by Stuart Moore
Cyclops leaped in through the entrance. Jean sealed it quickly, before the Guard members could take notice.
“Whoa,” he said.
She followed his gaze. The battle had blasted open this area, which appeared to have been an armory. Floor-mounted guns, some of them taller than a man, lined the alcove. Most were long decayed, bits of triggers and control units fallen to the ground or lost to the ages.
Cyclops studied the largest relic: a high-tech cannon three yards long and nearly as tall. He ran a hand across its tarnished muzzle.
“This looks Kree.”
“Storm said they lived here, long ago,” she agreed. Change the subject! “How’s Logan?”
“Couldn’t reach him. I think he’s breathing.” He turned to look at her wall of dust. “Very clever.”
“It buys us a little time.” She took his arm, pulled him away from the weapons. “But sooner or later, they’ll find us.”
“Yeah.”
They stood together for a moment. The machinery seemed to hum louder. Power seeping through the walls, coursing down through the centuries.
He let out a laugh.
“Something’s funny?”
“I’m sorry. It’s just…” He turned to her, took her by both shoulders. “As horrible as all this is, it sort of reminds me of old times. You and me? Against an army of super-powered villains?”
She nodded. “Like the Brotherhood.”
“Or Factor Three. What were those guys about?”
She grabbed him, hugged him tight. Nuzzled his shoulder.
“It reminds me more of the shuttle,” she whispered. “All our options are bad.”
“You were right.” His voice broke. “Aboard the shuttle. You saved us all. I wish… I’d give anything if there’d been another way, but you were right and I was wrong.” He pulled back, looked at her through that haze of ruby quartz.
Don’t cry, she told herself. Do not cry.
“I love you,” she said. “I used to think… sometimes I thought that made me weak. That it held me back, confined me, made it hard to breathe. But that was just…”
“The Phoenix talking?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” She grimaced. “All I know is, the love I feel for you isn’t a weakness—it’s a strength. It gives me strength. Whatever happens, please remember that.”
“Jean, there’s a lot more I want to say. But I… I don’t seem to have the words.”
“It’s the thought that counts. Remember?” She smiled, tapped his forehead. “And your thoughts, like you, are beautiful.”
“No more beautiful than the woman I love.”
She raised her head and kissed him, a long, deep kiss.
“You wait here,” she said, her voice breaking. “I’ll go out there.”
He took her hand firmly in his. “We’ll do it together.”
No, she thought. Let me do this. I don’t want you to get hurt! But she knew Scott Summers, better than she knew anyone in the world. He would never let her face danger alone.
“All right,” she agreed. “Together.”
* * *
WITH A thought, she dropped the dust wall. The crater came into view, strewn with debris and costumed bodies. The Imperial Guard circled above, like a swarm of insects against the stars.
Cyclops squeezed her hand and started forward. Jean followed, her thoughts whirling… casting back…
…to that day under the autumn trees. Walking together, the air crisp on her sandaled feet. Bright sunlight filtered through a crisscross of leaves.
The air was chill in this alien place, too, but thinner and colder. The ground beneath was gritty, coated with ash and sediment. Peering ahead, she could make out Logan’s body over by a pillar. Farther off, Storm’s cloak lay crumpled on the ground.
Red leaves and gold, auburn and burnt green. Brittle, dying, poised to fall. Yet still clinging to the branches, to the trees that birthed them.
Clinging to life.
Cyclops pointed up at the dark, merciless sky. “They’re coming,” he said.
She reached for him, took his hand. Pointed up at the leaves.
“I love the fall.”
Gladiator swooped down, muscles tensed for battle. But Oracle swung in front of him, holding up a hand. She fixed Jean with a piercing stare and transmitted a telepathic message.
I told your blue friend, Oracle said. This outcome was never in doubt.
Jean glared back. You remind me, she replied, of another icy telepath.
Moving quickly, Cyclops raised his head and shot off a blast into the air. Oracle dodged, but the beam grazed her side, sending her spinning through the sky. Gladiator called out something in a language Jean didn’t recognize.
