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WHAT THE HELL…?

By George Cameron

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Author’s Note: This story takes place after the final issue of the Moonstar maxi-series (#12) and right before Uncanny X-Men 3.0 #1.

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The Xavier Institute; Student Cafeteria

“You’s in my seat, bitch. Move yo’ ass,” said the annoyingly nasal voice in Tammy Lynne’s ear.

Tammy Lynne Baker, better known as Bootylicious, looked up to see the person who she’d come to dread during summer classes and who, unfortunately, was still attending now at the beginning of the fall semester: Shaquanita Jenkins, the cocky, overweight girl known as Milkshake.

“Ah’m sorry, but Ah was sittin’ here first, Jenkins,” Bootylicious replied, even as her friends eyed the newcomer nervously. Milkshake and Bootylicious were of a disturbingly similar build, but where Tammy Lynne was polite, friendly, and generous, Shaquanita was rude, unpleasant, and stingy.

“Leave her alone,” said Arabella Carey, the pretty blonde with iridescent, gossamer wings known as Fly Girl. She was seated next to Bootylicious, and rolled her eyes disdainfully at the latest brewing conflict between the two girls.

“Yeah, ain’t you given po’ Tammy Lynne enough grief, girl?” the distinctive Southern twang of Judd Sandage, who’d taken the codename Scanner. “Just let ‘er be.”

“Ain’t nobody asked either of you two fo’ yo’ mothafuckin’ input,” Milkshake responded acidly. She then turned her attention to Bootylicious once again. “I said MOVE, bitch!”

Bootylicious looked up at Milkshake then, hauling her prodigious bulk to her feet and meeting Milkshake’s hostile glare with her own. She’d had just about enough from Milkshake for today. “An’ what if Ah don’t? What’cha gonna do then, big girl?”

Milkshake laughed, a rather annoying, grating sound for anyone who was forced to listen to it. “I was thinkin’ I might do this.” And before Bootylicious could even register what Milkshake had said, the girl put her hand on the back of Bootylicious’s neck, and brought her face down hard into her lunch tray. Bootylicious’s face was buried in her mashed potatoes and gravy, which splattered messily all over the table.

Laughter could be heard rippling through the crowded lunchroom, as almost every student had turned their eyes to the confrontation. It was nothing new to them, as Milkshake had spent most of the summer semester tormenting Bootylicious. But that didn’t make it any less funny to them. Fly Girl and Scanner had already stood from their seats, backing away to give the two some room, as they both knew what was coming.

Bootylicious raised her head up, which was dripping with chunks of potato and rivulets of gravy, and glared at Milkshake with barely-contained rage. She was tired of it. This had been going on for weeks, and no one seemed willing to do anything about the problem. It had been hard for Tammy Lynne to win friends at the school, but she had, and had become almost a leader amongst the students for her actions during the crisis with Cassandra Nova.

Now, this new addition to the student body at the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning was making her lose more face each day, as Bootylicious was not a girl who resorted to such childishness. But today, she thought to herself, I just might make an exception.

“Oh, you want s’more, baby girl?” Milkshake asked, who could barely contain her laughter.

“Nah, Ah was always taught t’share, hon,” Bootylicious said as she grabbed her tray and shoved it in Milkshake’s face before the other girl could react. As the tray fell to the ground, smearing the rest of Bootylicious’s lunch all over Milkshake’s face, chest, and stomach, the students gathered around them roared with laughter.

“About time, Booty!” shouted Valerie Sharp, the volatile blonde teenage runaway known as Pressure.

“Kick her ass!” shouted Carly Smythe, a girl with an oversized cranium known, appropriately, as Big Head.

“You gonna let her do that to you, Milkshake?” screamed the voice of Tracy Boyer, a Los Angelino known as Dervish.

“Hell no, I ain’t!” shouted Milkshake as she suddenly lunged for Bootylicious, her fingers reaching for Tammy Lynne’s throat even as the other girl’s bulk knocked them both down against the cafeteria table.

The students’ shouting grew louder as the two rolled around on the table, pulling hair and scratching and biting, and throwing the occasional fist when they could gain leverage to do so. The table itself, though made of a surprisingly flexible and durable material, creaked and groaned as it threatened to give way.

Suddenly, Milkshake was thrown into the air violently as Bootylicious unleashed one of her super-powered belches in the other girl’s face, the gases throwing the girl halfway across the room to crash soundly into another table, collapsing it almost immediately upon impact. The other students roared with laughter, but one in particular did not find this clash of the titans very amusing at all.

“Stop this, Tammy Lynne,” said Ami Huo, the overachieving Asian student known as Velocity. “You’re just gonna get yourself in trouble.”

“It’ll be worth it, to put that smug heifer in her place,” Bootylicious replied, cracking the knuckles of her chunky hands as she began to move toward where Milkshake lay. For her part, Milkshake was just beginning to haul herself to her feet, a task worthy of monuments.

“Don’t sink to her level, hon,” Velocity chided. “Like I said, you’re just gonna get yourself in trouble.”

“Oh, I’d say she’s already done that,” said the stern, familiar voice of Danielle Moonstar, who had entered the cafeteria during the commotion. Everyone turned to look at the arrival of the American History teacher, who had planted her hands on her hips and was wearing an expression that was remarkably well-composed, considering the amount of anger that was welling up inside of her.

“She started it!” shouted Milkshake as she got to her feet. “She used her nasty-ass power on me, and that’s against the rules!”

“I really don’t give a damn about that right now, Jenkins. Is this really how you two are going to start off the fall semester?” She indicated the both of them with her withering stare and a single gesture. “Both of you. Headmaster’s office. Now.”

Bootylicious and Milkshake both shuffled toward the door, one moving slowly and nervously and the other moving with cocky arrogance. All the while, the jeers and laughter of their schoolmates followed them.

---

Buffalo, New York

“Faggot!”

The jeers and laughter of the boys in the locker room filled Boyd Larraby’s ears, suffusing his mind, and never leaving him alone. It was the same thing every day, ever since he came out of the closet at the beginning of his junior year. He thought the teasing and harassment had been bad before… but it’d only just begun.

Boyd drew himself to his full height, meeting the soccer player who had verbally assaulted him almost eye-to-eye. If I were any closer, I could kiss him, Boyd noted to himself with a smirk. “What’s your point, Nathan? I thought we’d covered this topic already.”

“My point is that we don’t want you playing anymore,” Nathan said, taking a step closer, fury radiating from his body like heat. “It was different before, because most of us didn’t believe the rumors, but now…”

“Yeah?” Boyd asked. “Now what?” He put his hands on his hips, his smirk turning into a sneer.

“Now,” Nathan said, putting his hands on Boyd’s shoulders and pushing him back roughly, “you’re not wanted around here, queer. So get the fuck out, before we decide to beat the living shit out of you.”

Boyd lost his footing as Nathan shoved him backwards, tripping over one of the locker room’s benches and landing roughly on his backside. The other soccer players in the locker room were laughing, and Nathan was standing over Boyd now, his muscular arms crossed over his chest triumphantly. “Get the point?”

“No, but you’re about to,” Boyd said, as he gestured with his right hand at Nathan. Suddenly, before Nathan could register what was happening, Boyd unleashed his mutant power to manipulate air molecules. He caused the air to push against Nathan violently, forming an invisible battering ram of air to knock Nathan across the area of the locker room where they were gathered and slamming the goalie against the row of lockers behind him.

As Boyd got to his feet, the other boys began to back away from him. Shock and dismay covered all of their faces, as all of them knew what this meant. “You’re a mutant!” “Boyd’s a mutant!” “He’ll kill all of us!”

One of the other players, a dark-haired young man with a deep olive complexion, actually took a step forward, confusion covering his features. “What’s going on? Boyd…?”

Boyd turned his head sharply toward the young man, one of his teammates, an inhuman gesture that seemed more avian than anything else. It was as if Nathan’s anger had transferred directly to Boyd. He raised his hand, now clenched into a fist, in a gesture of triumphant power.

“You can call me Air Force.”

At that moment, a torrent of wind began to whip through the locker room, blowing around loose papers and causing other objects to be jostled about or knocked over completely. Boyd focused his concentration on causing the air to encircle and surround him like a cyclone, ensuring that no one could get close enough to touch him. The soccer players began to scatter, and Boyd found to his amusement that even their deep, masculine voices could grow shrill with fear as they ran for the locker room doors.

Before the first of them could open the door and escape from Boyd’s fury, the wind suddenly picked up with a vengeance, slamming the door shut and keeping it shut, proof against their efforts to pry it open. Boyd strolled toward the gathered group slowly, savoring every moment of his vengeance as he approached his tormentors.

