The Magnificent Seven: Gnothi Seauton
Dec. 2nd, 2008 10:44 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsSometimes, all it takes to undo the cunning plan, the ruthless strategy, is a refusal to quit - something the X-Men have always had in spades.
The helicopter was nearly out of fuel again, Nathan knew. They'd been flying sweeps around Kanda, trying to find some trace of Saidullayev apart from the devastated army base, but they'd had no luck as of yet, and Nathan wasn't sure what to think about that. Had he moved on? Headed for where the fighting was actually happening, to tip the balance against the Wakandan forces? It would make sense, if taking out the base had been part of a bigger plan... it was so damned hard to know, though, Nathan acknowledged in frustration. Despite all Saidullayev's training and experience, the fact remained that they were dealing with a madman.
"We're going to have to set down soon, refuel again," he told Jean, voice raised over the noise of the helicopter. They'd both been scanning, trying to locate a suspiciously Askani-patterned, non-Wakandan mind, but with the whole country in an uproar, it was like looking for a leaf being carried down a whitewater rafting course. And that was even setting aside the fact that the astral plane was just not right, which was not helping! "Maybe we need to try and get a step ahead of him," Nathan ventured. "Figure out where he's-"
He felt and saw the telekinetic shockwave heading for them, but had only an instant to react. A telekinetic shield flared into life around the cockpit, reinforced an instant later by Jean, and he threw the helicopter into a dive, hoping to dodge the worst of it. But it still caught the tail of the aircraft - and tore it right off.
#Shit, shit, shit shit# Jean sent out as the helicopter began to spin. #Nate, put us on the ground...# Already she was reaching out along the direction the blast had come from, trying to pin down Saidullayev's exact location.
Nathan gritted his teeth, fighting with the controls, trying to steady the helicopter telekinetically. But momentum was working against him, as was his choice to dive, instead of climb. #Jean,# he sent, his mental voice strained. #I think we're going down-# Another shockwave came at them, shattering the main rotor.
Jean winced as the blast bounced the helicopter about, throwing her hard into her restraints. #Do we try to land it or do we bail?#
#Too close to the ground to bail-# They were very close to the ground. Nathan felt Jean's TK slide into a seamless union with his as they grasped the damaged helicopter together, trying to slow its momentum.
It would have worked. They'd had both practice and experience between them, doing the same with the Blackbird. But then the next blast hit them, just before the helicopter disappeared into the trees, and sent the aircraft tumbling.
---
#Any crash you can walk away from...# Jean sent as they hiked deeper into the forest, getting away from the wreckage. Although, with her ankle having been twisted in the crash, walking was just about all she could manage without abandoning the ground, and she was leery of doing so - Saidullayev would be able to see the force lines and track them that much more easily.
Nathan was wincing, rotating his shoulder. He'd retrieved his psimitar from the wreckage, and was running a light charge through it, checking to make sure that it was undamaged. He had a sense he was going to need it before too long. #Question is, was he waiting for us, or did he just see a helicopter and take a swipe at it?# They would have given away that it was them, with their efforts to shield the aircraft. Maybe that question didn't really matter, Nathan told himself, shaking his head to shake out the cobwebs. Saidullayev knew they were here now.
#We need a defensible position,# he went on.
#Did you see any high ground? Getting out off these woods would be ideal - too many hiding places for him.#
Not only that, Nathan thought grimly, but too many potential projectiles. He paused to let Jean catch up with him, offering her an arm. #There was a hill, this way - not treed. It might work.#
Jean took the offered arm, and Nathan could feel her thanks, though she was too focused to articulate them. #Lead on, I'll make it. We need to get there before he finds us.#
They almost made it. The break in the trees, the open area beyond, had just become visible when the trees behind them started to rustle. At first, it sounded like wind. But over their shoulders, the lines of force were all too visible, like malevolent fingers running through the canopy mockingly.
Nathan swore. #So much for subtlety,# he said, taking a step away from Jean. #Why don't you fly over there and get yourself set up, and I'll try and lead him to you?# Cracking like gunshots filled the air, except that it was the sound of trees uprooting themselves.
Nodding, Jean lifted herself into the air. #Play bait, sure, but be careful,# she sent to him before shooting off up the hill. It was a good spot, clear view in all directions, plenty of space. It might not be much of an advantage, but they'd take it.
---
"I begin to wonder if you should stay well clear of helicopters, Dayspring." Saidullayev walked calmly through the field of floating trees and rocks, towards the man standing waiting for him, psimitar in hand. Nathan wasn't sure why he hadn't sent any of the would-be projectiles at him just yet, but he wasn't looking a gift horse in the mouth. "You seem to have poor luck with them."
Nathan shrugged. "I seem to have had poor luck in general with you - lately, at least. But the dice have no memory," he said, and the psimitar's blade started to glow as he spun telekinetic energy into new patterns, weaving spirals through Saidullayev's lines of force - ready to pull, and bring it all crashing down.
Saidullayev's pale eyes went distant for a moment, as if he was turning over the comment, trying to figure it out. "... ah. I see. True enough, I suppose. But we do learn from our battles, don't we? We come better-armed." He nodded at the psimitar, and for a moment, there was undisguised jealousy on his face. "She took it away from me, you know. Sent it back to you, when she didn't even know if you would live. When I had defeated you."
"You hadn't earned it," Nathan said, expressionless, although inwardly his mind was racing. Could Saidullayev really care? Had he swallowed Trask's bastardized Askani philosophy to that extent? "Maybe if you beat me again, she'll change her mind. But you don't have any help, this time." He gave the other man a wintry smile. "Personally, I think you're screwed."
"Don't I?" Saidullayev smiled suddenly, an almost friendly expression. "It wasn't you I meant, when I said we come better armed." Still keeping all the projectiles floating, in an effortless display of power, Saidullayev reached into his pocket and came out with a small silver inhaler, holding it up for Nathan to see.
Nathan's eyes went wide. #Jean, he's on Kick!# he sent, and yanked. Some of the would-be projectiles fell. Others didn't. The lines of force were like iron, and Saidullayev's smile only grew.
#Ohhhh, that's not good.# Jean took a deep breath and tapped into the deep reserves of her power, knowing there was no chance they weren't going to need everything and more to win this. Her eyes narrowed as she watched the two men down the hill; Saidullayev either didn't know she was up here or didn't care. Either way, it was time to change that. #Heads up,# she added, firming up the mental link they used when they worked together.
Pushing out with a burst of power she set the air around her to flame, and later, when there was time, she would try to figure out why that had seemed easier than usual. Jean lifted herself into the air once again, to keep the pressure of her ankle, and to make herself more visible - something, it turned out, she didn't really have to try at, as a gust of wind came past and flared the fire out around her like wings. "Saidullayev!" she called out. "You are too cocky by half!"
"Hello, Jean," Saidullayev called back, almost amiably. "I knew you were there, too-" And finally, as she revealed herself, he put his projectiles to work. From large to small, trees to smaller rocks, they moved at ballistic speeds, in unpredictable spiraling patterns that nevertheless seemed to have Nathan and Jean at their heart.
Nathan reacted without conscious thought, splitting his own focus a few dozen ways and trying to counter each push, block each projectile coming at him. A few got through; one was a full-sized tree, and he flung up a shield that barely deflected it.
Jean put her mobility to good use, dodging about to give her as much time as possible to deal with the projectiles one at a time. She wasn't quite fast enough, though; as she smashed a tree apart a rock came hurtling towards her. Jean jerked out of the way... mostly.
"AH!" Pain flared in her arm and she faltered in the air, luckily dropping out of the path of another rock.
Nathan gritted his teeth, feeling the flash of pain down their link. "Hey!" he roared at Saidullayev, knowing that he had to draw his attention, give Jean a chance to regain her balance. "Over here, you brain-damaged asshole - you want a rematch? BRING IT ON!" As Saidullayev turned towards him, Nathan brought the butt of his psimitar down hard against the ground, and let it amplify the telekinetic shockwave, sending it tearing through earth and rock like a deranged earthquake.
Taking deep breaths, Jean cradled her arm to herself, knowing she'd have to lock the pain away for now, deal with it later. Now, while he was distracted by Nathan, she reached out for the last of the projectiles he held, yanking at his lines of force, pulling them out of his pattern and his control.
Saidullayev reeled backwards, clearly staggered. The hand with the inhaler rose to his mouth, and Nathan swore, the flash of TK meant to knock it away coming too late. Saidullayev blinked at him, a tight smile tugging at his features.
"Why not send her away, Nathan?" he invited, the air around him shivering, flashing red. "Let you and I settle this, man to man..."
"The Askani never went in for single combat, you fucking egomaniac," Nathan said coldly, and cut loose with another shockwave. It shattered on Saidullayev's shields, like a wave against a breakwater.
Jean briefly closed her eyes, mind flashing as she thought through their options. Finally she sent to Nathan, #His Askani mental shields won't have been affected by the Kick - that's not his power which is fueling them. We're going to have to work together. Can... This sounds crazy, and is going to hurt like a bitch, but do you think we can funnel both of us through the psimitar again? You use our combined TK to distract him while I try to break through with a telepathic attack.#
"But you know you want to face me," Saidullayev said, and almost casually flipped the next shockwave back upon itself. Nathan staggered back, mind reeling briefly at the feedback and leaving him momentarily unable to form a clear projection to answer Jean. "I nearly killed you, Nathan, the last time we met."
