Marvel From the Void and Back Again, Part 2
Chapter 39: Journey to the World of the Dead, Part 2
…
The afternoon sun hung low as Captain Marvel's team approached the fortified camp on the outskirts of Honolulu, a city-wide settlement surrounded by oceanic barriers and watchtowers keeping a close watch on the waters and coastline. The defenses were set up and operated by the people here, who had managed to keep Hawaii one of the few major sanctuaries from the undead scourge. The team could see people moving between makeshift structures, organizing supplies and securing lines for incoming boats from nearby islands.
As they entered the camp, Carol's gaze landed on two figures moving through the crowd with an air of authority. One was unmistakable, Jennifer Walters, this world's She-Hulk, exuding a strength and calm confidence even amid the chaos. But it was the figure beside her that made Carol stop in her tracks, eyebrows raised in surprise.
A hulking figure, easily over seven feet tall, with a thick frame that screamed raw power, moved with surprising gentleness, helping to unload crates of the cure from a transport vehicle. His skin, a familiar hue with the distinct sheen of durability, was marked with intricate black tattoos that covered his arms, chest, and back. Each line of ink was carefully placed, depicting Hawaiian animals, turtles, sharks, manta-rays, each one rendered with reverence and detail, running down his broad back, interwoven with traditional Hawaiian patterns that seemed to tell a story of strength, perseverance, and guardianship.
"Is that… Batch-H?" Carol muttered, more to herself than anyone else, as she took in the unexpected sight.
Beside her, one of her team members nodded. "Yeah, that's him. Rumor has it he's been keeping the islands safe since day one, helping establish supply routes between the mainland and Hawaii. A lot of people fled here early on, from East Asia and the surrounding areas, looking for refuge. Batch-H has been the rock they needed."
Carol nodded, impressed. She knew of Batch-H, the experimental Hulk-Wolverine hybrid with adamantium claws and a berserker fury to match Logan's—but seeing him here, standing as a protector for the people, was something she hadn't expected.
As Carol continued to watch the scene unfold, she couldn't help but notice two familiar figures moving towards Batch-H: Jennifer Walters, both of them. She blinked, momentarily thrown off by the sight of two She-Hulks standing side by side. The Jennifer Walters from her own universe—her friend, the one she'd fought beside countless times, looked just as surprised, her expression a mix of curiosity and disbelief as she took in the scene.
The Jennifer Walters of this world, however, was different in subtle ways—her posture, her smile, the ease with which she moved around Batch-H. She approached him with a familiarity that was unmistakable, reaching out to touch his arm as he unloaded another crate, her fingers tracing one of the intricate tattoos along his bicep. There was an intimacy in her gestures that Carol's Jennifer noticed immediately, and she couldn't hide the slight furrow of her brow as she watched her counterpart interact with the hulking figure.
Carol smirked, glancing at her own Jennifer. "Did you ever think you'd see the day where you would be with Batch-H?"
Jennifer scoffed, crossing her arms, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Not in a million years." She shook her head, watching as her doppelganger leaned in to whisper something to Batch-H, who responded with a soft, almost bashful chuckle. "But… I mean, I guess stranger things have happened. Just… not to me."
Carol chuckled. "Looks like she found herself a real protector here. Not exactly the guy I pictured for you, though."
Jennifer sighed, her eyes never leaving her counterpart and Batch-H. "Yeah, I mean… Batch-H? The guy's basically a walking tank with Logan's temper and the Hulk's strength. And now he's apparently the gentle giant keeping Hawaii safe? It's surreal." She paused, watching as her other self reached up and gave Batch-H a quick peck on the cheek. He smiled, looking down at her with a softness that was almost unrecognizable from the fierce fighter he was known to be.
"Looks like he's got a softer side," Carol remarked, a bit of awe in her voice. "The tattoos, the quiet strength… I gotta say, it suits him."
The other Jennifer noticed her own counterpart's lingering gaze and met her eyes across the distance, a knowing smile playing on her lips. She raised an eyebrow, as if to say, Yeah, I know it's weird. But he's my weird. She then turned back to Batch-H, placing a hand on his arm as he continued to work with gentle efficiency, handling the crates of cure like they were precious cargo.
Jennifer of Carol's universe shook her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "Well, good for her, I guess. He may not be my type… but he seems to be her rock." She paused, exhaling a long breath as she took in the scene. "I can't deny it's kind of… nice. Seeing her find that stability. Even if it's with him."
Carol nodded, understanding the strange sense of closure her friend must be feeling. This world's Jennifer had found her place, her purpose, with someone who could match her strength and still offer her tenderness. It was unexpected, but in a world where survival meant leaning on each other in ways they'd never imagined, it made sense.
"Maybe," Carol suggested, her voice gentle, "it's not about who it is, but what he represents here. A protector, a leader… a symbol of strength that everyone can rally around."
Jennifer nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful. "Yeah. I guess… I get it. He's her guardian, just like she's his." She chuckled, shaking her head. "Still… seeing me with Batch-H… that's going to take some getting used to."
They both watched as the two of them worked side by side, the other Jennifer laughing at something Batch-H said, her hand lingering on his shoulder as he lifted another crate with effortless strength. This was a version of herself that had found someone to lean on, someone who matched her not just in power, but in companionship and dedication.
Carol placed a hand on her friend's shoulder. "Who knows? Maybe you'll find your own version of that one day."
Jennifer smirked, raising an eyebrow at Carol. "Please, one of me dating a Hulk-Wolverine hybrid is weird enough. Let's not get crazy."
They shared a quiet laugh before turning back to work, each woman carrying a sense of satisfaction, if not a touch of surreal disbelief.
As the sun began to set over the Hawaiian coastline, casting a warm glow over the water, the watchtower guards kept their usual vigil, scanning the waves for any signs of trouble. In recent weeks, the beaches had been mostly quiet, the undead on the island contained to manageable outbreaks here and there. The ocean, however, was another story entirely—unpredictable, vast, and difficult to patrol.
One of the guards, Kalani, squinted at the surface of the water as he spotted a faint shadow moving beneath the waves. At first, it looked like just another large shark, circling near the shore. He shook his head, chuckling to himself. After everything he'd seen in the last few years, even a shark didn't phase him.
But then, something about the movement made him pause. The shadow was moving strangely, almost as if it were… staggering. He leaned over the railing, trying to get a better look, his gut telling him that something was wrong.
"Hey, take a look at this," Kalani called out to his fellow guard, Maleko. "We've got something big in the water, and it's… not moving like a normal shark."
Maleko stepped up, pulling out binoculars and scanning the area Kalani pointed to. At first, all he could see was the typical fin breaking the surface, the shape unmistakably that of a great white shark. But as he watched, the shape grew closer, and he felt a chill run down his spine. The shark wasn't just swimming; it was convulsing, writhing, as though something were pushing it from within.
Then, without warning, the shark's massive body broke the surface in a way no living shark ever would. The creature flung itself toward the beach, crashing onto the sand in a sickening thud. And as it lay there, writhing and heaving, they saw why it had moved so unnaturally.
Its entire underside was torn open, revealing a gaping maw filled with partially digested corpses, their limbs writhing and clawing out of the shark's abdomen. The bodies in its stomach were undead, fused into the creature's insides like parasitic extensions, forming a makeshift set of legs that clawed and scrabbled at the sand, dragging the massive shark forward.
"Oh, hell no…" Kalani whispered, taking an involuntary step back. "Is that… is that thing walking?"
Before he could process what he was seeing, the undead shark, driven by some twisted hunger, lurched forward, propelled by the writhing limbs of the zombies trapped within it. The zombie legs extended from its stomach, clawing and digging into the sand, dragging the monstrous creature further up the beach.
A scream broke out from one of the tourists on the beach, who had been enjoying the last of the sunset. Chaos erupted as people ran, yelling warnings and scrambling to escape the monstrous sight. The beachgoers scattered, sprinting back toward the safety of the fortified settlement as the undead shark advanced with terrifying, unnatural speed.
Kalani grabbed his radio, his voice shaking. "Base, this is Watchtower Two! We've got a situation on the beach. A massive undead great white shark—it's… it's crawling onshore using zombie legs! Requesting immediate backup!"
