Chapter 50: Diamonds
Diamond resisted scratching like no other naturally occurring material. It’s crystalline structure, however, made it susceptible to breakage from violent impacts, like say, falling seventy stories onto concrete. Large, uncut slabs of diamond didn’t shatter as easily, owing their integrity to sheer mass and the lack of place for force to focus upon. With that said, under constant, extreme conditions, diamonds, even giant samples of diamonds, were breakable.
As Emma found out, the pounding of Lorna’s fists qualified as constant, extreme conditions.
She caught Polaris’ wrist and squeezed. Under the strain of such dense and tough material, a normal limb would’ve burst into a cocktail of shattered bone, torn flesh, and blood. Lorna giggled and threw a punch, which thanks to Betsy’s fighting prowess, found a new home in Emma’s other hand. Anyone else would’ve been yelling for Emma to let go but not Lorna, oh no, the daughter of Magneto giggled even harder.
“You’re tough, Emma!”
The devious sparkle in those words alarmed the blonde.
As well they should’ve. “Not tough enough though.”
Still giggling, Lorna smashed her forehead against her opponent’s face. So mighty the hit that it released Emma’s holds and catapulted her through two decorative pillars. The giggling continued without slowing.
“Papa, did you see that? She can’t even hurt me!”
When no one answered, she turned around and gawked at her father’s convulsing body suspended in midair. Captain Britain below and his cohort far away did a bunch of chanting. Storm, recovered and looking for trouble, hurled lightning bolts at Magneto’s fading shields. All three people looked to be doing a good job hurting Lorna’s papa, and Lorna didn’t like people hurting her papa.
“Stop!” she screamed, tears falling from her eyes, “STOP!”
The very earth shook as Lorna, pissed off and desperate, took another hit of Kick. Sewer pipes and subway rails broke from their underground lairs. Statues, billboards, parking meters, and cars lifted into the skies. Her chest hurt and blood wouldn’t stop pouring from her nose, but the power she wielded eased the uncertainty like a childhood blanket.
She went higher into the sky and prepared to punish these trespassers for hurting Papa.
Meanwhile, Emma examined her hand. The dimming moonlight revealed a repulsively beautiful series of hairline fractures within her body. No pain, no worry, just a bland observation that if Lorna struck her a few more times, something was going to break into a million pieces. The two resounding falls and the Hulk-like hits took their toll on Emma’s thought to be indestructible body.
Since when did Lorna become Hulk-like? Since when did her powers surpass Magneto’s? Since never, and since now, Emma worked her brain like never before.
The new abilities. The organized, systematic destruction of everything X-Men. The look on Mystique’s face back at Battery Park like a light bulb went off. Hell, her appearance and cooperation. Magneto and Polaris, working together. Betsy’s return and the underlying tension in the mansion all week. Emma’s own capture by Dark Beast. The Blackbird self-destructing for no reason. Tessa falling out of one of the world’s tallest buildings. And finally, those words... Tessa’s fateful words...
“I have found a disturbing trend on the premises of late. Because I only have conjectures at this point, my words to you are simple: I will be watching your every move.”
At the time, it sounded like a threat. Emma knew better, and after so many days, she puzzled out Tessa’s cryptic missive.
It wasn’t a threat but rather an arrogant, “I know what’s going on and you don’t” taunt designed to make Emma worry about herself and lose track of the subtle troubles brewing. Not like the taunt was needed seeing as how Emma busied herself with Betsy and their bond, but under normal circumstances, the blonde would’ve consumed Tessa’s grumblings and become way too preoccupied. Betsy’s return rendered the words useless, but no way Tessa could’ve known that beforehand. Like the girl scout she was, she accounted for every contingency and acted with the utmost care.
This time, her care revealed her.
Not like the revelation did any good long after the bombs, literally and figuratively, dropped. What if all this smacked of Tessa’s cool, calculated touch? What if Emma was undoubtedly right? Her body still contained hairline factures, Lorna still readied herself to turn the roof into a metal wasteland, and try as she might, Emma couldn’t outmuscle or outmaneuver the green haired harpy.
Unless, of course, she telepathically attacked Polaris.
