Betsy shook her head. “It’s too late for that—the infection has already spread to other realities. So, either we find some way to repair it, or. . .”
“Or we get a front row seat to the death of the multiverse.” Warren blew out a sharp breath, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Sounds so weird when you say it out loud, you know? It’s just so . . . big a concept, it’s hard to get your head around it.”
“That’s putting it mildly. And it’s not going to get any smaller unless we do something to prevent it.” Betsy rose from the couch. “I don’t know about you, luv, but I think we’ve been more than respectful of Saturnyne’s request that we wait until Roma calls for us.”
Warren grinned slyly. “And . . . ?”
“And I think we’ve waited long enough—so long, in fact, that I can’t help but worry about what Roma and Satumyne might be up to right now.”
The grin quickly dissolved. “You don’t think they destroyed the crystal while they stuck us in here, do you?”
“I’d like to think Roma’s above that sort of duplicitous behavior, but Saturnyne . . .” Betsy frowned, then waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. “Regardless of my suspicions, though, this situation has become positively ridiculous, as you’ve said. Roma might want nothing more than to seal herself up in the throne room and brood about all the destruction being caused by the Cube, but we still have a job to do—and I, for one, am eager to get back to it.” She nodded sharply. “She’s going to hear what we have to say, and that’s all there is to it.”
Warren gestured toward the door. “What about getting past the Three Stooges outside?”
Betsy grinned. “They won’t even know we’re gone.”
“How so?” '
She walked over to join him, then took his hand in hers. A gray haze flowed across her eyes, and tendrils of black energy suddenly began streaming from her pores, to collect on the floor. The pool of darkness spread outward in a perfect circle, then stopped when it had surrounded the area around both X-Men. It was not a natural ability of hers, this power to open portals that led to whatever destination she desired; rather, it was a byproduct of an adventure that had nearly cost her her life. Some time ago, Betsy had been kidnapped by the minions of a creature named Kuragari, who wished to make her one of his “undercloaks”—servants dedicated to carrying out the orders of Kuragari, and the master he, in turn, answered to: the Crimson Dawn. With Warren’s help—and at the risk of his soul—she had managed to break free of the conditioning she had undergone, and ultimately defeat Kuragari. The victory, however, had come with an unexpected benefit: she retained her undercloak’s powers, among them the ability to teleport across distances. It had come in handy on more than one occasion since then.
“Decided to zip us over to the throne room?” Warren asked. “So, why didn’t you just do this before I started wearing a hole in the carpet with all my pacing?” .
“Well, for one thing,” Betsy replied, “I was trying to abide by Roma’s wishes. Just popping into her chambers uninvited might have only put her in a cross mood—” She cut him off with a gesture before he could say anything. “Yes, I know we’re facing a crisis, and circumstances being what they are, following protocol seems like a waste of time. But I’ve had a little more experience with Supreme Guardians than you or the rest of the X-Men—especially since my father was one of Merlyn’s personal guards. And if there’s one thing I’ve come to learn, it’s that celestial beings like Roma and her father resent people barging in when they’re ...” she shrugged “... doing whatever it is that celestial beings do. It makes them feel as though they’re not in control.”
Warren grunted. “Yeah, I can imagine having lower lifeforms running in all the time with real problems to solve can put a real crimp in your chess games.”
Betsy chuckled. “You’re beginning to sound like Wolverine.”
“I guess that would be why I have this sudden urge for Canadian bacon and a bottle of Molson’s.” He shivered melodramatically. “I’ll never be welcomed in a country club again.”
As they spoke, they slowly began sinking into the black pool, the icy touch of the magical energy sending a pleasurable chill through Betsy’s body. Beside her, Warren simply smiled, and tightened his grip on her hand.
“Hope we don’t pop in while Roma’s in the shower or something,” he said.
Betsy laughed. “You wish.”
“Hey, a guy can dream, can’t he?” Warren sighed. “Oh. You said respecting Roma’s wishes was one reason for not jumping there sooner. What’s the other?”
Betsy smiled. “Well, you just look so cute when you’re fuming. It brings out the color in your eyes...”