The response was immediate, and over the radio, he could hear the urgency in Captain Marvel's voice as she took charge of the situation. "All available units, converge on the beach! We've got an undead breach. I want flamethrowers, high-powered rifles, and containment teams there now!"
Jennifer and Batch-H, who had been nearby unloading supplies, froze at the sound of the announcement. Jennifer's eyes widened, and she glanced at Batch-H, who was already cracking his knuckles, his muscles tensing with readiness. "You ever fought a zombie shark before?" she asked, a hint of disbelief in her voice.
Batch-H grinned, his adamantium claws sliding out with a metallic snikt. "There's a first time for everything."
The two charged toward the beach as the first waves of reinforcements arrived. The guards took aim, firing at the creature, but it barely flinched, dragging itself forward with relentless, grotesque hunger. The undead within its stomach reached out with skeletal arms and decayed fingers, grasping at anything they could reach, their hollow eyes staring lifelessly as they attempted to drag more victims toward the shark's waiting maw.
Jennifer reached the beach just as one of the undead limbs grabbed a fleeing civilian. Without hesitation, she lunged forward, severing the arm with a single punch of her hand and pulling the civilian to safety. "Keep moving!" she shouted. "Get to the safe zone!"
Batch-H charged forward, leaping at the undead shark with a force that shook the ground as he landed. He drove his claws deep into the creature's side, tearing through rotting flesh and severing several of the zombie limbs. But even as he ripped into it, the monster fought back, thrashing violently, its jaws snapping dangerously close to him. More undead bodies spilled from the shark's stomach, each one animated by the same twisted force, crawling out onto the sand as if driven by a single, ravenous mind.
From the sidelines, Captain Marvel hovered, eyes blazing with energy as she unleashed a concentrated blast at the shark, searing a chunk of its side. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, but still, the creature pressed forward, its hunger insatiable.
Suddenly, the shark's jaws opened wide, and one of the twisted mouths in its belly spoke in a rasping, gurgling voice that sent chills down their spines. "Make us whole… give us your flesh… your blood… your bones…"
Jennifer felt a shiver run through her, the grotesque chorus of voices crawling under her skin. She exchanged a glance with Batch-H, who looked equally disturbed but resolute. "This thing's not just hungry," she said. "It's got an agenda."
Batch-H gritted his teeth, his voice a low growl. "Then let's make sure it doesn't get a chance to finish whatever the hell it started."
With coordinated precision, they attacked from all sides. Batch-H tore into it from the left, his claws slicing through the writhing limbs. Captain Marvel unleashed another blast from above, scorching the creature's flesh and reducing more of the undead to ash. Jennifer and the guards with flamethrowers advanced, setting the creature ablaze as it let out a final, tortured roar.
The flames consumed it, spreading through the decayed flesh and the grotesque limbs until there was nothing left but smoldering remains. The voices fell silent, the twisted chant finally extinguished.
As the fire burned down, the beach fell quiet, the air thick with the stench of charred flesh. The survivors looked on, their faces a mix of horror and relief, as the last remnants of the undead shark crumbled to ash.
Jennifer let out a breath, glancing at Batch-H with a grim smile. "Welcome to Hawaii, huh?"
Batch-H chuckled, retracting his claws, though his face remained tense. "Never thought I'd be fighting zombie sharks crawling on zombie legs. This world just keeps getting weirder."
Captain Marvel landed beside them, her expression equally disturbed. "If this is what they're sending our way now, we need to double our defenses. Whatever's controlling these things, it's getting bolder, and more twisted."
Jennifer nodded, her gaze fixed on the remains of the creature. "Then we make sure we're ready for whatever comes next."
No sooner had Jennifer uttered those words than a chilling sight caught their eyes—three more fins cutting through the water, slicing closer to shore with disturbing speed. Each fin bore the telltale signs of decay, chunks of flesh missing, exposing bone and sinew beneath rotting skin. The fins moved with unnatural precision, not like mindless undead creatures, but with a terrifying sense of purpose.
Captain Marvel's eyes widened as she raised a hand to shield her eyes from the setting sun, watching in disbelief as the fins drew nearer. "You've got to be kidding me…"
But it didn't end there. Just beyond those first three fins, more shapes broke the surface, rising in formation. Five more fins, each one damaged, torn, and streaked with rot. Together, the group formed a rough triangle, moving in sync like a predatory pack, circling as they approached the shore.
Jennifer's heart pounded, her body tensing as she recognized the familiar, coordinated movements. "They're… hunting," she whispered, disbelief and horror mingling in her voice. "They're moving like a pack."
Batch-H clenched his fists, his gaze fixed on the approaching creatures. "I've seen enough zombies to know they don't normally work together like this. Whatever's driving them… it's got control."
Captain Marvel raised her communicator, her voice calm but laced with urgency. "All units, we've got multiple undead sharks inbound, forming a coordinated attack pattern. I repeat, this is not a drill. Prepare for immediate engagement. Anyone near the beach needs to fall back to fortified positions now."
As her message went out, the people on the beach—civilians, guards, and volunteers—heard the command and quickly began scrambling back toward the fortified perimeter. The guards atop the watchtowers leveled their weapons, flamethrowers and high-powered rifles aimed at the water, fingers twitching on the triggers as they prepared for the coming onslaught.
The first three sharks reached the shallows, their grotesque forms becoming clearer as they lurched closer. Their bodies were twisted and misshapen, covered in decayed flesh that hung in ribbons, exposing fractured bones and empty, lifeless eyes that somehow gleamed with malevolent intent. Each of them had gaping mouths filled with rows of jagged, broken teeth, and from the ragged wounds on their sides, limbs of half-digested undead protruded, clawing and thrashing as if trying to pull themselves free.
Just behind them, the five other sharks circled, waiting for an opening, their movements perfectly synchronized. It was as though they were communicating, working together to create chaos.
One of the watchtower guards yelled down, his voice breaking with fear. "They're surrounding us! They're trying to drive us back!"
Captain Marvel looked over at Jennifer and Batch-H, a steely resolve in her eyes. "We can't let them gain a foothold here. If they make it onto the beach, it'll be a massacre."
Jennifer nodded, glancing at her counterpart, who had joined them with her fists clenched, ready to fight. "Agreed. We take these things down before they get any closer. Batch, you take the left flank with the heavy hitters. Carol, cover the right side from above. I'll take point with our Jennifer."
Batch-H gave a firm nod, his claws extending with a metallic snikt as he moved toward the left side of the beach, rallying the guards stationed there. Captain Marvel lifted off the ground, her body glowing with energy as she prepared to unleash a barrage from above.
But before they could act, one of the sharks in the lead suddenly leapt from the water, propelled by the strength of the undead limbs writhing within it. It landed with a sickening thud on the sand, undead arms clawing out from its torn belly, pushing it forward like a twisted centipede. The crowd on the beach screamed and scrambled back, horror etched on their faces as the creature advanced, its rotten maw gaping wide.
Jennifer squared her shoulders, gritting her teeth as she moved toward the abomination, her fists glowing green as she summoned her strength. Her counterpart was right beside her, their identical forms standing side by side as they prepared to confront the monstrosity.
"Looks like it's showtime," she muttered, casting a quick glance at her other self.
The other Jennifer smirked, a glint of defiance in her eyes. "Let's show these undead sharks what happens when they mess with Hawaii."
Together, they lunged at the creature, delivering a powerful double punch that sent it skidding back toward the water. The beast reeled, but even as it writhed, another shark breached the surface and slammed onto the sand beside it, then another, each one propelled by the grotesque undead within them, their bodies dragging themselves up the beach in a horrifying march.
Captain Marvel unleashed a blast of energy, hitting one of the sharks square in its rotting body. The impact blew chunks of decayed flesh off, revealing the twisted limbs and skeletal structure beneath, yet the creature barely faltered, its undead determination driving it forward.
On the left flank, Batch-H tore into the next shark with ferocity, his claws rending flesh and bone. The creature shrieked, black ichor spraying across the sand as he ripped it apart piece by piece. But even as he dismembered it, the undead within squirmed free, crawling toward him with lifeless eyes and grasping hands.
He snarled, stomping down on the writhing undead, grinding them into the sand. "You're not taking another inch of this beach," he growled, his voice filled with fierce determination.
