X-Men: The Unnatural Omega's Volume 4; Endgames
Chapter 13: The Book of Daryl, Part 2
…
Upon their arrival in Angers, Pays de la Loire, the group was met with a scene that underscored the magnitude of the crisis that had befallen the world. SHIELD agents, alongside the formidable Iron Legion robots provided by Tony Stark, were amid an exhaustive operation, gathering the remains of walkers that had been neutralized in a grim but necessary effort to reclaim the area.
The scene was bolstered by volunteers who had come from across the globe. Among them were individuals from the United States to as far as Mexico, each contributing to the daunting task at hand.
As the group made their way through the cleared streets, a volunteer from Mexico paused, his actions momentarily halting the tallying of bodies. With a shake of his head, he voiced a sentiment that hung heavily in the air, resonating with the silent acknowledgment of all present. "This world will take us decades to clean up," he remarked, a mix of resolve and weariness coloring his words. Each body, accompanied by wallets in a hopeful attempt at identification, represented a life lost, a story ended amidst chaos.
His statement, simple yet profound, echoed the reality they all faced. The walkers, having plagued every corner of the globe for the past 15 years or so, represented an indelible scar on the planet, a constant reminder of the day everything changed. The task of restoration was Herculean, not just in the physical removal of the walker threat but in the psychological healing of a world torn asunder.
Each cleared area, each identified victim, was a step towards reclaiming not just land, but humanity itself from the clutches of despair.
And every life counted. Especially in this world.
During the arduous cleanup operation, the group took a moment to regroup and touch base with the basecamp leader. Surprisingly, the leader was a relatively young Witcher, named David, a prodigious teenager whose exceptional performance in the trials at the new School of the Wolf had earned him an early graduation and a significant role in addressing the undying walker problem that plagued the region.
wise beyond his years, shared crucial updates with Logan, Daryl, and the rest of the team. He mentioned that their forward scouts had recently encountered two men who claimed to have abandoned their posts under Marion's command, fearing retribution and unable to return. One of them, named Stephane, seemed to recognize the group, claiming to have previously crossed paths.
The mention of Stephane immediately sparked recognition among the group; he was the same individual who had discreetly passed them a warning back at the abbey, cautioning them against trusting Marion—a figure whom Regis and Logan had already suspected of harboring psychopathic tendencies.
David led them to a secured room within the basecamp where Stephane and his brother, Michale, were being kept. As they made their way, the young Witcher delved deeper into the alarming intelligence they had gathered from the defectors.
"According to Stephane, Marion isn't just a threat because of her ruthless leadership," David explained with a gravity that belied his youth. "She's taking the walker threat to a new level—manufacturing them, including the undying variants. And worse, she's moving them to the docks, loading them onto ships as if marshaling an army for some ominous purpose."
The revelation sent a chill through the group. The notion of someone not only harnessing but also weaponizing the walkers in such a calculated manner was a grim twist in an already dire situation. Marion's machinations hinted at a larger, more sinister plan in play, raising the stakes of their mission exponentially.
As they arrived at the room where Stephane and Michale awaited, the group steeled themselves for the discussion ahead. Understanding Marion's intentions and her means of creating these abominable walkers was crucial. The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to align, painting a disturbing picture of a foe whose ambitions could spell catastrophe not just for Angers, but potentially for the wider world.
As the group settled into the dimly lit room Stephane Stephane and Michale, looking weary yet resolved, seemed prepared to divulge what they knew. Stephane carried the weight of his conscience in his eyes, a man torn by his past allegiance to Marion and the horrifying direction her ambitions had taken.
Stephane began, his voice steady but laced with an underlying tremor of fear and regret. "What Marion is planning... it's beyond anything I could've imagined. Even for someone like me, who's seen his fair share of violence and chaos, this is... it's monstrous."
He paused, collecting his thoughts before revealing the extent of Marion's machinations. "She's orchestrating another outbreak; on a scale we've never seen. Her plan is to move these... these manufactured walkers to strategic locations in the States and Africa. The undying, aggressive ones, they're designed to spread the infection further, to both people and other walkers."
The group listened in stunned silence, the gravity of Stephane's words sinking in. The notion of deliberately igniting new outbreaks, of weaponizing the undead in such a calculated, malevolent manner, was chilling.
