Keep The Faith: Avenging Angels
Jun. 12th, 2008 06:21 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsFaced with the most powerful member of the Brotherhood, the X-Men have to make one last stand.
Nimrod staggered, bumping into the gas pump. It was a glancing bump, if that, but it only seemed to enrage him more, as if his slow but inexorable advance on the gas station hadn't made it very clear that he was deeply pissed about having been electrocuted. Deeply pissed -and perhaps beyond that, as well. There was nothing particularly rational in his steel-blue eyes, and the way he tore the gas pump off its mooring with one yank didn't do much to minimize the impression that the Brotherhood's powerhouse had gone berserk.
Across the parking lot, Forge rose from the crouch he'd been frozen in, dropping the expended flare from his hand. Whatever had happened to Abyss, the shadowy psycho wasn't much of a threat at the moment, wherever he'd gone to.
When he saw Nimrod stalking directly for the convenience store, however, his blood chilled. In seconds, he evaluated the situation. Kyle was down, with Jan and Terry trying to pull him to safety. There was no way they could protect him before Nimrod got there at the rate he was bearing down on them.
Distance and angles immediately factored into Forge's head, resolving the situation dispassionately. The solution was clear. There was only one logical outcome for the greater good.
My curse is that I'm able to do the math, he'd told Kyle once.
Against a stronger opponent? Your plan is to get the hell out of there, Garrison had drilled into him during their training sessions.
I'm not going to be a hero, Forge remembered saying those words to Crystal the day that Scott had invited him to be an X-Man. For a brief moment, he closed his eyes and whispered to himself, asking forgiveness for breaking that promise.
Pushing off with his right leg, Forge picked up a section of pipe that was laying on the ground, lunging across the street on a direct vector to intercept Nimrod's charge. Planting his foot, he felt his left leg give way under him as he swung the pipe with home-run force directly into the big Hungarian's knee.
Nimrod didn't even stagger. He looked down at Forge, a flicker of incredulity surfacing amid the rage. It was swamped again almost immediately. "Stupid," he hissed at Forge, his accent so thick that the single word was almost indistinguishable. "Stupid, stupid, stupid-" His hand locked around Forge's throat and he lifted the smaller man off the ground, squeezing.
Forge gasped, dropping the pipe and clutching at Nimrod's arm. His feet kicked as he tried to breathe, but in the back of his mind, he was counting the seconds it would take for Jan and Terry to get Kyle somewhere safe. "I wasn't... taken out... by a... cripple with a... folding chair..." he taunted, even as he saw black spots dance at the edges of his vision. Futilely, he reached out with his metal hand, punching and prodding at Nimrod's arm for the pressure points Garrison had taught him, but to no avail.
The taunt didn't seem to register. Nimrod's eyes unfocused, but his free hand shot out, grabbing Forge's prosthetic arm just below the elbow. "Clever doesn't save you," he said - and tore the arm off with one twisting yank.
The shock set in before the pain. Carbon-fiber bones snapping and breaking, myomer fibers stretching and separating, greasy graphite coolant pouring out like a severed artery - all this hit Forge's brain before the conscious thought took form - he just ripped off my arm.
His mouth moved to form words, but nothing came out. No bravado, no taunts, just pure survival instinct as Forge thrashed about, one-armed, trying to escape.
"Not a game after all?" Nimrod's voice was clearer than it had been. Almost conversational. "No more witty banter?" He dropped the remains of Forge's arm and then punched him in the face.
This time the pain came instantly, with the immediate crack of bones and rush of blood. Gasping for air and choking on his own blood, Forge coughed, opening one eye to look at Nimrod. This is it, he told himself. You did all you could.
Everything seemed to take on a sudden clarity at that moment; images rushing through his mind's eye of the wall of water crashing down around the isle of Attilan, a dinosaur's head exploding before him in a man-made jungle, the feel of the Neutralizer's blast stripping his powers away, the fear in his very core at witnessing the flaming form of Proteus bending reality -- all coalescing into the initial fire and force of an explosion in a high school hallway all those years before in Dallas. All the fear, the pain, the terror - it all came down to this moment.
I did the best I could.
