lips despite being wary of Holocaust's low threshold for any derision. With his feet above dangling above the ground he managed to croak out a few words to explain himself. "I only meant that we do not know how Apocalypse would receive us and we have no way to contact him," he croaked. "Our plan was to stay hidden, to observe and bide our time before we did anything overtly out in the open."
Holocaust threw him to the floor and into a table where an active experiment was in progress. Glass test tubes and other containers that held different fluids fell off the tabletop and onto the floor. Other containers from neighboring tables also crashed to the floor due to the force of the impact, making a huge mess. Sugarman snickered quietly his long tongue darting out like a snake tasting McCoy's discomfort and enjoying it.
"Stay hidden like a sewer rat," he said disgustedly. "That was your plan -- it was never mine. My father cannot be killed in this or any reality and he will welcome us with open arms," Holocaust said, bordering on hysteria. "We have already proven we are fit to survive. That is all he will care about," Holocaust said, his voice trailing off slightly, "nothing more."
McCoy stood; his thick hair was matted in places where some of the spilled liquid had splashed his fur. "What I was attempting to say is that from a strategic perspective it would be more prudent to simply wait, observe and gather more data before we decide exactly how we should proceed. Additional alliances can be secured to insure our success. Despite what you've seen here today, my experiments are progressing..."
"Enough! And how much longer should we wait, coward? You've been doing nothing for..how many years?" Holocaust snapped.
He remained silent because there wasn't an answer that would suit Holocaust. There rarely was. In truth, he had been very busy -- pursuing many things that would certainly further their cause and also further his own selfish interests. Holocaust was unaware of his affiliation of sorts with a most generous benefactor...someone who had approached him years ago and given him incredible scientific knowledge and had asked for nothing in return. His creation of the Moorlocks had been an astounding gift...the knowledge to create brand new mutants from scratch so to speak...of course there had been some difficulties -- interesting side effects, but these were experiments after all. Unforeseeable outcomes and consequences came with the territory. The fact that he was unable to determine the identity of his benefactor was of some concern, and he hadn't heard from him in quite some time --- but there was no denying the benefits he had reaped -- they were invaluable. Holocaust's ranting rudely brought him out of his reverie.
"From this point forward, no experiments will take place without my explicit permission. You will do exactly as I say concerning your research -- and I assure you, your time will be spent in doing only things related to securing our dominance in this universe," Holocaust said, his tone was unyielding and inflexible.
A faint hum and an unexpected flash of light was all that could be heard and seen as two tesseracts opened simultaneously in the lab. Victor Creed stepped out first, a bloodthirsty countenance accompanied by a look of glee was written across his savage features. He was immediately followed by the hulking figure of Blockbuster and the brutish mien of Hairbag, two more of Sinister's henchmen. With no hesitation they fanned out, locking their eyes solely on a single quarry and rushed directly toward Sugarman, their obvious predetermined objective.
There was no delay in Sugarman's reaction, a consummate survivor, he immediately recognized the threat and moved almost instantaneously to avoid his antagonists. He leapt on top of a table in an attempt to prevent a head-on collision with Sabertooth who was the closest individual trying to get at him. Both of Sabertooth's cohorts quickly moved to either side of the table to obstruct Sugarman from using the other tables as stepping stones and were in strategic positions on the tiled floor prevent this. Unfortunately for Sugarman, Sabertooth anticipated his escape route and darted right under Sugarman, as he was in mid-leap. Without even a glance above his head, and like a pendulum attached to a fixed point, Sabertooth carved a perfect semi-circular arc through the air with his arm and hand, instinctively finding his mark. Sabertooth's claws raked across and in between Sugarman's legs and latched onto what was there and tore away a bloody and pulpy mass. Sugarman screamed in agony confirming, if it was ever in doubt, that he was indeed a male. His head caught the edge of one of the lab benches, which splintered into pieces and Sugarman rolled off and onto the floor.
"Sorry for the low-blow egg-head," Creed laughed as he licked his hand clean of the blood, "but you gotta be careful what body parts are hangin' low 'specially when you let ole Sabertooth get ahold of 'em. Anyways, I get the impression there ain't no Mrs. Sugar Man, so nobody is gonna be disappointed," he said with a maniacal grin.
Despite the grievous injury and massive blood loss, Sugarman had no trouble collecting his wits and all four of his arms as well as his legs were immediately positioned under his body to allow him to vault to a different location. But just as he was as about to spring to his feet, Blockbuster's full weight landed on his exposed back and knocked all of the air from his bulbous carcass. Blockbuster locked his legs around the ovoid body, securing himself in place and began pummeling the top of Sugarman's skull with massive blows with his ham hock sized fists until his head cracked open with a sickening sound. There was a heavy exhalation of air as Sugarman's body went limp and lost consciousness.
At first, there was no movement from Sugarman's body. He appeared to have stopped breathing and was dead. After a few more seconds, two small hands popped out of the seemingly mortal wound and grabbed each side of the fissure, and seemed to be trying to enlarge the opening. A smaller version of Sugarman, approximately one-quarter the size of his original body thrust its way out into the open air covered in blood and a green colored ichor, and despite his appearance was now injury free.
