X-Men – movie based

crossover w/ Poltergeist: The Legacy

Kurt Wagner perched in a corner cross beam of the abandoned church watching the proceedings below with interest and a small degree of trepidation. He'd returned here to retrieve his things before taking up a more-or-less permanent residency at the school in Salem.

A woman and three men, one a priest if the collar could be trusted, had entered the building a few minutes ago. They had looked around with interest, but Kurt detected a certain wary watchfulness that told him they expected the unexpected. Their guard was up.

"What exactly did Mrs. Walsh say was going on here?" The youngest man straightened his leather jacket as his piercing gaze swept the room. Kurt could make out a shoulder holster under the jacket. He thought about teleporting out, but curiosity won over caution. Why were they here?

"The place has a reputation for being haunted," the oldest male responded, his accent thick. Dutch, Kurt decided. This one was obviously the one in charge. "Strange sounds and smells. Lights appearing in the windows at odd hours. Then a few days ago, there was a strange storm. Lightning struck part of the ceiling." The four glanced up. Kurt pressed himself against the wall, concealing himself in the dark shadows.

"Doesn't lightning have a tendency to strike roofs, Derek?" the younger man asked, a bit of a smirk twitching at his lips.

The woman spoke up, a dark skinned Creole beauty, her voice soothing to the ear. "It doesn't usually enter through the front door first, Nick."

Nick shrugged, then nodded his acceptance. "So, what? We have polite lightning?" He knelt to examine the pieces that had fallen when Storm had destroyed the beam Kurt had been standing on. He remembered falling, the floor rising to meet him, then jerking to a stop several feet from the ground to confront the two women who had come searching for him. He shook his head, returning his attention to the present.

"There were some reports of a demon or monster living here, scaring off the curious." Derek's voice was bland, stating facts, but Kurt still bristled at the thought. He was no demon or monster.

The priest had wondered a bit from his friends, looking, but not touching. "I dinna think it's a demon or monster." The Irish burr nearly as thick as the Dutchman's accent.

"Why not, Phillip?" Nick asked, absently righting one of the kneelers that had fallen over.

The priest pointed at a lone candle burning beneath the sacred image of the Virgin Mary. "No demon I know of voluntarily prays to the Blessed Mother. At least, not unless it's part of a disguise, like Father Mathers had been." Kurt watched in interest as a collective shudder ran through the small group.

"I don't think so," the dark skinned woman stated. She had moved over to Kurt's sleeping area. The young mutant had been able to collect only half his gear before the intrusion, the rest lay strewn upon his sleeping pallet. "Not unless Errol Flynn is a new demonic icon." Her smile took any sting from the statement.

"What ya find, Alex?" Nick skirted the charred wood to stand beside his companion.

Alex ran a gentle hand over a poster of Errol Flynn in 'Robin Hood,' a group picture from a circus and a well thumbed bible. "Who ever has been living here, I don't think they mean any harm." She looked over at the men. "I don't sense any ill will. Do you, Derek?"

The Dutchman shook his head. "No. I don't. In fact, the place seems remarkably free of any type of evil presence." He joined the young woman, running an eye over the half packed items. "It appears we've interrupted something."

The doors to the church crashed open, revealing an armed group of a dozen or so people. They stared wildly about as they shuffled nervously in. Kurt would have laughed at the expressions on their faces if the situation hadn't become potentially deadly.

Derek stepped forward, Nick at his side. "Might I ask what you are doing here?" Derek's commanding voice silenced most of the crowd's muttering at seeing the four strangers.

"We're here to destroy the demon that is sullying consecrated ground!" A large man wearing a "Soldier of God" t-shirt confronted Derek. The wild eyes and feverent face was one of a fanatic. The scent of alcohol told another story. "Now either you're with us, or you're against us! We'll no longer allow our church to be contaminated by such evil."

Yellow eyes narrowed and a blue-forked tail lashed angrily. The church hadn't been used in years, judging on the conditions and he'd been living there nearly six months. Kurt noticed that these "Soldiers" hadn't bothered to find out what was going on until strangers had entered and hadn't been run off. Kurt edged towards the wall. Perhaps if he crawled down it he could reach his gear and be gone before anyone noticed. He cursed as she saw Alex sling his pack onto her shoulder. He hadn't noticed her pack his things when the mob came in. He could just leave – except, his most treasured possessions were in that bag and he still had no idea if the four would be able to escape unscathed. For some reason, he felt compelled to stay and see that no harm befell them.

