Chapter 29: Consequences
“You shouldn’t be strainin’ yourself, elf boy.”
Very true--with a crushed forearm and multiple cuts, Kurt Wagner shouldn’t have been up, let alone rounding up a ragtag company of young adult mutants still in shock over the mansion’s destruction. If not for Jubilation Lee and Sam Guthrie, the man known as Nightcrawler would’ve spent the rest of the evening in an unwilling torpor out in the backyard hedges. He didn’t ask how they found him, but he gave them his thanks before soldering on.
Why? Well, for all anyone knew, Kurt was the last of the senior X-Men, and thus, he assumed command of the group. His wakefulness forced him to press forward, the dwindling moments of Magneto’s assault replaying in his head as a sort of motivation. Like a cross, the burden of the team’s lives and the Professor’s vision fell squarely onto his narrow shoulders, and he bore the weight as best he could.
So far, he commended himself on his progress. They’d swept the entire student quarters and were on the way to the garage. In Kurt’s opinion, the mansion wasn’t the safest place to house the students anymore, so they had to relocate. “Children first” was his motto and guide--these were young, innocent mutants caught in the war of X-Men and Magneto. Harm should be the last thing to befall them. Besides, they were the living embodiment of the Professor’s dream, and if nothing else, they’d carry on his legacy should the worst of worst case scenarios come to pass.
Concern-wise, the team came in a close second, providing yet another reason to get to the garage as soon as possible. Warren was in Manhattan and untouched by this catastrophe. Not only could he give the children sanctuary, his formidable skills would be a huge asset when rescuing everyone else.
Kurt’s own health ranked a distant third on his priority list. However, the issue of his wounds remained a simmering question, one which both Jubilee and Sam wouldn’t let go.
“Jubilee’s right, Kurt. Ya gotta get that arm in’a splint.”
“The students, Frau Lee and Herr Guthrie, need us.”
No denying that. As stated before, Christmas left the student dorms devoid of its usual bustle, but a handful of children stayed behind for whatever reasons. The trio of X-Men had the remaining Stepfords, Wolverine’s new protégé Dust (or Sooraya), and the ever angsty and deadly Kevin Ford, codenamed Wither, with them.
“I think everyone else is away,” said Sofie.
Mindee picked up the sentence. “They’re in town having fun till late.”
“It’s the holidays,” Phoebe added, sidling up to Sam ever so slightly.
“And this,” Celeste grumbled, half at mansion’s ruins and half at her sister, “Just had to happen.”
“Bleh,” gagged Jubilee, “Frosty sure knows how to pick ‘em.”
Wincing in pain, Kurt took stock of his group and let his leadership skills take over. He’d seen and heard enough: now was a time for action. “Tis not safe here,” he began, “the students must be moved to a secure location while Herr Guthrie and myself track Magneto down. So, everyone except Jubilee will come with me to Warren’s home in Manhattan.”
“Why not me?” Jubilee interrupted, pissed at being left out yet again, “I ain’t chopped liver!”
In the past, he didn’t trust the girl’s judgment or abilities. That was the past. Through Logan’s testimony and her own triumphs, he learned to respect her unorthodox ways. Leaving her wasn’t a slight, but rather a show of his utmost confidence.
“You know the area better than anyone and can use the landscape to your advantage. Should Magneto return, I have no doubt you can elude him. Your job is to appraise returning people of the situation and direct them to Warren’s. Frau Lee, I put the safety of the absent students and X-Men in your capable hands.”
Well, since he put it that way, the Asian girl relented.
Celeste, ever the sarcastic one, leaned over and whispered into Kevin’s ear, “The others are in big trouble.”
“Hey! I heard that!”
*****************
Dane Whitman made the most of the confusion and slipped behind the bathrooms of Battery Park. The Statue of Liberty stood a small distance before him, but tonight, the figure wasn’t the focus of everyone’s attention: a plane crash was. Police sirens and fire trucks sped toward the Bay while shocked tourists ran for cover.
Yes, he felt the chaos here, the chaos of the portal and the chaos of the people. From chaos brewed power, but only if one knew how to harness it. Avoiding detection in hectic times was a power all of its own, and Dane took advantage of it.
These mortals would never know what hit them.
The pendant he wore glowed an eerie red.
“Lord Belasco,” he intoned, “Your time is now.”
The pendant shattered and bathed his body in energy, enough energy to annihilate the seal some do-gooders put on the portal to his Master’s realm. Bolts of crimson lightning flashed from his fingertips and converged above a large patch of grass. Inhuman howls filled the park, but by the time anyone detected anything, the portal to the Otherworld’s demonic dimensions flared open like an angry cut in the fabric of space. Beings oozed through, hunger driving their actions, the smell of fresh meat too alluring to pass up. Their forms solidified into mockeries of the human body. Morbidly resplendent accessories dotted each demon--mouths in chests, gaping holes with putrid smells, even tortured amalgams of multiple creatures.
Fellow demons called these things shades, the lowest of the low, the proverbial rejects of all demonhood. They weren’t so much individuals as they were the remains of individuals. Demons not strong enough to keep their limbs and lives got thrown into these monstrosities, there to be recycled and reused for their Master’s purposes. Becoming part of a shade was the ultimate insult and a sure condemnation of one’s fate: shades were always first to the battle and almost always decimated by the enemy.
Still, they had their purpose.
At their very sight, terrified citizenry ran. Some of the faster shades gave chase, pouncing on their meals and messily tearing, chewing, melting, and or outwardly digesting slabs of flesh and bone. A beat cop fired his pistol. The bullets tore through one of the uglier shades, spewing puss and other fluids all over its no longer struggling victim. The cop’s victory was short lived: another jumped on top of him, rendering him a mere stain on the ground.
His gun clambered into the bushes.
Trees leaned; streetlights bent; the nearby waves grew taller; the earth shook. Dane Whitman, or the being formerly known as Dane Whitman, cackled in glee. No longer needing to hide, he let the power lift him ten feet into the air. The portal widened and more things came through, yet more still waiting in the wings.
Belasco... Lord Belasco was almost here...
Some minutes later, Magneto, along with his prisoners and allies, touched down on the Empire State Building a few blocks away.
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- To be continued...
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