A pause; a malicious smile. "And in case you hadn't figured it out yet... I did kill the old man."
The ability to focus didn't come back - it was, in fact, driven even farther from reach as the words fell into the charged silence, and Nathan's mind turned them over, couldn't find a way to deny what they had to mean...
"You know how easy it is, to cause a stroke. MacInnis didn't see me. I was at the far end of the beach, and all I had to do was reach out..."
Mac, Nathan thought, white-hot anguish blotting out all rational thought. And he exploded. Literally. Blazing patterns of power erupted from the psimitar, and his awareness that this was a tactical situation, that Jean was even there, was less than a memory. He was hurtling through the air, propelled by his own TK, knowing only that he had to smash through Saidullayev's shields, tear through them, tear through him-
Jean didn't hear what Saidullayev said, but she didn't have to; at the moment Nathan understood, she did too through the link, and she didn't even blink as much too bright force lines burst out around him. Her eyes did narrow, though, turning a dark, stormy green as he launched himself towards the madman. "Huh-uh. I don't think so." She actually reached out, the physical gesture a crutch she'd mostly broken away from, but right now she had other things on her mind. Catching at Nathan with her telekinesis she literally ripped him back from his path towards certain death, pulling him up to the top of the hill in seconds. #You wanna fight angry, fine, we fight angry. Doesn't mean we don't fight smart. We both know how to fight through and with the rage, so fucking STOP BEING AN IDIOT! Plan! There is a PLAN and you will FOLLOW IT!#
He actually snarled at her, the tearing grief as fresh as it had been the first day he'd picked up the phone and heard the news from Anika. Mixed with incandescent rage, it wasn't just pushing him to the edge, he was there and over, falling and not caring for one instant that he was.
But he wasn't irrational, or at least wasn't so far gone as to start fighting Jean when Saidullayev was right there. #If the plan's not to kill him, you can GO TO HELL!# Nathan hissed at her as he flung himself down the link, all of his defenses down.
If they were going to do this, there couldn't be any holding back.
#The plan is totally to kill him,# was the last thought which was articulated by Jean as Jean because, as Nathan more or less slammed his mind into hers she locked the two of them together and then there simply wasn't a Jean to articulate thoughts, nor a Nathan to receive them. Rather, now they were together, a JeanandNathan and she didn't have to re-tell him the plan because he knew it as she knew it, and two pairs of eyes with one consciousness behind them turned to glare at Saidullayev. #Now we get to work.#
Saidullayev smiled again as they turned to face him. "That's better," he said.
Or started to, because in the next moment, a tidal wave of red-gold power roared into visible life and crashed over him like the tsunami from San Diego revisited. Except even as it set him spinning through the air and into one of the few still-intact trees, it was drawing back, as if the wave had a mind of its own, pure murderous intent that was locked on him and nothing else.
And everything it touched, it burned.
the purely physical world could not hold them; three dimensions was too confining, too restraining. insufficient. the form which walked, for lack of a better word, down the hill was unidentifiable: long, flame-red hair which crackled and popped in the wind, but eyes blue as the sea. it was tall and slender, but the body inside army fatigues was androgynous, and while the psimitar in it's hand thunked to the ground with each step, it's feet melted down into it. full lips curved into a not-at-all pleasant smile above a jaw which was a little too strong to match the delicate cheekbones, and yet somehow it all meshed cleanly together.
stopping before a massive stone fortress which seemed entirely out of place, the figure reached out towards the door which only existed as they decided it should. all over it was covered in Askani writing, but it seemed somehow false. the lightest knock boomed out across the land and seemed to cause the construction to shiver under the foce. come out come out... don't you want to play anymore?
In the physical world, Saidullayev pushed himself up to his hands and knees, snarling and spitting blood. Waves of fire bent around his shields, and he looked back and forth between Nathan and Jean, his eyes burning with pure hatred as they narrowed. The counterattack was purely physical, and directed at the man holding the psimitar.
Nathan's body was thrown backwards and to the ground, the impact enough that the body armor barely blunted it. For a moment he laid there, before his body rose smoothly from its awkward sprawl, floating up into the air. His expression was blank, empty of all expression, but power crackled through the psimitar, patterns of light moving into the visible spectrum as they wound between his body and Jean's.
Fire and sunlight, spinning together and into something new, something stronger than the sum of its parts. And half the hillside disintegrated in a sudden, immense explosion.
the problem with leaving your psychic defenses up to someone else is, you have no idea we're here, do you? so concerned with pummeling us out there, and you don't even see the great. big. Glaring. HOLE. once again the small, delicate hand lifted up, and when it came down there was a sharp crack of notsound and at the center of the door a small split appeared.
the hand paused before knocking again and lifted up to tap consideringly against red lips for a moment before broad shoulders shrugged faintly. well, maybe not so big. they paused, and then the world seemed to loom as the figure smiled and added, yet.
"NO!" It was a snarling, choked roar as Saidullayev staggered out of the smoke and dust, his shields flaring around him. He stumbled on the rough ground - on the floor of the crater that had been forest, a moment before. A push of telekinesis took him into the air, and he lashed out wildly, whips of TK slashing first at Jean, knocking her out of the air and sending her crashing back to the ground, and then at Nathan. "Get out of my MIND!" he howled, and the ground rumbled beneath them, splitting open.
Nathan and Jean came back to their feet in smooth, eerie unison, as if the telekinetic push to right themselves had been shared out precisely between two bodies. Nathan's face was a mask of blood, but his expression was still eerily calm, his eyes locked on Saidullayev. The psimitar blazed brighter, and Saidullayev stumbled suddenly, clutching at his chest.
#Heart attacks work just as well as strokes,# the voice that was Nathan and Jean at the same time said. #How does it feel to be helpless, Ilyas? You knew once. 'Never again', was that it? So now you do it to others? There's a word for people like you.#
Chechen profanities spilled from Saidullayev's mouth and he fell back to his knees, bringing both fists down hard on the broken ground. The shockwave was nearly the match of the one Nathan and Jean had just manifested in unison, the one that had taken out the hillside. And this time, it was directed right at them.
aw, you want us out. we weep, you know. crocodile tears to go with a crocodile smile... leaning forward the figure whispered into the crack, i'll huff, and at the small exhalation the door shivered and the crack widened, and i'll puff, and now the whole structure shook as the crack reached almost all the way from the 'ground' to the top of the door, and i'll blow your house down. it was no louder, no more emphatic, but now the wind came shrieking from every direction of the astral plane, slaming into the fortress and a spiderweb of cracks formed all along the walls, tracing over the Askani markings.
reaching out, the figure traced along the writing on the door as it spoke. tsk, tsk. whoever did this didn't really understand. believed in false gods. you are not the rock on which tara wants to build her church, ilyas. and as they reached the break through the middle of the door, the finger diverted off the original writing, spelling out other patterns, other meanings, and the cracks shifted out of place, rewrote themselves. and when the finger stoped, the door was gone. there's our glaring big hole, they said, and they smiled, and the fortress shattered.
The hill was gone. The high ground, a great swathe of the forest around it - all of it, gone, leaving behind a deep scar on the face of Wakanda that would never be entirely banished. Within the twice-hollowed crater, there were three still forms, like broken dolls. All three were were battered, bruised - but yet, wrapped in light, elegant spiraling patterns visible to the naked eye.
And one was beginning to move - Saidullayev, dragging himself towards where Nathan lay, inch by painful inch, shuddering at the mental intrusion.
"Kill you," he wheezed, his eyes unfocusing and blood running from his nose and ears. He reached out to grab the front of Nathan's leathers, but even as he did, Nathan stirred, eyes full of fire and sunlight opening as he reached up and grabbed Saidullayev's wrists, bone cracking beneath his telekinetically-enhanced grip.
stepping into the confines of what had been the fortress wasn't like stepping into another world, it was another world: a world of dark jagged edges, heavy forbidding clouds, and barren sweeping plains. not a breath of fresh air blew here, except that which they brought themselves, which swirled close around the figure as they walked along, the psimitar glowing brightly. small dark world for a small dark mind, they muttered, picking their way through the unsteady terrain. come, illyas. no need to hide. plus, it will do you no good.
it would be hard to call the creature who waited for them at the center of the mindscape a man; more a broken wretch, stitched together of disparate pieces of himself, whole other parts missing entirely,
he stood alone on the barren plain, head bowed, clearly lost in thought of himself, not really understanding the nature of this place, or of himself within it. the JeanandNathan looked at him and there was a softening, edges of themselves blurring momentarily, and the voice which came was higher, lighter. Poor Illyas. Did you know you have no heart?
saidullayev's gaze snapped to them, as though finally, really understanding that they were there and he snarled, lunging toward them instinctively.
instantly the JeanandNathan form snapped back, moving past its clear clean lines and into too sharp focus as the psimitar flashed brightly. its other hand reached out to catch the monstrous figure and hold it high, the edges of JeanandNathan so hard they literally cut into Saidullayev's astral self and he screamed. Wrong choice, Saidullayev. You maybe had a chance with that of us which feels sympathy.
In the physical world, telekinetic energy was crackling between Saidullayev and Nathan's body as they grappled, the power eating away at the ground around them. Yet it never quite touched their bodies. Lines of force countered and shunted away, leaving this as close to a physical fight as was possible.
