Tales of Magik: Imus ad Infernum circle 1
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xp_logsIllyana makes a tactical error when stealing chocolate bars via teleportation, and ends up dragging half a dozen others with her to Limbo.
Miles had fifteen minutes until his Danger Room session. That was more that enough time to grab a snack, get to the locker room to change into his uniform, and make it in time to training. He fiddled with his web-shooters as he entered the main kitchen, idly noticing how unusually crowded it was. He searched through the pantry, hoping someone had gone grocery shopping recently, and hooted when he discovered a protein bar.
"All right, fake-healthy cookie dough," he said triumphantly as he unwrapped it, and then waved at the first person he saw at the table. "Gabo, hola."
"Yo." Gabriel, gripped by a messaging exchange that was heading toward erotic territory, barely looked up from his phone. "How's it going?" He tapped furiously before flipping his phone face-down and reaching for a mug of spiked cocoa he'd made earlier. "You seem peppy." He glanced briefly at Miles's hands before peering into the cup, a bit disarmed to find it empty. He'd clearly been perched in the kitchen longer than he'd thought.
Nothing that couldn't be fixed. He stood, wincing at the stiffness of his muscles. "And that's definitely mine," he observed, looking again at Miles's unwrapped snack. With his powers activated, he snatched the protein bar from Miles's hands on his way to the sink.
The kitchen, unfortunately, was closer to the library than Topaz's empty suite, which meant it was easier to go there for her afternoon tea. She ignored both guys as she walked in, heading for the usual cabinet. The tea was high up - normally she would ask for help or just climb on the counter, but today she paused, frowning. She flicked her finger, and the box of tea bags seemed to dance out of the cabinet on its own. A faint smile pulled at Topaz's lips, and with another flick of the finger a tea pot was making its way to the sink. Abusing magic was a bit broad after everything that happened. She could have some fun.
The cabinets next to Topaz opened, and slender fingers danced in front of them, while a tall, rangey Korean boy stuck his tongue out in concentration. Did he require Doritos or plain corn chips? Or was he feeling sassy and did he want ruffles? Ruffles did have ridges? Oh hell. Why not all. He was, after all, a machine on a mission. A crunchy, salty, mission. Amadeus pulled all three family sized bags off the shelf, shoving one in his mouth. If one were to see him in the halls, he would look the very picture of innocence. He could be delivering chips to hungry mutants in need. No one need know he was the hungry mutant in need. Singular.
"Full kitchen today, aye?" Rahne said cheerfully, bouncing into the kitchen with an armful of books and her winter jacket. She'd been in the process of changing places to study in and while she'd determined the kitchen was too busy before she even got in there, at least she could grab a few snack. "Ohh, dancing teapot, I'm right in time for the show." Dodging the giant walking mountain of chips, she started to search for the jerky. And donuts.
Warren had been ignoring everyone in the kitchen. After a marathon proposal review, he'd found himself awake and craving banana bread. With an apron firmly on, over his business suit, he was tapping his elbows impatiently as he watched the bread rise in the oven. Why oh why did he want the one thing that took an hour to cook? Why couldn't it be cookies, or churros or something quick and easy? Sighing heavily, he leaned against the counter and waited some more. He could almost taste the soft, spongy crumb...the flecks of chocolate swirled in..the crunch of the walnuts...damnit, why wasn't his mutant power time dilation?!
In the midst of the usual kitchen chaos, Illyana had wandered in; although she looked like she was just browsing, she'd watched Miles pilfer through the pantry with narrowed eyes, and frozen in near-panic when Amadeus opened the cabinets. She even kept her eyes on Rahne, although Rahne could always be reasoned with. She finally, finally made it to the pantry, casually avoiding Warren and Gabriel and not-casually avoiding Topaz, whose magic was making the hairs on her arms stand up in alarm.
There it was, nestled between some large boxes of instant oatmeal and a pack of paper towels: Beautiful, unopened, pristine. An entire box of chocolate bars. 48 giant-size chocolate bars, which was more than enough to see her through the two weeks of detention she'd gotten for skipping gym in January. Maybe even enough to see her through whatever happened when you kept skipping it in February.
Some instinct, honed by years of wilderness living and hard times, made Illyana glance behind her, and then back to the box, dismayed. Its main appeal was also its biggest flaw: It was too big. She was never going to get it past all these people without someone noticing, and then she'd have to have the conversation with the shrink again where they talked about how she wasn't going to run out of food, sweetie, and maybe we can work on these hoarding instincts of yours - well, it wasn't so much a conversation as an increasingly desperate monologue delivered to an unappreciative audience, but it was boring and Illyana usually entertained herself with that lady by making up stories about life on the street, not talking about the stupid stuff the lady always wanted to talk about.
So that was it: She needed these, and these people were making it impossible for her to get them. Standing in the pantry, in that moment, she realized all over again how unfair life was.
But then, glancing back at the dancing teapot, inspiration struck her. She'd never done it before, but that was because she viewed powers training as extra gym class and therefore an unpleasant activity only to be undertaken when absolutely unavoidable. It didn't mean it couldn't be done. Of course it could. It was, what? Thirty seconds' walk to her bedroom? And then she could just stroll out of the kitchen, heist accomplished, with no one the wiser. Easy.
This was her last thought before several things happened at once: A small circle of light flickered unsteadily underneath the box and a bag of sugar floated off the shelf above it. Then, the circle of light pulsed and flared out, far past the boundaries of the pantry, enveloping the entire kitchen.
When the light faded, everyone was gone.
*
Her mouth tasted like ashes. Illyana woke up and already knew where she was; that taste of dread and nausea and home only ever meant one thing, one place. She closed her eyes and pushed herself up on one arm with what felt like an incredible effort, dropping back down halfway through and having to force herself back up, because she was here, back here, and you didn't survive if you lay around sleeping out in the open.
