X-MEN ETERNITY

X-Factor #1: "The Better Angels of Our Nature"
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.

This is also partly a work of historical fiction; all characters are either fictitious or used fictitiously, and no infringement or insult 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 cannon for our purposes, and in fact a few things have changed; the team is spread through time and space, and some characters who were dead, um, aren't. "X-Factor: Eternity" deals with the part of the team that has become trapped in an alternate 19th Century America.

--

"Tell you a story, mon ami..."

PLACE: New Orleans
TIME: Late Summer 1861
REALITY: Parallel Earth 915

The man with red eyes flipped over a card. Jack of diamonds. Didn't do Richard Everett any good; a handsome man in the worn but respectable uniform of a captain in the Confederate Cavalry, he generally had control of any situation. Now he fought his instincts to a standstill to keep a poker face, to avoid showing his displeasure. The man, Remy LeBeau, proprietor of the somewhat less-than-respectable establishment known as The Danger Room, gave him a sly smile.

LeBeau dealt to himself. Ace of spades. The smile spread to a grin.

"Like any good story," he said, "It got a beginnin', middle, an' end. I can tell you de beginnin'. We livin' de middle. Don't know de end yet. Interested?"

"You bet," said Everett.

LeBeau put down the deck and crossed his arms behind his head. "Well, dis story, she got de usual cast... de beautiful lady-- dat be de gal behind de bar wit' de pretty eyes. De dashin' hero-- dat's me, swamp rat Cajun dat I am. An'..."

"I meant," he said, "you -bet-."

"Oh." LeBeau pushed forward a stack of chips. "Fifty."

Everett whistled softly. "You don't go halfway."

"Where's de fun in dat?"

"Call," said Everett, though his own collection of chips was fading fast. He hoped his expression was perfectly bland as he fed more into the pile. "Who else?"

LeBeau spread his arms. "Dere's only me an' you, mon ami. All de others gone home to dey mommas hours ago."

"I meant... who else is in the story?"

"Ah. Didn't think you cared." A waitress, a very pretty blonde, brought them another tray of drinks. LeBeau sipped his with a relish. "Obliged, chere."

"Don't lose our money, huh?"

"Don't be frettin' none, gal. It's only Confederate." The waitress made a face and walked away. LeBeau picked up the deck of cards and dealt again: Three of diamonds for Everett, king of clubs for LeBeau. As he dealt, he said:

"De other characters: Couple farm kids from Kentucky, salt o' de Earth. Lady doctor named Reyes..."

"What's that you say? A female doctor? Absurd!"

That grin again. "Don't knock it, mon ami. She de best damn doctor you ever gon' know."

"I didn't realize this was a fantasy story. Bet."

"Fifty more," said LeBeau, pushing in another stack.

Everett frowned. He could barely afford that. He hesitated...

"Havin' trouble, mon ami? Difficult game, dis five-card stud. I think it might last. De big money, though... dat gon' be in Texas Hold 'Em."

"Texas what?"

"Don' worry yo' head," LeBeau said. "You got a few years to learn de rules. But you gon' love it."

"Call," said Everett, resolutely pushing another stack.

"Now dat's what I like... a man o' courage, an' not too many brains." LeBeau's strange, red eyes narrowed.

"Mo' story, mon ami?"

"Certainly. I am entranced by it, sir."

"Well, three other characters you got to worry 'bout now... kid from England, tough kid, disfigured. Lost a big part o' himself to an... accident."

"At Manassas?" Everett guessed. "Where was your doctor then?"

"You got a smart mouth, boy. Gon' be pure pleasure, take your money." LeBeau dealt again: Five of diamonds for Everett, ten of hearts for himself. Possible flush on one side, possible straight on the other. "Bet fifty mo'."

Everett swallowed his pride and shoved in the next-to-last of his chips. He took a deep breath. "Well, go on."

"...den we got de riddle, de chere wit' de funny eyes an' de secrets..."

"Funnier than yours?"

"Eyes," LeBeau asked, "or secrets?"

"Either."

"Heh," said LeBeau. He dealt again. "An' de last of our characters... -gar ici-, he jus' an Angel."

Queen of diamonds. Queen of spades. Both patterns held. LeBeau cashed in fifty more chips.

"Care to join me, mon ami?"

Those red eyes gave away nothing. Despite himself, Everett tugged at his collar. He offered up the chips.

"I'm all in," he said. "I call. Show your hole card, sir. Have you a straight?"

"Now," said LeBeau, leaning forward, "after all dis here night we spent, wouldn't it be funny if I were bluffin'?"

"Are you?"

"Story first," said LeBeau. "If dat please you, mon ami?"

"You're flashy, LeBeau."

"Hell, yes."

"That will cost you." Everett propped himself up by his elbows on the table, trying to match the Cajun grin for grin. "But go ahead. Tell your story."

"It start wit' a beautiful femme in red. A Scarlet Witch, in fact. Have I yo' interest, mon ami?"

"Wild horses couldn't drag me from the table."

"How 'bout a Rogue?" LeBeau said, and laughed. The joke made sense only to him. It also energized him, launching him into his tale, which proved to be by far the strangest Richard Everett had ever heard...

-
PLACE: Manassas, Virginia
TIME: A Few Weeks Earlier

Rogue had a splitting headache.

She was lying in a field, under a hot sun, and she felt like she had just died several times, each time worse than the last. Actually, Rogue -always- lived with the knowledge of what it was like to die-- or to fade away, at least. When she touched another person, she absorbed the sum total of their abilities and experiences, including the memory of what it felt like to be absorbed by Rogue. She had felt her mind slip away so many times, the horrific experience no longer had any meaning for her.

But she'd never felt the whole -Universe- slip away before. She didn't have a hell of a lot of time to contemplate it before the cannon went off.

Rogue looked wildly around. A bunch of folks standing on a nearby hill had fired it. She didn't have time to process who they were firing -at-- only that she was on pretty much a direct line between it and the target.

For much of her life, that wouldn't have been a problem. Rogue had absorbed the invulnerability powers of Ms. Marvel, who was, well... pretty darn marvelously invulnerable. Now those powers were gone, and she had a new set from the Japanese hero Sunfire. Impressive powers indeed. They included a defensive field-- which she was still too woozy to manifest-- but not flat-out invulnerability.

-Well, crap...- Rogue thought, in the half a second before the Cannonball hit her.

Fortunately, that was Cannonball with a capital "C," not lowercase. Her young teammate Sam Guthrie plowed into Rogue from the side, knocking her out of the way. Not that it didn't still hurt like anything; Sam was invulnerable with his blast field active and Rogue, as noted, was not. But at least Sam wasn't rigged to explode.

They crashed into the hillside, Sam burrowing several meters into the dirt and then climbing back out. By that time, Rogue was sprawled on the ground, trying to clear her head.