The defenders fought with everything they had, each strike and blast pushing back the horrific wave of undead sharks. But the creatures continued to advance, more determined and organized than anything they'd faced before. The air was thick with the stench of decay, the shrieks of the undead, and the relentless pounding of fists, claws, and energy blasts.
Just as it seemed they might be gaining ground, one of the largest sharks in the pack—a hulking monster with half its face missing, lurched forward, its belly splitting open as a mass of tentacles and rotting limbs spilled out, flailing in all directions. One of the twisted, mouth-like protrusions began chanting, its voice a sickening rasp that carried across the battlefield:
"Make us whole… give us your flesh, your brains, your bones…"
Jennifer gritted her teeth, her gaze locked on the abomination. "Whatever's controlling these things… it's not just here to kill. It wants to consume us!"
Captain Marvel flew above, firing another blast to sever the chanting tentacles. "Then let's make sure it doesn't get the chance!"
In a coordinated assault, they unleashed everything they had, pouring flames, energy, and sheer strength onto the mass of undead, incinerating the flesh and burning the twisted limbs down to ash. One by one, the creatures fell, their grotesque forms crumbling under the relentless onslaught.
Finally, as the last of the undead sharks and their parasitic passengers were reduced to nothing but smoldering remains, a heavy silence fell over the beach. The defenders, covered in ash and blood, stood in the aftermath, their faces pale but determined.
Jennifer looked at her other self, breathing hard, but a fire of resolve in her eyes. "That was… something."
Her counterpart nodded, a weary smile forming on her face. "And it's only going to get worse. Whatever's out there, it's not done with us yet."
Captain Marvel landed beside them, glancing at the ocean, still dark and ominous. "Then we'd better get ready. Because if they're willing to send that our way, there's no telling what's coming next."
Just as they were catching their breath, the crackle of their comms cut through the tense silence, and Peter-Knull's voice came through, his tone laced with a grim sort of amusement.
"Umm… guys? You might want to back up an extra step from the beach," he said, his voice steady yet tinged with urgency. "I'm up here on the SHIELD station in orbit, and… well, let's just say there's a kraken headed your way. Only, you know, undead."
A ripple of disbelief passed over the defenders, their faces turning from the wreckage of the undead sharks to the horizon, where the ocean churned ominously.
"A kraken?" Jennifer of this world repeated, her voice thick with exasperation and disbelief. "An undead kraken?"
Captain Marvel's eyes narrowed, scanning the horizon as the water began to stir, waves rising and crashing with unnatural force, the sea itself recoiling from whatever monstrous entity approached beneath the surface. "I thought we'd seen it all… but apparently, the universe still has a few surprises."
"Trust me," Peter-Knull continued, a faint smirk detectable even through the comms. "You do not want to be in its path when it gets there. We're prepping the orbital cannon now to take it out, but… just in case, I'd start falling back. This thing is the size of a small island."
Batch-H took a step back, his gaze fixed on the roiling water, where something massive, dark, and distinctly wrong was beginning to rise. "You heard him, everyone. Get back, now."
The defenders exchanged a single, collective glance, then began sprinting back from the shoreline, urging the remaining civilians and reinforcements to fall back to safer ground. Jennifer turned to her counterpart as they moved, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and awe. "We're really about to see a kraken taken out from orbit?"
Her counterpart gave a breathless laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. "Honestly? I'm just glad it's not our problem to fight this time."
The water surged upward, foaming and boiling, as a massive, rotting tentacle broke the surface, reaching toward the sky. It was covered in decomposing flesh, barnacles, and patches of decayed seaweed, bits of bone visible through the torn flesh. The tentacle crashed down onto the beach, sending a shockwave of sand and water outward, followed by another tentacle, and another, each one a towering monstrosity with rows of undead barnacle-encrusted teeth protruding along their length.
Peter-Knull's voice came back over the comms. "Alright, we're locking on. Hold tight—this is going to get a little explosive."
The defenders barely had time to find cover, pressing back behind rocks, barricades, and the nearest fortified structures. From the edge of the beach, they watched as the undead kraken's body began to rise, its massive, decaying form casting a dark shadow over the sands. Its gaping maw was filled with rows of needle-like, rotted teeth, and its hollow, undead eyes seemed to focus on the beach, as if drawn to the scent of the living.
Then, with a flash, a beam of pure energy shot down from the SHIELD station in orbit, a piercing column of light that cut through the atmosphere with blinding intensity. The orbital cannon fired directly into the heart of the kraken, striking the beast with devastating precision.
The impact was immediate and cataclysmic. The kraken's massive form convulsed as the beam sliced through its flesh, vaporizing chunks of decayed muscle and bone. Its tentacles flailed wildly, each one writhing as if possessed by a life of its own, even as they disintegrated under the relentless onslaught of the orbital strike.
The defenders shielded their eyes, the light and heat from the blast radiating across the beach as pieces of the undead kraken were blown apart, scattering into the ocean and dissolving into nothing but ash and fragments of decayed tissue. The creature let out a final, unearthly wail—a sound that seemed to echo from the depths of the ocean itself—as it was obliterated, its remains sinking back into the churning sea, leaving nothing but silence in its wake.
After a long moment, Peter-Knull's voice came back over the comms, sounding satisfied. "And that's how you handle an undead sea monster. All clear, folks."
Captain Marvel lowered her arm, glancing at the others with a look of relief mixed with awe. "Remind me to thank Peter for the assist next time we see him. That… would've been a nightmare to handle on our own."
Jennifer let out a shaky laugh, leaning back against a boulder, her adrenaline finally ebbing. "I think I'll be having nightmares about that thing for a while. An undead kraken? Really?"
Her counterpart chuckled, giving her a sympathetic pat on the back. "Hey, look on the bright side—you survived a zombie shark invasion and a kraken attack in one day. Not many people can say that."
Batch-H let out a low whistle, surveying the now-calm waters. "This world just keeps throwing curveballs, doesn't it?"
Carol nodded, her gaze still fixed on the horizon, where the last ripples of the orbital strike faded into calm. "It does. But as long as we've got friends like Peter up there watching our backs, I think we'll manage."
…
In the heart of the fortified settlement, within the ruins of what had once been the city of Atlanta, a cluster of survivors—both human and mutant, moved through the makeshift streets. The settlement had become a refuge for those fleeing from the Southern states, where the undead had overwhelmed cities and towns. Kitty Pryde and this world's Jean Grey were setting up defensive measures near the perimeter, exchanging grim looks as they directed volunteers to strengthen barricades and shore up weak points in the defenses. The weight of recent losses were still being felt.
Among them, Illyana Rasputina, Colossus's sister in this universe, stood with slumped shoulders, her face lined with exhaustion. She was clutching a small bundle, wrapped carefully in cloth, cradling it with the fierce protectiveness of a mother despite the fear and fatigue etched on her face. Her eyes were hollow, filled with a weariness that spoke of battles fought and lives lost. She had led a group southward, herding both humans and mutants alike as she made her way from the chaos of Florida up through Louisiana. The undead had seemed to lurk everywhere, swamps, abandoned towns, dense forests—all perfect hiding places for the relentless dead. At times, it had felt as though hope was slipping through her fingers.
As she stood there, momentarily lost in thought, she felt a gaze on her. Looking up, she saw Colossus, the alternate version of her brother, standing a few feet away, his eyes focused on her with a look of gentle curiosity and something deeper, recognition. His gaze had settled on the bundle in her arms, and she saw the realization dawn in his eyes.
Without a word, she took a step closer, a small, bittersweet smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She tilted the bundle gently, revealing the face of a small baby nestled within, his tiny hands curled up in sleep. The child bore a resemblance to the Rasputin line, dark hair, a small but strong jaw, and a peacefulness that seemed to defy the chaos of the world around him.
"This is… my son," Illyana murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Your nephew."
Colossus's expression softened, and he took a tentative step closer, his massive frame radiating a rare tenderness as he looked down at the baby. His hand hovered for a moment, then gently rested on his nephew's head, his eyes filling with pride and sadness all at once. "He's beautiful," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You've been strong… for both of you."