And then the darkness swallowed them, and they were on their way.
They materialized moments later in the center of the throne room, rising up through a pool of shadow near the pulpit containing the omniversal crystals.
Warren glanced around. “Looks like nobody’s home.”
Betsy nodded, frowning. “How strange ..Her eyes were drawn to the pulpit, and before she knew it, she was climbing the steps. Warren trailed behind her. “What’s up?”
“I want to check on something . .Her voice suddenly trailed off as she reached the top step, and she came to a halt, eyes widening in shock. “Oh, God, no ...” she whispered hoarsely. “It’s gone.”
“What is?” warren asked.
“The crystal. . .” Betsy muttered.
“What crystal? Our crystal? The one holding our dimension?” Warren couldn’t keep his voice from creeping up an octave or two as he joined her at the edge of the platform. He followed her line of sight, and immediately spotted the gap among the quartz slivers. Gently, he eased Betsy aside so he could inspect it more closely. “This is where Roma kept it? You’re sure?”
Betsy nodded dumbly, suddenly unable to speak. To have gone through all the heartaches, the terrors, the torments, only to discover it was all for nothing . . . “We failed,” she said, her voice drained of emotion.
“Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Betts,” Warren said. “Jumping to conclusions is only going to drive you nuts.” He looked over the spot where the crystal had been, ran a hand along the edge of the setting, then felt around inside it. He stepped back, and glanced at the floor, then bent down on one knee and looked under the collection of slivers. With an interested “Hmmm . . .” he rose to his feet and turned to her. “What are you looking for?” she asked.
“The crystal.”
She shook her head. “I just told you: If it’s not there, then—” “Then it’s just not here,” he interjected. “That doesn’t mean it’s been destroyed.” He held up a hand to silence her before she could argue the point. “Look, Betts, you said the easiest way to stop the Cube’s infection from spreading was to smash the crystal—at least in Satumyne’s opinion, right?” She nodded. “All right, then.” He gestured at the area around him. “Well, I didn’t see any broken shards or specs of quartz, either in the setting or on the floor; that, to me, indicates the crystal’s still intact.”
“Maybe she had it taken somewhere else and had her people destroy it,” Betsy said. “Or used her powers to disintegrate it. Roma’s not the most physical person, you know.”
“Not when the hired help can get their hands dirty instead?” Warren shook his head. “You really think she’d turn over a job like that to just anyone, with the lives of billions of people at stake? I don’t think she’d even allow Satumyne to do it. It’s her responsibility as Supreme Guardian, and hers alone.”
“You’re right,” Betsy had to agree.
“One of the disadvantages of being the boss,” Warren commented. “You have to take the blame for the disasters, as well as the praise for the successes. And this is one hell of a disaster she’s got to balance on her shoulders. And as for zapping it with her powers... Didn’t you say something about she’d given her word to the professor that she wouldn’t do anything to the crystal until the X-Men had used up all the
time they had to fix the problem?”
Betsy nodded. “Yeeess . . .”
“And have you ever known Roma to go back on her word?”
“No.”
“And how much time do we have left?”
Betsy paused. She’d lost track of time with all the hopping between Earth and the Starlight Citadel she’d been doing, and the currents of the temporal stream moved differently here—sometimes slower, sometimes faster. “I... I’m not sure. A day? Less?”
“Well, however long it is, I’d rather play it safe and say she’s still honoring her agreement than focus on the possibility she was jerking our chains. For all we know, she stashed it somewhere to keep Satur-nyne from ‘accidentally’ dropping it on the floor when her back was turned.”
“And where might that be?”
Warren shrugged. “Hey, you’re the one with all the experience with Supreme Guardians, remember? Does Roma have an apartment, or does one of the walls in here swing out into a Murphy bed?”
“I’m not even certain she sleeps,” Betsy replied. “And I’ve never seen any indication of living quarters during my previous visits.”
