X-MEN ETERNITY

New X-Men #6: "Summers' End"
Rated PG-13 for violence and language

by R. John Burke

DISCLAIMER: The X-Men are a copyright of Marvel Comics. I don't own them, but this is only non-profit fan fiction. No money is involved and no infringement is intended.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: X-Men Eternity started (in Uncanny #1: The Shattering) with the events at the end of "House of M" and went in a different direction. Nothing that happened after that is canon for our purposes, and a few things have changed. The team is now scattered through time and space.

"New X-Men: Eternity" is a series following the adventures of a splinter group of X-Men whom the reality-shift left trapped in the future.

--

June 2007
(25 Years Before the Events of "New X-Men)
Alternate Reality #502

"Quickly... quickly, mein freunds, or we'll be detected."

Kurt Wagner, the X-Man called Nightcrawler, kept hunting back and forth nervously while he waited for his friends. Generally the affable Kurt would be called "nervous" around the same time Thor was described as "humble," but even the boldest man might have quaked at this mission-- helping Jean Grey escape her situation with the Mutant Task Force in Houston, where the presence of the Phoenix had been instrumental in quelling the Texas riots.

The hard part wasn't liberating Jean-- with her power and reputation, Jean Grey could go anywhere she chose. The hard part was doing so subtly, quietly, so as not to alert the commander of the task force: Scott Summers, Cyclops. Second-in-command of all Magneto's forces.

Kurt Wagner knew Scott as well as anyone in the world. He knew he would not be pleased if they were discovered. So he paced, and prayed his friends would be careful, although he doubted it would do much good.

-Snap-. A tiny sound behind his left ear. Kurt whirled, yellow eyes searching the night. Something hard pressed against the back of his skull.

"One move, bub, an' I got me an elf-on-a-stick."

Kurt groaned. "That's not funny, Logan."

"Wasn't supposed to be." The short, stocky man called Wolverine stepped out of the darkness. He continually scented the air, the muscles that would release his adamantium claws tensed within a hairsbreadth of popping them. He peered at Kurt Wagner like...

...like he was the enemy.

"Logan," Kurt whispered, "you cannot think I would betray you?"

"Had one too many surprises lately. Nothin' personal, elf. Just makin' sure you're alone."

"I could have told you he was," said a new voice, and Kurt grinned.

Jean Grey appeared beside Logan, her Phoenix costume discarded in favor of the street clothes they all wore. In her arms, she held her son-- Nathan Christopher Summers was barely more than a toddler, but his left eye already glowed with the combined power of his world-famous parents.

"Jean!" Kurt exclaimed, and hugged her. "Leibling, it has been too long! We have missed you so..."

"I've missed me, too."

Kurt left that alone; he was too busy ruffling Nate's hair. "And this little man! Ha! I expect you do not remember your Uncle Kurt, eh? But I was telling you stories when you were just a..."

"Kurt, think hard about this." Jean interrupted. "It could end badly."

"She's right, bub," said Logan. "You walk away now, you walk away clean. Otherwise..."

Kurt looked from one to the other and almost could not believe they had to ask. He shook his head. "I owe you both my life. I will do what I can, and gladly."

Jean smiled. "You're the best."

"Ja. In ze Munich circus, I was known as 'Ze Amazing Nightcrawler...'"

"Stow it, elf," said Logan, grinning. "Get to work."

Kurt took a step away. Just before he 'ported, he heard Nathan's tiny voice: "Mama, isn't Daddy coming?"

"No, honey, Daddy's very busy. He's not coming now."

"Something's wrong. In your mind. I can feel it."

"No, baby, everything's okay," Jean whispered. "It's going to be okay..."

-Ah, telepaths.- Praying the child would not give them away, Kurt took a deep breath, sighed, and: BAMF!

--

Los Angeles, California
July 2032
Now

As he looked around his associate's chosen meeting-place, Kurt Wagner decided he'd been to shabbier drinking establishments in his time. But not many, not even with Logan-- and Logan had considered a bloodstained floor to be the mark of a good pub.

He pulled his hood tighter around his head. In his youth, Kurt had disguised his appearance all the time, in order to fit in with humans. Now there was no need for that. There -were- no humans west of the Mississippi, or practically none, and Kurt's demonic appearance was even considered handsome-- a sign of advanced evolution. Unfortunately, that face was a little -too- well-known. He kept the hood up.

He found what he was looking for in a corner booth: Blue skin, yellow eyes, so ageless that she appeared much younger than her son. Young enough to receive advances from the roughest customer in the bar-- and to send him off with a timely blow to the groin. Nobody approached her, after that.

Except Kurt. He cleared his throat: "Did it have to be Mystique?"

"Sure," said the woman. "In the first place, she can go where she likes. -Nobody- questions the Minister of War. In the second place, everybody knows she's connected to you, so you can take off the dopey hood..."

"Ja. Erm, why am I meeting my -mother- in a seedy bar?"

The woman grinned. "See, that's exactly the sort of question nobody will ask Mystique. Mostly, though, I just find this ironic in a 'who-changes-the-Changelings' kinda way."

Kurt sat down and signaled a waitress for a beer. "You never change, Morph."

"Nope. Thought about changing once. Your mentor Charlie asked me to be all noble. First I laughed in his face. Then I got really drunk. Then I decided never to change."

