Author's Notes: Here you go, TheImmortalWeapon, Happy D. This is one of my favorite chapters of the whole book. :)
Disclaimer: Ultimate Spider-Man is not mine. Nor are any of its characters. That's Marvel's job. Any Original Characters and art you note, however, are all me. No. I'm not making money. Don't rub it in.

Chapter 28 - Fallen

It was unlike any feeling Zeelan had ever experienced—the heat, the weightlessness, but above all, the addictive rush of power. She found herself drawn to it at an alarming rate that made little sense. Thrill-seeking had never been for her. But this? The coat of energy that encased her like a warm cocoon? The unusual anticipation bubbling in her Chi? Somehow…that was different. It wasn't as unappealing as she found it last month, so she no longer held any qualms immersing in it.

"Zeelan?" White Tiger called from the side. She sounded slightly in awe, though that could have been the opinion of someone else…

Zeelan glanced sideways, noting the tint of purple that encased her entire field of vision. "Oh, this is my new force-field," the mutant said as if speaking through a wall.

White Tiger straightened from her crouch in the tall grass. "Armor? Like—"

"That's quite impressive," Ghost's Southern drawl added over White Tiger's voice. Before the females, crossing through the field, a lanky humanoid form replaced the giant hand. Tall and semi-transparent, the only solid parts of it were its wide, round eyes like black holes and its mouth, which was equally as black. It gave a quick laugh—a bone-chilling action. "Three months and ya've already formed yer own Psionic Armor? I admit, it took me at least a year to master that before my projections."

"Oh, well, I doubt you had the help I did," grumbled Zeelan. Gently, her bare fingers traced the smooth, opal stones along the Tonatiuh Ichcati Belt across her hips. A slight tug in her chest made her believe it liked that.

"Yeah?" Ghost's projection paused amongst the reeds and its soulless eyes drifted from the growling White Tiger to the belt. "Ya two ladies carry with ya powerful mystical objects."

"Neither of which are yours," White Tiger snapped darkly. A tension weighted the aura radiating from her like a dark fire; only Zeelan couldn't detect just what colors the fire consisted off because she only saw in purple.

"Well, its good thing I have no problem taking what isn't mine," the projection noted with another laugh—this one lighter, like he found it normal to steal.

"Forgive me if I get in the way," Zeelan told White Tiger as soft as possible. She sensed the heroine glanced her way for a moment. "I—I do want to help everyone…but…"

"This is how you helped Danny in the Dark Realm, right?" There was no doubt in White Tiger's tone as the duo wearily watched the humanoid form circle them, only support.

Zeelan gave a stiff nod. "The masterminds were Strange and Danny, though. All I could do…was, uh…"

"What?"

She sighed. "Listen to my belt."

There, it was said. It sounded even more ridiculous voiced out loud. But it was the truth, no matter how implausible. Or silly.

"Your…belt?" White Tiger tried hard not to laugh. Z could tell.

But a sudden slam against the ground between the females kept away any further explanation. In wake of uprooted grass and spraying soil, Zeelan jumped backwards so that once she hit the moist ground, force kept her moving. She rolled several times and halted face-first into an unsavory patch of pricking bushes. Boy, was she grateful for armor now.

Above!

Zeelan glanced up at a boyish voice. Poised against the clear night sky, the humanoid's arm inflated to a great size then barreled down with the power of a sledgehammer.

Left!

The youthful voice spoke again, and Z jumped left. For a moment, she soared through the air before landing rigidly several yards away. Her eyes were glued to purple encasing around her legs. It was about an inch thick over her skin and clothes with narrow, clawed feet and rounded edges at the joints. Little bubbles throughout gave it the feel of faint scales, like a dragon, and when she glanced at her hands, which were also clawed, the bubbles increased as if for extra defense.

I have warned you to keep your mind focused.

Eh? A fierce pressure met Zeelan's armor like a baseball bat.

See?

The voice sighed in exasperation like a father disappointed with his child. Yet Z still sensed its pure amusement just below the pain of flying through a mature cedar across the field. It was like a burning smack against her spine after the crisp snapping of splintered wood. She caught several braches in her quick descent to the ground and landed hard on her butt, which also stung. Why?

Just because you have armor does not mean you are immune…

"Why are you laughing?" Zeelan cried while cracking her back. The vibrations of her voice shook the Psionic every around her with a small tremble.