Prepared and having been briefed by Sinister himself about Sugarman's unique brand of mutation, Hairbag lunged forward and before the half-pint version Sugarman could completely free himself, Hairbag expelled a toxic green-colored gas from his mouth directly into Sugarman's face.
Sugarman gagged once and fell from his former body and immediately regurgitated the contents of his stomach, which included partial limbs, bile, and an extremely corrosive stomach acid right into Hairbag's face and eyes. Projectile vomiting of a corrosive stomach acid wasn't your most typical mutant power. Sinister either hadn't known or more likely just had decided not to tell Hairbag about this other feature to Sugarman's mutant power.
Hairbag reared back grabbed his face and screamed, wisps of smoke surrounded his head as hair and skin were turned into a thick gray pudding and fell off onto the ground in large clumps. By touching his face, his hands were now also encircled by curls of vapor, as he staggered with his hands outstretched as if to ward off phantoms. All his facial features disintegrated leaving a stark and barren skull that resembled a child's Halloween mask. Almost immediately, even the bones Hairbag's skull began to smolder, the progression of the acid seemed unstoppable. Sugarman's stomach acid was so corrosive that Hairbag would be dead in another twenty seconds, as it would shortly reach dissolve his brain.
Once again, a smaller version of Sugarman emerged, this time from the stomach area and covered in a thick yellow and red tinged mucous, tearing its way free by eating the surrounding tissue of his former body. It was a unique form of cannibalism. Like an ant, Sugarman's small legs moved like a blur as he scurried onto and across the floor to distance himself from his former body and those trying to kill him.
Despite what Sinister had told him, Blockbuster couldn't believe what he was seeing. Having Sugarman's abilities described and actually seeing them first hand were two different things. Even in a world with no shortage of strange mutant powers, Sugarman and his many lives and how he maintained them were quite a novelty. Unfortunately, his hesitation resulted in him being a second too slow as he leapt off of Sugarman's now inert and former body and brought his fist down where Sugarman had just been. The ground shook as his fist cracked the tile and cement floor but the effort was nothing more than a waste of energy.
"Do I have to do everything you dumb assholes," Sabertooth said, annoyed that Sugarman wasn't dead yet. Although after he had done his part, he had just been idly watching and laughing as one of his comrades had been disfigured, blinded, and possibly killed. He had also just watched and laughed hysterically doing nothing while Blockbuster lumbered about, slow and clumsy unable to secure their quarry. He jumped over two tables in a single leap landing with catlike grace for someone of his size. He was now positioned right in front of Sugarman, temporarily blocking his path.
Sugarman was too quick and immediately altered his course. Like a mouse, his diminutive size allowed him to corner sharply and Sabertooth's claws raked right over his head just missing his mark.
"Hungry, gotta eat, gotta get big and strong -- hungry, gotta eat, gotta get big and strong," Sugarman kept repeating like a mantra over and over. He launched himself head first right into a floor level heating duct and squeezed through the vent grate landing on his head. In one fluid motion not missing a beat, he rolled to his feet and ran down the duct safe from Victor Creed's murderous fury.
Sabertooth landed on his stomach a second too late. His hand and claws latched onto the metal duct grate and tore it off the wall. He threw it across the room hoping to hit one of his teammates. "Shit," he screamed as he peered down the length of the duct and caught a glimpse of Sugarman as he tore around a bend in the ductwork and out of sight. Sinister's not gonna be too happy about this, he thought. He'd just blame the rest of his team -- and hoped that Sinister had not been watching.
Slab and Arclight emerged from the second tesseract and were immediately followed by Vertigo. The diminutive mutant, whose powers did not include any type of invulnerability and could be as easily hurt as any human being, was using her teammate's huge bodies for cover and protection. Their target could prove to be a quite difficult and Vertigo was the key -- the key to buy them some time.
Sinister had explained on more than one occasion that understanding how one's individual mutant power worked expanded their application. He had told Vertigo that her powers worked on two levels. She could telekinetically cause inflammation of the vestibular nerves, cause irritation of tiny structures such as microscopic hair cells, which project into fluid-filled canals, called labyrinths, within the vestibular system located deep in the inner ear. He had described in detail how normal balance is, to a degree, controlled by movement of fluid and particles in the labyrinths, in response to changes of body position. This causes the hair cells to send electrical impulses to the brain helping to define the body's orientation. He instructed her on how she could induce irritation and inflammation in the hair cells and other structures in the labyrinths. They discharge randomly, sending chaotic messages to the brain, tricking the brain into thinking you or your surroundings are moving or spinning.
But creatures like Holocaust no longer had a physical body, not in any traditional sense. He had lost that long ago in another universe after a terrific battle with Magneto. But even after having his body torn apart at an atomic level, Holocaust was so powerful that he was able to reconstitute himself and survive -- in a fashion. What was left was his core essence -- malevolent energy. The Dark Beast was tasked by Apocalypse himself to design a containment suit, in order to keep what was left of Holocaust coherent and tangible. Fortunately for the Dark Beast, he had been successful and the suit worked exactly as Apocalypse had prescribed. Although over time, the Dark Beast had often regretted his success but had wisely kept that to himself.
