X-Men

by Stuart Moore

  “‘Looking down on mortal men,’” she quoted. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  He screamed, writhed in desperation, his legs pumping in midair. She stayed with him, pouring more and more power into his tiny, human mind. Forcing him to consume the food of the gods—the massive, inescapable truths of existence.

  When his mind snapped, he let out a gurgle. Hung loose in the air, eyes slack. He appeared in his true form now, all illusions gone. A gaunt, gray-haired scarecrow of a man, thin rope of drool hanging from his lip. Jean lowered him to the ground and propped him up against the bookcase.

  “Goodbye, Sir Jason,” she said. “You won’t be coming back.”

  His eyes stared at her for a moment. Then his head slumped sideways, his jaw went slack.

  I almost envy him, she thought. Jason Wyngarde is at peace. Phoenix doesn’t know the meaning of the word.

  She whirled away and strode out of the room. The corridor was dark, but she sensed the presence right away. No, she thought, not him. Not now!

  “Jean!”

  She flinched away, staggering against the wall before Scott could touch her.

  “Jean. What’s wrong?”

  Keep him out, she thought. Got to keep him out of my head. If he knew… if he had any idea…

  “We’ve got to go,” he said. “Storm just called… the police are on their way, with orders to arrest the X-Men.”

  She turned to him, barely able to process the concept. The police? How could that possibly matter, in light of the forces unleashed here today?

  “Jean? Do you understand me?”

  She caught a glimpse of his face—and felt a sudden, bottomless sadness. Such a good man. So true, so faithful. So filled with concern.

  My love.

  She turned away, willing herself not to cry. Not now, she told herself. There will be time for tears later. There will be plenty of tears.

  “Kurt’s summoning the skyship,” he said. “We have to leave now.”

  She nodded, forced a smile onto her face, and started off down the hallway. She could feel his anxiety, his fear for her, leaking through her defenses. That fear, she knew, was just the beginning.

  “This way,” she said, leading the way to a hidden staircase.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  THE SKYSHIP rose from the surface of the Hudson River, unnoticed in the driving rain.The surrounding area was completely dark—piers, streets, a row of old warehouses that stood between the water and the majestic Hellfire Club building. The only light came from a line of cars filing slowly out of the area.

  “The blackout has spread,” Colossus said, staring out the large side window of the ship. “You seem to have caused more damage than intended, my friend.”

  Wolverine didn’t answer. His neck and arm hairs stood on end, and he had to struggle to keep from baring his claws. Every instinct in him cried out danger.

  And it ain’t the weather.

  The skyship lurched; Logan grabbed the wall for balance. In the pilot’s seat, Nightcrawler sat struggling with the controls. Storm stood just behind him, her arms spread in the air.

  “Storm,” Nightcrawler said. “Can you tone down the, well, storm? Just a little?”

  “Apologies, Kurt.” Her brow was furrowed with concentration. “I am gathering its power around the ship, to hide us from prying eyes. At least until you can activate the stealth shield.”

  Wolverine ignored them. The source of his anxiety was crouched against the opposite wall of the skyship’s command area, staring out the window. Jean Grey—still wearing the uniform of the Black Queen. Cyclops knelt down next to her, talking in a low, soothing voice. With his enhanced hearing, Logan managed to make out the words.

  “…Wyngarde?” Cyclops asked. “Is he still… you know. In your head?”

  “No,” Jean replied. She didn’t move, didn’t turn away from the window. “I dealt with him.”

  “Oh.”

  A shimmer of energy flared briefly around her. Cyclops retracted his fingers, as if afraid he’d be burned.

  Wolverine recalled Professor Xavier’s words: “Nothing else matters. This is all about Jean.”

  “So tight.” Jean touched her stomach, fingered the loops fastening the corset there. “So binding. He said… this was supposed to be freedom. But it’s not.”

  “Jean.” Cyclops touched her shoulder. “You’ve been through a lot, but it’s over now.”

  Wolverine’s claws slid free. His instincts were screaming even louder than before. Jean’s scent smelled wild, wrong. Her body was coiled, tense, like that of a cornered animal.