The sun had set, leaving the church in darkness save for the few candles and what light streamed in through the windows. Derek was speaking, trying to convince the mob that there was no demon inhabiting the church. Alex and Phillip stood off to one side, slowly edging toward the doors. Nick stood between them and the mob, an arm's length from Derek, his pose one of watchful guardedness.

"Glass! They ain't gonna help." A young man, greasy hair falling into his eyes, glared at them. Kurt recognized him as one of a small group of teens he'd scared off over a month ago. "I bet they knew where it is. They're trying to help it! Death to the blasphemers!"

Kurt growled as the crowd surged forward. Nick lashed out with hands and fists, his training evident in the smooth execution of movements. Four faced him as the obvious threat. One had punched Derek, splitting his lip, but the older man returned with a wicked left hook that had the man reeling. Two pounced on Phillip, grappling with the young priest. Kurt grinned as the man of the cloth held his own. His grin disappeared as the last two rounded on Alex. One held her by the arms while the other's angry snarl had turned lecherous.

Without another thought, Kurt teleported.

Alex was furious with herself – she'd let herself be separated from the others. She'd stumbled into a pew and felt someone grab her shoulders. The man had her arms pinned, the backpack falling to the floor, before she could regain her balance. She raked her foot against his shin. He yelped, but didn't let go. The young researcher managed to slam her elbow into her opponent's solar plexus. The man's arms loosened but the other guy – the greasy haired kid who'd started the whole thing – stepped forward. The look in his eyes made her feel dirty, and she increased her struggles. He wasn't going to touch her.

She was right.

Kurt let the shadows work for him as he appeared behind the struggling woman and her opponent. A well placed jab where the shoulder met the neck sent the man slumping to the ground, unconscious. He moved past the woman to engage the other, kicking him away from her. A rabbit punch to the teen's nose had him down, another to his temple had him out. With a leap, he tumbled into one of the men pinning the priest down, rolling the heavier man away.

Phillip jerked his head to one side, wincing at the howl when the other man's hand connected with the flagstone tiling rather than his face. His legs were suddenly released and he sent a quick prayer of thanks upwards as he brought them around to dislodge his opponent. He shoved the man off, quickly scrambling to his feet. The man, his t-shirt ripped to show off his biceps, reached out for him. Before he had gone more than a step, he stumbled as his feet caught on something. Phillip punched the man, praying for forgiveness even as the man fell, dazed.

After using his tail to trip the priest's foe, smiling at the irony of the situation, Kurt stepped back into the shadows assessing the others. Derek had taken out his opponent and had drawn off one of the foursome fighting with Nick. Nick had only two still standing and as Kurt watched, the young man spun to deliver a solid roundhouse kick sending the man into his buddy, spilling both to the floor.

Kurt stepped forward, grinning to show off his fangs and waved a three fingered hand at the last man standing. Said man promptly paled, made a gurgling whimper in his throat and passed out. Smothering a laugh, Kurt quickly moved back into the shadows where he knew he'd be virtually undetected. He kept an eye on the downed men – knowing it had truly been a miracle that none had tried using their weapons. Nick evidently felt the same way, he moved to each, expertly patting them down and relieving them of various guns, knives, chains, pipes and clubs.

"Everyone, okay?" Affirmatives reached the es-SEAL and Nick motioned toward the pile of weapons he'd accumulated. "What should we do with all this?"

"I think the authorities would be better at dealing with this situation. I'll call them. Keep an eye on this lot, Nick." Derek pulled a cell phone from his coat pocket and stepped away to make the call. Phillip joined Nick to help the younger man secure their downed opponents.

Kurt worried at this bottom lip. He really should leave, but Alex had once again taken up his pack. With a prayer that he would not regret his next actions, he moved closer to the young woman.

Alex tried to straighten out what had just occurred. Someone had helped her. Since it had not been any of her companions, she could only conclude that whoever "haunted" this church had been responsible. That being the case, she was not altogether surprised when someone began whispering to her – only by the accent.

"I beg your pardon, Freulein. Would you be so kind as to return my pack to me?"

She slid the backpack off her shoulder and held it out in the direction of the whisper.

Kurt reached out, eyes upon the woman, ready to teleport away at the slightest hint that she'd call for help. He had no desire to be shot again by well-meaning rescuers. He grasped the strap, one finger brushing against her hand. When she didn't react, he withdrew with his prize. "Danke." Then teleported with a bamf and cloud of brimstone.

-Journal of Alex Monroe-

Good and Evil come in many different guises and it is a person's actions and intents that define them not their physical shape. That is what should be remembered and is the hardest lesson to learn.

END