Illyana's face crumpled slightly, the weight of her journey evident in her expression. "I'm trying, Piotr," she said, using the familiar form of his name as if this alternate version of her brother was her own. "But… it's been hell. Rogue and Gambit… they've helped, but… there were so many who didn't make it. I thought I was going to lose him too." She held the baby a little closer, a spark of determination reigniting in her eyes.
Just then, a familiar rumble of an engine caught her attention, and she looked up to see Robbie Reyes—the Ghost Rider of this world—nearby, working under the hood of his Charger, which he had parked within the settlement for repairs. His dark eyes flickered with an ethereal glow as he glanced up, sensing her gaze. Without a word, he wiped his hands on a rag, crossed the short distance between them, and leaned down to press a gentle kiss to her cheek.
The warmth of his touch seemed to melt some of the tension from Illyana's shoulders. She managed a small, grateful smile, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush as she looked down at the baby again. Robbie placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, offering silent support.
Colossus raised an eyebrow, a faint smile forming on his lips. "It seems you have found someone to help share the burden."
Illyana glanced up at Robbie, her expression softening even further. "He's been… my rock," she admitted. "Even when things were darkest, he kept me grounded." She looked back down at her son, her fingers gently tracing his tiny face. "And he's given me the strength to keep going. For my son… for all of us."
Robbie, sensing her vulnerability, gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "You're stronger than you think, Illyana," he murmured, his voice steady and calm. "We're all here now, together. And whatever's out there, we'll face it. We're not losing any more."
Colossus nodded, as he looked at his sister, at this small but powerful family she had forged amid the darkness. He placed a gentle hand on Illyana's shoulder, his voice filled with conviction. "We will protect him, Illyana. No matter what comes next."
Illyana took a deep breath, her gaze shifting from Robbie to Colossus, then down to her son. For the first time in what felt like ages, she allowed herself a glimmer of hope, bolstered by the support of the people around her.
As the evening settled in and the sounds of the bustling settlement quieted, Illyana found herself alone with her alternate brother, Colossus. Robbie had returned to his work on his Charger, giving them a moment of privacy, while Jean and Kitty were busy overseeing the final preparations for the night watch. Illyana rocked her baby gently, her gaze distant, her mind wrestling with a question that had been lingering since she'd first learned about the alternate version of her brother and what had happened in his past.
After a long, contemplative silence, she finally spoke, her voice soft but carrying a hint of nervousness. "Piotr… can I ask you something?"
Colossus turned to her, his expression open, his own gaze softened by the bond he felt toward this version of his sister. "Of course, Illyana. Ask me anything."
She hesitated, shifting the baby slightly in her arms as she gathered her thoughts. The question had been burning within her ever since she'd arrived, ever since whispers had reached her ears about her counterpart in that other universe, the one she could have been if things had turned out differently. Finally, she took a deep breath and looked him in the eye.
"I… I heard some things," she began, her voice low. "About my counterpart in your world. They said she… she lost her mind. And her powers." She looked nervous, pain and worry flickering across her face. "Is… is that true? Is she really… locked away in the Raft?"
Colossus's face tightened, and he glanced away, a shadow passing over his normally steady expression. He took a deep breath, his jaw clenching as he seemed to weigh how much he should tell her. "Yes," he finally said, his voice tinged with sadness. "It's true."
Illyanabit her lip, her gaze dropping to the baby in her arms. "What happened to her? To… me, I mean." She corrected herself, but the distinction felt hollow. She could feel the weight of her alternate self's pain, as if it could have easily been her own fate.
Colossus shifted, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall. His eyes were distant, filled with memories he would have rather left buried.
Colossus shifted, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall, his gaze turning distant as old memories resurfaced, memories he would have rather kept buried. He let out a weary sigh, the weight of his past evident in his stance.
"My Illyana… she was always strong, but Krakoa changed her," he began, his voice low and tinged with sorrow. "Like most of the X-Men, she went to Krakoa with hope, believing in a new future for mutants. But when the truth about the resurrection protocols came out, when she learned that what they called 'resurrection' was nothing more than cloning, that the people we lost weren't truly coming back, it… shattered her."
Illyana watched him, her heart heavy as she imagined her counterpart's pain, the disillusionment that must have come from realizing the people she thought she'd saved were just copies, empty shells. She could see the turmoil in Colossus's face, each word a painful admission.
"It sent her into a downward spiral," he continued, his tone darkening. "She saw… things. Her previous selves trapped in Limbo, lingering shadows of who she was. And in her desperation, she made a terrible choice." He paused, his jaw clenching as he forced himself to go on. "She made a deal with Mephisto, trading her soul for the powers of a Ghost Rider, only… this wasn't like any Rider before her. She was fueled by punishment, not punishment for the wicked, but punishment for herself and everyone she blamed for her suffering."
Illyana bit her lip, a shiver running through her at the thought. "She… she blamed you?" she asked softly, her voice barely a whisper.
Colossus shook his head. "No. She blamed Peter-Knull. She saw him as the root of everything that went wrong—the one who brought the truth to light, the one who, in her mind, robbed her of hope. In her madness, she convinced herself that he was to blame for the endless suffering she saw, for the lies she'd believed in." He took a deep breath, steadying himself. "She went after him, after everyone she thought betrayed her vision of Krakoa."
Illyana fell silent as Colossus struggled with the memories, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. "Illyana… she tried to kill Madelyne Pryor at the Limbo Embassy," he continued, his voice wavering with the pain of recalling that dark chapter. "She stormed in, wielding her Ghost Rider power, and in her fury, she even threatened to cast Madelyne into the flames of the Pit. It was… unlike anything I'd ever seen. She had become a twisted version of herself, a monster consumed by the need for retribution."
Illyana's hand tightened around the baby, her face stricken with a mixture of horror and sorrow. "So… what happened?"
"Peter-Knull intervened," Colossus said, his tone heavy. "He saw that she was beyond reason, that her rage had consumed her completely. He ripped the Ghost Rider out of her, forcibly tearing the spirit from her body… but in doing so, he took away her powers as a mutant. It left her hollow, powerless. And yet, her madness remained." He lowered his head, there was a slight pain in his voice now. "She's in the Raft now, a shell of who she was. The sister I knew… is gone."
Illyana looked down, her heart aching with a strange mixture of relief and grief. She could feel the weight of her counterpart's pain as if it were her own, the despair and rage that had driven her to such lengths. It was a fate she might have shared, had her life taken even a slightly different turn. She held her baby close, a quiet determination growing within her to never let herself fall down that path.
"I'm so sorry, Piotr," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I can't imagine what it must be like to carry that."
Colossus managed a small, sad smile, reaching out to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Thank you, Illyana. But you… you are not her. And you have the strength to face your struggles without losing yourself. You're grounded, tied to the people who care for you. That alone will keep you from ever walking the same path."
Just then, they heard the low rumble of Robbie Reyes's Charger nearby. He had paused his work, sensing the tension in the air, and walked over, offering Illyana a soft, reassuring smile. Without a word, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, his hand warm on her shoulder. The gesture seemed to lighten her mood, the shadows in her mind retreating under his touch.
Illyana glanced back at Colossus, a quiet smile of gratitude on her face. "I won't let myself fall," she promised, her voice strong. "Not with people like you and Robbie here to keep me anchored. I won't let myself lose the light, no matter what comes."
Colossus nodded, his own expression softening with pride and relief. "Then I have faith that you'll remain the sister I know. The one who holds on, even when things are darkest."
The quiet of the evening settled over the remnants of New York as Peter Parker made his way back to the makeshift home he shared with Peggy Carter, their two teenage children and their infant son, Timothy. The day had been long, the hours filled with overseeing food supplies, coordinating with other settlement leaders, and ensuring that the grain and crops they'd worked so hard to grow would last through the coming winter. Every step had been a reminder of the burden he carried for his people—a weight that had grown heavier with each passing day.
As he finally entered their small, warmly lit space, Peter paused, allowing himself a rare moment to simply breathe. His shoulders sagged, the exhaustion evident in his posture and the dark circles under his eyes. Peggy, who had been keeping a watchful eye on him, immediately noticed the toll that the day had taken.
She was kneeling beside Timothy's crib, her face softening with a mother's tenderness as she adjusted the blanket around their sleeping son. When she looked up and saw Peter's weary expression, she felt a pang of concern, a mixture of love and worry filling her heart.
