Soul Killer

by Unknown Author

  Scott wondered just how many of his comrades would make it to the hospital, and just how difficult it might be to fight their way clear again. Because it was now obvious that the hovercraft hadn’t just stumbled across them. While the X-Men had been making plans to trap the fake Rogue, SAFE and the Army had also managed to predict in what vicinity she’d next appear, and made extensive preparations to take out any mutants who showed their face there.

  A chain-link fence surrounded the construction site. A small bulldozer sat under a crane, and runoff water gurgled as it streamed into die square pit in the center of the lot. In the darkness, Piotr’s hulking metallic form might easily have been mistaken for yet another piece of heavy equipment.

  Like Amanda, the Russian spent most of the time watching the sky and the Salvation Army facility across the street. But every so often, the sorceress caught him staring at her. Condemning her for what he regarded as her cowardice or her selfishness, she supposed.

  Amanda didn’t know what to say to him. or even what she ought to feel. When Logan’s call came in, it was a relief. If they could catch Rogue’s double now, then with luck, Dracula’s offer to empower her wouldn’t matter anymore.

  “Let’s go,” Piotr said. She took his huge steel hand, recited the trigger word inside her head, and transported the two of them to the hospital parking lot, where she found herself to be almost knee-deep in water. Grimacing, she hastily took cover by crouching behind a car, and Colossus did the same.

  For a moment, nothing happened. Then white lights began to flare across the rooftops of the city. “What in the name of the White Wolf is this?” Piotr growled.

  “Trouble,” said Amanda, just as a massive armored vehicle lumbered out of the rain. Its turret cannon swiveled in their direction, and a red dot of light swept across the bodies of the parked cars. “And here’s our piece of it.”

  Gripping Logan’s hands, Ororo yanked him away from the roof, then, or so it seemed to the Canadian, rode the shockwave of the blast as she’d ride the wind. The hovercraft pivoted in the air, taking aim once more, and she veered back and forth to keep out of its sights.

  “Throw me at it!” said Wolverine. “Then get after the fake!”

  “What?”

  “The feds are bushwhackin’ us. We can’t count on her to go on to the hospital, not in the middle of a firefight. She might turn tail, and right now, you’re the only flyer who’s close enough to stop her. So go! I’ll keep the hovercraft off your back.”

  Ororo gave a nod and let him go. A wind bore him up and hurled him at the airship like an arrow.

  He slammed into the nose with a force sufficient to break a normal man’s bones. It might even have knocked him out for a second, because time seemed to skip, and then, revived by his high-speed metabolism, he found himself slipping off the butt of the energy cannon into space.

  He grabbed the rod, straddled it, popped his claws, then, snarling in approved mad dog berserker fashion, faking it this time around, slashed furiously at the window in the front of the cockpit. He didn’t know if he’d be able to cut through, but it didn’t matter. At the moment, all he cared about was distracting the crew from messing with Ororo, and judging by the wide-eyed, panicky expressions of the two clean-cut kids behind the glass, he was succeeding.

  The fed in the pilot’s seat hit on the idea of bucking the ship up and down and back and forth in an effort to unseat his unwanted passenger. Nice try, kid, Logan thought, beginning to enjoy himself, but no cigar. I can ride a bull or a bronc, and I can ride this piece of junk too.

  The X-Man doubted that the windshield was made of anything much like ordinary glass. It was probably some high-tech, space-age, state-of-the-art, supposedly indestructible polymer. Nevertheless, his claws began to crack and gouge it, increasing the terror of the guys inside the ship another notch.

  He guessed he was actually going to be able to break in and put them out of their misery.

  Then electricity crackled through his body, searing him with agony, paralyzing him. When it finally stopped, he was too spastic to keep his balance. He fell for what seemed a long way, splashed down in water, then banged his head on the hard surface beneath it. He plummeted once more, this time into oblivion.

  Ororo hated to leave Logan behind. Formidable as he was, his talents were by no means ideally suited to neutralizing a gun-ship in flight. But she knew he was right. If the false Rogue turned and ran, she was the only one who had a prayer of stopping her.