Stephane continued, his voice growing more troubled. "But there's more. Something shifted in Marion, especially after we lost contact with the CRM in the States. Your actions, taking them out, it... it pushed her over some edge."
He hesitated, as if struggling to articulate the next part. "Marion has been delving into... into dark territories. Occult manuscripts, demonic lore, things that should've remained untouched. It's like she's become obsessed with death, with harnessing its power through some twisted interpretation of demonology."
The implications of Stephane's revelations were staggering. Marion's descent into occult practices, her obsession with death and the macabre, suggested a level of depravity and danger that went beyond mere power or control. It painted a picture of a woman consumed by her own darkness, willing to plunge the world into chaos to satiate her twisted desires.
The group exchanged troubled looks, each person grappling with the enormity of what they were up against. Marion wasn't just a tyrant wielding the undead as weapons; she was a fanatic, driven by a dangerous ideology that threatened to unleash untold horrors upon the world.
As dawn broke, casting a soft golden hue over the landscape, the group made their way toward Paris, navigating through the remnants of a world struggling to rise from its own ashes. Leading the contingent were Logan, Regis, Nightcrawler, and Daryl, their determined strides matched by the eclectic mix of volunteers who had joined their cause.
Among these brave souls was Torrhen, a stoic Northerner from the snow-swept realms of Westeros. Clad in rugged furs and leathers, he bore a greatsword strapped to his back, its steel gleaming coldly in the morning light.
Accompanying him were three seasoned soldiers from the provinces of Nirn, specifically two Bretons, Alinor and Serana, and a Nord named Bjorn. Alinor, with her keen intellect and mastery of the arcane, carried a staff topped with a crystal that pulsed with magical energy. Serana, adept in stealth and reconnaissance, wielded dual daggers, their blades etched with runes. Bjorn, embodying the fierce spirit of his people, carried a battle-axe, its edge as sharp as the icy winds of Skyrim.
Their presence in the group was driven not just by a sense of duty but by a desire to learn and adapt to the realities of other worlds, should they ever find themselves facing a conjunction or breach leading to this realm.
Adding an unexpected yet invaluable dimension to their ranks were two droids, liberated from the grip of imperial control and now sentient beings. The first, designated as D3-R0, bore a striking bright brown-red finish on its metallic frame, its sensors and instruments diligently scanning the surrounding destruction for data crucial to the reconstruction efforts. The second, known affectionately as Sticker, was easily recognizable by the colorful array of stickers adorning its chassis—each one chosen with care, a whimsical testament to its newfound autonomy.
As they journeyed through the countryside, the occasional buzz of SHIELD drones overhead provided a comforting reminder of the larger network of support and reconnaissance at their disposal. These drones, tirelessly scanning the area, were not just on the lookout for lingering threats, such as walkers, but were also tasked with locating survivors—each discovery a beacon of hope in the ongoing efforts to reclaim and rebuild this shattered world.
As the group navigated the desolate yet historically rich streets of Paris, the contrast of beauty and decay was stark. Isabelle and Sylvie, with a touch of nostalgia, pointed out the remnants of grandeur like the Panthéon and the skeletal remains of Notre-Dame to an intrigued Laurent. Amidst this, Daryl's attention was caught by a car emblazoned with the word "Pouvoir" alongside a distinct crest. Isabelle explained that it symbolized a resistance movement named "Pouvoir," which emerged in the wake of the Trials, indicating the complex social dynamics that had evolved in this new world. She mentioned that much of Paris was now under the sway of Genet and her band of guerriers, hinting at the fraught nature of survival in the city.
Their journey took a tense turn as they passed a cemetery, a place that once symbolized eternal rest but now stood as a grim reminder of the world's current state. It was then that D3-R0, ever vigilant, noticed an anomalous gleam ahead. With a quick, cautionary gesture, he signaled the group to halt, his hand raised in warning. Sensing potential danger, he directed Daryl and Logan to swiftly move the cart carrying Sylvia, Laurent, and Isabelle behind the safety of nearby cover.
