by Stuart Moore
“Jean,” Cyclops said, keeping his voice low.. “She did this—freed me with her telekinetic powers, using the fight with Logan as a distraction. She’s broken Wyngarde’s hold on her.”
A wide, joyous smile spread across Storm’s face. “She is back.”
Wyngarde was staring at Jean, a hungry, triumphant look on his face. He doesn’t know, Cyclops realized. He thinks he’s still in control of her.
Cyclops reached out, testing the psychic connection he shared with Jean. He could sense her again, in his mind… but the link was weak. Her thoughts were closed to him.
“Peter,” Storm said, “what are you staring at?”
Colossus jerked his head toward the battle. “Wolverine…”
Logan stalked forward, advancing toward Jean with his fists clenched. She rose up and spread her arms, the fiery avatar of the Phoenix spreading out all around her.
“…he is not using his claws,” Colossus finished.
Jean wafted backward through the air, moving toward the elevated meeting table atop the dais. Logan leapt off in pursuit, hurdling a row of tables. Shaw and Wyngarde followed, skirting around the rubble.
“He’s in on it,” Cyclops said. “Logan’s figured out that she’s playacting. They’re working together, distracting the Circle— moving them away from us. Giving us our shot.”
Nightcrawler moved in close. “What is our play?”
Cyclops frowned for a moment. Then he edged awkwardly along the wall, his chains dragging on the floor. “Peter,” he said. “Hold still.” Taking careful aim, he shot a pinpoint eye-beam at Colossus’s binding sleeve.
Nothing happened. The device absorbed his beam harmlessly.
“Unglaublich,” Nightcrawler exclaimed. “Looks like the Hellfire Club learned from our gambit back in Deerfield.”
“We switched combatants then, and managed to defeat them,” Storm explained. “They seem to have taken steps to prevent that from happening again.”
The bright flash of Jean’s power caught Cyclops’s eye. He turned just in time to see Wolverine hurtling through the air, straight toward the large wall screen above the main meeting table. A thunderous crash shook the room as Logan’s Adamantium-reinforced form shattered the glass, passing straight through the screen to gouge a hole in the stone wall.
“Logan,” Nightcrawler said.
“Scott,” Storm said, “your eye-beams. You must do something.”
Cyclops peered up at the elevated dais. Wolverine’s body was lodged in the wall. He twitched once, then slid, limp, to the floor.
“Not yet.” Cyclops’s visor flashed red with barely contained power. “Logan’s got a tough skin, and Jean knows what she’s doing. Let her play this out.”
“Perhaps we should move closer?” Colossus suggested.
Cyclops nodded, gesturing for Storm to lead the way. They edged around the remaining tables, past the unmoving body of a man with a wig. Their progress was slow, hampered by the chains still binding them. Cyclops dropped low and followed, using the others to shield him from view.
If Shaw and Wyngarde don’t see me, I might be able to press my advantage. They don’t know I can use my optic blasts.
He almost tripped over a body: Donald Pierce, lying still on the floor. When the sound of Cyclops’s chains reached his ears, his eyes shot open. Nightcrawler grunted, whipped his partially bound tail through the air, and swatted Pierce in the face. The cyborg jerked to one side and lapsed back into unconsciousness.
“I do not like that man,” Nightcrawler said.
“Quiet!” Storm hissed.
Wolverine lay twitching, barely conscious, in a pile of glass beside the meeting table. Wyngarde took Jean’s hand, and together they climbed the steps of the dais.
“Now, my Queen,” Wyngarde said, staring down at the feral mutant. “Finish him.”
Jean rose up off the floor, her black cape swirling in the air. She turned to gaze down at the X-Men, now revealed on the floor below. A cold smile crossed her face.
Cyclops felt an icy chill of doubt. What if I’m wrong? What if… Is she still under Wyngarde’s control?
Jean pivoted in midair and stared down at Wyngarde. He seemed small beneath her. The Phoenix flared, larger and angrier than ever before.
Wyngarde’s face went pale.
“Poor man,” she said. “Poor, foolish man.”