It only -kind- of worked. On the one hand, she felt better. On the other, it sure looked like a bunch of the guys who'd shot off the cannon were now charging down the hill, waving guns. They wore blue uniforms of some heavy fabric; Rogue's only thought was, they must be hot as Hades.

"Dark colors, too," she -tsked- to herself. "This time of year. These here folks clearly ain't from the South."

"No, they're not," Sam said, a little dazed himself. "Those are Army uniforms, Rogue. -Union- Army. Like from the Civil War."

"...th' hell? Don't tell me the Yankees are invading again an' nobody thought to tell me!"

Sam turned to her, wide-eyed. "I don't think it's 'again'..."

"You're nuts. It's a re-enactment. People do it all the time."

Somebody whistled at her, and then she got stung by a bee-- or that was what Rogue thought it was. Turned out, a stray bullet had clipped her sleeve. Rogue looked down: Torn cloth. Blood. Not much, thankfully, but what there was of it was very real.

Rogue suddenly realized that non-invulnerable persons really ought not be sitting on the grass -next- to the cannons, either, so she climbed with Sam into the furrow he'd dug-- instant foxhole-- and just watched for a while, trying to get the lay of the land.

It wasn't clear to her who was winning. It wasn't particularly clear that either side even knew what it was doing. Rogue knew a little about the Old South because she'd always sort of dreamed of being Scarlet O'Hara, but military history wasn't her forte. She knew the basics-- North won, South lost, slaves freed. At some point, Abraham Lincoln said cool stuff and it all worked out for the best, though a few of the people she'd known back in Mississippi still held a grudge.

Now she knew something else-- the way they fought, on foot with antiquated guns and clumsy cannons, sometimes just with bayonets and fists-- was ugly and loud and after a while you could hardly tell who was who for the smoke. For all her career of super-heroing, Rogue wouldn't have wanted to do -that- in a million years.

"How'd we get here, Rogue?" Sam asked. "Where are we? I don't even 'member where I -was-."

"Genosha," Rogue whispered as half of a stray memory clicked into place.

"No foolin'? Well, I'll take your word for it. Meanwhile, I don't reckon this is any of our affair, and I wouldn't know how to put it a'right, so maybe we should just blast out of..."

That's when they saw the figure staggering toward them, out of the man-made fog. A young woman, blonde hair, looking very out-of-place where she was. She was disoriented, staggering, caught right between the combatants. She was a blonde like Sam, and although she was cuter, it wasn't impossible to detect certain similarities...

"Aw, no..." he muttered. "Nonononononono... PAIGE!"

Before Rogue could act, he'd blasted off to the rescue. Which proved to be just as well, because he'd been gone only a few minutes when a couple of badly-shaved men in blue showed up to point their rifles in Rogue's face.

"Well, I'll be, Frank," said one of them. "It's a woman!"

"Fancy woman, at that," said Frank. "Ain't hardly wearin' more than her drawers and corset."

"Frank! Be a gentleman!"

Rogue looked up at them, almost blinded by the glint of the sun off their strange weapons, and she had to smile.

"Sugar," she said, "ain't no call to watch your mouth 'round me. Y'all may be gentlemen... but I ain't no lady."

Still confused mentally but much recovered physically, Rogue blasted out of the furrow and proceeded to illustrate her point.

--

NOW...

"Now just a blasted minute," Everett said to the red-eyed man, LeBeau. "You're telling me ya'll are from the future?"

LeBeau grinned. "Not exactly, mon ami. We from de future of an alternate dimension. We come here thanks to a one-of-a-kind psychic phenomena dat scattered us X-Men... mutants born to protect de society dat hates an' fears us-- 'cross de Multiverse." (ED NOTE: As seen in "Uncanny X-Men Eternity #1")

Everett's mouth hung upon. "You just used eighteen words I don't understand."

"S'okay, mon ami. I don' understand fifteen o' dem myself." LeBeau picked up the remaining cards and shuffled them with one hand. "You figure it matter, in de end? We here an' now. De rest is details."

"I suggest, sir," Everett said slowly, "that you are a lunatic."

"Well, now... dat always possible. 'Course..." LeBeau held forth one of the cards, an ace, which now... somehow... glowed red, just like his eyes.

"...maybe I'm not."

--

A FEW WEEKS EARLIER...

-I must be -motier foux-...- Remy LeBeau thought when he opened his eyes. The phrase meant 'half crazy.' At least.

He could have sworn he'd just woken up from a very strange dream to find himself on his back on rocky ground, surrounded by six men on horseback, all in gray homespun-- maybe the strangest getup he'd ever seen-- and pointing what had to be toy guns in his face.

"Lemme guess," he murmured. "You headed to a costume ball?"

The oldest and best-dressed of the men climbed off his horse. "Sir, I must demand an immediate explanation for your presence here, else I will be forced to treat you as a spy!"

"Go to bed!" Remy said, a Cajun expression of disbelief. "Is dis de han'some face of a spy?"

"We found this near him, sir." One of the other men handed something to the greybeard: Remy's staff. The older man hefted it, somewhat clumsily.

"Metal. Is it a weapon or a railroad tie?" The older man handed it back. "Very well, dispose of it."

"Say, homme," said Remy, struggling to his feet, "don't you know it rude, take things dat don't belong to you? Man might think you a thief."

"Watch it, he's going to..."

By the time one of the men shouted their warning, Remy had already thrown the handful of pebbles he'd scooped off the ground. Charged with kinetic energy, they exploded in front of his captor like so many pellets of buckshot. The horses reared and panicked. One of the riders swung his saber at Remy, but the Cajun dodged easily, hopped over the man's mount, and picked his staff out of the air. With a single swipe, he swatted three of their horses across the rear.

"Gidd-AP!" he said, and the frightened animals galloped away. Two more riders kept their mounts under better control; they wisely elected to go for help. Remy scooped two more rocks off the ground and flung them with expert precision, knocking them out of the saddle.

The graybeard had a pistol trained on him; Remy kicked it away, then pulled the man by his collar down to the ground.

"Pretty gold buttons on yo' collar, mon ami," Remy said, fingering the glittering metal. "Wonder how you like to have dem go bang in yo' face?"

"Please, no!" the older man said. "I surrender! Have mercy!"

"Mercy's fo' de heroes." Remy grinned. "You lucky I'm one a' those. Barely."

The captain gave a sigh of relief. "Thank you, sir. You are a gentleman."

"Hardly. Now, mon ami... we gon' have a talk. I ask de questions, you give de answers. -Comprenez-vous?-"

The man nodded his head eagerly; he'd suddenly developed a healthy respect for this Cajun with the strange clothes and the stranger eyes.

Remy liked that. It was all a matter of knowing how to talk to people...