Advancing a few cautious steps for a closer inspection, D3-R0 suddenly reeled back as the glint revealed itself to be the menacing barrel of a machine gun. In a fraction of a second, Nightcrawler reacted, his instincts honed through countless battles. With a barely perceptible blur of motion, he teleported D3-R0 away from the line of fire, just as a hail of bullets erupted from the machine gun.
The cemetery, a place of solemnity and silence, was suddenly engulfed in the cacophony of gunfire. Tombstones, silent witnesses to the lives of those long passed, were shattered, and desecrated as the machine gun emptied its clip in a reckless spray of destruction, only ceasing when the ammunition was spent.
In the wake of the unexpected gunfire, the group cautiously emerged from their makeshift cover, the echo of the last bullet still hanging in the air. Logan and Regis, with years of combat experience between them, moved with practiced stealth to secure the area, ensuring that the threat was neutralized and that no further surprises awaited them.
Their investigation led them to the source of the attack: a machine gun that had been crudely mounted on a makeshift stand, its purpose clear and its message even clearer. With careful hands, they dismounted the weapon from its setup, finding it devoid of any more ammunition—a one-time threat meant to instill fear and caution.
Attached to the gun was a piece of weathered paper, its edges frayed and its message chilling in its simplicity. "Turn back now..." it read, in a hand that was both firm and menacing. Signed at the bottom was a name that sent a ripple of tension through the group: Marion Genet.
The realization that they had walked into a trap, albeit one they had narrowly escaped, weighed heavily on them. Marion Genet, a name that had been a constant shadow over their mission, now felt more ominous than ever.
She was resorting to psychological warfare; it was a psychological game, a message from Marion herself that she was aware of their movements and intentions.
The discovery of the letter and the realization of Marion's trap set a somber tone as they regrouped.
As the group advanced with heightened caution through the outskirts of the cemetery, they stumbled upon a somber scene: three bodies, meticulously wrapped as if prepared for burial, lying in silent repose. This solemn discovery was quickly overshadowed by the sudden tension of bows being drawn, their presence having alerted a group of wary locals.
The archers, their expressions a mix of fear and determination, were clearly on edge from the recent gunfire. The sight of Nightcrawler, with his distinctive blue skin and forked tail.
, drew wide-eyed shock from some, while the advanced officer droids, D3-R0 and Sticker, by their side elicited a mix of both shock and slight fear, among the group, unaccustomed to such sophisticated machinery.
Isabelle, sensing the mounting tension, stepped forward, addressing the apparent leader of the group, a man named Fallou Boukar. She spoke of truth and hope, invoking the name of Père Jean as a sign of their peaceful intentions. Fallou's demeanor shifted at the mention, his curiosity piqued by Laurent's presence and the somber news of Père Jean's fate.
As Fallou's gaze lingered on Nightcrawler and then darted towards Frank, the unease was immediate.
Isabelle quickly intervened, introducing Nightcrawler and the droids, and addressing the elephant in the room—Frank's half-walker appearance. Fallou's reaction was instinctive, a step back at the revelation, but Isabelle's calming gesture and assurances defused the situation.
Isabelle explained that their eclectic group, though foreign and unusual in appearance, had been instrumental in their journey. She revealed Frank's identity as Patient Zero, a fact that added layers of complexity to their tale. The mention of running into one of Marion's traps and the subsequent gunshots lent urgency to their need for a safer haven for discussion.
Snapping back to the present danger at the mention of Marion's traps, Fallou's initial shock gave way to a pragmatic resolve. They quickly completed the burial rites for the deceased and led the group through a concealed tunnel towards his community, his steps quickened by a newfound vigilance.
Emerging onto a greenhouse rooftop repurposed into a makeshift community, Fallou ushered them into a secluded area, away from prying eyes. Here, they could speak freely, away from the rest of the community's curious gaze.
Settling into this private space, Isabelle braced herself for the intricate task of elucidating the origins and stories of her companions.
This will take a while to explain… and she already could feel a headache forming.
…
Forty-five minutes into Isabelle's detailed exposition, Fallou sat in stunned silence, his mind reeling from the torrent of revelations that had just been unfurled before him. The concepts of magic, gods, alternate universes, and multiverses were far beyond the realm of anything he had ever considered possible. Whole universes, where this apocalypse never happened was something that he would have regarded as fantasy or plain insanity before.