Her force bolt struck the floor, gouging a hole in the stone— but Wyngarde was no longer there. Cyclops looked around, first one way, then the other. There had been no flash of energy, no telepathic flare or BAMF of smoke. Yet there was no sign of Wyngarde, either—not in the room, in the shadows, or in the doorway. He was gone.
A simple illusion, Cyclops realized. Mastermind—Wyngarde— managed to enthrall Jean by tapping into her telepathic abilities, but his own power is to create illusions. He caught us all by surprise, kept even Jean from seeing him, just long enough to make his escape.
FOR NOW, Jean replied.
Her voice was like thunder, a nova exploding in Cyclops’s mind. He turned just in time to catch the terrible look of rage, of godlike wrath, on her face. Then she swooped through the air, arrowing down toward the entryway. The Phoenix spread its wings, melting stone, igniting a dozen little fires along the surface of the battered door. She soared through the opening—and then she, too, was gone, vanished into the bowels of the Hellfire Club.
Jean, he thought. Jean, answer me!
Nothing. The telepathic link was gone again—as if that fierce, violent sending had burned it out once and for all.
Or else she’s cut me off on purpose…
“Cyclops?” Storm called.
He whirled around, chains clanking on stone, to see Leland and Pierce facing the X-Men. Leland’s expensive jacket was torn, and a bit of blood had pooled up at the corner of his lip. With a sinking feeling, Cyclops realized they had his team backed up against the wall.
“So,” Pierce said. “One lamb seems to have escaped the pen.”
Leland laughed and pointed at Cyclops’s bound arms. “Not quite escaped,” he said.
Shaw stepped up between them. His chest was bare, arms crossed in front of him. “Never say die,” he said. “Eh, X-Man?”
“Shaw.” Cyclops’s visor glowed.
“I already told your teammate.” Shaw smiled. “I can absorb all forms of kinetic energy—including your optic blasts.”
“Herr Shaw.” Nightcrawler jerked his head toward the smoking doorway. “Do you not have other problems to attend to?”
“You mean Wyngarde?” Shaw laughed. “He was a pretender. In his obsessive quest for a Black Queen, he has sown the seeds of his own demise. As I knew he would.”
“Jean is no one’s Black Queen,” Cyclops said.
“Precisely.” Shaw stepped forward, peering directly into Cyclops’s visor. “You and I are the only two Kings here. We inspire loyalty—through strength and, at times, through discipline.”
A distant crash, somewhere above the chamber in which they stood. Cyclops jerked at the sound.
“Believe me,” Shaw continued, “I do you an incredible honor by placing you in this company. But the nature of Kings is to battle until only one remains.” He stepped back, appraising his prisoner. Then he dropped to a crouch, holding his fists up like a boxer.
Leland stepped back, his eyes glinting. Pierce let out a cold laugh.
“Your eye-beams versus my… special skills.” Shaw danced forward, jabbing the air. “I look forward to—”
Click.
Click.
Click.
Click click click click.
Cyclops’s arm binder went slack, dropped to the ground. He whirled around just as the control collars fell from Storm’s and Nightcrawler’s necks. Colossus reached up and thrust his collar away, flexing his arms to shatter the remains of his restraints.
For a moment, everyone froze. Then Shaw took a step back, beckoning Leland and Pierce to follow. Storm, Nightcrawler, and Colossus gathered
around Cyclops, shaking life into their stiff limbs.
Past the Inner Circle members, the doorway was still wreathed in smoke from Jean’s fiery departure. Yet Cyclops could just make out a swirling cape and a slim, wasp-waisted figure.
Storm had seen it, too. “Jean?” she whispered.
“No,” Cyclops said.
Emma.
Her laughter, deep and superior, rang out in his skull. It rumbled and rose, coalescing into three mocking words.
Last favor, Summers.
Then she was gone. A phrase she’d spoken, hours earlier, echoed in his mind: Better to walk in the shadows than stare at the sun.
Shaw’s eyes were still fixed on the X-Men. He didn’t see Emma, Cyclops realized. He doesn’t know she was here.
Storm’s eyes flashed. She raised her arms, summoning a wind. Colossus took a single, thunderous step forward. Nightcrawler scurried up the wall, preparing to pounce.
Shaw flexed his muscles. He opened his mouth to order the attack—then whirled in surprise as a blue-gloved finger tapped his shoulder.