She stood and walked over to him, taking his hands in hers, her eyes filled with understanding. "You've done enough for today," she said gently. "You've done more than enough, Peter. But now, you need to take care of yourself too."
He managed a tired smile, but the weight in his eyes didn't fade. "I know, I just… can't help thinking about all the things still left to do. Winter's coming fast, and there's still so much that needs to be secured. If we run short on food…"
Peggy placed a finger to his lips, silencing his worries with a calm, steady look. "You've worked hard to make sure your people will be fed. We have the crops, the grain, and enough stores to last us. But there's something more important here." She guided him to sit down on a makeshift couch, then moved behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders, and began to gently massage the tense muscles in his back and neck.
"You need to learn how to relax when you're here," she murmured, her voice a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. "You can't pour from an empty cup, Peter. You've given everything to keep the settlements safe, but you have other responsibilities too. To yourself, to me… and to Timothy."
Her fingers kneaded the knots in his shoulders, working out the tension that had been building for weeks. Peter closed his eyes, his head dropping forward as he surrendered to her touch. The stress slowly started to ebb, replaced by the warmth of her hands and the gentle reminder of the love waiting for him here.
"You're right," he admitted softly, his voice barely a whisper. "I just… I feel like if I stop, even for a moment, everything will fall apart."
"Nothing will fall apart because you took a few hours for yourself," Peggy assured him, a hint of gentle reprimand in her tone. "Look around, Peter. This is a family. You're not alone in this. There are people who look to you, yes, but you've built something here. You've given people hope and strength. And you don't have to carry all of it by yourself."
He exhaled a long breath, her words easing something deep within him. For so long, he'd been in survival mode, focused entirely on keeping everything and everyone around him safe. But now, here, with her hands grounding him, he felt the walls he'd built around himself start to soften.
"You always know what to say," he murmured, a faint smile forming on his face. "No problem," Kai replied, smiling back. But his calmness didn't go unnoticed by the others.
Milo, who had been watching with his mouth hanging open, shook his head in disbelief. "How did you do that? That's, like, five feet! You're not even winded!"
Kai shrugged, the movement smooth, almost too easy. "Just took a little jump," he said, though he couldn't help but notice the awe in their faces. "Figured Powder shouldn't have to risk it alone."
Clagger nudged Milo, smirking. "Looks like we've got ourselves a real hero here, huh?"
Powder's face flushed even deeper, but she managed a grin as she glanced at Kai, her heart hammering in her chest. She hadn't felt this… safe with anyone before, especially not outside of their little family. She barely noticed the others teasing her, too focused on Kai's steady, reassuring presence at her side.
Vi shot Kai an appreciative look, nodding her thanks. "Alright, show-off," she said, smirking, "let's keep moving."
The workshop was exactly what they'd hoped for—a treasure trove of Piltover tech, gleaming crystals, and delicate mechanical parts scattered across workbenches and shelves. Vi motioned for everyone to spread out, each of them diving into their own tasks to search for anything valuable.
As they began grabbing what they could, Powder stuck close to Kai, her hand brushing his arm now and then as they searched. She could feel her cheeks growing hot each time she glanced his way, his calm, unhurried movements reassuring her even as her own hands shook with excitement.
"Find anything?" he whispered, noticing her fumbling with one of the shiny gears on the shelf.
"Um, yeah, uh, no… I mean, I'm looking!" she stammered, feeling a mix of excitement and embarrassment as she tried to focus.
He chuckled softly. "Here, I think this might help." He handed her a small metal box he'd found, filled with delicate crystals and bits of tech.
She took it, her fingers brushing his as she did. "Thanks," she murmured, looking up at him shyly.
"Anytime," he replied, his smile kind.
But the moment was broken by the sharp sound of footsteps echoing outside. Vi tensed, motioning for everyone to stay silent. The footsteps grew closer, and they all froze, ears straining to catch any sign of trouble.
Milo's eyes widened, glancing around frantically. "What do we do?" he whispered.
"Stay calm," Kai murmured, his voice steady. "I'll go check it out."
With a silent nod, he slipped toward the door, his movements smooth and controlled, as if he'd done this a thousand times before. He peered out, eyes narrowing as he spotted a Piltover Enforcer just outside, surveying the area. Moving back to the group, he motioned for them to stay quiet, waiting for the Enforcer to pass.
Finally, after a tense minute, the footsteps faded, and the group breathed a collective sigh of relief.
"Nice one, Kai," Vi whispered, giving him an approving nod.
Powder flashed him an admiring smile, her cheeks still pink as she whispered, "You're really good at this."
Kai shrugged, his expression humble. "Just looking out for you guys."
But as they gathered their loot and prepared to make their escape, Powder stayed close to Kai, her heart racing each time he looked her way. She'd never met anyone like him—someone who seemed so at ease even in the face of danger, someone who made her feel brave just by standing next to her.
They made their way back through the rooftops, Kai helping Powder over every gap, his hand steady and strong as he guided her across each one. By the time they'd returned to the safety of Zaun, the others were visibly tired, breathless from the climb and the close call.
But Kai remained calm, hardly winded, his gaze focused as he kept an eye on Powder and the rest of the group. As they reached the final stretch, Vi looked over her shoulder, grinning.
"Good work, everyone," she said. Then, her gaze turned to Kai, her eyes glinting with newfound respect. "And, Kai? Guess we'd have had a lot harder time without you."
Powder nodded enthusiastically, her face beaming as she looked up at him. "Yeah! You… you really saved us."
Kai gave a small, modest smile, his gaze flicking to Powder, who looked up at him with a bashful but admiring expression. He reached out, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
"Wouldn't be much of a friend if I didn't, right?" he said softly.
Powder's blush deepened, her heart fluttering as she met his eyes. And as they headed back to Vander's, her mind was spinning with thoughts of Kai, this boy who seemed so calm, so strong, and who had somehow become her quiet protector.
…
The group made their way back through the winding alleys of Zaun, spirits high as they relived each close call and daring leap. Vi led the way, grinning over her shoulder as they hurried along, with Milo and Claggor close behind, and Powder and Kai bringing up the rear. The heist had been a success, and Powder clutched the heavy bag of loot with a mixture of pride and excitement.
But their celebration came to an abrupt halt when they turned a corner and found themselves face-to-face with Deckard and a small gang of his cronies, blocking their path.
"Well, well, look who finally showed up with something valuable," Deckard sneered, his eyes locking on the bag Powder held. "Why don't you share a bit of that with us, yeah? Might even let you walk away after."
Vi rolled her eyes, but her grip on the bag tightened. "Why don't you crawl back to whatever rat hole you came from, Deckard? This haul's ours."
Deckard sneered, taking a step closer, eyes flashing with anger. "Not gonna ask twice, Vi."
With a smirk, Vi adjusted her stance, then swung the bag in a swift arc, hitting Deckard square in the face. He staggered back, clutching his nose as he glared at her with pure rage. "You're gonna regret that," he snarled, motioning for his crew to move in.
Without missing a beat, Vi tossed the bag to Powder. "Hold on to this," she said. Then she lunged forward, joining Milo and Claggor in the scuffle as they faced off against Deckard and his gang in a full-on brawl.
As Vi and the others took on Deckard's thugs, Powder clutched the bag to her chest, backing away from the chaos. She could barely keep her balance as she dodged between the fighters, her eyes wide with worry. But one of Deckard's boys noticed her alone in the chaos and darted toward her with a greedy look in his eyes.
"Hand it over, runt," he sneered, reaching out and grabbing her arm roughly.
Before Powder could even yelp, Kai was there, his expression calm but focused. In one smooth, fluid motion, he stepped forward, grabbing the boy's wrist with a precise grip and twisting it in a practiced, almost effortless move. The boy's arm buckled, his face contorting in pain as he staggered back, but Kai didn't stop there.
Using the momentum, Kai twisted his own body, flipping the boy in a high arc, sending him crashing to the ground with a dizzying thud. The boy rolled onto his back, his eyes unfocused, clearly dazed and struggling to comprehend what had just happened.