"Why won't you die," Saidullayev wheezed hatefully at the other man, struggling to get his hands around Nathan's throat. The blood was still pouring down his face. "Should be dead - I left you under the ice-" He freed a hand, smashed a glowing fist into Nathan's face.
The blow left him open, and Nathan's blank, glowing eyes narrowed in something close to triumph. A line of telekinetic force snapped back into its intended trajectory, slamming into Saidullayev's chest, fracturing ribs even through the body armor he was wearing. Saidullayev toppled sideways, gasping desperately for air.
Nathan's body rolled away, came swaying back to its feet. Saidullayev lifted himself into the air, an almost unconscious effort to get out of range, but a scream of rage and pain burst from him as a giant, invisible hand closed around his body and slammed him back to the ground, hard. And then did it again.
"You won't beat me," he choked out, the air around his body turning incandescent. "You won't-"
the words boomed through the mindspace with that echoing quality of a non-telepath; action was thought here, and thought was nothing, at least for saidullayev. You're unarmed here, Saidullayev, and so totally out of your league. the large, strong hand holding saidullayev's twisted form up off the ground began to tighten, leaving him writhing and gasping in the air.
X-Men don't kill. it was the same mouth, but now the voice was softer, and the other hand which reached up to craddle ilyas's cheek was slender and elegant. Of course, they continued, as though having a discussion amongst themselves, not even particularly caring about ilyas, sometimes not killing is worse. and the lips smiled again as their free hand moved to rest over the cavity of his chest where there should have been a heart.
and where the right hand cut into him as it tightened, the left simply slid inside; reached in and found the broken paths of memory, the twisted, dark coverings that hid his emotions from himself, and tore through them with all the mercy of a blinding fire. Time for you to know yourself once more, Ilyas. No more hiding in the madness. Know what you have done, and what you have become. Be healed, and suffer for it.
Saidullayev screamed, lines of force going wild and uncontrolled, one slamming into Nathan's body and knocking him back to the ground, others tearing one last time through the earth, like frenzied snakes. Then, as the Chechen telekinetic's body convulsed, they guttered out like streetlights at dawn, power fizzling and dying as the brain producing it shut down.
It wasn't just the telepathic intrusion. Nor was it only a case of pushing his power too far. It was both, and perhaps something more nebulous as well, a mind finally seeing itself for what it was - and turning its face to the wall at last.
The bodies of the other two psis were as still, sprawled on the broken ground as if they, too, had lost a battle. But their minds were still active, still linked together in ways that went so far beyond what was standard - or safe - that those linked to them shuddered, even thousands of miles away.
The JeanandNathan hovered, mostly on the astral, but partly - not, as the air above the three still bodies started to glow softly, part of their substance spilling through the cracks in the world.
#We're right, we suppose,# it said. #X-Men don't kill. But Mac... Father...#
#We remember what it is to return to ourselves to face the truth of what we have done. We remember the pain. He will suffer. The dead do not suffer, and he deserves to suffer.# It was the part of them which enjoyed revenge, which lusted after it, but it surfaced only momentarily before being dismissed, along with Saidullayev himself, from the forefront of the JeanandNathan consciousness.
#There are still things which must be done,# they said. With a brief sigh which echoed through the astral plane they turned their attention to the two bodies lying still. Maneuvering them about more as though they were marionettes, rather than anything with any real connection to the JeanandNathan, their phyiscal bodies were pulled upright, although their feet did not touch the ground. #We're going to be yelled at if we go home. When. When we go home.#
#It will go better for us if we do not lose our team. Where are they?# And in thinking of the others, suddenly they knew, were there alongside each of them, seeing what they saw.
---
Like all good things, all delaying actions eventually came to an end. The problem was the numbers; there were too many of the enemy troops, and not enough X-Men. The different groups were coming together, as had undoubtedly been their plan in the first place, pushing through and onto the main road into the capital despite everything the team and the handful of Wakandan defenders - still mostly police, at this point - could do to stop them. There was still no word on the arrival of the reinforcements that they all still hoped were coming.
By the time Jennie's ad hoc guerilla team managed to regroup at their prearranged rally point - which had been a fairly large house sheltered from the view of the road by a stand of trees, but was now badly damaged by the shelling - the 'bad guys' were just down the road.
Jennie sighed and combed her fingers through her bangs. It was starting to get a little too Butch and Sundance for her tastes. "How's everyone holding up?" she said, peering at both Alex and Zanne.
Zanne shrugged. She'd be better if the enemy soldiers weren't practically breathing down their collective neck. "Aside from the bumps and bruises, I'm okay."
Alex was still a bit out of breath from his fight, but he nodded. The indicator on his suit was significantly less bright then it had been before, obvious thanks to him opening his suit jacket as he caught his breath. "Just momentarily whipped. But I'm still ready to go."
There was some sort of commotion down among the knot of exhausted police at the road. The source of it was perfectly obvious as two familiar figures - one in black leathers, the other towering over everyone around him by better than a foot - were hurriedly passed through and headed towards the house.
"Not a word," T'Challa growled as he and Marius joined them. The Wakanda king's clothes were charred, and although he seemed a little unsteady on his feet, the look in his eyes was intent, utterly focused. "I'm well aware that the front lines are not a safe location. But I believe we're well past that at this point." Gunfire, from down the road, and T'Challa's jaw clenched.
"We're about all the calvary that can be expected, alas," said Marius, rubbing at his slashed-shoulder. "Those still mobile were in shape enough to see to the wounded and not much else, an' Domino's out of it with a broken leg." There was a large hole in the back of his uniform and he winced at the way his muscles folded when he moved his arm across his body. Though steadier than T'Challa, his dark skin had an ashen look.
One of the police officers came running up the laneway; it was Lieutenant Awori, whose team had accompanied Zanne during the search. "They're moving into the city," he reported, looking grim and weary. "Straight down the road."
Zanne pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers. It was inevitable, really. They were going to have to make a stand and hope that they could buy the people in the capital enough time to escape. If they were lucky, they'd be able to get out as well.
"All right. How are we going to do this?"
Jennie realized all eyes were back on her. She sighed. "Right, here's what we're going to do. They can't see us actively stopping them, because hello, international incident. But, um, Squirt? I need to you head over there," she pointed "and see if you can't stop them from there. Rufus, you're with his Majesty. Keep him safe. He's not to be shot, all right? Oh and, Squirt--" Jennie's mouth twitched at the name, and even in spite of the seriousness of the situation she fought to keep from smiling, "no big booms unless there's no other alternative. Emplate, you stay with me. No offense, but you look dinged and between us we have the best range. We'll make our way over there, and if they do come, you and I gotta hold them off without looking like it, okay?"
She cracked her knuckles to stave off some of the tension. "Rufus and Squirt, if it gets too bad fall back and regroup with us. We just gotta keep 'em from getting in. Until the reinforcements get here." If they get here at all. "Good luck guys."
"Cheers for the vote of confidence," Marius remarked as they turned their back on the others. He sighted along the encroaching troops, eyes flicking along the lines. He couldn't help but notice there were very many weapons aimed at them.
"You okay, man?" Jennie said, eyeing him critically. Frankly, Marius looked like hell. Jennie knew she needed him, but he wouldn't do either of them any good if he was really injured. "This isn't a pride issue, I can hold my own if need be."
"No worries. Just do me a favour an' see there's a cart of MREs handy when it's over, eh?" Marius' yellow eyes slitted. "But for now . . ."
It was harder to affect the lines without overt use, but something about gunfire made one significantly less choosey. Clawing a hand to give him a better feel of control, he reached for the nearest gun and twisted. The magazine spontaneously clattered to the ground, the feed warping after it to refuse reinsertion. He immediately repeated the twist with another weapon, which responded to a minor structural defect by falling in half in the wielder's hands. Without pause he turned to the next, a new slick of perspiration already sheening his skin.
Next to him, his partner's movements were much more precise, and graceful. Squinting in concentration, she directed the cascade of red at another knot of soldiers. Ancient weaponry warped and twisted under her guidance, wood cracked and splintered, gun barrels became too hot to grasp, and shoulder straps snapped, causing the gun to fall to the earth where improbably it shattered. Jennie's eyes flicked over to the pulsing mass of red at her left, the lines around Marius made cold sensation spread out along her back. "Fuck, Marius, watch it! Pull back!"
"Trying--" He could see what she was talking about; the air was almost a solid red haze now, and it felt like someone was rubbing tinfoil against his brain. Gritting his teeth, he tried to seize onto an approaching munitions truck in the hopes halting it would either cause a distraction or at least make it a little harder for the troops to reload. He started to pull--
And a bullet sliced across his already-gashed shoulder.
---
The smell of burning rubber and smoking metal was a welcome change of a pace for Alex and he possibly couldn't help the small grin on his face as he carefully burned another trucks tires and sent small blasts at soldiers feet to encourage them from continuing on foot while also maintaining a few strategically placed fires for crowd control. This was easy, stuff he knew and didn't have to think about beyond keeping control.
Nothing like earlier. His thoughts strayed to Amber and if she was all right, as he'd checked her vitals to make sure she was alive before escaping. That had been difficult, the not knowing what to do, to think about his powers beyond just point and shoot. He was still amazed he'd come up with something, having no idea where it had come from. As he blasted one empty truck's engine to create another fire to block an escape route, he wondered if this was what it had been like for Scott for all these years?