Hum? I am not laughing.

"I can feel it. In my body. Do you know how invasive that is?"

Complaining? But you were the one to ask for my help.

Zeelan's eye twitched and she jumped to her feet, glaring at the gold belt beneath her jacket. "I never asked anything from you!"

But you put me on.

"That was an insistence from Strange."

Which I am grateful for. I was asleep for so long. The world has really changed…save for war, it seems.

"That's not the point here," Zeelan growled with clenched fists. "I didn't feel you this strongly in the Dark Realm. Your guiding was more like instinct."

Why do you sound so disappointed? That makes me sad.

Worst part? Z knew it honestly did.

I was still waking up while in that…Dark Realm. I will only grow stronger from now on. With your kind of power.

"Oh"—again, the mutant twitched—"goodie."

Of course, if you are unwilling to take my guidance…you and your friend just may perish under that meta-human's strength. He has great mastery. Oh. You should duck.

It sounded so casual like they were in the middle of a lounge conversation. Zeelan hesitated because of it, earning another smack to the back. Large, pointed fingers wrapped around her armor's waist tightly. Then, they tugged. The air her twisted body cut through couldn't be felt. The rough landing against a hidden boulder, though, could. The mutant hissed at the burn along her face as her body met the ground. Again.

You really ought to work on landing.

"I told you to quit laughing!" the mutant snapped coldly.

"I'm…not laughing," came White Tiger's uneasy voice.

With a nervous chuckle, Zeelan pushed herself up. Her eyes spotted the heroine crouched on the boulder that had previously tried to crush her face then grimaced slightly. A long, dark gash stood out along White Tiger's waist and she sounded out of breath behind her mask.

"Ava," Z said, probably too soft.

White Tiger's head shook. "You have to stay focused, Z. Don't worry about me; I'm fine." With that, the heroine leapt from the boulder with the grace of a prowling lioness.

Zeelan watched as she eased through the grass like it were water, meeting the humanoid's enlarged arm with her electric claws. Spark flew. The lanky figure chuckled from far off and attempted to swat White Tiger away with a second hand. Her lithe form expertly twisted out of range, landed on the glistening fist above the grass, then struck time after time.

Well. Will you listen to me knowing your friend feels the same?

"Huh?" Z squeaked.

Let me guide you through this. Like I did with you in the Dark Realm. You are excited to test our limits…are you not?

An unsettling pinch in her gut gave rise a new fear. She didn't want to admit it. But she did. She wanted to know. The belt sensed as much, too, so at its undeniable rush of expectation Z inhaled deeply then cleared her mind.

Perfect.

The childishness in the voice could no longer be detected. It was now lower in tone, deep with excitement. It sent chills across Zeelan's body and her heart thumped wildly with adrenaline as she rose to her feet. No words followed. They weren't required, though; the belt's want surged through her muscles like the tugged strings of a marionette.

Her legs pushed off the ground, propelling her upwards at an intense speed. In the split moment while suspended above the vast field, she spotted White Tiger in the tight grip of the two large hands. Its owner grinned sadistically from afar, its air every bit demonic as its laugh. The pure disgust of it all hardened Z's expression as she descended, and used that anger as fuel. Speed was picked up, so much so that her board-stiff body shot towards the hands like a bullet.

Tearing through the arm's Psionic energy was easier than expected. Or maybe that was thanks to the belt's aid. It held the resilience of gelatin, felt like jumping into a searing pot of curd milk filled with shards of glass, and her armor's clawed feet sunk deeply into it. Stray pieces of matter back-lashed against her armor when the hands dissipated into tiny particles of light. A pained cry echoed loudly through the field. Zeelan turned at it, glare set on the humanoid form that slowly began to crumble.

"Ya little bitch!" the humanoid screeched. Its black mouth opened wide, melded into its eyes, and grew taller.

Quickly, Zeelan reached for White Tiger, who coughed harshly. She wrapped an arm around the heroine's waist then propelled them upwards just as a bright stream of light shot from the large mouth like a cannon. It was taking another form now. Sort of like…a Sentinel.

No. That disturbing picture wouldn't deter the mutant. She landed a ways from the projection that shot another beam of hot light. This Zeelan barely blocked by calling a second force-field to shelter her and White Tiger.