"Here" was not a place familiar at all to Miles. A dark, cold, empty wasteland. The only people he could see were those who had been in the kitchen with him. Yet his skin turned to goose flesh and the klaxon in his head blared to warn him of an ever-present but apparently lethal danger. He spun around, trying to identify whatever was trying to kill him, but he saw nothing.
The effect was not unlike a glass breaking. A quick mental scream violently cut off. The sensation of tearing, and then... somewhere else. That somewhere else did something to the boy called Amadeus. There was a quick shudder that ran through him and he dropped his bags. His pupils dilated, pinhole to black to pinhole to black, not unlike a lens focusing. And his head tilted slowly, back and forth robotically. His features eerily calm.
When he looked up, someone else looked through his eyes. He surveyed the landscape, and the people around him, like they were strangers.
"Oh bloody hell, not again!!" Rahne cried as she scrambled to her feet, what she'd had in her hands dropping to the ground in her panic. She turned in a circle in an attempt to take it all in but her brain was short circuiting at the moment, so she sat with a thump. If she didn't calm down, she'd wolf out and it didn't look like there was a clothing store anywhere near them where she could get a new sweatshirt if that happened. "That's it, I'm moving back to Scotland."
What. The. Hell.
Topaz lifted her head slowly, looking around. She wasn't sure whether she wanted to scream, cry, or laugh hysterically. Of course. Of course. She dropped her shields enough to extend her mind, feeling around for anyone else. But the only thing she could find were the panicked, worried, scared thoughts of the people who had ended up here with them. One of them felt weird, but she didn't probe it too much. Everyone handled being thrown into another dimension differently, after all.
As Gabriel scanned his new surroundings, his eyes met Topaz's for the briefest of moments, and he wondered if she was thinking what he was.
Not again. The thought kept echoing, pinging through his brain. Not again, not again, not again. It came with a nauseous feeling in his stomach, though whether that stemmed from the fear or the abrupt displacement was hard to say. He thought he remembered that queasiness from the last time. From Xorn. Or maybe he was just reaching.
Well, at least he felt prepared for this kind of thing. Almost uniquely so, if he wanted to flatter himself that much. And so Gabriel brushed himself off and tentatively stood, because he knew from experience that being catatonic was useless in situations like these.
"Okay." He again scanned his surroundings, taking particular notice of the members of their rag-tag group. "This is fucked, but I don't think we have time for 'this is fucked.'" God, he sounded so rational, all things considered. How was that possible? Everyone else looked more dazed, more panicked. And then there was Illyana. His gaze lingered a bit longer on her as he tried to interpret the expression on her face. Something about it looked familiar, and he couldn't bear to contemplate that, so he looked off into what he thought ought to be the horizon. "Somebody else say something now so I know this isn't a fever dream."
"My banana bread is going to burn." Warren was very unimpressed with that. Glancing around the landscape, he frowned deeply, and reached down into the pockets of his apron. A rolling pin, a silicone over mitt, a knife and a banana peel were all he could find. He gingerly fished out the banana peel and dropped it on the ground. His brain was trying to process exactly what had happened to him, but the only thing that kept coming to mind is how he was woefully unprepared for this. "No one step on that peel. If someone falls, there doesn't appear to be medical assistance, and it would be just our luck to have a Looney Tunes moment."
Just as Illyana made it to her feet - her vision wavered but ultimately held, as did her legs - a noise came from a small, scrubby outcropping of rocks and bushes. It was almost a human noise, except that human vocal cords didn't grate quite like this, wobbling from a high screech to a low moan in just a few seconds. Her breath caught; she said, "Look out," and had to say it again, forcing her voice past a rasp, "Look out," and that was all she was able to get out before they appeared.
Neither the slime of decomposition dripping from their fingers and chins, nor the distinctly ragged state of their skin, baring muscle and even bone, distracted from the glint of their weapons under the sullen light of the sun.
The wave of animated, armed undead would crash into the small group of mutants and pull them under like a tsunami if they all just stood there. The mystery and disorientation of their sudden appearance in this alien world were automatically pushed away from Miles's mind, which shifted to tactical mode. Three non-combat-trained Gen X'ers, a superfast spy of sorts, a witch, a wannabe superhero, and himself. He could work with this.
"Warren, Gabo, get the kids out of here, somewhere safe," he ordered, setting aside for a moment that he was barely any older than Illyana, Rahne, and Amadeus, and younger still than the two men. He turned to Topaz. "Anything you can do to slow them down, bottleneck them or something so I can pick them off?"
Topaz didn't hear a word Miles said. Her ears were buzzing, her expression frozen, her hands shaking as she stared at the oncoming horde. A hand clawing up from the ground... her face sunken in... rotted skin hanging off her bones... you never know what you'll bring back...
Shock turned to anger - fury burning through Topaz's entire body. She clenched her fists for a moment to still the shaking, and when she opened it again, there was fire. She whipped the small ball of flames into the air and it grew, bowling cleanly through the line of zombies right in front of her. She didn't get all of them - not even close. But she took out a good chunk. The smell of rotting, burning flesh was disgusting.
Take it easy, the rational voice in the back of her head - the one that sounded too much like Amanda - chastised her. You're not going to find another power source out here unless you want to start using the others.
Topaz's expression darkened, and she raised her hand to fire again. Fuck off.
Amadeus's head snapped up at the approach of the undead. His nostrils flared, and his head cocked to the side, quick and sharp, almost like an insect. Then his head whipped to the side, eyes darting at an inhuman speed, his mind churning with calculations that a supercomputer would have had trouble keeping up with. Scanning his classmates and the mansion residents for possible weapons, or whether or not they could be used in some way against the threat that was barreling down on them. Amadeus had only one goal at the moment, and that was to survive.