He encircled a pair of players with his powers, the wind clutching them tightly and flinging each of them into the shower area roughly. “Out of my way, morons.” He had cleared the path to one of the other players, who was clad in only a white towel wrapped around his waist. His hair was still wet, as he’d just come from the showers himself.

“Y’know, I’ve always been curious if your own reputation is true, Mark,” Boyd said to the young man. Suddenly, a wind ripped the towel off Mark’s waist violently, leaving him standing there, naked and dripping wet.

Boyd laughed disdainfully, lowering his eyes briefly to what he wanted to see before raising them again to meet Mark’s. “Well. I suggest you go grab your towel and do something about your… shortcomings.” Mark did exactly that, tears starting to roll down his face after Boyd’s very public humiliation of him.

“Aw, the hell with this! Get him!” Nathan shouted, two of the other larger soccer players following his lead as they began to advance on Boyd.

Boyd’s sneer grew, and his laughter rang mockingly through the locker room. “Are you serious?”

He raised his hand again, palm facing outward, and suddenly pressed his palm forward. The accompanying wind solidified, the air molecules hardening and coalescing as they found purchase in Nathan’s chest and knocked him violently through the air. As the crowd of players parted faster than the Red Sea, Nathan slammed painfully into the locker room door, and the young man’s impact broke the door off its hinges. Nathan landed roughly on the gymnasium floor, unconscious.

The soccer players poured out of the locker room as fast as they could squeeze through the door, all of them fleeing in random directions through the gymnasium in a panic. The cavernous room was otherwise empty, as the soccer players had been getting ready for practice just after classes had let out for the day. Moments later, Boyd emerged from the locker room, floating nearly a foot off the ground as he was borne aloft on his own winds.

“Where are you going? Don’t tell me you bitches can dish it out but can’t take it! I thought you were manly men!”

Suddenly, the shrill tone of a whistle blared through the gymnasium, and everyone turned to look at the source: Coach Wenchell, the dour mentor of the soccer team. He looked at Boyd first, then to the scattering soccer players, then again to Boyd. “You’re a…”

“Yeah, you can say it,” Boyd interjected. “A mutant. How do you think I scored so many goals last season, Coach Wenchell?”

Wenchell just stood there, utterly flabbergasted. Boyd turned his attention back to the other soccer players, who had stopped running and just stood there, waiting.

“Oh, you didn’t know that, did you, boys?” Boyd grinned, a fierce, toothy expression lacking the warmth normally associated with smiles. “I can do all sorts of tricks with the wind.” He began to hover towards them.

“For instance…” He raised his hand, which caused the players to flinch. “Have you ever felt the wind…” He swiped his hand sharply, singling out one of Nathan’s friends who’d tried to charge him in the locker room. “…cut you?”

As Boyd spoke those last words, the air molecules around the young man’s face moved so quickly and violently that they cut the left side of his face, leaving a bleeding gash on his cheek. He cried out in pain as he brought his hand up to cover the wound, and the other players began to grow white with terror.

Boyd’s laughter rang out again, and he began to advance once again on his former tormentors. His crisp, white dress shirt drifted lazily in the breeze, and the soles of his black oxfords never once touched the ground as the wind carried him aloft. His golden-blonde hair, artfully spiked and mussed and locked into place with more gel and effort than most guys would admit to using in the morning, didn’t move a millimeter. He always found that amusing, especially now. His arctic-blue eyes, piercing and completely cold with anger, remained fixated on his tormentors.

“Anyone else wanna give the fag problems today?” he called out mockingly. “Or is it mutie now? Do they even have a word for fag muties?”

“Stop this, Larraby!” Coach Wenchell called out loudly. “Just calm down, power down, or whatever, and stop this!”

Boyd turned his attention on the coach then. “I’ll stop when I’m damned good and ready to stop, Wenchell! What are you gonna do… call my parents?” He laughed. “If you can find them, in whatever remote European locale they’ve happened to stop in this week, you’re more than welcome.”

“If you don’t come down from there right now,” Wenchell retorted, “my first call will be to the police.”

“Oh, please,” Boyd snorted condescendingly. “I’ll be long gone by the time they get here.”

“Will you?”

Suddenly, Boyd could hear it, carried on the wind: sirens. Damn it to hell, he’d already called the police! Boyd lowered himself to the ground, his mind racing as he tried to decide the best course of action. For a moment, he considered doing as the coach asked, but he knew the cops would never cut him a break, not after unleashing his power on his classmates. And with his parents off jet-setting, he’d have to sit in jail until someone bothered to bail him out… which probably wouldn’t happen. Well, damn it all.

Boyd suddenly broke into a run, pushing past the coach and bursting through the gymnasium doors. Even as he entered the open air of the outdoors, he could see the squad cars approaching rapidly from a block away. There would be only one way out of this, and he wasn’t looking forward to it. Focusing his concentration once again, he caused the wind to whip around him in another monumental cyclone, one that also provided vertical lift as he pushed himself off the ground and into the air.

I’m flying! Boyd thought to himself as he began to rise above his school, the coach and some of the soccer players coming outside to see what was going on even as a pair of squad cars parked roughly on the school’s lawn, the officers emerging with their guns already drawn. If I’d stayed down there, they’d have just shot me and been done with it. Stupid fucking cops. I’m never gonna get a break.

Boyd’s miniature cyclone, invisible to the naked eye, carried him over the school and toward the upscale suburban neighborhood that he called home. All the while, he kept his mind occupied with what he was going to do once he reached his house, to keep from dwelling on his greatest, most ironic fear: heights. I can’t stay at home now; they’ll probably check there for me first. Where can I go? None of my so-called friends are gonna take me in or hide me. Can’t really call the parentals for help. I’ll definitely need to leave, though. What should I take with me? I wonder how much I could carry with me into the air? I really hate being this high. Speaking of high, I really wish I had time to smoke a bowl before I left. Funny how everything seems a lot better when you’re stoned. GOD, how much farther is it?

Then, he could see his block, and his house. He began his descent slowly, as the descent was the most terrifying part of riding the wind. He was always afraid that his power might give out on him one day, and he’d become a little gay splatter on the street. Or crash through somebody’s roof. But this descent, like the others before it, went down without a problem. His feet touched his front lawn, and he quickly bolted into his house.

Boyd quickly ran up the steps and into his room, and began to ransack his closet and his drawers, grabbing everything he could think of to bring. Rummaging through his closet, as usual, took up more time than necessary. I should definitely bring that. Oh, and the pants to match. Should I grab the shoes? No, these’ll be fine… black goes with everything, remember? Oh, and that. And that. And a couple of other shirts… I can always recycle the jeans, since they work with all of my t-shirts. Is that everything? Good.

He took everything that he’d grabbed, and started folding them neatly to be put into his duffel bag. When he was done, he dumped the contents of his duffel bag into the floor.Guess I won’t be needing my cleats anymore. When he finished cramming his clothes into the duffel bag, he looked around for anything else he might need. House keys, jacket, heavier coat in case it gets too cold, a couple of books to read… oh, and my pipe. That about does it!

He zipped the duffel bag up quickly, grabbed his jacket and his winter coat, and headed downstairs. As he reached the foyer, he hesitated. Should I leave a note? Oh, the hell with that. They’ll find out soon enough. And the cops will just confiscate it, anyway. With that, he headed for the front door.

As he opened the door, he was startled to see a young woman standing there. Of obvious Asian descent, her hair was worn very close to her skull, and dyed a shocking purple in color. Clad in rather punkish clothes, she offered Boyd a warm smile.

“Yeah. Can I help you?” Boyd asked.

“My name is Xi’an,” the woman responded.

“Shan?” Boyd asked. “That’s a nifty name. What can I do for you, Shan?”

“I know what just happened at your school, Boyd Larraby,” Xi’an answered. “And I know you don’t have anywhere to go.”

“And just how the hell do you know that?” Boyd asked, putting a hand on his hip. “Are you a cop?”

Xi’an laughed. “No, I’m not a cop. I’m a teacher.”

“Not at my school, you aren’t,” Boyd said amusingly. “Not dressed like that. They’d make you take out all of those cute little piercings, and grow out your hair some. By the way, bright purple really works for you.”

Xi’an laughed again, and nodded. “Thanks. But no, I teach at the Xavier Institute.”

Now there’s a thought, Boyd mused to himself. I wonder why I didn’t think of that? “So what are you, some sort of recruiter?”

Xi’an shook her head. “Not normally, no. But since we’ve gone public, we’ve been keeping our eye on mutants all over the country. It’s not the safest time for us, you know.”

Boyd laughed derisively. “No shit. I got a little taste of that at school today. But what they need to realize is that it’s not safe for them anymore, either.”

