“Take ’em out!” ordered a man wearing sergeant’s stripes. More than a dozen M-16 rifles swung around to target the young couple. “Well, this is bad ...” Phoenix muttered.
Cyclops grabbed her arm and pulled her into the abandoned Concert Hall just as the shooting began.
“Let’s find an exit, all right?” he said as they dashed down the center aisle. “Hopefully, it’ll be the same one Doom winds up at. . .”
* * *
Lancer never expected—in a world where men and women flew under their own power and unleashed incredible, destructive energies stored within their own bodies—that something so commonplace as a bullet would end her life.
Leading the Royal Couple from the Concert Hall, through the back stage area, and toward an underground garage in which the Emperor’s limousine was parked, every step of the escape had been a major hassle. It seemed that, each time the arts center was rocked by another explosion, von Doom would move to run off and go in search of the very mutants who were trying to find him. It was only the logical arguments of the Empress—ones guaranteed to play directly to her husband’s mountain-sized ego—that had stayed his ill-considered actions, and kept the line moving.
But, as Lancer, Harada, and another male bodyguard—recruited during their exit from the Royal Box—escorted the Emperor and Empress to the exit leading to the garage, she was surprised to find Arcade waiting for them, a big grin etched on his face.
“What are you doing here, Minister?” she asked suspiciously.
“Well, I was running for my life from all those crazy mutants attacking the place, sweets, when I heard you folks tromping this way,” he explained, and turned to von Doom. “Are you all right, Your Majesty?”
“I am unharmed, Arcade,” the Emperor replied, clearly annoyed by the man’s presence, “but I am most eager to show these loutish mutants the error of their ways. Now, remove yourself from my path.”
Arcade ignored the command and nodded toward the EXIT sign above his head. “Taking them out the back way, Lancer?”
“Exactly why are you so curious, Minister?” Lancer asked. “And if the way out of this war zone is so clearly marked, then why haven’t you made use of it?” She raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Unless, maybe, you’re not looking to escape, but merely delay us from doing so ... ?” Her hands crackled with energy. “Step aside, before I—”
And then one of the bodyguards standing beside her pulled a gun from inside his tuxedo jacket, and calmly shot her in the head.
Lancer was dead before she hit the floor.
Harada joined her a moment later, cut down by Miss Locke as she stepped from the shadows behind him.
As the Royal Couple watched, the remaining bodyguard changed shape, instantly becoming a blue-skinned, red-haired woman in an abbreviated white gown.
“Mystique,” von Doom said with a sneer. His gauntleted hands clenched into fists. The gems of the Mandarin’s rings flared brightly.
“Now, just hold off with flashing the costume jewelry, Vic,” Arcade warned. “I know you’ve got enough deaths for everybody on those fingers of yours, but keep this in mind: the odds’re good that, before you get a chance to take all three of us out of the picture, one’a us will still manage to help the Empress gain some unwanted weight—say, a few ounces of lead in her brain pan?”
“Do not hesitate on my behalf, Victor,” Ororo said, head held high. “But I must, beloved,” the Emperor replied. “What sort of ruler— what sort of man—would I be if I were willing to sacrifice my very heart. . . even for the good of the Empire?” Von Doom shook his head. “No. The time to strike will present itself... and soon. Fools such as these always err when they are most certain they possess the upper hand.”
Mystique kept her eyes on the Emperor, her gun aimed squarely at the center of his forehead. “I take it, Arcade, this means you’re Pietro’s Washington contact,” she said to the Minister of Entertainment.
Arcade nodded. “Since Day One, sweets. How else could Petey have managed to smuggle his old man around the Empire without gettin’ caught, or find the best route t’get him back to the States?” He chuckled. “Y’know, if it hadn’t been for Viper—God rest her gentle soul—and her overactive libido, I never would’ve found out half the things I did about all those war council meetings.” He sighed. “Too bad she had t’go an’ bite the Big One, huh? Cost me my best source of info.”
“You are a worm, Arcade,” Ororo said, a look of disgust contorting her features. “An ugly, little worm, without a shred of decency.”