"Ava!" she cried out in a strained voice. "Ghost has more stamina than me. If we're going to stop him. We need to lure him out."

"How do you suggest we do that?" White Tiger shot back. There was a hiss from behind, probably due to the bleeding wound on her side. "He's a long-distance fighter. He won't show his face so easily with his projection still—"

"Exactly!" The mutant paused with a growl as great pressure from the projection's cannon forced her force-field deeper and deeper into the soft soil. "Don't ask me how I know just yet, but a projection is weaker than armor. I'm better suited to face his projection and you're better suited for his real self. Think about it, he can't be that far away…"

"You want me to search for him while you take on that thing alone?" Clearly, White Tiger didn't approve of the suggestion.

"Oh, I won't be alone," grumbled Zeelan with a brief puff of her cheeks.

"What does that mean?"

Creak. The force-field splintered into bright webs of light. Then shattered. A searing fire engulfed Zeelan's body instantly, shoving her backwards with a power that sucked air from her lungs. She landed harder than any time before, rolled so fast she feared her neck may snap. The belt disagreed with this landing entirely, and without thought Z's arms shot towards the dirt. Her claws and fingers dug into it, which caused the rest of her body to fishtail. In wake of her stop a long trail of uprooted reeds laid in disarray. It led to the approaching form of Ghost's giant projection.

"The more you expand it, the weaker it grows…Ava!" Zeelan twisted behind her. White Tiger had already risen, though stood with some difficulty. "We sense him in the area. Search the trees!"

"Who is 'we'?" Ava retorted in clear confusion.

Z ignored her, though. The heroine would listen because it was reason. Right? So the white-haired mutant darted forward with all her might. And what a might it was. She couldn't tell how fast her legs carried her, only that she reached the projection in the seconds it would have taken if she were skating over ice.

Once at its feet, she leapt high, spinning sharply until one of her legs shot out like a ballet dancer. Its length bent the projection's thick bicep. But it didn't break. Scowling, Z placed a palm over the knuckle of the large fist that narrowly missed her head and used that to flip behind the projection.

"Ya think an inexperienced little bookworm like you can beat me, Weir?" it asked darkly. "I'll kill ya, yer friend. And I'll be taking yer gifts as spoils!"

There was no need for a counter against a being so akin to a rampaging toddler. Its following snarls and impatient punches were feasible to ignore and dodge. Years of ice skating gave Zeelan the grace of recovery. Even so, every spin kick failed to break through the Psionic barrier as was hoped.

'Oh, dammit,' Z thought as she twirled away from another punch. 'If I don't weaken his energy soon Ava will…No, come on, Z. You can't let her get hurt anymore. Just do it.'

Break it.

Focus. That's all she needed. No doubt. No fear. Just determination. Belief. As she braced herself in the reeds, a new sense of peace filled her heart. The bubbles tickling her body squeezed tight between her form and her armor, solidifying. Ghost's projection sneered in response like she was only a nuisance meant for his foot. That all came before the urge of Tonatiuh Ichcati.

Her form shot upward like a true arrow—just high enough that her eyes made contact with the projection's soulless gaze. A sharp spin lowered her near its neck. This time, when her leg outstretched for a strike, something preceded it. A long, solid trail of Psionic energy that resembled a lizard's tail. It followed the movements of a real limb, cutting through her opponent with the fierce spikes along its top until the head was cut clean off.

Don't stop.

There was no room for hesitation. Next the body must fall. Amidst fading particles of light, Z concentrated all energy into her arms. A sharp pain bit through her bones as if her arms themselves were growing. It felt oddly exciting, pushing her heart to its limits, and soon the claws along the armor's hands matched the intimidating length of a human shin.

Now!

Zeelan released a battle cry that could only be felt in her throat. All she could hear was the loud pounding of her pulse in her ears as she descended, brought her arms back, and then swung with the ferocity of dislike she had for what Ghost stood for: a hunter. Again and again, she swiped. Each time large parts of the projection were splintered like a glass figurine.

It had no chance to retaliate. And in seconds only the shins and feet remained. These Z snarled at in disgust. She raised her claws high above her head as she, boots first, sunk deep into the earth. Her armor's fists crushed the remainder of Ghost's projection like smashing a sand castle. And she found herself smirking slightly at the strangled cry it emanated.