  Or at least she hoped she did. Her mind was clear again, but had she recovered sufficient strength to defeat such a powerful adversary all by herself? Frowning, she strove to thrust doubt out of her mind. To trust in the Goddess and herself.

  First, of course, she had to find the impostor, or she’d never even get the chance to put herself to the test. And for a few moments, peering about, soaring upward through the fury of the wind and rain, she couldn’t spot her target anywhere. But at last she caught sight of the hurtling figure she’d seen before.

  She smiled. When it came to fighting or hunting, Wolverine’s instincts rarely played him false, and they hadn’t this time, either. The impostor was beating a hasty retreat. Indeed, she was nearly over the river already. Ororo spoke to the wind, urging it to bear her along even faster, to close the gap between her and her quarry, and, roaring, the wind obeyed.

  Ordinarily Storm wouldn’t attack an unfamiliar foe with the maximum force at her command for fear of killing her. But by all accounts, the fake Rogue was so powerful that she’d have to cut loose to take her out. Nor did she much like to strike from ambush, without giving her opponent a chance to surrender, but with the future of the human race at stake, this was no time for niceties. She reached up into the thunderclouds and drew down what she needed.

  Lightning blazed, transfixing the form of the murderer with Rogue’s features. Thunder bellowed, the boom deafening. As the dazzling flare winked out, the impostor tumbled, and Ororo swooped after her. Then the impostor arrested her fall, looked around, spotted her attacker, and streaked up at her.

  Ororo’s mouth tightened in disappointment. For a moment she’d dared to hope that one lightning bolt had decided the battle, but obviously it wasn’t going to be that easy. Retreating backward and higher into the sky, she extended her arms.

  Her tangled brown, white-streaked hair streaming in the wind, the impostor immediately began to zigzag unpredictably back and forth, dodging just as Ororo herself had done to foil the marksmanship of the men aboard the hovercraft. Storm discharged crackling bolts of electricity from her fingertips, but failed to hit her mark.

  Perhaps she needed to let the impostor get closer, the drawback of that tactic being that distance was her own best defense. Her ability to command the forces of nature notwithstanding, her flesh and bones were no more resistant to damage than those of a normal human being. If her inhumanly strong adversary got her hands on her, she could easily tear her limb from limb.

  Well, the Professor had never claimed that serving in the X-Men was going to be safe.

  She stopped retreating and likewise held her fire until the killer flew close enough for her to discern just how perfect a double for Rogue she actually was. Then she hurled another pair of sizzling thunderbolts.

  The attacks caught the fake in the chest. She shuddered spasmodically and fell a few yards, then, shrieking in rage, rocketed at Ororo once more. The windrider tried to gather the power for another blast, but the charge started building too sluggishly to do her any immediate good.

  Ororo dodged sideways and downward. Fists outstretched, the false Rogue streaked past her with inches to spare, then wheeled for another attack. The two women spun around each other like leaves in a cyclone, the impostor punching, grabbing, and kicking, the X-Man striving to stay just out of her reach, buffeting her with gusts of hurricane-force wind to knock her off balance and hamper her attacks.

  Often the killer’s blows missed by a hair, but she never actually connected. Quick as she was, Ororo
was a shade more agile in flight, an asset, she reflected, which might keep her safe right up until the moment when fatigue began to slow her down.

  Finally she built up another potent charge of electricity. Enough for one more full-force attack, anyway. She wasn’t sure just how many critical seconds it would take her to accumulate another after that, or to muster the wherewithal to call more lightning from the clouds, and she very much doubted that she could overcome the impostor just by pum-meling her with the wind. So she’d better make this shot count.

  Gasping for effect, she slowed her evasive maneuvers. Already leering in anticipation of victory, the false Rogue lunged at her. Storm let her close almost to arm’s length, then hurled a flare of electricity into her face.

  The next instant, the impostor slammed into her like a cannonball, driving the wind from her lungs, stunning her, impelling her across the sky. Entangled with the other woman, Ororo struggled frantically to shove her away. Finally she realized that the fake was unconscious. That last burst of lightning, applied more or less directly to her brain, had done the trick.