“Ouch. ” Arcade laughed sharply, and acted as though he were wiping a tear from the comer of his right eye. “Sticks and stones, babe. I’ve been called worse in my time.” He turned to von Doom. “Looks like you and the Missus have a problem here, Vic—what with a revolution going on, and the two of you about to die, I mean. I’m not surprised, though—you keep stepping on the little people on your way to the top, and eventually they’re gonna start wanting to step on you. ” He smiled. “And I got some pretty big boots in the car, just itchin’ for the opportunity to stomp a mudhole in your—”
“I will enjoy destroying you, maggot,” von Doom said evenly; it wasn’t a threat—merely a statement of fact.
Arcade shook his head in mock sadness. “See? It’s that kind of attitude that makes a man rethink his alliances and go with a winning team. And to be quite honest with you, Vic, odds are Mags is gonna do a much better job of takin’ care of your ol’ pal, Arcade, then you ever did. And that’s the kind of employer/employee relationship I like.” He snorted derisively at Ororo. “And as for you, Miss High-an’-Mighty,
Miss Partridge-Family-makes-for-great-music—hope you don’t mind me playin’ ‘Tiny Bubbles’ for your funeral procession.” He grinned. “You know I’ll be lovin’ it.”
“Oh, just shut the hell up, Arcade,” Mystique said curtly. She turned to glare at him. “Enough talk. Let’s just kill them and—”
Her order, however, was cut short as a blast of frigid energy—fired by the power ring on the Emperor’s right index finger—enveloped her, coating her in a substance akin to liquid nitrogen.
Ororo reacted as well, summoning a powerful blast of wind that slammed Miss Locke against a wall. The comely woman’s face suddenly unhinged and dropped off, to reveal the circuitry and memory chips that had given her artificial life.
“I seem to have broken your toy, Arcade,” Ororo said, her eyes flashing angrily.
The Minister of Entertainment was no longer smiling.
The blast of fire that shot forth from the ring on the Emperor’s left thumb put a swift end to any useless pleas for mercy he might have been about to voice. The hallway quickly filled with the stench of melting polyester and burning flesh.
Then, a sadistic grin lighting his features, von Doom lashed out with a gauntleted fist and shattered the frozen remains of the shape-shifter that stood before him. Separated from her body, Mystique’s head bounced twice off the tiled floor, then snapped in half.
“Cretins,” von Doom rumbled. He turned to leave.
“My husband, what of Lancer?” Ororo asked, pointing to the lifeless body at their feet. The young woman’s hair was soaked with blood, the blond locks now a ghastly crimson hue. “And Agent Harada?”
Von Doom watched dispassionately as the life fluid of his security people pooled around his metal-booted feet.
“True heroes of the Empire,” the Emperor said curtly. “They gave their lives in the service of Doom—that is reward enough for anyone.” He took Ororo by the arm. “Come, my dear—our people have need of us this night.”
So saying, he led her toward the garage entrance, leaving behind a trail of bloody footprints.
“Come on, punk!” Wolverine bellowed. “Whattaya waitin’ for?”
Teetering on unsteady legs, clothing tom, body bmised and bloodied, Logan flashed his claws, waiting for Sabretooth’s final charge. Around them lay the unconscious bodies of the other Hunters in the bear-like
mutant’s team. Nightcrawler had taken care of them all on his own—they really had been no serious threat for a solitary X-Man— while Wolverine had had his time occupied with just keeping his old enemy at bay.
“Get inside, elf!” Wolverine had ordered when he saw that Nightcrawler had completed his work. “Go help Cyke and Jeannie find Doom ’fore Roma decides it’s time t’tum off the lights!”
Nightcrawler hadn’t been happy about leaving his friend behind, but Wolverine was right about time running out for the universe, and, knowing the countless decades of animosity toward one another that Logan and Sabretooth shared, it was perhaps best to stay out of their way and concentrate on completing the mission. He had hurried off to assist Cyclops and Phoenix, confident that Wolverine wouldn’t be too long in resolving this matter.
Unfortunately, with all the madness the X-Men had experienced in this topsy-turvy world, Logan had made the mistake of forgetting that the feral villain also possessed an adamantium-laced skeleton—and claws.