The idea that their current apocalypse, a calamity that had reshaped the very fabric of their existence, was engineered, designed here in France no less. Made him suddenly have to sit down.
The involvement of the CRM and Marion, not just as local tyrants, or leaders amidst chaos but as key players in a global catastrophe, added layers of intrigue and horror to the already dire situation.
Fallou needed a moment to anchor himself in the face of such staggering information. He found a nearby seat, the weight of the revelations forcing him to physically sit down as he attempted to reconcile this new, unimaginable reality with the world he thought he knew. The notion that France was the epicenter, the genesis of this global apocalypse, was earthshattering, casting a dark shadow over his sense of national identity and history.
Rubbing his face in a futile attempt to clear his thoughts, Fallou finally spoke, his voice tinged with a mix of incredulity and a dawning realization of the enormity of the situation. "So... France was where this whole thing started...?" The question hung in the air, rhetorical yet laden with disbelief.
He continued, grappling with each piece of the puzzle presented by Isabelle, "And... through Frank, you've discovered a cure? One that renders us invisible to the infected, except for these new ones you've mentioned—the highly aggressive ones that don't die..."
The concept of a cure, a beacon of hope amidst the relentless darkness, was a sliver of light in the overwhelming gloom of their conversation. Yet, the existence of the new, undying walkers cast a long shadow over any fleeting sense of relief.
Fallou's mind raced as he connected the dots, recalling whispers and rumors that had seemed too fantastical to be true. "Shit... I've heard rumors of walkers that weren't acting right, like they were mauling other walkers, but nothing like this..."
The reality that those rumors could be the early signs of a much larger, more sinister development was a chilling prospect. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to form a coherent, albeit horrifying, picture. The walkers that defied the known rules of their condition, the engineered nature of the apocalypse, and the role of Marion and the CRM in this grand, macabre design were all interconnected strands in a web of deceit and manipulation that spanned far beyond the borders of France.
As Fallou struggled to digest the magnitude of what he was learning, the group around him with the two officer droids and nightcrawler left no room for doubt.
This was reality.
…
After a heavy silence, Isabelle finally broke the tension, pulling from her bag several small, labeled vials containing the serum—each a shimmering hope against the darkness. With the help of D3-R0 and Sticker, the two officer droids now integral to their operations, they began preparing for a broader distribution.
Daryl noticed Isabelle's hands shaking as she handed out the vials. It wasn't just the cold. As he reached out to steady her grip, his eyes briefly met the scars on her wrists—faint lines that told stories of a turbulent past she had long since buried. He said nothing, offering only a nod of understanding. Regis, catching a glimpse, also chose silence, respecting the personal battles that had shaped her.
As they briefed the volunteers, D3-R0 and Sticker scanned everyone with meticulous precision. Most were cleared, but tension spiked when the diagnostics flagged two young children—a four-year-old girl and an infant boy recently orphaned. "These two cannot receive the cure," Sticker announced gravely. "Their physiology is intertwined too deeply with the infection from birth. It's risky." The community accepted this with a heavy heart, knowing that for now, some would have to endure the world as it was, albeit safely within the community.
Meanwhile, Logan, Nightcrawler, Fallou, and Frank, along with a few select volunteers, unrolled a large, worn map of Paris across a makeshift table. The city was a labyrinth, each district potentially crawling with not just walkers but Marion's enhanced abominations and traps.
"The docks are here," Logan pointed, his finger tapping a spot heavily circled in red. "Marion's operation to load these undying walkers onto ships has to be stopped before she can initiate another outbreak."
Nightcrawler, his face set in grim determination, added, "Every second counts. We'll need to move stealthily but quickly. Marion's traps are not just in the streets—she plays mind games."
Fallou, now somewhat accustomed to the extraordinary company he kept, nodded, his focus sharpening. "We'll split into teams. One to navigate and clear the path, the other to secure and administer the cure. We need to be vigilant—Marion has turned much of the city into a death trap."
As they strategized, Daryl pulled Isabelle aside. "About earlier," he started, his voice low, "I know what it's like to carry past scars—you're not alone in this." Isabelle offered him a small, thankful smile, touched by the unspoken solidarity.