“No, Boyd,” Xi’an said imploringly. “You can’t think like that. That’s why we get the bad rap that we have, because of mutants using their powers immorally and taking what they want.”

“So I should’ve just let them beat me today, is that what you’re saying? Because if that is what you’re saying, this conversation is pretty much over.” He looked past Xi’an, and in the distance, carried on the wind once again, he could hear the approaching sound of police sirens. “And it looks like this conversation is over, anyway. If I don’t leave now, I’m gonna get tossed into a cell and they’re not going to let me out, not after what I did today.”

“So come with me, then,” Xi’an stated. “Come to the Xavier Institute. It really is the best place for you, and in case you do get in trouble for what happened today, I happen to know a top-flight lawyer that’ll take your case.”

“You can guarantee that?” Boyd asked.

“Yeah, I can guarantee that. But we’re gonna have to leave now, so don’t think for too long.”

Boyd didn’t have to think for too long. He didn’t have anywhere else to go, and the whole fugitive-from-the-law thing didn’t really work for him. He was better than that. He knew what he’d done today wasn’t wrong, and he knew that the X-Men would see things his way.

“Alright, then,” Boyd answered after a moment. “I’ll go with you.”

---

Fallujah, Iraq

<“Answer me, boy!”> shouted the Iraqi guard as he brutally pistol-whipped the young Saudi again. <“Where are the rest of the collaborators?”>

Ahmed al-Rashid responded by spitting in the guard’s face, the blackish-red globule of blood landing with a wet smack. The guard sneered for a brief moment, then hit Ahmed again. Bound to the chair he was seated in, Ahmed couldn’t do much else but move his head with the blow to lessen the force of the impact.

<“We know that you are working with the infidels that have invaded our country, little Saudi,”> the guard stated. <“Give up your cohorts, and we will kill you quickly. Otherwise…”>

<“Otherwise what?”> Ahmed asked weakly. The young Saudi man, his lean yet muscular form drooping weakly in his restraints, met the guard’s eyes without flinching.

<“Otherwise, we will shame you, and send you back to your American friends as an example to those who would betray this country by selling us out to the invaders,”> the guard answered ominously.

Ahmed knew what he meant by ‘shaming’ him. They would take him against his will, and every guard in the facility would have their way with him. If he lived, they’d probably find something even worse to do to him. The remnants of Hussein’s regime were more vicious than ever, and had nothing to lose. And in the end, Ahmed would come to regret helping out the American forces that had liberated Iraq from Hussein and his people. They’d make sure he would regret it.

Despite the prospect of his impending rape, Ahmed was not afraid. He would not let these mongrels have the satisfaction of breaking him. He knew that what he’d done was the right thing, and he had bigger regrets than using his family’s extensive finances to aid American efforts to help the downtrodden in Iraq. Turning his back on his faith, a faith that would never accept his decision to follow the dictates of his heart. A faith and a people that would see him dead for his choice.

The guard smiled wickedly then, licking his lips obscenely. <“Nothing to say, little Saudi? I will admit, I am pleased by this.”> He drew closer to Ahmed, putting his blood-splattered face close enough that Ahmed could smell his putrid breath. <“I wanted you since the moment they brought you to me. I wanted to break you, to be inside of you, to make you mine, before I destroyed you. And your actions have made that a certainty now.”>

Suddenly, Ahmed felt a wave of nausea sweep through his body, but not one brought on by the guard’s breath, his words, or even his imminent actions. This was something… different. Before he could figure out where it was coming from, he felt a sharp pain in his stomach, and he cringed in his restraints, nearly crying out in pain.

And in that moment, Ahmed’s body exploded into millions of grain-sized silicate particles. His physical form completely transmuted into black sand, the boy had become a living sandstorm, freed from his bonds even as he whipped through the room at breakneck speeds.

The guard screamed out in terror, having never seen a mutant in his life. He raised his gun to fire, but there was nothing to fire at… his eyes were already stinging as the velocity of the silicate particles grew so fast that the air became dangerously hot. The living sandstorm circled and enveloped every nook and cranny of the room, and the consequences for the guard were horrendous.

The guard began to scream as the high-velocity sand particles began to strip away his skin, his flesh, right down to the bone. It all happened so quickly that his scream was silenced in a matter of seconds. And as the guard’s sandblasted skeleton collapsed to the ground, Ahmed finished reconstituting his body by sheer force of will, his naked, blood-covered form at a low crouch.

<“Allah, what am I?”> Ahmed asked himself. <“What am I? What am I?!”> He reached out to the chair where he’d been restrained with shaky hands and retrieved his clothes. It took him a few minutes, however, to dress himself. He was understandably in shock. But he knew instinctively what he was. He was pretty well educated. He just didn’t want to admit it to himself.

No. I am not a mutant. My family… they would kill me for this. And so would anyone else who found out. He looked skyward for a moment, but saw only a dingy, dimly-lit ceiling. Was it not enough that I am a lover of men, Allah? Why have you cursed me with this as well?!

But Ahmed knew that he couldn’t ask himself these questions now. He had to get out of here, before the other guards decided to check in on him. As he finished dressing, he searched for and found the guard’s sidearm, keeping it in hand as he opened the door to his cell. He stepped into the next room that the interrogation room was connected to, and swept the gun in three perfect arcs, left-right-left, checking for targets before lowering the weapon and moving to the door at the far end of the room.

Ahmed could hear commotion on the other side of the door, shouting accompanied by sporadic gunfire. Is the base under attack? Have the Americans made this much progress so quickly? He wondered if perhaps he would make it out of here alive after all. He checked the clip of the gun, replaced it once again with a smooth, practiced motion, and opened the door slowly.

The shouting and the gunfire became much louder to Ahmed as he slowly stepped out into the hall. To his left, at the far end of the very dimly-lit, run-down hall, he could see staccato flashes of light which indicated the firing of automatic weapons. Then, suddenly, the form of an Iraqi soldier was thrown from around the corner and into the wall of the hallway, impacting with a sickening crunch and sliding down the wall in a bloody smear. The gunfire continued, but to a quieter degree.

Ahmed could only wonder what was happening. Allah, what sort of weapons are the Americans using, to do something so horrendous? It occurred to him then that perhaps he’d need to find a different way out. The fighting is so fearsome, they might mistake me for an enemy.

He ducked back into the room from which he came, locking the door behind him. Will this be enough? He decided against it, and started to move the chairs, cabinets, and table that were in the antechamber to barricade the door. Perhaps if I hide myself well enough, they won’t find me, and I can escape when they have gone. While he had supported the American effort to liberate Iraq on principle, he wasn’t much more fond of America. He believed them to be arrogant, world-straddling imperialists only out to enrich and empower themselves.

<“There we go,”> Ahmed said to himself as he finished barricading the door. That should at least buy me some time. Now I must retreat into that… room again. He wasn’t particularly thrilled about the prospect of returning to the torture chamber, and seeing what he knew was still in there.

Entering the chamber, he pointedly avoided looking at the remains of his would-be rapist and killer. I murdered him. I murdered him with my power. I didn’t mean to do it, so is that still murder? Of course it is. But I was merely defending myself… he would’ve killed me, after having his way with me. After dishonoring me. Would anyone I know have acted any differently?

There was a small part of him that thought having such an extraordinary power was incredible. And under different circumstances, he just might’ve learned to enjoy it. But not now. Not after using his power for the first time by brutally killing a man and not being able to stop it. Then he reached a conclusion, one that he’d known in his heart all along.Allah gave me this power to test me. He is punishing me for loving men by making me an abomination. A devil. I will have nowhere to go when this is over. I have nothing.

At that moment, Ahmed could hear the fighting approaching the room, and he quickly shut and locked the second door behind him. He checked the gun one last time, and began barricading the second door. When he was finished, he retreated to the rear of the room, crouching in one corner with the gun leveled perfectly with the door. If anyone comes through that door, I will strike them down. And after that is over, I will escape this hell.

Ahmed could suddenly hear the door of the first room being broken open, a tremendous crash filling his ears. They opened it that quickly? The fear that already clutched his insides like fingers of ice began to tighten its grip. His hands began to shake even more than they already were. One way or another, this will all be over soon. Soon.

Through the door, he could hear muffled but audible voices. Men, and a woman. The woman’s voice had a sharp, commanding air to it, and something else… she didn’t sound American. But the men did. They were looking for someone. Pray that they are not looking for the man I have killed, for they will not find much left of him!

Suddenly, the woman’s voice called into the room he was in. <“Open the door and lay down your weapons, and you will not be harmed!”> It was then that he placed her accent, despite her speaking fluent Arabic. She was Israeli.

<“Go away!”>, Ahmed shouted, his voice wavering. He was sure that she could hear the terror in his voice even through the door. He knew that he could certainly hear it.

