READ ME - Major edits to chapter 40, please go back and read that chapter first.
Chapter 41 - Along Came A Spider
"Draw a monster. Why is it a monster?" ~ Janice Lee, Daughter
Scott hesitated as he studied the frozen group, still loosely ringed around the mutant. For reasons known only to them, they hadn't attacked even though he and Zen were playing bait not twenty feet away. He held his breath, unwilling to be the one to break the precarious stillness. As long as the infected kept their attention locked on them, Scott refused to be the spark that unleashed the oncoming battle. Oddly enough, Zen also remained perfectly still, an air of tight anticipation vibrated around the youth, yet he held back, waiting for the infected to make the first move.
Then a figure straight out of nightmares stepped down from the back of the train. The pale glow of the lights lining the walls dimmed in comparison to the pulsing of phosphorescent blue that made up the creature's throbbing brain. While it might have been human once, now it looked like some sort of LSD nightmare. The being stood easily seven feet tall, more than a foot and a half of that height contained the toxic mass housing its unnatural coral-like brain. Similar to an incandescent mushroom cloud, it looked like the top of the monstrosity's head had erupted into glowing blue, spunge-like flesh. Skin, blacker than anything on a natural born human, ate the light like a soulless void. Where its eyes should have been, holes were carved from the odd skull and filled with blue fire. A fire reflected in the eyes of every being polluted by its brutal power.
"I was born to make war on the mutant race." The booming voice howled along the currents of darkness, more felt than heard. "Has war begun?"
"Is this war?" It repeated, taking a step towards them. "Has war begun?" it snarled, a wild grin flashed blazing white, and surprisingly human-looking teeth at them. "Make new world for MAN! Make war in the name of ETERNAL MAN!"
Any thoughts Scott previously entertained about salvaging this particular Weapon died under the force of those terrible words. They assaulted his ears and mind, driving splinters of madness into his brain at the realization of how badly this mutant had been twisted by the government. All sense of humanity and sanity had been stripped away from the Weapon, turning it into a full-blooded killing machine. Worse, they'd transformed it into one that could infect others with its mad quest for war.
Before he could share his thoughts with Zen or devise a proper plan of attack, the assassin vanished. "Damn it all," Scott hissed, hand going to his visor as he scanned the gloom in search of the wayward Weapon. His jaw creaked with how tightly he kept his teeth clamped on the urge to shout at Zen to return. It conflicted violently with his own mixed feelings about the boy. No matter what he knew about the other mutant and his turbulent past, he couldn't banish the memory of a child in his care, so hungry he'd been driven to eat the local wildlife in order to survive.
Zen was a student. Zen was a killer. Both and neither. On the one hand Scott felt the overwhelming urge to protect and shield one of the students in his care - he's not a child, no matter what he looks like, he's not a child. The words rang hollow in his heart, and he stood frozen under the conflicting instincts; his past guilt clouded present need.
Then Zen reappeared and Scott learned firsthand that IX was not, and hadn't been in a long time, a child.
When the primary target presented itself, Zen didn't wait for orders. No, he couldn't trust his minder to make the proper choice at such a crucial junction. With the soft pop of displaced air, he vanished only to reappear buried deep in the shadows at the new Weapon's back. Without warning, he whipped the asp around with enough force to make the air scream in protest before it crashed into the back of his target's left knee.
As the mutant's leg crumpled, Zen drew his sidearm and brought the gun up. His finger slid comfortably into the trigger guard, but before he could take the shot, a hand pressed against the back of his neck. The press of skin against skin almost gentle where it should have been nails violently tearing into his flesh.
With that contact, Zen's body froze as something burrowed into his mind. KiLl THe muTAnTs. riP tHEm, TEar thEm, brEAk THem aPaRT. kILL tHEm. KiLl thEM ALl. MAKe neW woRld. fOr MAN. foR M-
Sparks of brilliant blue flashed behind his eyes as new orders pounded away at his psyche. He could feel it, like fingers of flame digging into the soft meat of his brain, trying to consume and transform it into more of itself. GiVE iN, BEcomE onE of US. BeCome the CoLLECtive, kiLL thE mUtantS!
The trained assassin's mind nearly faltered under the orders coming through his skull, an imperative impossible to ignore. Wasn't this why he existed? To extinguish the mutant threat? To put an end to-
NO. Your life belongs to your wielder.
Clenching his eyes shut, Zen flooded his mind with power, wielding it like an internal flame to burn away the invading bacterium. As the magical energy soaked into the damaged tissue, it both healed and beat back the microscopic army, driving it from its reluctant host with the same ferocity it developed when dealing with telepaths. No foreign power would be permitted to rule here, not within the bonds of his own flesh and blood.
Once more in control, Zen's finger spasmed on the trigger causing the shot to go wide. There were times when a gunshot sounded like a soft, hollow pok. Other times it was a sharp crack, akin to the sound of a branch breaking in the forest. But in the damp underworld of the tunnels, the shot roared like captive thunder off the cement walls, drowning them in the crashing waves of sound.
The impossible noise acted as a trigger of another sort as the collective observed this anomaly who'd failed to assimilate. If it wasn't one of them, then that meant it was the enemy. "KiLL IT, kiLL tHe mutAnT!" The howl went up, each voice taking up the call even if there was a slight hesitation over the final word, as if it didn't feel quite right in their combined throats.
Then the wave crashed over him, wrenching the gun out of his hand before he could even try for a second shot. Without breaking from his battle-ready stance, Zen retrieved the second asp and began a savage dance with the mob trying to pull him down. In seconds, the tide of battle swept him away from his target and the space was too compact for him to do more than defend himself against the raging passengers.
Gritting his teeth, Zen fought his own training to keep the hits light, limit the damage to his targets as Xavier wished. He whipped the asp around, cracking it hard against the side of a teenage girl's face. The force of the blow drove her to the side, dislocating her jaw and sending the green headphones flying. Unease flicked through Zen when she didn't scream and cower away from him. With barely a flinch at what should have been an excruciating wound, her head straightened, jaw agape as she came for him again, glittering emerald fingernails hooked into claws ready to rip him apart with her bare hands.
Wrongness jolted through Zen with every blow. Strikes that should have sent the targets to their knees in agony were brushed off. For every infected he drove back, another took its place. Numbness began to creep up his arms as the force of the blows vibrated through his bones.
The world narrowed. All the human trappings Xavier fought so hard to bind him with fell away and he lost himself to the battle haze. Everything simplified, amplified, became clear again. This was what he'd been created for. This. Not dancing to the tune of civilization. Not playing student. Not pretending to be a child. Like the Weapon they now faced, IX was built for war.
A man large enough to play professional football, dressed in an ill-fitting business suit never designed to contain his vast expanse of shoulder, charged at Zen with his head down. The massive body aligned for a tackle knocked a dozen others to the ground before he even made it to his target.