Kurt almost laughed. In his mind's eye, he pictured Morph in his natural state-- a pale, rubber-faced Changeling with a talent for bad jokes and spot-on impressions. Kurt had to admit, his Mystique was pretty good. Even her own son wouldn't have... well.

Their drinks came. Kurt sipped at his. Morph drained two huge mugs and ordered more. With his odd biochemistry, he could hold his liquor as well as Logan.

"So," he said, "which laws are we breaking -this- week?"

"All of them," Kurt said.

"Well. Aren't we ambitious? I'm intrigued. And when I say 'intrigued,' I mean I'm a dirty scoundrel who'll do anything for money. So how much money -is- there? And can I get mine in small bills?"

Kurt shook his head. "There is no money."

Morph made a face-- nobody could make faces like Morph. "Oooooh, intrigueness level dropping. In fact, it's nearly gone. If there's no money, there'd -better- be loose women or--"

"I'm re-forming the X-Men," Kurt told him.

Morph spat out his beer-- actually, he spat out Kurt's beer, having drunk his own already. "I'm sorry. I must not have heard that right. Maybe it's that I don't have ears--"

"You heard me," Kurt said. "Want in?"

His mother's face frowned at him. "Why would I?"

"Well, meine freund... consider the honor of the thing."

"The honor of a quick death?" Morph laughed. "No thanks! I don't care if the women were as loose as Emma Frost, I wouldn't-- well, okay, -maybe- if it were Emma Frost. Sometimes I turn into her, just to feel pretty."

"I didn't need to hear that," Kurt said.

Morph's beers arrived. He guzzled. Then, with the edge off, he peered at Kurt. "So, who else do you have?"

"It's better you don't know."

"Better I don't know, or better you don't tell me 'cause you don't trust me?"

Kurt snagged one of Morph's beers in retaliation and drank deep. "A little of both, honestly."

"I see. So... again... -what's- my motivation?"

Kurt leaned across the table. "Knowing this world is wrong. That there's a better way to live. That Xavier had it right."

Morph scoffed. "Only thing Xavier had was a 'get out of life free' card. Go not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars... though, c'mon, have you -seen- his holdings? That old dude had a -lot- more than 200 dollars... don't tell -me- he wasn't cheating with that telepathy..."

Kurt sighed. "You laugh so you won't cry, Morph. You cannot fool me. You have a good heart."

"Yes, but it's two sizes too small." To prove it, a heart-shaped projection pounded out of 'Mystique's' chest a few times. Morph threw back another drink. "C'mon. Give me one good reason."

"May's on the team."

Morph was so startled, he lost Mystique's face for a moment. "Whoa. You've got my favorite little redheaded bundle of webbing lined up? The spitfire with the 'power equals guilt' complex? -That- May?"

"The same. She'd be proud if you fought beside her. I think she misses you, Morph."

"Has she said that? Have you -asked- her?"

Kurt grinned. "Well... no. I didn't want to deny you the chance to use your inimitable charm."

Morph glared at him. "Oh, this is -so- not working. You're not conning me, Wagner. There is no way I'm going with you. I don't -want- to be an X-Man. Wild -horses- couldn'tt drag me out of this booth to-- wait, why am I getting out of the booth? It's like I can't stop! HELP! Somebody help! I think I'm abducting myself! WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT? If you had any decency, you'd at least grab me a beer on your way out!"

Kurt Wagner couldn't help laughing at the Changeling wound his way out of the booth and toward the exit. -This- was why he'd wanted Morph. They were going into some very dark places, and it wouldn't do to take them seriously all the time. Kurt slapped some coins on the table, drained the last of Morph's drink, and stood...

"Kurt Wagner?" said a voice beside him.

A familiar voice. He searched for Morph, but the Changeling was already out the door, talking a mile a minute. There was no one to help him against...

"Domino?" he said as he turned.

Neena Thurman nodded to him. They hadn't seen each other in years. The pale merc with the black spot over her eye wasn't looking particularly well. Kurt conceded that he wasn't, either.

"Domino, what is this about? Do you--"

"Courtesy of Nathan Summers," she said, and raised a pistol to gut level.

"NO--!" Kurt started to say. But he couldn't 'port in time, and he knew for a fact she wouldn't miss.

BANG.

--

The Temple of the Goddess
Commonwealth of Wakanda

Lucas Bishop had stared death in the face many times as an X-Man and member of the X.S.E.. He was used to it He -wasn't- really used to death grinning back at him with an exaggerated happy face-- a little joke from St. John Allerdyce, this Universe's Pyro, who could make his flames resemble anything.

Bishop and his ally Callisto were caught dead to rights, trying to rescue King T'Challa, this nation's rightful ruler, from the clutches of an alternate-reality Storm. (- see last issue) Having located the subterranean bunker where T'Challa was likely held, they now faced the problem of not roasting while they carried out their plan.

But Bishop didn't really -have- a plan, and the not-roasting part looked to be going down the tubes in about three-tenths of a second...

But the fiery smile vanished before it reached Bishop. The ceiling behind Pyro caved in, nearly collapsing the entire tunnel and knocking him off his feet. Without his will behind them, his flames lost interest in the X-Men, allowing Bishop and Callisto to take cover. That was the good news. The bad...

"STORM!" Bishop cried, seeing a bloody arm stuck out of the rubble. He ran to her, even as a shaken Pyro was climbing to hands and knees in his path. A swift boot to the stomach convinced him not to rise.