  “It’s not.” She laughed, a terrible, cold laugh. “It’s not freedom at all.”

  “We’ll figure this out,” Scott continued. “I’ll contact the Professor. He’ll know what to do.”

  Back off, Summers, Logan thought fiercely. He circled around the back of the room, angling to get a better look at them.

  “Please,” Cyclops said. “I want to help you.”

  She looked at him for the first time since they had boarded. Her eyes were blank, staring, cold. Emotionless, except for a distant, superior sort of rage.

  “You want,” she repeated.

  The skyship lurched again. “Ororo!” Nightcrawler said.

  “This is no longer my doing,” Storm replied. “The storm was supposed to be letting up by now, but it appears to be growing stronger. I will do what I can.”

  “I don’t want this,” Jean said. She reached down, her fingers scrabbling at the corset. “I don’t like this at all.”

  “Jean.” Cyclops climbed to his feet. “I…”

  Don’t say it, Wolverine thought. Don’t.

  “…I love you.”

  She looked up, eyes flaring. Logan let out a growl and lunged— too late. Energy burst forth, searing, ancient, unfathomable. The full, unfettered rage of an elemental force, unleashed at last.

  “Hear me, X-Men.” Jean rose up above the floor. “No longer am I the woman you knew.”

  Her hair was a trail of flame; her eyes, blazing orbs of power. The cape and corset of the Black Queen vaporized, reduced to atoms. Jean was once again Phoenix—but her costume, too, was different now. Darker, redder, glowing brighter than the human eye could bear.

  “I am fire,” she continued, “and life incarnate.”

  Cyclops moved toward her. Wolverine reached and grabbed hold of his arm. Cyclops whirled, pain and desperation in his eyes.

  “Let me go, Logan!”

  “No,” Wolverine said.

  “Now and forever, I am PHOENIX!”

  The skyship exploded.

  * * *

  METAL WALLS tore apart like paper. Engines growled, screamed, and choked to silence. For a moment, time froze.

  Then Cyclops was falling through sheets of rain.

  At first all he could see was Jean. She shone like a star, her arms spread wide, hair blazing bright. Primal energy flared out in all directions, filling the sky. Pieces of the skyship pinwheeled away, looping and arcing through the air.

  He twisted and looked down, counting off the X-Men one by one: Nightcrawler, Wolverine, Colossus—all in freefall. Colossus had transformed instinctively to his metallic form. Above them, Storm soared aloft on the raging winds.

  “Colossus!” Cyclops yelled. “You won’t be harmed by the fall. Try to land first so you can help the others!” He couldn’t make out Peter’s expression through the driving rain, but the young Russian turned, aimed both fists at the ground, and arrowed downward. The red and yellow trees of New York’s Central Park loomed close.

  At least we didn’t blow ourselves up over Fifth Avenue!

  “Nightcrawler, you’ll have to teleport down,” he called. “Quick, before you build up too much momentum!”

  The grimace was visible on Kurt Wagner’s face, even through the storm. Clenching his fists, he vanished in a puff of brimstone. He reappeared below, then cried out as he struck the ground and tumbled into a tree.

 
Cyclops turned his attention to his own predicament. I could slow my fall with my eye-beams, he thought, but the force might snap my neck!

  “Storm! You’re our only flier—”

  “Already on it.”

  He turned to look—and saw that she already had Wolverine in her grasp, holding him firmly by his belt. The two of them swooped down behind him.

  “Hold still, Cyke.”

  “Just keep those claws under wraps.”

  “Don’t give me any ideas.”

  Logan reached out to grab Cyclops under the arms. Firm hands jerked him upward, slowing his momentum. Storm swung the three of them around in a wide arc, avoiding a tree as they approached the ground.

  “Logan,” he called. “Let me go!”

  Wolverine released him. He leapt down onto a patch of muddy grass, kicking up a splash as he landed. The ground was rocky, uneven, with a paved path leading around a pile of boulders. No one else around on this rainswept night.

  “Colossus? Nightcrawler?”