--
The effect was like being punched full force in the face, as reality bucked and rippled when Marius lost control. Jennie staggered, trying to keep her balanced as the world snapped back violently. The ricochet spread from the pair, like ripples on a pond from a heavy stone. The munitions truck had its engine blow, and it careered wildly out of control into a truck carrying more soldiers. The men scattered quickly out of the way, and confusion spread as weaponry disintegrated from their hands. Powerlines near the road hissed and sent out showers of sparks before a circuit breaker somewhere blew and the line exploded, causing a still live wire to fall near a jeep with a large gun mounted to the back. The driver swerved and lost control, and hit a bend in the road, causing it to flip completely upside down.
"Fuck," Jennie cried. She ignored the pain in her head, the strain behind her eyeballs that told her something was going to pop very shortly, and pushed back. Flash The driver of the jeep miraculously survived. PullThe downed power line did not catch fire. ShoveTwo trucks carrying loads of soldiers drove off the road but did not flip onto their sides.
The pain of reality reasserting itself was so intense Marius felt more than saw the near-misses. Though he didn't know the specifics of what was being averted, he was almost certain it would have caused an international incident.
"Cheers," he croaked, almost unheard. "Apologies."
Jennie planted her feet, trying to keep up with the lucksnap. It was rather like trying to direct an ocean wave with boat oars, but somehow she kept the worse of the damage to a minimum. But all snaps had a way of curving back around.
Which is why Marius didn't see the ancient white pickup truck that had begun to roll towards him. Its owner usually used it to haul fruit to the market, and after he had fled when the shelling had started, the rust-choked brakes had finally decided to snap.
He wasn't moving, he need to move. From somewhere very far away Jennie saw herself run in front of him, her hands glowing white, and she flung them out and then pulled them to her as the truck hit them both. But something happened, the reality warping leftover from Marius combined with the snap and Jennie's own luck twisted the bounds of reality completely.
The truck shattered against the two young adults, as if they were made of iron and the truck made of matchsticks.
Marius, still seeing halos that had nothing to do with borrowed probability powers, blinked at the rust in his eyes.
"Jen?" he managed. "You just undo a truck?"
Jennie coughed and staggered, almost losing her balance. They were surrounded by parts from the ill-fated vehicle, some still smoking somewhat comedically. "I-I think I did," she croaked. She backed up and leaned on Marius's good shoulder; she had meant to help him up but her head hurt too much. "C'mon, up, we gotta go.. fall back," she coughed again.
Marius nodded. "Indeed," he said vaguely.
Then he let himself throw up.
---
It was possibly a sign of just how out of control the situation had become that the man the X-Men had come to protect, the king of Wakanda - who by all rights should be somewhere safe at the moment, evacuated with the other civilians - was currently running out into gunfire, trying to rescue a group of pinned-down police officers, outnumbered and outgunned by their opponents. T'Challa blurred across the intervening distance, somehow managing to escape additional bullet wounds, and lifted the bullet-ridden jeep, raising it to provide cover for the officers as they retreated.
"Damn it!" Zanne cursed as T'Challa raced past her toward the police officers. She tried followed as closely behind him as possible, but a hail of bullets from the east cut her off. Raising a freeze to shield herself, and tried to pinpoint the source of the gunfire. The mountains offered a multitude of hiding spots for a would-be sniper, and T'Challa had just made himself the prime target on the field.
T'Challa dropped the jeep, turning back to pick up an injured police officer, carrying him to better cover. "Where are our reinforcements?" he roared at the officer in charge, who was on his radio, talking frantically to someone who didn't appear to be feeling all that cooperative. "This is not a long-term solution!" Something smashed through the trees to their left and exploded.
The fireball that exploded in the treeline cast a tortured light over the scene, apparently taking many of the invaders by surprise. Zanne took advantage of their distraction and flung herself toward T'Challa, who seemed oblivious to the men sneaking up behind him. "Look out!"
T'Challa whirled, but as gunfire took down one of the officers beside him, a bullet clipped his arm as well. It sent him stumbling, aborting what had almost certainly been a full-speed charge at the soldiers who had so unexpectedly flanked them.
Zanne flung herself over the downed man and threw a freeze over them. "You idiot! Are you trying to get yourself killed?" The nervous, angry words flowed over her tongue as she tried to work out what to do. "Now I've got to figure out to save your ass without getting both of us ending up dead, and let me tell you that's not looking too good right now." Their position was offered scant protection by the treeline and the overturned jeep, but it wouldn't stand up to heavy fire. What they needed was a distraction. A bullet slid over the protective arc of the freeze, embedding itself in the ground beside them as the realization struck Zanne.
Yes, they needed a distraction fast.
A second T'Challa roared into the field and lifted the bullet ridden Jeep over his head once again. Zanne's head began to swim as the projection played. After a shocked moment, the soldiers seemed to take the bait, not noticing that the actual jeep remained where the King had thrown it. Unsteadily dropping the freeze, she whispered, "Time to haul ass, your Highness."
But T'Challa didn't move. His eyes swept the battlefield, his jaw clenching. "They know who I am. They're targeting me too. It's not just the children," he said, almost under his breath. "It's what Frost said. The business with the astral plane, that I'm a mutant in a position of power, after Apocalypse..." His eyes went to Zanne. "Nathan said this Trask woman can only work with what's there. The fear and the insecurities that are there."
He looked around the battlefield once more, and then nodded to himself. "Yes," he said heavily. "Yes, it's worth trying." And the king of Wakanda got to his feet, walking out very calmly into the crossfire with both arms raised.
And the gunfire from the other side - stopped.
"Fuck." Zanne's breath caught in her throat as she watched the King stride onto the field, ready to martyr himself for his country. She tried to stand, but a wave of dizziness forced her back down and she bowed her head. "Oh, you stupid bastard. You damned, stupid bastard. Do you really think this will end it?"
---
#That is not in the slightest bit acceptable,# the JeanandNathan said, pausing in wary shock at the sight of T'Challa, standing in the open between the two opposing forces, the battle fallen silent around him for a precious few instants. #The king can give his life for his land, we know that, the land knows that, that's part of the agreement. But not today. Not with her pulling the strings.# English slipped into Askani as the psychic gestalt seethed with increasing anger, contemplating the situation. #~Not today.~#
It drifted closer, examining the minds of the soldiers as they reflected on the astral plane. Seeing the patterns pushed out of place in the minds of their commanders, the unmistakable sign of tampering. Of fear and anger heightened, until good sense and obedience to orders, all of it went out the window like so much garbage.
#~A war built on manipulation and lies. Like most wars. But what to do...~#
T'Challa was shouting something to the commander of the rebel troops. An offer to surrender?
#~No!~# The JeanandNathan's voice deepened into a growl of rage. #~No surrender, not to misguided pawns! What does he think he's doing? This is not a Greek tragedy. Look for the tipping point. We need to stop this.~#
There. The man in a Jeep, behind the lines. The others were looking to him, and he was listening to T'Challa. Listening and - shaking his head. Calling back words that didn't matter, because the intent behind them was unmistakable, even before he raised his arm.
Dozens of bullets, flying towards the figure of Wakanda's king. Who didn't move - who stood there, and the JeanandNathan couldn't tell if it was by choice, or because the whole world had begun to move so... very... slowly.
#Is that us, or the world? No, I suppose it doesn't matter.#
The path of each bullet was crystallinely clear, and the JeanandNathan pondered each. Deflect them, stop them dead? Turn them back on those whose fingers had pulled the triggers, to kill a king?
#Misguided,# they conceded. #Not evil. Deserving of a chance to learn better.#
And the bullets hit a telekinetic shield that was suddenly there, burning red-gold to the naked eye, and shielding not just T'Challa but all of the defenders of N'Jadaka. Some of the invaders on the other side kept firing, the evidence of their eyes not catching up just yet with their trained instincts.
#A chance to be taught,# the JeanandNathan said with a judicious sort of savagery. #Yes? Let's. It's only fair. She's right, in the end - it's something to fear. But fear walks hand in hand with awe. With wonder.#
It had been one key moment, back during the tumultuous events of the summer when the whole country had slid onto the astral plane and into a dreamworld that was no less real for being insubstantial. When the battle between the Lion and the Panther for the soul of Wakanda had tipped in the Panther's favor.
And the Panther, freed from its chains, sensing victory, had swelled into immensity. Roared, with a voice that had reached into parts of your soul you didn't know you had.
It was a moment that the Nathan part of the JeanandNathan gestalt would never forget, burned into his memory with the force of the staggering awe behind it.
So they took it, and showed it to the invaders. Made them see it, experience it for themselves. Recreated it, a dose of hyperreality for all the would-be conquerors. The Panther blotted out the sun, its shadow falling over the battlefield.
And roared. Just like before, there were a thousand sounds within the roar, and the NathanandJean remembered together. The massed hoofbeats of gazelle and antelope, the trumpheting call of the elephant. The howl of the wind. Thunder over the mountains.
Plus, something new.
#GET OUT.#
And the soldiers broke and ran.
---
Marius, aching head now additionally throbbing with psychic reverberations, registered the enemies' retreat as one notices a footnote. The world had been loud and red, and now the lines seemed to have calmed. The abrupt shield, the bizarrely conmingled psi-speech, a massive panther appearing in the total absence of alcohol -- logic lay in the assemblage of these elements. But since that was too much work-like, Marius merely turned towards Jennie and voiced what, to him, was the only important question.