With some unknown strength inside him, Forge looked Nimrod in the eye and forced a smile. "I win," he gasped out through the pain. "I win."
Nimrod's expression quirked strangely. "You die. It's much the same thing." He pivoted on his heel, faster than any human being his size had the right to be, and used the momentum to throw Forge at the wall of the convenience store.
Tumbling through the air, Forge hit the brick wall, feeling things shift and give inside him. One eye was blinded, filled with blood, but with the other he could see Nimrod resuming his advance towards the storefront. One thundering step, then another --
-- and then a keening wail like a thousand air raid sirens pierced the evening sky, the force of it blowing Nimrod back a step. Across the street, Terry Cassidy braced herself, arms back, screaming at full volume, tightly directed first at Nimrod, then at the ground beneath him. Suddenly reduced to walking through quicksand, Nimrod gritted his teeth and pushed forward, only to be halted again by a repeated series of bioelectric blasts to the chest as Janet Van Dyne stood fast beside Terry, hands thrust forward as she unleashed sting after sting at the big Hungarian.
The world was resolving to a point through his eyes, like a television slowly burning out. But the girls were doing it, actually forcing Nimrod back. The immovable object was being moved. They were holding their own.
Forge closed his eyes, but before unconsciousness took him, he felt a familiar mental presence brush against his, and the deep thrumming of a helicopter rotor.
They came for us.
And finally, salvation arrives.
A bright red disk sailed through the air, the light comforting as it was familiar, and it splashed into the ground right in front of Nimrod's feet. If he recognized it, there was no time for it to show on his face as a random spark connected and the station around him exploded in a white-hot fireball.
Behind them, hanging out of the front of a helicopter was their teammate. Her blue eyes as cold as ice.
Jean didn't even wait for the helicopter to land, dropping out of it and moving quickly out of the way of the blades, making a bee-line towards her injured teammates while Nimrod was (hopefully) distracted with the explosion. She could see both boys as she approached, but Kyle's mind had that deep quiet she associated with unconsciousness. Almost a relief compared to the waves of pain radiating off of Forge before he'd gone into shock.
At the controls of the helicopter, Scott bit back a curse at the explosion, inwardly flinching, then fractionally relaxing as the debris fell well clear of them. "Go," he snapped over the coms to the others as he managed to set down. "Fast. Get them aboard now."
"I can do fast." Kane muttered, hitting the ground running. He went past Jean as a blur, skidding to a halt beside Kyle. Kane had spent the last several months learning just how far Kyle's healing factor could be pushed, and while the younger man had obviously taxed it to the limit, he was still breathing strongly. It was enough that he could be carried out. Garrison risked a look over to Forge, and decided against even approaching. There was fresh blood on his ruined lips, and that usually meant something internal. All he might do is make it worse.
With a single motion, Garrison pulled Gibney up on his shoulders in a fireman's carry and headed back for the helicopter to deposit him inside.
Jumping out at a run, despite the heavy medical supplies she carried, Clarice zeroed in on Forge. Kneeling down, she took stock of his injuries and supressed a shudder. He was in BAD shape. "Cyclops, emergency evac. Forge. Sinai," she radioed him, chekcing Forge's airways and pulse. He was breathing, that was about the only good she could report. Hefting her supplies back onto her back and pulling out her cell phone, she dialed directly to the Mount Sinai Hospital ER, a number she wasn't supposed to have but had kept from her days as an EMT. "I've critical incoming in Room 1 on the floor in 30 seconds," she said then hung up. She wished she had time to get better stabilized, but this was going to have to do.
The moment Jennie's disc made the world explode Terry ordered Jan back to the helicopter, not moving an inch herself until she was sure that Nimrod wasn't going to come charging out of the flame and that her team was safe. Only after Kane had Kyle and Clarice Forge did Terry cut off her scream and run for the helicopter herself. She wasn't in anywhere near the condition of the rest, tired. A few cuts and bruises. And a load of guilt that she didn't have time to indulgence yet. She yanked herself up and made her way to Scott. "Sir," she said shortly. It was an apology.