Logan slipped on a patch of his own blood as Sabretooth rushed to meet his challenge. Sparks flew as metal-coated bio-weapons clashed.
“That the best you got?” Wolverine hissed, ignoring the pain that ripped through his body when the animalistic sociopath had raked his claws across his abdomen.
“Wait for it, runt,” Sabretooth growled. “It gets better. ”
And then, with an ear-to-ear grin splitting his haggard face, he unexpectedly broke off the attack and jumped back.
Before Wolverine could go on the offensive—or even question his foe’s motives for a sudden withdrawal—a fusillade of armor-piercing bullets tore into his back, his neck, his legs. Sabretooth’s military support, it appeared, had finally arrived.
The rounds rattled around inside him, glancing off the super-strong metal that protected his bones—but not his organs. Logan staggered about in blinding pain, unable to see, unable to stand.
Then something slammed into his chest—hard. Flesh tore. Blood spurted from his wounds, coating his eyes, filling his mouth.
Blinking his eyes rapidly, wiping the heels of his hands across his face to wipe away the arterial spray, Logan finally succeeded in clearing his vision—just in time for him to see Sabretooth plunge his adamantium-tipped claws into the Canadian’s chest.
Logan howled.
The Imperial limousine tore out of the arts center parking garage like the proverbial bat out of hell.
As it rounded the north comer of the building, heading for New
Hampshire Avenue, the car plowed through a group of superpowered combatants clashing on the driveway to the main entrance where, a few hours before, guests had begun arriving for what had promised to be a magical evening—instead of a mind-numbing Caught off-guard by the charging automobile, Scanner and Vindaloo were the first to fall beneath its wheels.
The front of the arts center suddenly exploded outward, showering man, mutant, and Hunter alike with chunks of masonry that crushed bones, and shards of glass that tore at flesh and sliced through arteries. The force of the blast carried across the avenue, tossing aside cars, emergency vehicles, and anyone who had been foolish enough to remain behind to view the spectacular battle.
And from the rubble of the shattered building stepped Magneto. Lips twisted in a hate-filled snarl, he gazed at the destruction spread before him and roared.
“DOOM!” he shouted. “Where are you, you steel-shrouded maggot?”
His eyes narrowed as he caught sight of a limousine fleeing the scene, its roof emblazoned with the seal of the Empire.
“Run all you like, human!” Magneto cried. “You only race all the faster to make your appointment with Death!”
He took to the air, flying high above the carnage he had wrought, and pursued the Imperial limousine as it rocketed through the streets, turning onto Constitution Avenue. To the right, along the edge of The Mall, crowds that had gathered to cheer the Royal Couple as they returned to the White House after the gala now ran in blind panic to escape the conflict heading their way.
With a burst of speed, the limousine tore up the avenue, heading for the mansion; another minute at the most, and the von Dooms would be safe.
But then the car was tom asunder by powerful magnetic forces.
The Royal Couple and their driver were thrown from the remnants of the vehicle, to land in a heap on the asphalt. The driver died instantly, his neck snapping as he struck the pavement. The Empress cried out in pain, the weight of her body falling fully onto her right arm as the limb swung beneath her; the snap of her ulna as it broke could plainly be heard.
Clad in his battle armor, the Emperor, of course, was unharmed.
“It is over, von Doom!” Magneto bellowed at the Emperor. “This fantasy world you have somehow created comes to an end tonight, with your death!
“Try your best, mutant!” the Emperor shouted. “Doom stands ready!”
Magnetic forces and ring-generated powers tore the air between them, filling the night-drenched city with the light and heat of a small sun. Buildings suddenly caught fire. Automobiles exploded. Those people unfortunate enough to have been standing close to the energy burst internally combusted. Heedless of the damage they were causing, neither mutant overlord nor tyrannical genius wavered in their resolve to destroy the other.
The phrase “Hell on Earth” flashed through the mind of more than one person that night.
And then a momentary lull in the battle came when the energies unleashed by the Mandarin’s power rings proved to be too much for the Emperor’s armor to handle. Roaring with frustration, he tore the smoldering gauntlets from his burned hands and threw them to the ground.
