by Stuart Moore
Gradually, the thoughts became more cohesive, as the combatants continued their contest of wills.
I must fight you, Jean, Xavier sent. He was glowing now, too. And I will win. Tendrils of mental force shot forth from his mind. Probing, entering the maelstrom, seeking out the woman inside the wall of fire.
The Phoenix raised its head and laughed.
Will you?
Xavier’s next barrage of probes passed through the flames surrounding Jean Grey. The creature faltered, flickering slightly. Within the Phoenix construct, the probes flashed around like a swarm of trapped insects.
Seizing the advantage, Xavier dragged himself forward, eyeing his opponent with a fearsome intensity. A dozen more probes shot out from his forehead, piercing the Phoenix glow.
Oh, Jean sent. Oh no you don’t.
She surged, shining bright. Xavier’s probes whipped around wildly, dissipating into the air. He cried out in pain and grabbed his temples.
S-Scott!
Cyclops’s eyes went wide. Professor?
I require your help.
Cyclops stared at the Phoenix, at the unearthly energy radiating from the woman he loved. It raged wildly, melting patio chairs, setting small fires all across the devastated garden. Jean was a tiny sliver of yellow and crimson within the blinding cascade.
I’m attempting to… rein in her power, Xavier continued. But she’s fighting me. I cannot do this alone.
“What—” Cyclops rose to his feet. Professor, you two are the most powerful telepaths on Earth. What can I do?
What you were doing before my arrival.
You mean—
Talk to her.
Cyclops swallowed, then nodded. He steeled himself, then turned back to face the blinding light.
Jean?
She—the creature, in its full fury—turned to face him. No, it said, not Jean. PHOENIX.
Phoenix, then.
He thought furiously. Jean had evolved beyond humanity, beyond mortal concerns. She’d traveled through deep space, seen and done things he’d never be able to understand. How could he reach her? What could he possibly say?
I love you.
You don’t know me. Her laugh was like stars crashing together. You can’t even see me.
I can, he responded. I see you burning, like a star.
Xavier rose to a sitting position, bracing himself against a rock.
You shine in my mind, Cyclops continued. Every day, every moment. Even when you’re away. He laughed. Even when you’re dead.
He could feel her: Jean. Her human self, damaged but intact, beginning to shine through. Asserting her control, her intellect, her ego structure. Clawing her way to freedom, swimming against the relentless tide of star-spawned madness.
And you’re beautiful.
She turned to look at him. The flame flickered low, and for a moment he saw her smile, familiar and haunting and warm.
Oh, you, she said.
Then she turned toward the Professor. Locked eyes with him and gave him a tiny nod.
Xavier closed his eyes. His mind-probes gathered again, moving toward Jean. They passed through her face, her skull, converging on her brain—and Scott saw them, felt them, through the link. They sought out her memories, synaptic connections, all manner of electrical impulses. The currents and channels, the power centers that made her the most powerful telepath in the world.
Xavier snipped and stitched, constructing microscopic structures of mental force to control Jean’s power. Where her mind surged brightest, the probes built dams and walls, knitted protective screens of force. Created a thousand thousand psionic circuit breakers, a network so vast, so redundantly reinforced, that it could never be breached.
Cyclops reeled. This was surgery of a sort—unprecedented, beyond his comprehension. The mental images terrified him, yet he dared not pull away. Whatever this is, he thought, whatever he’s doing to you, Jean—I will stay here with you.
The end came suddenly.
One moment, the Phoenix flare lit up the countryside like a small sun. Then it flickered and died, a few final wisps vanishing up into the sky. As the predawn light began to rise over the horizon, Jean Grey collapsed to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.
Cyclops was beside her in a second. He ignored the throbbing in his head, the voices all around. The X-Men crawling to their feet, the Greys and their other daughter running out into the yard. All he saw was Jean. He hoisted her up in his arms, moved her face close to his. She was breathing, but just barely.
Is she… is she still her? The Professor’s psychic surgery… did it work?