There-- out of the pocket of Warren's apron, was a knife. Probably meant to cut into some fresh, hot banana bread. Not especially sharp, but it would do. He shoved his way through the group, heedless of their protests, and whipped it free. Then he gave it a couple of quick, experimental slashes, testing it's weight, speed, and the way it whistled through the air. This told him how sharp it was, and it was one of the nicer knives, usually meant for cutting through raw meat. Luckily for Amadeus.
Without another thought, he charged forward. None of the others could react fast enough to stop him. Usually, he was a laid-back, goofy and often enough lazy teenager. Now he was a whirlwind. He hit at the first of the undead hard, not giving it time to react. The was a sicking crunch as his shoulder hit decaying flesh, and a sucking, heavy slice as the knife tore through wet tissue. He didn't have to exert much effort to saw through the rotting tendons in the thing's neck, and a quick, jerking wrench popped the head clean off. The body collapsed on the ground, and the unholy fire in it's eyes dimmed.
Decapitation was an acceptable means of termination, then.
Rahne was too busy to be insulted by Miles or worried about Amadeus - she was too busy hiding behind a rock in order to strip. They were in yet another terrible place that didn't look like it was anywhere near home. She couldn't afford to rip her clothes to pieces (and besides, bras were not cheap). The adrenaline was causing her hands to shake and fumble as her thoughts ran around screaming. Zombies, of course, because why wouldn't there be zombies?
Despite the heaviness in the air, she still shivered as she finally kicked off the rest of her clothes. The wolf was rising now and Rahne reached eagerly for her powers, longing for the safety of four legs and ... oh, oh no. She squeezed her eyes closed as her powers clearly had other ideas. She gave a small whimper as her body twisted itself and grew up, not down, and into the form that gave her nightmares still. The large, more actual werewolf form shook terrified her and she stared down in horror at her large, clawed hands.
Worry about that later, she thought hysterically, bounding over the rock that separated her from the others with a loud growl. Zombies now, existential later.
Zombies now, indeed. It was beginning to be tough for Gabriel not to feel triggered. He'd let out a small sigh when the first one appeared, and as he tried to take stock of their makeshift battlefield, he let out a small sigh again. There was no time to be mired in memory, and yet it seemed that this place, wherever it was, kept trying to drag him into the quicksand of his subconscious. The putrid smell. Miles barking orders. It all threatened to overwhelm him.
He shook it off when he saw Amadeus move. The kid had the right idea. To his left, he saw a sagging corpse with an axe fast approaching Miles. Its eyes bulged with a kind of mania. Gabriel decided the weapon — and the energy , if he were being honest — would be useful. He channeled his powers and bull rushed toward the zombie, using his super-speed to snatch the axe from the creature's hands.
As he slid to a stop and pivoted to change directions, he looked from Miles to his undead aggressor. A shudder went down his spine. Then he hiked the axe over his shoulder and ran back toward his target.
More right than you think. He swung the axe across what looked like it would be the creature's neck, thrilled to have physics amplifying his swing. No more. A loud crunching sound accompanied his return to a normal timeline. Dead. You all—
Gabriel looked down, a little stupefied as the creature's head landed at his feet. The body continued to wriggle, and he resumed swinging. I forgot how attractive I was before the plague came. But not as strong. A plague had come, and he was stronger now. He swung and swung, and then as the creature fell, he searched for his next target.
The flare of light from the Soulsword was unimpressive, when Illyana had finally braced herself to bring it out, nausea threatening to overwhelm her. But she knew that she would be a target, small and unarmed - if these things even had rational thought like that - and it really was her only option, because she knew without trying that she couldn't teleport. Not even two feet away to dodge a mace, which was looking like it might be necessary, considering the straggler or two headed her way.
Both hands on the hilt of her sword, she took a deep breath. When it got close enough, she managed to slash the zombie through the arm, sending the smell of burning magic (ozone and smoke and something you could never really put your finger on) through the air and sending the now-armless zombie careening toward Warren.
Warren instinctively stepped back, his arms in the air, and it finally clicked as he stared the now-twitching, grey body in front of him. He was in a different dimension. A dimension with zombies. Zombies that wanted to attack him. And his only weapon was in the hands of that annoying teenager who seemed to have channeled some sort of assassination gene within him. As he felt the wriggling torso on his shirt (and now he would never get that decaying smell out of it), he reached down and whipped out the rolling pin, bashing the zombie on the head with all the force he could make. The splatter was everywhere as the zombie fell down instantly. Holding the rolling pin by it's end, Warren cringed and sighed. At least the marble was still intact.
It became a mechanical routine, stab, parry, thrust. The crunch of rotted bone, the squelch of rotted flesh. Amadeus's face was robotic, impassive, but his eyes were dark.
Then one zombie found purchase in the exposed flesh of his arm, and tore, leaving a long red gash from the top of his should to his elbow, and his face twisted with almost inhuman rage. A look completely foriegn to the others. The attacks increased, growing in brutality.
This was crazy. No one was listening to Miles! They needed a strategy if they were going to survive. Zerging surely meant death. And where did that glowing sword in Illyana's hands come from, and how was Amadeus — wacky, brilliant, non-violent — taking down these monsters with the ease of swatting flies?
Fine, if they were not going to follow him, then he could adapt to them. He shot a trio of web bullets at an unarmed but ravenous-looking zombie approaching Illyana. The bullets penetrated the weak, rotting flesh, and the zombie stumbled, giving Miles the time to leap over to it, grab an arm, and toss it into another pair of zombies headed their way. They tumbled to the ground in a mass of writhing limbs and grotesque moans that sent a chill down his spine. He jumped again into the fray, tapping as many of the monsters as he could to charge them with venom blasts that took them down and out of the fight in a storm of green lightning.
With another zombie downed, Gabriel used one of the moments of relative calm his powers afforded to figure out to whom he and his sword could provide the most help.
Warren could fly, and anyway, Gabriel wouldn’t dart to his rescue unless it were a last resort. Miles and Topaz apparently could take out masses. Amadeus was — well, there was something disturbing that made a note to check on that later.
