Author's Note: For the sake of my story, I'm counting Sabretooth and Victor Creed as two different people. After all, the Sabretooth of the first X-men looks nothing like Creed. That and my whole plot falls apart of they're the same because he can't be at two places as once.
Warning: Gore in this chapter.
Chapter 18 – The Wheel Turns
"Mutation. It is the key to our evolution. It is how we have evolved from a single-cell organism into the dominant species on the planet. This process is slow, normally taking thousands and thousands of years. But every few millennia evolution leaps forward." – Professor Charles Xavier
Hogwarts
"Stop it," Hermione whispered, scrubbing at her tear stained cheeks more out of frustration than anything else. It was stupid to think Hogwarts would be different from her other schools. After all, magic – as wonderful as magic was – didn't change the nature of children. Even if they could wave a bit of wood and make impossible things happen, that didn't suddenly make them better, more understanding people.
In the end, they were children. No different from the ones who'd teased her from the start. Had there ever been a time when she wasn't an outcast? No, when she first began school, she was already intellectually superior to the other students. They hadn't teased her then, but she'd still be an outcast. As they grew, and the other kids began to understand how different her intelligence was compared to theirs, the ridicule began. It only got worse when looks became a factor, and she was teased not only for her top scores and eagerness to show off her knowledge, but about her frizzy hair, and buck teeth.
After a while, Hermione gave up on the thought of having friends and put all her focus on her studies. Somehow, she'd allowed treacherous hope to bloom in her heart when she'd found out about being a witch. She had a reason to be different. No wonder the other kids teased her, they could sense that she was different. But then she'd gotten to the magical school where everything would be better, and learned the bitter truth.
Magic or no, humans were the same. Now, on top of having frizzy hair and buck teeth, being smarter than most, and always following the rules, she was a mud blood. More tears spilled down her cheeks. Sure, it was a stupid insult, but that didn't make it less painful. It was another mark against her in the eyes of the people who should have been her peers, and another thing she couldn't change.
"Just stop." This time, her voice was steadier. She'd wasted enough time moping, and had missed most of today's classes. Shame burned her cheeks when Hermione thought about going back to class and facing her professors. Being bullied was no excuse to miss class, she knew, and she hated the thought of disappointing them. I'll ask for some extra credit assignments to make up for being gone, she decided as she splashed water on her tear splotched face.
The hope for a new life at Hogwarts was dead, but it didn't matter. Not really. Hermione still had magic, and an endless number of new topics to explore. Just like her old school, she didn't need friends. All she needed was the library and her professors.
A rank stench wafted into the room, and her nose wrinkled in disgust. It reminded her a bit of the dung bombs a pair of red headed twins had thrown down the stairs two weeks ago, but was somehow more pungent. Turning off the faucet, Hermione turned, hoping against hope that this wasn't a prank. She wanted to be left alone, and absolutely didn't want to end up smelling like the stink now invading the room, or end up with purple hair.
Her mind froze when she saw the monster standing inside the doorway. It was beyond huge, with dark piggy little eyes, a massive club, and a cruel twisted face. All she could do was stare while terror unlike anything she'd ever known built inside her like steam building in a tea kettle. Once the pressure became overwhelming, it shot out of her mouth in a scream.
The beast's great mouth opened in a roar, and its club came around in ponderous slow motion. Hermione saw the club coming, but her fear was too overwhelming. Like a frightened mouse trapped by the eyes of a snake, she froze.
Pain exploded all down her right side as the log-like chunk of wood crashed into her and sent her flying, cutting the scream off. Hitting the wall, she fought to breath and was amazed she still could, but the relief was short lived. The ground seemed to shake with each step the monster took towards her and another terrible scream ripped from her throat. She tried to crawl away, to escape, but couldn't. With another primal roar, the club came down.
At first, Hermione couldn't comprehend what was happening. The club was half an inch from her face, and the pain seemed to fade out into stupid incomprehension. She couldn't focus, but knew something was terribly wrong. It was so hard to breath, but that wasn't the problem. Too close, too close, the club is too close. Her right arm had been reaching forward to drag herself away from the creature, but she couldn't see it, just the club.
Something crashed behind them, and she thought she heard Professor McGonagall's voice shout something in Latin. But, for once, her intellect wasn't up to the task of deciphering it. Instead, her whole mind was locked on the sight of the club, and of the way it was cratered into the stone floor…and of where her arm should have been.
Darkness ate at her vision, and things faded in and out. There were sounds in the darkness. Roars, shouts, a bone jarring thud. For a moment, her vision cleared, and she wished it hadn't. The club was gone, leaving behind a strangely mangled thing of red and splintered white. No, this can't be happening.
"Child, don't look. Shhh, rest now. All will be well."
Glancing up from the red ruin, Hermione saw the friendly face of her Charms Professor. Only now the smile was gone, replaced with concern, and there was something in his eyes. A lie there.
Everything wasn't going to be all right.
Professor McGonagall stood rigidly straight as she knocked on the door. Her sorrow was hidden behind a professional mask, but her heart felt like a ball of lead in her chest. Hermione was a shy, standoffish girl, but she was one of her best students. More than that, she was one of her lions. It was her duty to protect the children, and the sight of the girl's mangled arm would haunt her for the rest of her days. If we'd only been a little sooner. It wasn't the first time she'd thought it, and it wouldn't be the last.
The door opened, revealing Mr. Granger's white face. He didn't look much better now than he had at St. Mungo's. It would be a few days before the girl was released, and her parents protested venomously when they'd been told to return home. They'd been sent home for the same reason all muggles were, it was a magical hospital and far too dangerous for people who weren't magical to wander about alone in.
"What do you want?" His voice was hard, and he stood squarely in the door, a totally different man from the one she'd met at the start of the year when she'd delivered Hermione's letter.
"May I come in? I have much to discuss with you and your wife."
He clearly wanted to send her on her way, but also desperately wanted more information. Giving in to the inevitable, he stepped away from the door and let her pass.
After leading her into the living room, he vanished up the stairs and returned with Mrs. Granger. The woman's face was red and puffy, eyes bloodshot from long hours of crying.
They sat together on the couch, his arm around her slender shoulders. Both stared at McGonagall with equal looks of hostility and pain. If only I'd been sooner.
