GENETIC ECLIPSE

Part VII: The Seeds of Destruction

By Shawn Gauthier and Jeff Axtman

Author’s Note: This story is continued from X-Men #12.

CHAPTER ONE ~ “Gods & Monsters”

Somewhere in Tibet, nestled in between the towering mountain peaks, there is a city called Attilan. This hidden nation is home to a race of beings called the Inhumans, beings transformed from mere mortals into gods among men. The source of their power lies in an alien substance called the Terrigen Mists, which they obtained from the extraterrestrial Kree race eons ago. Yet from their inception, the Inhumans have hidden themselves from the outside world in an attempt to maintain peace and prosperity within their own city limits.

On the surface, Attilan appears to be the perfect nation: a beautiful, peaceful refuge for the Inhumans to live out their individual lives in relative happiness and seclusion.

Beauty, however, only goes skin deep. Far beneath the pristine streets of Attilan, there lies a dark, ugly place. This is home to the Alpha Primitives, the monsters shunned by the Inhumans for their impure genetic makeup. They are the slaves, the oppressed, the captives on whose backs the wonderful city is built and maintained.

But today, the toils of the monsters below are forgotten by the gods above as the celebration begins at dawn in the hidden city of Attilan. For today is Gene-Fest, the day a select group of children will attain the status of Inhumanity through their exposure to the sacred Terrigen Mists. The entire city is alive with joy as music and dancing fill the streets of Attilan.

There is one, however, who does not join in the merriment. Black Bolt stands on the balcony of the Royal Palace, overlooking the jubilant crowd below. He surveys his people with steady eyes, his self-imposed silence preventing him from voicing his approval. Today he will add a handful of subjects to his rule, a living testament to his success as king of the Inhuman nation. Yet somehow, he feels an ominous presence overshadows the festivities.

Suddenly from behind him, Black Bolt’s wife and queen, Medusa, steps out onto the balcony. Her long, flowing red hair blazes like a crown of fire about her head. Black Bolt notes that she looks especially beautiful in her ceremonial garb. He wishes he could tell her so.

“My liege,” she addresses him, “the preparations for the ceremony are complete. The Mists are in place, and everything bodes well. Shall we summon the candidates?”

For a brief moment, Black Bolt stares at her, and then motions for her to proceed without him. Looking at him strangely, she replies, “Are you feeling well, husband? You seem troubled.”

Again, Black Bolt fixes his gaze on the grand celebration below. He stares distantly at his subjects as they laugh and clap, their minds free of worry or apprehension. Finally, he nods to Medusa.

She moves closer to him and lays a comforting hand on his broad shoulders, her long hair tickling the back of his neck. “Rest easy, Black Bolt,” she assures him. “No harm shall befall anyone this day. Now relax, and join in the festivites. I shall await you in the Terrigen Laboratory when you are ready.”

With that, she turns to go, leaving Black Bolt alone with his thoughts.

CHAPTER TWO ~ “Who Are The Twelve?”

Roughly four thousand miles west of Attilan is the Libyan Desert of Egypt. Travel another several miles below the surface of the desert and one would happen upon a very secret complex belonging to a being called Apocalypse.

For ages, his name has been whispered in fear. He has seen the triumphs and tribulations of most of human history, but none of this concerns him. Rather, he is fascinated with a variant strain of the human chromosome, one that possesses the so-called X-factor gene. It is this rare mutagenic defect that grants the Homo Superior species its superhuman abilities. These evolutionary offshoots are born mutants, but live as monsters within a society that hates and fears them. Apocalypse has dedicated his existence to manipulating those of his own species, moving them like chess pieces across the board of time, creating for himself his own twisted vision of ‘survival of the fittest’.

Now he stands silent before his impressive bank of video monitors, his trusted minion, Post, at his side. Each screen depicts a separate one-on-one battle between an X-Man and one of Apocalypse’s Four Horsemen.

“Observe, Post,” Apocalypse commands, “Xavier’s accursed children of the atom. Theirs is a dream they deem worth fighting for – the peaceful coexistence of man and mutant. But this dream, like most, is unattainable. It defies nature itself. Coexistence is not possible. There can be only one or the other, the strong eventually eliminating the weak.”

Post stares at the screens in silence. He takes in his master’s words, rolling them over in his mind. Then he speaks. “Master, I have encountered four of these X-Men before – the ones called Cyclops, Storm, Iceman, and Wolverine.”