The Phoenix costume was gone. Jean wore a tattered black dress, its hem ripped and singed. It took him a moment to recognize it—the dress she’d worn the day of the shuttle flight, so many months ago.
Is that a good sign? Maybe it means she’s reverted to the person she used to be. But she might still be Dark Phoenix, inside. Or—what if the surgery did something terrible to her?
It doesn’t matter, he knew. I’ll love her just the same.
Jean’s eyes fluttered open. She stared at him, peering into his visor.
“Hey,” she said.
He felt tears rising. She’s herself, he realized. She’s human.
She’s Jean again.
“H-hey, yourself,” he replied.
One by one, the X-Men climbed to their feet. Storm and Nightcrawler approached cautiously, while Wolverine held back. Colossus stood holding the Professor in his strong arms, near the wreckage of Xavier’s wheelchair. Jean’s mother and sister approached, carrying a blanket.
“Jean,” Sara said. “Are you cold?”
Jean smiled as she accepted the blanket. “Ororo, Kurt,” she said. “Sorry about the bruises.”
Storm smiled. “I believe we dished out a few, as well.”
“Jeannie,” Wolverine said. “You back with us?”
She blinked, shifted in Cyclops’s arms. Turned toward Logan, an unusually serious look in her eyes.
“Yeah,” she said. “Thanks for… well, you know.”
“No big.”
Cyclops looked at them both. Something big had transpired between them, he realized. Something he might never fully understand.
“Oh, sure.” Nightcrawler rolled his eyes, breaking the tension. “Nothing big. Just another night in the Danger Room.”
“Scott?” Jean leaned in to his shoulder.
He touched her face, smiling. “Do you want me to carry you inside?”
She locked her eyes on his. Nodded slowly, vigorously. “I do,” she whispered.
“Xavier! Summers!”
They all turned at the sharp voice. Jean’s father stood in the doorway, pointing an accusatory finger at them.
“What the hell is going on here?” John Grey strode forward. “What have you been doing with my daughter?”
“Dad, I’m fine,” Jean protested. “Everything’s fine now.”
“I’ll be happy to explain, Dr. Grey,” Xavier said. “But first, could I trouble you for a cup of tea? It’s been a most—”
* * *
THERE WAS no warning. White light, total and enveloping, filled the backyard. In an instant, the X-Men were gone.
Dr. Grey stepped back, shocked. He reached out a hand, touching the space where his daughter had been.
Elaine Grey ran up beside him. “Where did they go?” she asked.
“They just… disappeared.”
Elaine didn’t respond. Slowly, as if in a daze, she took his hand. They walked back to the house, hand in hand.
Jean’s sister remained in the yard. She stared at the trees and hedges, the broken lawn furniture and the ruined garden.
“She said…” Sara whispered. “She said everything was fine.”
The first rays of sunlight crept over the tree line, shining into her eyes. Heralding a new day, a cycle of renewal for the world. A world, she somehow knew, that no longer held her sister in it.
She stood alone f
or a long time, thinking of children and mutants and innocence lost. Her fists clenched and unclenched several times, leaving nail-marks on her palms. And then, as humans do, Sara Grey-Bailey simply turned and walked away, leaving the light behind.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
ONE MOMENT they were in the garden, waiting for the dawn. Nightcrawler, Storm, Wolverine, Cyclops clutching Jean in his arms, and Colossus holding Professor Xavier. Then there was only light—absolute, overwhelming. A white glare that seemed to peel away layer after layer of their bodies: skin, muscle, internal organs. A disorienting, unnatural process.
Only Charles Xavier recognized the sensation, because he’d experienced it before. A Shi’ar teleport beam.
An instant later, they stood in the center of a large chamber, atop a raised platform. Bleachers lining the walls, makeshift rails and benches bolted down in rows. The seats, the aisles, the open area at the base of the bleachers—all of it was filled with grim, armed warriors.
Alien warriors, Xavier observed. A dozen or more races gathered together. The avian Shi’ar, resplendent in their many-colored plumage. A platoon of blue-skinned Centaurians, bows and arrows clipped to their belts; a robotic Recorder, circuits clicking as it monitored the proceedings. A warlike Skrull in violet robes, and a single Kree soldier, eyes hidden by his battle helmet.