--

"PAIGE!" Sam Guthrie cried, and slammed his sister to the ground even as another volley of bullets zipped overhead.

"Ow," said Paige Guthrie, the mutant known as Husk. She still sounded a little foggy. "Y'know, I had it under control..."

To prove it, she shed her skin, ripping it off to reveal the solid metal underneath. Far too hard for the soft, low-velocity projectiles know as Minie balls to penetrate. Now it was Paige's turn to shield Sam, as the rounds peppered the ground all about them.

"This is fun," Sam murmured. "Next time, though? Let's do the family vacation at Disney World."

Paige laughed... then, a moment later, narrowed her eyes in irritation. She rolled over, and realized that some idiot soldier in blue had tried to stick a bayonet in her back. The metal dagger had bent on contact, and the man was now standing over her, looking somewhat comical.

"Well," she said, "that's just rude."

"What... what are you?"

"Leaving," Paige said, "An' so are you."

She grabbed the man by his lapels and tossed him into the opposing lines, where he was greeted with enthusiasm. Several of the fellows in gray seemed a little shocked by her appearance, too. Paige couldn't possibly have cared, although it got inconvenient when they started shooting again.

"This is gonna get real unhealthy," Sam said.

"I'm open to suggestions."

"How 'bout we get the heck--"

"LOOK!" somebody cried. A few moments later, a whole -lot- of people were shouting and pointing at the sky. A shadow fell across them both, an especially familiar one to Paige.

"Is that...?" Sam asked.

Paige grinned. "He does like to make an entrance."

The sun broke through again as the shadow passed by, a stunningly handsome blond fellow with feathery wings skimming low over the battle lines. His name was Warren Worthington III, but to the assembled soldiers-- as well as to Paige Guthrie, specifically... he was a bona fide Angel.

They were suitably affected by the sight. Many fell to their knees and prayed. A few sobbed openly. One-- a bearded man in a shabby gray uniform that nonetheless identified him as a high-ranking officer-- lifted both arms in the air and shouted at the top of his voice. But another man in gray-- a disbeliever, or just a man scared straight out of his wits-- stepped out of the crowd and shouldered his musket. He fired.

Paige cried out and ran toward the man, but Warren had only been clipped. Feathers flew and a streak of red ran down one of his wings, but he barely noticed. He did bank toward the man, though, and snatched the man's weapon from his hands. When soldier tried to struggle, Warren decked him without even losing a beat of his wings.

And then something remarkable happened: All the men in blue cheered. They rose to their feet and shook their guns, while the men in gray shrank back. Some of them cried out for mercy.

The Angel would certainly have granted it; the men in blue would not.

"Look, boys!" one of the blue officers cried. "God fights for us! Forward the red, white, and blue!"

The blue tide surged forward, yelling and cheering, ignoring the heroes now. They battered back the gray soldiers, took them prisoner, overran them despite stiff resistance from a brigade in the center of the gray line. They kept rolling South. At that speed, Paige judged, they'd be in Richmond by supper.

Sam whistled softly as the soldiers ran, the tide now swiftly and irrevocably turned. "That was somethin', wasn't it?"

Warren lighted next to them, watching the battle with curiosity. "What'd I do?"

"Somethin'," Sam said. "Somethin' big, maybe."

Paige threw herself into Warren's arms and hugged him tight. "I'm just glad you're okay. Let me have a look at that wing..."

"I'm okay," the Angel said, looking out over the battlefield; hundreds of men lay, wounded or dying, underneath a scorching sun. "And I've got work to do..."

He and Paige set about it, hardly even noticing the gray general who was still on his knees, sobbing, utterly broken by the defeat... and perhaps, by the way the suddenly-appearing Angel had abandoned his cause.

But Sam Guthrie noticed, and it nagged at him. He couldn't shake the feeling that the world had just turned upside down, and they didn't even know it yet.

--

"This'll teach you boys..."

BAM! One burly soldier went flying.

"Y'don't -ever- take a Southern gal..."

POW! Another one broke his jaw against Rogue's fist and collapsed.

"...for GRANTED!"

WHAM! She smashed two more against each other, tossed them aside, and dusted off her hands. So much for the morning's light workout. She turned her attention to Sam and Paige, who were now staring at some kind of commotion with everybody else.

"Afternoon, chere," said a voice behind her. Rogue whirled to see Remy LeBeau-- Gambit-- standing a few meters away, cocky as ever. "Trust you havin' as interestin' a day as me?"

"Words can't describe it," Rogue said. She frowned at the other. "D'you think we should..."

"Eh." Gambit waved his hand. "Let 'em have fun. Only ones gon' be hurt are de grunts, an' den only if dey dumb enough to look fo' trouble. Got -better- plans fo' you..."

Rogue smirked. "Why, Remy... right here in front of everybody?"

Remy knelt beside one of the unconscious soldier and rolled him over. "Kiss you anytime, chere... but right now, I t'ink you do us more good kissin' him."

"Seriously? Ah mean..."

Remy shrugged. "I mostly don't favor de direct approach on principle, but right now, time's wastin'."

"Fair enough," Rogue said. Kneeling beside Remy and the soldier, Rogue stripped off her gloves and took a deep breath. -Please, don't let me absorb too much... let it be quick an' painless...-

"Pucker up, sugar," she said, and taking his face in her hands, kissed him quickly.

FLASH. Rogue died again, as she had before. In her place was someone else, a combination of the woman she was and the people she'd been, now drawing in a new persona-- the soldier she'd just fought.

Memories, feelings, pain. Homesick. Fear. Hatred. KILL the Rebs. Bust up our country, take us away from our families. Kill 'em ALL.

Rogue gasped and let him go. For a moment she feared the pain-- the memories-- would not subside, that she'd be stuck with his life inside her head forever. But at length it faded, most of it. Rogue was once again in control of her own body and able to breathe.

"Well?" Remy asked.

"Ain't a joke, Remy. He ain't playin' one little bit. That fella's a genuine Union soldier... and we're about 150 years out of place."

--

Cecilia Reyes didn't remember a lot, and she figured she was luckier that way. Something about... a camp... with death everywhere...

Now she came to her senses someplace better. Someplace warm. Someplace...

She opened one eye. -Aw, hell.-

She was in a camp, and surrounded by death. At least, it seemed to be a -different- camp.

Celicia rubbed the sleep out of her big, brown eyes with a hand almost the same color. She found herself slumped in one corner of a large tent, with men all around her lying on tables or stretchers... any flat surface. They were horribly wounded, all of them, weeping and shouting. Doctors were trying to help them, but the room was hardly sanitary and their implements almost barbaric.. The stench was... Cecilia was a doctor. She knew what blood and death smelled like. She'd never smelled anything -this- bad. She nearly lost her lunch.