The fight paused for a beat, the other thugs staring in shock. Even Vi, Milo, and Claggor paused, staring at Kai as he stood over the fallen boy, his expression oddly cold.
"Kai…" Powder's voice was soft, almost a whisper, but he didn't seem to hear her. His gaze was fixed on the boy, his eyes flashing with an intensity she'd never seen before. For a brief moment, the familiar yellow of his eyes seemed to burn a bright, unnatural red, glowing like embers in the dim light of the alley.
Milo's mouth dropped open. "Did… did his eyes just…"
Vi straightened, a flicker of worry crossing her face as she took in the strange, crimson hue in Kai's eyes. "Kai… are you okay?"
At her voice, Kai blinked, his gaze softening as the red glow faded, his eyes returning to their usual yellow. He took a small step back, looking down at the fallen boy with a mixture of confusion and regret, as though he himself wasn't sure what had just happened.
"I… yeah," he murmured, finally meeting Vi's gaze. "Sorry, I just… didn't like seeing him grab Powder like that."
Powder felt her heart racing as she watched him, her hand still clutched to the bag, cheeks flushed from the adrenaline. She couldn't quite process what she'd just seen—how easily he'd thrown the boy, how his eyes had seemed to change, if only for a heartbeat. She could still feel the warmth of his hand, the reassuring strength in the way he'd protected her without hesitation.
Deckard, seeing his thug sprawled on the ground and disoriented, took a step back, his confidence visibly shaken. He glanced at Kai with a wary, almost fearful look, then glared at Vi.
"Fine, keep your stupid haul," he spat, clutching his bruised nose. "But don't think this is over, Vi. One of these days, I'll—"
"Oh, just leave already," Vi snapped, rolling her eyes as she took a step forward, fists clenched. Deckard threw her one last glare before motioning to his gang, and they slunk away into the shadows, muttering darkly.
As soon as they were gone, Vi turned back to Kai, her expression cautious. "Alright… what was that?"
Kai looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just… reflexes, I guess," he said quietly, his gaze dropping to the ground.
Milo scoffed, still gaping. "Yeah, sure. Reflexes that turn your eyes red and make you throw people like they're ragdolls? That's not exactly normal, man."
Claggor nodded slowly, a thoughtful look on his face. "I mean, we've seen you do some cool stuff, but that? That was… something else."
Powder stepped forward, eyes soft with concern. "Kai… are you sure you're okay?"
Kai met her gaze, and his face softened. "I'm fine, really," he said, offering her a small, reassuring smile. "Just… didn't like the way he went after you."
Her face flushed, and she looked away, clutching the bag to her chest. "Well… thanks. For, um, you know… helping."
Vi gave him a nod, her usual confidence tinged with a note of caution. "I don't know what that was, Kai… but thanks for looking out for Powder." She exchanged a glance with Milo and Claggor, clearly still wary but deciding to let it go, at least for now. "Come on, let's get out of here before someone else tries to pull something."
As they made their way back to Vander's, the others kept stealing glances at Kai, their curiosity and unease clear. But Powder stuck close to his side, a shy smile tugging at her lips. Whatever strange power he might hold, he'd proven something tonight, that he was there for her, and that she could trust him.
And as they slipped through the winding alleys, she found herself glancing at him, a small warmth blossoming in her chest.
…
Peter was just beginning to feel the weight lift from his shoulders, finally letting himself relax into Peggy's embrace when his phone buzzed urgently in his pocket. He frowned, pulling it out, and saw that the call was from one of their teams out on a reconnaissance mission.
With a quick, apologetic glance at Peggy, he answered. "Peter here," he said, already hearing tension on the other end of the line. The voice on the other side was hurried, strained.
"Sir, we… we found something in the SHIELD archives," the survivor stammered. There was a pause, like they were struggling to believe their own words before they finally continued. "The virus. All of it. Everything that's happened… it originated from… Krakoa. Our Krakoa. Beast and Xavier—"
Peter's face went pale, his mind racing to make sense of what he was hearing. "What?"
Meanwhile, in the battered settlement of Las Vegas, Logan, Laura, and Silas Boone were busy distributing doses of the cure to survivors. The scene was one of grim determination, a routine they'd settled into as they tried to reclaim the shattered city. Logan was guiding survivors into orderly lines, his weathered face reflecting exhaustion but fierce resolve, when his own phone buzzed.
He glanced down, recognizing the number, and answered, his tone gruff. "Yeah?"
The voice on the other end sounded panicked, the words coming out in a rush. "Logan, we… we found it. The origin of the virus. The team found files in the SHIELD archive bunker. This virus—this horror—it didn't come from space, or some lab gone wrong. It came from… Krakoa. Xavier and Beast. They created it."
Logan's eyes narrowed, disbelief giving way to a rising fury. "Say that again," he demanded, the grip on his phone tightening until his knuckles went white.
"It's all here in the files," the voice said, shaky but frantically serious. "They were experimenting, trying to 'improve' mutant genetics, to make a new evolutionary jump. But something went horribly wrong. And they knew it. They contained it in Krakoa for as long as they could… until they couldn't."
Silas, noticing Logan's expression, stepped closer, his own eyebrows raised at noticing logan shocked look. "What's going on?" he asked.
Logan lowered the phone, his jaw clenched. "Krakoa. Beast and Xavier… they started all this. The virus, the plague—it came from them." He let the words settle heavily, their weight sinking into Laura and Silas as they exchanged horrified glances. "They've got 'em now. Holding 'em in a bunker with the mutants they were leading."
The news spread quickly to every major contact they had across the settlements. Word traveled like wildfire, and every corner of their network soon knew the truth: Krakoa, a haven they'd once believed was the hope of mutantkind, was the birthplace of the nightmare that had consumed their world.
Laura's face twisted with anger and betrayal. "They knew what it would do, didn't they? And they let it loose anyway."
Silas nodded, his own shock giving way to a bitter sense of vindication. "They didn't just let it loose… they unleashed it. For whatever experiment or sick vision they had."
Logan took a deep, steadying breath, his voice hard. "Then we need answers. If they were trying to evolve mutant genetics, then maybe they know how to stop it, or how to make this cure permanent."
He glanced at Laura and Silas, his eyes cold and determined. "Looks like we're heading to that bunker. They started this… and we're going to make damn sure they answer for it."
…
The bunker loomed in the center of a barren stretch of land, fortified but weathered, the last remnants of a hidden chapter that had brought the world to ruin. Logan, Peter-Knull, Reed, Tony, and Captain Marvel led the group down into its cold, sterile interior, their footsteps echoing off the concrete walls. Tension filled the air, each person harboring their own anger, grief, and betrayal as they prepared to confront the figures responsible for this nightmare.
Inside, two figures awaited them, held under heavy security: Beast and Professor Xavier. Both looked weary, their faces marked with lines of guilt and exhaustion. But as the group settled into place, it quickly became clear that whatever remorse they felt was overshadowed by something darker—a detachment that bordered on apathy.
Logan's gaze was hard as he stepped forward, arms crossed, his eyes drilling into them. "You've got a lot to answer for," he growled, his voice like gravel. "The virus, the death, the destruction—you two thought you had the right to play God with the entire world?"
Peter-Knull, standing beside him, folded his arms, his symbiotic form rippling with tension as he regarded the fallen leaders with cold detachment. "Explain yourselves," he demanded. "Tell us why the world had to burn for your so-called 'vision.'"
Xavier glanced between the assembled heroes and survivors, his face a mask of strained composure. Beast, however, seemed almost clinical, his gaze analytical as he looked over the people he once called allies. There was a flicker of remorse in Xavier's expression, but it quickly faded, replaced by the detached resolve of a man who believed he'd had no choice.
"You must understand," Xavier began, his tone even, almost pleading. "We were seeking an evolutionary leap, a way to secure mutantkind's future. This world… it was slipping from our grasp. Humanity's constant resistance, their weapons, their fear, they pushed us to this point."
"Secure our future?" Emma Frost's voice cut through the silence, her normally composed demeanor seething with disgust. She stood next to Peter Red-A3, her posture rigid as she glared at her former leaders. "You didn't secure anything. You condemned us. All those mutants, those people, who trusted you, who believed Krakoa was their safe haven… they became fodder for your ambition."