The woman didn’t reply. Instead, there was another tremendous crash, and Ahmed shielded his eyes as the world exploded in front of him. When he was able to see again, he saw the woman who had spoken, flanked by two men who were very obviously American soldiers. But they were nothing compared to the woman herself. Clad in a blue and white outfit of the sort that superheroes wore, leaving only her head and very toned arms exposed, there was a Star of David emblazoned upon her chest. She met Ahmed’s gaze with dark brown eyes, eyes that were possessed of depth and soul. He knew, then, who she was. Everyone did.

<“I am Sabra,”> the woman stated simply. <“And my sources tell me that you are a mutant.”>

How did she know? How?! But Ahmed didn’t have time to figure out the answer to that question, because his mind was racing too fast and his heart was beating too hard. <“Yes. My name is… Sirocco.”> Very fitting. I think I shall keep it.

Sabra offered him a smile then. <“Very well, Sirocco. We are here to free you and the other prisoners that have been taken. Can you walk?”>

Ahmed nodded weakly. <“Yes… yes. But… I have nowhere to go.”>

Sabra nodded grimly. <“You do now. Have you ever heard of the Xavier Institute?”>

---

The Xavier Institute; Ethics Class

{Will you shut up and pay attention, you slut? I’m trying to learn here.}

{I can’t help it! He’s got the goods, Alicia. How can I be expected to learn when there’s such a delicious hunk of mutant sitting right in front of me.}

{It’s not that hard, Terra. Just follow Amelia’s example. Sit up straight, face forward, and lips planted firmly on Miss Sinclair’s ass.}

{I heard that, Rebecca!}

{That’s a fine-looking man, that Julian. Those arms, arms I could just sink into and be enveloped in. That chest, a chest I could just pour maple syrup down and lick every sticky inch off of. Those abs… oh, those abs…}

{Is that all you can think about, Julian Keller?}

{Well, he is kind of cute. Except for his attitude. He’s a bit of a prick.}

{What else would you expect from the Leader of the Pack?}

{He’s more than cute… manohman, I can’t keep my legs together…}

{The sun comes up and you can’t keep your legs together, Terra.}

{Can you guys please stop? I can’t hear what Miss Sinclair is saying.}

{Oh, something incredibly boring, I’m sure. Did you guys hear about her?}

{I know she can’t get a man, but that’s about it.}

{I heard that she caused trouble back in that overseas genetics lab she worked at, and they kicked her out.}

{Oh, I’m sure that’s not true, Rebecca. Everybody loves Miss Sinclair. She’s a little ray of sunshine!}

{I don’t love her. She’s boring and frumpy and teaches the worst class I’ve ever had to sit through… Ethics.}

{Who the hell is she to be teaching Ethics, anyway? I hear she’s pretty harsh on the non-Christians, if you catch my drift.}

{Do you even know what you’re talking about, Rebecca?}

{Of course I do, Amelia. I can read minds, you know.}

{We all can.}

{Can we change the subject, please? I really don’t want to sit here and think about Miss Sinclair and her boring, pathetic little life.}

{What would you rather think about, Terra?}

{Julian, like you have to ask!  God, I wish he’d just give it up to me and be done with it…}

{You’d have to stand in line for that dubious honor, hon.}

{Yeah, I only have four words for that one: Sofia Mantega, Laurie Collins.}

{You really think he’s going out with both of them?}

{Hello? We’re mind readers. We know these things.}

{Yeah, Julian’s not only dating both of them, but they’re aware of it and they don’t really care. It’s sick, really.}

{So why is he wasting his time with that South American floozy and that bleached-blond twit, then?}

{Well, apparently Sofia’s easier than Pong. And Laurie… well, she’s a blonde. ‘Nuff said.}

{Um… we’re blonde, too.}

{So what’s your point?}

{We’re blonde, Rebecca. We don’t need to have a point!}

{Maybe I should be more like Sofia…}

{What else would you need to be more like Sofia Mantega? Dark hair and an exotic accent?}

{She’d have to be into a group kinda thing, though.}

{Ménage a trois?}

{Try ménage a cinq.}

{Eww, definitely not. I am not slipping under the sheets with that.}

{You’d be lucky if you could get Reuben to look at you with that sort of attitude, Amelia.}

{The Elephant Man? Even I wouldn’t stoop that low.}

{I’m surprised you’re not into him as it is, Terra.}

{Why do you say that?}

{Two reasons, actually. He can stimulate sexual hormones in anyone he chooses.  And he has a big… trunk.}

{Oh, shut it, Rebecca!}

{That was mean!}

{But really funny.}

{Maybe I should write Julian a poem.}

{I’m not sure that his cerebrum could handle the sensory overload.}

{He is a bit on the stupid side.}

{I’m sure that’s not true, guys.}

{OOOOOOOOOH MY GAWD. Look. At. Him!}

{Oh, new student?}

{And Terra’s interested in him.}

{Stop the presses.}

{He’s kinda cute. I wonder who he is…}

{I’m already on it… oh. His name is Eduardo Franco. I looooove how that just rolls off the tongue!}

{And he’s from San Antonio, Texas. Big surprise there. He has Texan Latino thug written all over him.}

{Along with a few other choice phrases, according to those tattoos.}

{You speak Spanish now, Rebecca?}

{I just took a crash course, right out of his mind.}

{So what’s his mutant power? I’d find out, but I’m too busy undressing him with my eyes.}

{Apparently, he can turn his body into solid rock.}

{That’s hot.}

{Get this: he’s already chosen his codename. Rock Hard.}

{Are you serious?!}

{As a heart attack.}

{Just leave it alone, Terra. Please. I’m begging you.}

{Ay, papi! And that’s all I’m gonna say about it. Muy caliente.}

{I wonder if Sophia ever gets irritated with us…}

{Constantly.}

{We’re sorry, Sophia! I tried to tell them, but you know how they are.}

{Traitor!}

{Brat!}

{Did we miss anything important?}

{Just everything we’re going to need to know for our first test, that’s all. Nothing important.}

{Oh, like we can’t just take notes right out of your mind.}

{If she lets you.}

{What do you think of Rock Hard over there, Sophia?}

{I’m trying not to, Terra.}

{Hey, we learned Spanish, Sophia. Cool or what?}

{Actually, glory hound, I learned Spanish.}

{Looks like class is over, girls.}

{Do we have to go back, Sophia?}

{Yes, Terra, you have to go back.}

{Thanks for letting us sit in on your class, Sophia.}

{Yeah, good times.}

{Not a problem, girls. Just try to pay more attention to the lecture and less to the boys.}

Sophia Frost stood from her seat as the class roused itself from the boredom of the ethics lecture to leave for the day. Seated on each side of her were four identical young ladies, each of them bearing platinum-blonde hair pulled up into a sporty ponytail and arctic-blue eyes, and wearing the same collared white, tight-fitting t-shirt, blue track pants with white stripes down the sides, and white tennis shoes. Sophia knew all of these things without looking, because she wore the same form and features as the other four. With a thought, Sophia began to tap into her telepathic abilities. And just like that, the other four girls disappeared in bright flashes of white light, leaving the girl known as Fusion standing alone.

---

Hollywood, California

“This, Sage, is the Hellfire Club. Impressive, isn’t it?”

The handsome, middle-aged man known as Lorenzo Alcazar sat comfortably in the back of his limousine, accompanied only by one other: his beautiful, exotic niece, Sage. The raven-haired girl stared out through tinted windows at the palatial estate, the iron-wrought gates of which were opening to admit their vehicle. Even in the dim light of late evening, Sage noticed that the gates of the estate were emblazoned with the trident symbol of the Club… or is it the devil’s pitchfork? She smiled enigmatically at that thought as she nodded at her uncle.

Lorenzo was attired today for business: a black, three-piece suit with matching tie and dress shoes. His dark hair was worn pulled back into a dignified ponytail, and his chocolate-brown eyes were half-lidded as if in thought. Sage, for her part, was also dressed for business. She wore a black corset top that laced up the middle and a black mini-skirt that revealed an ample amount of her black-fishnet-clad legs. A pair of thigh-high, lace-up platform boots and a black lace choker completed her attire.

While many would say that what the girl wore was hardly business attire, it was more than suitable for her business. Sage Alcazar was a prostitute.

The limo came to a halt in the circle-paved courtyard of the estate, joining many other luxury vehicles that were already parked there. Tonight the Hellfire Club was hosting a rather large party, and the guest list included celebrities, politicians, corporates, and other elite members of society. But such was only fitting for the Club. Lorenzo stepped out first, and then offered a hand to his niece, who took it with black-polished, slender fingers and rose to her boot-clad feet. She gazed at the Hellfire Club mansion with dark, unreadable eyes, and ran a hand through cascading, ebony hair before looking at her uncle. “I’m a little nervous, Lorenzo,” Sage stated. “I’ve heard stories about this place…”

Lorenzo smiled. “Don’t be nervous, Sage. Remember, they invited us here. And if your abilities perform as expected…”

“That’s the thing,” Sage interjected. “My abilities never perform as expected! You remember what happened to our last client.”