"Thank you for your time. Miss Granger is healing well, and she'll be fitted with a magically enhanced prosthetic arm-"
Mrs. Granger choked on a sob, and her husband gathered her into his arms, all the while glaring at McGonagall.
"When can our daughter come home?" He demanded.
"Mr. Granger, I understand how traumatic this situation is, but you need to think about your daughter's future. She must learn how to control her magic and the-"
"Are you insane!?" Mrs. Granger twisted like an angry cat in her husband's arms. "Absolutely not! Once she's out of that hospital, my baby is coming home." More tears poured down the woman's face, almost unnoticed in her fury.
"I understand. However, if you no longer wish her to attend Hogwarts, there are a number of other excellent magical schools she can go to."
"NO! I say No. I will not have any more of this dangerous nonsense, do you understand? Magic is why my poor baby was…was…" she couldn't finish the sentence, and fresh sobs tore from her chest. She could still see her daughter laying in the bed. So tiny, and frightfully pale. Worse, she could see the place where one perfect little arm had been, and the void its lack made under the crisp white sheet.
The troll attack had nearly killed the girl. With the first blow, it broke all the ribs in her left side, along with her left arm. The second…the second strike crushed her arm and shoulder into so much raw pulp.
Magic was a wonderful, powerful force, but even the most advanced healing technique couldn't have repaired such an extensive wound.
Professor McGonagall closed her eyes and bowed her head. Something like that should never have happened. Hogwarts was supposed to be one of the safest places in the world. Taking a deep breath, she rallied. While she understood the Grangers' wish to distance themselves from magic, it wouldn't work. They didn't seem to understand that their daughter was magic. She could not run away from herself.
A Pureblood could get away with having home tutors if their parents didn't want them to be taught at a school, but the same wasn't true for muggleborns. There was nothing more dangerous than a partially trained witch or wizard. They had to learn to control their power, or it would control them. Hermione could not be permitted to remain untrained. It was the law, but how she hated to be the one who had to do this.
The Grangers' froze in terror when McGonagall pulled her wand. "I'm sorry, but this is for the best."
"Obliviate."
Hermione stared down at the wooden arm in revolution. Objectively, it wasn't horrifying to look at. If not for what it represented, it would have been a work of art. The wood was a soft golden brown, and if she looked closely, she could see tiny runes of gold carved in delicate rows and at each intricately carved joint. With a thought, the index finger twitched, and she shuddered.
The strange new limb responded like her real arm had, but she couldn't feel it. She thought, and the hand moved, but there was no physical sensations to help guide the movements. A single hot tear slid down her cheek, and Hermione wondered when she would ever stop crying. "I hate it," she sobbed, bringing her hands up to cover her face, only to flinch when smooth wood touched her cheek instead of flesh. Crying harder she reached up with her other hand and harshly poked at the rune that released the false limb before throwing it across the room.
It was a childish thing to do, but she couldn't stand it any longer. Why couldn't they make her old arm come back? How could magic turn a woman into a cat, but couldn't regrow an arm?
Still sobbing, she didn't hear the door open.
"Miss Granger?"
Hermione's head jerked up, and she quickly scrubbed at her face, trying to hide the tears. Professor McGonagall bent down and picked up the wooden arm. Looking up, she gave the girl a stern glance, causing her to blush before dropping her eyes.
"I'll put this over here," she stated drily before placing the arm on the bedside table. "I know things are difficult, but there's no need to damage your new arm. A lot of work went into it, and you shouldn't disrespect that."
More tears flowed, this time from shame.
"I'm sorry," she croaked, and she was. Even though she hated the wooden thing, it was all she had.
The Professor took a seat in the chair next to her bed. "I wanted to stop by and talk to you about the future. You will be returning to school once you're healed."
Her eyes shot wide and she shook her head violently. "No. Mom said-"
"I'm sorry child, but you must learn to properly harness your power or you will become a danger to the community. Now listen, I was forced to modify your parents' memories because they refused to understand that an untrained witch cannot be permitted by the Ministry of Magic."
Hermione gaped at her teacher, trying and failing to understand what she was saying.
"They believe that you were damaged in an automobile accident, and that magic allowed us to save your life and give you a new limb."
The girl shook her head, not able to believe what was happening.
"I understand your confusion Miss Granger, but you have to realize that you could hurt them, and badly if you leave your schooling now. Do you want to kill your parents?"
She bit her bottom lip and shook her head. No, she never wanted to hurt them.
"If you don't learn to channel your magic, you will. If you wish to be a good daughter, and keep them safe, then you will do as I say."
A life time of obedience towards authority figures took hold of the young girl, and when the older woman told her to sign the parchment she did without even bothering to read it. Not that she would have understood the legal jargon, intelligent or not.
Once the paper was signed, she felt something clamp down inside her and gasped. "Shhh, it's just the binding magic of the contract. You'll get used to the feeling within a few hours and won't even notice it in a day or two."
"B-binding magic?" She squeaked.
"Yes. You will not be able to talk about what really happened to any muggle, including your parents." Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing.
"What? Why?"
"Your parents were understandably upset, Miss Granger. They wanted to cut all ties with the magical world and leave you entirely untrained. As I've stated before, that would have ended in catastrophe. Now, you will be here for another week, and I'll return to bring you back to Hogwarts. I suggest you start practicing with your new arm during that time."
Hermione was left utterly speechless as the woman she'd respected above all others stood and left her alone in the too white room with the wooden monstrosity that was her new arm. Another flood of hot tears came, and she found that she was sick to death of crying.
Alberta, Canada
Closing her eyes, Storm felt the gentle fall of snowflakes around the jet. Mentally counting the snowflakes helped ease the tension that had built over the last two hours of waiting. Cracking open one eye, she shot a mild glare at Cyclops, who dozed in the seat next to her. How could he sleep at a time like this? Then she gave a small smile, he'd always been able to drift off at the most awkward times, and in the most awkward places.
A small flashing dot moved on the tracking monitor. It was half a mile away from their current position, and represented Sabretooth. She wasn't sure why they were following one of Magneto's lackeys – one of his uglier lackeys – but the Professor said it was important. She frowned when the dot stopped moving, clearly waiting now.