“Well, she has to have someplace to hang her robes.” Warren gazed into the shadowy depths of the chamber. “Wouldn’t surprise me a bit to find out she’s got a mansion tucked away in a closet somewhere. With a full staff.” He shrugged. “Well, we’re not going to find it standing around here. Start looking for a door or a hatch or a secret panel. Let’s just hope we don’t catch her in the middle of a nap or something ...”
Roma awoke slowly, her head throbbing dully. A soft moan escaped her lips—a decidedly un-Guardian-like sound to make, she thought hazily.
“She’s conscious, Lord Doom,” she heard someone say. The voice was familiar, but her head ached too much for her to focus her thoughts.
“Perhaps this time she will be wise enough to provide the information Doom seeks,” replied a deep, electronically enhanced voice near her. A voice that sent unaccustomed shivers along her spine.
She forced her eyes to open, then groaned as brilliant, white light assaulted her pupils. She tried to raise a hand to shade her eyes, only to discover it was restrained—as was her other hand, as well as both feet. Tilting her head to one side, she opened them again, though no more than narrow slits this time, giving her vision time to acclimate itself to the lighting conditions. The process was a slow one, but eventually she was able to see clearly—although what she saw when that happened made her consider shutting them.
There was a multiphasic crystal accelerator pointed at her. And standing beside it, arms folded across his broad, armored chest, was the invader who had forced his way into the throne room, who had used a variation of the technology in the medical device to strike her down, with the help of his mad ally, Sat-yr-nin.
An invader who called himself “Doctor Doom.”
“I trust you slept well, Guardian?” he asked, though the tone in his voice made her title sound more like a distasteful curse than a sign of respect.
Roma pulled at her restraints, noticing that she had been secured to an upright metal platform—one of the surgical tables from the medical wing’s operating theater. “What have you done?” she demanded.
“Seek not to question your better, woman,” von Doom replied coolly. “Focus, rather, on the ways in which you might serve him.” “Serve youT’ Roma snapped. She laughed sharply. “I’d sooner leap into the vortex and allow the time stream to tear me apart than even consider recognizing a ... a human as my superior.”
Apparently, that wasn’t the sort of answer von Doom was expecting. With a low, electronic growl, he stabbed at a button on the accelerator’s controls. The tip of the pressure tube glowed brightly, and an emerald beam shot forth, stabbing into Roma’s chest. She howled as she felt her molecules being pulled apart, felt her life-force depleting—
—and then an alternate version of herself peeled away and collapsed to the floor.
She was a willowy thing, with gray-green skin and short tufts of dark hair along her arms and legs, and a fairly equine look to her features. This was how she appeared to the sentients of Earth 5127: the goddess Dallentre of the House of Fallon, who offered compassion and wisdom in times of need. One more aspect of herself, savagely tom away by a metal-adomed creature that imagined itself an enlightened being.
The accelerator powered down, and Roma slumped back against the table.
Through a haze, she watched as a pair of her once-loyal guards carried away her unconscious alternate—to where, she knew not.
The clang of metal boots drew her attention back to her tormentor. Von Doom was standing beside her, staring coolly at her. Though she could only see his dark brown eyes through the slits in his mask, she knew that he was smiling in triumph.
“I trust there will be no need for another lesson in manners,” he said evenly. “When one invites a guest into one’s home, it is expected that the hostess will make every effort to make her guest feel welcome.” His gaze hardened. “You are not fulfilling your obligations, Guardian.” “If by doing so, you mean that I should open every door in the citadel to you,” Roma said through clenched teeth, “then you are sorely mistaken. I may have allowed you to remain here, when I could—and, perhaps, should—have annihilated you for the destruction you are causing, but I will never allow you to control the citadel, or to use its powers to mle your world.”
Now it was the armored monarch’s turn to laugh. “For a child of the cosmos, Roma, you are staggeringly naive. Why would Doom be interested in ruling one world . . . when he could become master of them all?”
It took a moment for the words to sink in, but when they did, Roma’s eyes widened in shock. “You seek to possess the omniverse?” Her lips pulled back in a sneer. “Ignorant mortal!”
Von Doom reached out, seizing her face in one gauntleted hand. Roma didn’t know what was worse—the pain he inflicted as he squeezed, or the revulsion she felt at the physical contact.