Lorenzo remembered quite well, in fact. A rather well-to-do producer had paid for Sage’s services, and due to her uncontrollable mutant power, the man had been crushed to death by a falling chandelier in his own home. Nothing had been wrong with the chandelier, and no physical force had acted upon it to make it fall. To the authorities, it just… did. But Sage and Lorenzo both knew better. Her mutant power had caused it to happen, her ability to create bad luck for anyone within proximity to her. Lorenzo called it a ‘pariah effect’. All she knew is that when people drew close to her, with the exception of her uncle (who was inexplicably immune to the effects), their negative emotions became heightened, and physical acts of bad luck happened to befall them.

Her uncle turned to her and shook his head. “You have nothing to worry about, my dear. You’re in Hollywood, and in Hollywood, it’s all about… appearances.” Lorenzo gave his niece a final, appraising look, and nodded for the two of them to continue on.

Sage and Lorenzo walked slowly up the front stairs of the Hellfire Club, joining the crowd of people already shuffling within, and presented their invitations to one of the doormen to gain admission into the building. After a moment, the doorman nodded curtly and allowed them to pass. And once within the walls of the Hellfire Club, Sage’s eyes widened in awe. The massive ballroom chamber was packed with dozens of revelers and partygoers, even a few that Sage recognized as power players in the community. They were all dressed to the nines, which made Sage feel a touch awkward… but also pleased, because eyes began to be drawn to her and she drank in their attention as if she were dying of thirst.

As Lorenzo led Sage through the crowd, a man stopped in front of her uncle. He was an older man, likely in his fifties, but he was handsome and fit and filled out his light-grey business suit very nicely. He and Lorenzo shook hands, and despite their familiarity with each other, Sage couldn’t place him.

“Ah, you’ve arrived, Lorenzo,” the man stated, his voice deep and rich and with the barest hint of an accent. European, perhaps?

“Yes, and I’ve brought my niece Sage with me.” He looked down at Sage, who met the man’s gaze with the barest hint of a coy smile. His own dark blue eyes were unreadable, but he nodded once at her in acknowledgement.

“You didn’t do her justice,” he said as he appraised her. “You truly are a vision, Sage.” He grasped her hand gently, and raised it to his lips, kissing it gently. Given the people present, the general atmosphere of the estate, and the soft, soothing music that was playing, it appeared to Sage to be a scene straight out of Pretty Woman. She smiled inwardly at the thought.

“Sage, this is Etienne Rousseau,” Lorenzo said. “He is one of the benefactors of the Club here, and quite a fixture here.”

Etienne laughed, a deep, rich sound. “Why, Lorenzo, are you calling me a lush?”

Lorenzo chuckled. “Not at all, my friend. But speaking of fixtures, who else do we have in attendance tonight? I’ve noticed quite a few new faces this evening.”

Etienne turned slightly, and indicated the well-to-do revelers with a grand sweep of his hand. “Most of them are just local power players, celebrities, and the like. But we have a few attendees that have surprised even us.” Etienne gestured toward a classically beautiful, raven-haired woman that was even now making her way toward the trio with a great deal of determination.

“Oh?”

Etienne leaned close, so that his next words only met the Alcazars’ ears. “The Black Queen herself. Tread carefully, my friend.”

“You would do well to heed his advice, Lorenzo Alcazar,” the woman stated as she joined the group. She extended a slender, meticulously manicured hand to Lorenzo. “Selene.”

As Lorenzo took her hand and raised it to his lips in an outmoded gesture of chivalry, Sage suppressed a nervous shudder. She didn’t know the Black Queen personally, but she had heard the stories. Once she was a member in good standing of the New York Club, along with the legendary Sebastian Shaw, Emma Frost, Donald Pierce, Harry Leland, and the others who names would live in infamy. And among a group of powerbrokers and Machiavellian schemers, Selene was quite possibly the worst of the lot. A woman whose origins and abilities were shrouded in mystery… and that just might have been the best thing. Sage might have been young, but even she could sense the aura of ancient… hunger that surrounded Selene. She was the most dangerous being in this room, and quite possibly the city. If not the world.

“And who is this delectable young lady?” Selene inquired, her dark, impenetrable gaze falling upon Sage. At that moment, all Sage wanted to do was curl into a ball and die. But she refused to show her fear, and instead met Selene’s gaze with her own. Selene merely smiled enigmatically in response.

“This is my niece, Sage,” Lorenzo answered.

“Is this your first time at the Hellfire Club, Sage?” Selene asked. Her gaze was withering, and something in her eyes indicated more than polite interest.

Sage nodded. “Yes. My uncle thought that it would be good for me to see the worst humanity has to offer, and in that regard, he succeeded.”

Selene laughed, a lovely sound that drew the eyes of the nearest of the partygoers. “My, my! My dear, I assure you, this gathering might represent the worst of humanity, but it also represents the best of humanity as well. An interesting duality, wouldn’t you say?”

Sage merely averted her gaze in response.

“And where might your counterpart be this evening?” Lorenzo asked. “I haven’t seen him yet, but he is a fairly busy man.”

“Oh, Oliver is preparing to see some… special… guests this evening,” Selene stated mysteriously. “Apparently, not everyone in Los Angeles is pleased that the Hellfire Club has opened its doors here.”

“But who would care…?” Lorenzo’s question was lost at that moment, as there was a blinding flash of light and a tremendous booming noise that had Sage scrambling blindly to her uncle’s side.

“What is going on?!” she shouted as she clutched Lorenzo’s arm, even as the white light faded.

In the center of the room, the revelers had cleared a large area to reveal new arrivals. There were twelve individuals, an equal balance of men and women, and most of them were attired rather… outlandishly. One pair wore hooded robes that appeared to bear mystical sigils etched in various places. Another pair were clad in outfits and technological gadgets that seemed right out of a bad science fiction movie. Yet another wore more outdated, anachronistic attire, right out of an even older science fiction movie. Another pair wore all-concealing bodysuits complete with opaque goggles and odd crests of top-knotted hair. Yet another pair wore ensembles of the type that Sage had only seen on mutant villains on television. The final pair, by contrast, seemed to be clothed in expensive but ordinary business attire.

That final pair were the ones to speak. The woman stood just behind the man, but not out of deference. She eyed the crowd around her with barely-concealed hostility, and a dangerous, wry grin creased her beautiful features. To Sage’s eye, the two appeared to be in charge of the others. “Oliver Ryland, show yourself!”

Sage looked up at her uncle. “Who are these people?!”

Selene answered for him. “These people, my dear Sage, are the Pride. These twelve individuals are the reason why Los Angeles hasn’t seen the excitement of superheroes and supervillains in years. Well, at least until the Masters of Evil went on their little rampage.”

“They’ve controlled this city for a long time,” Etienne elaborated. “No one knows much about them, but what is known is that they are extremely dangerous and decidedly lethal. Anyone who’s ever crossed them has met a very bad end.”

“And since the incident with the Masters, there’s been a mad scramble for power in the superhuman community here, everyone jockeying for position and power. The Pride is losing its grip on their monopoly, and it seems that they’ve finally decided to involve themselves personally,” Selene observed with a smirk. “This should be an interesting show.”

Almost on cue, a new individual entered into the spotlight. Descending the massive ballroom stairs from the upper floor was a man dressed in a style that would have been considered cutting-edge… a century ago. Still, the archaic attire flattered his dignified handsomeness, as did the touch of grey seeping into his short black hair. His eyes, slate-grey and utterly unreadable, drank in the new arrivals almost dispassionately. All eyes in the room were upon Oliver Ryland, Black King of the Hellfire Club, as he slowly moved to greet his ‘guests’.

“Welcome, Mister Wilder. Missis Wilder. Welcome to the Los Angeles Hellfire Club,” Oliver stated. His voice was rich and deep, and Sage found herself oddly titillated by the sound of it. Careful, she warned herself silently. Remember where you are.

“Cut the crap, Ryland,” Mr. Wilder spat. The handsome, solidly-built black man spitted Ryland with a harsh gaze. “We have had enough of your ridiculous grandstanding.”

“We have given you ample opportunity to submit to our orders,” Mrs. Wilder said, moving up to her husband’s side. “Now you leave us no choice.”

Ryland chuckled with black humor, almost throwing his head back in complete and utter incredulity. “You presume to order me? Have you any idea of just who it is you are dealing with, do you?”

