Salvation

by Unknown Author

  Magneto was sickened by a sudden, terrible realization.

  He preferred Xavier’s dream.

  The blood drained from his face and he let Bishop fall to the pavement. He preferred Xavier’s dream. Xavier was right. No, not right, just more human. Xavier’s dream might be preferable, he knew now that it was, but Magneto did not, could not, would not, believe that it would ever be realized.

  Therefore, no matter what he wished for, Magneto knew that his own dream of the future was the only practical solution.

  Still, he could not kill Xavier, the dreamer. He could not kill the dream, for it represented something he had never had, not since the day his family was murdered.

  The dream represented hope.

  The X-Men were the living embodiment of Xavier’s dream.

  He could not kill them.

  Magneto turned to walk away from Bishop, and Archangel’s wing knives slashed into him. paralyzing him where he stood. He fell to the street, bleeding, something broken in his chest, for real this time. Magneto was horrified by his sudden new understanding, of himself, of Xavier, or their eternal struggle with each other.

  He had been defeated.

  Haven was lost.

  The empire was gone.

  * * *

  Wolverine saw Magneto go down, and knew it was his only chance. Maybe the last, best hope they would have to rid the world of the scourge of Xavier’s dream. Magneto was the mutant bogeyman that humans told their children stories about. His actions had fed the flames of hatred for years. With him gone, they could begin the hard road to peace that Xavier had always talked about.

  Logan was no optimist, but he knew an opportunity when he saw one.

  “Wolverine, no, he still has his powers!” Archangel cautioned.

  Ignoring the warning, he loped across the street, even as the other X-Men gathered around behind him. All of them. His friends, his family.

  Wolverine leaped onto Magneto’s chest. His claws slid out with a snikt, and he leaned down, breathing in Magneto’s face, whispering low so only he could hear.

  “It’s over, now, bub,” Logan growled. “You’ve given us all a world o’ trouble, but the end is here. I’m gonna put you out of the world’s misery.”

  He held Magneto by the throat with his left hand and lowered his right, claws pointed at Magneto’s heart. Adamantium would slice through the tyrant’s body armor like a razor-wire garrote through tender flesh. Then it would be—

  “Back off, Wolverine,” Cyclops ordered.

  Logan wanted to ignore him, but Summers had that tone about him. He was a Boy Scout, sure, but he was something else as well. Scott Summers was good. Simple as that. Wolverine didn’t like to take orders from him, didn’t like knowing Summers was the boss. But all the things he loved about the X-Men, all the things that made the team so important to him, all those things were represented by Cyclops.

  “He’s gotta die, Scotty,” Logan said, low, menacing. “If we let him live, who knows what he’s going to do next? What then? He may win the next time.”

  “Magneto is paralyzed, Logan, but not without power,” Jean Grey cut in. “Why hasn’t he lashed out at you, tossed you away? I’d say he’s waiting for you to decide what you’re going to do.”

  Wolverine looked around at his friends, at his team, his family. Jean, so beautiful, so benevolent. Scott, every bit the hero, filled with impractical ideals and the guts to try to make them work. Ororo, his best friend, the noblest of warriors. Hank, brilliant and tender. Warren, lost and brooding. Bobby, who didn’t think life was so funny anymore. Bishop, terrified of the future. LeBeau, injured, hurting, trying his charming best to hide how badly he needed the X-Men. Rogue, always alone, even with those who loved her most.

  In the back, silent, stood Cain Marko. He had not participated in the final attack on Magneto. Xavier’s intervention had made him back off. The Juggernaut hated his half-brother more than anything. He was a bastard, but even he had helped the X-Men to defeat Magneto.

  Wolverine let out a long breath.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s gotta end now.”

  Logan drew his arm back, prepared to drive his claws into Magneto’s chest. Magneto’s eyes flared with surprise and hatred, and Wolverine knew he had a heartbeat to act before Magneto lashed out at him.

  “Attaboy, Wolverine,” Marko shouted. “Perforate ’im!”

  Adamantium claws touched Magneto’s throat, but went no farther.

  “Hell,” Logan snarled. “If Marko’s eggin’ me on, it can’t be ...”

  He looked into Magneto’s eyes, saw the anger and the amusement there.

  “Ah, hell,” Wolverine said.