Bishop hurriedly dug Storm out, tossing rocks in every direction. Callisto dug with him, until they unearthed the lady's face...

"Sonofa...!" Callisto drew back and pulled her knife. "This one ain't yours."

Bishop hissed softly. The Storm they'd just saved was a couple of decades older than theirs, still lovely-- Storm almost couldn't help being lovely-- but slightly gaunt and withered, as though years of fighting had taken their toll.

"Hey!" Bishop yelped, blocking Callisto with a forearm as she tried to drive her knife into Storm's chest. "What the hell--"

"Stay outta this, Bishop! I got business with this one. She killed my Morlocks. (- see "New X-Men #2") What'd you, think I was along on this ride for your health? Sarah sent me for one reason: To take this monster out if you people didn't have the guts!"

"I didn't say we lacked the guts. But we may need her. Even if we don't, she gets a trial. There are laws--"

"Not in this world!" Callisto held up her knife. "-This- is the law here! I like ya, Bishop, but if you don't let me do this,I swear--"

The older Storm stirred. She was alive. Bishop almost thought that a shame. It would have been much more considerate of her to solve their problem for them...

Her eyes blinked open. "Where?"

"You're down in the entrance to your bunker," Bishop said. "Not far from--"

"No!" She gripped his arm. "Where... is it? It has left me again!"

"What?" Callisto asked, knife held ready.

"It spoke to me. Promised... many things. I was mad enough to listen. I was its vessel in this reality."

"What're you talkin'--" Callisto began, but Bishop already knew.

He wasn't tremendously surprised when the pile of rubble rumbled, flickered, then exploded outward in a burst of raw energy. -Their- Wind-Rider had freed herself.

Or had she? Bishop turned, ready for battle...

Storm stood there, lightning flashing from her fingertips, her eyes glittering oddly. Usually when she used her power, they went all white, but now they were a depthless black. Her entire posture had changed...

"You're not Storm," Bishop said.

"Not entirely," she said. "The foolish witch-- she created the perfect conditions for me. Tired herself out fighting (- last issue), threw herself into this confined space where her fear and anger would be close to the surface. She made it -easy- to make the switch..."

"What's she talkin' about?" Callisto asked.

"Our teams have reported contact with an entity called the Slayer," Bishop told her. (- see the other series, and past issues of this one) "I'm betting this is him. This is why Ororo betrayed you. She was possessed."

Storm-- or whatever it was-- stepped forward. "Oh, no, no, no. She was -freed.- Do not deceive yourself, Bishop. She made a choice. She was persuaded to join me -because- of her strong will. I needed only tell her how right she was-- and she knew that already.

"I did not even take possession of her mind. I only encouraged her to do as she liked. Even -I- could not have thought of some of the wonderfully creative things she did of her own accord."

"Goddess..." the older Storm murmured. "Forgive me... it is true..."

Bishop felt energy pulsing through him. Concern for Ororo wasn't the -only- reason he didn't unleash it. He didn't think he could win this war with raw power. But he could reason, couldn't he? For his friend's sake, maybe he could outwit this thing...

"Look," he said, "we all agree you're big and bad. Don't have to prove it by hurting anybody."

"How diplomatic of you."

"Why don't you come out of her? Take me instead. I'll go willingly."

"But I do not -need- you. She is ideal." Storm pointed to her older self. "Ororo and I have been partners for many years. But that one is aging. Her skills have begun to slip. This one is young and fresh."

"What is it you want, then?" Bishop asked. "Come on, let's make a deal."

A sudden wind rushed down the corridor. Storm began to levitate, to ride it toward the hole in the ceiling. Lightning flashed.

"Here is our deal, Lucas Bishop, since you are so accommodating: I will have all, and you will have nothing. I will kill your friends, ruin your world... and if you seek a reason, some meaning behind it all, know this: I do it because I -can-. Because I enjoy the fact that, for all your power, you cannot stop me."

"Well... -that- sucks," Callisto said.

Storm shrugged. "I suffer because they live. They will suffer because I live. That is the balance. And now that you know, Lucas Bishop... it is your turn."

Wind and cold and fire burned in a maelstrom around Storm, and she unleashed it in her teammate's direction. For the second time in an hour, Bishop faced death. But then--

"NO!"

The terrible weather dissipated before it reached Bishop. The older Storm reached up from her place on the floor, exerting the last of her strength to counter her younger self.

"The hell...?" Callisto murmured.

"Villainous creature! It is true that I chose you once-- just as I now renounce you!"

The younger Storm narrowed her eyes. "Do you, witch? You will die for that."

"So I shall. And join Warren, Jean, Logan, Piotr... the friends I have betrayed. Perhaps, by the mercy of the Bright Lady, they may forgive me. Even that does not matter, for I see now that I cannot forgive myself. But for the first time in years, I can think clearly, and I will no longer be your Lady Ororo."

Lightning flashed between the two women. Bishop was already moving. They needed the handprint of somebody with access; Pyro fit the bill. With Callisto's help, he began dragging the half-conscious Aussie toward the bunker door. If they could get inside before everything collapsed...

He slapped Pyro's hand against the keyplate. The mechanism went through an agonizingly long verification process while thunder rolled.

"With my final breath, creature, I renounce you," the older Ororo cried, "and speak again the name I have denied! At the end, and forever, I... AM... STORM!"