Then the Guard were everywhere. Warstar, clomping along the jagged surface, its metallic armor glowing with power. Starbolt glowing in the sky, backing up Gladiator’s attack. Manta, flaring with light. Even as Jean raised a psi-shield, she knew it wouldn’t be strong enough. Cyclops was fending off their enemies—shooting eye-beams high and low, rapid-fire—but there were too many.
And I don’t have the power. Not anymore.
As she clicked into battle mode, deflecting plasma bolts and psi-daggers with quick bursts of telekinesis, a deep sense of helplessness settled over her. She could feel all the currents that had led her to this moment. The cosmic forces aboard the shuttle, tingling on her skin. The voice within—incomprehensibly alien, yet as familiar as her own name. The legends of the Shi’ar, passed down through the ages.
The rushing river of history.
The end came all at once. Earthquake reached out and touched the ground, throwing Jean and Cyclops off their feet. Hussar’s neuro-whip slashed out to grab Scott around the waist. Starbolt glowed with power, gathering energy in his outstretched hands, as Gladiator swooped down and slammed a fist across Cyclops’s chin.
Scott Summers cried out once, fell to the ground, and went still.
Jean felt rage. Primal rage born of love, love that—as she’d said, as she now knew—lent her strength. Strength to rouse her, move her, spur her on. Strength that could accomplish…
…anything.
Like dominoes, the barriers fell. Psychic scars tore open, circuit breakers dissolved into neuron ash.
Click
Click
Clickclickclickclickclickclick…
She spread her arms and rose up off the ground, feeling the anger wash over her—consuming all doubts, all reason, all mercy. Knowing, with a deep heartfelt sadness, that she’d been right all along.
The Imperial Guard scattered in the air. The creature soared upward, dark and menacing, towering over them. It screeched in the vacuum, high above the protected environment of the crater.
The Phoenix breathed deep of their fear and smiled.
Welcome, it said, to the last minutes of your lives.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
AGAIN, XAVIER knew. While the technicians struggled to read their instruments, while Araki made his frantic appeals, while Shi’ar soldiers hurried into the cargo bay, while the Kree and Skrull representatives rushed to join them—he already knew.
“Majestrix,” a technician said, “power levels are off the scale.”
“Sharra and K’ythri,” Araki said, pointing at a hologram just coming into focus. “Look!”
The Phoenix screamed, burned, raged to the heavens. Its radiance seemed to fill the crater; it loomed larger, fiercer than ever before—even than when it had consumed an entire star. Jean’s figure was barely visible within its white-hot core.
In the hologram, a tendril of flame struck Gladiator. He screamed and fell from the sky. The creature began to turn, craning its fiery neck upward. Looking past the remaining Guard members, toward the heavens. Its eyes were cold, devoid of mercy—and aimed straight at the flagship.
“Araki.” Lilandra’s eyes went wide with alarm. “Begin evacuation procedures—”
Too late, Xavier thought.
Twenty thousan
d miles away, on the surface of the moon, the Phoenix spat fire into the sky. The energy bolt struck the ship in an instant, punching through the defense screens. The cargo bay lurched violently; gravity failed for a moment, then reasserted itself. Xavier tumbled to the floor, falling free of his hoverchair.
He shook his head, overwhelmed by the panic in the thoughts around him. Voices filled the air.
“—damage report—”
“—plasma energy. Enormous levels—”
“—hull rupture! Bridge exposed to vacuum—”
He felt strong arms lifting him off the floor. Looked up to see Lilandra, staring at him with a mixture of pity and anger.
“Sit there,” she said, placing him gently back in his chair, “while I try to save our lives.”
“—lost contact with the Guard—”
“—gravity down to thirty percent—”
“—casualties in the dozens—”
“Araki!” Lilandra’s voice rang out, cutting through the clamor. “Alert the grand fleet. Plan Omega.”
“Majestrix,” Araki said, climbing shakily to his feet. “Do you realize what you’re saying?”
Xavier swiveled his chair to face the hologram. The image flickered as the dust-drone camera faltered beneath the massive energy discharge. When it came into focus, Jean Grey stood atop a fallen temple, her arms spread wide. The Phoenix Force raged, rising up all around her. The ground was littered with bodies.