"This is an X-Man thing," she muttered. "I know it's an X-Man thing, 'cause nothing that happens to me when I'm around them makes sense. This doesn't make sense, so it's an X-Man thing. I so very much hate them."

The tent flaps opened, and a bunch of men ran inside, bearing more wounded.

"We're falling back!" one of them shouted. "Lord have mercy, they're actually whippin' us!"

Falling back? Was there a war? Cecilia didn't remember one. In her condition, though, that didn't mean much.

"You there!"

-Great,- Cecilia thought, -Maybe if I'm very quiet, he'll realize I'm not an X-Man and go... torment somebody else. Somewhere.-

But the doctor approached her, wiping red hands on a rag and looking generally suspicious. He dragged Cecilia to her feet. "You there. What are you doing? Get out of here!"

"I'm not..." Cecilia's medical training kicked in; she broke his grip and sighed. "Screw it. I'm a doctor. How can I help?"

"You're a..." The man burst out laughing. "I haven't the time for this! Blasted fool--"

And then he said a word that made Cecilia's blood boil. Normally she would have controlled herself, the same way she'd dealt with people's stupid prejudices all her life. But with the stench and the amnesia and the weirdness and the... well, Cecilia was not at her best. Almost without intending to, she lashed out with her force field and caught the doctor right in the middle of the chest. He went flying... if his aides hadn't caught him, he might have fallen on a patient and done some real damage. Cecilia cursed herself for a fool; this wasn't the place to pick fights.

"Sorry," she hissed, though it was the hardest word she'd ever said. "If you don't need my help, I'll just show myself out."

"You'll go nowhere, witch! How did you do that?"

"Sorcery," Cecilia said, and waved her arms half-heartedly. "Boo."

The doctor made a low, irritated sound. "Grab her. Get her out of here. We'll deal with her later."

"Good luck grabbing me, boys," she said, and let the aides bounce off her forcefield...

"Doctor! We need you over here! This one's strange!"

The doctor made a face, but whatever kind of antiquated old bigot he was, he was also a physician. He hurried to the sound of the call; Cecilia trailed after him with the men still trying to figure out how to manhandle a psioplasmic forcefield.

"She's not breathing!" said the woman who'd called for the doctor. The patient in question was a teenage girl with platinum-blonde hair. She was wearing modern clothes-- which suddenly struck Cecilia as odd because she herself was the only one in the room besides the kid who was dressed like that. The others were all in some kind of getup...

The doctor noticed it simultaneously: "Gracious, is this a child of the streets? What is she wearing?"

Cecilia groaned. -Please, not time travel. I am not cut out for a world without microwave dinners...-

"I don't know what she is, doctor, but I can't feel her pulse! Can't you do something?"

"I can," Cecilia said.

The doctor turned, startled that she was still there--

"I can help the kid. You're not going to be able to do anything for... someone like her. You wouldn't know where to start."

The doctor snorted. "Whereas you, with pagan 'sorcery'..."

"I hang my hat in the South Bronx, dude, not the dark heart of Hell. I know multisyllabic words and everything. Would you like me to tell you where the geniculate ganglion is?"

The doctor took a step back, wide-eyed. "I don't-- have time-- what--"

Then the girl who wasn't breathing gasped and sat straight up. When she spoke, it was a mile-a-minute:

"Universe... spinning 'round, while we remain motionless... patterns of force, subatomic particles strung together... entropy, chaos, forever... it's so -simple-..."

"Yeah," Cecilia said. "I'm in the Twilight Zone, too, on that one."

And then things started flying around the room. Surgical implements, pocket watches, discarded personal effects... and more grisly things...

"It IS sorcery!" someone screamed. "The girl's possessed!"

Cecilia ducked and covered. --Love- this. Kid's developed crazy teke, and about two less marbles than she really needs. How do I deal with this? Think like an X-Man...-

Huddled beside her, the doctor whirled and grabbed Cecilia by the throat-- or tried. She battered him back with her forcefield. Didn't discourage him. "Is this your doing? How are you doing this?"

"Hate to disappoint you, but actually..." A pair of forceps buried themselves in the wooden bed-frame next to Cecilia's head. She took a deep breath... people were going to die if she didn't act.

She stood up in the middle of the chaos. "Kid-- hey, girl! You've got to calm down, okay? You're gonna get somebody hurt. You don't want that."

Nothing swatted Cecilia upside the head; that was a start. The girl turned glowing eyes on her.

"I see all of it. I -experience- all of it. Black holes, quasars, gas giants, little hunks of ice floating between the stars. The dark spaces. Infinity, infinitely."

"Wow," Cecilia said. "Neat trick."

"It's the Five-in-One. We're all doing it, and I'm all of us. They tried to make me go away, but I came back." (- NOTE: For the Five-in-One's return and its unique role in all this, see the previous #1 issues)

"Five-in-One," Cecilia repeated, thinking fast as the contents of the tent swirled around her. "Which one are you?"

"Sophie. I'm the heart, you see. I'm the center. The others are connected, but I'm the line. I'm the Universe."

Around Cecilia, the flying objects were calming down a little. It was working! She had to keep the kid focused, keep her talking.

"Okay... Sophie... I think maybe you're a little sick. If you'll relax and lie down, I'll do everything I can to make you better. You can trust me."

"I know, Dr. Reyes. I know a lot, more than the others. I know you won't believe me, even when I tell you. It's a plan, there's a connection. They think the Witch did it, but she only helped. She was the mechanism. The Phoenix was the power source. Someone's at the controls. Don't you comprehend?"

"Not even a little bit," Cecilia told her. But the telekenetically-controlled objects started dropping from the sky, and that was the important thing. People started peeking their heads up.

"He didn't count on us," Sophie rambled. "We're the counter-stroke, the lynchpin. That's why she brought back all five. Three couldn't do it. Five might. Five -might- stop him. We'll need help. Can't do it alone. Need time to sort through the pieces. That's why you're here. You should be dead; or should you? There are so many timelines. In some you're dead; in some, you're not. Need to find out, make it work, to stop him."

"Stop who, honey?" Cecilia said, approaching as the last of the animated objects fell. "Who do you want to stop?"

Sophie opened her mouth as if to scream, but no sound came out. Her eyes flashed-- from white back to blue-- and she let out a startled moan.

"Slayer," she said, and passed out.

Dead silence. Cecilia cleared her throat. The sounds of the men groaning and sobbing reasserted themselves. She offered the doctor a hand up.

"These man are dying," she said. "We've wasted enough time. Let me help you."

The doctor accepted the hand up, but instead of seeing the True Meaning of Christmas, he grabbed her -hard- and turned her over to the aides.

"Put this witch under guard! Quickly, now!"

"But--"

"Get her OUT of here!"