“What…” Cyclops looked around.
“Professor?” Colossus asked, shifting his grip. “Where are we?”
Xavier looked up. The ceiling was transparent, revealing a stunning spacescape. The stars glowed more sharply, more clearly than in any view from Earth. There could be no doubt: they were on board a spaceship.
The cargo deck of an Imperial dreadnought, he thought, hastily refitted into… whatever this is. A courtroom? A combat arena?
And not just any ship, he realized. This is the flagship of the Shi’ar Empire.
Cyclops released Jean. She staggered back, her eyes wide as she took in the large room, the alien warriors. She pulled nervously at the torn hem of her dress.
“Scott?” Nightcrawler asked. “Who are these people?”
“We are surrounded by armed and armored warriors,” Storm said, “so I doubt their intentions are friendly.”
Wolverine said nothing. He just crouched low, scanning the room.
“X-Men.” The voice rang out, deep and confident. “Heed the words of Gladiator, praetor of the Imperial Guard.”
They all turned. Gladiator—a tall humanoid in a red-and-blue uniform, his hair sculpted into a striking cobalt Mohawk— stood with hands on his hips. Two members of his guard stood flanking him: Hussar, a savage crimson-skinned woman with a whip, and Oracle, a smaller woman with pale skin and a full head of thick, royal blue hair.
Xavier’s eyes strayed to the Kree warrior, who stood rigid in his emerald-and-white uniform—right next to the green-skinned Skrull. The Skrulls were masters of shape-shifting, but this one wore its natural form, its wrinkled chin turned down in a scowl.
The Kree and the Skrull despise each other, Xavier thought. Their races have fought wars that shook galaxies. For them to actually stand together…
“Gladiator,” he said. “What is the meaning of this?”
The praetor smiled grimly. He commanded the Imperial Guard—the elite force pledged to defend the throne—with an unwavering arrogance. Xavier had never liked the man.
“You are to be judged,” he replied.
“I am consort to the Empress.” Xavier kept his voice cold. “I answer only to her.”
In response, an old man wearing violet robes with a long plume of feathers stepped forward. Xavier recognized him as Prime Minister Araki, political leader of the Shi’ar. Araki gestured at the cluster of guards in the back of the room; like a smooth machine, they stepped aside to reveal a regal woman in silver armor. She wore a gleaming helmet over her feather plume, and held in her hand an intricate, multi-pointed ceremonial staff.
“You stand in the presence of Lilandra Neramani,” Araki said. “Majestrix Shi’ar, Empress of all she surveys. Your fate is in her hands.”
Xavier’s breath caught at the sight of her. She’s so beautiful, he thought, and she wears the crown with grace and confidence. She has accomplished so much—and yet, the past few months have been difficult. For us, for our life together.
Somehow he knew: That’s about to get much worse.
“X-Men.” Lilandra stepped forward. “I am relieved to see you unharmed.”
“Lilandra.” Cyclops moved toward her—only to be stopped by a brace of guards holding up electrified lances. “What’s this about?”
The Empress gestured with her staff. The guards retreated, stepping back into formation in front of the bleachers.
“You have always been my friends,” she said, “as well as the students of my consort.”
She’s not looking at me, Xavier noted.
“But as Empress, my first responsibility is to my people.”
“Ach!” Nightcrawler smiled. “Is there some uber-cosmic threat looming? A hive full of bug-eyed monsters from the Crab Nebula, perhaps? If you seek our help, Lilandra, you did not have to kidnap us. We would gladly have come.”
“I don’t think we’re here to bat cleanup,” Wolverine growled.
“No,” Lilandra acknowledged. “To ensure the survival of the Shi’ar… for the sake of the entire universe…” She swept her staff across the group, stopping when the tip pointed to Jean. “…the Phoenix must be destroyed.”
A murmur rose up all around. Armed warriors clapped power-staffs on the ground, banged gloved fists against the benches.
