Chapter 41: Wrath
The plan? Simple.
Meggan and Amanda stayed behind to protect people from Belasco’s forces. Emma, Betsy, Brian, and Stephen would fly (with the Doctor’s magic) to the Empire State Building, rescue the X-Men, and “cowboy up” to the Otherworld invasion. They reasoned that between Emma’s diamond body, Betsy’s telepathy, and the combined mystical powers of Brian and Strange, they’d be able to neutralize Magneto. Great plan, but great plans had a penchant for falling apart.
First sign of trouble came when they left Frost Tower. Suspended in a globe of magic, their current height--eight stories and rising--afforded them a clear view of Manhattan’s shoreline parks. Over toward a corner, was that South or North Cove? Whatever Cove, demons fell back like chastised children, all because of one man.
“Vargas.”
Everyone stared at a suddenly agitated Betsy.
“Sis, that’s one nasty twitch you’ve got there.”
Emma looked where Betsy locked her eyes. Indeed Vargas carved fists full of death into Belasco’s army. He seemed intent on a target, too, intent on pursuing Mystique. Emma’s expression obtained a bit of Betsy’s when she saw the blue skinned mutant.
Wrath, and not amplified by Lorna’s powers, consumed Betsy. Not often one got to face their killer, but here he was, larger than life and unwittingly mocking her. Emma would’ve tried to act as the sensible one if her own temper hadn’t been invoked. So where did things stand? Well, both women bombarded each other with self-propagating, vengeful thoughts. Buoyed by part White Queen fury, part demonic spawn frenzy, both women seethed beyond containable levels.
They turned their heads and shared a measured gaze.
*Didn’t you say you’d put Vargas’ brain into a blender if you ever saw him?*
*Yes,* confirmed Emma. *Didn’t you want to tear the face off of any person who harmed me?*
*Yes.*
*Mystique and Vargas are dangerous individuals.*
*Sure.*
*We’d be doing the X-Men and the world a favor by taking advantage of the situation.*
*No doubt.*
*This is purely for the benefit of mutant-human coexistence.*
*Wouldn’t consider it anything but.*
Betsy shot through the air, flipping and somersaulting with eerie ease. Down she half-soared, half-glided, down ten stories and she landed with neither sound nor any other fanfare. Before her long, purple hair even settled, she sprinted off, slipping through overturned cars, bent parking meters, mutants, and demons like a well-honed blade.
Two pairs of eyes peered over the edge then at the blonde woman.
As she transmuted into diamond, Emma smiled and waved. She leaned back and plummeted to the streets much quicker than Betsy. When she met the ground, a loud crash and a fog of debris shrouded the area. The dust settled, but besides the miniature crater, no sign of Emma remained.
“We missed something, Stephen.”
“Perhaps their departure would be for the best.”
Confused, the Otherworld’s ruler tilted his head. “Don’t they have the experience fighting Magneto?”
Strange muttered choice words including “malum,” “exsisto,” and “teneo.” When he stopped, black auras dotted demons everywhere, most of them concentrated at Battery Park. One out of place aura made its home on the Empire State Building, one Stephen make sure to point at.
“If we were dealing with Magneto, then yes, we would require them, but we’re not.”
The one directing the mutant carnage, the one holding the X-Men hostage, the one who claimed to be the Master of Magnetism glowed in an unholy black.
Brian rubbed his eyes and did a double take. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Magic is a powerful weapon, my friend, and Belasco is one of its most potent users. I wouldn’t put it past him.” Strange closed his billowing cape and gritted his teeth. “Come, we must help the X-Men. This battle has broached onto a metaphysical level and they’ll need our assistance.”
*****************
The butt of her pistol pulverized the ice around his body. Ample metal still pinned his limbs tight, stark reminders of the damp, biting chill. Tessa smashed his face against a window (effectively silencing him) and pressed cold steel up to his temple.
“A change of plans,” she said. “Factors beyond my control have put my masterpiece in jeopardy. It will never be completed now, but you will not see its dismal conclusion.”
Her thumb pulled the hammer back; a foreboding click sounded. “Goodbye Charles Francis Xavier. In your next life, may you learn to fight your own battles.”
“Remy don’t t’ink so, chere. Drop da gun.” To make his point, he tapped his makeshift staff--a discarded bar of rusted iron--against the back of her head.
If the pane of glass didn’t impede his lips’ movement, Charles would’ve spouted eternal gratitude from his mouth.