That left Illyana, who already had a weapon, and Rahne, who didn’t. Obvious choice was obvious. He raced toward the wolf-girl, swird raised as he appeared by her side. “Having fun yet?” He swung at the nearest rotting fleshsack.
Rahne growled and bowled into the nearest zombie, using her bigger bulk to simply overpower it. It tumbled to the ground but, because it was a zombie, still tried to flail at her and bite. "I don't think I am," she growled, the words a little hard to understand but she had, at least, been practising (reluctantly) a few times in this weird half form so it was better than it had been. She pulled the zombie back up and tossed it into another group, sending them flying.
"Zombie probably tastes bad," she grumbled, flexing her claws. Biting bad, clawing good.
She launched herself at another zombie, and tried not to shudder as her claws sunk into grey and decaying flesh. "I hate this place."
Amadeus was a machine, a brutal, effective machine. The pile of corpses and dismembered body parts at his feet grew. He had no qualms about killing the undead, but his muscles were starting to burn, and he was losing blood fast, the knife was slippery in his grip. Fortunately he was just as deadly right-handed as he was left, but he was going to need to stop and tend to his organism soon.
His eyes narrowed on Illyana. The greatest number of Dead seemed fixated on her, and it was her portal that brought them here. Perhaps she was the target. A momentary flicker of thought, and his grip tightened on the knife. But then the thought was banished. She may be the only way home. No sense in removing her yet.
Topaz threw another ball of flame, taking out another small group, but her vision flickered as she tried for fire again and she stumbled, doubling over, hands resting on her knees. Fuck. Fuck. She knew burn out when she felt it. Another zombie came ambling toward her and she clenched her fist, drawing up enough magic to form an invisible shield around it - like a boxing glove, but stronger. A lot stronger, apparently, as the zombie's head went flying when she punched it square in the temple. Ew.
Taking out one at a time wasn't going to be good enough, though. She straightened up, trying to summon up enough of anything to do something more useful than cast a shield.
"Why can't you let it go?!"
Anger. It was dim, but growing as the image of her father, encouraging her to fight back, to hurt him, to be like him, flashed through her mind. Topaz's gaze darkened, and she whipped her hand out, casting what looked like a fiery net. It flew toward the horde, but instead of wrapping around them it burned through them, moving down another row and leaving pieces of zombie in its wake. Not as effective, but it would do.
Somehow - incredibly - the horde seemed to be thinning; sweat and dirt streaked Illyana's face, and she was breathing hard, both from the fight and the adrenaline helping her stay standing, albeit on trembling legs. She dodged another swipe and this time managed to bring her blade up through the zombie's torso; the flesh hissed and bled off into smoke, and the monster fell, giving her a second of respite to look around.
Their team, if one could call it that, had managed to make good work of their zombie attackers, at least as far as Gabriel could tell. Unsure if the corpse laying at his feet was dead or alive, Gabriel gave another hearty swing of the axe before surveying what he supposed was their battlefield. His eyes landed on Illyana, as he caught his breath, and he watched for a second or two in the hopes of picking up some kind of clue.
No dice, which was hardly a surprise. He'd ask again later. In the meantime, he looked up to the sky. "Hey, Wings," he called to Warren. "We good?"
Warren wiped off his rolling pin on his apron, and gave Gabriel a strange look. "You pick now to apologize for your past behaviours?" Better late than never, Warren supposed. "Well, I accept. We can be good now." Cue smile.
"Warren," Gabriel said, gripping the axe in his hand a little tighter, "make yourself useful, and flap those wings and make sure we're not about to be hit by the cast of The Walking Dead."
"I was wondering about your timing." Looking down at the ground, he tried to find the least gore-soaked patch of dirt, and proceeded to take off his apron, fold it meticulously, and then start with his shirt. He took his time, and made sure to make eye-contact with Gabriel at least once. A few minutes later, Warren was shrugging out of his harness, and stretching out his wings. "Right, give me some space, thank you. I have an impressive wing span,." He snapped his wings out straight. It always felt so good to have them out in the open. A few beats later, he was up in the air, hovering as he looked around. Nothing but desolation and despair, but at least it didn't look like any more zombies. Landing carefully, he sighed. "There's no exit sign that I can see....also, no more zombies, which I suppose is a good thing. I think there's some caves over to the east though, if we're looking for somewhere to camp. I can't tell if it's night or day here, but it's a good walk in any direction, and we need to think ahead." Damn, he sure wished he had his banana bread.
While Warren took his sweet time to reconnoiter, Miles felled a zombie so old its flesh had mostly fallen off. Whatever brujeria kept it undead apparently also made it superhumanly strong, as it wielded a comically large sword, the blade two-feet wide and easily almost his height.
"Souvenir," Miles proclaimed wryly, lifting the sword with ease from the now-really-I-hope-it's-dead corpse. If he was going to be stuck in this RPG dungeon of doom, then he'd at least be appropriately armed.
He spared a glance at the rest of the group ("party," he silently corrected himself, the correct term in this context is "party") and settled his gaze on Illyana. Sweating, covered in dirt and blood that may or may not have been his, and equipped with this obscene weapon, he took the initiative to be the leader.
"What the actual hell?"
His voice cracked.
Illyana stared at him; it took a moment, in the eerie silence, for his words to actually sink in. Then she nodded, letting the Soulsword disappear back into wherever it went when it wasn't in her hand, like a wound suddenly snapping shut. Her hand fell to her side. "Yeah," she said. "Pretty much."
His eyes narrowed. "That doesn't answer the question. Where are we, how'd we get here, and how do we get out of here?"
Illyana looked over her shoulder, realizing how exposed they were - just a large group of actual people in the middle of a wilderness that she knew was populated by much worse than a zombie horde (including whatever had made the zombie horde). Easy pickings, in fact. She felt herself starting to shake, the adrenaline starting to filter out of her system already, and tried to brace herself against it, without too much success. "I don't - I don't know - I'm not sure - but we're in - this is - it's called Limbo. And we need to find some cover."