“Excellent,” Apocalypse replies. “Then your input should prove invaluable to me. You see, Post, through careful observation, I have determined whom among these X-Men are part of the fabled Twelve. After all, I am already convinced that my prisoner, Shadowcat, is one of them.”

“But how can you be sure that you are correct in your other assumptions? Has Pryde finally revealed their identities to you?” Post inquires.

Apocalypse unglues his eyes from the monitors and stares back at his minion. “Have you not heard a word I have said, lackey? Did I not just make it clear to you that only the strong are those that ever survive? I have simply chosen the eleven strongest X-Men, those that pose the greatest threat to me and my plans for the future. Using your analytical abilities combined with your familarity with most of Xavier’s students, I shall confirm my suggestions.”

Post nods solemnly in agreement. “Good,” Apocalypse continues. “Then let us begin.”

The screens abrupty shift to form one large image of Cyclops as he battles the Horseman known as Death. “Ah, Cyclops…” Apocalypse begins. “The first X-Man. He has finally come out from under Xavier’s shadow, and shown that he is capable of being one of the strongest X-Men of all.”

“My analysis shows considerable power in Cyclops’ signature optic blasts,” Post states. “A blast at full power, having a force of five-hundred pounds per square inch, could level an entire building. He is without a doubt one of the most powerful among his peers.”

“He shall be the first of the Twelve, as well,” Apocalypse says in reply. “Continue.”

The screens waver and show a scene depicting a fight between the pregnant Jean Grey-Summers and the Horseman Pestilence. “Next is the wife of Cyclops,” Apocalypse says darkly, “the telepath known as Phoenix. Though now devoid of the awesome Phoenix Force, her power is still impressive.”

“Phoenix appears to have fared quite well against Pestilence, considering her condition,” Post says. “Obviously, she wields vast telepathic and telekinetic abilities, the likes of which are unparalleled. In her prime, she is perhaps the most powerful X-Man of all.”

“Agreed,” nods Apocalypse. “She makes an excellent addition to the Twelve. Already the first step to Phoenix’s elimination has been taken; Pestilence’s deadly virus will kill her and her unborn children in a matter of days. Continue.”

Once again, the monitors go blank for a brief moment and then show Dazzler firing a blast of pure light at Pestilence. “This one has only recently returned to the fold, having been away on an extended absence,” Apocalypse says. “She has potential to be extremely powerful, this Dazzler.”

“Indeed she does, Master,” Post agrees. “Her ability to transduce sound waves into pure light energy has infinite destructive possibilities. Although still weakened from her recent pregnancy, she could very well be one of the Twelve.”

“Which was exactly why I chose her for the role,” Apocalypse says in reply. “Now continue.”

The image on the screens shifts to show the leader of the other team of X-Men, Professor Charles Xavier. Behind him, War slashes with his deadly extended claws. “Xavier,” Apocalypse nearly whispers. “Everything the man stands for is against my time-tested adage – the survival of the fittest. Yet he undoubtably has power beyond that of most mutants. In fact, he is arguably the most powerful telepath on Earth.”

“His psionic abilities are indeed incredible, Master,” says Post. “Xavier is an obvious choice for the Twelve.”

“Then we shall continue, Post,” Apocalypse replies.

The monitors suddenly display Storm, a bolt of lightning shooting from her hands at the Horseman Famine.

“Storm’s abilities give her control over all the elemental fury of the weather… an impressive power, to say the least,” Post explains.

“And devestating, as well,” Apocalypse adds. “Yes, Storm should fare well as one of the Twelve. Continue.”

The image on the screen is replaced by static this time. “What has happened to the footage, m’lord?” Post shouts.

“Nothing, Post,” he replies cooly. “I simply have no footage to show of Wolverine in battle. He was mysteriously absent from both factions of the X-Men when they were attacked by my Horsemen. Nonetheless, I believe Wolverine’s formidable mutant healing factor, razor-sharp bone claws, and savage fighting technique qualify him for the Twelve. Continue.”

The static is abruptly replaced with an image of Iceman shooting a column of solid ice at War. “So Drake still holds onto Xavier’s foolish dream,” Apocalypse says. “The only of the original team to stay with him. He has been exhibiting great control over his abilities as of late, however.”

“Yes, he has become extremely skilled in the use of his freezing powers, m’lord,” Post states. “And he still has untapped potential. He deserves to be one of the Twelve.”

“Yes,” Apocalypse agrees. “I believe he does. Continue.”