-Crash.- What was left of the tunnel disintegrated, even as the door to the bunker creaked open. Bishop and Callisto dove inside with their prisoner and jammed shut the door behind them. There was a sound like the whole world shattering, then eerie stillness.

"What just happened?" Callisto asked. "So... that Slayer thing has -your- Ororo now? An' ours is most likely dead? Don't that mean we took our best shot, an' just made it stronger?"

Bishop shook his head. "Not quite. You heard it. Your Storm chose it willingly. It crept up on ours. I'm betting she can still fight it... if we can reach her."

"Can we?"

"Soon as we take care of business," said Bishop.

He nodded to the chamber they were in. At least half a dozen Hatut Zeraze secret police were in the room, with weapons leveled on Bishop and Callisto. One of them shouted what was clearly an order to freeze.

Bishop only grinned and raised his hands, now ablaze with stored-up energy. "Friend, you picked the worst possible day for this. I am -not- in the mood."

--

Kurt Wagner lay in a bed in Los Angeles' MacTaggart Medical Center, hooked up to breathing apparatus and monitors. Although both hummed along steadily, he remained almost deathly still.

"Kurt! NO!" cried Rachel Grey, who in another time and reality had hoped this man might be more than her friend. She tried to rush into the room, but Nathan Summers-- Cable, the younger, alternate-reality incarnation of her brother-- held her back, both physically and telekinetically.

She turned in his arms. "I don't-- how did this happen?"

"My sources just said 'unknown assassin.'" Cable shrugged. "I already tried psi-scanning him. I'm sorry, Ray. I thought you'd want to see him."

"I-- yeah. I'm okay. Please let me go."

He did, and she hurried to the older man's bedside. With the fur and all, it was hard to tell he wasn't the young, dashing fuzzy-elf she had been falling in love with. She reached out and tentatively brushed his hair, then looked up at Cable. The power of the Phoenix appeared in silhouette over her eye.

"We're going to punish whoever did this. We're going to find them."

Cable glanced out the room's window. "Man's got a lot of enemies. This has been coming for years. I don't know if--"

"-Promise- me."

"Okay." Cable nodded. "I'll look into it."

"Thank you, Nathan. You've been very good me. I... in the other Universe, our family is... complicated. Almost unbelievably so. I think I told you. Even with the others around, I always kind of felt isolated... until now."

"Yeah," he said, "same here."

Rachel looked down at Kurt and moaned. "I should call the others. I should tell them."

"I'll do it." He reached for the doorknob. "I was going to get a cup of coffee anyway. You want one?"

"I... no. No, I don't think I could keep it down. Aw, Kurt, why did they do this to you?"

She squeezed his hand. For the briefest of moments, something ugly crossed Cable's face. Then he walked out the door. He didn't call the others. He did get coffee. He met the woman with the black spot over her eye in the lobby.

"Mission accomplished?" she asked.

"As ever." Cable nodded. "Thanks, Neena. Better go check in with 'Berto. I don't want this going down wrong."

Domino shrugged. "He's got a whole strike force against four mutants... shouldn't be a problem."

"It will be, though." Cable sighed. "These are not rookies, Neena. They're X-Men."

"Ours went down easily enough."

He grunted. "These are special."

Domino rose, started to turn, then stopped and put a hand on his arm. "Rachel?"

"-Very- special."

"You need me in there?"

Cable shook his head. "No. She's a telepath. I can hold her off. Anybody else goes in that room who isn't on the square, Rachel will know."

A frown. "And if she finds out? If she penetrates the false memory you put in his head? Nathan... at what point does she become a target?"

"Never." The glowing eye bored in on Neena. "That's not happening, understood?"

"Sure. But what if the Slayer thinks different?"

Cable looked away. "You take orders from the Slayer, Neena, or from me?"

Her fingers tightened on his arm. "You know the answer to that."

"Then go. It's under control. I only have to keep her distracted, and I know how."

Neena nodded. "And when that's done? I left the death blow for you, Nathan, like you said... but that kid is not gonna like it if you ice her boyfriend's lookalike. She will throw a little Phoenix tantrum, and you know it. So what happens then?"

Cable set his jaw. "That's when Rachel has to choose. My job is to make sure she chooses right. I'd say the odds are in our favor."

"They're always in mine," said Neena. With a grin for her employer, she walked away to check on the -other- project.

Nathan Summers exhaled slowly, then headed back to the hospital room. Rachel would make the right choice. In the end, she was a Summers. A Summers always chose duty over love. -Always-...

--

"I understand the Doc's happy to be human again. Hell, I'm happy -for- him. But does he have to -sing- all the time?"

Monet St. Croix peered down into the garage they'd rented in a slightly less-than-fashionable neighborhood of Los Angeles. There sat Henry McCoy, the Beast-- well, sort of the Beast, and sort of sitting. Actually he was just a man now, built roughly like a linebacker with the feet and hands of a gorilla, and balanced easily, upside-down on one of the latter appendages, while he sorted through the components he and Forge had hunted up to use in building a dimensional transporter. He was also crooning-- "Singin' in the Rain" this time, continuing the morning's medley of showtunes-- at the top of his lungs.

Forge leaned against the wall of the apartment overlooking the garage and popped open a drink-- non-alcoholic. No beer during the creative process. He arched an eyebrow at Monet. "Seriously, if he gets to Gershwin, I may do something drastic."