Zen drove the tip of one asp into the front teeth of a stooped old man who'd been attempting to impale him on the end of his cane. The blow struck with such savage force it dislodged the man's dentures, driving them down his throat as his head snapped back. When the cane wielder fell, Zen twisted out of the way of the charging bull. He felt the wind of the suit's body against his skin, and as the attacker passed, he brought the asp down with bone crushing force across the back of the man's exposed neck. The massive bulk crushed the old man who even choking on his own false teeth still tried to regain his feet and continue fighting.
For a heartbeat, Zen stared at the corpse and felt peace settle over him. Like a dislocated bone grinding back into place, the world - and his place in it - solidified. IX turned cold green eyes on the target rich environment.
The whistle was nearly her undoing. A shrill sound that broke through her mantra of I don't exist like a wrecking ball. Emma mentally cursed when the walking dead girl's eerie blue eyes snapped in her direction, those small lips that should be bowed with a smile and smeared with ice-cream instead of blood pulled back in a snarl before it faded again as Emma's wavering control snapped back into place: I don't exist, I don't exist.
Somehow, the second blow didn't quite manage to knock her control as bad as it should have. Even as Emma focused on not existing in the minds of the infected, another part of her reached out, hungry to touch the thoughts of the X-Men. Please let it be them.
The mind she touched almost ruined everything. Every fiber of her being screamed for vengeance when she felt those horrid blood-soaked thoughts, a mind she'd only brushed up against at the end, one she hadn't bothered trying to take over in the moment. No, she knew a hopeless battle when she saw one. His was the twisted mind that turned sister against sister, using Kayla's pain as a lash to force Emma into suicide.
Bodies fell all around him, and it would take no effort at all for her to freeze him in place and let them consume him one bloody bite at a time. So easy. Yet, Emma stayed her hand because another thought throbbed in her enemy's mind before it too fell away to the haze of blood and death.
Try not to kill the civilians, Xavier wants me to save them.
Xavier.
The leader of the X-Men. Hysterical laughter burned in her throat like acid, and Emma struggled to swallow it. Of course it would be him. IX, her would-be murderer, was now playing White Knight.
If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all. It wasn't the first time the thought crossed her mind, and knowing how life loved to throw these little curveballs her way, Emma knew it wouldn't be the last.
Scott's finger hovered impotently over the control on his visor. Part of him attempted to rationalize the hesitation as concern for the structural integrity of the tunnel system, but he wasn't quite that good at lying to himself. In truth, he was rooted to the spot, indecision holding him captive as the battle unfolded before his eyes.
Dread squeezed his heart in a bony fist as he stared at the whirlwind of destruction that was Zen. Someone so small, so apparently harmless; yet, that was a lie, wasn't it? The scar on his side twinged with the memory of IX's makeshift shank. No; the boy was many things, but harmless wasn't one of them.
Watching the devastation unfold, Scott couldn't help but recognize how little they actually knew about the Weapons they'd so blithely integrated into the school. None of them, except perhaps the Professor, had seen Zen totally uninhibited in battle. Then something changed, a subtle shift that drove the air from his lungs in a harsh wheeze when he realized Zen had been holding back.
"No," he croaked, the word barely escaping his tight throat as bodies began to fall. This storm of utter destruction could have been unleashed on the school if Xavier hadn't been able to stop him in time. Watching him now, Scott couldn't help but feel like they'd dodged one hell of a bullet. He's on our side now. The thought should have been comforting, yet it was anything but as the sounds of bones breaking filled the air around the assassin.
Every blow took down an attacker, every single one. He could hear the terrible crunch of a larynx shattering, skulls being split open like ripe melons, and vertebrae turned into little more than rubble as Zen - no, not Zen. Another unmanning wave of fear curdled his stomach when Scott finally understood what he was looking at. Not Zen.
IX.
Even armed with a pair of weapons originally designed for non-lethal combat, IX decimated the attackers and left bodies piled in his wake as he fought his way back towards the towering monstrosity responsible for the unfolding chaos.
Take him out.
For a second, Scott didn't know which Weapon he had in mind.
Then the window to act closed. While he'd been lost in the reality of what Zen was and all that could have - would have - happened if things went even a tiny bit differently, three infected not drawn into the melee managed to scramble up onto the walkway to flank him.
The clatter of a red high-heeled shoe falling a foot from his head jerked Scott's attention away from the battle and back to his immediate surroundings. With a startled curse, he scrambled out of the way as a young woman took a flying leap off the walkway to land where he'd been only a moment before. A wince of unexpected sympathy flooded him when she hit the ground. Unlike its companion, the second heel managed to stay on her foot. Bone splintered when her ankle rolled, and without so much as a scream, she went sprawling onto the heavy gravel of the tracks.
Scott hesitated, staring down at her and expecting something. Anything. Then she looked up at him, her soft chestnut curls framed a full heart-shaped face that should have been twisted by agony, and yet there was an odd sort of serenity to her features that made the entire moment feel unreal. Without a word, she held her hand out, imploring him for help and Scott's body reacted before his brain could catch up to the motion. He reached out to help her up. It was only when her fingers closed around his, the prime rose colored nails digging into the flesh even through his glove, that he recognized his error.
The blank look on her face twisted into something bestial. With a low guttural cry, she jerked him down with a strength her delicate limbs shouldn't possess. "KiLL thE MutanTs!" Each word ripped from her throat, piercing Scott's heart even as he kicked out, slamming a booted foot into her chest to get her off him.
Pain crashed into the side of his head, driving Scott to his knees. Worse, the world in front of him, including the downed woman, exploded as crimson light blasted from his eyes full force. The low skittering sound of his visor over gravel was lost under the deep rumble of cement shattering under the force of the blast.
The woman caught in the path of the hellish light didn't even scream as energy tore her apart. With a desperate cry, Scott threw an arm over his eyes as he pawed at the ground, searching for his only means of control. Then another blow slammed into his back, driving the air from his lungs.
The ground shook and cement shattered with a keening wail of unbearable power. Red light spilled through the tunnel, painting the dance of death in shades of dying crimson. It was a beacon, forcing the darkness back for half a breath. The flash of red jerked IX out of the blood haze. Every inch of him thrummed with tension, but now thoughts beyond the next strike spilled back into the equation. This wasn't one of Stryker's sweep and clean missions, and he wasn't alone with X. He couldn't mindlessly attack until the final body fell.
They weren't alone on this mission.
Zen turned back towards where he'd left - abandoned - Scott even as he continued his relentless assault. Without hesitation, he kicked a short red-haired girl in the chest with enough force to crack her sternum and stop her heart. She flew back into the skirt-wrapped legs of a plump matronly woman with iron gray hair stuck up in bloody spikes from a grazing headwound that hadn't been enough to bring her down.
Old and young, men women and children, all fell away as Zen fought his way into a patch clear enough for him to vanish without taking half a dozen infected with him. He reappeared in time to deflect the downward swing of a three-foot-long pipe. A shrill, clanging bong sound resonated in the air around him as his asp blocked the blow. The noise drew all infected eyes to where he now stood. As one, they spilled down the tunnel towards the two mutants.
