Note: The X-Men are the property of Marvel Comics. They are used without permission and for purposes of entertainment only.
Silent Amber
Chapter 3 – The Sitra Ahra
It began as an electric whisper, a charge in the air, barely noticeable save for a sudden stirring in the wind sending little dust devils careening off in random directions to the rocky bluffs, mesas and painted sandstone surrounding the lonely highway where they dissipated as quickly as they'd formed. Nothing that could distract from the tranquil afternoon beauty ofZionNational Park's east entrance. What few hikers, campers and nature lovers happened to be nearby could hardly be expected to espy such a phenomenon. Even if they had, most would simply write it off as nothing more than a fleeting curiosity, or at best think it some harbinger of an unseen storm on distant approach. Only a Siberian laika with a large, picnicking family sensed the unnatural disturbance enough to lift its head from its water dish and utter a low growl. The dog folded its ears back and arched its haunches, eyes fixed upon the energy's core, poised to charge or flee and unable to decide on which instinct to succumb. The mother, thinking it had spotted some desert rodent, followed its gaze in time to see the air crackle with thin, purplish lightning, weaving through the air like a thread caught adrift in the wind. As she looked on it expanded to thrice its original length and widened, drawing the attention of others who stared and pointed at the lambent, gyrating cord. A curious child took a few tentative steps toward it, only to be swept up by his protective mother. Her caution proved justified when the lightning suddenly shot at once toward the ground and into the sky, becoming a column of electric fire three meters tall. It emitted a loud, angry sounding hum. People began to scream; many fled to their cars. The park ranger at the gate station fumbled for his two-way radio. The column rose higher before unfolding from its zenith, spreading open to become an arch, the radiant energy serving as its frame. Below the arch smaller threads of electricity shot back and forth, creating a dance of spider-web patterns. More bolts filled the space, until it became a solid, glowing surface, like a mirror glass filled with its own light. A dark figure stepped out from it.
The being was a woman, tall and statuesque, clad in chitinous jet armor with crimson fringe, sleek leather gloves and boots stretching no further than her wrists and ankles. A sinister looking whip was hooked to her slender waist, coiled into a tight hoop, the butt end of the handle tucked neatly against the scarlet sash she wore, ready to be snapped up in an instant. Her skin tone was dusky and smooth, her short dark hair pasted against her head in taut ringlets. She looked about with cold disdain, thin lips in an even line, her eyes like polished obsidian, gleaming with hunger and malice.
The shining portal spat out four others, equally bizarre and terrifying as the first, the sight of them prompting horrified shrieks from those few park visitors who had not yet fled. Emerging first was a spindly man whose feet never touched the ground, hovering half an inch in the air as he drifted forward. His alabaster skin was like melted wax, smooth with an unnatural gloss, his face bisected by a scar so deep it had become a permanent fissure extending from his left eye to the right side of his chin. A richly patterned and ornamented shenti and matching girdle adorned him, the silken fabric taut against his thin frame. Completing the outfit was a mantle slung over his shoulder and a round cap atop his head. A thick beard framed his face, groomed into four rows of long, tight curls. The panicking mortals surrounding the company received little more than a dismissive glance from him. At his side stepped a great carrion bird formed of blackened smoke, a shadow given substance. It was the tallest of the party, the top of its bulbous head looming well above the others, bobbing in sharp, pistoning beats as it looked left, then right, then back again. Its wings were tucked back, rising behind like a darkling cloak, wisps of ash wafting off of each feather tip with every thudding step it took. No features could be observed behind the swirling cloud that was its flesh, save one: a pair of emerald eyes that glowed like twin flames, deep, cruel and ravenous.
Loping through next came a hyena large enough to face a great bear, scraping at the desert floor with forepaws that could almost pass for human hands but for the long, blackened claws adorning each gnarled digit. Hundreds of colors rippled across his fur with a life of their own, the hairs shifting from one end of the spectrum and back in a nauseating gamut that resembled light reflecting off an oil slick. Standing upon him was a beautiful woman wearing nothing save a crescent moon crown. Her footing was sure as if she stood on a grassy meadow, and her balance remained unnaturally smooth regardless of how erratic the monstrous hyena moved. She was pale to the point of nearly glowing under the light of the sun, her lips full and red as freshly spilled blood. Her eyes were pools of palatinate, wide and bright and her long, raven black hair was woven into many thin braids. In one slim hand she held three lotus blossoms, the other a long leash which was securely fastened to a bejeweled collar about the hyena's neck.
"Patience, Tzavua," the woman told her monstrous steed in a honeyed voice. She swept her gaze over the mortals, now fallen to blind panic as they scrambled for their vehicles like vermin fleeing an inferno. "These trifles are not our prey. For the time."