Monet swallowed an aspirin, her fourth of the day, and sighed. "It will pass. Or we'll kill him."

"I'm for the second one," said Laura Kinney, X-23, who was proving resistant to Monet's innocent offer of a few makeup tips. A girl could never be too fashion-conscious, even when she was the half-crazed female clone of Wolverine.

"All right!" said Monet. "All right... I'll talk to him."

Ignoring the grateful looks of her teammates, Monet descended the stairs into the cavernous garage. She wasn't sure why Hank seemed to be -her- responsibility, except they'd been teamed up on one mission after another since arriving in this timeline, and had developed a working rapport-- which, Monet grudgingly admitted, was more of a rapport than she generally managed with people. She told herself they were all jealous and intimidated. Deep down, she knew a number of them simply didn't like her. Hank did-- to an extent-- so she would do what she could to protect his feelings. To an extent.

"Lunch, doctor?" Monet suggested, offering a sandwich that X-23 had probably intended for herself.

Hank's strong baritone trailed off. "Oh. Yes, thank you, Monet. Any requests?"

"Requests? For the singing? Do you know anything... silent?" Monet winced. Not her finest hour diplomatically. And it wasn't like she'd had a lot of fine ones.

But Hank only laughed, between bites of ham on rye. "Of course! You'll have to forgive me! I'm still so... overwhelmed."

"No doubt," Monet said. "I know how -I'd- feel if I hadn't been able to get a decent manicure since... how long's it been?"

"Too long." Hank stared into space. "We've -got- to get home now, Monet. Forge and I have been working 'round the clock. I can't wait to shake Scott's hand-- to show Emma and Bobby and... my goodness. I ought to give Trish Tilby a call. That's what I'll do, first day back! Remind me!"

Monet's nose wrinkled. "I thought you had better taste, Doctor. You mean to say you're still interested in that... racist?"

Hank frowned through another bite. "She's not a racist, Monet. Our situation was... extraordinary."

"I'm sure." Monet yawned and stretched. "Take it from one of the Beautiful People, Doctor. Those who love you -only- for your body are likely to be unworthy of your fabulous mind."

"I concur heartily in principle," he said, "but this is different. You can't imagine the practical difficulties inherent in dating a bipedal blue lion."

"Yes, but you were a -magnificent- blue lion."

"Do you think so?" Hank polished off the sandwich.

"Well... as blue lions go."

"Ah HAH," said the Beast. He began tinkering with his toys again. "Physician, heal thyself! Tell the truth, now, Monet: Would -you- have dated me?"

"Of course not!" Monet sputtered. When embarrassment faded, she added under her breath: "You're twice my age and, unless I miss my guess, not the slightest bit wealthy..."

"Ahem! Not quite -twice-, dear." Hank did a double-take. "Wait... you approve of dating for money, but not appearances?"

"Well," said Monet, "you must admit, it's more practical. If you have money, you can -buy- appearances. Look at Miss Frost."

Hank laughed. He might have come up with a tremendously witty retort-- -might- have, but he elected to fall unconscious with a tranq dart in his neck instead. Another one came at Monet, but she dodged and took to the air.

CRASH! Two figures smashed through the apartment window and fell all the way to the garage floor. The bottom one was a soldier, his body crisscrossed with ugly red slashes. The top one was X-23. Before Monet could discourage her, she drove two claws into the floor, skewering the man's throat.

"What...!" Monet cried.

"They came out of nowhere! Forge is down!" X-23 scented the air. "There's a lot more of 'em. He sold us out!"

Rough-looking commandos poured through every door. Monet recognized them as belonging to Cable's personal army. Feeling about as angry as X-23 sounded, she floated back to the ground, easing into position, back-to-back with her teammate as she'd been taught.

One of the soldiers stepped forward: An older Roberto da Costa, Sunspot in Monet's timeline. He glowed black with the solar energy he'd stored.

"If you -meninas- are smart, you won't make a fuss. This doesn't have to go the hard way."

"Doesn't it?" Monet made a show of looking around. "You haven't made it sporting for us. You've subdued all the big, strong men, leaving us womenfolk to fend for ourselves. What do you think, X?"

"I call heads," X-23 growled.

"Were we flipping a coin?"

"No... I get their heads. You can have the rest of them."

"Fair enough." Monet looked round at the soldiers and cracked her knuckles. "So... who wants to be first? If you're toward the rear, don't worry. We'll get to each of you in turn..."

--

25 Years Ago
Mutant Task Force Headquarters
Houston, Texas

BAMF! BAMF! BAMF!

Kurt Wagner had literally grown up in the circus, performing acrobatic feats to make normal people nauseous. He had honed those skills under the greatest of teachers, in the most advanced facility in the world. Even trained soldiers of Gene Nation were outclassed when he 'ported in to subdue them before they could sound the alarm.

BAMF! In moments, he'd appeared by the main gate, where he knocked out the sentry and stole the man's ID card, ushering Jean and Logan through the gate. He heard a single, mournful wail from Nathan as they were leaving, and wondered for a moment if that would set off the alarms.

It didn't. Logan popped his claws and cut his way into a vehicle, ushering Jean and the boy inside. With a sigh, Kurt turned...

An oscillating red light appeared in the darkness in front of him. Kurt's breath caught.

"Hello, Nightcrawler. Remember me? I remember you well. Let's you and I talk..."