A single precise blow destroyed the throat of the man who'd take Scott down. Zen kicked the body forward, between them and the raging horde. His fingers itched for an AA-12 assault shotgun with a drum magazine. What he wouldn't give to lay down five rounds a second to help thin the herd. That, and a fire team. Even going full force with the asps, he'd barely managed to kill twenty.
Hundreds more ran flat out at them, each one screaming for blood.
He and X could have taken them down if he had the right equipment, if X wasn't playing chaperone to Fantomex and Zen wasn't stuck babysitting. At this juncture, retreat was impossible. Without mutant prey to focus on, the infected would swarm the tunnels until they spilled topside, spreading their mental plague faster than it could ever be contained.
No, it had to be bottlenecked here and now. They couldn't allow the pathogen to spread beyond this point. Zen had to hold the line until Fantomex brought it to a proper end.
The thought of waiting out behind the shield came an instant too late. At the last second, he threw a dome over Scott before the wave crashed over him. Something too hard-edged to be a grin peeled Zen's lips back as he dropped the asps and went for his blades. The air around him filled with copper rain, and all that was missing was the symphony of screams. Zen could have put himself in the shield, too. He could have.
But he didn't.
With Scott safely contained, IX fully slipped the skin of Zen, allowing the bloodlust to wash away the complex world Xavier tried to force on him to fade into black accented by brilliant flashes of crimson.
Like autumn leaves, the bodies fell around him. Each slash of the blade opened up a throat, tore through vital organs or sliced tendons. The few living who fell ended up trampled by the swarm as they all fought to get to IX. Pressure thrummed through his skull as the weight of countless infected began piling on the shield separating them from Scott. Distantly, he could hear Scott shouting his name, but it was easily ignored in favor of the battle madness.
Something white and orange flashed in the corner of IX's eye. Before he could turn, a massive ghostlike shape launched itself at his throat. He managed to turn enough that the gleaming fangs buried into his right shoulder with bone crushing force instead of ripping into his neck. The momentum of the attack pirouetted the pair as eighty pounds of white fury tried to drag him to the ground.
With a harsh cry, IX staggered under the tearing weight. The dog's hind legs ripped long furrows down his hip and thigh even as he slammed a blade into the animal's side before ripping it free to plunge it down into the white fur again. Before he could strike a killing blow to the service dog, they were overwhelmed. A hand grabbed at the weapon, ripping it from his grasp.
Pain tore through him as he and the dog fell together. Bone crunched under the force of the bite, IX felt fangs grind against his scapula. Hands clawed at his skin, tore his hair, jerked his limbs wide even as he tried to twist violently away from their relentless grasp. Hungry mouths latched on, driving blunt human teeth into his flesh, preparing to tear him apart with the only tools they had.
"Well, isn't this undignified?"
The words were ice sheathed in a thin layer of amusement, yet the effect they had was profound. All of the infected, down to the smallest rat, were frozen into stillness by a powerful mental vice overwhelming the bacterial mind of the mutant-turned-Weapon.
There were eight - no, eleven - sets of teeth buried in Zen's flesh. Not including the dog. He tried to squirm away, but the horde tethered him to the ground like a pagan sacrifice as the sharp crunch of high heels approached. Something in the tone of the voice rang a distant bell in the back of Zen's mind, teasing him with the harsh twist of familiarity.
Pain sliced up his back when he tried to shift. A shard of broken glass provided a viscous counterpoint of sharp agony compared to the blunter pain of teeth and fingers digging into every part of him.
A flare of white flashed between the bodies huddled around Zen, almost impossible to make out around the heads bent eagerly to tear him apart one bloody mouthful at a time. Squinting, Zen shifted as much as he could to get a better look at his unexpected salvation. At first, all he could make out was pristine whiteness. Unlike Fantomex, whose only visible skin showed around his eyes, her outfit exposed significantly more. Skintight pants ended in six-in stiletto heels. Above the waist, her outfit was little more than a white bra, leaving her midriff bare, and dipping low enough to neatly frame her chevage.
Like Storm, the woman wore a cloak draped around her shoulders giving her the air of visiting royalty. Platinum-blonde hair draped in a straight curtain around her shoulders to brush the tops of her breasts.
Any other man might have lost themselves in her Icelandic beauty, perhaps believing an angel appeared in the depths of hell to save them. All Zen could do was stare at her in stunned disbelief. "You can't be-"
Then something slammed into his mind, dragging him down into a darkness so profound he wondered if he would ever wake again.
Pain radiated up Scott's arms from where he'd futilely tried to pound his way out of the barrier Zen trapped him in. Only the memory of his optic blast bounced off another such shield kept him from opening his eyes. The last thing he needed was to be torn apart by his own ricocheting power.
He'd already searched every inch of the small space, but hadn't found his visor. A painful mix of shame, gratitude, and fury flooded him as he listened to the ongoing battle. He was desperate to know what was happening, but it was impossible to paint a picture with only sound to judge by.
A strange voice, both lilting yet hard, chimed into the darkness and everything stopped. For a moment, Scott wondered if he'd gone deaf. He could no longer hear the wet ripping sound of blades slashing through flesh or the hard thud as yet another body crumpled to the ground. Even the rough grind of countless feet churning over gravel stopped.
No, not quite, a single sound reassured him his hearing was still intact even if it sent waves of confused anxiety spiking down his spine. Even though he'd never admit it, suddenly Scott found himself grateful for the protection of the shield. A single set of sharp, clicking footfalls echoed off the stone walls and without sight, the sound was painfully ominous.
Zen said something, but the words were lost under the rough pounding of Scott's heart. Then he jerked back in surprise when the shield beneath his hands vanished. Another splinter of terror lanced through him at that, but all he could do was brace himself for the attack even as he refused to open his eyes.
When the expected attack failed to come, Scott frowned in confusion. Every inch of him cried out to open his eyes, to at least see the threat he faced, but the memory of the infected woman's messy death kept him willfully blind. He was so caught up in his own angst that he almost missed the mental touch feathering gently along the edge of his thoughts. A delicate probe so light anyone else might have missed it, but years with Jean and Xavier made him exceptionally sensitive to the brush of another mind against his own even if he had no natural talent in telepathy.
When real fingers brushed against the side of his face, Scott jolted, but didn't attack like he might have without that steadying mental touch. Tremors of repressed violence burned in his muscles, but aside from that, he stood perfectly still as he felt his visor sliding gently back into place.
For the span of two shaking breaths, Scott found he couldn't release the tight clench of his eyelids. What if the visor broke during the scuffle? Fear fought a nasty battle with the unbearable need to see until he couldn't stand the darkness a moment longer. Careful not to harm the one who'd unexpectedly saved him, Scott turned his face away and down before cracking one eye open the slightest bit.
Relief made him sway when power didn't explode out of him to take a bite out of the gravel. With a shuddering gasp, Scott opened both eyes wide. All the muscles in his face ached with the strain of keeping them so tightly shut, and he knew he'd have a throbbing headache later.