The men started dragging Cecilia away. She was tired; using her forcefield seemed like a useless delaying tactic. But she reached out until the last, trying to help the poor souls on the table, even though their cause-- if she was where she now expected she was-- was nothing less than to lock her in irons for the rest of her life. She was still a doctor. In that way, if not with a stretchy costume, she was a -hero-. It couldn't end this way for heroes...

You'll want to let 'er go, lads.

Cecilia didn't so much hear the voice as "see" it, in her head, British accent and all. She struggled in the guards' arms, tried to turn...

She'd never been so glad to see anyone in all her life. Jonothon Starsmore, the disfigured mutant known as Chamber, stood at the entrance to the tent, looking very much ready for anything. He must have been having a fun day, too.

"Aw, now who's this freak--"

Y'know what gets my dander up? Jono said in his telepathic 'voice.' Being called a freak.

Taking a step back out of the tent, Jono removed the cloak he kept wrapped around his psychic "furnace" and shot a blast straight into the air. They must have seen it for miles; somebody probably thought a new volcano had gone up.

Jono looked at the men holding Cecilia. The men looked at Jono. They released her and pushed her forward.

If he'd had a mouth, Cecilia was sure Jono would have smiled. He pointed back into the tent.

The girl too. They hesitated. Right now, lads, before I get... irritable.

They hurried to bring out Sophie. Cecilia wished she'd thought of that approach from the beginning. Nobody, she guessed, was perfect.

--

He hovered over the wounded, great wings spread out behind him like something out of a fairie's dream. He smiled at them. He seemed to promise that everything would be all right.

And then a few drops of his blood fell on their wounds, and many of them -were- all right. The pain went away. The wounds healed. If he'd wanted to, Warren Worthington could have started his own cult right there on the hill at Manassas.

He stepped toward the next patient, and staggered. Paige hurried to his side.

"Warren, baby! You've gotta rest. You're overdoing it."

"How... can I?" Warren looked down at his wrists. He'd actually cut one open-- not deep enough, he hoped, to kill himself. But the men needed blood, his healing blood, and supply had to rise to meet demand. He shook Paige off. "So many hurt..."

He knelt-- nearly collapsed-- beside the next soldier, who'd take a Minie ball in the stomach. Gut wound. Invariably fatal in this time period. Nothing more painful.

"What's your name, son?" Warren asked.

"Pardee. Private Jeb... Pardee, sir." The boy squinted at him through the afternoon sun. "I'm dyin'. You here to take me to Heaven?"

"No, son," Warren said. Wincing, he squeezed his wrist and allowed the blood to flow down into Pardee's wound. If only he had a matching type... "I think you'll be okay."

"I will? You a messenger? Are you..." The boy gasped. "Are you Gabriel or Michael?"

"I'm Warren."

The boy frowned. "Sir, I know my Scriptures. I know the Book like I know my own hands. I ain't heard tell of no Angel Warren."

"I'm... a temp," the Angel gasped, and nearly collapsed.

"His wound's healing," Paige said, checking on Pardee. She slung an arm around Warren. "Come on, hero. You've done all you can..."

Warren nodded, wearily, but before he could pull away, Pardee grabbed his wrist.

"Sir-- I won't forget this, ever. If you're ever in Jacksonport, Arkansas, you look up my kin and they'll do right by you."

"Jacksonport, huh?" Warren smiled. "I won't forget, thanks."

Paige helped him to the place on the hilltop, a little ways away, where Rogue and Sam and Remy sat in a small circle. They knew when they were, and roughly where. They just didn't know why.

Warren nearly collapsed beside them. "Well... I've been busy..."

"Good work, sugar," Rogue said. "You saved a lot of lives, on both sides."

"And let a lot more die. But I'm wiped; I can't do any more without a rest."

Remy frowned at him. "Best be ready to move, mon ami. Dey be 'round any second to chase us off. 'Less you think de 19th Century South gon' be more sympathetic to de mutant problem den de folks back home?"

Warren laughed. "They just might. These people love me."

"'Course they do," Rogue said. "Far as they know, you just worked a miracle."

"They're calling him the Angel of Henry Hill," Paige said. "We, um, may have accidentally sparked a religious revival."

"Wait," Sam said quietly. "Henry Hill?"

She nodded. "That's where we are. One of the soldiers told me. Henry Hill, just outside Manassas Junction, Virginia."

"Nice place, 'cept in dead o' summer." Remy swatted a bug on his arm. "'Reminds o' home. What I wouldn't give, mes amis, for a cool drink down on Bourbon Street, eh?"

The others agreed-- except Sam, who suddenly said a very naughty word. They turned to him.

"Don' have to be Bourbon Street," Remy said, "Any pub'll do in a..."

"Henry Hill! It can't be! I've read about this!"

Paige arched an eyebrow at him. "I thought you only read science fiction."

"I read ever'thing. Now, look here... Manassas. The Battle of Manassas... Bull Run... was th' first battle of the Civil War. And Henry Hill... that was where Stonewall Jackson, the great Southern general, made his name. 'There stands Jackson like a stone wall,' one of his pals said, an' they rallied behind him, an' the name stuck."

Rogue made a face. "Didn't nobody rally here today. They folded."

"Like de house o' cards," said Remy, grinning at the mental image.

"You're right. They did." Sam jabbed a finger at Warren. "You-- you changed history! You saw how they reacted! They thought you were a real angel!"

Warren shrugged. "Is it my fault if they have good taste?"

"This is serious! The South was supposed to win this first battle... but now the North's kicked 'em right in the teeth, thanks to us!"

"So?" Rogue started chewing on a blade of grass, unconcerned. "Boys in blue are supposed to win in the end, right? Pains a good Southern heart to say it, but that -is- for the best. Why sweat the details?"

"It could be important," Warren admitted, frowning. "I took some history in college. It was a nasty war... took a long time. And it wasn't like you hear, the North wasn't all thrilled with freeing the slaves at first. They did that out of desperation. If they settle this -quickly-... slavery might not end."

Sam nodded. "Or, who knows? ANY change could be bad-- 'cause we don't know what'll happen now. One thing's different, everything could be"
"Is this gonna be a Jurassic Park speech about butterfly wings?" Paige asked.

"Exactly! The world could turn out a lot worse!"

"How?" Remy asked, sly. "Ask me, homme, dis ol' world could use a rewrite."

"Sure-- unless, maybe, some Louisiana ancestor of yours was in this battle, and would have survived if they'd won, and now he's dead? For all we know, Remy, we could have prevented your birth. And you've saved the whole world once or twice. Suppose you ain't there to do that?"

"Huh," said the Cajun, wrapping his mind around that. "All de more reason to have dat drink!"

"Listen--!" Sam said, annoyed that nobody was taking him seriously.