“Night’s not so young anymore,” Wolverine said.
Snikt.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
OUTSIDE, THE rain pounded down. Lawyers in suits strode through the deluge, umbrellas held high. Young women ran between awnings, purses balanced over their heads. A pair of tourists paused in front of an old building and pointed, curious, at the stylized “H” and pitchfork on its façade.
A homeless man stirred, shivered. Pulled his wet sleeping bag tight.
Jean Grey felt it all. All their thoughts, their pains, their joys. Her power was a drumbeat inside her, a relentless pounding. It no longer sang, no longer spoke to her in words. It simply was—and it would not be denied.
She climbed the back staircase of the Hellfire Club, boots clicking on concrete, cape swirling around her. Her stride was steady, measured. Her back was straight, forced upright by the merciless corset of the Black Queen.
The corset. Its laces dug into her skin, forcing the breath from her body. But she needed it, just a little while longer. Needed to hold everything inside.
Until the end.
As she passed the main floor, chaotic thoughts assaulted her. Old men fantasizing about waitresses, young couples making out beneath tables. A drunken stew of lust, ambition, and despair. She quickened her pace. Soon, she knew, all this would be done. Soon vengeance would be hers.
Despite herself, Jean’s thoughts strayed to the X-Men. They were her friends, her teammates… in a very real way, her family. Her mind reached out, back down to the subbasement, and touched…
* * *
PETER RASPUTIN.
Colossus stood sparring with Donald Pierce, the cyborg squire of the Hellfire Club’s Inner Circle. They danced around like boxers, stepping in and around the wreckage of the tables.
“Get away from me,” Pierce snarled. “You freak.”
Colossus’s thoughts went dark at the insult. Oh, Peter, Jean thought. You were so young, so innocent when you joined the X-Men. I’m so sorry for what’s happened to you.
To all of us.
She surveyed the room. Over by the door, Nightcrawler and Storm were engaged in combat with Sebastian Shaw. Logan sprinted across the stone floor, chasing the frightened Leland. There was no sign of Scott.
Colossus clenched his fists. “You speak as though I am less than human, Pierce.”
“Because you are!”
Pierce leaped through the air. Colossus transformed his body to solid steel, increasing his mass in an instant. Pierce landed before him, grinned, and reached out to grab Colossus’s metal hands. Then, slowly, he forced the young mutant backward.
“On your knees,” Pierce hissed. “Mutant dog.”
Colossus’s eyes went wide as his opponent continued to press him down. Jean could feel his surprise at the man’s strength—and something else, too. Shock, disbelief.
“Are you…” Colossus winced. “Are you not a mutant yourself?”
Pierce’s mind erupted in outrage. Jean found herself drawn to the source, wrenched away from Peter Rasputin into the chaotic thoughts of…
* * *
DONALD PIERCE.
Hate you hate all mutants joined Inner Circle one purpose one goal kill the others take back wealth for real humans. Shaw Wyngarde Leland all of them all mutants freaks abominations not human slaves animals kill them work from within bide time exterminate kill kill mutants
Rage erupted in Jean, echoing Pierce’s own.
His bigotry, she realized. It’s… familiar. The dehumanization, the hatred so strong it requires utter domination, total erasure of the other person’s self.
It’s the way Jason felt about me.
Pierce cried out at the force of Jean’s thoughts. Colossus seized the opening, spreading his arms as wide as he could. Before Pierce could break the grip, his left arm came loose in a shower of sparks and wires. He screamed.
Colossus tossed the severed arm aside. Then he lurched forward, grabbed Pierce by the lapels, and dangled him in the air.
“I am proud of who and what I am, little man,” Colossus said. “And I have no need to destroy others in order to justify that.” Pierce’s arm stump flashed harmlessly in the air. Colossus reared back and threw him across the room…
…and Jean’s consciousness jumped again. Into the body of…
* * *
HARRY LELAND.
He looked up just in time to see the blond-haired missile flying toward him. He scrambled, stumbled, held up his hands—and then Donald Pierce slammed into him, sending the two of them crashing to the ground in a jumble of limbs. Leland rolled over, groaning in pain.