"I'm free to sit down now, right?"
The helicopter was nearly out of fuel again, Nathan knew. They'd been flying sweeps around Kanda, trying to find some trace of Saidullayev apart from the devastated army base, but they'd had no luck as of yet, and Nathan wasn't sure what to think about that. Had he moved on? Headed for where the fighting was actually happening, to tip the balance against the Wakandan forces? It would make sense, if taking out the base had been part of a bigger plan... it was so damned hard to know, though, Nathan acknowledged in frustration. Despite all Saidullayev's training and experience, the fact remained that they were dealing with a madman.
"We're going to have to set down soon, refuel again," he told Jean, voice raised over the noise of the helicopter. They'd both been scanning, trying to locate a suspiciously Askani-patterned, non-Wakandan mind, but with the whole country in an uproar, it was like looking for a leaf being carried down a whitewater rafting course. And that was even setting aside the fact that the astral plane was just not right, which was not helping! "Maybe we need to try and get a step ahead of him," Nathan ventured. "Figure out where he's-"
He felt and saw the telekinetic shockwave heading for them, but had only an instant to react. A telekinetic shield flared into life around the cockpit, reinforced an instant later by Jean, and he threw the helicopter into a dive, hoping to dodge the worst of it. But it still caught the tail of the aircraft - and tore it right off.
#Shit, shit, shit shit# Jean sent out as the helicopter began to spin. #Nate, put us on the ground...# Already she was reaching out along the direction the blast had come from, trying to pin down Saidullayev's exact location.
Nathan gritted his teeth, fighting with the controls, trying to steady the helicopter telekinetically. But momentum was working against him, as was his choice to dive, instead of climb. #Jean,# he sent, his mental voice strained. #I think we're going down-# Another shockwave came at them, shattering the main rotor.
Jean winced as the blast bounced the helicopter about, throwing her hard into her restraints. #Do we try to land it or do we bail?#
#Too close to the ground to bail-# They were very close to the ground. Nathan felt Jean's TK slide into a seamless union with his as they grasped the damaged helicopter together, trying to slow its momentum.
It would have worked. They'd had both practice and experience between them, doing the same with the Blackbird. But then the next blast hit them, just before the helicopter disappeared into the trees, and sent the aircraft tumbling.
---
#Any crash you can walk away from...# Jean sent as they hiked deeper into the forest, getting away from the wreckage. Although, with her ankle having been twisted in the crash, walking was just about all she could manage without abandoning the ground, and she was leery of doing so - Saidullayev would be able to see the force lines and track them that much more easily.
Nathan was wincing, rotating his shoulder. He'd retrieved his psimitar from the wreckage, and was running a light charge through it, checking to make sure that it was undamaged. He had a sense he was going to need it before too long. #Question is, was he waiting for us, or did he just see a helicopter and take a swipe at it?# They would have given away that it was them, with their efforts to shield the aircraft. Maybe that question didn't really matter, Nathan told himself, shaking his head to shake out the cobwebs. Saidullayev knew they were here now.
#We need a defensible position,# he went on.
#Did you see any high ground? Getting out off these woods would be ideal - too many hiding places for him.#
Not only that, Nathan thought grimly, but too many potential projectiles. He paused to let Jean catch up with him, offering her an arm. #There was a hill, this way - not treed. It might work.#
Jean took the offered arm, and Nathan could feel her thanks, though she was too focused to articulate them. #Lead on, I'll make it. We need to get there before he finds us.#
They almost made it. The break in the trees, the open area beyond, had just become visible when the trees behind them started to rustle. At first, it sounded like wind. But over their shoulders, the lines of force were all too visible, like malevolent fingers running through the canopy mockingly.
Nathan swore. #So much for subtlety,# he said, taking a step away from Jean. #Why don't you fly over there and get yourself set up, and I'll try and lead him to you?# Cracking like gunshots filled the air, except that it was the sound of trees uprooting themselves.
Nodding, Jean lifted herself into the air. #Play bait, sure, but be careful,# she sent to him before shooting off up the hill. It was a good spot, clear view in all directions, plenty of space. It might not be much of an advantage, but they'd take it.
---
"I begin to wonder if you should stay well clear of helicopters, Dayspring." Saidullayev walked calmly through the field of floating trees and rocks, towards the man standing waiting for him, psimitar in hand. Nathan wasn't sure why he hadn't sent any of the would-be projectiles at him just yet, but he wasn't looking a gift horse in the mouth. "You seem to have poor luck with them."
Nathan shrugged. "I seem to have had poor luck in general with you - lately, at least. But the dice have no memory," he said, and the psimitar's blade started to glow as he spun telekinetic energy into new patterns, weaving spirals through Saidullayev's lines of force - ready to pull, and bring it all crashing down.
Saidullayev's pale eyes went distant for a moment, as if he was turning over the comment, trying to figure it out. "... ah. I see. True enough, I suppose. But we do learn from our battles, don't we? We come better-armed." He nodded at the psimitar, and for a moment, there was undisguised jealousy on his face. "She took it away from me, you know. Sent it back to you, when she didn't even know if you would live. When I had defeated you."
"You hadn't earned it," Nathan said, expressionless, although inwardly his mind was racing. Could Saidullayev really care? Had he swallowed Trask's bastardized Askani philosophy to that extent? "Maybe if you beat me again, she'll change her mind. But you don't have any help, this time." He gave the other man a wintry smile. "Personally, I think you're screwed."
"Don't I?" Saidullayev smiled suddenly, an almost friendly expression. "It wasn't you I meant, when I said we come better armed." Still keeping all the projectiles floating, in an effortless display of power, Saidullayev reached into his pocket and came out with a small silver inhaler, holding it up for Nathan to see.
Nathan's eyes went wide. #Jean, he's on Kick!# he sent, and yanked. Some of the would-be projectiles fell. Others didn't. The lines of force were like iron, and Saidullayev's smile only grew.
#Ohhhh, that's not good.# Jean took a deep breath and tapped into the deep reserves of her power, knowing there was no chance they weren't going to need everything and more to win this. Her eyes narrowed as she watched the two men down the hill; Saidullayev either didn't know she was up here or didn't care. Either way, it was time to change that. #Heads up,# she added, firming up the mental link they used when they worked together.
Pushing out with a burst of power she set the air around her to flame, and later, when there was time, she would try to figure out why that had seemed easier than usual. Jean lifted herself into the air once again, to keep the pressure of her ankle, and to make herself more visible - something, it turned out, she didn't really have to try at, as a gust of wind came past and flared the fire out around her like wings. "Saidullayev!" she called out. "You are too cocky by half!"
"Hello, Jean," Saidullayev called back, almost amiably. "I knew you were there, too-" And finally, as she revealed herself, he put his projectiles to work. From large to small, trees to smaller rocks, they moved at ballistic speeds, in unpredictable spiraling patterns that nevertheless seemed to have Nathan and Jean at their heart.
Nathan reacted without conscious thought, splitting his own focus a few dozen ways and trying to counter each push, block each projectile coming at him. A few got through; one was a full-sized tree, and he flung up a shield that barely deflected it.
Jean put her mobility to good use, dodging about to give her as much time as possible to deal with the projectiles one at a time. She wasn't quite fast enough, though; as she smashed a tree apart a rock came hurtling towards her. Jean jerked out of the way... mostly.
"AH!" Pain flared in her arm and she faltered in the air, luckily dropping out of the path of another rock.
Nathan gritted his teeth, feeling the flash of pain down their link. "Hey!" he roared at Saidullayev, knowing that he had to draw his attention, give Jean a chance to regain her balance. "Over here, you brain-damaged asshole - you want a rematch? BRING IT ON!" As Saidullayev turned towards him, Nathan brought the butt of his psimitar down hard against the ground, and let it amplify the telekinetic shockwave, sending it tearing through earth and rock like a deranged earthquake.
Taking deep breaths, Jean cradled her arm to herself, knowing she'd have to lock the pain away for now, deal with it later. Now, while he was distracted by Nathan, she reached out for the last of the projectiles he held, yanking at his lines of force, pulling them out of his pattern and his control.
Saidullayev reeled backwards, clearly staggered. The hand with the inhaler rose to his mouth, and Nathan swore, the flash of TK meant to knock it away coming too late. Saidullayev blinked at him, a tight smile tugging at his features.
"Why not send her away, Nathan?" he invited, the air around him shivering, flashing red. "Let you and I settle this, man to man..."
"The Askani never went in for single combat, you fucking egomaniac," Nathan said coldly, and cut loose with another shockwave. It shattered on Saidullayev's shields, like a wave against a breakwater.
Jean briefly closed her eyes, mind flashing as she thought through their options. Finally she sent to Nathan, #His Askani mental shields won't have been affected by the Kick - that's not his power which is fueling them. We're going to have to work together. Can... This sounds crazy, and is going to hurt like a bitch, but do you think we can funnel both of us through the psimitar again? You use our combined TK to distract him while I try to break through with a telepathic attack.#
"But you know you want to face me," Saidullayev said, and almost casually flipped the next shockwave back upon itself. Nathan staggered back, mind reeling briefly at the feedback and leaving him momentarily unable to form a clear projection to answer Jean. "I nearly killed you, Nathan, the last time we met."
A pause; a malicious smile. "And in case you hadn't figured it out yet... I did kill the old man."