“We shall see which of us is ignorant, woman,” he hissed, “when Doom claims his destiny.”
“And . . . which destiny . . . would . . . that be?” she managed to ask, though it was an effort to move her lips between his tightening fingers.
He leaned in closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “Why, to become the new Supreme Guardian, of course ...”
It was Betsy who finally located the entrance to Roma’s apartment, behind the apse of the throne room. She’d been surprised to find it— she’d always thought Supreme Guardians lived on a higher plane of existence, or at least in another dimension. Knowing that they actually had a need for living quarters seemed so ... so disappointing. And yet, it was probably necessary
Betsy hesitated for a moment, feeling rather awkward at the thought of bothering the Guardian in her private chambers, then rapped sharply on the oaken door with her knuckles; when no answer came, she knocked again.
Still nothing.
Betsy drew a deep breath, and sighed. “Well, old girl, ‘in for a penny, in for a pound’ ...” she muttered, and pushed open the door.
The first thing that caught her attention when she stepped inside wasn’t the opulence of the furnishings, but rather the hulking, redheaded man sitting in an egg-faced chair—Roma’s Captain of the Guard, Alecto. He was facing the door, staring blankly at her, a rather formidable-looking sword resting on his lap.
The second thing that caught her attention was Satumyne, lying in a heap in the middle of the room. From the rise and fall of her chest, Betsy could tell she was still alive, but the large bump on her left temple showed she had been unconscious for some time . . . which, to the lavender-haired X-Man, explained why Her Whyness had never returned to fetch her guests.
Betsy took two steps toward the Majestrix, and Alecto was suddenly on his feet, gripping the sword in both hands.
“No one enters these chambers,” he said, though the tone of his voice was devoid of emotion.
“I just want to check
on Satumyne,” Betsy said slowly, moving in an arc that would keep her out of any sword thrusts.
“She refused to obey me,” Alecto said hollowly. “No one enters these chambers.”
“Yes,” Betsy agreed. “You’ve mentioned that.” She kept walking to one side, maintaining eye contact with the guard—if he decided to attack, she’d see signs of it there, before he made any move. “I imagine you’re going to be in quite a bit of trouble when she wakes up, though.” “She should have heeded my warning. No one—”
“ ‘—enters these chambers.’ Yes, I know,” Betsy said. “You know, Alecto, you’ve always been something of a boor, but I’ve never known you to be so . .. short on conversational skills. Is everything all right?” Alecto stepped toward her, sweeping the air near her throat with the sword; if she hadn’t hopped back, he might have cut off her head.
Betsy glared at him. “All right—that’s enough of that.” She eased into a combat-ready stance, feet apart, hands at chest level, balancing on the balls of her toes. “I’ll give you one chance to drop that oversized representation of your manhood—before I take it from you.”
The guard lumbered forward, holding the sword above his head to deliver a killing blow.
She easily avoided the downward arc of the blade, then stepped inside Alecto’s attack to deliver a quick series of jabs and chops to his arms and neck, seeking the pressure points that would cut off the flow of blood to his limbs and brain. But the armor worn by the burly guard deflected most of the blows, and a brutal elbow smash to the side of her head sent her stumbling away from him, and into a dressing table. She yelped as a comer of the burnished wood dug into her back, then instinctively jumped forward—and into a meaty fist that caught her across the jaw.
Another blow exploded into her stomach, driving the air from her lungs, and a boot heel caught her in the ribs. The impact sent her airborne, to crash heavily into one of the woodcuts hanging on the walls. Splintered oak and bruised Ninja rained onto the oversized cushions scattered about the room.
Betsy forced herself onto her knees, clutching her aching stomach as she sought to regain control of her breathing. The inhalations were short at first, but soon she was able to draw deeply on the candle-scented air. She looked up to find Alecto bearing down on her, holding the hilt of the sword in both hands; for some reason, his form reminded her of a rugby player, winding up to deliver a smash to a pitched ball. In this instance, though, his follow-through would result in her head being separated from her shoulders.
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