“Get off me!” Pierce yelled, scrambling to his feet. He looked down at Leland, pure hatred in his eyes. “Mutant bastard!”
“So, old boy,” Leland growled. “Your true colors shine through at last.”
“I’m through with you.” Pierce turned and marched away. “Through with all of you mutant scum—” Abruptly an Adamantium-reinforced elbow jabbed out to block his path. Pierce’s chin made contact, hard, and he dropped again. This time he stayed down.
“Scum and proud,” Wolverine snarled.
Jean could feel Leland’s momentary amusement at Pierce’s misfortune. He deserved it, she thought. The elite—they’ll turn on anyone. Even their own.
“How ’bout you, Harry?” Logan asked, turning to face Leland. “You got something to say about mutants?”
“You misjudge me, dear boy. I am a mutant.” Leland raised an eyebrow in contempt. “But I have nothing in common with gutter filth like you.”
“Guess there’s all kinds of hate in the world.”
Leland’s mind was a stew of resentment: How dare this rabble invade my sanctum? Challenge my power? As Wolverine drew closer, he recoiled at the odor. “Have you literally been in the gutter?”
“Rather be there than here.” Logan unsheathed his claws. “Say your prayers, big man.”
Leland’s hand flashed out, power flaring. Wolverine toppled forward, his mass increasing to the point where his legs could no longer hold him upright. Instinctively, he lunged forward, claws outstretched.
Too late, Leland realized his error.
Wolverine’s claws pierced his coat, his vest, his chest. Leland tumbled backward, pulling his attacker on top of him. Logan’s increased mass forced his claws all the way through Leland’s torso, exit wounds staining the floor with blood. Leland let out a horrible gasping sound.
As he did, Jean leapt away, out of his mind. Into…
* * *
LOGAN.
No. No, no, she couldn’t bear that—not now. Wolverine knew too much. He understood her too well. She cast about desperately, randomly, for…
* * *
KURT WAGNER.
Nightcrawler was jumping up and down in the air, disappearing and reappearing, striking a blow every time he came down and then teleporting back up again. As Jean slipped inside his head, she saw
his target: Sebastian Shaw.
“Enjoying yourself, Herr Shaw?” Nightcrawler vanished again, only to reappear two meters above. “I am.”
He is, Jean realized. Kurt had led a difficult early life, shunned for his demonic appearance and paid starvation wages by his employers in the circus. But his acrobatic ability, the thrill he felt whenever he executed a difficult maneuver—that had always brought him joy.
Shaw ignored the blows. He crouched down, feeling his way along a line of wide stones set in the wall. His moves were careful, unhurried.
As Nightcrawler lashed out again, Jean realized his mistake. Shaw absorbs kinetic energy. Kurt’s attacks aren’t hurting him— they’re making him stronger!
She considered warning Nightcrawler, sending him a direct telepathic message, but decided against it. That might distract him at a crucial point in the battle.
Nightcrawler dropped down, fists swinging. Shaw smiled, reached up, and swatted him out of the air. Kurt cried out and flew across the room, gasping for breath. Jean flailed, disoriented, and flashed out of Nightcrawler’s dazed mind…
* * *
SEBASTIAN SHAW.
He turned back to the wall, continued testing the stones until he heard a clicking noise. The thrill of triumph, of dominance over his enemies, surged through him. He was the White King, leader of the Hellfire Club’s Inner Circle. He already possessed more wealth and power than any monarch in history, and soon he would control the greatest currency in humanity’s future: the mutant X-gene.
Jean reeled, stung by the arrogance of his thoughts. You, too, she thought. Anything you see, you must dominate. Anyone who will not bow to you, you would destroy. Her anger roiled. You abusive, prideful men. I will bring you down. I will bring you all down.
The temperature dropped suddenly, shockingly. Wind whipped against Shaw’s bare chest, and ice began to form along his skin. He shivered and spun around.
“Storm,” he spat.
Ororo hovered a few inches off the floor, holding out both hands to summon the blizzard. Jean had rarely seen her in her true majesty, her mastery of weather on full display. She was wild yet controlled, unimaginably beautiful in the use of her power. The power that was her pride, her heritage, her birthright.