Don't, the look he gave her said, pride mixed with pain before his gaze went back to the flames, then to the remaining X-Men on the ground. "Phoenix," he said, "get them moving and get back here." They had no idea how long that explosion would incapacitate Veres. Given the man had walked away from being run over by the Blackbird a few minutes later, the chances were good that he'd be up and around momentarily. The order given, Scott turned his attention back to preparing for a quick lift-off.
"Lungs aren't punctured," Jean muttered to Clarice, working quickly through as much of an examination as they could afford. "Ribs at least mostly intact and in place. He's bleeding internally, but not critically." Pale, but not dangerously so, the big worry was the damage to his cheekbone. "Get gone, but don't jostle him - if there's any lose fragments of bone..." Forge didn't need to be building another prosthetic eye.
"I've already called an ER to be ready. They're going to love this," Clarice opened a portal for the two of them, thankful that teleporting this way was almost as good as moving him on a backboard, "I'll stay with him. Make sure he's okay," she reassured the older woman. This was her first mission since she'd been nuked, this was the best place for her and Forge right now, away from the main action.
Kane finished strapping down Kyle, taking a second to straight out his limbs to keep them from healing crooked. He had some experience with healing factors, and they did have the odd moments of genetic stupidity built in. The purple flash from the field meant that Clarice was gone with Forge.
"Wildchild is strapped in, Cyclops."
Jean was still coming. But that was okay. Jump for it, Red - you can kick me for the improvising later, Scott sent as he lifted off, opening the psi-link all the way so that they could time this perfectly. It was a good thing they both had so much experience working with a doubled perspective; it made this easy, even with him distracted by being at the controls of an unfamiliar aircraft. Jean reboarded the helicopter in the same way she'd gotten off, just in reverse. Her telekinesis carried her up twenty feet and in through the open door to a relatively soft landing. Scott banked sharply in the next second, headed away from the flames.
Jennie scanned the fireball below as they turned away, her stomach lurching as they did. She couldn't find Nimrod, couldn't see him anywhere, but it would be foolish to think that she had done any extensive damage to him. She sighed and leaned away from the door. All were accounted for, at the very least.
Below the helicopter, in the smoldering inferno, a lone figure stalked out of the flames. Looking up at the departing X-Men in hatred, Joszef Veres lifted one defiant fist to the sky and bellowed, until tendrils of shadow enveloped him and he was gone.
Nimrod staggered, bumping into the gas pump. It was a glancing bump, if that, but it only seemed to enrage him more, as if his slow but inexorable advance on the gas station hadn't made it very clear that he was deeply pissed about having been electrocuted. Deeply pissed -and perhaps beyond that, as well. There was nothing particularly rational in his steel-blue eyes, and the way he tore the gas pump off its mooring with one yank didn't do much to minimize the impression that the Brotherhood's powerhouse had gone berserk.
Across the parking lot, Forge rose from the crouch he'd been frozen in, dropping the expended flare from his hand. Whatever had happened to Abyss, the shadowy psycho wasn't much of a threat at the moment, wherever he'd gone to.
When he saw Nimrod stalking directly for the convenience store, however, his blood chilled. In seconds, he evaluated the situation. Kyle was down, with Jan and Terry trying to pull him to safety. There was no way they could protect him before Nimrod got there at the rate he was bearing down on them.
Distance and angles immediately factored into Forge's head, resolving the situation dispassionately. The solution was clear. There was only one logical outcome for the greater good.
My curse is that I'm able to do the math, he'd told Kyle once.
Against a stronger opponent? Your plan is to get the hell out of there, Garrison had drilled into him during their training sessions.
I'm not going to be a hero, Forge remembered saying those words to Crystal the day that Scott had invited him to be an X-Man. For a brief moment, he closed his eyes and whispered to himself, asking forgiveness for breaking that promise.
Pushing off with his right leg, Forge picked up a section of pipe that was laying on the ground, lunging across the street on a direct vector to intercept Nimrod's charge. Planting his foot, he felt his left leg give way under him as he swung the pipe with home-run force directly into the big Hungarian's knee.
Nimrod didn't even stagger. He looked down at Forge, a flicker of incredulity surfacing amid the rage. It was swamped again almost immediately. "Stupid," he hissed at Forge, his accent so thick that the single word was almost indistinguishable. "Stupid, stupid, stupid-" His hand locked around Forge's throat and he lifted the smaller man off the ground, squeezing.