“I don’t think you know who it is you are dealing with, Mister Ryland,” one of the mystically-robed figures stated, the pair moving up to join the Wilders. The woman carried an intricately-crafted staff that radiated with power, a power that Sage assumed was magical in origin. Just who were these people?

“The Minorus. I know who you are, and I know what your so-called black magic is capable of. You are no threat here.” Ryland took each member of the Pride into his gaze before continuing. “I give you one final chance to accept the inevitable and leave my home, or I will be forced to punish you for your arrogant presumptuousness.”

“Enough!” shouted one of the bodysuit-clad individuals, and the male levitated from the ground. The partygoers all began to back away in a panic.

But Ryland merely raised his hand, and Sage noticed that his eyes began to glint evilly with a glowing, crimson tinge. And at that moment, each member of the Pride found themselves motionless, unable to move or speak. Each of them were surrounded by a crimson energy aura, of the same hue as Ryland’s eyes.

Sage’s mouth fell open in shock, and her skin crawled inexplicably. She felt a sudden… evil… moving in the room. Something was present that hadn’t been before. And it terrified her.

Oliver Ryland halted at the halfway point on the staircase, and turned his head to the side slightly. “Manuel, Astrid, join me for a moment, would you?”

Sage’s eyes moved to follow Ryland’s gaze, and she noticed another, younger man moving down the staircase. He was clad in a conservative but well-tailored suit, and his physique did wonders for it. His skin was a burnished bronze, and it wasn’t a tan. His eyes were so dark brown as to appear almost black, and his equally dark hair was worn shoulder-length and slicked back in a wholly Hispanic fashion. However, he carried himself with an inherent superiority, a superiority that only came from a lifetime of power and privilege. A nobleman, born and bred. Sage found herself eyeing him a little longer than she was comfortable with.

The woman, which Sage assumed to be Astrid, was almost in perfect step with Manuel. She wore a gorgeous, form-fitting lavender evening dress worn off the left shoulder, and the material was iridescent, so it varied beautifully with every motion. The color of her dress contrasted wonderfully with her mocha complexion, nearly-black eyes, and exquisitely micro-braided hair. When Sage beheld her, she felt a certain power radiating from her, something that she couldn’t put her finger on. Of the two, she was definitely more wary of the woman.

Manuel joined Ryland, and folded his arms over his chest disdainfully. “I see we have some late arrivals.”

Ryland smiled. “That we do, Empath. Would you kindly calm our guests?”

Manuel nodded, chuckling lightly. “It would be my pleasure.”

Sage looked up at her uncle, Etienne, and Selene, and noticed how different each of their expressions were. Lorenzo’s was pure confusion, and a touch of fear. Etienne’s was keen interest, but also with a bit of fear. Selene, however, watched the events with a predatory interest. She was definitely enjoying the… festivities.

As Sage wondered at the ramifications of that, she suddenly felt a wave of soothing comfort wash over her. She knew instantly that the emotions were not her own, but she found herself unable to think past that. Instead, she closed her eyes and let out a soft sigh. At that moment, the disturbance didn’t bother her in the least. Everything was alright now. Everything.

When she opened her eyes again, she saw Manuel nodding to Ryland. “Done.”

Ryland nodded in return. “Thank you, Manuel. Astrid?”

The woman regarded the captive Pride members with marked interest, and her eyes began to glow with a soft, purple light. That same light suddenly appeared in all the eyes of the Pride, and Astrid’s lips moved slowly, distinctively, but Sage was unable to hear what she was saying. In moments, whatever Astrid was doing was over. She stepped back, and nodded to Ryland. When she spoke, her voice was distinctly British. “They will cause you no further trouble.”

“You’re certain?” Ryland asked. “All twelve of them were successfully… persuaded?”

Persuaded of what? Sage asked herself.

Astrid nodded. “All of them, even the mutants and aliens among them.”

Mutants? Aliens?!

“Thank you, my dear. Your services are, as always, most appreciated.” With that, Manuel and Astrid continued down the staircase, ostensibly to join the party. Sage followed them with her gaze, her mind filled with many unanswered questions.

Then there was the matter of the twelve members of the Pride. Whatever hold Ryland had exerted over them had ceased, and with several flashes of light, the more outlandishly-dressed of them had miraculously converted into more suitable attire: suits and dresses. Sage noted that there were three Caucasian and one Asian couple, and when they were not attired in their superpowered ensembles, they appeared as memorable as any other member of the night’s gala. Sage regarded Ryland, Manuel, and Astrid with renewed interest, wondering at their power… and their willingness to display it so openly among their guests.

“You would do well to be wary of them as well, my dear Sage,” Selene stated, her awareness of Sage’s thoughts disturbingly preternatural. “The gentleman is Manuel de la Rocha, with long-standing connections to the Hellfire Club of old… and its former White Queen.” The way Selene regarded Manuel, and her tone of voice when speaking of him, made Sage wonder what sort of enmity lay between her and Empath… and the aforementioned White Queen.

“The woman is Astrid Bloom, who also has some rather… interesting connections to the White Queen.” Selene smiled mysteriously as she pursed her lips. “A mutant telepath of the highest order, and renowned psychiatrist to boot. A fascinating, lovely creature.”

“I’ve heard stories about her,” Etienne said. “I’ve heard that her skills both in psychology and the use of her mutant gifts are so refined that she can make her enemies love her and speak of the secrets held closest to their heart.”

“I see our young Sage is as fascinated as her uncle and his business associate,” Selene stated. “Come, let us satiate that appetite for knowledge. Such things should be rewarded.” And before Sage could protest, Selene had taken the girl by her hand and was leading her inexorably toward the pair. Manuel and Astrid were already being attended by several of the revelers, and seemed to be engaged in polite conversation.

However, upon seeing the approach of Selene, both of them halted their conversations and nodded almost deferentially to the Black Queen. “Selene,” Manuel stated. “What can we do for you?” Sage noticed the tension in the air, but it seemed to be one-sided. Manuel was almost visibly afraid of her, and Selene… she knew it, and did not return that fear in the least. And as for Astrid, she just watched the exchange dispassionately.

“I’d like to introduce you to young Sage Alcazar here,” Selene replied. “She is an honored guest here, and found the events of this evening most… eye-opening.”

Manuel and Astrid both regarded Sage then. Manuel’s look was condescending at best, but there was also a hint of real interest. Astrid, however, smiled mysteriously as she looked at the girl. “You’re a mutant. How delightful.”

“How did you…?”

“My own gifts grant me access to the deepest reaches of the human mind. You’re an open book to me, luv.” Her smile widened, and she winked at Sage.

“I thought the three of you might have an interesting time together,” Selene stated imperiously. Sage knew that for all the power that lay within the walls of the Hellfire Club, this woman could trump all of them. She didn’t have any hard evidence for her conclusion, but she instinctively knew. This was a woman who had her way in all things, and woe betide anyone who tried to deny her anything. “Perhaps you and Astrid could use those vaunted skills one more time and enlighten this beautiful young creature?”

Astrid’s expression didn’t change, but Manuel visibly paled. Whatever Selene was referencing, he knew. He knew, and was terrified. But he merely nodded in response. “I think we can.”

Manuel looked at Sage then. She could see that something had passed between the three of them, but kept her observations to herself. “So you are a mutant?”

Sage nodded. “Yes.”

Astrid nodded, and winked at Sage. “How delightful. As you’ve seen, we’re both mutants as well.”

“Oh yeah?” Sage asked, more out of nervous politeness than anything else.

{Indeed we are,} Astrid’s voice replied… within Sage’s mind.

“Wow!” Despite her fear, Sage’s first taste of telepathy came as a rush. Hearing thoughts in her mind, and knowing that they were not her own… it was terrifying and exciting at once.

“And what is the nature of your gift?” Manuel asked pointedly.

“According to the tests that my uncle’s doctors ran on me, I generate a pariah effect. Basically, that means I can heighten negative emotions and generate… bad luck… for anyone that I focus my power on.”

Manuel raised an eyebrow. “Indeed? Have you had any formal training in your abilities?”

Sage shook her head. “I’ve kinda just been learning as I go. There aren’t many places for someone like me to go to get that sort of training.”

Astrid smiled. “Oh, darling, that’s just not true at all.”

“Sage,” Manuel began, “have you ever heard of the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning?”

Sage thought for a moment, and then nodded. “That’s a school for mutants, in upstate New York. Everyone’s heard of it. But I never thought about actually going there.”

Astrid looked at Manuel for a brief moment, and then smiled down at Sage. The two of them stepped to either side of her, and began to move slowly toward the staircase, where Oliver Ryland still stood. Sage swallowed down her apprehension… and her fear.