The archway flared even brighter as a final figure crossed through it. The others, from man to beast, sketched deep bows as they made way. It was an ancient man with thin, graying skin stretched over a skeletal frame. Deep, hollow sockets cast a dark shadow over the cold, topaz marbles that were his eyes. His wrinkled face was riddled with dark spots and open sores, some oozing thick, greenish puss. Stringy whiskers sprouted from his chin in a spray of white. The rest of his hair was hidden beneath an ebon yarmulke. He wore an equally dark caftan, his withered arms poking through the sleeves like knotted sticks. One of his hands held a gnarled yew staff.
"We are close," the man said. His sharp voice seemed to cast the air about him in shadow. His face split into a crooked grin, revealing rotted, picket-fence teeth. "The wards and cloaking enchantments have already begun to weaken." Behind him, the archway shrank to a writhing thread of electricity before it vanished in a rumble of thunder.
The pale-skinned woman regarded him for a moment, then turned her eyes toward the cliffs painted in reddish gold and eggshell surrounding them. "How bold these mortals have become, to treat such a barren waste as a place of leisure," she said.
Tires shrieked and spat thick clouds of dust as cars drunkenly weaved onto the road and raced away. Seeing this, the scarred man laughed sardonically. "They do not seem so bold at the moment, Kadesh."
"Disgusting," proclaimed the armored woman. She spat upon the road. "They would not have dared under my dominion."
The shadow-vulture snapped its beak, as if tasting the air. "My children still flourish," it replied. It spoke with a voice like a furnace. "As do yours, Ushharay." The armored woman snorted in response. As if sensing her mood for violence, Tzavua gave an excited yip and pawed at the road again.
"Enough," snapped the ancient man. "If you wish to waste your breath on the habits of modern mortals, do it on your own time. We need not concern ourselves with them now."
Ushharay sneered back at him. "Speak with more respect, della Reina. For all your power, you are still a mortal yourself." The giant bird clicked her beak in agreement, green eyes burning.
"Soon that will change. Until then, you and Samal are welcome to challenge me, if you dare." Della Raina slowly turned a hard gaze from one to the other, baclkened lips curling inward. "You might even defeat me. At which point you will answer to her."
The bird named Samal clicked again, uttering a low and angry hiss, but both she and Ushharay lowered their heads in submission.
"Perhaps these mortals are not all so easily dismissed," the scarred man said, inclining his head toward the gate stations. There, the park ranger was watching them from behind a corner, still speaking frantically into his two-way radio. "This one appears to be summoning the guard."
Della Reina answered with a dismissive wave. "Let them come. Let them send their armies, if they dare. They cannot oppose us." He gripped his staff in both hands, raised it, then rapped it against the road. A webwork of yellow light radiated from the impact point, splitting like cracks as they stretched into the surrounding earth.
Radiant circles bloomed as each thread reached a terminus, and where those bright flashes faded, the ground became pools of soft clay. Those pools swelled, rising like pillars to a height of ten feet. The pillars trembled, then compressed as if invisible molds were squeezing them into shape. Their forms became vaguely human; the suggestion of a head, arms and legs. The features became more distinct and refined, until finally there stood over a score imposing clay warriors. Glowing script ran the length of their arms and legs, and upon each forehead was written a word three characters long. The words pulsed with a faint glow, and the newly created golems slowly opened pale, blank eyes. A mindless sound, almost a groan, escaped their lips, and they moved with zombielike grace, forming ranks four abreast behind della Reina and his unholy band.
"I place these golems under your command, Ornasis," della Reina said, looking to the other man. "If any try to interrupt, see to it they are persuaded to think better."
Ornasis inclined his head forward in a slight bow.
Della Reina gestured to the northwest with his staff. "The Korah Gate lies in this direction. Soon it shall fall." He began to walk along the road and the others followed. The park ranger, still crouched behind the dubious protection of the gate station, watched as they faded into the distance, past a sign which read only, "Checkerboard Mesa Viewpoint Ahead."
) – (
The Blackbird streaked across the sky like a speck ofmidnighttrying to escape the sun's enveloping gaze. Miles were consumed by the dozens every minute as it crossed west across the continent. Peter sat silent and stern, gazing down at the clouds through his window, the depths of his eyes a fitting match for the brilliant blue on the other side of the glass. He wondered, not for the first time, if he might have made a mistake in agreeing to come along on this mission.
"So far they haven't harmed anyone that we know of," Cyclops said, one hand cupping an ear as he listened to a series of transmissions. "They're ignoring the tourists who've stumbled into their path, and the state troopers are keeping their distance."
"Smart," Wolverine grunted. "We won't have to worry about rescuing them when we get down to business."