Again, that almost featherlike mental touch tickled along the corridors of his mind. Though this one was a bit more pointed, as if the mind were growing impatient with his dithering. Glancing up, he froze in shock at the unexpected sight. While he wasn't sure what to expect from this unanticipated reprieve from death, this woman wasn't it.
What remained of his splintered heart fractured a bit more as he studied the prim woman. One whose hair was arrow straight, not a strand out of place. Her features were sharp instead of softly curving. Everything about her screamed of a hardness that Jean had lacked, and hadn't he hoped, dreamed that perhaps it was Jean? That maybe miracles were real and she'd come to save him when he needed her most?
Again, that light mental prodding shook him out of the bog his thoughts had become. This time Scott gave a low hiss, his mind violently rejecting the touch as a betrayal of everything he'd once had. The woman arched a single eyebrow at him but he could almost feel her mind retreat from the furnace of hurt blazing inside his skull.
The anger settled back into a low simmer as something plucked uneasily at his mind. There was something familiar about the woman, and it didn't take long to place it. She bore an uncanny resemblance to some of their psychic students. If not for the fact that she was a full grown woman, he would have thought for certain she was one of them.
Shaking the useless thoughts away, Scott turned his attention back to the threat and felt a wash of shock slide over his skin as he studied the infected. From the smallest rat, to the massive monster itself, they all stood frozen as if in the midst of a macabre game of red light, green light.
At his peak, Scott knew Xavier could have pulled something like this off. But he knew Jean would never have been able to hold back so many minds all at once. How powerful is she? "Did you-" he started before a new question blasted the first away. "How long?" he demanded, turning to study her face. Strain showed around her piercing eyes, a line formed between them as the pressure of holding back the infected made itself known.
"Three minutes, maybe less." The tension he saw in her face was echoed in her posh British words. Holding back so many minds hadn't come without a price. Three minutes, you better hurry Logan.
Blood painted X's skin from knuckles to elbows on both hands. The violent color splashed artfully over Fantomex's white outfit as the pair broke through the last of the infected standing between them and their goal. Still running, Fantomex leapt onto the train and pelted towards the baggage car.
There, the mutant finally found what he'd come for. An odd coffin-like unit sat on the floor, its lid gaped open. It was easily large enough to hold the monstrosity responsible for the current disaster, and made Logan's skin itch when X growled at the sight. He could almost feel the tang of memory flavoring the air between them, something about the unit was familiar to the Weapon. Had they ever been in something like that? Not a pleasant thought at all.
Perhaps it disturbed X as much as Logan because the feral mind slid back, allowing Logan to take control. Sharp whiskey eyes studied Fantomex as he pawed through the compartment at the base of the large unit. Something wasn't adding up, and it made him uneasy. "Why are you really here, what is any of this to you?"
Fantomex sat back on his heels, a triggering device in his left hand. "Me?" he said, the word laced with false innocence. "I'm but a man looking to make a buck and do a little good in the world. A futuristic Robin Hood, one who steals from the rich, and saves the poor from monsters like this." He laughed. "I'm a modern day fucking hero." He stood and spread his arms out with dramatic flare as he thumbed the red button.
One second they were surrounded by countless living statues, and above them all stood the Weapon like a heathen God of destruction, the next its head exploded in a phosphorescent cloud of slime. Like a flash mob, all the infected fell. Relief swept through Scott with such force it made him nearly stagger while adrenaline burned uselessly in his veins.
"Well," the stranger said with a quirk of her lips, "it appears the danger has passed."
Still unable to believe they were safe, Scott gave a jerky nod before remembering his manners. "Thank you for your help, Ms...?" he said, needing to fill the silence even if it was with innate pleasantries.
"Frost. Emma Frost. I do believe your... companion is in need of aid?" Something in her tone fell flat, but he didn't have time to question it. Not when he jerked his gaze to the pile of bodies burying Zen alive. If he's still alive. That wasn't a happy thought. Not when he knew exactly how X would react if Zen managed to get himself killed. Before he could react, Frost had already reached the pile of bodies. Without pause, she reached down and grabbed the arm of a dead teenage boy, and tugged the body off the pile burying Zen. His stomach churned at the sight of the boy flopping lifelessly to the ground. For an instant, it was Bobby's face that filled his mind. The teen had that same classic all-American look about him and the sight scalded his heart.
Body after body clogged the tracks, but they weren't just corpses. No, they were lives. Each one represented a newly broken family who didn't yet know of the tragedy. We should have stopped it, I should have stopped it. It didn't matter that the infection had spread to all these people before they'd even made it down here, the guilt wasn't interested in logic. Not now. Regret held him frozen.
"Are you going to help, or just stand there moping?"
Irritation laced the words, so sharp it stung Scott out of his morose thoughts and forced him into motion. Part of him cringed at the task, but he made himself grab the limp wrists of a man old enough to be his own father, probably was someone's father, yet now he was nothing more than meat. A grimace curled his lips as he eased the weight of the body off the pile pinning Zen to the ground.
The head, with a full crest of salt and pepper hair, lulled and struck the gravel with a dull thud. Scott cringed and bit his tongue to keep from apologizing to the dead man over the rough treatment. The worst part of all of this was the horrible knowledge that the man hadn't meant for any of this to happen. None of these people meant to be turned into monsters; they hadn't been given a choice and now they were dead.
A glance to his left showed the Frost woman shoving bodies aside with apparent apathy. For a moment, Scott felt the hard edge of hate at her careless disregard for the dead, but then she shifted. The curtain of hair fell away from her hidden face allowing him to see the way her lips twisted into a pitying grimace. Her eyes were lowered mournfully as she lifted the body of a young child, carefully setting her aside, and mouthed the words, I'm sorry.
Then, as if drawn by his pointed look, her gaze snapped up and the expression vanished back into the icy mask from before. Scott let his focus drop back to the pile, allowing her to keep her grief to herself.
After shifting yet another body out of the way, Scott gave a startled wince when he saw the dog. Blood-painted-white fur, and he couldn't help the shudder of revulsion when he noticed the handle of Zen's dagger buried deep in the animal's side. Bracing himself, he reached down to ease the furry body up only to wince when Zen's body lifted too. "Shit," he snapped, allowing the dog to settle. He nudged the shape to keep as much of the weight off Zen as possible without further aggravating the wounds.
Once they'd cleared away most of the bodies, Scott could see the extent of the damage. Only the steady rise and fall of the boy's chest assured him that they hadn't managed to kill the small assassin. Zen's shirt and pants were torn in dozens of places, and he couldn't stop the low hiss of sympathy from escaping while he counted the bloody bitemarks cresting Zen's skin. Thankfully, none of the bites were missing chunks of flesh, but many were ugly, tearing things. It's fine, he can heal them when he wakes.