“Come,” Astrid said. “Let us have a talk. I’m sure everyone would agree that the Xavier Institute might just be the right place for you, luv.”

---

The Xavier Institute

“HEY! X-MEN! GET OUT HERE!”

The booming voice of Dirk Garthwaite, better known as the Wrecker, sounded across the expansive Xavier estate and cracked challenge like a whip. With him stood Piledriver, Thunderball, and Bulldozer. Together, the four of them were known as the Wrecking Crew, four magically-empowered thugs-for-hire. The Wrecking Crew had had run-ins with every major superhero team on the planet, on numerous occasions, and the Wrecking Crew’s actions today were seemingly no different.

With them, however, stood a fifth individual. He was garbed in the style of the Wrecking Crew, but was noticeably smaller in stature. Running a hand through his sandy-blond hair, Ricky Calusky looked at his father and shook his head. “I told you this was gonna happen, pops.”

Piledriver looked down at his son and smiled. “Just put a little faith in your old man, Excavator. We’ll get ’em out here.”

Thunderball looked bored. Then again, the most intelligent member of the Wrecking Crew usually did. “Do we really have to do this? They’re just going to come out guns blazing.”

Bulldozer grinned ferally. “Let ’em come! We haven’t tangled with the X-Men in a long time. I’m kinda lookin’ forward to this!”

The Wrecker regarded each of his partners with a baleful stare. “Look, we aren’t here to cause trouble, you clowns. We’re here to-”

“That’s too bad,” came a new, feminine voice. “Because you’ve definitely found trouble.”

The X-Man and former mercenary known as Domino descended upon the Wrecker with a ferocious, cat-like grace, planting her booted foot in his face as she appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Before the rest of the Wrecking Crew could react, other X-Men came to join her as they emerged from the mansion’s massive double doors: the hulking, metal-skinned Colossus, the slender, lithesome Dani Moonstar, the youthful, russet-furred Wolfsbane, and one other, who made his presence known by nailing Bulldozer with a precisely-aimed optic beam.

“This is private property,” Cyclops shouted as he led his squad of X-Men into the fray. “I suggest you leave… immediately.”

“Aw, to hell with this!” Bulldozer replied loudly as he recovered from Cyclops’ attack, rushing forward to engage the X-Men head-on. Piledriver followed suit, as did the Wrecker, and a moment later, Thunderball merely shook his head and began swinging his ball-and-chain wildly over his head as he joined his fellows.

Colossus was the first to initiate the melee, his organic steel fist connecting solidly with Bulldozer’s chest and sending the empowered thug sailing through the air, his flight broken by a rather conveniently-located tree. “You are not wanted here, Bulldozer!” the massive Russian shouted. “Be gone from this place!”

Domino was engaged in a deadly dance of fists and feet as she adeptly avoided every swing of the Wrecker’s enchanted crowbar, delivering sharp punches and kicks when she found opportunities to do so. However, the Wrecker was hardly affected, as his superhuman durability allowed him to ignore even .45-calibur gunfire. But it wasn’t Domino’s intention to take him out of commission, but to tire him out in order for one of the other X-Men to finish off.

Moonstar stood off in the rear, focusing her psionic energy into the form of a bow. She drew the bow’s string, and an arrow of the same psionic energies manifested in its place. Taking careful aim, Moonstar let the arrow fly, having laden the arrow with the emotional energy of pure, focused fear. The arrow narrowly missed Piledriver, as he had seen the attack coming and sidestepped it with deceptive grace.

Wolfsbane was now completely in her transitional form, baring her claws and her teeth ferociously as she closed on Thunderball. “”Leave now, or suffer th’ consequences!” Thunderball answered her with a wide swing of his ball, which Wolfsbane was only able to avoid due to her heightening agility. She leapt over the attack and lunged at Thunderball, her claws intended for his throat.

“We ain’t here to fight!” the Wrecker shouted as he took another swing at Domino. The beautiful, enigmatic woman merely avoided the attack, delivering a sharp kick to the Wrecker’s midsection.

“You’re the Wrecker, idiot,” Domino replied. “That’s all you do!”

“You’re never gonna listen to what we have to say, are ya?” the Wrecker asked. He punctuated his question with a vicious sweeping kick, knocking Domino on her rear from the unexpected attack. The Wrecker raised his crowbar over his head ominously. “I didn’t think so.”

Before he could deliver what he intended to be the final blow, his wrist was caught in the vise-like grip of Piotr Rasputin. “Allow me, dear Domino.”

“Aw, shit,” the Wrecker had time to say, before Colossus’ fist connected solidly with his gut. The Wrecker, like his compatriot Bulldozer, flew through the air from the force of the impact, and his flight wasn’t interrupted by any tree. No, he crashed headlong into Piledriver, both of them going down soundly.

“Dad!” Excavator shouted, watching his father taken completely unawares. He looked once at his fallen father, and again at the X-Men, and his eyes began to glow with topaz energy even as his face contorted in a vicious sneer and his hands balled into fists.

“That was a mistake, X-Men!” he said, and suddenly, the portion of ground on which he stood ripped violently from the earth, and carried him aloft. He directed the rock on which he rode with his thoughts, hurtling himself toward Colossus and Domino with determination and purpose.

“What’s going on here?” Domino asked as she and Colossus turned to face the oncoming youth. “Who the hell is this?”

“I do not think that matters at this point, Domino,” Colossus said. “All that matters is – look out!”

Excavator thrust his hands, palms outward, at the pair of X-Men, and various rocks that were lying amongst the estate grounds in the immediate vicinity suddenly flew into the air, hurtling toward them with lethal speed, accuracy, and force. Colossus had just enough time to cover Domino’s body with his own as the rocks slammed into him like earthen bullets, the pings resounding in a mad symphony as Excavator launched his assault.

The teenager careened over the heads of Colossus and Domino atop his earthen platform, performing a graceful somersault from his perch and allowing the boulder to crash to the ground soundly even as his own landing was silent. He turned to face the trio, and before either of them could react, his eyes flared that same sickly yellow once again, and he made a mind-focusing gesture that saw Domino completely engulfed in a geyser of dirt and small rocks that he mentally drew up from the ground. The sudden attack flung Domino through the air like a rag doll, taking her out of the immediate fight.

“You should’ve just listened to what Wrecker had to say, big man,” Excavator taunted as he turned his attention to Colossus. “We didn’t come here to fight you guys.”

“You certainly had me fooled, boy,” Colossus replied as he readied himself subtly, covertly, hoping to catch the boy unawares before he could attack again. But as it turned out a moment later, it wasn’t Ricky Calusky he had to worry about, as Bulldozer careened into Colossus with all of his might. The immovable object met the irresistible force with the sound of thunder, and the pair of powerhouses went down in a wild melee of fists and feet.

“That’s enough!” shouted Moonstar as she readied another arrow, and even as Excavator turned to face her, she loosed the arrow. The psionic creation struck him in his right shoulder, and the energies contained within crackled across his body as the arrow induced numbness and no small amount of pain. It wasn’t a killing shot, and certainly not a full-strength arrow, but Moonstar also wasn’t in the business of harming children if she could help it.

Seeing Excavator’s struggle to keep himself on his own two feet, Moonstar took the opportunity to close the distance between them. She had discarded her bow with a thought, and settled for a dagger of psionic energy clenched tightly in her hand. She didn’t intend to hurt him, but she’d be ready to act quickly to defend herself if the need arose. Which, knowing the Wrecking Crew, it probably would.

“Since I know my arrow disrupted your nervous system, and your connection to your powers, why don’t you tell me what’s going on?” Moonstar asked, with that certain amount of iron in her voice that told listeners that she meant business. She regarded Ricky with a combination of wariness and concern. He was obviously in his late teens, and certainly old enough to know what he was doing, but she had a feeling that his heart… just wasn’t in it.

Excavator turned to Moonstar then, grimacing as he tried to hide his obvious discomfort. “We… didn’t come to fight… we came… to talk.” He clutched his right arm with his left hand, cradling it as he tried to shake off the pins-and-needles feeling that shot throughout the length and made the arm and hand useless.

Moonstar raised her eyebrows in surprise. “To talk? About what?” She’d be damned if she could figure out a reason that the infamous Wrecking Crew would come to the Xavier Institute to talk.

Excavator met her eyes then, his own pale-blue orbs radiating sincerity. A sincerity that her ability to sense emotions in others picked up on, and confirmed. “About me. I… want to become a student here.”

She couldn’t help it. The absurdity of the idea was just too much for her. She laughed, but only for a moment, before assuming her battle face again. She cupped her hands to her mouth, and shouted over the din of the battle. “HEY! STOP! X-MEN, WRECKING CREW, STAND DOWN NOW!”