Forge gasped, dropping the pipe and clutching at Nimrod's arm. His feet kicked as he tried to breathe, but in the back of his mind, he was counting the seconds it would take for Jan and Terry to get Kyle somewhere safe. "I wasn't... taken out... by a... cripple with a... folding chair..." he taunted, even as he saw black spots dance at the edges of his vision. Futilely, he reached out with his metal hand, punching and prodding at Nimrod's arm for the pressure points Garrison had taught him, but to no avail.
The taunt didn't seem to register. Nimrod's eyes unfocused, but his free hand shot out, grabbing Forge's prosthetic arm just below the elbow. "Clever doesn't save you," he said - and tore the arm off with one twisting yank.
The shock set in before the pain. Carbon-fiber bones snapping and breaking, myomer fibers stretching and separating, greasy graphite coolant pouring out like a severed artery - all this hit Forge's brain before the conscious thought took form - he just ripped off my arm.
His mouth moved to form words, but nothing came out. No bravado, no taunts, just pure survival instinct as Forge thrashed about, one-armed, trying to escape.
"Not a game after all?" Nimrod's voice was clearer than it had been. Almost conversational. "No more witty banter?" He dropped the remains of Forge's arm and then punched him in the face.
This time the pain came instantly, with the immediate crack of bones and rush of blood. Gasping for air and choking on his own blood, Forge coughed, opening one eye to look at Nimrod. This is it, he told himself. You did all you could.
Everything seemed to take on a sudden clarity at that moment; images rushing through his mind's eye of the wall of water crashing down around the isle of Attilan, a dinosaur's head exploding before him in a man-made jungle, the feel of the Neutralizer's blast stripping his powers away, the fear in his very core at witnessing the flaming form of Proteus bending reality -- all coalescing into the initial fire and force of an explosion in a high school hallway all those years before in Dallas. All the fear, the pain, the terror - it all came down to this moment.
I did the best I could.
With some unknown strength inside him, Forge looked Nimrod in the eye and forced a smile. "I win," he gasped out through the pain. "I win."
Nimrod's expression quirked strangely. "You die. It's much the same thing." He pivoted on his heel, faster than any human being his size had the right to be, and used the momentum to throw Forge at the wall of the convenience store.
Tumbling through the air, Forge hit the brick wall, feeling things shift and give inside him. One eye was blinded, filled with blood, but with the other he could see Nimrod resuming his advance towards the storefront. One thundering step, then another --
-- and then a keening wail like a thousand air raid sirens pierced the evening sky, the force of it blowing Nimrod back a step. Across the street, Terry Cassidy braced herself, arms back, screaming at full volume, tightly directed first at Nimrod, then at the ground beneath him. Suddenly reduced to walking through quicksand, Nimrod gritted his teeth and pushed forward, only to be halted again by a repeated series of bioelectric blasts to the chest as Janet Van Dyne stood fast beside Terry, hands thrust forward as she unleashed sting after sting at the big Hungarian.
The world was resolving to a point through his eyes, like a television slowly burning out. But the girls were doing it, actually forcing Nimrod back. The immovable object was being moved. They were holding their own.
Forge closed his eyes, but before unconsciousness took him, he felt a familiar mental presence brush against his, and the deep thrumming of a helicopter rotor.
They came for us.
And finally, salvation arrives.
A bright red disk sailed through the air, the light comforting as it was familiar, and it splashed into the ground right in front of Nimrod's feet. If he recognized it, there was no time for it to show on his face as a random spark connected and the station around him exploded in a white-hot fireball.
Behind them, hanging out of the front of a helicopter was their teammate. Her blue eyes as cold as ice.
Jean didn't even wait for the helicopter to land, dropping out of it and moving quickly out of the way of the blades, making a bee-line towards her injured teammates while Nimrod was (hopefully) distracted with the explosion. She could see both boys as she approached, but Kyle's mind had that deep quiet she associated with unconsciousness. Almost a relief compared to the waves of pain radiating off of Forge before he'd gone into shock.
At the controls of the helicopter, Scott bit back a curse at the explosion, inwardly flinching, then fractionally relaxing as the debris fell well clear of them. "Go," he snapped over the coms to the others as he managed to set down. "Fast. Get them aboard now."