Sinister had taught her that she could cause the same effects in disembodied beings like Holocaust who possessed no inner ear by doing it psionically. She could induce the same feelings of disorientation and malaise, sometimes even more intensively, psionically.
So armed with this knowledge, she began her attack immediately after exiting the tesseract, concentrating the totality of her power in a focused beam directly at Holocaust. Normally, even a few seconds of exposure to her mutant ability would be all that was required to effectively immobilize most any mutant. Her targets would immediately become disoriented and most times vomit uncontrollably. The result would be that they could not stand and would soon find themselves writhing on the floor soaked in a variety of bodily fluids. This time, following Sinister's instructions to the letter, she didn't stop but maintained a continuous and sustained level of attack, persevering even though the pain in her head grew in step with the length of her assault on Holocaust.
Holocaust watched unconcerned as the tesseracts formed and calmly observed the mutants who stepped out and into the laboratory. It was quite apparent that these mutants were not here by invitation and brought with them a hostile intent. He didn't feel threatened at all, confident in his great power to kill anyone who dared to oppose him. He was actually quite pleased. Killing the helpless test subject was hardly a challenge and had not come close to sating his unquenchable thirst for violence and murder. Sugarman's feeding frenzy had only increased his desire to kill something with his own two hands. He would relish butchering these hapless fools.
But almost immediately after first seeing the mutants exit the tesseracts, an intense feeling of malaise swept over him. He no longer felt he could keep his balance and felt himself fall to the floor as the room spun about him. He was stupefied at how he was rendered helpless having never experienced this feeling, but lacked the lucidity to alter his condition. A cloud of insensibility settled over him and he found it difficult to access his thoughts and powers. He made several half-hearted attempts to stand, but his concentration was too diffuse and it only exacerbated the sick feeling that overwhelmed all of his other senses. Through his stupor he could barely make out the faces of the two mutants who had come from the tesseracts and now suddenly appeared to be hovering over him.
Slab and Arclight quickly made their way over to Holocaust as he fell to the floor. Vertigo had done her part -- immobilizing the powerful mutant just as Sinister said she would. Employing his mutant power, Slab's height and weight increased at an incredible rate, his head scraped the ceiling -- paint and sheetrock chips fell to the floor. He also left footprints in the tile floor and now must have must have weighed close to three tons. Slab smiled wickedly, and stood over the armored mutant, watching as he made feeble attempts to stand and regain his balance. He raised an enormous spear and without a word or seconds hesitation, drove it into Holocaust's chest piercing the containment suit. Slab didn't let go and gleefully twisted and turned the imbedded weapon enlarging the opening as energy began to pour out of the wound.
At the same time, Arclight raised the one ton adamantium mace and brought it down with ferocious force on Holocaust's faceplate. After only two blows, the faceplate shattered, but Arclight continued in an insane frenzy, leveling blow after blow pulverizing Holocaust's entire headpiece.
Holocaust felt his integrity slipping, which intruded on his stupor. With the suit, it didn't require any concentration to keep himself intact -- that was the suits primary function. Without it, over time he would eventually disipate. It would be like pouring a bucket of water into the ocean, and then come back in a week and try to find all of the orignal water molecules that were in the bucket. Even for a short period of time, it required a sizable amount of effort to keep himself whole and undiminished. The veil of fog thinned and Holocaust's thought process began to clear somewhat and become a little less murky. He could vaguely make out the mutants who stood above him but knew what they were trying to do. A second of clarity allowed him to latch onto his rage, and with that he reached up and grabbed the shaft of the spear with his hand. Through it, he could feel the mutant who was wielding it, and reached for his essence -- violently.
Slab saw that the supposedly powerful mutant was unable to offer up any defense and he and Arclight were zealously beating him to death. His observation only increased his enjoyment and redoubled his enthusiasm. He could also see that Arclight had succumbed to the feeding frenzy and had given herself completely over -- immersing her body and soul into the inspired violence. Slab suddenly felt as if something had grabbed his heart and was aware of a steady weakening of his great strength. He also became aware of the fact that he appeared to be moving closer to the mutant they were murdering but was in reality, steadily shrinking. He tried to let go of the spear but could not -- it was as if his hands were welded to the spear and now he was too weak to even open his hand to let go. He felt his consciousness slipping away but not before he felt his own face collapse in on itself. He finally was able to let go of the spear but not by his own volition. He simply fell away, an empty sack of skin -- a dried out husk, his body ransacked and ravaged of every ounce of life energy.
Absorbing Slab's energy, Holocaust's thoughts partially cleared -- enough for him to block the next blow from the crazed woman attacking him. He then tore the mace from her hand, and shakily stood, the spear still protruding from his chest.
Weaponless, Arclight became even more enraged not noticing or caring what had happened to Slab, and leapt at Holocaust intending to use her teeth and nails to dismember what remained of him and his suit. She was met with a literal stiff arm -- a perforated club that was part of Holocaust's containment suit, designed by the Dark Beast himself to deliver the incredibly powerful and destructive bio-energy in copious and concentrated quantities. He struck her with such physical force that it penetrated her chest and she was impaled by the strange appendage.