Next to her, Wanda looked equally horrified, her face pale as she recalled the countless mutants who had perished, the friends and allies who had fallen in gruesome, horrific ways. "This wasn't evolution," she said, her voice trembling with rage. "This was… genocide."
Rogue, standing beside Gambit, crossed her arms, her jaw clenched as she glared at them. "We were supposed to be an example, a beacon of hope for both mutants and humans. But you went and destroyed everything. What makes you think you had the right to decide who lives and dies?"
Illyana clutched her infant son close, her body trembling as Robbie Reyes held her tightly, grounding her with his presence. She cast a haunted look at Beast and Xavier, her eyes filled with fear and disgust. The truth of what they'd done had shattered her world, and the once-unshakable pride she had felt in being a mutant leader had crumbled.
Beast's eyes moved slowly over the group, his expression almost one of clinical interest. He regarded each person with the detachment of a scientist observing specimens, seemingly unaffected by the weight of their anger. Finally, he sighed, as if indulging a group of children who couldn't understand.
"Well?" he said, his voice calm, unfeeling. "You can't deny that what we accomplished here was, in some sense, remarkable. Evolution in its purest form—a way to defy death, to push beyond the boundaries of mortality." His gaze grew sharper, a hint of twisted pride glinting in his eyes. "Yes, many perished, but in the end, what we achieved was a step toward perfection."
The room went silent, Beast's words hanging in the air like a noxious cloud. Logan's eyes blazed with fury, his claws twitching as he fought the urge to lunge forward. His body tensed, his fists clenching so hard his knuckles turned white. "Perfection?" he spat, his voice a barely restrained snarl. "You call this butchery perfection?"
Kitty Pryde, standing near Jean Grey, could barely contain her revulsion. "You think this is justifiable?" she demanded, her voice shaking. "People—mutants—trusted you, and you turned them into monsters. There's nothing 'perfect' about this nightmare."
Jean, her face pale but her gaze fierce, looked Xavier in the eye, her voice cutting and cold. "I followed you, Charles. I believed in you. And you turned us all into pawns in some twisted game of survival. You traded hope for horror."
Xavier's face flickered with guilt, but he remained silent, unable to meet Jean's eyes. For a brief moment, he looked as if he wanted to speak, but whatever remorse he felt was quickly masked by the same detached justification Beast had shown.
Wanda took a shaky step forward, her hands trembling as she stared at them in horror. "You… you have no remorse, do you?" she whispered. "All those lives you destroyed—they mean nothing to you."
Peter-Knull placed a steadying hand on Wanda's shoulder, his own expression dark with anger. "This isn't evolution," he said, his voice cold and deadly. "It's ego. You were so desperate to secure your place in history that you tore apart everything mutants up to that point fought to build."
Beast gave a casual shrug, as if discussing a failed experiment. "Call it what you will. But history is rarely kind to those who seek true progress. In time, perhaps, you'll understand."
That was the final straw. With a furious growl, Logan lunged forward, claws extending as he made a move toward Beast, only to be held back by Peter-Knull
Logan struggled against Peter-Knull's grip, his fury barely contained. "What the hell are you doing?" he snarled, glaring at Peter-Knull, his claws twitching, desperate to finish what he'd started.
Peter-Knull didn't answer immediately. Instead, he leaned forward, his gaze locked on Beast, his eyes narrowing with an intensity that silenced the room. He seemed to study Beast with a focused, almost clinical interest, his symbiotic senses flaring as he scanned the former X-Man with unsettling precision. After a tense moment, Peter-Knull's expression darkened, and he looked back at Logan, his voice cold and seriousness.
"He's already infected," Peter-Knull announced, his voice carrying a deadly calm that cut through Logan's anger. "There are micro-capsules laced throughout his bloodstream, designed to release upon his death. A failsafe, a twisted 'insurance' to turn him into one of them if he dies." He glanced at Beast, a glimmer of disgust flashing in his eyes. "Apparently, he didn't trust us not to finish what you just tried."
Logan felt a chill run through him, his claws retracting as he stared at Beast in horror. "You… you infected yourself? Just in case?" He shook his head in disbelief, his voice filled with a raw, visceral loathing. "You planned to take us all down with you if we put you out of your misery?"
Beast's expression remained detached, almost smug. "Insurance, Logan," he said simply, as if explaining something trivial. "I always believed in preparing for every outcome. In this world, survival requires more than just brute strength. It requires planning, foresight—a vision that extends beyond personal grievances."
Kitty Pryde took a step back, her face contorted in revulsion. "You infected yourself as a failsafe?" she whispered, barely able to process the horror of what she was hearing. "You'd turn yourself into one of those… things, just to keep us from holding you accountable?"
A flicker of satisfaction passed over Beast's face. "Call it accountability if you like. I call it evolution. If I'm to leave this world, I'll do so on my terms. I've prepared every possible measure to ensure my legacy. One day, you'll realize that progress and sacrifice often walk hand in hand."
Jean Grey's face was a mask of barely contained rage and heartbreak as she stepped forward. "Progress?" she hissed. "You call this progress? Do you have any idea what we've lost because of you?"
Beast tilted his head, his gaze steady, almost indifferent. "I've made my choices, Jean. In the end, they will stand, even if you refuse to understand them now."
Emma Frost clenched her fists, her face ashen with revulsion. "What you've done isn't justifiable. It's barbaric. You betrayed everyone who ever trusted you. And for what? For a chance to play god?"
Wanda, standing beside Peter Red-A3, felt a wave of nausea as she stared at her former comrade. "This isn't evolution," she murmured, her voice filled with sorrow. "This is madness."
Peter-Knull held up a hand, quieting the voices around them. "Logan," he said, his voice low but firm. "As much as you want to tear him apart, that's exactly what he wants. He's left us no choice but to keep him contained… for everyone's safety."
Beast's smug expression faltered for the briefest moment as he realized his ploy hadn't had the effect he'd hoped. Peter-Knull's sharp gaze bored into him, his voice steady but filled with an almost clinical detachment. "You thought you'd leave us with no choice but to release you, or let you turn into one of the undead. But I have news for you, Hank.
Peter-Knull's expression darkened as he locked eyes with Beast, his tone turning as cold and unforgiving as iron. He took a step closer, his voice carrying a razor-sharp edge that silenced the room entirely.
"You think you're clever, Hank? You think you've planned for every outcome, every contingency?" Peter-Knull's symbiote rippled around him, its form shifting with an intensity that radiated barely restrained fury. "Well, let me lay out how this is actually going to go down."
Beast's smug expression flickered, uncertainty shadowing his face for the first time. He opened his mouth to speak, but Peter-Knull's gaze cut him off, silencing him with an air of absolute authority.
"First," Peter-Knull continued, his tone measured but deadly, "I'm going to have one of my symbiotes infiltrate every cell of your wretched body and remove each of those twisted capsules you planted inside yourself. Every single one. Then, I'm going to destroy them, obliterate every trace of this disgusting insurance policy you thought would protect you."
Beast's confidence visibly wavered, his gaze darting to the others around him, but there was no sympathy in their eyes—only cold, unyielding judgment. Logan's lips twisted into a dark, satisfied smile, and Kitty's gaze narrowed with fierce contempt.
Peter-Knull took another step forward, his voice lowering to a menacing growl. "Then, I'm going to inform my personal dimension, my symbiotic prison—the one reserved for the absolute worst of the worst—that they're about to receive a new inmate. And I'll personally make sure they know just how twisted, vile, and pathetic you truly are."
Beast's face paled as the weight of his fate became clear. He clenched his jaw, trying to regain some measure of his composure, but his eyes betrayed his fear, darting between Peter-Knull and Logan, who was watching him with unrestrained anticipation.
Peter-Knull's voice dropped even lower, each word laced with barely concealed venom. "Finally, I'm going to let Logan and his counterpart from this world throw you in there, personally. You've betrayed and destroyed everything they stood for, everything they fought to protect. They'll make sure you feel the full weight of every choice you made, every life you destroyed."
He leaned closer, his symbiotic form rippling with dark energy as he looked Beast dead in the eyes. "And don't think for a second that you'll find peace in there. My guards will love their new eternal plaything. They'll make certain that every moment is a reminder of what you've done. There will be no end to it, Hank. You wanted to defy death? Congratulations. Now, you'll live forever, exactly as the monster you made yourself."