The ship shook again. Lilandra braced herself against a console, spoke urgently to Araki.
“Send the message,” she said. “If we fail in our mission, the fleet is to do anything in their power to ensure that the Phoenix is destroyed.”
She turned to the hologram.
“Burn this world.” Her voice was cold now, grave. “This system, this entire stellar cluster. Whatever it takes.”
Xavier moved up behind her, sending a mild telepathic prod her way. But Lilandra just stared at the image, at the Chaos-Bringer that threatened to destroy all existence. The Phoenix filled the crater now—Xavier couldn’t even make out the bodies of the Imperial Guard. Or the X-Men.
Lilandra’s words echoed in his mind:
“Perhaps you were simply wrong.”
Perhaps, he thought. If so, then this is my fault, my responsibility. And only I can set it right.
Frantic voices filled the cargo bay. The Kree and Skrull warriors raised weapons, pointing them at each other. Araki waved his staff, struggling to maintain order. Xavier forced their thoughts from his mind. He raised both hands to his temples, sending his consciousness radiating outward.
Scott, he thought. Hear me. You must hear me.
Heed my voice… my urgent plea…
* * *
…WAKE UP!
Cyclops sat up, instantly awake. He coughed moondust, brushed dirt off his visor.
Scott. The Professor’s voice, echoing inside his skull. Can you hear me?
Yes, Professor.
Listen carefully. You have to attack the Phoenix.
Cyclops looked up, shielding his eyes from his worst nightmare. Jean stood on the ruins of the temple, dressed once again in the deep-red costume of the Dark Phoenix. Her energy blazed madly, blotting out the stars.
Professor, that’s the woman I love!
Not anymore. We made— I made that mistake once. A surge of regret came over the telepathic link. You have to strike now, while she’s weak!
A muscular man in blue and white, wearing dark red glasses, whizzed by overhead. Smasher, Cyclops remembered—yet another member of the Imperial Guard. As the Guardsman drew near Jean, the Phoenix’s wing reached out and enveloped him in flame. He cried out and dropped to the ground.
Weak? Cyclops asked. Are you joking?
Trust me, Professor Xavier said. There is an opportunity here.
I… Cyclops stumbled, clutching his head. His uniform was torn, his chest slashed and bruised. I don’t think I can do this alone, Professor.
Fortunately…
He whirled at the sound of footsteps.
…you are not alone.
Wolverine led the way, supporting Nightcrawler. Colossus trudged along behind, his metal body dented and specked with debris. Storm hovered in the air behind them, an injured arm wrapped in shreds of her cape.
“Well.” Wolverine stared up at the temple. “ This sucks.”
I will link your minds together, Xavier said. For maximum efficiency.
Cyclops nodded reluctantly. He closed his eyes, sensing the familiar mental presence of his teammates. Storm, bright and flashing. Colossus, earnest and hopeful. Nightcrawler’s light heart, covering sorrow and pain.
And Logan. Scott’s rival, the greatest thorn in his side… and possibly the most loyal, honorable X-Man of all.
All set, Professor. We’ll follow your lead.
No, Scott.
Cyclops looked up, puzzled.
You are the X-Men’s leader.
A hundred feelings passed through Cyclops’s mind. Gratitude, dread, hope. Warmth and love, regret and terror. An oppressive sense of inescapable destiny.
Then he whirled and fired off an eye-beam at full power. It flashed across a hundred yards in an instant, striking the base of a tall building with pinpoint accuracy. The decayed structure tottered, crumbled, and fell. Jean barely had time to look up before a thousand tons of stone and steel came crashing down on her. She raised a hand, deflecting a small part of the debris—but the rest was enough to force her down, to dim her flame.
Slightly.
Cyclops winced at the sight. He shook his head, forced those feelings away. I can’t be that person now—an ordinary man concerned for the one he loves. I have to be a cold, calculating strategist. It’s our only hope of getting out of this alive.
He concentrated, projecting his thoughts outward. Nightcrawler, he called. Storm!
