Chapter 30: Twisting the Dagger
Using a low branch, X’ian pulled herself to her feet. A good, long rest on the cold soil did wonders, though unfortunately, not miracles. She didn’t want to die anymore, but wanting to throw up for the rest of her life didn’t sound like a nice way to spend the evening. Two of everything surrounded her, the result of hitting her head on... on... something. Something hard. The back of hand wiped the sweat off her brow, but she recalled sweat being less viscous and much more translucent. Oh, and she recalled the action being a lot less painful.
Stumbling, she leaned against a tree for support. Her sides flared angrily and shortened her breaths. Pieces of bark picked at her thigh, yet another pain to add to the current litany. The wet ground beneath her snuck in because of her weight. Above the ringing in her ears, crickets and other little critters chirped. The moon cast the surroundings in an eerie glow highlighted by dancing flames and dreamy smoke.
X’ian shook her head. The quick movement upset her precarious equilibrium and she emptied her stomach. The plus side was that she did feel better; the minus side was she still felt horrible. Finally getting some control of herself, she slowly appraised her environment.
Tall trees and one nearly destroyed Mark 3. That was it. What a landscape. Nothing but shadows and fiery redness to keep her company. Redness... Red...
Rachel... Where was Rachel?!
Why was the Mark 3 a gnarl of wreckage?
Think!
Let’s see...
They, meaning Rachel and herself, went to intercept Fantomex on Jean’s orders. Rachel was pissed the guy for double-crossing her dad and said as much as they took off. Maybe it was the booze, maybe it was the lack of sleep, but X’ian found the tirade endearing. After puttering around for a good while, they spotted Fantomex’s bug shaped craft. Without forewarning, a jolt of electricity triggered the Mark 3’s self-destruct mechanism. How it happened or who did it X’ian had no clue, but stuff blew up all around them.
Fantomex escaped. They went down. Finally, darkness.
“Rachel,” she weakly called out. “Rachel!”
Not like she expected an answer. Not like she expected to actually hear the answer if there was one. Plane crashes had the uncanny ability to kill, maim, and knock out people like that. X’ian’s ears still rung loud enough to almost drown out her own thoughts.
Unsteadily, the woman shuffled to the gutted plane. Over the tree roots, around the torn metal, past the seemingly intact cockpit lay the object of her search. X’ian’s first reaction? Throw up again. There was so much blood, blood here, there, everywhere. A piece of long shrapnel jutted into Rachel’s midsection. Cuts criss-crossed her like a horror movie monster. At some point, her eyes swelled shut. Her right leg bent at a strange, obtuse angle. The remnants of her costume did nothing to protect her from the night cold.
But yet Rachel lived. Her fingers flexed and she made small sounds of suffering. A lesser person would’ve stopped struggling for life, but Rachel was a strong one. She’d survived apocalyptic futures, mutant slavery, and the worst of the Phoenix Force--a simple plane crash wouldn’t do her in. At least, X’ian hoped not.
“Rachel,” she called out again.
The writhing slowed.
“Rachel!”
The red head mumbled something.
God, blood, and still more found ways to seep out. Every injury on Rachel looked fatal, and X’ian didn’t have the medical know-how to be of any use. Again another friend slipping away and all she could do was watch.
No. She could do something. Might not save Rachel, but at least she wouldn’t feel so much pain. X’ian closed her eyes and used her unique mutant powers to assume control of Rachel’s battered body. Immediately, mind-shattering hurt cut her down. X’ian acted as a buffer, removing Rachel from the constant hounding by her wounds. Possessing someone like this would never save the body, but at least her friend wouldn’t spend her last moments in agony.
X’ian only hoped she didn’t die with Rachel in the process.
*****************
Yvette Kelson-Pratt loved her job as a cameraperson for CNN. Lots of interesting things happened in the New York City and to have a front row seat to see the action? Whoa, just a totally unbelievable life experience. She planned to use her connections here to fulfill her real passion--filming documentaries-- but her time at the news broadcaster wouldn’t soon be forgotten. The heart warming stories, the pulse racing shots, the cerebral aftermaths all made for a surreal smattering of memories.
Like this one for instance. Kind of hard to forget dangling off one of the world’s tallest buildings while held aloof by the whim of the craziest of mutant crazies. Yeah, Yvette had a good memory for the life-threatening moments.
“Are you live?”
Scared out of her mind, the woman nodded.
“Good.”