Holocaust lifted her off the ground as easy as if she was a marshmallow skewered on a stick. Blood droplets were dripping down her chin, and then began to flow like a scarlet river as each second passed. Arclight eyes opened wide as she gulped for air that would not come and then began to twitch uncontrollably. "I don't know you and you obviously don't know me or you wouldn't be here. And I wish I had more time because I'd find out who sent you and why -- and make your last moments the most terrifying in your pitiful life." Holocaust triggered the release of bio-energy that tore through her insides and she simply exploded. Her body parts and blood flew around the lab and painted the walls, floor, and equipment with viscera and gore.
His vertigo was greatly diminished but vestiges of it still remained -- and had the feeling that it was very slowly building once again. He had already acclimated. Whatever had felled him before -- would never again. He had assumed that with the death of the two mutants it would have ceased completely -- one of them being the source. He concluded that another mutant must be responsible. Even through the surrounding melee, he quickly was able to locate and identify source of his earlier problem. A small woman was crouched behind some shattered lab equipment, white-faced and trembling. He quickly strode over to where she was and threw aside her pitiful cover and grabbed her by the top of her head and lifted her off the ground. He immediately felt every last trace of dizziness leave him.
Vertigo was frozen with terror. She could not even summon an iota of her power -- what good she thought it would do now. Because of her proximity to Holocaust, she felt as if ants were crawling over every inch of her body. The energy that was no longer completely contained by the suit radiated out in every direction. His head was like a raging fire as flames rolled and subsided, grew and shrunk -- a never ceasing cauldron of energy. She moaned in terror and in pain, the vise grip on her head felt as if her skull would be crushed any second.
"How could a mewling bitch like you bring me to my knees?" Holocaust raged. "I'm going to crush your head like an overripe melon and feed your remains to Sugarman." He stopped speaking to Vertigo abruptly, his attention elsewhere. Just out of the corner of his sight, he could not believe who he saw.
Mr. Sinister stood in front of one of his infernal tesseracts. He caught just a glimpse of Sinister, who had obviously had been here for the necessary amount of time as threw the Dark Beast into the doorway. He immediately understood that the Dark Beast's capture was the goal of this attack, and the assault on him was no more than a simple distraction -- which infuriated him to no end. "Sinister you traitorous bastard. As I suspected, in any reality you are a weak and treacherous coward. I told my father you were not fit to be a Horseman." Vertigo's head exploded when Holocausts hand closed in a fit of anger after seeing Sinister. He was completely unaware of this fact as her body hit the floor.
Sinister turned and smiled. "Succumbing to a small woman? Your father would not be proud -- weakling." Sinister added and then stepped into the tesseract, never seeing or hearing Holocaust's wild and repeated blasts of bio-energy or the destruction and collapse of the lab around him.
The Dark Beast immediately recognized the two materializing tesseracts and with that, came the more terrifying realization of whom they belonged to. Despite all his precautions, all the secrecy, all the murders to cover his tracks, he had been found. Sinister had discovered where he was and had finally come for an unannounced visit.
The third tesseract appeared no more than ten feet away and without a doubt contained the lord and master of this ensanguined operation. While the Dark Beast's compatriots were otherwise occupied, the preminent scientist of his former universe and most likely this one, stepped into his lab unnoticed, resplendent in appearance -- glorious and imposing in his majesty. All of his plebians performed like trained circus animals -- carrying out all the unpleasant and tedious tasks that Sinister himself would never sully his hands with. It was now quite obvious that Sinister's rabble and their actions were meant to be nothing more than a diversionary -- a disorienting chaos by design that the gerent genetisist had planned with scrupulous forethought.
Sinister looked around him disdainfully. "I know I came without an invitation or even a cake, but you could have at least tidied up a bit."
The Dark Beast tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible and slowly reached into a pocket of his lab coat. His fear of Sinister was beyond compare and bordered on obsession. He couldn't keep his hand from shaking as he pulled out an unusual looking device that was no doubt a weapon. But before he could point it at his intended target, it was torn out of his hand by a simple gesture from Sinister.
"That's not quite the welcome I was expecting," Sinister said sounding hurt. "Aren't we two men of science? Let us not let this degrade into a simple barroom brawl." He gestured about him. "That is for the more pedestrian individuals of our kind, is it not?"
Amongst all of the blood, carnage, and violence that surrounded them, Sinister's civil pretense was so out of place -- but was so much a part of the dichotomy that was Sinister, that in a strange way it was normal.
He hastily tried to bargain with Sinister all the while knowing that it would be useless. It was a feeble attempt at stalling for time -- to think of some options, but even his great mind was completely frozen with terror by Sinister's sudden and unexpected presence. "I was once a loyal colleague of your alternate self. We achieved great things together. I can't see why some mutual arrangement, shared research, a cooperative effort..." the Dark Beast stammered.
Sinister just responded with a cold indulgent smile.
Mr. Sinister in any reality worked for or with no one. The Dark Beast knew this better than anyone, and utter panic settled into his bones and was clearly discernable in his eyes and movements. He took a tentative step in the opposite direction of Sinister and towards a bookcase over on a far wall.