  Ororo also noticed that the two of them were falling. Thank the Goddess that at least that wasn’t a problem anymore. She called for an updraft, and then, clutching her prisoner under the arms, flew back toward the spot where she’d left Logan, toward weapons flashing and barking in the night.

  Neither Logan nor the hovercraft were in the same location. But down the street in front of the hospital, a battle raged. A number of SAFE airships, armored ground vehicles, and infantry had more or less surrounded the rest of Ororo’s friends. As she watched, Colossus staggered through a hail of machine-gun fire, the slugs ricocheting off his steel body, picked up a Bradley personnel carrier, and flipped it onto its back with its weaponry pointing in the wrong direction. Scott’s red optic blast and iridescent waves of Amanda’s sorcery smashed at a tank. Kurt blinked through a mass of rifles, punching and teleporting, punching and teleporting, leaving a trail of smoke clouds behind him. Jean’s telekinesis gripped one hovercraft and pounded it against another. Kitty ran through the air toward a third airship, relying on her phasing power to get her safely inside, where she could use her martial arts against the crew. Abruptly she reeled, evidently under attack by something—an ultrasound weapon perhaps—which could affect an intangible target, then dropped behind the cover provided by the overturned Bradley.

  Logan was nowhere to be seen. Storm hoped he was all right, merely unable to penetrate the ring of soldiers to rejoin his friends. There was no sign of Dracula, either.

  Ororo thought that her teammates could extricate themselves from this pointless battle, but perhaps not quickly, and possibly not without doing serious harm to some of their misguided assailants. It would be far preferable if she could stop the hostilities immediately. And maybe she could, if she could just get the federal agents’ attention.

  Trying to ignore her weariness, she hovered above the fight, high enough that no one was likely to notice her prematurely, and summoned up what remained of her power for one final effort. When she felt focused, ready to invoke the forces that were hers to direct, she commanded the storm, and it obeyed her.

  Lightning bolts blasted the earth between the X-Men and their attackers, again and again and again, a display of nature’s violence that put the effects of any weapon on the ground to shame. Thunder roared on and on, a sound like the foundations of the universe breaking apart. In the aftermath, the soldiers and SAFE agents stood gaping in stupefaction.

  Seizing the moment, Storm floated down and lit on the blackened patch of ground she’d just devastated. Her legs were rubbery, but it was never wise to display true weakness to an adversary, so she made herself stand straight and tall. “There’s no need for this fight,” she said. “The X-Men haven’t declared war on Homo sapiens. We came to Natchez to apprehend the murderer who’s been impersonating our teammate Rogue. And here she is.” Clenching her jaw, hoping that no one could see how much the effort cost her, she hoisted her unconscious captive up for everyone’s inspection.

  For a second, the SAFE agents and soldiers simply continued to stare at her. Then an amplified female voice said, “Hold your fire.” A hovercraft floated to the ground, the hatch opened, and a slender black woman climbed out into the rain. Clad in the same black bodysuit as the other SAFE agents, she had some sort of energy pistol holstered on her hip. and wore a helmet that incorporated radio gear. Her strong, rather attractive features wore an expression as serious and intent as Cyclops’s “game face.”

  “I’m Major Nefertiti Jones of SAFE,” she said, striding toward Ororo. “I’m in charge here. Now, if you’re not responsible for the killing, and you’ve captured the person who is, good. But 1 still have orders to take you all into custody.”

  “That’s unacceptable,” said Scott, advancing to stand with Ororo. Behind him, the other X-Men moved up as well. ‘ ‘The impostor’s crimes, heinous as they were, were only intended to divert attention from a threat to the entire world, and at best, we only have a few hours left to defuse that situation. We can’t waste the time hanging around while you interrogate us.”

  “Sorry,” said Major Jones, “but like I said, I have orders to detain you, and that’s the way it’ll have to be.”

  Ororo felt a pang of anger. She suspected that if the Avengers or the Fantastic Four had claimed they needed to rush off to save the planet, this glorified policewoman would have released them without a second thought. But as usual, when mutants were involved, it was a different story.