Storm nibbled her lower lip while the anxiety grew. They'd been told to follow the brutish mutant until something happened, and that they'd know it when it did. Reaching out, she touched Cyclops's arm. He jerked as he came awake. "What?" He muttered groggily.
"I think it's time."
Marie bit the inside of her cheek as her eyes flitted restlessly around the dingy little bar named the Lion's Den. The place was small, and full of the odor of stale smoke, old grease, and spilled beer. The few people sitting at the bar had cast her a curious glance before dismissing her. The dread grew when one the four men nudged her towards one of the booths. She wanted to run, but where could she go? There was a blizzard outside, and no one in here looked like they'd be willing to help.
The group sat down, two on each side of the booth, with her on a chair at the end. She sipped at the cherry coke they'd bought her, but found it difficult to swallow around the fear. Life as a runaway was more difficult than she could have imagined, and she was so tired of being scared. This wasn't the first time she'd gotten a bad vibe from someone who'd picked her up, but this was worse, so much worse. Still biting the inside of her cheek, she made her choice. Better the snow than this.
"I'll be right back, going to use the bathroom," she whispered. The men gave Marie a speculative look before Hank nodded, and she quickly stood up. Casting a single frightened look back, she darted for the bathrooms. When she reached them, she turned towards the front door instead, happy there was a wall obscuring the view from the bar.
Three steps out the door, she was jerked to a stop by a painful grip on her upper arm. With a sharp, frightened cry, Marie pulled away. She twisted around just as Hank reached for her again. "No! Don't, I told you not to touch-" The words broke off cleanly when his hand closed over hers.
"Where do you thi-" Hank's eyes went wide, and his mouth dropped open but no sound came out. Fear and horror warred inside her as the man's mind spilled open into her. Nightmarish images burned inside her mind and Marie pulled away before she bent to throw up. Hot liquid burned its way up her throat as the man fell, convulsing on the ground.
Terrified faces flashed through her mind's eye. She saw what he'd done to those two girls, what he'd planned to do to her. It was all there inside her skull, and now she wished she'd held on a little longer so the bastard died. Even then, the images would remain with her forever. Hell, she even knew where the bodies were buried.
Stumbling away from the still twitching murderer, Marie headed for the road. It didn't matter if she froze to death, she had to get away.
Marie never saw the massive shape that materialized behind her, and hardly felt the blow that drove her into unconsciousness.
A new blip appeared on the radar, indicating a second mutant with Sabretooth.
"It's time," Storm said as she set the jet down in a small clearing. While they hadn't been told what was going on, or why they were tracking the mutant, they had been informed that Magneto was interested in another mutant.
After they climbed out of the jet, Storm closed her eyes and focused. A warm, almost playful breeze sprung up around them. It gently pushed the fat, fluffy flakes of snow away from them, keeping the cold away as they moved towards the confrontation. The wind had another purpose. It kept their scent trapped in the mini cyclone.
Before long, they spotted their query. He looked like some sort of cave man, and the small girl tossed over one massive shoulder was tiny in comparison. The pair of X-Men shared a swift glance. Years of partnership passed without words between them and Storm stepped forward. Cyclops couldn't use his power while the girl was so close, so she'd have to separate them before they could save her.
Her eyes changed, going almost white as she focused her power, letting it build before allowing it to explode out of her in a jet of hurricane force wind. The blast hit perfectly, sending the unusual pair into a tumble which pushed the girl two dozen feet further than the feral.
Sabretooth leapt up in a flurry of snow and rage. His beastly roar ended in an almost feline yawl of pain when a blast of brilliant red light crashed into his chest and sent him flying into the tree line with a meaty thud. They waited for a heartbeat, but heard only silence. Not wanting to give the other mutant a chance to recover, Storm raced forward and scooped the unconscious girl up. She was painfully light, and the dark skinned woman felt something almost maternal well up in her chest as she looked down at the dirt smudged face. Hollows were formed under the girl's eyes, and her cheeks stuck out enough to give silent testimony to more than a few missed meals. "You'll be safe now," Storm promised, knowing the girl would find what she'd found after the Professor took her in.
A home, somewhere she could finally feel safe. Without looking back, she and Scott returned to the jet.
The harsh clack of wood against wood echoed around the empty training room. It was a rhythmic, nearly hypnotic sound. Though each stroke was solid, it lacked the fierceness of a true battle.
Remy moved with liquid grace as he danced around a skull splitting blow before he lashed out, again wood crashed against wood. IX's dark green eyes never left his as they circled, clashed, broke apart, only to begin again. Sometime over the past three years, the training sessions had morphed into sparring matches that were almost done for pleasure instead of honing skill.
It had only taken the small weapon half a year to learn everything Remy had to teach, but IX hadn't stopped the sessions. Instead, once he'd been able to put his teacher on his ass ten times out of ten, the fights had stopped being so deadly serious and had become a sort of absent minded meditation. While Remy was still enough to give IX a decent work out, he knew the shorter male outclassed him enough that he didn't have to give the fight his entire attention.
Instead of feeling insulted at the lack of attention, Remy felt a twinge of satisfaction. Somehow he'd managed to survive the years, and the experiments of the mad doctor. He hadn't managed his goal of befriending IX, but he'd gained an odd sort of acceptance from the assassin. It wasn't friendship. No, not that. Thinking it over as his bo arched and twisted, he tried to define their strange relationship.
Tolerance. Not the tolerance he felt for his team, where he was required to work with them, but a more personal tolerance. It wasn't the same level of tolerance Remy knew IX had for X, but it was more so than anyone else he'd seen IX interact with. He didn't think the little mutant was capable of forming friendships, but he was certain that he was as close to a friend as IX had ever had.
"We won't be able to spar tomorrow," the low monotone words brought Remy out of his thoughts.
"Oh, what be ya up to, Mon Ami?" Over the years the words 'my friend' had changed from sarcastic to sincere, though he didn't think IX noticed either way.
"We've been ordered to serve as guards for the United Nations World Summit."
"Dat sounds fan'cy."
IX blinked, and the next blow was just a bit harder than normal, showing his mild irritation over the upcoming mission. "Indeed. We have to wear suits."