Flesh reclaimed the hand. She expected discomfort simply because her diamond body had the fissures. Incredibly, her skin and bone self suffered no consequences. The sigh of relief froze in its tracks when Emma couldn’t feel Betsy’s presence anymore. Her instincts flipped the panic button but her mind held herself down. Panicking was exactly the thing not to do--it didn’t shed any light on Betsy or help Emma out of this life and death quagmire.
Storm, watching the horror of projectiles rising from the ground to impale them all, called the fiercest tempest she could and hoped for the wind, rain, and thunder to shield them. Metal paid the elemental obstacles no heed and continued on like missiles.
Against the backdrop of darkness, both Brian and Stephen uttered the final words of their spell. A red glow swallowed Magneto like a fire, and as if doing it would stop his suffering, he tore his helmet off. What lay beneath was something frightening, something disfigured and definitely not Magneto. His clothes ripped, done away by expanding mass. His eyes and mouth spewed an icy blue fog.
The metal kept coming.
Pulling herself up, Emma stood against Ororo’s fury and reached into Lorna Dane’s splintered mind. A true X-Man might’ve been interested in her life story and her reasons for going postal, but Emma wasn’t an X-Man, not even an X-Woman. She was a teacher, and teachers protected their students, the same students Lorna endangered. Were there extenuating circumstances? Probably. Could Lorna be manipulated? Sure. Was there a peaceful solution? Of course.
Emma, however, wasn’t up for exploring her options.
As strong as Lorna was, as powerful as had become, as high as she was on drugs, she had no mental barriers, at least none that posed an experienced telepath any trouble. With an overloading mental blast, Emma shut down Lorna’s hummingbird-like mind and watched the woman--and her metal minions--collapse, the metal to the churned up sidewalk and the woman herself through the Empire State Building’s roof.
Casually, Emma strolled over to the impressive hole to critique her handiwork. Low and behold, a knocked out Lorna had landed not an arm’s length from a bound and collared Charles Xavier. The old man seemed none worse for the wear, but not far from him, a certain Cajun looked to be in a bad way.
“Emma,” the Professor coughed as he spat out chalky dust, “You are truly a sight for sore eyes.”
“And you’re a sore sight for my eyes.”
A sharp piercing shot through Emma’s back. Without her consent, a liquid injected into her body. Before she even turned around, her face ran hot and the minds of the city howled into her ears. When she did turn around, Esme Stepford stood behind her, shocked but concurrently proud. Thoughts and emotions visibly manifested themselves to Emma, thoughts like Brian’s worry, Stephen’s surprise, Esme’s glee, Charles’ relief, and Betsy, where the hell was Betsy?
“I killed someone,” Esme called out to the still retching former Magneto, “I killed Emma Frost!”
Magneto didn’t seem impressed. Actually, he didn’t even respond. Emma’s weakened knees failed to support her frame and dizzying head. She heard her heart pounding and her breaths shallowing. Confused? No, she wasn’t confused. Her telepathy exploded into epic proportions, and one glance at Esme told her the story. Ghosts of the past, ghosts that touched the needle which held her death, appeared like the same ones in a Dickens novel.
Kick, a new drug tailored by McCoy and distributed by Tessa, burned at her mutant physiology, enhancing her abilities but also shorting out her body. The fatal injection was originally meant for Rachel Summers as a rite of passage into Magneto’s plans. Stuff happened, Esme still had the needle, and now, she plunged it into Emma, her teacher.
As long as her blood distributed the substance, Emma would very quickly exhaust her biological resources and work herself to death. And Esme danced at the prospect while everyone looked on like idiots.
*Betsy, where are you?*
Betsy would know what to do. At least, if she didn’t, Emma could apologize for leaving her behind to face Vargas alone. In hindsight, that was probably a bad decision.
*Betsy, answer me!*
The Stepford sister danced and pranced out into the open where Ororo’s tempest slowed. “Can’t you see? I did it, Magnus! I killed an X-Man!”
A brutish roar deafened Emma. Mixed into the roar was a girlish peel of fear followed by gargling noises. The Kick kicked in, knocking Emma over onto her back. Poor, foolish Esme, the little femme fatale weakly struggled for air against “Magneto’s” boot which planted itself over her throat. Only when he snarled at her did she finally realize the man she wanted to please wasn’t home. Only too late did she regret pumping Emma, her teacher and the person most likely to save her, full of drugs.