Sinister's eyebrow arched. "If I were you and spent a great deal of time and resources in trying to avoid me, I would have taken precautions for at least one emergency escape route. A hidden panel behind a bookcase? How bourgeois and bromidic," Sinister said in a chastising tone.
The Dark Beast froze but was weighing his options, which were quite simply fight or flight.
Sinister recognized the look in his eyes, and smiled once again. "You are on the precipice of a very important and critical decision." Sinister's tone was reasonable -- almost conciliatory. "We don't need a performance of great éclat. I'm sure my doppelganger from your reality wasn't very different from the person that stands before you now. I am also quite certain that we both know that there are consequences and repercussions for actions that he and I would deem unsuitable. I have a great level of confidence that my alternate left an indelible impression on your impressive mind and you have already experienced my variety of punishment for unsatisfactory behavior." Sinister's eyes narrowed and his tone changed ever-so slightly but conveyed an impending menace nonetheless. "Let me enlighten you to the fact that you have already earned my ire and will be disciplined accordingly. You will come with me now -- willingly. Any resistance will dictate the severity..." Sinister paused and smiled. "It's all up to you -- Henry."
He would not -- could not once again be Sinister's slave. The Dark Beast swallowed once and bolted for the bookcase bounding and leaping in a zigzag pattern. Sinister shook his head as if disappointed and raised his arm. A bolt of crimson energy discharged from of his hand and knocked the Dark Beast into the bookcase. He hit the floor hard; a number of heavy volumes fell from the shelves onto his head. He was oblivious to that fact because he was rendered unconscious by Sinister's blow before he hit the bookcase.
Sinister reopened the tesseract, grabbed the Dark Beast by the scruff of his neck hair and threw him unceremoniously into the white light. He stopped and turned smiling maliciously in Holocaust's direction to respond something he had had just yelled across the large laboratory. He said a few short words and without a glance back to the fate of his comrades stepped into the tesseract.
Interlude 2 - Plainview, NY
Aron sat in the atrium, just as he did everyday, bathing his body in the bright sunlight as well as all of the rest of the unseen ambient energy suffusing his being with the power that would restore him -- the power he so desperately craved. The humans around him had no idea why he sat there for hours on end, wanting nothing to do with them. Using this power as well as his mind and essence, cell by cell, molecule by molecule, he had painstakingly converted this frail human body into a much more resilient and powerful form -- capable of housing his great power. His appearance of course remained the same. He still looked like the decrepit old human named Mr. Guerin...the body he had absconded some time ago.
It was imperative that his return to his former might and glory be accomplished ever-so gradually and surreptitiously. Who better than a Watcher could possibly avoid detection from the hypersensitive perceptions of another Watcher? Should there be a sudden spike in cosmic energy on Earth -- Uatu would immediately become aware of his presence and without delay would move against him as well as alert his fellow Watchers that Aron was alive and well.
The hypocrites, he thought. The sole time they acted in concert was to murder him. Their philosophy if one could even call it that was one of apathy, bereft of any passion. They could never be moved to any action -- his entire race was hopelessly phlegmatic. He had hoped that others would follow his example, to bring an end to countless millennia of stagnation. He would be the match that would start a conflagration, something to end their eon's long decline, to shake them out their self-induced dormancy. He would have been hailed as the savior of his race, revered -- through war and conquest he would establish the Watcher's dominance in this and all realities. But instead they were envious of his distinction, they were resentful of his greatness, wary of his brilliance and ambition, and for that --- he would kill them all.
He would also kill all the savages of this primitive planet for their complicity in his incarceration. He had given that mutant Beast, who believed he was a scientist the means to exterminate the entire race. Of course the fool had no idea what he was given, and by Aron's standards, he was not a scientist. In comparison to him, the mutant filth was as evolved as common bacteria. Under the guise of educating this Beast about creating more of his kind, the mutating proteins that were present in these new mutants, were the precursor to a virus that should have eradicated almost every living thing on this planet and led to humanities extinction -- somehow failed. It had vexed Aron to the point of madness -- there was absolutely no way it should have failed -- and yet the animals were still here in abundance.
Aron slammed his fist down on the side of his wheelchair. It brought little or no attention to him as those around him, both residents and staff were quite used to his outbursts of anger. Who or what could have thwarted his plans, he thought? Who had the power on this backwater planet to not only stop him but to keep his presence concealed -- from two Watchers no less? Only someone with greater power than his own -- which was categorically impossible. He squeezed the padded armrests of his chair bending and leaving finger impressions in the metal as if it were putty. Once he regained his power he would find out who this powerful adversary was -- kill him and claim all that power as his own. He would also not forget anyone who had wronged him -- no one would be spared. He would kill everyone and everything that had gotten in his way.
He glanced up to see that Alexandra was heading in his direction -- smiling. His mood lightened. The only pleasant distraction in this dismal facility. Perhaps she would appreciate hearing about some of his plans.
The Swiss Alps
The invisible wind whipped and swirled but carried enough snow to reveal its covert passage between and through the myriad of cliffs, crags, and peaks of the great mountain range. At about eight-thousand feet, almost impossible to reach by any conventional means, a dark pillar of stone scarcely noticeable because of the huge snow drifts covering most of it, but perceptible because of the contrast of color against the virgin white snow, marked the entrance to Exodus' lair.