Beast's composure shattered entirely, the fear in his eyes replaced by raw horror as he realized the depth of Peter-Knull's wrath and the bleak eternity that awaited him. He opened his mouth, as if to protest, but the words wouldn't come, choked by the grim certainty of his fate.
Logan let out a dark, satisfied chuckle, crossing his arms as he stepped up beside Peter-Knull, his voice laced with vicious delight. "You wanted to play god, Hank? Well, gods tend to fall pretty damn hard. And believe me, I'll make sure your fall is one you never get up from."
Beside him, Logan's counterpart from this world stepped forward, his eyes blazing with unrestrained fury. "You took everything from us," he said, his voice low but filled with venom. "And now we're going to take everything from you. This hell you're going to… it's exactly what you deserve."
Kitty Pryde watched them with an approving nod, her gaze icy as she met Beast's panicked stare. "You'll finally understand what real accountability feels like. And there's not a single person in this room who will mourn you."
With Beast's fate sealed, Peter-Knull gave a single nod, his symbiote already preparing to execute his orders. He straightened, his voice returning to its steady, commanding tone as he looked to the others. "Let's take care of this."
The room was silent as they moved forward to carry out Beast's sentence, each person feeling the grim satisfaction that, for the first time since this nightmare began, justice was finally being served. And Beast, for all his planning, his schemes, and his arrogance, would live out the rest of eternity knowing he had fallen—and that there would be no escape from the darkness he had wrought.
The main event unfolded with grim finality. True to his word, Peter-Knull worked meticulously, his symbiote weaving through Hank McCoy's body, isolating and extracting the deadly micro-capsules one by one. Each capsule, designed as a last, horrific failsafe, was held up to the light briefly before Peter-Knull destroyed it, reducing it to ash. Beast watched with growing dread, his usual smugness replaced by a dawning realization of the fate that awaited him.
When the last capsule was destroyed, Peter-Knull gave a single, satisfied nod. The black symbiote around him shifted, stretching outward as it morphed into a swirling, dark rift—a gateway to his hellish prison dimension. From the other side, the towering figures of Peter-Knull's jailers appeared, each more menacing than the last. The symbiotic guards stood tall, their hulking forms adorned with jagged, horned visages. They rattled chains laced with black flames, their sharp teeth glinting as they sized up their new prisoner with hungry anticipation.
Without hesitation, black-flaming chains snaked out from the portal, latching onto Beast, binding his arms and legs, immobilizing him. The chains tightened, burning with unnatural heat, effectively cutting off any movement. He struggled and thrashed, his eyes wide with panic, but the chains only tightened further, restricting him until he could do little more than futilely writhe in place.
Logan from this world and the alternate Logan moved forward, each taking hold of Beast at either end, their expressions hardened with unyielding resolve. Together, they lifted him, carrying him toward the rift where the jailers waited, chains and hooks at the ready. Beast thrashed wildly, attempting to free himself, but the Logans' grips were ironclad, and his struggles only served to exhaust him.
"No! You can't do this!" Beast shouted, his voice laced with both anger and fear. "I did this for our future! For evolution!"
Neither Logan spared him a word. They simply marched forward, their faces unreadable, every step bringing him closer to the portal, to the punishment he had so meticulously ensured for others. Beast's struggles became more frantic, his thrashing almost desperate as the dark reality of his fate settled in.
Upon reaching the rift, the Logans handed Beast's bound form to one of the towering jailers, who wrapped another chain around him, securing him even further. The jailer grinned, revealing rows of sharp, menacing teeth, and with a brutal tug, yanked Beast deeper into the portal. The black flames around the chains flickered ominously, illuminating the twisted realm beyond, a dark landscape filled with screams and shadows, where no light could penetrate the pervasive darkness.
Beast's screams echoed through the rift, his voice filled with a mixture of terror and fury. "This isn't over! I'll win in the end you'll seeeeee!Bottom of Form
" he howled, his voice fading as the jailer dragged him further into the depths of the prison.
Without a word, the portal sealed shut, snapping closed with a finality that left only silence in its wake. The gathered heroes and survivors stared at the now-empty space, a collective sense of grim relief settling over them.
Logan let out a slow breath, his claws retracting as he turned away, his face reflecting the weight of what had just happened. "That's one less nightmare in our world," he muttered, his tone filled with a rare sense of satisfaction.
Peter-Knull nodded, his expression impassive. "Justice doesn't always come cleanly," he said quietly, his gaze lingering on the spot where the portal had been. "But for those who bring ruin, there's a price. And Beast… paid his."
They stood in silence for a moment, each person processing what had just transpired. The weight of Beast's betrayal and the dark justice he had met was a somber reminder of the stakes they all faced. And as they left the bunker, there was a shared understanding among them: they had rid their world of a great evil, but they still had a world to clean-up. A whole lot of it….
…
Later that day, Reed Richards and Tony Stark were focused intently on the project that could save this world. The documents and notes left behind in Beast's lab had outlined various dark experiments, but buried among the horror, Peter-Knull had found a possible solution, a way to eliminate the virus once and for all.
The plan was ambitious: by combining the antibodies from Hope, Wanda, and Peter Red-A3's daughter with microscopic healing symbiotes, they could distribute the cure throughout the world via the water cycle. With each rainfall, the microscopic symbiotes would attach to the infected cells of anything they came into contact with, repairing genetic damage and wiping out the infection in the process.
Reed carefully calibrated the samples under his microscope, his eyes narrowed in concentration. Beside him, Tony was working on integrating the symbiotic capsules with dispersal technology, ensuring that they could survive the process and spread across the globe. The room was filled with the quiet hum of equipment, punctuated only by their focused muttering as they double-checked calculations and adjusted chemical compounds.
The rest of the team waited outside, the tension immense as they watched the two scientists work. There was a feeling of cautious hope in the air amongst the survivors, a tentative belief that, perhaps, this nightmare on this world might truly end.
Meanwhile, in the quiet of their makeshift home, Peter of this world took a rare evening to spend time with his family. Their small dining area was warm and inviting, a refuge from the world outside. Peggy Carter sat beside him, gently feeding Timothy, their infant son, who cooed softly, his curious blue eyes tracking his mother's every movement. At only six months old, Timothy was a symbol of hope for the survivors, a reminder of the life they were fighting to protect.
At the table, Jimmy and Sarah, their teenage children, sat eagerly, enjoying the simple meal. Jimmy, tall and wiry with his father's determination, was quiet, but a smile on his face as he watched his family. Across from him, Sarah, who bore her mother's fierce intensity and her father's wit, was animated, sharing her excitement for what tomorrow might bring, a new beginning, a life without constant fear.
Peter took a deep breath, looking around the table, absorbing the moment. It was rare that they had a chance to sit together like this, the four of them sharing a meal in a semblance of normalcy. "Tomorrow, this could all be over," he said softly, his voice filled with a mixture of exhaustion and hope. "Everything we've fought for, all the losses… maybe they'll finally mean something."
Peggy reached up and placed her smooth hand on his cheek rubbing under his eye, her gaze steady. "It already means something, Peter. Look at what you've done, what we've all done. We're still here, and that's more than many can say." Her voice was soft and clear, grounding him, her presence a constant source of strength.
Jimmy nodded, his usually serious face breaking into a small, hopeful smile. "If we can survive this, we can survive anything," he said quietly, his gaze flickering to his father, a sense of pride evident in his eyes.
Sarah reached over, gently squeezing her father's hand. "We're all ready, Dad. Whatever tomorrow brings, we'll face it as a family."
Peter took a moment, absorbing their words. He felt a wave of pride and gratitude, gratitude for his family, for Peggy's unwavering support, for Jimmy's quiet bravery, for Sarah's compassionate spirit, and for the future that Timothy represented.
As they ate, laughter and warmth filled the small room. For a brief time, they allowed themselves to dream, to imagine a life where the world was healed, where Timothy could grow up in a place of peace rather than fear. And in that moment, Peter allowed himself to believe they would see that future.
Outside, in the lab, Reed and Tony continued their work, inching ever closer to the cure that would bring an end to the nightmare.