Kurt looked around. If he 'ported now, an alarm would sound. Jean and Logan might not get away. But if he stayed, perhaps he could buy them time.

He stepped forward...

--

Now

ZRAAACK!

Bishop blasted two of the secret police back across the room, while Callisto leaped to the attack and buried her knife in another's chest. When a second attacked from behind, she leveled him with a kick. That left two unaccounted for, and Bishop turned to deal with them...

Until a giant hand of flame reached out and seared them alive.

St. John Allerdyce picked himself up off the floor and dusted himself off. He nodded to Bishop. "No worries, mate. Got yer back."

"...what?" Bishop said, but his mind was working it out, even as Pyro said it:

"Well, a bloke's got to make a quid, don't he? I just saw me employer buried, an' her replacement turns out to be the incarnation of evil. My own kind hates me for sidin' with Ororo, and I ain't gonna cozy up to them Invictus whackers. You -did- use my authorization to get in here; that's on file. So maybe I'm the turncoat who saved the King."

"Parasite!" Callisto sneered. "T'Challa ain't gonna trust you!"

Pyro shrugged. "He don't have to -trust- me, luv. But I think you'll find he can use all the... talented men at his disposal in the fight against Invictus. (- see last issue)"

Bishop considered that. They might have seen the 'goddess' defeated... assuming the Slayer didn't set a new Storm up in place of the old one... but either way, the battle for Wakanda was just beginning. For the time being, kicking out Invictus would be the priority-- which meant an alliance between Ororo's remaining followers and those loyal to T'Challa. They'd probably sort out the rest later.

It was practical, it made sense, and it wasn't any less pleasant than the average bout of realpolitik. Didn't mean Bishop had to like it.

For the time being, liking it or not was irrelevant. Pyro grabbed the keys and, whistling a jaunty tune, made his way down to the cell block to free the Black Panther. Bishop was looking forward to that, to seeing the great man restored to his throne and making certain he was well. But as he and Callisto followed--

--they stepped through a portal and back into the tent where they'd begun this adventure (- last issue), courtesy of Bishop's own great-grandfather, Gateway, and his employer Sabretooth-- in this reality, General Creed.

"Hey!" said Callisto. She could barely be heard over the roar of wind and rain and the flapping of the tent material. "I thought the old geek was supposed to know when our job was done!"

"He does," Bishop said, staring at the old man as he solemnly put away his bullroarer. "Apparently it's done."

"But we still gotta save your Storm!"

Gateway looked at her, frowned, then pointed to the other side of the tent, where their team's telepath, Esme Cuckoo, was curled up on a mat. Callisto ran to her.

It was Creed who spoke. "She collapsed, right after you left. My telepath says her brain's out to lunch-- she's fightin' some kinda battle on the astral plane. (- see X-Factor #5) Couldn't get any more than that."

"A battle?" Bishop said. "Has she been attacked?"

He was asking Gateway, but the old man shook his head. He glared at Esme-- an angry, almost bitter look, which was about as much emotion as he'd been known to display-- and walked out before Bishop could question him further.

"You got bigger problems," Creed said, slapping him on the shoulder. "Maybe you noticed the weather's gone nuts again. I got reports sayin' the Wind-Rider's on the warpath against anything an' everything-- a -young- Wind-Rider, this time. There somethin' you want to tell me?"

Bishop glowered at nothing in particular. "We'll fix it."

"You better. I'll be a lot happier, and you'll be a lot less dead, if you make can make this problem go away." The man Bishop knew as a vicious killer bared his fangs. "Fast."

-Sure,- Bishop thought. -Storm's only the most unstoppable mutant force this side of Magneto, being driven by a malevolent entity of unknown power. To stop her, I've got... myself, an aging scrapper, and an unconscious kid.

-We might need a little help... but I know how to get it.-

Ignoring the foul weather, he ran out of the tent, seeking Gateway.

--

BAM!

One of the unfortunate commandos crashed into the wall of the garage. If Monet had hit him a little harder, he might have crashed -through- it. Unfortunately, she didn't want to kill any of these cretins-- particularly not until she knew for certain what was going on.

X-23 had no such reservations. She had been reared as the perfect killing machine, and it had been a while since she had really been able to cut loose. With her Wolverine-issue healing factor, she could shake off whatever tranqs they threw at her and keep coming, making them pay in blood for every shot.

Monet was in a somewhat more delicate position. She did posses a healing factor, but not of the same caliber. She'd quickly realized she had to get in amongst her enemies, fight at close range, or they would tranquilize her. Fortunately, along with the sensibilities and manners of a spoiled heiress, Monet St. Croix possessed a bad-girl streak that -loved- a good fight.

She grabbed a soldier in each head, smashed their heads together, and tossed them aside. That left her face-to-face with the man himself, Roberto da Costa. Monet met his eyes. He nodded to her, accepting the challenge, and swung from the heels. Monet dodged and belted him squarely in the jaw. Her fist burned from contact with his powered-up form, but it knocked him for a loop.

Monet considered: He would be stronger than her. Depending on how much solar energy he'd absorbed and how well he'd honed his abilities compared to the Sunspot she knew, he might be a -lot- stronger. He could possibly emit concussive solar energy and/or match her in flight. But he could not match her reflexes, and he was not invulnerable. Monet especially liked that last part.