Centuries ago, a young and bold adventurer named Bennet du Paris embarked on a quest to find an ancient tower that was rumored to be home of untold riches and power. Joining him on this quest was another Crusader Knight, Eobar Garrington, also known as the Black Knight. Unfortunately for Du Paris, his quest and destiny led him to Akkaba, birthplace of the Eternal Pharaoh, better known as the immortal mutant Apocalypse. Their meeting was completely orchestrated by Apocalypse -- its purpose was to test and trigger a power Du Paris suspected resided in him. It was through this test, centuries ago, that the mutant Exodus was born.
Exodus, in his arrogance, believed that he had become a god and that he had no master, and turned against Apocalypse with this newfound power. He immediately discovered that he was no match for the mutant tyrant, and as punishment for his rebellion, Apocalypse entombed him in this remote structure deep within a mountain in the Swiss Alps. There he placed him in a deep slumber -- one in which he would not awaken from for many centuries.
With no more than a stray thought, the husks of twenty bodies were lifted, lit on fire and thrown outside of the cave entrance. There they would join the thousands of other bodies littered along the mountainside. Over time, they would slide down the steep slopes, get covered and uncovered by the melting snow and eventually decompose and become part of mountain soil itself. After Exodus had drained all of their life-force, burned them with his mutant powers, there really wasn't much left. He would take them from the various local villages that surrounded the mountain -- some were missed, some were not, it was of little concern to Exodus. Over the years the disappearances had caused all sorts of stories and myths to be told and formed and he had become somewhat of a local legend. But most of it was based on very little truth -- other than the fact that all the people were dead. Like only the most powerful of mutants, he was able to drain the life essence from individual bodies, and take that energy as his own. In this fashion, he was able to augment his own innate mutant power. His next set of endeavors would require him to be as powerful as he possibly could be -- and that would require more cattle.
He felt the hairs on his neck rise. Someone was in the room with him. He wasn't sure whether he was more disturbed because he first became aware of the fact that he was not alone because of a very primal form of human instinct, and not his great psionic powers -- or for the fact that for first time in centuries he felt genuine fear.
He turned towards the cavern entrance; a large and terrifying silhouette blocked almost all the sunlight from entering. Exodus could not make out any of the facial details of his visitor, but because of the shape and size -- there could be no mistaking who this was.
"Come now Bennet, I think I've allowed you to indulge in personal pursuits for a fair amount of time. Isn't several centuries of freedom sufficient?" Apocalypse asked in a reasonable tone. "I think it's time to put your substantial talents to good use -- my use." The impossibly deep baritone resonated off the cave walls and even though it was centuries ago, brought back the feelings of trepidation and dread that only Apocalypse could provoke.
After all these centuries -- all his public displays of power, his affiliation with Magneto and his Acolytes -- why now? Why after all this time, did Apocalypse decide to come here, where he had first imprisoned him? The answer filled him with dread. Finding courage Exodus managed to sound confident and snapped back, "I do not require your permission for something that is my basic right."
"Did Magnus allow you any basic rights? You are a follower Bennet -- that is your basic nature. You are not at fault. Think of it as something genetic -- something innate in your case," Apocalypse laughed mockingly. "This isn't any different, you're just returning to your original sovereign."
Exodus balled his fists and his eyes narrowed at Apocalypse's obvious insults. "Perhaps I do not desire to be anyone's lackey -- yours or Magneto's. My powers have grown tyrant. I am no longer a novice and my control of my abilities is a far cry from what it once was. I assure you, things will be quite different this time."
He had thought about this many times -- that he might encounter Apocalypse again and he had made a conscious decision to fight long ago if he found himself under these very same circumstances. But he was smart enough to realize the consequences of this course and the dwindling courage that was now escaping him like air from a punctured balloon, with the huge frame actually standing before him.
"I see," Apocalypse laughed. "I suppose I should be intimidated, but for some reason Bennet -- I am not." Apocalypse's tone changed from an almost friendly banter to one of impending menace. "I understand your apprehension but surely you are not asking for another demonstration of my power?" Apocalypse stepped forward threateningly, his shadow looming over Exodus. "After all, it has only been a few centuries. I would have thought that the impression I made -- would have been a lasting one."
His arms hung at his side with a casualness that was at odds with what was about to transpire. His hands began to swell as if two high-pressure fire hoses were implanted in his wrists and were in the process of pumping the entire contents of a large lake into his hands. They continued to enlarge growing to the size and shape of the stones at the base of the ancient pyramids of Egypt -- but were harder than any rock or stone. Apocalypse seemed to be deliberately proceeding a leisurely pace. It could be that he was intentionally trying to unnerve Exodus or perhaps even giving him a chance to reconsider his choice. If Apocalypse's cold smile was an indication of anything, he seemed to be enjoying Exodus' dilemma.