The ability to focus didn't come back - it was, in fact, driven even farther from reach as the words fell into the charged silence, and Nathan's mind turned them over, couldn't find a way to deny what they had to mean...
"You know how easy it is, to cause a stroke. MacInnis didn't see me. I was at the far end of the beach, and all I had to do was reach out..."
Mac, Nathan thought, white-hot anguish blotting out all rational thought. And he exploded. Literally. Blazing patterns of power erupted from the psimitar, and his awareness that this was a tactical situation, that Jean was even there, was less than a memory. He was hurtling through the air, propelled by his own TK, knowing only that he had to smash through Saidullayev's shields, tear through them, tear through him-
Jean didn't hear what Saidullayev said, but she didn't have to; at the moment Nathan understood, she did too through the link, and she didn't even blink as much too bright force lines burst out around him. Her eyes did narrow, though, turning a dark, stormy green as he launched himself towards the madman. "Huh-uh. I don't think so." She actually reached out, the physical gesture a crutch she'd mostly broken away from, but right now she had other things on her mind. Catching at Nathan with her telekinesis she literally ripped him back from his path towards certain death, pulling him up to the top of the hill in seconds. #You wanna fight angry, fine, we fight angry. Doesn't mean we don't fight smart. We both know how to fight through and with the rage, so fucking STOP BEING AN IDIOT! Plan! There is a PLAN and you will FOLLOW IT!#
He actually snarled at her, the tearing grief as fresh as it had been the first day he'd picked up the phone and heard the news from Anika. Mixed with incandescent rage, it wasn't just pushing him to the edge, he was there and over, falling and not caring for one instant that he was.
But he wasn't irrational, or at least wasn't so far gone as to start fighting Jean when Saidullayev was right there. #If the plan's not to kill him, you can GO TO HELL!# Nathan hissed at her as he flung himself down the link, all of his defenses down.
If they were going to do this, there couldn't be any holding back.
#The plan is totally to kill him,# was the last thought which was articulated by Jean as Jean because, as Nathan more or less slammed his mind into hers she locked the two of them together and then there simply wasn't a Jean to articulate thoughts, nor a Nathan to receive them. Rather, now they were together, a JeanandNathan and she didn't have to re-tell him the plan because he knew it as she knew it, and two pairs of eyes with one consciousness behind them turned to glare at Saidullayev. #Now we get to work.#
Saidullayev smiled again as they turned to face him. "That's better," he said.
Or started to, because in the next moment, a tidal wave of red-gold power roared into visible life and crashed over him like the tsunami from San Diego revisited. Except even as it set him spinning through the air and into one of the few still-intact trees, it was drawing back, as if the wave had a mind of its own, pure murderous intent that was locked on him and nothing else.
And everything it touched, it burned.
the purely physical world could not hold them; three dimensions was too confining, too restraining. insufficient. the form which walked, for lack of a better word, down the hill was unidentifiable: long, flame-red hair which crackled and popped in the wind, but eyes blue as the sea. it was tall and slender, but the body inside army fatigues was androgynous, and while the psimitar in it's hand thunked to the ground with each step, it's feet melted down into it. full lips curved into a not-at-all pleasant smile above a jaw which was a little too strong to match the delicate cheekbones, and yet somehow it all meshed cleanly together.
stopping before a massive stone fortress which seemed entirely out of place, the figure reached out towards the door which only existed as they decided it should. all over it was covered in Askani writing, but it seemed somehow false. the lightest knock boomed out across the land and seemed to cause the construction to shiver under the foce. come out come out... don't you want to play anymore?
In the physical world, Saidullayev pushed himself up to his hands and knees, snarling and spitting blood. Waves of fire bent around his shields, and he looked back and forth between Nathan and Jean, his eyes burning with pure hatred as they narrowed. The counterattack was purely physical, and directed at the man holding the psimitar.
Nathan's body was thrown backwards and to the ground, the impact enough that the body armor barely blunted it. For a moment he laid there, before his body rose smoothly from its awkward sprawl, floating up into the air. His expression was blank, empty of all expression, but power crackled through the psimitar, patterns of light moving into the visible spectrum as they wound between his body and Jean's.
Fire and sunlight, spinning together and into something new, something stronger than the sum of its parts. And half the hillside disintegrated in a sudden, immense explosion.
the problem with leaving your psychic defenses up to someone else is, you have no idea we're here, do you? so concerned with pummeling us out there, and you don't even see the great. big. Glaring. HOLE. once again the small, delicate hand lifted up, and when it came down there was a sharp crack of notsound and at the center of the door a small split appeared.
the hand paused before knocking again and lifted up to tap consideringly against red lips for a moment before broad shoulders shrugged faintly. well, maybe not so big. they paused, and then the world seemed to loom as the figure smiled and added, yet.
"NO!" It was a snarling, choked roar as Saidullayev staggered out of the smoke and dust, his shields flaring around him. He stumbled on the rough ground - on the floor of the crater that had been forest, a moment before. A push of telekinesis took him into the air, and he lashed out wildly, whips of TK slashing first at Jean, knocking her out of the air and sending her crashing back to the ground, and then at Nathan. "Get out of my MIND!" he howled, and the ground rumbled beneath them, splitting open.
Nathan and Jean came back to their feet in smooth, eerie unison, as if the telekinetic push to right themselves had been shared out precisely between two bodies. Nathan's face was a mask of blood, but his expression was still eerily calm, his eyes locked on Saidullayev. The psimitar blazed brighter, and Saidullayev stumbled suddenly, clutching at his chest.
#Heart attacks work just as well as strokes,# the voice that was Nathan and Jean at the same time said. #How does it feel to be helpless, Ilyas? You knew once. 'Never again', was that it? So now you do it to others? There's a word for people like you.#
Chechen profanities spilled from Saidullayev's mouth and he fell back to his knees, bringing both fists down hard on the broken ground. The shockwave was nearly the match of the one Nathan and Jean had just manifested in unison, the one that had taken out the hillside. And this time, it was directed right at them.
aw, you want us out. we weep, you know. crocodile tears to go with a crocodile smile... leaning forward the figure whispered into the crack, i'll huff, and at the small exhalation the door shivered and the crack widened, and i'll puff, and now the whole structure shook as the crack reached almost all the way from the 'ground' to the top of the door, and i'll blow your house down. it was no louder, no more emphatic, but now the wind came shrieking from every direction of the astral plane, slaming into the fortress and a spiderweb of cracks formed all along the walls, tracing over the Askani markings.
reaching out, the figure traced along the writing on the door as it spoke. tsk, tsk. whoever did this didn't really understand. believed in false gods. you are not the rock on which tara wants to build her church, ilyas. and as they reached the break through the middle of the door, the finger diverted off the original writing, spelling out other patterns, other meanings, and the cracks shifted out of place, rewrote themselves. and when the finger stoped, the door was gone. there's our glaring big hole, they said, and they smiled, and the fortress shattered.
The hill was gone. The high ground, a great swathe of the forest around it - all of it, gone, leaving behind a deep scar on the face of Wakanda that would never be entirely banished. Within the twice-hollowed crater, there were three still forms, like broken dolls. All three were were battered, bruised - but yet, wrapped in light, elegant spiraling patterns visible to the naked eye.
And one was beginning to move - Saidullayev, dragging himself towards where Nathan lay, inch by painful inch, shuddering at the mental intrusion.
"Kill you," he wheezed, his eyes unfocusing and blood running from his nose and ears. He reached out to grab the front of Nathan's leathers, but even as he did, Nathan stirred, eyes full of fire and sunlight opening as he reached up and grabbed Saidullayev's wrists, bone cracking beneath his telekinetically-enhanced grip.
stepping into the confines of what had been the fortress wasn't like stepping into another world, it was another world: a world of dark jagged edges, heavy forbidding clouds, and barren sweeping plains. not a breath of fresh air blew here, except that which they brought themselves, which swirled close around the figure as they walked along, the psimitar glowing brightly. small dark world for a small dark mind, they muttered, picking their way through the unsteady terrain. come, illyas. no need to hide. plus, it will do you no good.
it would be hard to call the creature who waited for them at the center of the mindscape a man; more a broken wretch, stitched together of disparate pieces of himself, whole other parts missing entirely,
he stood alone on the barren plain, head bowed, clearly lost in thought of himself, not really understanding the nature of this place, or of himself within it. the JeanandNathan looked at him and there was a softening, edges of themselves blurring momentarily, and the voice which came was higher, lighter. Poor Illyas. Did you know you have no heart?
saidullayev's gaze snapped to them, as though finally, really understanding that they were there and he snarled, lunging toward them instinctively.
instantly the JeanandNathan form snapped back, moving past its clear clean lines and into too sharp focus as the psimitar flashed brightly. its other hand reached out to catch the monstrous figure and hold it high, the edges of JeanandNathan so hard they literally cut into Saidullayev's astral self and he screamed. Wrong choice, Saidullayev. You maybe had a chance with that of us which feels sympathy.
In the physical world, telekinetic energy was crackling between Saidullayev and Nathan's body as they grappled, the power eating away at the ground around them. Yet it never quite touched their bodies. Lines of force countered and shunted away, leaving this as close to a physical fight as was possible.
"Why won't you die," Saidullayev wheezed hatefully at the other man, struggling to get his hands around Nathan's throat. The blood was still pouring down his face. "Should be dead - I left you under the ice-" He freed a hand, smashed a glowing fist into Nathan's face.