They traded blows, testing her theory. The heat was incredible, and it had been a long time since anything had hurt Monet as much as his punches. One sent her hurtling through the air, and she narrowly missed careening into X-23. Sunspot blasted off right after her. Monet played dead until the last moment, then changed course and let him crash into the wall. A gasoline cannister nearby caught fire, and the garage began to burn.

Sunspot spat out a couple of teeth and took to the air again. "Impressive."

"I'm always impressive," Monet said, "but not terribly impressed. Where I come from, your New Mutants were the class ahead of mine. No wonder Xavier started over. You're not showing any advanced technique, Senhor da Costa."

"-Desculpe, senhora.- This might impress you."

He released a tremendous concussive burst that -did- send Monet through the wall. For a long moment she was knocked senseless, in a world of pain, but she came back to herself with three words ringing in her head: -That. Is. It.-

CRASH! Monet blasted back into the garage like a projectile, ready for payback, but da Costa was nowhere to be seen. She looked around with growing dread and then-- WHAM!-- he hit her from behind, knocking her to the floor.

"Gotta be faster that -that-, Ms. Perfect," said a familiar voice. X-23 stood a few feet away, shredding weapons and bones alike with her claws. By now, the soldiers were too frightened to even come close to her.

Monet stood, dusted herself off, and nodded to her teammate. "I can use a little help. Interested?"

"Sure. This is getting boring. What're you thinking?"

"I'm thinking of infringing on a trademark."

Monet's whole unpleasant evening might have been worth it, just for the look on Roberto da Costa's face when X-23 came soaring at him, sharp parts first, in imitation of the classic Fastball Special. He raised his hands to ward her off, but before he could--

Some kind of portal appeared in front of X-23, and she vanished through it. Monet thought it resembled one of Gateway's. She also thought, no matter what it was, it beat hanging around to fight in a burning house.

Turning on the superior speed, Monet scooped up Hank McCoy, circled around for Forge, and blasted through the portal before it closed.

--

Rachel Grey bowed her head, concentrated, and tried again to get into Kurt Wagner's mind. It was... strange in there. There was some kind of interference, possibly generated by a telepathic contact, but mostly his mind was consumed by... something else. A memory. Kurt kept flashing back to it.

Rachel perceived snippets: Someplace out in the desert. Kurt's bruised body, hitting the sand. Watching his friends fight. White-hot light and pain. -Sentinels-. Rachel shuddered.

"Not any fun, is it?" Cable observed.

Rachel gasped. "Nathan-- you startled me."

"There are a number of startling things around here-- beginning with our friend, Kurt Wagner. I saw the way you looked at this guy when we tracked him down, Ray. I saw you kiss him. (- NXM #4)"

She offered a weak smile. "That was just a gesture. He's too old for me."

"But your Kurt's different, right?"

"Dunno. I might never see him again."

"And that would be for the best." Cable entered the room, left eye gleaming with the intensity of his stare. "Let me tell you about Kurt Wagner-- -any- version of Kurt Wagner. He used to tell us bedtime stories, right? Well, here's one about him: He's a liar, a snake, and a murderer."

Rachel stood up quickly. "That's not true!"

"Yeah, it is, Ray. What's the matter? Can't get the story from his mind? Here-- read it in mine. I was there."

"No--" Rachel started to say, but Cable was already establishing the psi-link...

--

25 Years Ago
Chihuahuan Desert, West Texas

"Don't understand it," Logan said as he poked around the vehicle's engine. "This thing read as fully charged."

Jean Grey looked over his shoulder. At his height, that wasn't hard. "Forget it, Logan. I'll just fly us from here."

"In this heat, darlin'? 'Sides, you'll trip off every sensor from here to th' Coast."

"Well, we can't -stay- out in..." Jean her lip. "You think he's still looking for us?"

Logan nodded. "You're a military asset, babe. One o' the best."

"I'm his wife. He -loves- me... still. He won't understand at first, but he wouldn't--"

"He -would-." Logan stared at her. "You know he's changed, darlin'. Maybe you don't wanna know -how- much."

Jean looked away. "Nobody knows Scott like I do."

"Once, maybe. I'm tellin' you, this ain't the same man. He's comin' after you, darlin'... you an' Nathan. But he ain't gonna hurt you. I swear that."

Jean couldn't help but smile. Not long ago, she would have thought it absurd that she could love this angry little man, but his determination, his love for her was so great... he actually thought he could protect the Phoenix. That was... kind of stupid, but in a sweet way. She leaned close to him.

"You are such a..."

"Need a good descriptive term?" said a voice. "I have lots."

Awareness exploded in Jean's mind. Logan sniffed the air. Both too late. SNIKT-- he popped his claws and they whirled...

Scott Summers stood with a detachment of Gene Nation troops behind him and Emma Frost pressed close against his body. A couple of troops tossed Kurt Wagner onto the sand before them. He'd been worked over pretty well, and there were marks on his body consistent with a creative use of Scott's optic beams.

"'Psychotic traitor dwarf' comes to mind," Scott said, deadpan.

"You sonofa--" Logan tried to attack, but staggered under a mindblast from Emma.

The White Queen smiled. "Jean, -darling-. How well you look. And with Logan! Your taste in men used to be so much better. But then, Scott's taste in women used to be worse, so perhaps it evens out."

"How did you--"

"Oh, you didn't think I could shield this many people from the perceptions of the almighty Phoenix? Well, you're probably right... but you got cocky, luv. You weren't even looking for us. I simply played possum."