"You always seem to get the worst of it," Scott muttered under his breath before he knelt and attempted to pry the blood-stained muzzle free. No matter how hard he tried to dislodge the animal, its teeth stayed rooted in Zen's shoulder as if even in death it was trying to rip him apart.
A haughty sniff escaped Emma as she knelt, careful to keep her pristine white-clad knee from touching the filthy gravel. "Allow me," she murmured before reaching forward to almost gently stroke the dog's locked muzzle.
Scott pulled back with a confused frown. "What do you-" the question died on his lips when her body shimmered and changed. The white-clad woman was replaced with a glassy statue, one that gleamed with jewel-like fractals beneath her skin. The transformation reminded him of Bobby when the teen went full ice sculpture, but it was clearer somehow. Less blue, and more something. He couldn't put his finger on it.
Her glass-like hands proved far stronger than he could have imagined. A sound like stone screeching off teeth drilled into Scott's head, jerking a grimace out of him as the lower jaw broke with a sickening crack. Somehow, that, more than anything else, nearly made him lose control of his stomach. If it weren't for the fact that he'd puked up everything in his system before the mission even began, Scott would have lost it at that awful sound.
Without acknowledging his discomfort, she shoved the dog off Zen's body before settling back on her heels to stare at the unconscious man. Something flashed in those glassy inhuman eyes while she studied the would-be-teenager - something Scott wasn't sure he liked - but it was gone before he could think to question it.
Now that the danger had passed, a new thought filled Scott's mind. Xavier. More importantly, how telepathic students hadn't had a single class since before the incident. Whenever any of the staff tried to bring it up, the Professor brushed them off with assurances that everything would work itself out in due time. But this excursion proved more than ever that his mentor wasn't healing. Not really.
He should have been here, in mind if not in body. It should have been Xavier's mind that froze the infected and ensured the mission was a success. They shouldn't have required the assistance of a total stranger to save them in the final stretch. Looking down at Zen's torn flesh, he realized how close to death they'd both come. If not for her, Zen would have died. With his death, the shield would have fallen, leaving Scott helpless against the raging mob.
While Scott understood trauma, how could he not when he'd been in the midst of a complete self-destructive spiral not two hours ago? Yes, he understood trauma. What he didn't understand was allowing that trauma to stand between him and doing what was necessary. Unlike Xavier, Scott was here. Even in the midst of his suffering, he still took the reins and fought when he was called on to do so.
Him, and this unknown woman. What they needed now was a strong telepath on the team; one who wasn't chained by trauma. "We need to get Zen back to the mansion for treatment. If you wouldn't mind, I'd like you to come along. You'll be safe there, and we could use someone with your," he hesitated, fumbling for the right word. "Talent."
Again, he was snared by her sharp gaze. He could almost see her weighing the options and waited for her to turn him down flat, but then she offered up a mysterious smile. "Since I'm already terribly late for my prior engagement, I suppose that a change of plans would suffice."
Relief washed through him at that, even if it was a lukewarm agreement at best. Now that Zen wasn't at risk of being smothered, Scott turned his attention to the dead Weapon. Together, they went to examine the unusual corpse.
Considering what he did for a living, Scott was more than familiar with the different forms physical mutation could take, but even he'd never seen anything quite like this. He reached for his belt out of habit before his hand faltered at the thought of taking samples for Beast to examine. Could he trust something as dangerous as this in a lab, even in one run by Beast's capable claws? The risk, the temptation, to tweak it into something that could be used against humans was too great.
"His brain-stem branches off like coral," Emma mused as she studied the remains. While the entire head had been vaporized during the explosion, an odd blackened structure grew out of the stump of the neck. It reminded Scott of a lightning-struck tree, and didn't look human in the slightest.
Then her head tilted slightly, a listening stance he was all too familiar with. "It looks like we don't have much time left, and if I'm being perfectly honest, I don't think we should allow something like this to fall into the hands of S.H.I.E.L.D. or any of the other Alphabet agencies who will come sniffing around soon enough."
"True," he mused. If he didn't trust Beast with a pathogen as potent as this one, then he certainly didn't trust the government with it. Reluctantly, Scott turned his attention back to Zen. Yes, the assassin had done more than enough this mission, but the job wasn't finished. If they could wake him up, then he could deal with the bodies.
With that thought in mind, Scott went back to the fallen Weapon and gently nudged him. "Come on Zen, wake up." He hesitated briefly before putting steel into the worlds, making them an order. "IX, you must complete the mission."
Like a bone breaking, the darkness holding him captive snapped. Zen tried to gather his scattered thoughts but they felt heavy. Something teased the edges of his mind, something important he was forgetting. Before he could catch hold of it, Scott's voice fell into his chaotic thoughts.
"IX, you must complete the mission."
Complete the mission. The words echoed in his mind, and with them came an image of fire. The bodies. He had to dispose of the bodies. Yes. Best to destroy the remnants of the Weapon to keep it out of the hands of the government.
IX's eyes snapped open and all extraneous thoughts fell away. The handler had given him an order, and it would be accomplished. All of the confusion melted away, falling from him as the world solidified back into the solid lines of obedience. "Yes, sir."
The clipped and emotionless response made the man jerk back just enough to give IX room to stand. Before anything else could interfere with the mission, he vanished.
"Damn it, Zen, you didn't even let me give you the orders," Scott muttered under his breath before pushing to his feet. Anxiety at not knowing what the Weapon was up to gnawed at him, and he bit his tongue to keep from shouting Zen's name to bring him back. It was a shame Beast hadn't managed to create an earpiece that wouldn't get fried during one of Zen's jumps. The utter lack of communication always threw him off during missions like this. Having Zen in the wind made him uneasy, and he didn't even have Logan to fall back on since the prick still wasn't back from his own adventure.
"Strange company you keep." Her light voice made Scott jump. Somehow, he'd managed to forget all about the telepath they now had along for the ride. Then her words registered, and he felt his hackles rise. In the cold depths of what remained of his soul, Jean's screams rang on and on, trapped in the hellish mindscape IX dragged her down into when she tried to use her telepathy on him.
Should I tell her? Warn her? If I do, will she change her mind about the school? While they waited, Scott wrestled with his internal dilemma. The school, and more importantly, the X-Men were in desperate need of a new telepath, but could he in good conscience allow her to walk into the situation blind?
Finally, the need to do the right thing outweighed the needs of the school. It wasn't like they could keep the truth hidden from her. No, when she got to the school, a telepath as strong as her would be able to sniff the truth out in less than an hour. Better to lay all the cards on the table now and hope that it wasn't enough to drive her away before she'd even been given the job offer. "Interesting is one word for them," Scott agreed, finding it difficult to commit to the truth now that he stood at the edge of it. She's probably plucking it out of your head right now. Sometimes dealing with telepaths made things easier, other times it made everything more difficult.
The biggest problem with telepaths was the simple fact that he never knew exactly how much they gleaned from his surface thoughts, or how deep their probing fingers went. After dating Jean, and spending a fair chunk of his teen years and all of his adulthood with Xavier, Scott knew they could snap up a fair bit without digging. It would be easy to simply assume she'd read enough in his thoughts to grasp the situation, but that would be not only lazy but a dodge.