“Phoenix?” Jean blinked. “Me?”
“Lilandra,” Xavier said, “you followed me to Earth for this?”
At last she turned to face him. Her eyes were cold, but he could feel the hurt radiating from her. “I had no choice,” she said. “You were not… honest about your reasons for leaving.”
“Because I… I knew…” He gestured around.
Because I knew you’d come. Because I hoped to avoid… this.
“Knew what?” Cyclops asked. “Why are the Shi’ar so concerned with Jean?”
Xavier turned to study Jean. She bore no trace of the Phoenix entity. Even her clothes had reverted to the outfit she’d worn on that fateful day, when she’d piloted the shuttle down to Earth. His psychic surgery had returned her to that earlier, less powerful form.
And yet…
“‘The end of all that is,’” Wolverine said in a low voice.
“What?” Cyclops asked.
“I…” Jean raised a hand to her forehead. “I don’t understand.”
Lilandra turned to stare at her. Jean held her gaze, blinking in confusion. Lilandra shook her head and turned away.
“Gladiator?”
The praetor clapped his massive hands. The X-Men stepped back as a four-meter-high hologram rose up in the center of the room. It showed a glowing yellow sun, shining in open space.
“This is the star D’Bari,” Gladiator said, “as it was two days ago.”
As they watched, a small dot appeared behind the star. It drew closer, resolving into the form of the Dark Phoenix, blazing bright with power. Jean’s figure was a tiny sliver at the heart of the creature.
“And this is the Dark Angel of legend,” Gladiator continued. “The Chaos-Bringer, ravager of worlds.”
Xavier glanced at Jean. Her eyes were fixed on the image, staring in horror. As they watched, the Phoenix dove deep into the heart of the star. Its surface began to throb, to pulse, sending out wild, flaring prominences.
“Ravenous from her long journey, the creature consumed the star. As the sun died, so did its planets.” Gladiator paused, looked at Xavier. “D’Bari was an inhabited system.”
The image changed again—to a city center, a crowded thoroughfare on some alien world. Olive-green beings stood clustered together, staring up in fear at the searing light that filled their sky.
“The fourth planet was home to fi
ve billion people.”
The room went quiet. Lilandra stepped forward and cleared her throat.
“These images were received by an Imperial dreadnought, flying under my flag of authority. This was its final transmission.”
The image wavered, replaced by a view of the open, multileveled bridge of the vessel. It was a scene of carnage, with instruments in flames, its crew bruised and battered. A body lay in full uniform, eyes blank and staring, slumped over its station.
The dreadnought’s captain, an ashen-faced man with a proud plume of feathers, gestured toward the ship’s viewscreen. It showed the Phoenix, relentless in its fury, closing in rapidly.
“I hope you receive this,” the captain said. “We are beaten— no weapons, no power. Crew mostly dead. Ship a ruined, gutted hulk.” A high-ranking officer moved into the frame.
“Entity closing,” he said.
“Beware, my Empress,” the captain continued. “Beware the Phoenix—”
The transmission ended.
The hologram faded back into the platform.
No, Xavier thought, guilt washing over him. I knew the risks, but I thought I’d reached Jean in time. All those lives. All those souls… What had the Phoenix said to him, back in the garden? “You set in motion this chain of events.”
“Jean.” Colossus was staring at her. “Could you? Did you…?”
“She did,” Logan growled.
“It wasn’t her,” Nightcrawler said.
Storm said nothing, but the look on her face made Xavier shiver. He reinforced his psychic screens, taking care not to read her mind.
“No,” Jean whispered. “No…” She leaned in close to Cyclops, clutching her head. She seemed disoriented, confused.
She’s remembering, Xavier realized. The Phoenix power—it’s like a drug. It overwhelmed her for a while, overrode her better instincts. But it was still her.
She did this.
Cyclops held her tight, his hands visibly trembling. His mouth was a thin line, his lips white with tension.
Xavier turned to Lilandra. She stared at him, accusing him with her eyes.