A grin pulled at Remy's lips when he realized where the irritation was coming from. "Even X?"
"Yes." The word was clipped. It was hell trying to get the feral into a tailored suit, and X had spent the last three days pouting over the whole mess. IX's shoulder was a raw ache from the number of times the larger male had bitten him.
Remy couldn't help but laugh. Putting X in a suit was akin to dressing a bear. A hiss of pain escaped Remy when he was forced to dodge and block a rain of blows IX sent his way in retaliation for the laughter. Even though a few made it past his guard, the blows were half strength at best. Bruising, but not truly damaging.
A year ago he could have expected a broken rib for not blocking every blow sent. Then again, a year ago, he'd only been able to drag one or two words out of his sparring partner. Remy wasn't sure when IX started opening up, if only a little, to him. Dealing with IX was surreal. He'd seen the small man kill in cold blood, and in horrible ways, but he'd also spent countless hours like this. Trading blows and words, and he felt the deep emptiness in IX, but also felt the tiny tendrils of random heat that X inspired.
Once or twice, he'd even felt a feather light flicker of warmth directed at him. IX didn't know how to be a friend, or what a friend was, but Remy had learned that deep down IX was painfully lonely, and too badly damaged inside to recognize the emotion. Remy believed that broken emotion had been the nudge that allowed IX talk to him during these matches. Perhaps he rationalized it by classifying Remy as a captive whose only escape from here was death, but he felt certain that IX confided more in him than anyone else.
Except perhaps X, but that was an odd relationship too. One Remy couldn't quite understand. There were days when IX appeared with a deep bite mark in his neck, and one only had to watch how the feral's whole focus rested on IX whenever they were in a room together to know his feelings. But, the feelings in IX were far too stunted for a relationship. Remy was certain he'd know if the pair was intimate, but for some reason they'd never gone further than those strange bites.
Stepping back, IX lowered his weapon, bringing the bout to a close. Remy's whole body ached, and he knew he'd have a number of new bruises, but he still felt good. His mind turned over the new information, and he knew the time had finally come. "When will ya be returnin'?"
IX wiped the sweat from his face before answering. "We'll be leaving in the morning. Stryker wants the whole team to scout both islands before the guests start to arrive. The event will last most of the night, and we're going to be there until it's over and Ellis Island is cleared." Most people thought IX's voice was without inflection, but Remy had learned to read the subtle currents in his flat tone. He obviously wasn't interested in the baby-sitting assignment. No, his quasi-friend preferred action. I was created to be a weapon, not to play shepherd to politicians, he'd said once after a weeklong bodyguard job Stryker forced him on. By the end of it, the client was so freaked out by the silently staring teen that he'd called and demanded Stryker take him back and give him a guard who was less creepy.
It wasn't the first time Stryker tried to force IX or X into missions that kept them away from the base, but it was one time when IX had deliberately irritated the subject of his mission enough for it to be terminated early.
"Well, Mon Ami, don despair, Remy be sure sometin' will go wrong and you'll be der to kill it."
In the three years he'd known IX, Remy learned to fear him. He'd had those strong hands pin him down while the doctor strapped him to the table, and he'd watched that brilliant mind unravel even the most potent mutations to figure out how to destroy them. But, even though he feared IX, and knew he would most likely be his death, he'd still grown fond of the small sociopath. It be like havin' a tiger fer a friend. He be a terrible beauty, one dat let me spend time wid him, but like dem big cats, one day de play will end. One day, de swat will be wid claws out. Looking into those bottomless green eyes, Remy saw his death.
But not today. He gave a final, gentle smile. Not today, but eventually.
Rogue couldn't keep the dopy little smile off her lips. Even though the Professor told her he couldn't cure her, and that she'd probably never be able to touch anyone again, it wasn't all bad. The days after the revelation had been the hardest. She'd felt even more alone then than she'd felt hitchhiking because the hope of finding some way to make things better had been crushed.
But then the other kids hadn't been afraid of her. The professors gave her a form fitting full body stocking that covered every inch of skin from the neck down to help keep her safe, and it was wonderfully soft and comfortable. More than that, it represented safety. She could reach out and touch people without fear of them being consumed by her mutation.
For the first time since the whole nightmare began with an innocent kiss, things were looking up. Rogue looked shyly to the side and smiled. Bobby walked at her side and he caught the look, smiling back. He'd asked her to take a walk in the woods around the estate that morning, and she'd leapt at the chance. She still couldn't believe a boy might be interested in her, knowing that they'd never be able to do much of anything together.
They'd ambled through the forest for almost an hour, talking about the school, the other students, the classes, and anything else that came to mind. He'd even reached out and snagged her gloved hand, holding it gently. She could feel the warmth of him through the thin material, and it made her toes curl with delight.
"Thirsty?" He asked, offering the water bottle he held in his other hand. Rogue gave another shy smile but nodded. Thirst didn't have much to do with it. In her mind Rogue acknowledged the silly thought. He already drank out of it, this is about as close to a kiss as I'm ever going to get. Twisting off the cap, she took a long swallow of water. It tasted a bit off, a little metallic like faucet water. Her nose wrinkled a bit at the strange flavor.
Putting the cap back on, she looked at Bobby just as her vision doubled, then quadrupled. "Wha?" His warm blue eyes suddenly flashed a poisonous yellow, but before Rogue could try to speak again, her knees unhinged. Mystique caught the teen as she fell. Scooping the slender girl up into her arms, she jogged down a familiar path towards a small dirt road. Toad was waiting with a car, and he'd spirit the girl away while Mystique took care of Cerebro.
They walked side by side down the long rows of cages.
"No matter how much you pretend, you'll never be one of them," the voice was soft and venomous, drifting out of one of the cages, and directed not at IX, but Remy. "You'll always be one of us."
Remy's eyes stayed forward, ignoring the verbal jab that was nothing but truth. The metal collar itched around his neck, even years after it had been placed. He knew if he ever got the wretched thing off, he'd have a thin scar where the skin had been chaffed raw by the constricting material. It was a physical reminder that even though he had more privileges than the rest, he was nothing more than a captive of madmen.