Miles had fifteen minutes until his Danger Room session. That was more that enough time to grab a snack, get to the locker room to change into his uniform, and make it in time to training. He fiddled with his web-shooters as he entered the main kitchen, idly noticing how unusually crowded it was. He searched through the pantry, hoping someone had gone grocery shopping recently, and hooted when he discovered a protein bar.
"All right, fake-healthy cookie dough," he said triumphantly as he unwrapped it, and then waved at the first person he saw at the table. "Gabo, hola."
"Yo." Gabriel, gripped by a messaging exchange that was heading toward erotic territory, barely looked up from his phone. "How's it going?" He tapped furiously before flipping his phone face-down and reaching for a mug of spiked cocoa he'd made earlier. "You seem peppy." He glanced briefly at Miles's hands before peering into the cup, a bit disarmed to find it empty. He'd clearly been perched in the kitchen longer than he'd thought.
Nothing that couldn't be fixed. He stood, wincing at the stiffness of his muscles. "And that's definitely mine," he observed, looking again at Miles's unwrapped snack. With his powers activated, he snatched the protein bar from Miles's hands on his way to the sink.
The kitchen, unfortunately, was closer to the library than Topaz's empty suite, which meant it was easier to go there for her afternoon tea. She ignored both guys as she walked in, heading for the usual cabinet. The tea was high up - normally she would ask for help or just climb on the counter, but today she paused, frowning. She flicked her finger, and the box of tea bags seemed to dance out of the cabinet on its own. A faint smile pulled at Topaz's lips, and with another flick of the finger a tea pot was making its way to the sink. Abusing magic was a bit broad after everything that happened. She could have some fun.
The cabinets next to Topaz opened, and slender fingers danced in front of them, while a tall, rangey Korean boy stuck his tongue out in concentration. Did he require Doritos or plain corn chips? Or was he feeling sassy and did he want ruffles? Ruffles did have ridges? Oh hell. Why not all. He was, after all, a machine on a mission. A crunchy, salty, mission. Amadeus pulled all three family sized bags off the shelf, shoving one in his mouth. If one were to see him in the halls, he would look the very picture of innocence. He could be delivering chips to hungry mutants in need. No one need know he was the hungry mutant in need. Singular.
"Full kitchen today, aye?" Rahne said cheerfully, bouncing into the kitchen with an armful of books and her winter jacket. She'd been in the process of changing places to study in and while she'd determined the kitchen was too busy before she even got in there, at least she could grab a few snack. "Ohh, dancing teapot, I'm right in time for the show." Dodging the giant walking mountain of chips, she started to search for the jerky. And donuts.
Warren had been ignoring everyone in the kitchen. After a marathon proposal review, he'd found himself awake and craving banana bread. With an apron firmly on, over his business suit, he was tapping his elbows impatiently as he watched the bread rise in the oven. Why oh why did he want the one thing that took an hour to cook? Why couldn't it be cookies, or churros or something quick and easy? Sighing heavily, he leaned against the counter and waited some more. He could almost taste the soft, spongy crumb...the flecks of chocolate swirled in..the crunch of the walnuts...damnit, why wasn't his mutant power time dilation?!
In the midst of the usual kitchen chaos, Illyana had wandered in; although she looked like she was just browsing, she'd watched Miles pilfer through the pantry with narrowed eyes, and frozen in near-panic when Amadeus opened the cabinets. She even kept her eyes on Rahne, although Rahne could always be reasoned with. She finally, finally made it to the pantry, casually avoiding Warren and Gabriel and not-casually avoiding Topaz, whose magic was making the hairs on her arms stand up in alarm.
There it was, nestled between some large boxes of instant oatmeal and a pack of paper towels: Beautiful, unopened, pristine. An entire box of chocolate bars. 48 giant-size chocolate bars, which was more than enough to see her through the two weeks of detention she'd gotten for skipping gym in January. Maybe even enough to see her through whatever happened when you kept skipping it in February.
Some instinct, honed by years of wilderness living and hard times, made Illyana glance behind her, and then back to the box, dismayed. Its main appeal was also its biggest flaw: It was too big. She was never going to get it past all these people without someone noticing, and then she'd have to have the conversation with the shrink again where they talked about how she wasn't going to run out of food, sweetie, and maybe we can work on these hoarding instincts of yours - well, it wasn't so much a conversation as an increasingly desperate monologue delivered to an unappreciative audience, but it was boring and Illyana usually entertained herself with that lady by making up stories about life on the street, not talking about the stupid stuff the lady always wanted to talk about.
So that was it: She needed these, and these people were making it impossible for her to get them. Standing in the pantry, in that moment, she realized all over again how unfair life was.
But then, glancing back at the dancing teapot, inspiration struck her. She'd never done it before, but that was because she viewed powers training as extra gym class and therefore an unpleasant activity only to be undertaken when absolutely unavoidable. It didn't mean it couldn't be done. Of course it could. It was, what? Thirty seconds' walk to her bedroom? And then she could just stroll out of the kitchen, heist accomplished, with no one the wiser. Easy.
This was her last thought before several things happened at once: A small circle of light flickered unsteadily underneath the box and a bag of sugar floated off the shelf above it. Then, the circle of light pulsed and flared out, far past the boundaries of the pantry, enveloping the entire kitchen.
When the light faded, everyone was gone.
*
Her mouth tasted like ashes. Illyana woke up and already knew where she was; that taste of dread and nausea and home only ever meant one thing, one place. She closed her eyes and pushed herself up on one arm with what felt like an incredible effort, dropping back down halfway through and having to force herself back up, because she was here, back here, and you didn't survive if you lay around sleeping out in the open.