Moving blood spread the deadly Kick. Emma’s veins tired. As her final recourse, she returned to her diamond form and hoped her secondary mutation would cease her bodily functions, enough for her to survive. The customary icy calm greeted her and she waited for death’s terror to leave, but it didn’t. Emotions seconds ago remained overwhelming; her telepathy didn’t retreat.
Kick... the substance changed her, perhaps even at the genetic level. With McCoy’s stamp of approval, anything was possible, but a drug was still a drug and it required a biological medium for it to operate: a diamond lattice didn’t fit the bill. Whatever genetic flaw preventing Emma from accessing her psychic powers and from feeling sensations went the way of the dinosaurs and left her with this.
No more cold logic, no more numbness, and damn it, she was just warming up to having no empathy. Being the White Queen and doing White Queen-esque things was much easier to pull off when she didn’t have a conscience in the way.
Ok, beside the point now. Although Emma had an excuse for being shocked, stunned, and otherwise appalled, everyone else on this battleground didn’t. Esme still wasn’t dead, this gross Magneto wasn’t good news, and demons still infested Battery Park. Yeah, despite the wayward Stepford’s act, Emma couldn’t bear to see another student die.
Ruined, jailed, and or persecuted? Sure, but killed? No.
“Get going!” Emma shouted. “That thing isn’t going to lay down and die by itself!”
The declaration ignited Brian and Ororo, but Strange, levitating in the background, stayed put. “I sense a formidable presence approaching.”
A ball of brilliant fire passed through where the Sorcerer Supreme was. Somehow, despite the pyrotechnics, all the man ended up with was a singed cape and a slight cough. The fireball continued, flashed, rotated, and then broke apart, spewing steaming embers into the rain as it framed two humanoid forms.
“A formidable presence?” chuckled Belasco, his voice coming from the steam and smoke, “There was a time when you’d call me worse things, Strange. What prompted my demotion?”
Demon on the roof. Demon in the air. Good ol’ Brian Braddock had his irrefutable proof of who drove this devious engine of destruction. As always, hearing a friend’s assessment and experiencing the fact were contrasting creatures. “You might as well return to your domain, Belasco. You cannot win here!”
“Any place else, your highness, and I would give an ounce of credence to your words, but not in the physical realm of your pathetic mortals. You lay claim over the Otherworld, and Otherworld this is not. My subjects will overrun this place and make it mine. There is nothing you can do, Braddock spawn! Demons pour forth, your allies are in ruins, and best of all...”
He tugged on a strip of leather, and out from the last of the cloudiness emerged Betsy, claws extended, tongue elongated and pointed, wide eyes beady, and shadows enfolding her like armor.
“Best of all,” Belasco repeated while running his hand through her hair, “I get to witness an interesting family reunion.”
To the near unrecognizable, slathering abstract attached to a hook, Brian whispered, “Sis?”
Belasco released the leash and Betsy was upon him like a starving animal, flying through the air and landing on his body while swiping, gnashing, and every other kind of striking. The demonic magnus motioned to the shadow of Magneto, gesturing at the downed Esme and pantomiming a throat slash. “Finish the girl.”
Choices. Another snap decision forced its ugly way into Emma’s mind. No longer coldly logical and devoid of emotion, young love factored into her thought process. Save a girl who tried to kill her or reclaim the generous woman who wanted her? Let it be known that Emma was the White Queen, a vindictive, egotistical, selfish expression of humanity. Let it be known that while she dropped the mantle and assumed a more altruistic lifestyle, Emma Grace Frost remained as vindictive, egotistical, and selfish as ever, only now she had a conscience.
A small conscience.
The choice wasn’t even a choice.
Emma, fractured body and all, seized Betsy’s clawed hand. “Bad, Betsy, don’t hit your brother like that.”
Her eyes held no hint of recognition much less any humor. With a saliva slurping hiss, the demon that was Betsy dropped her assault on Brian and went after Emma.
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- To be continued...
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