Before the thought was complete, Nightcrawler appeared in a puff of smoke directly above Jean’s fallen body. He looked up, shielding himself from the last few shards of falling debris. Then turned and wrenched a large rock out of the pile of rubble.
“Forgive me,” he said, and brought the rock down toward Jean’s head. At the last second she whirled, eyes flashing. Her hand whipped out, projecting a blast that hurled Nightcrawler clear across the crater.
Jean struggled to rise. The Phoenix flame flickered, less steady now. As she climbed upright, a cyclone-level wind grabbed hold of her, lifting her off her feet.
Cyclops, Storm said in his mind. I cannot maintain this for long. There is not enough… atmosphere.
Just keep her off-balance, he replied. Colossus, Wolverine—
We know, comrade, Colossus said. Fastball Special! He lifted Wolverine, holding him with both arms, aiming him toward their struggling target. But then Logan slipped free, leapt to the ground, and—astonishingly—lifted up Colossus in his arms.
“Logan!” Colossus exclaimed. “What are you doing?”
“Switching it up, Russkie,” Wolverine replied. “In this gravity, I can throw you.”
Colossus eyed the blazing figure in the distance.
“Oh,” he said.
“Besides…” Logan grimaced, shifting his teammate’s huge body. “I couldn’t finish the job before. Don’t trust myself to do it now.”
“So… so you are saying I must—”
“You’ll only get one shot. Make it count.” Logan reached back, prepared to throw. “And, Pete?”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry.”
Logan lurched forward, letting fly with all his strength. Colossus arrowed through the air, fists outstretched, a gleaming missile of destruction. He struck the Phoenix head-on, a tremendous blow that whipped her jaw sideways. She cried out and dropped to the ground.
Damn! Jean’s voice seemed to resonate, both in the air and in Scott’s mind. You pulled that punch, Peter. And even so… I felt it.
Cyclops frowned. Jean?
You… you really knocked some s
ense into me. She shook her head, staring up at Colossus. And I…
She paused.
I can see it. The Phoenix… what it is, what I am. All of it.
The flame seemed lower now, barely visible around her dazed form. Cyclops watched, hardly daring to hope. Is she back?
Colossus stood over Jean, his fists clenched. Through the telepathic link, Cyclops could feel his doubt and uncertainty. He started toward them, picking his way across the uneven terrain. Edged his way around a woman lying on the ground, twitching: Oracle, of the Imperial Guard. Alive but, from the look of her, severely injured.
The Phoenix is… it’s my life force, Jean continued. And I provide a living focus for its power… its infinite power. That’s… one way to look at it…
She paused and looked up at the stars.
He crept across shallow troughs left behind by the battle, around the gigantic pit leading down to the moon’s lower depths. Wolverine and Storm fell in behind him, keeping silent. Behind Jean, he could see the alcove where they’d hidden from the Imperial Guard. Had that been less than an hour ago?
The Phoenix cannot be controlled. Jean walked up to Colossus, stared him in the eyes. Not while it has a human vessel. It will inevitably take control again, and then…
She gestured at the destruction all around.
“No.” Colossus shook his head. “You cannot ask this of me.”
Her eyes blazed. It’s the only way.
“Jean!” She whirled as Cyclops leapt up onto the platform. “It doesn’t have to be like this,” he continued. “You have an intellect, a will. Use them—fight this thing!”
She stared at him, the fire in her eyes growing in intensity. Then she closed them. As she’d done in Central Park, the Phoenix sent a wave of mental force rippling outward, like an electromagnetic pulse. When it struck Colossus, Storm, and Wolverine, they spasmed and dropped to the ground.
The energy passed through Cyclops, leaving him unharmed. Jean stared at him for a moment, a terrified look in her eyes. Then she turned and ran.
He sprinted after her, calling her name. But his heart sank as he saw the flame rising around her, flaring up to illuminate the temple ruins. She darted into the alcove, the hidden place that held an arsenal of ancient Kree weapons. He rounded the bend to follow—and stopped short, almost colliding with the immense central cannon.