"Here" was not a place familiar at all to Miles. A dark, cold, empty wasteland. The only people he could see were those who had been in the kitchen with him. Yet his skin turned to goose flesh and the klaxon in his head blared to warn him of an ever-present but apparently lethal danger. He spun around, trying to identify whatever was trying to kill him, but he saw nothing.
The effect was not unlike a glass breaking. A quick mental scream violently cut off. The sensation of tearing, and then... somewhere else. That somewhere else did something to the boy called Amadeus. There was a quick shudder that ran through him and he dropped his bags. His pupils dilated, pinhole to black to pinhole to black, not unlike a lens focusing. And his head tilted slowly, back and forth robotically. His features eerily calm.
When he looked up, someone else looked through his eyes. He surveyed the landscape, and the people around him, like they were strangers.
"Oh bloody hell, not again!!" Rahne cried as she scrambled to her feet, what she'd had in her hands dropping to the ground in her panic. She turned in a circle in an attempt to take it all in but her brain was short circuiting at the moment, so she sat with a thump. If she didn't calm down, she'd wolf out and it didn't look like there was a clothing store anywhere near them where she could get a new sweatshirt if that happened. "That's it, I'm moving back to Scotland."
What. The. Hell.
Topaz lifted her head slowly, looking around. She wasn't sure whether she wanted to scream, cry, or laugh hysterically. Of course. Of course. She dropped her shields enough to extend her mind, feeling around for anyone else. But the only thing she could find were the panicked, worried, scared thoughts of the people who had ended up here with them. One of them felt weird, but she didn't probe it too much. Everyone handled being thrown into another dimension differently, after all.
As Gabriel scanned his new surroundings, his eyes met Topaz's for the briefest of moments, and he wondered if she was thinking what he was.
Not again. The thought kept echoing, pinging through his brain. Not again, not again, not again. It came with a nauseous feeling in his stomach, though whether that stemmed from the fear or the abrupt displacement was hard to say. He thought he remembered that queasiness from the last time. From Xorn. Or maybe he was just reaching.
Well, at least he felt prepared for this kind of thing. Almost uniquely so, if he wanted to flatter himself that much. And so Gabriel brushed himself off and tentatively stood, because he knew from experience that being catatonic was useless in situations like these.
"Okay." He again scanned his surroundings, taking particular notice of the members of their rag-tag group. "This is fucked, but I don't think we have time for 'this is fucked.'" God, he sounded so rational, all things considered. How was that possible? Everyone else looked more dazed, more panicked. And then there was Illyana. His gaze lingered a bit longer on her as he tried to interpret the expression on her face. Something about it looked familiar, and he couldn't bear to contemplate that, so he looked off into what he thought ought to be the horizon. "Somebody else say something now so I know this isn't a fever dream."
"My banana bread is going to burn." Warren was very unimpressed with that. Glancing around the landscape, he frowned deeply, and reached down into the pockets of his apron. A rolling pin, a silicone over mitt, a knife and a banana peel were all he could find. He gingerly fished out the banana peel and dropped it on the ground. His brain was trying to process exactly what had happened to him, but the only thing that kept coming to mind is how he was woefully unprepared for this. "No one step on that peel. If someone falls, there doesn't appear to be medical assistance, and it would be just our luck to have a Looney Tunes moment."
Just as Illyana made it to her feet - her vision wavered but ultimately held, as did her legs - a noise came from a small, scrubby outcropping of rocks and bushes. It was almost a human noise, except that human vocal cords didn't grate quite like this, wobbling from a high screech to a low moan in just a few seconds. Her breath caught; she said, "Look out," and had to say it again, forcing her voice past a rasp, "Look out," and that was all she was able to get out before they appeared.
Neither the slime of decomposition dripping from their fingers and chins, nor the distinctly ragged state of their skin, baring muscle and even bone, distracted from the glint of their weapons under the sullen light of the sun.
The wave of animated, armed undead would crash into the small group of mutants and pull them under like a tsunami if they all just stood there. The mystery and disorientation of their sudden appearance in this alien world were automatically pushed away from Miles's mind, which shifted to tactical mode. Three non-combat-trained Gen X'ers, a superfast spy of sorts, a witch, a wannabe superhero, and himself. He could work with this.
"Warren, Gabo, get the kids out of here, somewhere safe," he ordered, setting aside for a moment that he was barely any older than Illyana, Rahne, and Amadeus, and younger still than the two men. He turned to Topaz. "Anything you can do to slow them down, bottleneck them or something so I can pick them off?"
Topaz didn't hear a word Miles said. Her ears were buzzing, her expression frozen, her hands shaking as she stared at the oncoming horde. A hand clawing up from the ground... her face sunken in... rotted skin hanging off her bones... you never know what you'll bring back...
Shock turned to anger - fury burning through Topaz's entire body. She clenched her fists for a moment to still the shaking, and when she opened it again, there was fire. She whipped the small ball of flames into the air and it grew, bowling cleanly through the line of zombies right in front of her. She didn't get all of them - not even close. But she took out a good chunk. The smell of rotting, burning flesh was disgusting.
Take it easy, the rational voice in the back of her head - the one that sounded too much like Amanda - chastised her. You're not going to find another power source out here unless you want to start using the others.
Topaz's expression darkened, and she raised her hand to fire again. Fuck off.
Amadeus's head snapped up at the approach of the undead. His nostrils flared, and his head cocked to the side, quick and sharp, almost like an insect. Then his head whipped to the side, eyes darting at an inhuman speed, his mind churning with calculations that a supercomputer would have had trouble keeping up with. Scanning his classmates and the mansion residents for possible weapons, or whether or not they could be used in some way against the threat that was barreling down on them. Amadeus had only one goal at the moment, and that was to survive.
There-- out of the pocket of Warren's apron, was a knife. Probably meant to cut into some fresh, hot banana bread. Not especially sharp, but it would do. He shoved his way through the group, heedless of their protests, and whipped it free. Then he gave it a couple of quick, experimental slashes, testing it's weight, speed, and the way it whistled through the air. This told him how sharp it was, and it was one of the nicer knives, usually meant for cutting through raw meat. Luckily for Amadeus.