  Then the power burst from Magneto and Logan was whipped up and back, tumbling to the pavement thirty yards away. He was up in an instant, and he ran back to help the X-Men if Magneto was on the attack again.

  But Magneto was in no condition to attack. The paralysis was wearing off, but the tyrant was on his knees, coughing blood.

  With a crackle of energy, Amelia Voght flashed into existence by her master’s side.

  “Lord Magneto,” she cried. “You are injured.”

  “It will pass,” he said, then hacked and coughed again, before spitting blood on the street.

  Magneto looked up at the X-Men, gave a small laugh and grimaced with the pain of it. Then he turned to Wolverine and hatred altered his features.

  “You should have killed me when you had the chance,” he said. “Next time, Logan, I’ll tear you apart.”

  “You don’t look so hot, bub,” Wolverine said confidently. “I’m not real sure there’s gonna be a next time.”

  “Amelia,” Magneto said, then turned to look upon Voght, almost tenderly, “let’s go home.”

  The air crackled again, and they disappeared in a flash of phosphorescent light. Voght had teleported them back to Avalon.

  In the midst of death and devastation, none of the X-Men said a word. When Wolverine looked around again, the Juggernaut had gone.

  Finally, it was over.

  no

  Charles Xavier sat in darkness in his study. His thoughts were a burden, his dream, his mission, unforgiving. There would be no rest, no respite, though the X-Men had fought their most precipitous battle, and emerged the victors.

  The war went on.

  Xavier had monitored all that had happened after he had allowed Magneto to return to reality from the Astral Plane. He had witnessed Wolverine’s attack on Magneto, had not interfered. That was his way, to let his people choose their own paths. Taking their choices away would alienate them from him.

  He knew that Wolverine had done the right thing. In some ways, he was proud of Logan.

  But there was another part of him that wondered, merely wondered, whether the world might not have been a far better place if Wolverine had given in to his primal urge.

  Silently, Xavier vowed that the next time the X-Men faced Magneto would be the last. He would find a way to take Magneto out of the game for good, and he would do it himself, so none of the X-Men were left to feel responsible. It was the only way, he knew. The only way for the dream to come true, the only way to assure victory.

  Charles Xavier had determined, not to kill, but in some way to destroy a man who had once been his best friend. What he had yet to consider, what he resolutely refused to consider, was what that decision would cost him.

  * * *

  On the observation deck of the space station Avalon, Eric Magnus Lehnsherr stood alone, gazing down at the planet of his birth with a heavy heart. He was no longer welcome on Earth. More than a man without a country, he was a man without a world. And he feared such would be the fate of all his kind.

  Slowly, Magneto let out the breath he had been holding. He nodded slightly.

  He had made one final effort to turn his dream of mutant

  domination into a reality. The X-Men had opposed him, as he had known they would, but in the end, it was Charles Xavier who had won the day.
Xavier had triumphed by doing the unexpected, by using his abilities in a way that Magneto had never imagined the man’s delicate philosophical bent would allow.

  So be it. There would be now an entirely new set of rules based upon this latest engagement. Magneto would put all his efforts behind turning Avalon into the sanctuary Haven had not been allowed to become. A massive headquarters in which to build a conquering army. It might take years, but when all was at the ready, they would strike.

  It was only a matter of time. Indeed, the ascendancy of mutants, of homo superior, was an inevitable product of natural evolution.

  Put simply, Magneto planned to speed evolution along.

  * * *

  Valerie Cooper sat in the Oval Office staring across the long desk at the President. It was the first time she had ever met with the Commander-in-Chief without anyone else present. Despite her bluster and natural confidence, she was nervous.

  “You wanted to see me, sir?” she asked.

  “Yes. Thank you for coming, Valerie,” he answered.

  “You are the President, sir,” she joked.

  He didn’t smile. Not even a little. Val sat up a little straighter and erased the smile from her own face. Apparently, this was not going to be a cordial visit.

  “New York is rebuilding, Valerie,” the President said. “There wasn’t as much damage as there might have been—I don’t have to tell you what might have been, do I? But the cost of rebuilding has been estimated at anywhere between fifteen and two hundred forty-seven billion dollars.”

  Val blanched.

  “I’d no idea,” she said.