Scott ran his fingers through his hair in agitation before taking the plunge. "Be careful around Zen, he's the one who just disappeared. He has some rather unique mental defenses when it comes to telepathy. However, if you do sign a teaching contract, you will be perfectly safe from him and Logan at least."
That last earned the skeptical look she shot him, and he knew she was pawing through his thoughts at that vague declaration. Without words, he allowed his memories of the strange acquisition of two living weapons to flow through his thoughts. It was easier this way, faster than any clumsy attempt he might make of explaining it out loud, and something that had become a habit over the years.
"I... see." The two words were clipped, and for a moment the British accent fell away. This is it, now she's going to walk away. Regret, and something akin to relief flooded him at the thought. Even though he'd been fighting it, memories of Jean burned like a hot ember in his chest. While the two women were almost polar opposites of each other, it still hurt in unbearable ways to be near another telepath. One, like Jean, who had two mutations instead of just one. If Jean was fire, then Emma was ice. Truly, the two had almost nothing in common, but the mere thought of bringing another female telepath into the school felt almost like a betrayal.
It was admitting on a fundamental level that Jean really was gone. That Xavier might never heal from the ordeal Scott still blamed mostly on himself. If he'd been better, stronger, faster, if he'd realized sooner that it was a trap, then none of this would have happened.
A sharp snap an inch from his nose made Scott jump back like a startled cat. "Earth to Scott, are you done wallowing in the past? I think I've got a fair picture of the situation now, I hardly need a blow by blow account of everything that's gone wrong in your life."
Her snark felt like a slap across the face, but it was a much needed mental blow. The sting was just enough to pull him out of his downward spiral. "Sorry," he muttered under his breath, shame burned him from the inside out even as he realized she hadn't told him to fuck off. Maybe she is still willing to come, even with how crazy things have been lately.
Logan straightened, head tilting back a bit as he scented the air like a hunting wolf. There, tingles danced along his nerves at the taste of lightning in the distance. Lightning heavily blighted by the rich tang of blood. When all the bodies fell as one, he'd been tempted to head back to the back of the train. The urge to make sure Zen was safe boiled through him with such intensity that nothing else mattered. It was X's mental swat, hard enough to make his ears ring, that broke Logan out of his thoughts. Made him realize that it was his urge, not X's. That thought didn't sit well with the feral. Not at all.
It was X who'd given the bodies on the floor a pointed look, drawing his attention to the scattered corpses. X who made it clear in his own way that the mission wasn't over, not yet. They had to secure the train. Ensure there were no survivors in need of aid. Zen wouldn't appreciate them running off to check on him while leaving the job half-finished.
They'd made it to the first car of the train, and Logan couldn't help the bitterness burning in his guts. Bodies littered the floor in drifts. In the time it had taken them to get here, every soul had been infected by the Weapon, and with its destruction, all those lives were snuffed out. We failed.
No, that wasn't true. Not quite. They'd contained the threat to this single train, and hadn't allowed it to spill above ground to consume the world. In that sense, the mission was a success. And yet, it still sat in his craw, a win that might choke him on the way down.
Another whiff of Zen's lightning flavor saturated with spilled blood drew him out of his wandering thoughts. Lips curled, Logan slashed open the side of the train. Not caring in the least over the property damage, not when the collateral damage was already so high.
An irritated scowl carved itself onto his face when he spotted the smaller assassin about two dozen feet away from the front of the train. He couldn't suppress a slight wince when he saw Zen rub one hand into a deep shoulder wound, painting the skin of his palm with blood. Then he pressed the bloody palm onto the wall, smearing the ruby liquid over the cracked cement. What is he doing?
X rumbled in his mind, and it held an edge of anxiety that Logan hadn't felt before. All at once, he straightened his spine and leaped off the train. The blood stench was thicker than it ought to be, and this was a problem he could fix. Before Zen finished whatever he was doing, Logan snatched him up with a growl and said, "Heal the wounds, Zen. We've already beaten the boss, there's no reason for you to be walking around getting your blood all over everything."
In the back of his mind, he felt X shift uneasily. Logan could almost feel his other half giving him a wide-eyed stare from their shared mental space, and if he wasn't mistaken, he could feel the animalistic personality backing away as if wanting to make it clear he wasn't a part of any of this nonsense. The behavior baffled Logan. Was this the same person who'd totally lost his shit over the scent of Zen's blood in the school? He'd almost gone on a complete rampage over it! If not for Zen, he would have torn the school apart brick by brick, and killed every last person in it due to that smell, and now?
Now he didn't seem interested in the slightest. No, it was more than that. As if he knew something Logan di-
The air woofed out of his lungs as Zen teleported them away. When they landed, his so-called mate attacked. A dozen blows, all designed not only to inflict pain, but to drive him into the ground by ravaging his ligaments in such a way it took even his impressive healing ability a minute to sort out the damage. By the time he had, Zen was already up and back at the fucking walls, smearing them now with a combination of both their blood.
A snarl of fury rumbled in his chest. Logan staggered to his feet, still feeling waves of numbness along his left leg before it settled. "The fuck was that for," he demanded before running face first into one of those bloody shields.
Zen didn't even bother looking back at the storm of fury spilling from Logan at being caught like a bug in a bottle. "The mission isn't finished yet. My wounds are not life-threatening. I will tend to them when the mission is complete." Anger boiled Logan at the words, and spiked at X's low grunt in the back of his mind. Even without words, he could feel the smugness radiating off the feral. You knew he'd attack us like that, didn't you? Of course, there was no response, but he wasn't really expecting one.
Moments like this felt like wearing a wool sweater a size too small against his naked skin. It itched at every nerve, and made Logan almost want to know. There was a world of knowledge between X and Zen, so much history he'd only managed to catch the bare edges of. Even though he knew, absolutely knew, he didn't want those memories, part of him craved the familiarity. The ease the two Weapons shared. For Logan, it was like being an awkward third wheel. One who didn't speak the same language, didn't share the same history and felt the lack keenly. Doomed to always misstep because he simply didn't know any better.
It was almost enough to make him contemplate integration in the cold hours before sleep finally claimed him only to reject the notion violently every time. Down that path lay madness, and he knew that no matter what Baldy tried to preach. X's memories were more than he wanted to take on. He didn't want or need to know how many people died on the edge of his claws.
Logan looked down at his hands, blood painted the skin. It caked between his fingers and formed clots around his knuckles. Self-consciously, he rubbed them against his pants before he glared at the near invisible sphere holding him captive. If he let his eyes unfocus, he could almost see it. An odd shimmer in the air, more a taste furring the back of his throat than something he could capture with his eyes. The soft purr of static power vibrated before him. Again, he glanced at his hands, and wondered if he should try and cut the wall down. He thought he could if he tried hard enough. Closing his eyes, he flexed, triggering the claws. Only, nothing happened. His hands relaxed instead and the growl that pulled from his throat might have sounded like X but it was all him. A snap of frustration at how the monster in his head seems so...so okay with all this.