Without another thought, he charged forward. None of the others could react fast enough to stop him. Usually, he was a laid-back, goofy and often enough lazy teenager. Now he was a whirlwind. He hit at the first of the undead hard, not giving it time to react. The was a sicking crunch as his shoulder hit decaying flesh, and a sucking, heavy slice as the knife tore through wet tissue. He didn't have to exert much effort to saw through the rotting tendons in the thing's neck, and a quick, jerking wrench popped the head clean off. The body collapsed on the ground, and the unholy fire in it's eyes dimmed.
Decapitation was an acceptable means of termination, then.
Rahne was too busy to be insulted by Miles or worried about Amadeus - she was too busy hiding behind a rock in order to strip. They were in yet another terrible place that didn't look like it was anywhere near home. She couldn't afford to rip her clothes to pieces (and besides, bras were not cheap). The adrenaline was causing her hands to shake and fumble as her thoughts ran around screaming. Zombies, of course, because why wouldn't there be zombies?
Despite the heaviness in the air, she still shivered as she finally kicked off the rest of her clothes. The wolf was rising now and Rahne reached eagerly for her powers, longing for the safety of four legs and ... oh, oh no. She squeezed her eyes closed as her powers clearly had other ideas. She gave a small whimper as her body twisted itself and grew up, not down, and into the form that gave her nightmares still. The large, more actual werewolf form shook terrified her and she stared down in horror at her large, clawed hands.
Worry about that later, she thought hysterically, bounding over the rock that separated her from the others with a loud growl. Zombies now, existential later.
Zombies now, indeed. It was beginning to be tough for Gabriel not to feel triggered. He'd let out a small sigh when the first one appeared, and as he tried to take stock of their makeshift battlefield, he let out a small sigh again. There was no time to be mired in memory, and yet it seemed that this place, wherever it was, kept trying to drag him into the quicksand of his subconscious. The putrid smell. Miles barking orders. It all threatened to overwhelm him.
He shook it off when he saw Amadeus move. The kid had the right idea. To his left, he saw a sagging corpse with an axe fast approaching Miles. Its eyes bulged with a kind of mania. Gabriel decided the weapon — and the energy , if he were being honest — would be useful. He channeled his powers and bull rushed toward the zombie, using his super-speed to snatch the axe from the creature's hands.
As he slid to a stop and pivoted to change directions, he looked from Miles to his undead aggressor. A shudder went down his spine. Then he hiked the axe over his shoulder and ran back toward his target.
More right than you think. He swung the axe across what looked like it would be the creature's neck, thrilled to have physics amplifying his swing. No more. A loud crunching sound accompanied his return to a normal timeline. Dead. You all—
Gabriel looked down, a little stupefied as the creature's head landed at his feet. The body continued to wriggle, and he resumed swinging. I forgot how attractive I was before the plague came. But not as strong. A plague had come, and he was stronger now. He swung and swung, and then as the creature fell, he searched for his next target.
The flare of light from the Soulsword was unimpressive, when Illyana had finally braced herself to bring it out, nausea threatening to overwhelm her. But she knew that she would be a target, small and unarmed - if these things even had rational thought like that - and it really was her only option, because she knew without trying that she couldn't teleport. Not even two feet away to dodge a mace, which was looking like it might be necessary, considering the straggler or two headed her way.
Both hands on the hilt of her sword, she took a deep breath. When it got close enough, she managed to slash the zombie through the arm, sending the smell of burning magic (ozone and smoke and something you could never really put your finger on) through the air and sending the now-armless zombie careening toward Warren.
Warren instinctively stepped back, his arms in the air, and it finally clicked as he stared the now-twitching, grey body in front of him. He was in a different dimension. A dimension with zombies. Zombies that wanted to attack him. And his only weapon was in the hands of that annoying teenager who seemed to have channeled some sort of assassination gene within him. As he felt the wriggling torso on his shirt (and now he would never get that decaying smell out of it), he reached down and whipped out the rolling pin, bashing the zombie on the head with all the force he could make. The splatter was everywhere as the zombie fell down instantly. Holding the rolling pin by it's end, Warren cringed and sighed. At least the marble was still intact.
It became a mechanical routine, stab, parry, thrust. The crunch of rotted bone, the squelch of rotted flesh. Amadeus's face was robotic, impassive, but his eyes were dark.
Then one zombie found purchase in the exposed flesh of his arm, and tore, leaving a long red gash from the top of his should to his elbow, and his face twisted with almost inhuman rage. A look completely foriegn to the others. The attacks increased, growing in brutality.
This was crazy. No one was listening to Miles! They needed a strategy if they were going to survive. Zerging surely meant death. And where did that glowing sword in Illyana's hands come from, and how was Amadeus — wacky, brilliant, non-violent — taking down these monsters with the ease of swatting flies?
Fine, if they were not going to follow him, then he could adapt to them. He shot a trio of web bullets at an unarmed but ravenous-looking zombie approaching Illyana. The bullets penetrated the weak, rotting flesh, and the zombie stumbled, giving Miles the time to leap over to it, grab an arm, and toss it into another pair of zombies headed their way. They tumbled to the ground in a mass of writhing limbs and grotesque moans that sent a chill down his spine. He jumped again into the fray, tapping as many of the monsters as he could to charge them with venom blasts that took them down and out of the fight in a storm of green lightning.
With another zombie downed, Gabriel used one of the moments of relative calm his powers afforded to figure out to whom he and his sword could provide the most help.
Warren could fly, and anyway, Gabriel wouldn’t dart to his rescue unless it were a last resort. Miles and Topaz apparently could take out masses. Amadeus was — well, there was something disturbing that made a note to check on that later.