"I can do fast." Kane muttered, hitting the ground running. He went past Jean as a blur, skidding to a halt beside Kyle. Kane had spent the last several months learning just how far Kyle's healing factor could be pushed, and while the younger man had obviously taxed it to the limit, he was still breathing strongly. It was enough that he could be carried out. Garrison risked a look over to Forge, and decided against even approaching. There was fresh blood on his ruined lips, and that usually meant something internal. All he might do is make it worse.
With a single motion, Garrison pulled Gibney up on his shoulders in a fireman's carry and headed back for the helicopter to deposit him inside.
Jumping out at a run, despite the heavy medical supplies she carried, Clarice zeroed in on Forge. Kneeling down, she took stock of his injuries and supressed a shudder. He was in BAD shape. "Cyclops, emergency evac. Forge. Sinai," she radioed him, chekcing Forge's airways and pulse. He was breathing, that was about the only good she could report. Hefting her supplies back onto her back and pulling out her cell phone, she dialed directly to the Mount Sinai Hospital ER, a number she wasn't supposed to have but had kept from her days as an EMT. "I've critical incoming in Room 1 on the floor in 30 seconds," she said then hung up. She wished she had time to get better stabilized, but this was going to have to do.
The moment Jennie's disc made the world explode Terry ordered Jan back to the helicopter, not moving an inch herself until she was sure that Nimrod wasn't going to come charging out of the flame and that her team was safe. Only after Kane had Kyle and Clarice Forge did Terry cut off her scream and run for the helicopter herself. She wasn't in anywhere near the condition of the rest, tired. A few cuts and bruises. And a load of guilt that she didn't have time to indulgence yet. She yanked herself up and made her way to Scott. "Sir," she said shortly. It was an apology.
Don't, the look he gave her said, pride mixed with pain before his gaze went back to the flames, then to the remaining X-Men on the ground. "Phoenix," he said, "get them moving and get back here." They had no idea how long that explosion would incapacitate Veres. Given the man had walked away from being run over by the Blackbird a few minutes later, the chances were good that he'd be up and around momentarily. The order given, Scott turned his attention back to preparing for a quick lift-off.
"Lungs aren't punctured," Jean muttered to Clarice, working quickly through as much of an examination as they could afford. "Ribs at least mostly intact and in place. He's bleeding internally, but not critically." Pale, but not dangerously so, the big worry was the damage to his cheekbone. "Get gone, but don't jostle him - if there's any lose fragments of bone..." Forge didn't need to be building another prosthetic eye.
"I've already called an ER to be ready. They're going to love this," Clarice opened a portal for the two of them, thankful that teleporting this way was almost as good as moving him on a backboard, "I'll stay with him. Make sure he's okay," she reassured the older woman. This was her first mission since she'd been nuked, this was the best place for her and Forge right now, away from the main action.
Kane finished strapping down Kyle, taking a second to straight out his limbs to keep them from healing crooked. He had some experience with healing factors, and they did have the odd moments of genetic stupidity built in. The purple flash from the field meant that Clarice was gone with Forge.
"Wildchild is strapped in, Cyclops."
Jean was still coming. But that was okay. Jump for it, Red - you can kick me for the improvising later, Scott sent as he lifted off, opening the psi-link all the way so that they could time this perfectly. It was a good thing they both had so much experience working with a doubled perspective; it made this easy, even with him distracted by being at the controls of an unfamiliar aircraft. Jean reboarded the helicopter in the same way she'd gotten off, just in reverse. Her telekinesis carried her up twenty feet and in through the open door to a relatively soft landing. Scott banked sharply in the next second, headed away from the flames.
Jennie scanned the fireball below as they turned away, her stomach lurching as they did. She couldn't find Nimrod, couldn't see him anywhere, but it would be foolish to think that she had done any extensive damage to him. She sighed and leaned away from the door. All were accounted for, at the very least.
Below the helicopter, in the smoldering inferno, a lone figure stalked out of the flames. Looking up at the departing X-Men in hatred, Joszef Veres lifted one defiant fist to the sky and bellowed, until tendrils of shadow enveloped him and he was gone.
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