…Wait. That wasn't funny.

But it is what he deserves, is it not?

Though childish once more, there was a tinge of dark humor in the belt's words that Zeelan didn't get a chance to question. A muffled thump sounded behind her, followed by a grunt, crunching, and a curse. She whirled stiffly, watching with labored breath as a black blur rolled to a stop in the battle-scarred field. Finally, he was found.

"It seems he has a hard time fighting two opponents at once," White Tiger stated with a faint snarl. Slowly, Ghost rose to his hands and knees. Z could barely detect his searching eyes from beneath the shaggy length of brunette hair that covered his dirty face.

"How," the man wheezed, "did you do that to my projection?"

"It took a lot of energy to make that thing, didn't it, Hannigan?" Z retorted. It was hard masking her fatigue.

Ghost growled in response, crunching more plants as he rose on one leg. He barely leaned forward before White Tiger blocked him. She swiped an electric claw across his semi-exposed chest then another across his cringing face. Then, she side-kicked him in the gut so hard he audibly gagged, falling to his knees.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," noted Zeelan as she approached the duo.

"So, do you want to tell us where we can find our friends?" White Tiger added. Her claws harshly yanked his head up by his disheveled hair, her tone dark.

But he chuckled weakly, saying, "I can't wait for ya to face the Doc."

"A 'no', then, huh?" Z shook her head when White Tiger shoved the man towards the ground.

"If that's how you want it," the heroine said near exasperation. With a light chuckle, she posed for another strike, "Guess you've fallen without taking anything from us after all, huh?"

And she kicked him upside the head, rending him unconscious.

Despite a persistent ringing in his ears, Luke could clearly hear Spider

-Man just ahead. "'Oh, trust me,' he says. 'A teleporter will be handy,' he says. What the hell was Fury thinking?"

"Well we wouldn't have gotten this far without Kevin," added Luke, barreling down the bright corridor behind his friend.

Spider-Man slowed his swinging pace along the low ceiling and faced the African-American with what must've been narrowed eyes. "I don't care; he still abandoned us!"

"We don't know that yet. He just—"

"He took that old man and poof, haven't seen him since, Luke. That's abandonment. He's probably off trying to find the others while we're left to deal with them!" The spider hero jerked his chin over his shoulder.

A glance backwards wasn't needed for Luke to know what was meant; he heard the hurried footsteps. "If that's true, why take an old man with him?"

Spider-Man scoffed. "You're asking me to make sense of Sparks?"

"We can worry about Kevin's motives later," noted Luke with a scowl. He did feel a sting of annoyance at being left behind, but forced it down, saying, "It's clear we have more work here than we thought. If we're going to save everyone—human and mutant—then we have no choice. We have to take over the whole base."

"To do that, we're going to have to find out where things are," replied Spider-Man in all seriousness. Then, he paused, the air about him lightening. "I'm going to ask!"

Too late. By the time Luke halted, Spider-Man had already flipped backwards, landing square on Smokescreen's shoulders. She didn't snarl at him or show any real sign of recognition. She only grasped his boot before he could flip behind her. The red and blue hero fell back with a little squawk, only to be caught by Trickster's arms.

"It's not often men fall for me," the Indian noted. Strange. He sounded as he always had.

The disgust practically radiated off of Spider-Man. He wasted no time shooting flash webbing at Trickster's face as Luke ran towards them. The action earned the leader a moment of freedom, where his arms touched the floor and his feet wrapped around Smokescreen's neck. He flipped her upside down like the Viking ride at a theme park, and she let out a short cry as the front of her body met the floor.

When Luke reached them, Spider-Man twisted so he crouched by the mutant's head, saying, "We know just how to take you down. So, if you want to spare yourself some pain, you should just tell us. Where is Collier keeping the Enderlin group?"

"Idiots," Trickster all but hissed. His long hands tugged the last piece of web fluid from his face, his form swaying. "Even if she wanted to tell you anything, she can't. Collier designed our harnesses that way."

"You seem to be talking just fine," Luke retorted with a careful eye on the Indian's slow movement.

"Yeah, what's your secret, Mister Bangin'?"

Trickster shot Peter a dark glare, yet straightened up with a playful air about him. "My generous employer knows when my switch needs turned off," he said, as if it was all a grim joke. "My powers don't work so well without personality. Right, Spider-Man?"