Talk about factors beyond control--Remy LeBeau wasn’t even suppose to be here. The Cajun was a wild card, unpredictable in the best of circumstances. Apparently, he was unpredictable enough to befuddle Vargas and get to Manhattan in record time. That unpredictability put Tessa in a quagmire of epic proportions.
According to her calculations, there existed a 45.7% chance of him disabling her before she could fire her gun. Within that percentage, a 14.2% probability of him using deadly force arose. If she followed his demand, she’d have a 37.1% chance to talk her way out of this standoff. Her other projections possessed too many flaws to be useful, thanks largely to Remy’s spontaneity.
“Said drop it. Dis be no joke.”
Sage rolled the dice. “What would you do to Charles if he betrayed you?”
She watched him through his reflection in the glass. The man claimed a virtuoso poker face, but even he had slight tells, tells like the slight exhale he did when he heard her question. Alas, data on his mannerisms lacked and Tessa couldn’t extrapolate any conclusions.
“Do you have mercy for someone who uses children to achieve his goals?”
His body temperature and pulse jumped, hounded by the many Morlocks he helped obliterate. Tessa stimulated her tear ducts and waited till the first droplets rolled down her chin. “Tell me, Gambit, what should I do to a man conditioned me to follow his dream? What should I do to the father figure who goaded me into the Hellfire Club as an underage sex slave?”
“Dunno,” he shrugged, “but I know killin’ ‘im ain’t de answer. Leggo da gun n’ we can be like civil people, non?”
His sentences lengthened, proof of his flagging resolve. She’d changed his view of her from perpetrator to victim, and the perception shift decreased the likelihood of him beating her to the proverbial punch.
“Killing him is not the answer, but it is a step in the right direction.”
“Chere, der be bigger t’ings ta worry ‘bout. Remy ain’t a smart man, but he sure puttin’ a bullet in his head ain’t gonna make ya no friends.”
Gun shook and the tears rolled. Tessa inputted the optimal mix of self-loathing, fear, and remorse into her voice. “You are correct,” she whispered, the pistol falling from her unsure hand and clattering to the floor.
Remy sighed and drooped his shoulders, glad for the scenario to be over.
Before he got a chance to say one of his Cajun quips, Tessa yanked the bar from his hands and whacked him in the jaw.
*****************
X’ian sagged. She couldn’t breathe anymore. Her heart labored for one, maybe two, final beats. She felt, smelled, and saw--her brain hadn’t accepted her death yet. Long ago she’d lost her hold on Rachel and the red head stayed blissfully silent since then. Her morbid curiosity wondered if she’d outlast Rachel.
Out of the corner of her eye, a bright light appeared.
Well, so long world. It was a nice life while it lasted, full of ups and downs but mostly downs. Would miss the food the most, that and the Grey Goose vodka. She’d miss her little siblings and all the fun friends. As hard as the X-Men lifestyle was, she’d miss that too. Got to see many interesting, mind blowing things while in the company of the New Mutants.
The light drew closer.
Did people who suddenly died see the light too? What about those who got beheaded? How about blind people? Why a light? Why not a slow descending darkness?
Death was confusing, but it didn’t stop the light. X’ian read an article that said the light was brilliant and white. How come this light was fiery red and in the shape of an eagle? How come it moved from side to side? How come there looked to be a rock in the middle of it?
And how come Jean and Logan rode the rock?
A force lifted her to the sky, closer to the light, closer to Jean. Flames licked her face and warmed her like a childhood blanket. Heat cauterized the bleeding wounds, but something else stirred in that fire. Like all fires, it hurt, but unlike the rest, it didn’t kill. X’ian’s body sputtered and groaned, but the fire coaxed it to start again, to live again. Numbed nerves refired, the backlog of impulses crashing into her like a speeding truck. X’ian found the ability to scream.
From the sweat inducing pain came life, and from that life came energy revitalizing her near-dead tissue. Blood filled veins. Skin knitted itself. Her lurching stomach calmed. Fractured bones fused. Bruises faded.
X’ian collapsed onto... onto... a pair of soft arms?
Rachel, alive and well, smiled at her. “Overwhelming, isn’t it?”
“How...”
“Mom did it,” she smiled, tipping her head over to Jean. “The Phoenix healed us.”
Shocked, X’ian managed an awe-struck “Thank you.”
Despite the miraculous save, Logan appeared displease, at least, more so than his usual self. His frown contrasted with Jean’s radiant form. It was like he’d lost someone dear or was about to.
“Are both of you ready?”
“Ready for what, Mom?”
Briefly, Jean’s calming image faltered. “Destiny’s end.”
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- To be continued...
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