That's when they heard somebody shouting in the distance; Two figures where coming toward them over the hill. One was waving her arms; the other was carrying a third person. By the time it started getting dark, Cecilia Reyes, Jonothon Starsmore, and an unconscious Cuckoo sister had joined them around the fireside.

They swapped information, including the idea that the Scarlet Witch, the Phoenix, and... some unknown force... had sent them there.

"So how d'we get home?" Rogue asked. "That's what I'd like to know."

"Beats me," Cecilia said, shrugging. "Ask the kid when she wakes up. She was brimming with ideas. And by the way, all you good Southern folk, on behalf of dark-skinned Puerto Ricans everywhere... thanks much for your lily white heritage. Men -died- today because that old fool wouldn't trust me."

"More could die," Sam said. "I was just tellin' the others, I'm afraid we changed history in a big way..."

Ah, you Yanks, said Jono with a dismissive wave. Think yer piddling two hundred year history's the moon an' stars. The whole world don't revolve 'round you, y'know...

"Maybe so, but..."

-CRUNCH.-

Sam hesitated. He listened, heard nothing. Started again: "But..."

-SNAP.-

"Sammy boy," Rogue said, "in this original history o' yours... did things in the Virginia countryside usually go 'CRUNCH' outta nowhere?"

"I'm guessing not."

"Thought I'd check," Rogue said, and blasted into the sky for a recon.

She barely saw them even then, they blended in so well. There were at least five opponents-- human beings or creatures, it was hard to say. They were misshapen and angry-looking in the dark. They growled and snarled and howled like banshees. And they'd somehow encircled the heroes without anybody noticing a thing. Rogue didn't even think they could talk-- until one of them did.

"You strangers!" it said. "Surrender now, and save your lives!"

"Expect we gon' roll de dice, m'sieu," Remy said. "No 'fense."

The X-Men huddled up, back-to-back-to-back, in fighting stance. Jono fingered the wrappings around his blast chamber. Paige shed her skin and turned to stone. Warren flapped his wings twice and took to the air.

"None taken," the thing growled. "You've heard a lot of surrender demands, eh?"

"You ain't the first," Rogue said, priming to blast the thing.

"But we will be the last. We are Marauders. We hunt. And you are PREY!"

It snarled, revealing a mouthful of fangs. It popped claws that would have impressed Wolvie or Sabretooth. And then it charged, along with it's friends.

-Fun night a-comin',- Rogue thought, and blasted away.

--

NOW...

"Monsters," Everett repeated. "Mister LeBeau, you must think me a fool."

"Nah. Think you an uppity, self-righteous braggart, needs be taken down a peg. Not a fool."

He started to laugh, eying the woman behind the bar with the white streak in her hair. "So... that lovely there... produces fire from her hands."

"Dat's a new trick," LeBeau said. "Should have seen when she was Ms. Marvel."

"Miss..." Everett cleared his throat. "Mister LeBeau, why are you telling me this?"

LeBeau threw a playing card. It landed it an empty spittoon beside the bar and popped like a firecracker. Everett jumped. The red-eyed gambler started to laugh.

"Tell you dis, mon ami, 'cause I can. Even if you believe me, won't nobody b'lieve -you- if you talk fo' a million years. So we might as well have cards on de table."

Everett cleared his throat. "Speaking of cards..."

LeBeau eyed their unresolved poker hand, and the chips stacked between them. Those eyes narrowed for a moment. He reached for his hole card, to turn it over.

"If we must, mon ami..."

Everett stayed his hand. "Bluffing, LeBeau? Afraid to lose?"

"Might be."

"Well... in that case, I'm in no hurry. Go ahead; by all means. What of the vicious monsters?"

"Fact is," said LeBeau, relaxing, "Sam was right to worry, but not 'cause we'd changed history. Turned out, we were in an alternate timeline all along. Wasn't -our- past we changed. Lucky, non?"

"Since you didn't disappear, having averted your own birth," Everett said, "I suppose so."

LeBeau laughed. "Easy to get confused... your timeline's a lot like ours. Only one big difference we found so far."

"Which is?"

"Well," said LeBeau, and the red eyes seemed to grow cold, "dere was a bon riene-- good-for-nothing man-- named Essex, 'cross de pond, years ago. In our timeline, he stay in England an' start a... not very sociable family tree. Here, he cross to America 'round de time o' de Mayflower, an' make his fortune here, in yo' home state."

Everett shrugged. "So what? One more rich Virginia family, give or take... who'd notice?"

"Dat be what you'd think, non?" LeBeau hissed quietly. "One more family name o' Essex... now, who'd reckon anything... sinister... come o' dat?"

--

A FEW WEEKS AGO...

Rogue's burst of ionized plasma knocked the Marauder off his feet, and Sam blasted straight into him, knocking him out of play. Paige went after another, with long tentacles for appendages, and got caught up in a tug-of-war with it. Jono had a huge creature like a bear charging at him, and simply cut loose with his full power, knocking the thing halfway to Kentucky.

One down, two dealt with, two still free. One of the latter was something like an alligator with the long, muscular legs of a cat; it pounced at Remy, incredibly fast, and he barely rolled out of its way. Warren swooped down on it, only to have its jaws nearly tear off one of his wings. He dodged at the last second; still woozy from the blood he'd given, he wasn't at the top of his game.

Rogue had other problems. The last of the critters she saw was-- well, it was a spider-man, but not the friendly neighborhood kind. It had a misshapen head and too many legs and fangs that looked like they'd bite through an armored truck... but -not- Cecilia Reyes' forcefield, thankfully, although the doctor, who could feel every bit of punishment it inflicted, still didn't look happy as she tried to protect the unconscious Sophie.

"Unh!" Cecilia cried as the thing battered at her forcefield. "Hate bugs hate bugs hate hate FREAKING HATE BUGS!"

Rogue figured she might need an assist, so she gathered a quick power-up from the last of the sunlight and burned jets straight for it, in the manner of Sam Guthrie. It didn't even see her, so intent was it on Cecilia. Another hit might finish the doctor...

"HEY!"

The creature looked up. Cecilia ducked. Rogue did her best impression of a giant, nuclear-powered shoe. Sucker squished pretty good.

"Havin' fun, chere?" Remy asked, doing a backflip into her field of vision, still with the gator-creature nipping at his heels.

"You know me, sugar. All in a day's work. 'Course, now I'm covered in bug guts..."

"I noticed," Cecilia said. Her forcefield had taken the worst of it, but she was still thigh-deep in ichor. "Thanks, guys, so much for making me a part of this..."

"Ah, you belles look good in anything," Remy said. He tossed one of his playing cards into the gator-thing's maw. Barely slowed it down.

"Need a hand, Remy?"