But he knew something else from his time on the other side of the bars with IX. So were the other mutants. The ones who didn't wear collars or sleep in cells. IX, X, Zero and the rest were just as trapped as the rest of them. Their chains were simply harder to see.
A high pitched giggle snapped Remy out of his brooding thoughts and he realized IX had frozen behind him. Remy turned, about to ask what was wrong when he saw the green-eyed male locked in a staring contest with the facility's latest acquisition. Another shrill laugh broke off into words. "Tricky you. Hmmm, let's see. Let's seeeeee." The thin white haired teen stared at IX with huge pit black eyes, neither looked away.
"Kill him," another voice hissed from behind them. Remy turned a hard glare on the girl. Even as captivated as IX seemed to be, Remy knew he'd get a knife to the eye if he so much as twitched the wrong way in this moment.
Every muscle in IX's body was ridged, and a single drop of sweat slid down his face, but it wasn't fear that held him. It was a battle, and Remy knew it. Everyone within eye sight of the pale teen learned the hard way that the brat was a moderately powerful telepath. Strong, but inelegant. Having the idiot thrash about in their heads, while screaming their deepest secrets was beyond unpleasant. Not to mention it left one hell of a headache afterwards. They'd all learned not to look.
Even though IX's face didn't change, it seemed to darken when the telepath began to chortle. "Oh ho, ho! Lookie what I've found. Wait until I tell them all about how much the big bad Executioner loves to-"
For the first time in Remy's memory, IX's blank face cracked ever so slightly. His lips twisted in a half snarl. "You want to see? Let me show you." The words were as inflectionless as ever, but they made goose bumps erupt over every inch of Remy's skin. At the sudden silence, he suspected he wasn't the only one affected by that terrible voice.
"What? Stop it. You can't!" Terror twisted the telepath's face, but he didn't look away from IX's poisoned green gaze. It took Remy a moment to realize he couldn't look away.
Then the screaming began. High piteous shrieks that resonated eerily through the room causing the other prisoners to clutch their ears in a futile attempt to block the horrible sound out. The sound spiraled endlessly around the room, each ragged breath the mutant took was exhaled as a scream.
If Remy didn't fear for his own life, he would have reached out and jerked IX away, hoping to break the trance the pair seemed to be locked in. He had no idea what IX had done, or how he'd turned the telepath's power against him, but he wished with all his heart that it would stop. Still howling, the white haired boy sank to his knees. His fingers hooked into claws, and Remy knew what was about to happen before it did. It took everything he had not to throw up when those fingers plunged into wide black eyes. Some part of Remy knew he couldn't possibly have heard the orbs burst like grapes above the endless screams, but he heard it all the same.
Blood and thick clear liquid gushed down the boy's cheeks, but the desperate act hadn't helped. Whatever IX did, it had gotten into the telepath's brain, and even shutting the doors forever couldn't force it out again.
Ten long terrible minutes later the rasping screams broke off into stupefied silence. Bloody hands fell away from the mutant's slack jawed face. He knelt there, unmoving, uncaring that blood fell from the empty pits where his eyes used to be.
Not wanting to, but incapable of stopping himself, Remy reached out to brush at the telepath's emotions and felt a gaping emptiness. It felt like the smooth inside of a shell that had been spit out by the ocean, scraped clean of life. Even though the body still breathed, the mind had collapsed under the force of whatever IX had done.
Tearing his haunted gaze from the living corpse, Remy studied IX. Even after knowing him for three years, some irrational part of him expected to see his own horror reflected in IX's face. But of course, it wasn't. The deep blankness had returned, and he could read nothing there.
"Come on," IX's cold detached voice made Remy's gut twist, but he followed meekly as he was lead to his cage and locked in.
Returning to the blood spattered cage, IX reached out and willed the door to open. A silence so heavy it was suffocating filled the room while the frightened mutants watched him. The silence didn't bother him. It was often like this when he terminated a test subject, but this silence was heavier in a way. Perhaps because they, like he, knew this hadn't been ordered.
That, and the subject was still alive. More or less.
IX crouched and studied the ruined face. His slender finger reached out to probe one of the gaping holes, and made a mental note of the utter lack of reaction to his touch. Once he was satisfied with the examination, IX pressed his hands against both sides of the telepath's face and focused.
There was nothing he could do about the eyes, but he could heal the wounds so that he didn't bleed to death or die of infection. Not that that would save IX from punishment, but it was all he could do. Scar tissue seemed to flow into the empty sockets, slick and bloody. Even after the physical damage was dealt with, the telepath didn't rouse.
A deep itch twisted cruelly down IX's spine, already anticipating the lash. He would be able to heal the wounds after the punishment, but that didn't lessen the pain during. While IX hadn't been punished often over the years, he'd learned not to earn the ire of the doctor.
Ruining a new test subject before the doctor had even had a chance for the first examination was an excellent way to enrage the doctor.
IX stood and turned away from his mistake. They had a mission to prepare for, and the doctor's punishments would have to wait. Mild irritation at himself pulsed inside him before fading. When the telepath's mind shoved into his, IX hadn't been able to push it out again. The foreign mind had been like a giant slug, slick and mobile. No matter how he shoved, that semiliquid mind had flowed around him and penetrated deeper.
Memories began playing behind his eyes, and he knew that the telepath watched them, dug deeper, searching for something. Then he'd found X.
Large callous hands stroked hungrily down his naked back. IX allowed the touch as he allowed the bites. He felt the sharp dig of ridged flesh pushing up against his lower belly. That was more annoying, but the hot tongue probing his neck was good, warm, welcome. His own body failed to respond to the menstruations, as it always did, but IX was relaxed. He couldn't understand X's fixation with touching and rutting against him like this. Strangely, he didn't need to understand. Being held while the larger man growled, low and thrumming against his throat, was enough. Only here could he fully relax and let his guard down.
The feel of sharp teeth in his flesh had come to mean peace.
It was only when the telepath forced himself into that moment of peace, shattering it, that IX felt something hot and biting. The sensation cut into the center of his chest like a scalding dagger, and he reacted. Instead of trying to shove the teen out, his own mind responded. It grew sharp, sinking hooks into the enemy as his magic answered the burst of emotion. The hooks drug the thrashing mind down, down, down into his oldest memories.