  Colossus staggered up, his arm around Nightcrawler’s shoulders. “We are well, Cyclops.”

  “We’re alive, anyway.” Nightcrawler rubbed his head. “What hit us?”

  As if in answer, the sky flared bright. Light shone down, slicing through the rain, casting stark shadows between the storm-battered trees. In the center of the light, Jean Grey turned to face downward. Her body, sheathed in the red-and-yellow garb of the Phoenix, glowed with fury.

  “Oh,” Nightcrawler said. Then his eyes went wide. “Oh.”

  Without a word, the team sprang into action. Wolverine ran toward Colossus, who clasped his metal hands together. When Logan leaped up to meet him, Colossus grabbed hold of him and hurled him into the air. This was their signature move: the Fastball Special.

  Logan hurtled toward Phoenix, his claws bared to strike. She turned, cast the barest of glances in his direction, and gestured. A bolt of telekinetic energy slapped him away, sending him flying out of sight over the trees.

  Storm swooped out of the trees, landed atop the pile of boulders, and raised her arms. Gale-force winds erupted around Jean, pushing her away through the air. She waved gloved hands at the wind, momentarily disoriented.

  “Peter!” Cyclops yelled. “Now!”

  Colossus reached out and grabbed hold of an oak tree—at least ten meters high, its gnarled trunk almost a meter wide. With a grunt, he pulled it free of the ground, its roots shedding soil into the sodden air. He hefted it above his shoulder, taking aim.

  Again Phoenix gestured. There was no energy flare, no visible display of power—but suddenly Colossus was flesh and blood again.

  She transformed him back—negated the effect of his mutation, Cyclops thought. How powerful is she?

  Peter Rasputin’s now-human muscles strained under the weight of the hundred-year-old tree. He cried out and began to fall, battered by the heavy branches of the tree. Nightcrawler teleported in, grabbed him, and ’ported the two of them away again. The tree crashed to the wet ground.

  Light shone down on Cyclops, painting a spotlight around him in the rain. He looked up, raising a hand to shield himself from the blinding glare. Phoenix hovered less than five meters above, staring down at him.

  She was smiling.

  She’s enjoying this, he realized. Using her power like this— unfettered, without limits—it’s like an endorphin rush. It’s a physical and emotional stimulant.

  “Jean!” he cried.

  A flood of images, of scattered thoughts, washed over him.

  Mine is the fire

  Foolish man

  This life may not be the life I

  Don’t cry don’t cry

  You’re nothing all of you nothing to me

  Foolish man what you offer

  He flinched, fell to his knees. He’d experienced her thoughts in this form, like the gushing of a fire hose, back at the Hellfire Club. Yet this was different. The voices within her—they raged beyond human reason now, beyond the capacity of his mind to process.

  The circle

  The circle unbroken

  I am fire and life incarnate

  Charged particles

  Naked man animal horns

  Can’t fight him can’t fight it

  The voice within the voice without

  Her bliss, her agony, shot through him like a laser. His mind began to fracture under the assault.

  Face on fire

  Mind enraged

  What you offer

  Nothing all of you nothing

  What you offer I already possess

  Thought you’d enslave me

  This isn’t it’s not it’s not freedom

  I am fire I am life

  I AM PHOENIX I BRING THE STORM

  “JEAN!”

  Storm’s voice wrenched Cyclops out of the mindlink. He looked up, shaking water off his visor. Storm stood atop the pile of rocks, calling up into the driving rain.

  “Jean, I would speak with you.” Her voice was both commanding and gentle. “Please listen.”

  Phoenix’s lip curled in disgust—but she paused, glowing in the sky. The storm seemed to pause along with her.

  “You were like this before,” Storm continued. “After the shuttle accident… when you first tapped into the Phoenix power. But that power was tempered, then, by humanity, by mercy. By your connection to your friends.”

  Nightcrawler teleported in next to Cyclops. “Peter and Logan are down,” he said. “We’re the only ones left.”

  Cyclops motioned him to silence.

  “Remember,” Storm said, keeping her eyes fixed on Jean. “Remember who you are. Remember your friends, the people you love. The ones who love you.”