  “And when you leave you’ll forget I mentioned it,” the President ordered. “If we’re to keep peace between humans and mutants, avoid a civil war, such things must be downplayed as strongly as possible.”

  “I understand,” she said.

  “I know you do,” the President replied, with the first trace of warmth she had received from him. ‘ ‘What I want to know is, what happened to all the mutants who aided Magneto?” “They returned with him to Avalon, sir,” she answered. “Not the Acolytes,” he said. “What of the others, the recruits?’ ’

  “Well, we do have several dozen mutants in custody for treason, Mr. President,” Val said. “But I don’t know if they’ll ever get to trial.”

  “That’s not your problem,” the President said sharply. “Those numbers are. There were hundreds of mutants, nearly a thousand according to some estimates, helping Magneto in Manhattan. What happened to all of them?”

  Cooper felt sick. Most of Magneto’s mutant allies had escaped. The President wanted to know where they went.

  “Some left long before the military showed up,” she explained. “Those that looked human melted back into the landscape of the city. Those who didn’t had a more difficult time of it. The forty or so mutants who were captured all had mutations that were apparent. Not a single mutant who looked human was captured. I believe bias got in the way of our efforts sir.”

  There was more to it than that, but Val wasn’t about to tell the President that Police Commissioner Ramos and Trish Tilby had helped many mutants escape. He just didn't need to know. She could be tried for treason if it were discovered that she knew of it. That was her risk, and she was comfortable with it.

  “Ridiculous,” the President said. “But I don’t have a better explanation, so it will have to do. You may go.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President,” Val said, and rose to leave. “Oh, one last thing.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “It’s over, now,” the President said. “Everything returns to status quo. That includes your situation and your relation-

  m

  ship with the Director of Wideawake and with Gyrich.” “But, sir,” Val protested. “Gyrich was a—”

  The President held up his hand, and Val’s protest faltered. He was the President, after all.

  “Gyrich is my concern, Cooper,” the President said. “I will deal with him as I see fit. It isn’t your problem anymore, nor is it your business.”

  Val wanted to scream, to demand Gyrich’s punishment. She knew better.

  The best she could do was make a silent vow to herself that she would watch Gyrich very carefully in the future. He was a dangerous man.

  * * *

  Scott and Jean stood on the terrace of the Xavier Institute. They stood in silence for quite some time, idly holding hands.

  “They’re doing well,” Scott said, after a bit. “Most of the injuries have healed. We seem to be getting back up to fighting condition.”

  “Mmm,” Jean mumbled noncommittally.

  “What is it?” he asked, and glanced at her, concerned. “Not all of our injuries were physical, Scott,” Jean answered.

  “I know that,” he said. “But the apocalypse didn’t happen, Jean. What with Trish Tilby’s network coverage, the President’s public appreciation, and Magneto’s defeat, well, for the most part, mutant-human relations are no worse off than they were before Magneto decided to play emperor.”

  Jean didn’t respond, only watching the stars with a growing look of concern.

  Jean? Scott thought, knowing that she would telepathically hear him through the psychic rapport they shared. What is it, sweetheart?

  It’s us, Scott. All of us. We went to war. We got a glimpse of the future that Bishop fears so much, and it made us brutal, as brutal as we have ever been, even in the worst of circumstances.

  ns

  “After all that’s happened,” she said aloud, turning to look at him finally, meeting his eyes, “I just have to wonder what impact it’s going to have on each of us. Personally, I have been profoundly affected by the past few days. So many mutants responded so quickly to Magneto’s promises, despite his terrorist tactics, that I have to wonder what hope there is for us. For the dream.”

  “Losing your faith? Is that what this is about?” Scott asked.

  “God, no,” Jean said. “I believe with all my heart in what we do. But I wonder who will take up the banner and carry on when we can’t do it anymore. We could all have been killed, Scott. How can we be assured that the fight will continue, when all I want to do is gather up the next generation of mutants and bundle them off somewhere safe? They shouldn’t have to live like this.”

  Scott pulled her close, and Jean let him. They stood like that a moment, the embrace more powerful than any words, any thoughts, they might share.

  “If we do our jobs,” Scott said quietly, “if we fight hard enough, maybe the next generation won’t have to.”

  They kissed, then, a brief and tender kiss, filled with promise.