"Ah, dis one jus' petite. Down de bayou, we got -really- big gators!"

He used his staff to flip over the thing's head, turned-- but mistimed the maneuver by half a heartbeat, and the thing's jaws snapped closed on his arm. Rogue hurried forward, charging for another blast...

"Ugly," Remy snarled through gritted teeth, "dat be a bad mistake."

Remy LeBeau's power was only to charge inorganic objects with kinetic energy-- non-living matter. Just for the record, though? Six-inch mutant alligator teeth were apparently close enough.

Rogue saw the thing glowing and hit the dirt, covering her eyes, about a second before the top portion of the thing exploded, adding to the general ick factor on the field, but taking their opponents down another notch. Still mobile: The squid-thing wrestling with Paige and the beast with claws, which Sam was still pummeling.

Jono, who had needed a few moments to recharge after the energy he'd used on that first blast, now hurried back in the direction of the latter contest.

Sam-- get out of there, mate!

Sam glanced up from his work, narrowly avoided a swipe of claws, and saw Chamber starting to glow.

"Mister," he said to the creature, "If I was you, I'd say mah prayers."

He threw himself out of the way, even as Jono came up with a psi-blast that hammered the creature to its knees. Just one more...

Paige kept ripping arms off hers, but every place she did that, two more seemed to grow in their place. It was not the most efficient method, although in her rock-form, its attempts to strangle her weren't meeting with much more success.

"Who are you?" Paige asked it. "What d'you want?"

The thing looked at her with eyes that, for a second, were almost human. "Don't remember..."

"What?"

"Just do my job. You understand."

"Your job? Who do you work for?"

"He's--"

The thing never got to finish that sentence. Paige saw something out of the corner of her eye and pulled away, ripping out half its tentacles, even as Warren swooped low, carried the thing up as high as his tired wings would allow, and dropped it, head-first.

Game over. The X-Men regrouped around their now-defunct fire, catching their breath. Cecilia sat Remy down for a look at his arm. Paige hugged Warren and made him promise he'd be next in line.

"Five on seven," Rogue muttered to herself. "Wouldn't you think they'd know better'n to attack with those odds?"

That was when the ground started to shake.

"Aw, come ON!" said Cecilia. "Enough is enough!"

"Get a lot of earthquakes in the rural South, do you?" Warren asked, both weary and hopeful.

"Almost never," said Sam.

"Then what--"

"Aw," said Rogue. "Rats."

The ground in front of her caved in, and half a dozen creatures-- man-sized, burrowing things with sharp claws and shining yellow eyes-- scurried out of the hole, squealing and hissing. Rogue made a quick evaluation of her team's remaining strength...

"Everybody behind me an' Sam! Jono, Ah need the biggest boom you can make, boy, like pronto! Paige, shift into something..."

"A block of cheese?" the girl suggested.

"It's an idea!"

The creatures closed in... but just as she was marshaling her reserves for a final stand, Rogue was hit with... something, a wave of white-hot terror so pure and primal that all she wanted to do was curl up in a fetal position or run screaming away. She'd been afraid before, though, too many times to count. She rode it out. So did the rest of her team.

The creatures didn't. They yelped and screeched and fell all over themselves to get back into their burrow, to get anywhere, just so it was AWAY. In a moment, they had fled, and Rogue didn't quite know what had happened.

Cecilia Reyes did. She was kneeling next to Sophie, who now seemed to be awake, her eyes now glittering white, even more brilliant than those of the creatures.

"Are they gone?" Sophie asked.

"Yeah, they're gone. Thanks, kid. That was good work."

"Didn't do it on purpose." Now that she was coherent, the girl seemed very small, and hugged herself although the night was warm. "I just freaked. They were frightening."

"They're not the only ones," Rogue murmured. But it didn't seem to matter just at the present, so Rogue let it go.

--

Place: Richmond

A real Southern cotillion, a lavish ball of the sort you don't hardly find no more. Doctor Nathaniel Essex sat in the corner, hands folded, watching the young girls dance across the floor. The picture of suave Southern gentility.

"...don't care what they said you did during the Mexican War," said the man beside him, a sharp-eyed, angry-looking cavalryman with a general's wreathed stars on his collar. "My outfit means to ride hard an' fight hard an' I need a good man to patch 'em up. What do you say, Essex"
"Hmm?" In point of fact, Essex hadn't even been listening. "I'm all for the Cause, of course, General."

"You'd better be. We'd -all- better be. After the way those Yankees whipped us... sir, we are disgraced in the eyes of the world!"

"Yes," Essex said, and returned to his thoughts.

"So, what do say? There's a spot for you in my outfit, and a commission as a lieutenant colonel. I would be honored, sir, if..."

"Perhaps," Essex said. "I'll think about it. Pardon me, General."

He had seen what he was waiting for, a serving girl motioning to him from the window. Essex moved through the crowd as quickly as he could, hoping his wife, Rebecca, would not catch sight of him. She wouldn't understand the importance of what he did to do, nor his motives. But he made it out of the room undetected.

Outside, in the warm air, the wench approached him a step at a time, provocative, just as though their meeting was no more than some trivial affair. But when she touched him, she had already begun to transform.

Essex did not know who or what she was; she called herself Raven, and was apparently a young woman with the most... unusual pigmentation and the ability to change it at will. One thing more he knew: She had achieved what Essex had sought his entire life: Superiority.

"Aren't you happy to see me?" Raven asked, smirking.

"If you bring good news."

"Depends on your point of view. Your Marauders have failed, Essex. Half of them are dead."

He felt his hands clench into fists. "Curse them. But... these strangers, then. They are special, as we hoped?"

"Oh, very. I think you're going to be very intrigued. If you can catch them."

"I will catch them," Essex said, caressing her cheek with one hand. At the corner of his vision, he thought he saw-- a shadow? But no, that was merely imagination. This time. "We must consider our next move carefully."

"I know our next move," Raven said. "I have in mind a more... delicate method. If you'll trust me?"

"I never trust you," Essex told her. "But I will consider it."

It was at Raven's recommendation that he found himself, the next night, with a young military man in his parlor. The man was a captain, handsome in gray, and held his cap in his hand like an awkward schoolboy while Essex looked him over.

Yes, Raven was quite correct. He would do nicely.

"I know what you want, Captain," he said, "and I will give it to you. But you will have to do something for me..."

"Anything," the captain promised. "On my honor, sir. Anything you ask."

Essex smiled...

-
NOW

...much the same way Remy LeBeau smiled at Richard Everett now, slyly, across the table.

"Save you de trouble o' denyin', mon ami. Tell you why you here. You here 'cause Nathaniel Essex told you to come. Told you to win our trust, get us to help you, an' you lead us to him. Might as well admit it, else we gotta slap it out o' you. You won't like dat."