  Jean hung perfectly still, the flames glowing bright around her. No expression, no trace of emotion crossed her face. Above her, the moon peeked into view through a hole in the clouds. The rain slowed to a trickle.

  Did it work? Cyclops wondered. Did Storm manage to reach her?

  Then a pulse of psychic energy burst forth, filling the air in waves. As it passed through Storm, she staggered and fell from her perch. Nightcrawler, too, sank silently to the ground.

  Cyclops braced himself. The sensation was oddly gentle, as if consciousness itself were being plucked from his body. He was briefly aware of the rain, stronger again, pinging and dripping off his visor. Then that, too, faded to ash and memory.

  * * *

  PHOENIX DROPPED to a soft landing among the X-Men’s bodies. The storm whipped and surged, lashing against her, but she paid it no heed. Raindrops sizzled on contact with her flame, vanishing into mist.

  Her life, now, was power. Coursing through her like an electric charge, growing stronger with each enemy she vanquished. An ancient force made immanent, animating her mortal form—and, at the same time, the ultimate expression of a young woman’s rage.

  Cells breaking down.

  Flesh unraveling.

  Fire dancing on skin.

  She looked down at the bodies strewn across the muddy grass. The tall dark woman had been her friend. The hairy one… he was dangerous. The large one had been like a child; the blue-furred one had made her laugh.

  “Dear ones,” she murmured.

  Within her the power swelled—and with it, the first stirrings of hunger. A hunger as old as time, as fresh as all the new sensations coursing through her. Nothing here—on this cold, tiny world— could satisfy that hunger. She needed more.

  She paused for a moment, her gaze lingering on the last body. The lean, muscled man with the single red eye. He had meant something to her, once. He was special.

  No more.

  The Dark Phoenix spread her wings, burned bright, and took off for the stars.

  INTERLUDE TWO

  A GUST of wind blew up, almost wrenching the umbrella out of the young man’s hand. His companion yelped as the rain flew into her eyes. She shook her long blond hair and leaned in close, resting her head on his shoulder.

  “Peter Parke
r,” she said, “I am so glad we finally had a real date.”

  “Me too,” he said. “Some play, huh, Gwen?”

  She went rigid, stopping dead along the pathway that led through Central Park. Scattered streetlamps lit the wet grass in a patchwork of shadows.

  “What did you call me?”

  “I—sorry,” Peter said. “I’m sorry, Cissy!”

  “Gwen…” She started to move away from him, then shrank back from the sheeting rain. “I am so tired of hearing about Gwen Stacy.”

  Peter Parker swallowed. She’s angry, he thought. And she’s right.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “I get it,” she continued. “You lost someone; that’s a tragedy. I’m… I’m really sorry.”

  Peter started to reply, then froze as a loud buzzing flared through his head. Spider-sense! He looked around, searching for the cause.

  “But you’re going to have to move forward sometime,” she continued. “You know?”

  “What?” he said.

  “Peter. Are you even listening to me?”

  He wasn’t. Not anymore. Over Cissy Ironwood’s shoulder, a mile or so away, a massive flaming shape had appeared. It loomed over the park: a bird of prey, fiery jaws snapping from side to side.

  Peter’s mind raced. Alien invasion? Super villain? Is there a villain that uses bird-fire as a weapon? I’m drawing a blank here!

  But somehow he knew, staring at the flaming shape, that this was no mere super villain. Something much larger, even godlike, was at play here. Something way beyond the scope of a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. He watched, eyes wide, as the huge bird rose up, wings flapping wildly against the storm. It let out a strange, unearthly shriek, then turned away and headed off into the sky.

  He peered upward, scanning the clouds. No trace of the bird-thing remained. It had been hard to make out clearly through the storm, but for just a moment he thought he’d seen a woman’s figure at the heart of the flames.

  Probably just a trick of the light.

  “Peter!”

  He turned. Cissy stood soaking wet, her arms crossed—and angrier than ever. In his distracted state, he’d wandered away with the umbrella in his hand, leaving her exposed to the elements.