Luke felt the hero grimace beside him at Trickster's sly smirk and cocked head. Still, the duo remained quiet.

"Flint and Ash, though…now," the mutant continued, "their powers require little thought. And can be quite…explosive."

Explosive? Wait. Luke quickly glanced down where Spider-Man was crouched. He hadn't smelled the gaseous fumes that layered the corridor in a faint cloud of gray, let alone sensed anything amiss with his impervious skin. His wide eyes hardly caught the faint glow of a lighter before he wrapped Spider-Man in a tight embrace, shielding him for the pressure that was to come.

Boom! The gas lit with a sudden, red fury through the corridor. Luke felt it. He actually felt it. The searing sting ate through his shirt, spread between his stretched shoulder blades like a dump of acid. He hissed sharply in pain when the floor hit him and his sunglasses were yanked from his face as he skidded to a stop after a long, bumpy while.

"A—Are you okay, PM?" Peter asked while crawling out of Luke's arms.

The powerhouse forced himself on his hands and knees, cracking his neck. "Yeah…"

"Dude, your back…"

"It's nothing." That probably wasn't true. It still burned. But Luke stood anyway, facing Spider-Man with a small smirk. "This is nothing compared to when Scorpio threw me into that volcano."

"A volcano you say? Wow, you really are durable." Trickster meandered towards the heroes on light feet. His jumpsuit was somehow unscathed and Smokescreen followed sluggishly behind. "I wonder if your mind is the same way…or if we have to poison that too. How is that friend, by the way?"

A low growl escaped Luke's throat before her knew it, and it grew when the mutant's boot crushed the remainder of his sunglasses against the floor. "Why are you doing this, Trickster? Do you really find pleasure in torturing people? Experimenting with them?"

"That"—the Indian paused with a dark flicker across his tanned features—"is all Doc's department. We're just the helpers."

"And why would you help?"

Trickster bellowed a hardy laugh. "Didn't you hear the Doc earlier? It's a lack of choice. I'm just trying to make the best of it."

"Instead of fighting her?"

All amusement fell from the mutant in an instant, like the dropping of an anchor. He stood still with an impassive expression on his face. It seemed like Collier had remotely done something to him, and Luke almost faced Spider-Man, prepared to ask if he felt the same. But Trickster soon sighed then shook his head.

"If I fight her, I die. And Alice is left alone in her hands."

"Alice?" Spider-Man questioned. "Who's Alice?"

"No one you need to—" A strangled grunt contorted Trickster's flippant tone into sour desperation. "D—dammit, I haven't—said—anything!"

As the Indian's knees met the floor, Smokescreen rounded him with renewed energy, spewing a thick, black cloud that quickly filled the area. Spider-Man jumped back to avoid it. Luke, though, stood his ground and sucked in a clean breath. This he held while charging into the cover.

Trickster's pained grunts lead Luke to Smokescreen in seconds, despite the great disguise her black hair and clothes gave her. Instantly, his hand shot out, covered her mouth, and then brought her close to this chest. His other arm restrained her around the arms and chest, keeping her still regardless of how hard her legs kicked.

'It just needs to be slightly damaged,' Luke thought sorely, eying the invasive device along the mutant's spine.

Then, he squeezed. It felt sickening to crush the cord leading into the base of her neck. It felt even worse when her muffled cry vibrated faintly against his hand. Her body writhed and she attempted to fight back against the powerhouse to no avail. Just one small damage point. It wouldn't kill her…right?

"Luke!"

Luke glanced towards Spider-Man, who crossed the dissipating cloud. "Sh—she's still breathing," he managed. The female grew deathly lax in his hold, and he was ginger as he placed her lithe body down so she laid face-up. Surprisingly, she hadn't lost consciousness from the shock, so her yellow-green eyes met him like the strike of an arrow through her frazzled hair—sharp.

"Are you…going…to stop…her?" she questioned. Her words were soft, hoarse. And Luke swore he heard a tinge of relief in them.

Spider-Man shared a look with Luke then said, "That's our plan."

At this, Smokescreen chuckled as her gaze turned towards the ceiling. "Serves the bitch right…for what…she did…"

"So"—Spider-Man gained her attention—"does this mean you'll tell us where to find our friend? And the control room?"

"Oh," the mutant whispered, "I can tell you more than that…"