That left Illyana, who already had a weapon, and Rahne, who didn’t. Obvious choice was obvious. He raced toward the wolf-girl, swird raised as he appeared by her side. “Having fun yet?” He swung at the nearest rotting fleshsack.
Rahne growled and bowled into the nearest zombie, using her bigger bulk to simply overpower it. It tumbled to the ground but, because it was a zombie, still tried to flail at her and bite. "I don't think I am," she growled, the words a little hard to understand but she had, at least, been practising (reluctantly) a few times in this weird half form so it was better than it had been. She pulled the zombie back up and tossed it into another group, sending them flying.
"Zombie probably tastes bad," she grumbled, flexing her claws. Biting bad, clawing good.
She launched herself at another zombie, and tried not to shudder as her claws sunk into grey and decaying flesh. "I hate this place."
Amadeus was a machine, a brutal, effective machine. The pile of corpses and dismembered body parts at his feet grew. He had no qualms about killing the undead, but his muscles were starting to burn, and he was losing blood fast, the knife was slippery in his grip. Fortunately he was just as deadly right-handed as he was left, but he was going to need to stop and tend to his organism soon.
His eyes narrowed on Illyana. The greatest number of Dead seemed fixated on her, and it was her portal that brought them here. Perhaps she was the target. A momentary flicker of thought, and his grip tightened on the knife. But then the thought was banished. She may be the only way home. No sense in removing her yet.
Topaz threw another ball of flame, taking out another small group, but her vision flickered as she tried for fire again and she stumbled, doubling over, hands resting on her knees. Fuck. Fuck. She knew burn out when she felt it. Another zombie came ambling toward her and she clenched her fist, drawing up enough magic to form an invisible shield around it - like a boxing glove, but stronger. A lot stronger, apparently, as the zombie's head went flying when she punched it square in the temple. Ew.
Taking out one at a time wasn't going to be good enough, though. She straightened up, trying to summon up enough of anything to do something more useful than cast a shield.
"Why can't you let it go?!"
Anger. It was dim, but growing as the image of her father, encouraging her to fight back, to hurt him, to be like him, flashed through her mind. Topaz's gaze darkened, and she whipped her hand out, casting what looked like a fiery net. It flew toward the horde, but instead of wrapping around them it burned through them, moving down another row and leaving pieces of zombie in its wake. Not as effective, but it would do.
Somehow - incredibly - the horde seemed to be thinning; sweat and dirt streaked Illyana's face, and she was breathing hard, both from the fight and the adrenaline helping her stay standing, albeit on trembling legs. She dodged another swipe and this time managed to bring her blade up through the zombie's torso; the flesh hissed and bled off into smoke, and the monster fell, giving her a second of respite to look around.
Their team, if one could call it that, had managed to make good work of their zombie attackers, at least as far as Gabriel could tell. Unsure if the corpse laying at his feet was dead or alive, Gabriel gave another hearty swing of the axe before surveying what he supposed was their battlefield. His eyes landed on Illyana, as he caught his breath, and he watched for a second or two in the hopes of picking up some kind of clue.
No dice, which was hardly a surprise. He'd ask again later. In the meantime, he looked up to the sky. "Hey, Wings," he called to Warren. "We good?"
Warren wiped off his rolling pin on his apron, and gave Gabriel a strange look. "You pick now to apologize for your past behaviours?" Better late than never, Warren supposed. "Well, I accept. We can be good now." Cue smile.
"Warren," Gabriel said, gripping the axe in his hand a little tighter, "make yourself useful, and flap those wings and make sure we're not about to be hit by the cast of The Walking Dead."
"I was wondering about your timing." Looking down at the ground, he tried to find the least gore-soaked patch of dirt, and proceeded to take off his apron, fold it meticulously, and then start with his shirt. He took his time, and made sure to make eye-contact with Gabriel at least once. A few minutes later, Warren was shrugging out of his harness, and stretching out his wings. "Right, give me some space, thank you. I have an impressive wing span,." He snapped his wings out straight. It always felt so good to have them out in the open. A few beats later, he was up in the air, hovering as he looked around. Nothing but desolation and despair, but at least it didn't look like any more zombies. Landing carefully, he sighed. "There's no exit sign that I can see....also, no more zombies, which I suppose is a good thing. I think there's some caves over to the east though, if we're looking for somewhere to camp. I can't tell if it's night or day here, but it's a good walk in any direction, and we need to think ahead." Damn, he sure wished he had his banana bread.
While Warren took his sweet time to reconnoiter, Miles felled a zombie so old its flesh had mostly fallen off. Whatever brujeria kept it undead apparently also made it superhumanly strong, as it wielded a comically large sword, the blade two-feet wide and easily almost his height.
"Souvenir," Miles proclaimed wryly, lifting the sword with ease from the now-really-I-hope-it's-dead corpse. If he was going to be stuck in this RPG dungeon of doom, then he'd at least be appropriately armed.
He spared a glance at the rest of the group ("party," he silently corrected himself, the correct term in this context is "party") and settled his gaze on Illyana. Sweating, covered in dirt and blood that may or may not have been his, and equipped with this obscene weapon, he took the initiative to be the leader.
"What the actual hell?"
His voice cracked.
Illyana stared at him; it took a moment, in the eerie silence, for his words to actually sink in. Then she nodded, letting the Soulsword disappear back into wherever it went when it wasn't in her hand, like a wound suddenly snapping shut. Her hand fell to her side. "Yeah," she said. "Pretty much."
His eyes narrowed. "That doesn't answer the question. Where are we, how'd we get here, and how do we get out of here?"
Illyana looked over her shoulder, realizing how exposed they were - just a large group of actual people in the middle of a wilderness that she knew was populated by much worse than a zombie horde (including whatever had made the zombie horde). Easy pickings, in fact. She felt herself starting to shake, the adrenaline starting to filter out of her system already, and tried to brace herself against it, without too much success. "I don't - I don't know - I'm not sure - but we're in - this is - it's called Limbo. And we need to find some cover."