The blow left him open, and Nathan's blank, glowing eyes narrowed in something close to triumph. A line of telekinetic force snapped back into its intended trajectory, slamming into Saidullayev's chest, fracturing ribs even through the body armor he was wearing. Saidullayev toppled sideways, gasping desperately for air.
Nathan's body rolled away, came swaying back to its feet. Saidullayev lifted himself into the air, an almost unconscious effort to get out of range, but a scream of rage and pain burst from him as a giant, invisible hand closed around his body and slammed him back to the ground, hard. And then did it again.
"You won't beat me," he choked out, the air around his body turning incandescent. "You won't-"
the words boomed through the mindspace with that echoing quality of a non-telepath; action was thought here, and thought was nothing, at least for saidullayev. You're unarmed here, Saidullayev, and so totally out of your league. the large, strong hand holding saidullayev's twisted form up off the ground began to tighten, leaving him writhing and gasping in the air.
X-Men don't kill. it was the same mouth, but now the voice was softer, and the other hand which reached up to craddle ilyas's cheek was slender and elegant. Of course, they continued, as though having a discussion amongst themselves, not even particularly caring about ilyas, sometimes not killing is worse. and the lips smiled again as their free hand moved to rest over the cavity of his chest where there should have been a heart.
and where the right hand cut into him as it tightened, the left simply slid inside; reached in and found the broken paths of memory, the twisted, dark coverings that hid his emotions from himself, and tore through them with all the mercy of a blinding fire. Time for you to know yourself once more, Ilyas. No more hiding in the madness. Know what you have done, and what you have become. Be healed, and suffer for it.
Saidullayev screamed, lines of force going wild and uncontrolled, one slamming into Nathan's body and knocking him back to the ground, others tearing one last time through the earth, like frenzied snakes. Then, as the Chechen telekinetic's body convulsed, they guttered out like streetlights at dawn, power fizzling and dying as the brain producing it shut down.
It wasn't just the telepathic intrusion. Nor was it only a case of pushing his power too far. It was both, and perhaps something more nebulous as well, a mind finally seeing itself for what it was - and turning its face to the wall at last.
The bodies of the other two psis were as still, sprawled on the broken ground as if they, too, had lost a battle. But their minds were still active, still linked together in ways that went so far beyond what was standard - or safe - that those linked to them shuddered, even thousands of miles away.
The JeanandNathan hovered, mostly on the astral, but partly - not, as the air above the three still bodies started to glow softly, part of their substance spilling through the cracks in the world.
#We're right, we suppose,# it said. #X-Men don't kill. But Mac... Father...#
#We remember what it is to return to ourselves to face the truth of what we have done. We remember the pain. He will suffer. The dead do not suffer, and he deserves to suffer.# It was the part of them which enjoyed revenge, which lusted after it, but it surfaced only momentarily before being dismissed, along with Saidullayev himself, from the forefront of the JeanandNathan consciousness.
#There are still things which must be done,# they said. With a brief sigh which echoed through the astral plane they turned their attention to the two bodies lying still. Maneuvering them about more as though they were marionettes, rather than anything with any real connection to the JeanandNathan, their phyiscal bodies were pulled upright, although their feet did not touch the ground. #We're going to be yelled at if we go home. When. When we go home.#
#It will go better for us if we do not lose our team. Where are they?# And in thinking of the others, suddenly they knew, were there alongside each of them, seeing what they saw.
---
Like all good things, all delaying actions eventually came to an end. The problem was the numbers; there were too many of the enemy troops, and not enough X-Men. The different groups were coming together, as had undoubtedly been their plan in the first place, pushing through and onto the main road into the capital despite everything the team and the handful of Wakandan defenders - still mostly police, at this point - could do to stop them. There was still no word on the arrival of the reinforcements that they all still hoped were coming.
By the time Jennie's ad hoc guerilla team managed to regroup at their prearranged rally point - which had been a fairly large house sheltered from the view of the road by a stand of trees, but was now badly damaged by the shelling - the 'bad guys' were just down the road.
Jennie sighed and combed her fingers through her bangs. It was starting to get a little too Butch and Sundance for her tastes. "How's everyone holding up?" she said, peering at both Alex and Zanne.
Zanne shrugged. She'd be better if the enemy soldiers weren't practically breathing down their collective neck. "Aside from the bumps and bruises, I'm okay."
Alex was still a bit out of breath from his fight, but he nodded. The indicator on his suit was significantly less bright then it had been before, obvious thanks to him opening his suit jacket as he caught his breath. "Just momentarily whipped. But I'm still ready to go."
There was some sort of commotion down among the knot of exhausted police at the road. The source of it was perfectly obvious as two familiar figures - one in black leathers, the other towering over everyone around him by better than a foot - were hurriedly passed through and headed towards the house.
"Not a word," T'Challa growled as he and Marius joined them. The Wakanda king's clothes were charred, and although he seemed a little unsteady on his feet, the look in his eyes was intent, utterly focused. "I'm well aware that the front lines are not a safe location. But I believe we're well past that at this point." Gunfire, from down the road, and T'Challa's jaw clenched.
"We're about all the calvary that can be expected, alas," said Marius, rubbing at his slashed-shoulder. "Those still mobile were in shape enough to see to the wounded and not much else, an' Domino's out of it with a broken leg." There was a large hole in the back of his uniform and he winced at the way his muscles folded when he moved his arm across his body. Though steadier than T'Challa, his dark skin had an ashen look.
One of the police officers came running up the laneway; it was Lieutenant Awori, whose team had accompanied Zanne during the search. "They're moving into the city," he reported, looking grim and weary. "Straight down the road."
Zanne pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers. It was inevitable, really. They were going to have to make a stand and hope that they could buy the people in the capital enough time to escape. If they were lucky, they'd be able to get out as well.
"All right. How are we going to do this?"
Jennie realized all eyes were back on her. She sighed. "Right, here's what we're going to do. They can't see us actively stopping them, because hello, international incident. But, um, Squirt? I need to you head over there," she pointed "and see if you can't stop them from there. Rufus, you're with his Majesty. Keep him safe. He's not to be shot, all right? Oh and, Squirt--" Jennie's mouth twitched at the name, and even in spite of the seriousness of the situation she fought to keep from smiling, "no big booms unless there's no other alternative. Emplate, you stay with me. No offense, but you look dinged and between us we have the best range. We'll make our way over there, and if they do come, you and I gotta hold them off without looking like it, okay?"
She cracked her knuckles to stave off some of the tension. "Rufus and Squirt, if it gets too bad fall back and regroup with us. We just gotta keep 'em from getting in. Until the reinforcements get here." If they get here at all. "Good luck guys."
"Cheers for the vote of confidence," Marius remarked as they turned their back on the others. He sighted along the encroaching troops, eyes flicking along the lines. He couldn't help but notice there were very many weapons aimed at them.
"You okay, man?" Jennie said, eyeing him critically. Frankly, Marius looked like hell. Jennie knew she needed him, but he wouldn't do either of them any good if he was really injured. "This isn't a pride issue, I can hold my own if need be."
"No worries. Just do me a favour an' see there's a cart of MREs handy when it's over, eh?" Marius' yellow eyes slitted. "But for now . . ."
It was harder to affect the lines without overt use, but something about gunfire made one significantly less choosey. Clawing a hand to give him a better feel of control, he reached for the nearest gun and twisted. The magazine spontaneously clattered to the ground, the feed warping after it to refuse reinsertion. He immediately repeated the twist with another weapon, which responded to a minor structural defect by falling in half in the wielder's hands. Without pause he turned to the next, a new slick of perspiration already sheening his skin.
Next to him, his partner's movements were much more precise, and graceful. Squinting in concentration, she directed the cascade of red at another knot of soldiers. Ancient weaponry warped and twisted under her guidance, wood cracked and splintered, gun barrels became too hot to grasp, and shoulder straps snapped, causing the gun to fall to the earth where improbably it shattered. Jennie's eyes flicked over to the pulsing mass of red at her left, the lines around Marius made cold sensation spread out along her back. "Fuck, Marius, watch it! Pull back!"
"Trying--" He could see what she was talking about; the air was almost a solid red haze now, and it felt like someone was rubbing tinfoil against his brain. Gritting his teeth, he tried to seize onto an approaching munitions truck in the hopes halting it would either cause a distraction or at least make it a little harder for the troops to reload. He started to pull--
And a bullet sliced across his already-gashed shoulder.
---
The smell of burning rubber and smoking metal was a welcome change of a pace for Alex and he possibly couldn't help the small grin on his face as he carefully burned another trucks tires and sent small blasts at soldiers feet to encourage them from continuing on foot while also maintaining a few strategically placed fires for crowd control. This was easy, stuff he knew and didn't have to think about beyond keeping control.
Nothing like earlier. His thoughts strayed to Amber and if she was all right, as he'd checked her vitals to make sure she was alive before escaping. That had been difficult, the not knowing what to do, to think about his powers beyond just point and shoot. He was still amazed he'd come up with something, having no idea where it had come from. As he blasted one empty truck's engine to create another fire to block an escape route, he wondered if this was what it had been like for Scott for all these years?