Taking advantage of his enemy’s weakness, Magneto lashed out with a powerful magnetic bolt, ensnaring von Doom and pulling him high into the night sky. As the Emperor fought to free himself, Magneto closed his hand—and von Doom’s armor collapsed inward, crushing flesh and bone.
The Emperor screamed; Magneto, on the other hand, found it all quite amusing.
A bolt of lightning suddenly tore through the sky, to strike Magneto full in the chest. He cried out in pain, releasing his hold on the Emperor, who tumbled toward the ground. Before von Doom impacted, though, a powerful wind gusted beneath him, carrying him a hundred yards from the mutant overlord, then gently setting him upon the grass.
Summoning another gale-force wind, Ororo used it to lift herself into the air. Eyes literally flashing in anger, cradling her broken arm against her chest, she flew directly toward Magneto, who was dazedly floating above The Mall, wheezing for breath. The center of his crimson outfit was charred through to his chest; the exposed skin was likewise blackened.
“You dare?” Ororo shouted. “You dare to lay hands upon the greatest man the world has ever had the privilege to know? Even more, you dare to attack the husband of one who controls the very elements?”
Above the battlefield, an angry storm was beginning to take shape, its strong winds and ominous rumbling mirroring its mistress’s dark mood. The air filled with the strong odor of burning ozone.
“Ah, my dear Storm,” Magneto said, shaking his head sadly. “If you but knew the truth about your ‘beloved’ mate, and the ways in which he has deceived you. I am certain you would be quite angered— and, perhaps, greatly embarrassed.” He sneered. “However, I have neither the time nor the patience to educate you. But I will say this: because we have, in the past, had occasion to fight as allies, I shall give you the opportunity to remove yourself from my path—” he gestured toward her broken arm “—without further injury.”
“And allow you to murder my husband?” Ororo snarled. “Never!” The air around them shook mightily as a massive thunderhead boomed just above them. It sounded as though a bomb had been dropped in the center of the capitol.
“I thought as much,” Magneto said; he almost sounded melancholy.
With but a glance, he caused the iron in Ororo’s blood to form a clot at the base of her brain. Ororo screamed in ag
ony for a moment, left hand clasping the back of her head, eyes squeezed shut tightly; then she moaned pitifully and blacked out. Magneto caught her before she could fall, cradling her gently in his arms as he descended to ground level. He touched the back of her head with the tip of a finger, dispersing the clot, then placed her on the grass.
Glancing up, he saw Cyclops, Phoenix, and Nightcrawler racing toward him. The mutant overlord rose into the air once more.
“Magnus, wait!” Cyclops shouted. “If you kill Doom, we’ll never find out how to repair the damage he’s done!”
“See to your comrade, X-Men,” Magneto called down, ignoring Cyclops’s plea. “You may question what remains of that maggot after I am done with him.” He flew off to finish his work.
Cyclops knelt beside his wife as she delicately gripped Ororo’s left wrist between thumb and middle finger. Jean ?
Phoenix breathed a sigh of relief. She’s all right, Scott. There’s a broken arm that needs a splint, but I’ve got a strong pulse. He wasn’t trying to kill her, thank God. She gazed at him, eyes filled with concern. But what are we going to do about Magneto? •
I know exactly what to do ... Cyclops thought.
“Kurt!” he barked. “To hell with my agreement with Magnus! If we don’t stop him from killing Doom, we’ll never find out what he used to change the world—or how we can change it back!” He pointed toward the Emperor. “Grab him and bring him back—Jean and I will hold off Magneto!”
“Wait!” Nightcrawler shouted, pointing to the western sky. “What’s that?”
‘‘DOOM!’’
Rogue appeared to come out of nowhere, streaking like a missile toward the Emperor. Her outfit was shredded, her face speckled with blood, but nothing had removed the look of utter hatred that seemed permanently etched into her features.
Before anyone could react, she punched von Doom in the chest with enough force to send him careening across The Mall, to land at the steps of what had once been the Lincoln Memorial. Circuits in his armor sparked and smoldered; the odor of burnt plastic wafted into the air.
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