Once there, he'd formed a box around the invader, and shoved him wholly into his earliest training. The first death, in the mind scape. It had been a true death just like all the others. He could feel the wild terror build in the mutant when he felt himself die, felt his own neck bones shatter, and he experienced the claustrophobic feeling of trying to draw a breath only for nothing to happen.
That was the first death. One of too many to count. After the fifth, the telepath had broken down and began begging. By the twelfth, he'd been beyond begging. IX knew he could have let the other go then, and he would have healed, perhaps not completely, but he would have been functional.
But he hadn't. The burning feeling hadn't abated, and his healing ability hadn't touched it. Only the mutant's screams seemed to soothe the heat. This mutant had trespassed, and IX was unwilling to forgive the transgression. Even after the other had clawed his own eyes out in a vain attempt to break the connection, he hadn't released him. It was only after the other mind had been crushed entirely under the weight of an unrelenting succession of deaths that he shoved, forcing the now shattered mind out of his.
Even as IX committed the act, he realized and accepted there would be punishment. It didn't matter. He would deal with the pain when it came. Now it was time to work.
It took more effort than was pretty for X to keep his lip from curling in a doglike snarl. The lightening taste of his mate's blood lingered on his tongue, but the fading flavor wasn't enough to make up for being separated, or for being forced into such constricting clothing.
He stood with a pair of human guards at the side of the road. The large white German Shepard continued shooting him glares, but they'd already exchanged growls so low the humans hadn't noticed. X won the initial challenge, his dominance clearly superior to the canines even if the dog wasn't taking it without protest. They'd have to fight it out if he wanted the beast to fully submit, but he knew better than to do so.
Instead, he focused on the next sleek limo that pulled up. Each vehicle had to be searched top to bottom. While the dog was well trained, it still didn't have the level of intelligence X had even if it was more animal cunning than human intellect. He took a long deep breath, scenting nothing dangerous. The dog didn't key, but still, he took another long draw before another low growl curled his lips. Reaching into the car, he pulled the driver out. The man stank of fear.
"Let me go," he yelped, but X didn't release him. Instead he sniffed again before his hand darted out and snatched a strange clear gun hidden down the front of the man's pants. The driver blanched and tried to desperately pull away, but X's grip was unbreakable. His knuckles throbbed, wanting to release his claws and tear into the twisting body.
Do not attack unless you are attacked first. Do not use deadly force. IX command returned to him, keeping his claws sheathed.
Then the human guards were there. They pulled the cursing man free, and hustled him off. X snarled low in his throat before turning to the next car.
Humanity formed a glittering throng around IX, but he wasn't afraid of the near suffocating crush of bodies. Instead, he felt like a wolf who'd slipped into a comfortable lamb skin cloak and walked brazenly among them. If necessary, he could cut one from the herd with such ease the rest wouldn't know what happened.
The muscles in his cheeks pulled his lips up into a passable approximation of a smile while his eyes tracked endlessly over the crowd of powerful people. Unlike the other guards, he didn't look like what he was. His suit was as tailored and expensive as any who'd arrived in a stretch limo.
Cold fire draped the necks of trophy wives in the form of intricately bedecked diamonds as the women competed with each other as fiercely as any Politian. While this might be a conference for world leaders, it was also a world stage, and the ladies of high society were not going to pass up on an opportunity to fight for the top spots in the eyes of fashion media.
People continued pouring into Ellis Island, and IX moved with the flow. It would be another hour before everyone found their seats and the tedious speeches could begin.
Time passed, and a small army of ushers began shooing guests into their proper sections. IX allowed himself to be pushed along, before sitting with the rest.
"My goodness, isn't this exciting?"
IX tilted his head slightly to the side, eyeing the young female. Long ringlets of deep gold hair had been done up in an intricate style that must have taken hours, and he could spot the dark sparkle of sapphires nested throughout. The jewels matched her evening gown perfectly, and though each hair was in place, and her face was expertly made up, there was something a bit off about her. The man at her side was eighty if he was a day, and her face was too young and open. Not a professional call-girl, underage, new to the game, IX concluded. She seemed happy enough to be there. Even if she'd been miserable, IX didn't care. Unless she posed a threat, she was unimportant.
"Indeed," he replied dryly. But neither his empty eyes, nor his cold word deterred her.
"You would not believe how happy I am to be here. Oh! My name's Andria, Andria Preston," she offered a dainty gloved hand. IX reached out, his hand almost as small as her as he gave the delicate silk covered fingers a small shake.
"Richard Outis," IX replied, plucking a random first name and pairing it with the pseudonym for Nobody. The girl beamed at him while the old man on her other side fell into a light doze.
"This is my first trip to New York, and everything is more amazing than I ever dreamed. It's nothing at all like the movies," she turned and pointed towards the Statue of Liberty. "Have you ever seen anything like it?"
IX gave the large statue an indifferent glance. Perhaps if he hadn't spent most of the day going over it, and both islands, he might have found it a tad more interesting. "No," he replied, giving her the answer she wanted. For the next twenty minutes, he listened to the foolish girl-child prattle on about her dress, the small town she'd come from, the amazing hotel they were staying at, and anything else that came to her fluff filled mind.
He gave the obligatory answers when required, but aside from that, let her endless flow of words pass over him without comment while he kept his attention on the mission.
IX felt the soft itch in his mind as the communication nanos in his brain activated. IX, orders are as follows: Locate X and rendezvous with the guards on Liberty Island. A number of guards have dropped off the communication network. Locate and neutralize the threat.
"Pardon me," IX stated, cutting Andria off mid-word before he stood and walked silently up the aisle towards the back of the gathering where he knew X waited.
Irritation itched along every inch of skin while X prowled the edge of the settling crowd. There were too many people, and the stench of an endless number of clashing perfumes made him light headed. Why anyone would want to change their base scent was beyond comprehension to the feral.
"Meet me at the Port-o-Potties," IX's voice whispered softly through the small earbud, snapping him out of his aggravation. The handful of people and guards still milling about moved almost unconsciously out of his way as he passed like a flock of pidgins strutting out of the way of a junk yard dog.
