"Remy!" with Miasma's influence gone, Rogue snapped awake, launching herself forward and dropping beside Gambit, gathering him up in her arms.
"She is contained," Ghost Rider stepped forwards, "I can send her back to Hell..."
"Wait just one second, bub," Wolverine snarled, leaping into his path, claws drawn and aimed at the Rider's burning skull, "what's that gonna do to Gambit?"
"He will go with her – that is the price he must pay. He has confessed; he is a sinner."
"He's lived a good life and helped a lotta people since he joined the X-Men," Logan snapped back, "he sure don't deserve ta be sent ta Hell... if any of us deserve it, it's me, pal!"
"Oh, Remy..." Rogue whispered, her heart breaking all over again as she cradled him in her lap, stroking his hair in a comforting gesture that had become all-too-familiar over the last few weeks, "say somethin'... wake up, Remy... please..."
He said nothing, only giving a low groan, as his face contorted in pain, grimacing against some inner turmoil, no doubt still battling Miasma, except the battlefield was now in his mind... Rogue gasped aloud as an idea struck her like a bolt of lightning: in his mind!
"You!" Rogue's head snapped up, as she pointed to Annalee, "You're a telepath, right? Ya need ta get us in there – connect us ta Gambit's mind, like Jean did before – we can help him fight her!"
"I... I'm not that kind of telepath..." Annalee's eyes widened in fear, "I'm not that powerful anymore... in my youth, perhaps, but now... I can make suggestions, that's all..."
"Well, I suggest ya try, or else," Wolverine bared his teeth, "give it a go, old woman – Gambit gave himself to save yer worthless hides, least ya can do is help 'im out in return."
"Very well..." Annalee agreed, reluctantly, "we will need to join hands... a physical connection will make it easier to establish a psychic connection..."
"Not a good idea with me, sugar," Rogue shook her head, reluctantly, "take Logan and Ghost Rider with ya... ah'll keep an eye on things out here..."
Annalee nodded, and knelt down beside the Cajun, who still muttered and writhed weakly under Rogue's gloved touch. The telepath took hold of one of Gambit's limp hands, clasping it tightly. Logan knelt opposite to her and took the other, and then extended his hand towards the Ghost Rider. He stepped forward, staying standing, holding out his pale, white hands, taking Logan's and Annalee's extended fingers. Annalee closed her eyes, concentrating, mumbling to herself under her breath, her brow creasing with the effort. Logan growled low, as for a long moment, nothing happened... but then...
Gambit was drowning. Surrounded by a sea of thick, viscous, black-and-purple waves, he fought to stay afloat, fighting with all of his waning strength as he was tossed this way and that, a piece of flotsam in a raging tempest, wind howling around him as the tidal forces tried to pull him under, into suffocating, eternal darkness. Beneath the surface, a whirlpool awaited him, ready to drag him down, down, down, deeper into despair, feelings of worthlessness and uselessness and darkness threatening to overwhelm him as he struggled to keep his head above the surface.
He was surrounded by her, enveloped completely, as she laughed and screamed and taunted and teased, telling him he was finished, done for, and that she was going to spend an eternity tormenting him with every failure, every loss, every unkind thought and word and deed ever enacted against him or by him, mocking him with the faces and laughter and hurtful words of the people he had loved and he thought loved him, but they didn't, they hated him, and rightly so, he was pathetic, worthless, useless, contemptible, an embarrassment, a monster, a vile, wretched creature... he was submerged beneath the waves, succumbing, failing, as always, a disappointment to everyone... he reached out, desperately, one last time, his hand breaching the surface of the water even as he sank, further and further away from the light, into the cold, eternal, swirling darkness...
...Until a strong hand clasped around his. He jerked under the surface of the water, his descent halted. The hand began to pull him up, even as Miasma's vortex tried to pull him down. With renewed vigour he resumed his fight, kicking his way free and upwards, the strong hand still hauling him up through the waves, until he broke the surface. Coughing and spluttering, he blinked his eyes open, only to find Logan, standing on the surface of the seething waves, grinning down at him.
"Need a hand, Gumbo?"
"Mon amis!"
Logan flexed his muscular arm and hauled Gambit up until he, too, was able to crawl free of the water. Behind Logan stood the Morlock telepath, Annalee, her face creased in concentration, eyes screwed shut and hands clenched to her temples. Next to her stood the imposing figure of Ghost Rider, his skull a burning beacon in the darkness.
No! I will not be defeated! I will destroy you all – if you will not surrender to me, then you will die!
"Dis is gettin' old, chère," Gambit said, tiredly, "don' you get tired of always hurtin' folks?"
It is my purpose! My existence is to torment!
"Figured as much," Logan shrugged, "well, Gumbo, this is your head we're stuck in... guess it's your move."
Gambit nodded, stretching his hand down, crouching to touch the roiling waves beneath his feet. At his touch, they instantly calmed, and began to withdraw, shrinking and curling back on themselves. Miasma began to scream; a deafening, screeching, painful crescendo which Gambit ignored, forcing her backward, both hands outstretched as the ocean shrank, reducing and compacting until she stood before him, a solid, humanoid figure, scarcely five feet tall, quivering before him.
"Please," she whispered, in an all-too-human sounding voice, as scared and tremulous as a little girl, "please, don't make me go back there... I don't want to..."
"No choice, chère," Gambit replied, firmly, "we gave you a chance an' all you wanna do is hurt people, innocent and guilty alike. Nobody deserves the hurt you bring in dis life – dey gotta deal with their choices in de next life."
"I'll have you," hissed the girl, her face twisting into a bitter expression of rage, "one day, you'll die, and you'll be mine, and I will make you suffer..."
"That is not your decision," Ghost Rider intervened, stepping forwards, "he still has his life to live and he will determine his own fate with his living actions. Restrain her, and give her to me."
Gambit reached out, grasping the girl by the throat, even as she writhed and twisted and fought to get away. Constrained as she was to a psychic projection, Miasma was helpless in his grasp as he asserted his mental control over her, and Gambit held her at arm's length, passing her to the Ghost Rider. He grasped her by the shoulders, his blazing eye sockets meeting her yellow gaze.
"Look at me," he ordered, "look at me, Miasma. It is time to return you to where you belong... and your Master is most displeased with you."
"No," she howled, shaking her head, "no, no, please! No...!"
Gambit and Logan raised their hands, averting their eyes, as flames began to lick at Miasma's feet, rapidly coursing up her legs, waist and torso, consuming her. With one last, tortured howl, she was devoured by the flames, and disappeared. Ghost Rider stepped back, and melted away into the darkness.
"Ya did it, Gumbo," Logan's gruff voice sounded distant, as he too began to fade away, "ya actually did it..."
Gambit nodded, once, finding himself alone in the darkness of his mind. With a relieved sigh, he spread his arms wide, and allowed himself to fall backwards, tumbling into the inky blackness.