With plans set, the teams geared up. They distributed radios, weapons, and the last of the cure vials, ensuring everyone was prepared for what might be their most dangerous mission yet.
As the group distributes the serum to the survivors, the relative calm is suddenly shattered by a distant, thunderous explosion. The sound, echoing through the city streets, draws their attention towards the horizon. Before anyone can react, a grotesque form lands heavily on the rooftop—a walker, its body disfigured by acid burns, seething with corrosive bile.
In a horrifying moment, the acid walker's impact sends splashes of its deadly secretion flying. Several volunteers cry out as they are struck—one man grasps his arm in agony, his skin sizzling and bubbling under the acid's cruel kiss, while a woman nearby collapses, her leg drenched and smoking from the corrosive splash. Panic ensues as others scramble away, trying to avoid the lethal droplets.
Daryl, ever vigilant and quick to act, doesn't hesitate. With a swift, decisive move, he eliminates the walker, ensuring no further harm can come from it. But the brief victory offers little solace. Almost as if on cue, another explosion thunders in the distance, followed by another, then another, in rapid, heart-pounding succession.
Amid the escalating chaos, the group watches in dismay as several buildings in a nearby district begin to crumble and fall, sending up massive clouds of dust and debris. The destruction is strategic, blocking several streets and cutting off paths through the city.
Logan's voice crackles over the communicator, urgent and commanding, trying to make sense of the sudden havoc. "Report! What's going on out there?" he shouts into the device, his tone a mix of anger and concern.
From the other end, amidst the static and noise of background explosions, comes the strained voice of one of their forward scouts. "It's Marion! She doesn't know where you are, so she's cutting off your paths to the docks!" Another voice, a drone operator, chimes in over the growing din, "She's causing chaos in the city to slow you down!"
The revelation sends a chill down everyone's spine. Marion's tactics are clear: sow enough destruction and confusion to hinder their movements, trapping them in a city turned into a labyrinth of ruins and chaos. With the docks likely as her ultimate target, every moment delayed increases the danger not just to them, but to the entire world should her plan succeed.
The group exchanges grim looks, understanding the weight of their mission now more than ever. The urgency to reach the docks and stop Marion becomes a desperate race against time, a dire struggle through a city being torn apart by one woman's apocalyptic wrath.
Without wasting a moment, Logan quickly keys his communicator, urgency sharpening his voice. "Can we fly in? It's our only shot now!" he demands, casting a calculating gaze towards the docks, now obscured by the rising smoke and debris from the collapsed buildings.
On the other end, there's a brief pause, filled with the crackle of static and distant explosions, before a response comes through, firm and clear. "No air defenses detected around the docks. We're dispatching a SHIELD transport to your location now. Get ready," the coordinator confirms, signaling a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos.
Meanwhile, off to the side, Isabelle and Frank are urgently tending to the injured volunteers, their actions precise and swift. Frank, with a steady hand, pours a generous amount of the cure over the woman's acid-burned leg, while Isabelle does the same for the man's arm. The serum hisses slightly as it contacts the acid, neutralizing the burn and beginning to heal the damaged tissue. Relieved sighs escape the injured as the pain subsides and the horrific damage starts to get under control.
As the team hustles to get everyone inside and away from the exposed rooftop, the echoes of explosions begin to fade, the city's new silence a stark contrast to the recent bedlam. Not all buildings had fallen, but enough had to effectively block any direct routes on the ground to the docks. The air route now stands as their only viable option.
Gathering quickly, Logan and the team prepare for the arrival of the SHIELD transport. He looks over his group, faces set with grim determination, each member ready to confront whatever awaits them at the docks.
As the SHIELD aircraft descends, its rotors cutting through the smoky air, the team quickly boards, no time for second thoughts. The aircraft lifts off, soaring over the chaotic cityscape, offering a bird's eye view of the path of destruction Marion has carved through the city—an ominous reminder of the stakes at play.
Inside the aircraft, the team readies their gear, checking weapons and medical supplies, the weight of the mission settling heavily on their shoulders. As they fly toward the docks, the city below them a labyrinth of debris and desolation, they brace for the confrontation ahead, united by a shared resolve to stop Marion and prevent her twisted vision from unfolding.