  “We’ll smash our way out of here if we have to,” growled Piotr, glaring. The soldiers and SAFE agents behind Major Jones eyed him warily.

  “Indeed we will,” said Dracula. Ororo hadn’t seen the vampire skulk from the darkness, and she jumped. Even Major Jones looked disconcerted for an instant. “But perhaps it needn’t come to that.”

  “Who are you?” asked Major Jones.

  “One of our allies,” said Scott quickly. “He prefers to remain anonymous.” Storm was grateful for her teammate’s circumspection. It was likely to be difficult enough to win the authorities’ trust without announcing that the X-Men were working with Count Dracula.

  The vampire gave Scott an amused glance, then directed his attention back toward the SAFE agent. Storm wondered if he was subtly bringing his powers of mesmerism to bear. “Major, you’ve been ordered to arrest the X-Men because supposedly, one of their number is a murderer, and has announced repeatedly that her comrades were about to lend their hands to the ongoing slaughter, although you’ll notice that in point of fact, they never did. Suppose I prove to your satisfaction that the killer is not Rogue. Then would you be willing to release us to track down the threat that Cyclops spoke of? It literally is a menace to the entire human race.”

  Major Jones hesitated. “How would you prove she’s a fake?” she asked at last.

  “The first step,” said Dracula, “will be to wake her up.” He extended his pallid, long-nailed hands, and, grateful to be rid of her weight, Ororo handed the impostor over. Supporting the false Rogue in a close embrace, the vampire gazed into her face. “Come back to me, my daughter. It is your sire who calls.”

  The impostor squirmed sluggishly. Her eyelids fluttered open, and then, when she realized who was clutching her, she goggled in tenor.

  “You are wise to be afraid,” Dracula said mildly. “I’m quite displeased with you.”

  The impostor thrashed, trying to break free. Dracula’s eyes flared red, and she froze in place.

  “Change, Carla,” said the creature in black. “Show these mortals your true features.”

  She glared back at him.

  “Perhaps you imagine yourself unable to revert,” Dracula continued, “even if you would, for I can see that Belasco has done his best to tamper with your fundamental nature. But my blood is not so easily diluted. You can still shapeshift if your maker requires it, and I do. Now change!”

  The prisoner’s—Carla’s—flesh oozed like
molten wax, the process markedly slower than Dracula’s almost instantaneous transformations. Judging by her anguished screams, it was vastly more painful as well. Despite all the hideous things the murderer had done, and despite everything that was at stake, Ororo yearned to end her torture, and judging by the shocked, sickened expressions on the faces of her fellow X-Men, they felt the same. But before anyone quite managed to utter a protest, the white streak melted from Carla’s tousled brown hair, and the metamorphosis was done.

  The writhing creature in Dracula’s hands still resembled Rogue, but even if she hadn't had crimson eyes, fangs, and a vampire’s telltale pallor, it would still have been obvious she was a different person. “Voila,” said Dracula, turning her to give Major Jones a better view of her face.

  “My God,” said the SAFE agent, “are you and she what I think you are?”

  The vampire smiled. “It’s better that we not explore that particular topic. It would further complicate an already complex situation.”

  “Do we have your permission to go about our business?’’ asked Scott.

  Major Jones grimaced. “Well, you did take down the murderer, and it does appear that she isn’t Rogue. I also observed that you took pains to avoid seriously injuring any of my people. I’m not one to discount someone’s word ’cause of an accident of birth—besides which, anyone who’s paid proper attention would know that you folks have done more good than harm for the world. So I think maybe we can work something out.” She turned to the men standing behind her. “How’s our prisoner?”

  “Conscious, ma’am,” a sergeant said. “In fact, he says he’s fine.”

  “All right, bring him out and take off the manacles.” Four soldiers escorted a shackled Logan into view. The Canadian’s hands and forearms were completely covered by massive, glovelike metal restraints, and he hobbled as if he was in pain, but the soreness was easing by the moment. He grinned at Ororo. “Next time I consider a stunt like that, remind me that I can’t fly. Gettin’ captured by Magneto is one thing, but this is embarrassing.”