All the wealth in the world couldn't hide the acrid stench coming from the neatly tucked away row of portable restrooms. There were simply too many people, and the size of their checkbooks still couldn't change the fact that what came out their back ends stank as much as the lowest beggar. Then his eyes were caught by his slender, dark-haired mate. IX's eyes locked on his for an instant before he entered one of the little huts.
A primal grin curled his lips as X followed. Jerking the door open, he slid into the cramped space, ignoring the burning chemical scent that failed to mask the fecal smell below.
IX shifted back as far as he could to give the much larger male enough room to shut the door before X's arms were around him. He felt IX stiffen, but didn't let go. Instead his head dipped down, and even though he could sense IX mild ire at this interruption of the mission, his own head tilted back just enough for X's tongue to lightly trace his mate's plump bottom lip.
Teeth nipped the lip once, before the world spun away into darkness.
The first scent that struck X when they appeared in the shadow of the great statue was the metallic tang of blood. A pleased growl trickled from his lips, relishing the knowledge that the boring part of the job was done, now they'd have some excitement.
After giving IX's lip a last teasing lick, he turned and trotted over to the crushed form. The body looked like someone had dropped a small car on it before taking the car away, leaving the twisted corpse behind. Crouching, X's nostrils flared. There, under the sweet tang of blood, was the scent of a mutant. Something akin to him, but cold blooded. Not quite reptilian, but close. The odor reminded him of a swamp, cold, wet, and muddy.
Lightning crashed overhead, striking the tower. X shielded his eyes, snarling against the blinding pain. IX touched his arm. "Lead."
It was a common command. IX knew him well enough to recognize when he'd caught a scent, and this one would be easy to track. Stalking forward, he led the way into the statue.
Dead guards littered their path, crushed as the others had been. It was only once they made it inside that they began to observe marks of resistance. IX paused, reaching out to touch a bit of scorched wall. "There are at least two groups of mutants. One group attempting to stop the other," he said, eyes tracking over the battle damaged room while his agile mind tried to puzzle out what was happening. "Come." Tracking was no longer necessary, there was only one place to go. Up.
"Scream for me." The words were a deep rasp, but loud enough for them to hear as they entered the head to a peculiar sight. Mutants had been pinned like butterflies to the walls. Though, unlike the delicate insects, their bonds were not killing ones.
A massive blond haired feral had his hand around the neck of a white haired female, and was the only immediate threat. There were two other people in the room, a male and female pair who'd been pinned face to face against the gently curving wall.
The sound of X's claws unsheathing made the other feral whip around. "More play toys? How nice," Sabretooth gave a toothy grin before he rushed forward. X met the charge and the brutish pair met in the middle with a meaty thud. Cloth and skin parted, but not enough for a killing blow. Something clattered unnoticed to the ground before Sabretooth's hands clamped down on X's forearms. With a resounding roar, he lifted X clean off the floor and flung him bodily out onto the observation area of the statue's crown.
Twisting in the air, X rolled with the throw and came up on his feet just as Sabretooth shot out after him. He smashed into X like a bulldozer, toppling him over the edge and onto one of the long spines of the headpiece.
Storm sucked in air gratefully when the clawed hand released her. She'd expected to see a human guard, but had been shocked when Sabretooth was attacked by a mutant she'd never seen before. Not that she knew every mutant around, but she was familiar with most of the individuals in Magneto's camp, not to mention all the people on her side.
Who was this guy?
It was only after the two vanished, their battle taking them out of the room, did she notice the second person. Cold green eyes swept over them, and her heart sank. The look in those eyes was enough to tell her that whoever they were, they weren't on her side.
Still, beggars couldn't be choosers, so when she saw Mystique come up behind the stranger, she reacted. "Behind you," her voice was rough from the bruising Sabretooth had given her, but the mutant reacted instantly.
Without a single wasted movement, he turned. A gun seemed to spring fully formed into his hand, the draw so smooth she hadn't seen it. Blazing yellow eyes widened in terror when the barrel came up, and Mystique attempted to shift into X's form. The single shot seemed to roar in the metal room. Storm's gut clenched when she saw the almost delicate hole appear in the half changed chest. Mystique collapsed, her flesh melting black into shimmering blue.
X's eyes narrowed to slits as he crouched on the spine. The stink of the other feral clouded his thoughts, making instincts scream to defend his territory and destroy the threat to his mate.
Claws extended, he held his ground when Sabretooth charged again. The mutant kept his body low, smashing into him with punishing force in a brutal attempt to force him over the edge. Together they fell, punching and clawing like a pair of alley cats as they tumbled towards the point of the metal.
One final rotation, and Sabretooth got lucky. Boots planted themselves in X's gut, and with a powerful thrust, he was flung out into empty space.
Flinging his arms outward, X plunged towards the punishing ground, but then claws screamed through metal about twenty feet down. Pain crashed through him as his arm jerked him to a stop on the statue's ear lobe. Tendons stretched and tore, but he held on grimly even as he felt his shoulder jerk from the socket.
Fireworks exploded overhead, filling the sky with dazzling flares of light. X breathed through the pain, keeping still as he focused on the grip his claw had in the metal. If he slipped now, there wouldn't be another chance to catch himself. The fall wouldn't kill him, but it would slow him down and that was unacceptable.
With exquisite care, he turned his body and sank the claws of his left hand into the ear. Gritting his teeth, he pulled up just enough to ease the pressure on his injured arm. Slowly, he eased the claws out and let his arm fall to the side. The sharp agony dulled as his healing kicked in.
More fireworks, but this time there was a much louder concussion closer to his position. Where the statue's torch had been, was now falling debris and an intense white light as if God had reached down and touched his finger to the torch to make it real.
X's lips curled as he began to claw his way up the side of the statue. He had to get up there before IX got into more than he could handle.
"Who are you?" Jean asked. She carefully kept her eyes on him, not wanting to look at the dead woman on the floor.
IX glanced up from where he knelt by the body, about to check the vitals to ensure the kill. Gathering her strength, Jean's mind gave his a light nudge when his eyes locked with hers. It was a bit of a trick weak telepaths like her employed to get someone to think about what they wanted to know.
The blood drained from her face when she saw his thoughts. Not his name, or his past, or even how he saw himself. It seemed like her question had no impact on his current thoughts. She swallowed hard, jerking the mental probe away from those coldly calculating thoughts.