"And just who are we dealing with?" Emma Frost asked from her seat across the aisle from Peter.
"We haven't been able to make a positive ID yet," Nightcrawler said. He was in the copilot's seat, studying a readout on the control panel. "The details are sketchy and the police have ordered the news helicopters in the area back, so we don't have any decent visuals to run through the computer yet. All we know for certain is that there are five or six in the main force. The two dozen or so others appear to be troops of some kind. Possibly wearing power armor."
"Minions," Wolverine said, cracking his knuckles. "Nice of them to bring their own cannon fodder."
Beast stroked his leonine chin thoughtfully. "Given the eyewitness reports, the most prudent course of action may be to assume that we are dealing with as-yet unknown adversaries."
"Aliens, perhaps?" Nightcrawler ventured.
"Sure hope not, Elf," Wolverine said. "I've had my fill of 'em for a long while."
"Well said," Beast agreed, offering him a toothy grin.
A wave of painful memories rushed through Peter at the mention of aliens. Battling the Imperial Guard. His near-fatal encounter with Deathbird. The Brood. Every second of torment endured at the hands of Ord. Katya. Lost. Perhaps for all time. No, he refused to accept it. He stiffened. His brows drew down and he tightened his grip on the windowside armrest.
"It's not aliens," Cyclops informed them. "Or at least, it's very unlikely. We weren't aware of the attack until after we left the Hangar."
Nightcrawler looked at the X-Men's leader curiously. "Then…?"
"Cerebra," Peter stated in an even voice.
Cyclops nodded. "Peter's right. I've put the Cuckoos there to run regular scans. They picked something up, right about the time our new friends showed up."
"So they're mutants?" Nightcrawler asked.
"We're not sure at the moment," Cyclops said. "Cerebra's readings were strong, but unable to confirm the nature one hundred percent. Whatever it is, we need to investigate after we teach them better manners."
Wolverine crossed his arms. "And if Stark shows up with the Utah Initiative?"
"They won't," Cyclops assured them. "The Called are still at the Academy, and if Cerebra's readings aren't a mistake, then this is a mutant issue, which puts it in our jurisdiction."
Peter's expression darkened again. "Official policy, or a gentleman's agreement between you and Stark?"
"Something like that," Cyclops said, missing the tone of Peter's voice. "Tony understands how vital it is that we follow every lead we find."
Wolverine scowled. "And if we happen to make him look good in the process, even better, right?"
"He scratches our back, we scratch his?" Peter added.
Cyclops frowned, as if he weighing his next words. "I understand your concerns. Both of you, but like it or not, we rely on him as much as he relies on us." That earned him more than a couple near-mutinous looks, but he pressed on. "At the end of the day, we're still heroes."
"Stark may have won the Registration War, and he may be Head of SHIELD, but I will no longer flatter him with that term," Peter said. "I don't care what he thinks of us being there. There are people in danger. They need to be protected. That is what is important to me."
"Of course they are," Cyclops said. "Everything else comes later. That's the mission."
Peter nodded, but was not satisfied with the answer. Once again, he was certain he'd made a mistake in answering Cyclops' call, despite what Kurt had said on the grounds outside the mansion. The more Scott came to depend on Peter's strength on these missions, the more difficult it would be for him to accept that he was leaving. Peter said nothing, smoothing his features to conceal the turmoil of his thoughts.
You'll have to do better than that, Piotr, or one of the boys will start asking questions I'm sure you'd prefer not to answer just yet.
Peter's eyes darted toward Frost, who appeared to be preoccupied with filing her nails.
Don't intrude in my thoughts without invitation, he replied, pushing the message through the tether of telepathy she had woven between them.
I haven't, actually, she sent back. Other than to link our minds for this conversation. I didn't need to. It's written all over your face. I know the look of a man preparing to make a quick departure.
Peter hesitated, eying her warily. There is no point trying to talk me out of it.
I intend to do nothing of the sort. Frost almost sounded amused. This is between you and Scott. He won't hear a word about it until you're ready to speak to him.
Normally the thought of trusting her with anything would have been out of the question, but there was something he couldn't quite put his finger on that made him hesitate. After a moment he finally replied with a reluctant, Spaceba. Then, When did you start calling me 'Piotr?'
Frost's grip on her emery board faltered just a fraction. Did I? she replied. It's the telepathic link, I except. Sometimes I default to whatever someone prefers to be called.
Peter looked at her skeptically. Years of painting, of studying the subjects of his portraits, had given him a knack for reading people, and though she was hiding it well, Emma had been surprised, and now she was uncomfortable. He could not guess why, and she was clearly not willing to answer, so he decided to let it drop.