--
The effect was like being punched full force in the face, as reality bucked and rippled when Marius lost control. Jennie staggered, trying to keep her balanced as the world snapped back violently. The ricochet spread from the pair, like ripples on a pond from a heavy stone. The munitions truck had its engine blow, and it careered wildly out of control into a truck carrying more soldiers. The men scattered quickly out of the way, and confusion spread as weaponry disintegrated from their hands. Powerlines near the road hissed and sent out showers of sparks before a circuit breaker somewhere blew and the line exploded, causing a still live wire to fall near a jeep with a large gun mounted to the back. The driver swerved and lost control, and hit a bend in the road, causing it to flip completely upside down.
"Fuck," Jennie cried. She ignored the pain in her head, the strain behind her eyeballs that told her something was going to pop very shortly, and pushed back. Flash The driver of the jeep miraculously survived. PullThe downed power line did not catch fire. ShoveTwo trucks carrying loads of soldiers drove off the road but did not flip onto their sides.
The pain of reality reasserting itself was so intense Marius felt more than saw the near-misses. Though he didn't know the specifics of what was being averted, he was almost certain it would have caused an international incident.
"Cheers," he croaked, almost unheard. "Apologies."
Jennie planted her feet, trying to keep up with the lucksnap. It was rather like trying to direct an ocean wave with boat oars, but somehow she kept the worse of the damage to a minimum. But all snaps had a way of curving back around.
Which is why Marius didn't see the ancient white pickup truck that had begun to roll towards him. Its owner usually used it to haul fruit to the market, and after he had fled when the shelling had started, the rust-choked brakes had finally decided to snap.
He wasn't moving, he need to move. From somewhere very far away Jennie saw herself run in front of him, her hands glowing white, and she flung them out and then pulled them to her as the truck hit them both. But something happened, the reality warping leftover from Marius combined with the snap and Jennie's own luck twisted the bounds of reality completely.
The truck shattered against the two young adults, as if they were made of iron and the truck made of matchsticks.
Marius, still seeing halos that had nothing to do with borrowed probability powers, blinked at the rust in his eyes.
"Jen?" he managed. "You just undo a truck?"
Jennie coughed and staggered, almost losing her balance. They were surrounded by parts from the ill-fated vehicle, some still smoking somewhat comedically. "I-I think I did," she croaked. She backed up and leaned on Marius's good shoulder; she had meant to help him up but her head hurt too much. "C'mon, up, we gotta go.. fall back," she coughed again.
Marius nodded. "Indeed," he said vaguely.
Then he let himself throw up.
---
It was possibly a sign of just how out of control the situation had become that the man the X-Men had come to protect, the king of Wakanda - who by all rights should be somewhere safe at the moment, evacuated with the other civilians - was currently running out into gunfire, trying to rescue a group of pinned-down police officers, outnumbered and outgunned by their opponents. T'Challa blurred across the intervening distance, somehow managing to escape additional bullet wounds, and lifted the bullet-ridden jeep, raising it to provide cover for the officers as they retreated.
"Damn it!" Zanne cursed as T'Challa raced past her toward the police officers. She tried followed as closely behind him as possible, but a hail of bullets from the east cut her off. Raising a freeze to shield herself, and tried to pinpoint the source of the gunfire. The mountains offered a multitude of hiding spots for a would-be sniper, and T'Challa had just made himself the prime target on the field.
T'Challa dropped the jeep, turning back to pick up an injured police officer, carrying him to better cover. "Where are our reinforcements?" he roared at the officer in charge, who was on his radio, talking frantically to someone who didn't appear to be feeling all that cooperative. "This is not a long-term solution!" Something smashed through the trees to their left and exploded.
The fireball that exploded in the treeline cast a tortured light over the scene, apparently taking many of the invaders by surprise. Zanne took advantage of their distraction and flung herself toward T'Challa, who seemed oblivious to the men sneaking up behind him. "Look out!"
T'Challa whirled, but as gunfire took down one of the officers beside him, a bullet clipped his arm as well. It sent him stumbling, aborting what had almost certainly been a full-speed charge at the soldiers who had so unexpectedly flanked them.
Zanne flung herself over the downed man and threw a freeze over them. "You idiot! Are you trying to get yourself killed?" The nervous, angry words flowed over her tongue as she tried to work out what to do. "Now I've got to figure out to save your ass without getting both of us ending up dead, and let me tell you that's not looking too good right now." Their position was offered scant protection by the treeline and the overturned jeep, but it wouldn't stand up to heavy fire. What they needed was a distraction. A bullet slid over the protective arc of the freeze, embedding itself in the ground beside them as the realization struck Zanne.
Yes, they needed a distraction fast.
A second T'Challa roared into the field and lifted the bullet ridden Jeep over his head once again. Zanne's head began to swim as the projection played. After a shocked moment, the soldiers seemed to take the bait, not noticing that the actual jeep remained where the King had thrown it. Unsteadily dropping the freeze, she whispered, "Time to haul ass, your Highness."
But T'Challa didn't move. His eyes swept the battlefield, his jaw clenching. "They know who I am. They're targeting me too. It's not just the children," he said, almost under his breath. "It's what Frost said. The business with the astral plane, that I'm a mutant in a position of power, after Apocalypse..." His eyes went to Zanne. "Nathan said this Trask woman can only work with what's there. The fear and the insecurities that are there."
He looked around the battlefield once more, and then nodded to himself. "Yes," he said heavily. "Yes, it's worth trying." And the king of Wakanda got to his feet, walking out very calmly into the crossfire with both arms raised.
And the gunfire from the other side - stopped.
"Fuck." Zanne's breath caught in her throat as she watched the King stride onto the field, ready to martyr himself for his country. She tried to stand, but a wave of dizziness forced her back down and she bowed her head. "Oh, you stupid bastard. You damned, stupid bastard. Do you really think this will end it?"
---
#That is not in the slightest bit acceptable,# the JeanandNathan said, pausing in wary shock at the sight of T'Challa, standing in the open between the two opposing forces, the battle fallen silent around him for a precious few instants. #The king can give his life for his land, we know that, the land knows that, that's part of the agreement. But not today. Not with her pulling the strings.# English slipped into Askani as the psychic gestalt seethed with increasing anger, contemplating the situation. #~Not today.~#
It drifted closer, examining the minds of the soldiers as they reflected on the astral plane. Seeing the patterns pushed out of place in the minds of their commanders, the unmistakable sign of tampering. Of fear and anger heightened, until good sense and obedience to orders, all of it went out the window like so much garbage.
#~A war built on manipulation and lies. Like most wars. But what to do...~#
T'Challa was shouting something to the commander of the rebel troops. An offer to surrender?
#~No!~# The JeanandNathan's voice deepened into a growl of rage. #~No surrender, not to misguided pawns! What does he think he's doing? This is not a Greek tragedy. Look for the tipping point. We need to stop this.~#
There. The man in a Jeep, behind the lines. The others were looking to him, and he was listening to T'Challa. Listening and - shaking his head. Calling back words that didn't matter, because the intent behind them was unmistakable, even before he raised his arm.
Dozens of bullets, flying towards the figure of Wakanda's king. Who didn't move - who stood there, and the JeanandNathan couldn't tell if it was by choice, or because the whole world had begun to move so... very... slowly.
#Is that us, or the world? No, I suppose it doesn't matter.#
The path of each bullet was crystallinely clear, and the JeanandNathan pondered each. Deflect them, stop them dead? Turn them back on those whose fingers had pulled the triggers, to kill a king?
#Misguided,# they conceded. #Not evil. Deserving of a chance to learn better.#
And the bullets hit a telekinetic shield that was suddenly there, burning red-gold to the naked eye, and shielding not just T'Challa but all of the defenders of N'Jadaka. Some of the invaders on the other side kept firing, the evidence of their eyes not catching up just yet with their trained instincts.
#A chance to be taught,# the JeanandNathan said with a judicious sort of savagery. #Yes? Let's. It's only fair. She's right, in the end - it's something to fear. But fear walks hand in hand with awe. With wonder.#
It had been one key moment, back during the tumultuous events of the summer when the whole country had slid onto the astral plane and into a dreamworld that was no less real for being insubstantial. When the battle between the Lion and the Panther for the soul of Wakanda had tipped in the Panther's favor.
And the Panther, freed from its chains, sensing victory, had swelled into immensity. Roared, with a voice that had reached into parts of your soul you didn't know you had.
It was a moment that the Nathan part of the JeanandNathan gestalt would never forget, burned into his memory with the force of the staggering awe behind it.
So they took it, and showed it to the invaders. Made them see it, experience it for themselves. Recreated it, a dose of hyperreality for all the would-be conquerors. The Panther blotted out the sun, its shadow falling over the battlefield.
And roared. Just like before, there were a thousand sounds within the roar, and the NathanandJean remembered together. The massed hoofbeats of gazelle and antelope, the trumpheting call of the elephant. The howl of the wind. Thunder over the mountains.
Plus, something new.
#GET OUT.#
And the soldiers broke and ran.
---
Marius, aching head now additionally throbbing with psychic reverberations, registered the enemies' retreat as one notices a footnote. The world had been loud and red, and now the lines seemed to have calmed. The abrupt shield, the bizarrely conmingled psi-speech, a massive panther appearing in the total absence of alcohol -- logic lay in the assemblage of these elements. But since that was too much work-like, Marius merely turned towards Jennie and voiced what, to him, was the only important question.
"I'm free to sit down now, right?"
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