Oh God, he's thinking about killing us. All of us. Jean wasn't unfamiliar with homicidal thoughts, though thankfully she hadn't seen them often. But, this was different. His mind was like a machine, calculating values not of lives but of convenience. They'd seen him, and the other. Jean and her friends had become loose ends, and that was unacceptable to his cold mind. He thought about their deaths in the same way she'd think about taking her cat to the groomers for a flea bath. They were an inconvenience that needed to be eliminated.
That was all. So simplistically brutal. Her stomach clinched in horror when he reached for a knife. That had been part of the calculations too. No value in wasting bullets on stationary targets.
"Please don't," she sobbed, tears falling unnoticed down her cheeks as he approached them.
"What's happening?" Scott demanded, his voice a low hiss of mingled fear and fury.
Another sob escaped her. "I love you Scott. I love you so much."
"Jean!?" His voice rose, fear winning out.
IX stopped in front of her, his chilling eyes never leaving hers, almost inviting her to take another peak if she wished. He brought the knife up. "No!" Jean said, all her focus locked around his wrist, freezing it mid-motion. The empty expression on his face didn't change as he tried to move his hand forward, but not able to do so.
He tilted his head slightly. Jesus, he's so young, too young to be a monster, she thought hysterically. Then he stepped back, and she let him go with relief forgetting all about the gun. "I see." Again he brought the knife up.
"No!" She shouted, as if he were an attack dog about to lunge at a toddler. Again, it stopped mid-air, inches from her neck.
"A telepath and telekinetic. Impressive."
Jean shuddered in revulsion. He talked about her as if she were a car that had an unexpected but pleasant feature. Then his stance shifted, and he brought more force to bear on the knife. Her breath hitched in her chest when it moved forward half an inch. Even though she was using her full strength, she knew it wouldn't be enough.
"What have we here?" A familiar voice rasped. Instantly, their contest of wills shattered. IX turned, and his hand shot out. The knife that had been so close to spilling her blood flew with nightmarish accuracy before it lodged hilt deep in Sabretooth's neck. Squawking, he clawed at the object now choking him before a lucky grab jerked it free. A fountain of blood gushed from the hole, and it took everything Jean had not to throw up.
IX didn't bother watching him fall. Instead he turned back to Jean, and to her utter horror, there was another knife in his hand. That's his mutation, he's able to create weapons out of thin air, she thought wildly.
Before he could open her throat up to add her blood to the growing pool on the floor, the statue seemed to rock. The explosion rumbled through the structure, vibrating everything. IX's eyes narrowed, but he turned away. Only for now, dear lord, only for now. He'll be back and then he'll cut all the loose ends. She could feel the hysteria trying to build inside her, and bit her tongue hard enough for it to bleed. No screaming. If she started now, she knew she'd never stop.
X dropped back onto the observation deck and made his way to IX. His lip curled when he saw the body, but he'd learned long ago not to begrudge IX when he stole a kill. The smaller male wasn't one to play with prey, and wouldn't tolerate X taking too long to indulge his own amusement.
When they reached the door to the arm of the statue, they found it locked. X slashed through it before IX could reach out to unlock it. Green eyes flashed at him, but IX said nothing. Together they mounted the stairs. The strange light grew with each step. It seemed to blaze all around the final door separating them from whatever was happening.
Without fear, IX pushed the door open. They'd found the target, now it was time to do their job and neutralize it.
A strange machine had taken the place of the Liberty statue's torch. Metallic rings spun so fast they blurred, and at the base of a machine was the body of an elderly man. IX could barely make out a shape at the center of the machine. Another person.
"Destroy it." IX ordered, even as he focused his power into the strongest shield around himself he could. X might be able to heal anything thrown at him, but IX couldn't if the damage was too grave.
Lips peeling away from his teeth, X leapt forward, claws extended. The shape on the ground shifted. A hand came up, and X froze midair. A furious roar escaped him, and before IX could remove the problem, his arm jerked forward far enough to catch one of the rings.
Like a plane crashing on the runway, the strange machine disintegrated into hunks of flying shrapnel. Chunks of metal tore into X's body, throwing him against IX shield hard enough for IX to feel the force of it against his power. The light died. Swaying, X managed to stay upright as he began to pull the shrapnel out of his chest. Low grumbles of irritation fell from his lips as he did, and IX couldn't stop the slight up tilt of one side of his lips. He let the shield fall, and pressed a hand against X's lower back. The sounds changed to an appreciative purr before IX pushed him lightly.
"Check on that one," IX said, nudging him towards the still figure in the remnants of the machine. If they were still alive, they would be turned over to the authorities for interrogation.
X reached out and roughly grasped the girl's hand, preparing to cut the chain holding her wrist in place. Something sank a hook deep inside of him, freezing him to the spot, then his whole body stiffened when it began to pull. Energy seemed to pour out of him like life's blood, and the healed wounds in his chest split open.
Darkness ate his vision as both energy and blood left him, X collapsed.
IX leapt forward after X fell. When he saw the gaping wounds something happened. Something that had never happened before.
IX forgot about the mission. He forgot about the loose ends, the girl, the machine, the man he'd been about to handcuff. All he could see was X's blood pouring out and knew instinctively that X would die if he wasn't treated instantly.
He also knew that he couldn't heal him here. Impossible. This place would be swarming with police soon. Hands pressed against the terrible wounds, they vanished.
They landed together on the floor of their shared bedroom, and IX had to suppress a surprising jolt of something in his chest when he felt X's heart hesitate beneath his hand. He reached up to touch his own chest. It felt like when he'd been shot, that same sharp and unexpected agony.
Doesn't matter, focus.
Closing his eyes, IX sank into the large familiar body. Pure power flooded the damaged tissue, cradled organs, and carefully knitted together ruptured vessels. If he'd been anyone else, panic would have frozen him at the extensive damage, and at the fact that X's body wasn't healing on its own. But IX's focus was total.
Over an hour passed before the final wound closed. His power drained from the healing, IX collapsed over the broad chest and sank into unconsciousness.
Thank you for your continued interest in this story, and the valued feedback.