"It looks like they're heading towardsSouthArielPeak," Cyclops said as he examined a display next to the one occupying Nightcrawler's attention.
"Never heard of it," Wolverine growled. "Somethin' special about it, Slim?"
Beast chimed in to answer. "Apart from the views it affords, which, incidentally, are quite spectacular, very little, I'm afraid."
"It would seem they believe otherwise," Kurt said. "They're moving too slow and methodically for this to be random destruction."
"More like they own the place," Wolverine grunted.
"Perhaps they think they do," Emma Frost mused.
"They're looking for something," Cyclops concluded. "I have no idea what, but we'll see to it they leave disappointed. Let's start getting ready, everyone. We arrive in ten."
) – (
"Here." Della Reina stopped at the edge of the summit and breathed deep of the air. It was crisp and dry, but on the fringe, faint beyond mortal ken, hints of pitch and sulfur lingered. Far below, mortals in uniform had established a loose and distant perimeter along the road next to the peak. He paid them no mind as he walked purposefully to the center of the plateau. His company followed, the mindless golems bringing up the rear, crushing rocks beneath their feet wherever they stepped. "The first step toward our new destiny begins with this."
The ancient sorcerer raised his arms to the heavens, clasping his staff in both hands. A nimbus of jade fire enveloped the yew wood, casting a sickly glow upon della Reina and the congregation atop the peak. "I stand before the Gateway, forgotten by the chronal march, hidden by enchantments both infernal and divine," he murmured. "I bring Joshua's Key, you cannot deny my will or command. Heed me and be revealed!" He then spoke the Word, his voice throbbing with its power. The ground beneath their feet trembled like a quail's heartbeat, great cracks broke the surface and split boulders. A furious howl arose from the earth, as if the entire rise were threatening to crumble to nothing beneath them. Tazvua clawed at the ground and uttering a laughing bark, but the others stood calm, their footing unbroken. The flames about della Reina's staff flared bright as a second sun, and a nearby tor answered in kind.
The stone surface of the tor fractured like an eggshell, the seams bursting with golden light. Hunks of charred rock fell like scabs, collapsing to dust wherever they landed, leaving in their place a pyramid of light twice the height of a man. A deafening noise like a chorus of sirens split the air like hell itself had exhaled upon them. The sound faded, as did the light, and the air once again grew still. Where the rocky outcropping had stood now lay a crystal archway. It shimmered, as if viewed through smoke, and was the same viewed from every angle. Just past its threshold there appeared to be a dark mound, oblong and smooth, like a pearl coffin.
Della Reina's decayed lips widened into an elative smile. He took a step toward the archway, and everything around them exploded. The sorcerer snapped his staff before him and the conflagration split as if cleft by a blade, rolling to each side and leaving him and the others untouched by its fury. His hands shook with exertion as he concentrating on holding it at bay, and great beads of sweat broke the surface of his ruined forehead. A second later, the blaze vanished, as if it had been no more than a candle flame.
Standing proudly in front of the archway was a tall man wearing golden armor. Pale hair billowed about in the steady breeze. His face, impossibly beautiful, looked upon the intruders with silver eyes. A pair of wings sprouted from his back, feathers the color of milk, the span more than seven meters.
Della Reina met him with a mocking grin. "Hail, Guardian of the First Gate. Hail, Overlord of the Wicked. Hail Kipod, Prince of the Lower Realms. We offer greetings to thee."
"Who dares approach?" the man said.
Samal opened her beak and cawed terribly, spreading her wings wide as if to contest Kipod's own grandness. Ushharay uncoiled her whip and cracked the air before her. Kadesh glided down from Tzavua in a single smooth mothion, allowing the hyena-beast to hunch forward, growling and clawing. Ornasis' waxy face shifted into a feral horror, eyes darkening and deep ridges rippling along his forehead. Inch-long claws sprouted from his fingers. He hissed, revealing a mouth full of sharklike teeth. "We are the Sitra Ahra," della Reina said in answer to Kipod's question. "And we dare much more."
"Thou'rt fools," Kipod proclaimed. He extended his hand, and a greatsword materialized in the air before him. He grasped it by the handle and pointed the blade at them menacingly. "Depart from this place whilst thou can, or thy life shall be forfeit."
Della Reina cackled with delight. "We shall see," he answered. Then, to others he said, "Destroy him."
Zedax – Thank you very much. I know I've kept you waiting for this chapter, but hopefully I'll have more regular submissions from this point forward.
Xakko – Glad to know the story's off to a good start and that you approve of my take on Piotr. I was disgusted with the way Piotr had been written and how Kitty's return was handled, and let myself become discouraged. I do feel I have a good story to tell, however, so I'm pushing myself back into it. I hope you continue to find it enjoyable.