Jean felt power burning inside her and tried to unleash it, but--

"We have all kinds of telepathic inhibitors activated now, though," Scott said. "You have one chance to come to your senses."

Emma hugged Jean's husband tighter. "If you're very sweet to me, dear, perhaps I'll consent to share him. What do you say to Tuesdays and Thursdays?"

"GrrrrrrAAAAAAAARRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHH!"

Before Jean could spit in her eye, Logan went berserk, charging Scott Summers-- who turned a full-strength optic blast in his direction, knocking him back against the vehicle. Inside, Nathan started to cry.

"Bring the boy," Scott said to the soldiers. "Shoot the runt."

A couple of soldiers ran forward to take Nathan from the vehicle, while a couple more emptied enough lead into Logan to take the fight out of even a Wolverine.

Kurt Wagner observed all this from the ground in shock. "No..."

The soldiers placed Nathan in Emma's arms, and she grinned from ear to ear as she had him wave to his mother...

"No."

Scott swaggered toward his wife, reached out to stroke her cheek. "They took my parents from me, Jean. They took my brother. They've taken everything I loved. But you will not take my son... or yourself from me. Ever."

Jean glared at him in disbelief. "I loved you, Scott..."

"You will -always- love me."

"Yes," she said. "I suppose I will. But I'm leaving."

The fire in her eyes glowed bright, melting the telepathic inhibitors worn by the soldiers. The ghostly silhouette of a bird flickered, gaining strength. Nathan Summers laughed, as he always did at Mommy showing off.

Scott had only a moment before she went Phoenix and he knew it. He backhanded Jean, slamming her against the vehicle. He reached for his visor. A quick burst knocked her down...

"NO!" Kurt Wagner cried.

BAMF! He appeared with his arms wrapped around Scott, physically holding the Cyclops back.

"Scott-- Scott, do not do this! This is not -you-, meine freund! Please..."

Scott Summers laughed, a sound without humor. "What can I do, Kurt? She left me no choice."

He struggled with Kurt, reaching for his visor. The demonic mutant squeezed shut his eyes.

"God forgive me, I have none either..."

BAMF! He teleported several meters away. Scott's torso took the trip with him. His lower half did not.

Emma screamed. When Kurt turned to go back for Jean, she hit him with a mindblast so powerful that he lost himself. Nearly blacked out. Instinctively 'ported as far away as he could, and passed out on the spot.

Emma Frost wept for a long time over Scott's body. None of the soldiers dared disturb her. Then, gathering herself, she stood and glowered at the barely conscious Jean Grey.

"M'lady?" One of the soldiers asked "What do we...?"

"Leave them here," Emma said. "Make sure these coordinates are given to Lady Ororo's agents. She's always looking for a good betrayal. I should hate to deprive her of the pleasure."

"Yes'm..."

Emma turned and walked away, taking the hand of Nathan Christopher Summers and leading him back to her car.

"Come along, my darling. You and I are going to be great friends. We must never forget this day, either of us."

He did look back at his mother and Logan, but only briefly. It was years before he could bring himself to think about what happened to his father. When he did, he swore Emma was right: He'd never forget.

--

Now

Rachel Grey pulled back from her brother's mind and gasped. "You... were raised by -Emma?-"

Cable shrugged. "She was good to me. Not many people have been good to me."

"But-- none of that can be true! What I saw-- it -can't--"

"It is, Ray." He stepped forward. "This man you think you care about... he killed my father. He killed -our- father. Because of him, you never had a chance to be born in this reality. He destroyed our family, Ray. He's paying for that."

Another step. Rachel placed herself between Cable and Kurt's unconscious form. "No! Stop, Nathan! I won't-- -you- did this?"

"I wish there'd been another way." Cable's eye glowed. "Stand aside."

"NO!"

Cable pushed with his teke. Rachel pushed back. He tried to reach into her mind and subdue her. Rachel pushed him out, angrier by the moment. Then, with a sudden, unexpected burst, she levitated him through the window. Cable hit the parking lot hard, fighting for control, wondering how she could match his strength... this -kid-...

"Hope you don't mind taking this outside," Rachel said, touching down a a meter away.

Cable scrambled to his feet. "LISTEN to me, Ray! You have to--"

"I've listened enough, Nathan. I've heard your story. Now here's mine: Did you know I used to call myself Phoenix? For a little while. I lost my connection to the Phoenix Force in my reality. Easy come, easy go, I guess.

"But the Phoenix touches all realities, and Mom never fully embraced being its Avatar here-- I know that from your story. If she had, inhibitors would have never slowed her down. So it didn't die with her, Nathan. And if the Phoenix still exists in this reality with Mom gone... you have to ask yourself... where do you think it went?"

The familiar emblem glowed above Rachel's eye and seemed to spread to her entire body, bathing her in flame and light. Nathan Christopher Summers had about one second to admit to himself that he'd probably, somewhere along the line, made a tactical error...

Then the fiery shape appeared between him and Ray, and he heard the terrible Phoenix cry, and nothing mattered after that.

END

This arc of the “New X-Men: Eternity” series will conclude in “X-Men Eternity: The Crossroads,” a giant-size crossover between all 5 series, coming soon! A new story will begin with issue #7.

Next Up: "X-Force #6: I'll Be Seeing You"