Magneto wretched the camera from her grasp and watched her fall eighty six stories to the chaotic streets below.
“Hehe,” laughed Toad, “Good one, Master.”
Under the control of Magneto’s magnetism powers, the camera spun around and filmed all the occupants of the roof. A host of X-Men remained semi-frozen in the background, all collared, beaten, and or unconscious. Iceman stood by his teammates, watched like a hawk by Esme and Lorna. Toad and Magneto brought up the front while Sage, smile and sunglasses ever-present, leaned against a pillar off to the side.
No one knew what to make of her.
A small craft descended from the sky. Everyone but Sage and Magneto tensed, but only the latter moved to meet the vessel. It hatched open to reveal one ski mask wearing man.
“Weapon XIII,” greeted Magneto.
“Fantomex,” the man corrected as he folded his laptop and bounded to the ground, “And you got a nice setup going. My employer said you’d be up here, but I was kind of skeptical myself.”
“This employer of yours...”
Exposed eyes twinkled with amusement. “The Master of Magnetism checkin’ out the new guy? Why, I’m honored. Yes, Attrior sent me, so call your hounds off and feel the love, ok?”
“There is no love, Weapon XIII. This is war.”
“This is payday,” Fantomex replied, “I’m getting my share of the pie by shooting wise guys and keeping your ass alive. Don’t expect me to fall head over heels because of your rhetoric.”
“The age of the Homo Superior is at hand, yet you still strive for false riches created by mere humans?”
“Right.” Fantomex drew his guns and examined them. “Next time you want a burger, tell that to the cashier. I’m sure it’ll go over real well.”
“Your agenda sickens me.”
“And your agenda doesn’t feed me.”
Magneto’s sneer deepened. He dismissively pointed his weapons. “What do you expect to do with those pitiful pistols of yours?”
“Uhhh, shoot someone?”
“And your power?”
Fantomex tilted his head toward his vessel. “That’s E.V.A., my ship, my mutation, my nervous system, and for today only, my weapons cache. She’s got enough explosives and firearms tucked away to carve a mile wide crater in the ground, so while my mutant power may not be sexy like yours, it gets the job done.”
Magneto didn’t hide his distain as he spun around to face the floating, still recording camera. This Attrior character had yet to steer him wrong, and while he had his suspicions about the unknown benefactor, he also knew that help, especially good help, was hard to come by. Who else had access to designer doses of Kick? Who else had so much information on the inner workings of the X-Men? Who else knew of his daughter’s secondary mutation? Who else could guarantee the absence of nearly all of the X-Men on a given night?
Until things unraveled--which in war, all things did--he’d trust Attrior’s judgment on Fantomex and consider him an uneasy ally.
For now, this was his time.
“Humans!” boomed Magneto, “Your end is upon you. Tonight, as we Homo Superior reclaim our birthright, the streets of your greatest city will run red with your blood. Your sins against us will haunt you when our kind hunts you to extinction. We will have no mercy, just like you and your governments have no mercy for us.”
He laughed in a sinister way, his hand pointing at the prisoners behind him. “This is the fabled X-Men, the traitors of my people. I’ve defeated them with nothing but a thought, and I will do the same to those who oppose me and my dream.
“My brethren! My true brethren, heed my call! Rally around me! Come from the depths of your human-made prisons and rise with me to create a new world, a new existence, a New Genosha, a place where you can be free, where your children will not be persecuted. Throw off the yokes of your inferiors! The time for war has begun.”
His fist clenched and the camera exploded.
Lorna shot up.
Chaos ensued.
Tessa kept smiling.
*****************
“Kurt, where’s Paige?!”
“Magneto has her and we don’t know where he went.”
Warren kicked the wall of his spacious condo. “He has everyone else too?”
“Mostly, but I can’t be sure. We need to leave the students with you. With Magneto loose, the school isn’t safe.”
“Agreed. Who knows what that man is going to do next...”
“Be calm, my friend. We’ll find Paige.”
“Is there anything else I can do?”
Another voice in the background piped up. “Get ah splint for’ Kurt!”
The request worried Warren. “You ok?”
“Nothing to be rattled over. We’ll be there soon. Ten minutes tops.”
“Careful now, don’t need any more problems.”
“Indeed, Warren. Auf wiedersehen.”
As the line went dead, the muted television--on CNN--flashed with the words of “Breaking News.” Warren returned to the volume to its former state.
“This just in: New York City is under attack by renowned mutant radical, Magneto...”
******************
- To be continued...
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