"Power for the sake of power. Dominance for the sake of dominance. The aphrodisiac of power -- it is addictive like no other substance. Once you've drunken from that cup, it is impossible to ever put it down again. Tell me Bennet; after all these years, have you come to appreciate the use of power, to demonstrate to others your superiority, to feel their abject fear, to know that their lives are yours to end with no more than a thought? I've watched you Bennet and I believe that you do. Then just imagine how I must feel when even the most powerful amongst you -- fear the very whisper of my name." Apocalypse began to laugh wildly, which sounded like the roaring of a hurricane as he raised his enormous fists, crossed his arms in front of him and than suddenly lashed out, his limbs lengthening until they struck either side of the cavern walls.
The explosion of sound and rock fragments was both deafening and blinding. Massive slabs of rock fell from the cavern ceiling and tons of debris began to seal the entrance as the entire structure began to collapse. Exodus erected a shield the second he saw what Apocalypse had intended. Colossal boulders struck his shield with mammoth force and it took all of his concentration to maintain his shield's integrity and levitate out of the cavern entrance -- or what was left of it. During his escape, his eyes never left Apocalypse and watched as huge chunks of rock rained down on the immortal mutant striking him repeatedly with no effect whatsoever. He just stood there, his insane laughter heard even over the collapse of his former home.
Exodus managed to escape the collapse and levitated just outside his former home's entrance praying that Apocalypse had been either trapped or killed. He knew almost instantly what a foolish notion that had been.
The pile of rock exploded outward as deadly rock projectiles shot out in all directions as the huge form of Apocalypse burst from the collapsed entrance. Like a vengeful god from the underworld Apocalypse emerged from the earth, dwarfing everything around him. He was no longer of normal size but was a giant at least thirty feet tall. Exodus who had never dropped his shield, immediately strengthened it and before he could move away, Apocalypse in two long strides reached him and put his enormous hands around and completely engulfed Exodus.
Like a child holding a balloon in both hands and testing its resiliency, Apocalypse began to squeeze -- the shield began to flicker, shrinking slowly in size because of the enormous compressive forces that Apocalypse was applying. Exodus could not believe the incredible pressure Apocalypse was generating around his shield. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and a massive pressure began to build in his head as he could feel the walls of his shield begin to give way against Apocalypse's relentless assault.
"Impudent gnat," Apocalypse roared, his voice louder and deeper than before. He had used those very same words centuries ago when Exodus had first exhibited his mutant power and turned them against Apocalypse -- and failed.
Exodus once again tapped into some unknown reserve and strengthened his protective shield even further. But somehow Apocalypse matched and exceeded his effort. He could feel the pressure slowly and inexorably climb. He screamed and felt like the blade of a machete was slowly slicing into his brain dividing it into two separate pieces. Ignoring the pain, he poured all of his mutant energies into maintaining the shield so that he would not be crushed and simultaneously launched a vicious telepathic assault against Apocalypse to stop from being pulverized. Through the haze of blazing energy he could see that his efforts were having no effect whatsoever on Apocalypse. Like a small boy examining an insect he had caught and trapped in a glass jar, Apocalypse brought Exodus closer to his own face. Exodus could not stop the trembling loathing from shaking his body and felt dwarfed as if his entire universe, every sensory input was now filled with nothing but the repulsive and cruel visage of Apocalypse. His last images were of the grim countenance and those merciless eyes -- the face and eyes of his former master boring into his own before everything went black.
When he woke up he was lying on his back in the snow, wet and cold -- truly feeling the outside elements -- an experience he hadn't had in centuries. He could see the puffs of his own breath and tasted the frigid thinness of the high altitude atmosphere as his lungs labored to take in air. His head felt as if it had been split open with an axe, which was still buried in his skull. The sick ache was both in his head and in his stomach and he had trouble telling the difference between the two. He was also aware that he could not access his power -- it was like reaching for and flipping on a light switch after the bulb had burned up. He had literally fried out all the circuitry with his effort to -- Apocalypse...where was he? He tried to sit up and felt his head swim with pain and then the feeling in his stomach overwhelmed the pain in his head and he threw-up a hot steaming mess into the pristine white snow.
He was jerked up and lifted off his feet like he was no more than a thin scrap of paper. Apocalypse, who had returned to the size of eight feet tall, had a painful grip on his upper arm and had him suspended off the ground on the edge of an eroded pass overlooking a vast rock canyon. His face was gray as his legs dangled freely in the open air. Primal fear infused his being as the helplessness and the imminent fall that would now, most certainly kill him overwhelmed his entire consciousness.
"Perhaps I've been too lenient." Apocalypse's booming voice was amplified further still by the echoes bouncing off the rock valley walls. "Do you wish to forfeit your life and all the power that you have amassed?" Apocalypse shook his head unable to comprehend Exodus' actions -- and then seemed to change his mind. I've decided to withdraw my offer that you simply serve me. Now you must show me that you are worthy to be permitted to serve me.
Exodus began to laugh. His death was most certainly assured and that had suddenly provided him with the courage he so recently lacked. "Wouldn't my blind acceptance of servitude after centuries of my own freedom, categorize me as weak. I've subjugating others solely because of my power and greater strength...isn't that what've you preached for centuries? Should I have just laid down like a dog instead of letting personal conflict decide which of us is stronger? You and your philosophy are inconsistent."