The monitors blink and display a new image. This one depicts Rogue soaring through the air, her fists out before her as she prepares to slam into War.

“The mutant called Rogue has a multitude of powers at her disposal,” Post says, “mainly superstrength, flight, and invulnerability. But of course, her original mutant power to siphon others’ powers and personalities is also extremely effective.”

“Rogue’s powers make her one of the most physically strong X-Men,” Apocalypse says, still staring at her image. “She is definitely one of the Twelve. Continue.”

The next image shows Gambit flipping over a slash from War’s claws. “So we come to the thief,” Apocalypse grins. “The wolf in sheep’s clothing, as it were. LeBeau’s particular gifts easily qualify him to be one of the Twelve.”

“Sinister’s files revealed much about Gambit’s mutant physiology that was previously unknown,” Post says. “Apparently he has other special abilities in addition to his power to manipulate kinetic energy. A good choice, Master.”

“Let us move on, Post,” Apocalypse replies as he turns his attention back to the monitors. They flicker for a moment, and then show Nightcrawler teleporting erratically around War.

“I am not sure you are familiar with this particular mutant, Post. His name is Kurt Wagner, a former member of Xavier’s X-Men, recently returned from their European affiliate Excaliber. His powers give him the incredible ability to instantaneously jaunt from one place to the next. A bit of a dark horse selection for the Twelve, but I believe his power and unshakable sense of faith make him a likely candidate.”

“That gives us eleven possible members of the Twelve, m’lord,” Post calculates. “Who is your remaining selection?”

“Patience,” Apocalypse says darkly. Behind him, the screens begin to display the twelfth and final member. Finally, the image of a young woman surrounded by a field of mallable protoplasmic energy appears. “This one is new to the scion of Xavier. Her name is Cecilia Reyes, and her powers are an enigma even unto herself. She seems to manifest a protoplasmic field which is nigh invulnerable. Her power and sense of commitment to healing others make her a perfect candidate for the Twelve.”

The monitors go blank, and the room is silent for a time. “A formidable ensemble, m’lord,” Post finally offers. “Xavier, Cyclops, Wolverine, Shadowcat, Nightcrawler, Dazzler, Storm, Rogue, Iceman, Cecilia Reyes, Gambit, and Phoenix. But now that you have surmised the identities of the Twelve, will you begin the next phase of your plan?”

Apocalypse turns to face him. He towers above even Post, who is of impressive stature himself, and stares menacingly down at him. Finally, he speaks. “Indeed I shall. Notify the Dark Riders of our departure within the hour. Of course, now that the Twelve are finally within my grasp, Pryde is of no use to me. Tell the Dark Riders to eliminate her. That is all.”

Post bows his head obediently. “Yes, m’lord.”

CHAPTER THREE ~ “Under Siege”

The Terrigen Lab, Attilan.

The ceremony has begun. All eyes are on Black Bolt as he gestures methodically, performing the sacramental preparations for the culmination of the Gene-Fest celebration. Beside him, in a transparent chamber, a dozen young children tremble with anticipation as they await their transformation at the hands of their sovereign.

Black Bolt completes the ceremonial offering and gives the signal to begin the process. Gorgon and Karnak step forward, each holding a vial containing a small sample of their sacred Terrigen Mists. In unison, the two members of the Inhuman Royal Family insert the vials into a large, futuristic-looking mechanism. With a click and a slight hiss, the mists are in place and Gorgon and Karnak nod solemnly to Medusa.

Medusa acknowledges them and attaches a large hose to a vent on the outside of the transparent chamber containing the children. They press their faces eagerly against the thick glass walls, and Medusa offers a brief smile in reply. She turns and motions for Black Bolt to press the button that would release the Terrigen Mists into the chamber, exposing the children to their DNA-altering effects.

Black Bolt never even has a chance to reach for the button. Behind him, the far wall explodes suddenly, sending the attending congregation into a seething panic. Through the large, smoldering hole now left in the wall, an armored figure enters the lab. Black Bolt takes to the air above the panic-striken crowd as he tries to get a better view of the intruder.

“Hear me, Inhumans!” a voice booms from somewhere within the smoke-filled lab. “From this day forth, Attilan shall know the destructive hand of Apocalypse!” With that, En Sabah Nur steps out from the haze, his fists clenched tightly as they glow with crimson energy.