"Damn it, I thought you were supposed to give a fuck about him. Isn't he your mate?" Logan grumbled under his breath, hating that itchy feeling inside of him that made him want to bundle Zen up and take him back to the school. The urge to keep him safe from all this was beyond ridiculous, but he couldn't quite shake it. Perhaps it was all the stronger for X's total lack of concern.
Zen staggered the landing, his right leg nearly giving out on him. Something in the limb had been torn badly enough to affect mobility, but it didn't matter. Not for the next part at least.
"There you are, what are you doing?" Scott's voice buzzed around his ears, and as much as the Weapon wanted to wave the aggravating sound away, he knew better.
Once more, he reached up to his shoulder where the worst of the wounds still bled sluggishly. Digging his fingers into the raw meat of the wound he barely flinched as he coated his palm. "What are you doing!" A semi-shrill note entered Scott's voice, underlining the words with a command he couldn't ignore even as he pressed the crimson liquid against the wall.
Still not looking at the pair - pair? - Zen's steps faltered as he glanced over at the two, eyes sharpening as they tried and failed to focus on the figure in white. "I have to set up protections before unleashing the fire or I won't be able to control it."
Recognition flared across Scott's face, strong enough even Zen could pick up on it before his lips turned down in a frown, but he didn't ask any more questions. Good, that was good. Blood slid over his skin in countless places, and as much as he'd told Logan the wounds weren't life threatening, they would still drain him of energy if he let them bleed too long. Not yet, soon. I'll take care of it after the fire is snuffed out.
Once satisfied with the blood markings, he turned to Scott. "I have," he hesitated briefly before continuing. "Logan on the other side, I'll bring you over and put you under a shield to protect you from the fire." Before Scott could think to protest, Zen appeared and grabbed his wrist. As one, they vanished.
Scott nearly fell over when they re-appeared, Zen's push didn't help things. He fell forward, and before he could face-plant, strong hands grabbed his shoulders. "Welcome to the club house, One-eye," Logan grumbled but Scott noticed he didn't let go until his legs were steady.
"Zen, go get Emma and bring her here too, then light it up," he managed to choke out through the lump in his throat. How he hated Zen's form of transportation. It always felt like being taken apart and put together not quite right at the end. Hopefully, the ice princess wouldn't lose her cookies after Zen's unpleasant little roller-coaster ride.
Again, there was that odd hesitation, almost as if Zen weren't quite processing the order. "Yes, sir," he finally said before disappearing again.
Grumbling under his breath at being caught under yet another shield, Scott straightened and looked around. He frowned when he realized they were missing one of their party. "Where's Fantomex?"
"Him?" Logan said before rolling his eyes. "He fucked off after the bodies fell. Said, and I quote 'got billionaires to fleece, and mutants to liberate. I'll leave the clean-up to you. Ta-ta.' Then he left."
"And you just let him go?"
That earned Scott a derisive snort. "I'm not the man's keeper. If we're being honest, he's nothing but bad news so good riddance."
Scott opened his mouth before snapping it shut again with a sigh. What could he say to that? It was nothing but the truth and they both knew it. Of course the white-clad bastard would slink off the moment he got what he wanted and leave them with the dirty business of cleanup. Even if doing so it ran the risk of samples of the bioweapon ending up in S.H.I.E.L.D's hands. Unless he knew exactly what Zen was capable of, and how we plan on using him to dispose of the mess.
That thought wasn't a comfortable one, and reminded him all too keenly that they had no real understanding of who Fantomex was or where he'd gotten his information. He showed up out of the blue and dumped this potential catastrophe in their lap, and like the heroes they were, the X-Men leapt into action without a backwards glance. This could have been a trap. All the more reason they needed Frost.
They'd come into this operation blind, and it was only through dumb luck and Frost's ability that they weren't overwhelmed. Everything about the night felt wrong and nagged at him like an itch he couldn't scratch. Maybe Logan was right; they were better off with Fantomex out of the picture. Nothing but trouble, that one. While Frost would be a valuable addition to the team, someone like Fantomex was far too much of a loose cannon to ever trust. They had enough problems keeping Zen and Logan in check, they didn't need to add a third unknown element to the school. Not while everything was still so much up in the air.
If we see him again, it'll be all too soon. Scott banished the thought, hoping against hope that Fantomex didn't darken their doorstep again. Then again, if he hadn't we wouldn't have known about the danger until it was gnawing at the front gates.
True. He didn't like it, but Scott couldn't deny the fact that Fantomex saved them by the mere virtue of letting them know of the danger in time to stop it.
Emma tapped one booted foot against the gravel, listening to the melodic clicking while she waited. Delicate tendrils of thought twisted around that hated mind, and it took more effort than was pretty to keep from snapping them tight, shredding the mind beneath her mental claws. Only the knowledge that it would utterly blow her cover and jeopardize getting into the Institute stayed her hand.
I won't allow all those lives to be lost for nothing. The cost of getting into the school was far too great to ruin with revenge. After all, revenge could wait. She would have access to her prey at all times as a teacher, and there would undoubtedly be a time in the future where she could shift things in her favor, taking the little prick out without having the blame fall on her if it came down to that.
For now, she carefully monitored his thoughts, ever so gently nudging them away from her whenever he thought too hard about her existence or their shared past. His physical wounds, as well as Scott's orders, helped her walk the tight-rope that was the assassin's mind. Like edging around a rattlesnake, she could sense the danger IX's mind posed, could almost hear the low rattle of danger every time she interfered with his thoughts.
All it would take is the smallest slip, and his strange power would hone in on the threat her mind posed. IX's power, like his mind, was unlike anything she'd encountered before. She'd spent most of her adult life sharpening her mental prowess, not only strengthening her skill, but doing something so few of her kind ever bothered to; she built protections into her thought process to defend herself against other telepaths.
Sure, they were few and far between, but all it took was one bad experience for Emma to make a point of defending her mind against the only other people who could take control. Bitterness spilled through her like rancid wine because in the end it hadn't been other telepaths she had to worry about. No, when the end came, it was the bloody humans who'd taken her small school down. Killed her students, and lit the building on fire. Bastards, the lot of them.
Emma dismissed the memories, they were pointless now.
Between one breath and the next, the hateful little assassin reappeared. Eyes of chipped emerald locked on to her face. Complete the mission. Emma sent the thought between them, letting it almost sizzle in the air, and ensuring it resonated in Scott's mental tone. Again, the sharp intent in those treacherous eyes clouded over under the force of her careful application of power. Emma watched him raise a hand, reaching for her before it hesitated, hovering uncertainty in the air between them. With a sniff of disdain, Emma bridged the gap between them and placed one delicate, white-gloved hand over his wrist, careful to avoid the blood staining his skin.