Although Apocalypse's booming laughter in response to what he had just said raised the hairs on the back of his neck, Exodus could tell that Apocalypse was genuinely amused and pleased.
"My philosophy is not as simplistic as some make it out to be -- nor is it inconsistent to those capable of truly understanding it. Survival is something else I preach. Your powers can be stripped like the peal of a banana, while mine cannot. This is distinct liability for mutants who possess great power but in the end should their powers fail them -- have only a very human body with all its vulnerabilities." His hand formed into a wicked scimitar. His mood suddenly changed from one of mild amusement to one of murderous fury. "I will mount your head on a pike at the entrance to my Tibetan citadel and feed your body to the scavengers. Do you think the example you set today will teach your fellow mutants how futile it is to oppose me, or will other heads need to join yours and decorate the mountainside? Please Bennett, before you die, be of some use to me, after all you've been one of my worst servants in a long line of poor performers. He put the blade's edge against his throat and saw no fear in Exodus' eyes.
"You surprise me Bennet -- and in one as long lived as me, surprise is a rare thing and sometimes pleasing. Do you wish to live?" Apocalypse asked bluntly.
"Yes," Exodus answered without hesitation.
The bladed hand disappeared and morphed back into Apocalypse's familiar gloved hand. He put Exodus back onto the ground and then placed his hand on Exodus' shoulder. The gesture was one of domination --- certainly not one of affection. He looked down at Exodus and simply said, "Do not disappoint me Bennet." A flash of light and they were both in a different location.
Exodus found himself standing in front of a man who had been obviously incarcerated by Apocalypse. The man was trapped in some kind of containment field -- battered and broken, and quite possibly dead. Apocalypse did not tolerate any disobedience and his punishments were creative and quite severe. He could only guess at the perceived affront and how long this man had been punished for. In short order, Apocalypse answered his questions.
"The mutant in front of you is the Shadow King. I'm sure that you've heard of him. There were some distinct weaknesses he possessed that I can not tolerate from someone in my employ. It was necessary to purge characteristics that I deemed would hamper his performance." Apocalypse smiled, and Exodus found himself wishing that Apocalypse had dropped him into that canyon. "I had to convince him using some rather harsh means that it would be in his best interests to do my bidding. I've decided that you two will work together. Get to know one another's strengths and weaknesses."
With a gesture from Apocalypse, the energy field disappeared and the man crumpled to the floor. Apocalypse walked out of the enormous room through two doors that were at least three-hundred feet tall. The doors opened at Apocalypse's approach -- without a sound. "It is your responsibility to see that he lives," Apocalypse said, his booming command heard easily over his shoulders. "There are devices that I will provide -- that will help with his recovery. In the interim, clean him up and attend to his needs. The Shadow King and Exodus will be partners for the foreseeable future."
The doors closed behind Apocalypse, again, without a sound. Exodus was alone -- with the Shadow King? This man before him was one of the most feared and powerful mutants on the planet? Blood seemed to be seeping out of every pore and orifice in his body. He hadn't even moved and Exodus wasn't sure if he had seen him breath. He walked over to him, knelt and touched his skin, which was clammy, cold and a pasty white color. His eyes were wide open, and exuded pure terror -- but saw nothing that was occurring now. Exodus stood and shuddered realizing that had been delivered into hell, and this was going to be his permanent home for as long as Apocalypse desired it to be.
Apocalypse withdrew into the privacy of his control room. What an interesting pair Exodus and the Shadow King would make. Two very powerful mutants, both with very powerful personalities and great ambitions. Their interactions would no doubt be amusing. He wondered if one would eventually dominate the other or even after all his threats, it would be impossible for them to work together. It did not matter in the slightest; he actually had no use for them at all. It was purely on a whim that he decided to obtain Exodus once again. It would appear to Sinister, Magneto and Xavier that he was gathering his own combatants to counter the mutant army that was being assembled to kill him. Let them believe what they wanted -- it was completely irrelevant.
Apocalypse activated a view-screen and began to pour over data that had been compiled by Celestial machines used to clandestinely observe other races. His eternal vigilance and the reason behind it was something that Sinister, Magneto and Xavier could never possibly suspect. They had no conception of the magnitude and constant danger this planet faced -- why or from whom. But no machines, even those of Celestial origin could detect that other eyes were watching -- and it was those eyes that he was concerned about -- eyes that he was warned occasionally turned in his direction -- to observe him. In reality, this great being had no eyes in any traditional sense, but was everywhere and everything all at once. It was His notice that Apocalypse was extremely wary of -- and for that reason and that reason alone his behavior and actions had to appear -- well apocalyptic -- bent on nothing but arbitrary destruction, he thought and laughed out loud.
The Earth and all its inhabitants both human and mutant -- their survival depended on him -- Apocalypse, his successful ruse. He laughed again and over the thousands of years he had laughed often about the irony of the whole situation -- most definitely perpetuating the impression that he was indeed insane -- which perhaps on further reflection, he was. His laughter filled the huge room as Apocalypse continued his millennia long charade.
References;
1 The Black Knight: Exodus