Immediately, Black Bolt swoops down and slams into Apocalypse. He is thrown backwards by the force of the impact, and he crashes into the far wall on the other side of the laboratory. Seemingly unphased, Apocalypse counters with a jarring punch to Black Bolt’s jaw, which sends him reeling backwards in midair. He finally regains his equilibrium, and soars down towards Apocalypse below.

As the two combatants continue to struggle on the far side of the lab, Medusa attempts to herd the remaining people safely out of the room. Suddenly, she remembers the children, still trapped inside the glass chamber, helpless to escape. Psionically controlling her long hair, she lifts herself over the exiting crowd and over to the chamber. To her surprise, she finds it empty. Frantically, she looks around for any sign of the children’s whereabouts, but she finds nothing.

“Triton!” she calls as the aquatic scout of the Royal Family passes her on his way out. “Have you seen the children anywhere? They are missing!”

“Do not fret, Medusalith!” he says hurriedly. “Lockjaw had the foresight to teleport them away from danger! He and the children are deep within the heart of the palace, where it is safe. I was just headed there myself… you should do the same, my cousin!”

Medusa turns back for one last glance at her husband just as Apocalypse fires a blast of energy into him, knocking him violently against the laboratory wall. “Yes…” she whispers. “Of course you are right. Let us leave here… now!”

The battle rages on, no one side giving in to the other. Blow after crushing blow is dealt, each reciprocated by another twice as devestating.

“You have met your match, Black Bolt!” Apocalypse exclaims through clenched teeth. “I shall enjoy watching this precious city of yours crumble to dust beneath my feet!”

If Black Bolt is gripped with rage by that comment, he does not voice his anger. Instead, he replies with a blast of pure energy from the antennae upon his head. The blast throws Apocalypse through the laboratory wall and out into the streets of Attilan. Black Bolt flies after him.

Apocalypse lies in the street, slowly rising to his feet. Black Bolt delivers a thundering uppercut, and once again Apocalypse is propelled through the air. After crashing loudly into a nearby park, Apocalypse does not attempt to get up.

Black Bolt descends through the treetops and stands triumphantly over his opponent. He looks down at him, his antennae alive with crackling energy as he prepares to end the threat of Apocalypse once and for all.

Apocalypse merely curls his bloodied lips into a grin. “You are a passionate one, Black Bolt,” he says. “I sincerely hope that we can finish this fight another day.”

As he says these words, Apocalypse begins to fade from view. With a flash of light, he teleports out of Attilan and is no longer a threat to Black Bolt and his people.

But Black Bolt feels wrong somehow, like Apocalypse had some alterior motive for the attack. He feels like he has failed, despite his apparent defeat of the enemy. Shaking his head, he takes to the skies and heads for the Royal Palace. Perhaps Medusa will have the answers he seeks.

CHAPTER FOUR ~ “Gone With The Mist”

The Terrigen Lab has long since been evacuated. The only thing that remains here now is smoldering debris and the machinery holding the sacred mists. Or so it seems…

In a quiet corner of the facility, a small electronic beep suddenly sounds, though its source is nowhere to be seen. Then, almost as if on cue, light seems to bend and swirl to reveal a familiar figure standing silently in the corner. Post turns his head, looking in every direction to make sure the coast is clear before advancing.

“The Inhumans do not suspect anything,” he says to himself. “Apocalypse’s ploy worked perfectly. In all the confusion and smoke, and with my cloaking device activated, no one even suspected another intruder in their midst.”

He steps up to the device and removes one of the vials of Terrigen Mist. “And just as Apocalypse suspected, the Inhumans were too concerned about upholding their pathetic notion of ‘peace’ that they failed to retrieve their beloved mutagenic mists.”

Post allows himself a brief smile as he places the vial in a compartment within the technology surrounding his body. “The Master will be pleased with this sample… for now he can finally put his plans into action.”

With that, Post touches a button on his arm, and in a bright flash of light, he is gone.

And so the seeds of destruction are sown…

Read Shadowcat #7, Cable #9, Genetic Eclipse: Gambit #1, Wolverine #14, X-Men #13, & Uncanny X-Men #16 for parts 8-13 of Genetic Eclipse!

NEXT ISSUE: The earth-shattering conclusion to the epic Genetic Eclipse storyline! That’s right, this story’s ending with a BANG, folks! It’s Apocalypse versus Cable and Cyclops – for the first, last, and only time! Can the father and son duo end the centuries-old evil of En Sabah Nur, or will Apocalypse finally put the kibosh on two of his most hated enemies? One thing’s for sure – nothing will ever be the same again!