Everett felt a hand on his shoulder. The blonde waitress from before-- Paige Guthrie-- whose grip felt as hard as steel. The lovely woman behind the counter was staring at him, too, and in one corner... a dark-haired man with the lower half of his face covered up in scarves, glaring at him with black, bitter eyes. He sighed.

"How did you know?"

"De critter wit' de claws, he squawked. Din't know who you were, but knew you'd be along pretty soon."

"And where are the others?"

LeBeau smiled. "Couple of 'em here, couple stayed behind in Virginia. You don' need to know who or where. We in business, you see, mon ami. Can't go home, not yet. So we got to do what we can do here. Keep an eye on de War, make sure yo' slaves get freed. Got us a regular underground railroad."

"Charming," Everett said.

"I'm -always- charming, mon ami." LeBeau shrugged. "Got to keep an eye on Essex, too, figure out his game. Make sure he don't get into no trouble. An' dis Slayer... well, we figure if anybody here's in his corner, it got to be Essex. So maybe we solve de whole riddle, non?"

"Maybe," Everett said, "or maybe you die."

"Gon' die sometime. You know what an X factor is, mon ami? It's an unknown quantity. It's a wild card. Figure dat de right business fo' a man like me, bein' a wild card. We're not supposed t'be here, don' know we long we'll stay... but while we here, mon ami? We gon' make our presence felt."

"By killing me?"

LeBeau laughed. "Only if you stupid."

"Define 'stupid.'"

"Man who don' leave well enough alone, walk away, go fight his war. Leave Essex to us."

The two man stared at each other. Everett wanted to scream. He lost the match, and hung his head. "I can't."

"Well, then," said Paige from his shoulder, "I guess I get to rip you into little, tiny pieces."

Save some for me, luv, said a voice in Everett's head.

"I can't!" the captain said. "Essex promised me... the only thing I care about. I can't leave you alone. I have to..."

LeBeau grinned. "What it be? Money? Power? What make your heart go pit-a-pit?"

"Love."

The word hung in the air. LeBeau scratched at his chin. He scooped up a handful of poker chips and let them clatter back on the table one at a time.

"Ain't it de truth?" he said. "Tell you what we do, mon ami. You tell us what you know 'bout Essex. You help us turn de tables. Den I take dis money, which I won from you tonight, not a bad sum-- an' we call dat yo' retainer."

"Retainer?"

"For hirin' X-Factor."

Another staring match. Everett did better this time. "You'd help me? Just like that? You're bluffing."

"Never bluff wit' stakes like dis," said LeBeau. To prove it, he turned over his hole card-- Jack of clubs. He had a straight. "You got a diamond, now's when to show it."

Everett groaned: His hole card was a two of spades. A flush beat a straight... but he didn't have one. LeBeau had beat him at his own game. He shook his head.

"Shame. You gon' have to trust us, homme."

"What choice have I?" Everett asked.

"You could always go through the window," Paige said. "I can so make that happen."

"It won't be necessary." He spread his hands. "But I don't know much about Essex. I arranged our meeting through Raven. She came to me and said she could give me a way to save the woman I love."

LeBeau arched an eyebrow. "Who dat, mon ami?"

"She's a mulatto," Everett said. "A slave. She belongs to Nathaniel Essex. I wanted to buy her freedom, but he would not consent unless I would do this. Now, do you still think you can help me, 'mon ami?'"

LeBeau shuffled the cards aimlessly between his hands. "Not only dat... think it gon' be a pleasure."

--

PLACE: The Wilderness Spotsylvania County, Virginia

"Warren! C'mon, Angel babe, get your butt in gear!"

"I'm coming," said Warren, and he lugged the heavy box of medical equipment into the abandoned cabin where Cecilia Reyes had set up a makeshift clinic in an almost impenetrable tangle of trees.

He still doubted his decision to stay behind, especially the part about leaving Paige with Jono. But he hadn't been in great traveling condition, and he knew his business skills could be of more use on Cecilia's end of the operation. -He- was the one posing as a doctor, their "face man" in Virginia. A bit too reminiscent of his double-dealing days with the original X-Factor, but one did what one had to do. If Cecilia could stomach posing as his cook, he could certainly manage to look like a wealthy aristocrat. He knew the role by heart.

"Wish we had Forge here," Cecilia was saying, tinkering with her setup for the twelfth time. "What I wouldn't give for a defibrillator. A microscope with decent power. A tongue depressor. Anything."

"Forge is stuck in the future," Warren reminded her. "At least, according to Sophie... you trust her?"

Cecilia shrugged. The kid claimed she could talk to her sisters in the other timelines; who were they to disagree? She sure sounded genuine. According to her, a -lot- of X-Men were in the same fix. They'd just have to make the best of it.

"There's one more box," Warren said. "I'll get it."

He'd made it through the tangle of brush and to the front steps, carrying with the final box, when he saw it in the shadows: Dark, billowing, like a stormcloud come to Earth. Warren jumped into fighting stance--

--Peace, Warren Worthington,-- the thing said. --I have not come to destroy you. Yet.--

"What are you, another of Essex's pets?"

--That isn't important. What's important is my offer. I have made it to others, in many timelines, but I have saved the best for you. I've been looking forward to it.--

"Me? Why?"

--Because of your potential. What was Satan, after all, but an Angel who surrendered to temptation? And it would not be the first time.--

Warren felt his lip twitch. "If you're trying to tempt me, you're bad at it. You're Slayer, right? Why would I be stupid enough to betray myself, my friends, the woman I love... to someone whose very name announces his intent to kill us?"

--Slayer is a name. I acknowledge it. There are many.--

"Well, -all- of you can go to the devil," said Warren, and he turned...

--There is a reason you will help me,-- Slayer said. --I know something you do not.--

"...and that would be?"

The stormclouds mounted. --There is another difference in this timeline. One you do not yet suspect. En Sabah Nur is coming. The Apocalypse comes with him.--

Warren's blood froze. He kept his tone casual. "We've defeated him before."

--At great cost, in your own time and on your own ground, with all your X-Men. Can this splintered team defeat him, here and now? And should you fail, will this primitive world stand even the ghost of a chance?--

Warren turned to face the thing directly. It shrank from him. "What are you?"

--One who offers the only hope that remains for your love. Will you not betray her... if it is the only way to save her?--

Warren's fists clenched. He wanted to curse at the thing, fight it, destroy it. His muscles wouldn't move.

"I'll think about it," the Angel said, and walked away.

END

In Issue #2: Sinister!

SEE ALSO:
"Uncanny X-Men," "New X-Men," and "X-Force," the other titles in the Eternity Universe. Online now!

And don't miss our final title.
eXcalibur: Eternity #1: Jean Grey and Havok in Camelot! Coming Soon!