As if the physical contact were a trigger, power flexed between them like a thunderstorm before they vanished. Somehow, Emma managed not to fall on her face or lash out violently when a small but deceptively strong hand gripped her by the upper arm while IX's other hand pressed against her lower back, gently propelling her forward. She couldn't stop herself from turning and stomping forward to give him a piece of her mind before she ran face first into nothing.
A guffaw jerked her head around, and Emma scowled harshly at the second half of the paired Weapon set. Whisky-colored eyes locked on her curiously even as her mind reached out to wrap around his as she'd done IX, not willing to let the cat out of the bag before she'd even made it to the blasted school. To her shock, she didn't find herself in his odd mind, a mind nothing like she knew it ought to be.
Logan, not X? Most of Scott's prior thoughts had been on the smaller of the two Weapons, and hadn't touched on X at all, now she couldn't help but wonder what changed. Clearly something had, this man wasn't the same one who'd held her captive while IX carved up her sister's face. No, it might be the same body, but even then it was different. Lacking the odd animal intensity it once held, and yet she could almost taste the predatory musk drifting out of the strange dark place in Logan's mind. A place she didn't dare probe too hard, less whatever lived there sit up and take notice.
"I'm sorry about him, he's… well-" before Scott could even figure out what to add to the sentence, power roared through the tunnel like a dragon sparked to life.
Beautiful and terrible, the flames leaped forward to consume the train with a hunger no normal fire could ever match. Emma flinched back, shocked at the near palpable sense of... of evil that seemed to emanate off the flames. Somehow, without even noticing, she'd backpaddled enough that her back crashed into the far side of the bubble of energy IX held them in.
Now she understood the need for such protection. All around that sphere of artificial calm, Emma could hear wind howling as the flames sucked air down through the tunnel to fuel its unholy feast. A shoulder bumped up against her own and she realized that she wasn't the only one who'd been driven back by the flames. Thin tremors vibrated through the man, and when she glanced over, Emma saw the tight pinch of his lips, the mask of near hate that twisted his features as he stared at the fire and the now miniscule shape in front of it that controlled the flames with its still bloody hands open and outstretched.
Unable to help herself even if she wanted to, Emma's mind was drawn into the torrent of memories resonating through Scott's skull. They were so intense her own fingers and toes felt numb from the icy winter weather, it was her nose that tickled from the ash of an entire town obliterated off the map with a casual swipe of this particular mutant's power. A near mindless terror howled in his head, and it took a minute for her to understand. This is what he could have done to us. Our students burned to ash and scattered to the wind. This is what we brought into our school. The thoughts babbled through his mind as his eyes remained locked on the fire, unable to look away from the alien, almost living shapes that capered in the flames as they ate everything.
Even with the protection of the shield, Emma could feel heat beating at them and suddenly wished they were farther from the fire. In her mind, she counted the seconds, hoping beyond hope that he would end it, snuff out that oppressive heat, slaughter the flames before they broke loose and consumed the world, because that's what they wanted. Oh the fire hungered. It howled for more, and more, and more, desperate to break free of the cage their creator forced upon them so it could devour the world.
As a teacher, someone who prided herself as a woman who could see perhaps not the good, but at least the benefit of any given mutation, Emma was shocked to find herself thinking of the cursed flames as evil. Perhaps that was melodramatic of her, but she could feel it, could sense on a near subliminal level a clawing, grasping near-sentience she'd never once experienced with any other mutation.
Something shifted. Emma blinked and forced herself to focus not on the firestorm, but on its creator. IX stood at rigid attention, and his palms were slowly coming together as if crushing something between them. As she watched, the shield he'd based on his own blood began inching forward. Somewhere far beyond them, near the back of the train, she knew the secondary shield was doing the same. Inch by frightful inch, he corralled the fire, driving into itself, slowly grinding it beneath the heel of his own willpower.
The flames didn't go easily, no, they fought back with a ferocity that left her shaking as fiercely as Scott. Unlike them, Logan stayed pressed against the front of the bubble, every line of his body tense but even without dipping into his more primal mind, Emma knew that it wasn't fear she would find lurking in that killer's thoughts. Something intense, yes, she could taste that, the edge of his intensity, but it wouldn't be anything close to the fear she and Scott both felt clawing the back of their throats.
With a final whoosh, and a dying keen that sounded far too alive for Emma's comfort, the last of the flames snuffed out leaving... nothing behind. A shiver of distress shook her to the bone as she gaped out at the empty tunnel. There were no bodies. There was no train. Only soft drifts of muted gray, and she knew from Scott's memories if she dared sift through the ash, she'd find thin puddles of cooling liquid, all that remained of the metal that once made up the train. It would be some time before they managed to make this stretch of the subway serviceable again.
Pain clawed through Zen as he forced his hands together. His shoulder resisted the movement, bone shifting unpleasantly where the dog's teeth had cracked something deep inside. Perhaps he could have snuffed out the flame without the physical action, but he'd grown used to using his hands as a sort of guide for the power. A way to visualize the shields moving in to crush the burning energy.
The ghost of a frown curled his lips as he strained. Something is wrong. It shouldn't be this difficult. In fact, the nature of the tunnel should have made the task easier, allowing him to herd the flames in on themselves with two small shields instead of having to smother them beneath a full dome shield like he would normally do out in the open. It shouldn't be so hard, and yet.
Something tickled along the border of his senses, a pull, almost a plucking of energy as his internal power struggled against an unknown force that left him feeling more drained than he should have been. He huffed, knowing he couldn't give the drain the attention it deserved, not yet. Not with the fire howling to break loose.
After.
After, he would deal with the issue.
After, he would heal himself.
After, he would find the infernal itch digging along his senses, clawing at his thoughts like a hungry cat. After.
Focusing the remnants of his strength on the task at hand, Zen gave a final push. His hands clapped together the sound almost lost under the howling flames. Silence echoed through the tunnel as if the world around them held its breath, waiting for something to spark to life again after the inferno.
Now he could find the source of the drain and put an end to it. Zen started to turn, his hand giving an almost negligent wave to dismiss the shield protecting the others before his cold eyes fell on the woman in white. Again, his mind stumbled, memories straining to surface even as reality began to swim around him. Blood loss and overexertion finally taking their toll.
In the depths of his mind, Zen felt a stirring. Recognition, and fierce retaliation cut through the mind space finally understanding the subtle manipulations for what they were. He opened his mouth, but then everything began to fade.
SLEEP
The word, command, plowed into him with startling force. For a second, Zen tried to fight it, to dig mental claws into the mind that dared invade his own, but it was too little, too late.
Darkness scattered his thoughts, and distantly Zen felt his body give out. Like a puppet with its strings cut, he fell.
Author's Note - I live! Lost a job, gained a job, survived the world's lamest apocalypse and here we are. I'd like to thank everyone who's still interested in this story, and I hope you like the updated chapters. More to come.
I would also like to thank my beta Njchrispatrick, without him we would still be stuck with that sort of awkward and mostly lame chapter 40.