Apparently, her voice carried, because Colossus stopped squabbling with Bulldozer, Wolfsbane and Thunderball froze in mid-attack, and Domino, Cyclops, and Piledriver halted their own melee. All eyes turned to Moonstar, who was standing with Excavator. Her expression was serious, but Domino could see a glint of sarcastic amusement dancing in the Amerind’s upslanted eyes.

Moonstar turned to Excavator then, lowering her voice so that only he could hear her. “What’s your name?”

Excavator puffed up his chest in a machismo effort, even sniffing once, and it was everything Moonstar could do not to laugh again. “The name’s Excavator, babe.”

Moonstar turned again to the assembled X-Men and the Wrecking Crew, which were beginning to meander over to where the two of them stood. All of the X-Men wore expressions of confusion, except for Wolfsbane, who looked as though she desperately wished to finish drawing blood. It wasn’t the first episode that she’d had since the… events on the Isle of Skye. Something for Moonstar to address with her, after this was over.

“This is Excavator,” Moonstar stated matter-of-factly. “And he wants to attend the Xavier Institute.”

“So,” Domino began gingerly, “which one of you does this little bundle of joy belong to?”

Piledriver grinned proudly as he raised his hand. “That’s my boy.”

“Yeah,” Thunderball added. “Do you think I’d spawn such an ugly little brat?”

“Shut your mouth, Franklin, before I shut it for you!” Piledriver spat.

“Enough!” Wrecker shouted. “Let’s here what the X-Men have to say, you idiots!”

Moonstar nodded to the Wrecker before continuing. She looked down at Excavator. “Your powers, they’re mutant powers? I know they aren’t Asgardian in origin, because I would’ve sensed it before you even used them.”

Excavator nodded. “Yep. They only showed up last last year. Pretty impressive, huh?” He flexed his arms, which were fairly toned if not particularly massive.

Domino laughed, and clapped her hands several times. “I’d say. I’m gonna be picking pebbles out of my teeth for a week. I’m already thinking that I’m going to have to lather, rinse, and repeat here in a little bit.”

Colossus folded his arms over his chest. “Surely you do not believe these bastards!” He stabbed a steel-clad finger at the Wrecker. “This man nearly beat me to death on Battleworld! And now we are expected to take in one of their own?!”

“I have my own reservations about this,” Cyclops added as he came up alongside Domino. He ignored the look of contempt tossed at him by Bulldozer.

“Hey, give Ricky a chance!” Piledriver exclaimed as he took a step forward toward his son. “He’s a good kid. A little hot-headed at times…”

“Like his old man,” Domino interjected humorously.

“He’s also a stud like his old man,” Piledriver continued. “And he’s got the goods… you’ve all seen it. Although I’m not sure what exactly it’s called…”

“Geokinesis,” Wolfsbane stated almost lifelessly, as if reciting from a textbook. “The mental manipulation of rocks, dirt, mountains, hillsides, prairies, savannahs, earthquakes, plate tectonics, and volcanic forces.” The other X-Men stared at her oddly, and the Wrecking Crew, with the exception of Thunderball, struggled to maintain their sanity upon hearing such a lengthy sentence.

“So that’s what it’s called!” Excavator exclaimed. “I’m the shit!”

“Oh, you’re something,” Cyclops stated. “Why should we even consider this offer?”

Piledriver looked at Cyclops then, allowing his mask of aggression and hostility to slip a notch. “Because I don’t want my kid to turn out like me. I want him to have a real chance at life, at a place where I know he’ll be safe. And a place where I know if he gets out of hand, it’ll be taken care of.”

Moonstar nodded slowly, although she was iffy on the idea. “Scott? Bea? What do you think?”

Cyclops regarded Excavator for several long moments. “If Beast and the rest of the staff is willing to give him a shot, I am. But I don’t see any reason why he shouldn’t be given the same chance we’ve given so many others.”

Domino, for her part, grinned playfully. “Oh, I’m all for it. I think it’ll make things interesting around here. Or to be precise, more interesting.”

Colossus folded his tree trunk arms over his titanic chest. “I believe that we will regret this, but I will not question your judgment, Cyclops.”

Wolfsbane just shrugged.

Turning again to Excavator, Moonstar let out an exasperated sigh. She wasn’t particularly fond of this idea herself, especially if Excavator had inherited any of his father’s more… endearing qualities. But she knew it was in the kid’s best interest.

“Welcome to the Xavier Institute, Ricky Calusky.”

---

Danielle Moonstar’s Office

“This is a joke, right?”

Danielle Moonstar sat in the chair behind her desk, looking up incredulously at three individuals. Beast, Cyclops, and Domino all regarded her with different expressions. Beast wore one of excitement, Cyclops one of consternation, and Domino one of almost humorous content. Moonstar, for her part, was doing her very best not to laugh in their faces. She hoped she was doing a good job of keeping the hilarity she felt off her face.

“Not at all, Danielle,” Beast answered. “Scott and Beatrice have discussed this with me at length, and I was hesitant at first as well. But I do think that this would be best for the school.”

“Just like that, huh?” Moonstar asked, looking at Cyclops. “No arguments? No debate? We just do what you say, when you say it?”

“It’s not like that and you know it, Moonstar,” Cyclops retorted.

“We just feel that, with the school being public and the public outcry we’ve already seen, it would be best if each student be required to have mandatory training sessions and learn not only how to control their abilities, but how to best use those abilities to protect themselves,” Domino stated.

Moonstar stood from her desk, and regarded the décor of her office as she gave what Domino had just stated some thought. She’d made the most of her space, hanging several pieces of Cheyenne artwork on the walls as well as two portraits: one of the original nine New Mutants, during one of their all-too-brief times of happiness, and a portrait of Brightwind. Her desk itself was surprisingly clear, containing only her flat-screen monitor, a cup with several pens of various types and colors, an appointment book, and her textbooks. Simple… just the way I like it, she thought to herself.

“But mandatory training squads? Don’t the implications of that concern you?” Moonstar asked.

“What do you mean?” Cyclops asked.

“Let’s face it, Scott. If you start banding the students together into squads, you’re creating the very real potential for cliquishness, even violence between the students. More to the point, we’re all new to running a school of this size… most of us don’t even have accreditation yet. Have you consulted with any reliable sources about the ramifications of this? Some of these kids have very dangerous powers… dangerous to themselves as well as each other. And I just don’t think it’s a good idea to give the school such a… military atmosphere.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“Dani,” Domino began, “think about it. We can’t just graduate these kids and then cut them loose without teaching them how to keep themselves safe. And if we teach them the value of teamwork, they will be more likely to put their fellows first.”

“Or they’ll be more likely to gang up on each other,” Moonstar replied sharply.

“But you can see the merits in this approach,” Beast stated, having noted that Moonstar didn’t object to Domino’s points. He’d known her long enough to know that if she didn’t directly argue against a point, she was probably being won over.

Sure enough, Moonstar nodded her head reluctantly. “I’ll give this a shot. But I hope all of you are prepared to deal with this if it blows up in your faces.”

Cyclops smiled wryly. “If it does, I find myself oddly comforted by the fact that you’ll be right there beside us to help fix the problem.”

Moonstar regarded Cyclops with a bemused smirk as she seated herself behind her desk again. “Oh, flattery will get you nowhere, Scott. So who are you assigning to my squad?”

Cyclops and Domino both regarded Beast, who held ten student files in his hand. He handed Moonstar the first file, and when she opened it, she smiled easily. “Tammy Lynne Baker, huh? I figured you’d assign her to Drake.”

Domino grinned. “He’d never quit bitching, and you know how annoying he can get when he bitches.”

As soon as Moonstar opened the second file, she shook her head. “Jenkins? You’re going to put these two on a squad together? Are you certifiable, Henry?”

Cyclops shook his head. “That was at my suggestion. The best way for the two to work out their problems is to have them rely on each other. It’s worked for us before, and I don’t see any reason why it wouldn’t now.”

Moonstar looked at Cyclops for a moment, and nodded. “You might be right. And honestly, I like the both of them. For all of her… uniqueness, Jenkins reminds me of myself when I was her age.”

“I thought you’d feel that way, Danielle, so I assigned her to you,” Beast stated. “Besides, better you than me. I’m too old to handle her.”

The next two files surprised her as well. “Boyd Larraby and Ahmed al-Rashid? Are you sure that’s a wise combination?”

“What makes you ask that?” Cyclops asked.

“Well, al-Rashid’s a pretty orthodox Muslim, and Larraby… well, you’ve met him. He has a big mouth and a bigger attitude. And he’s a little flamboyant, if you ask me.”

“We promote diversity in all of its many aspects at the Xavier Institute,” Beast stated with a knowing smirk. “Again, we figured that assigning these two to the same squad might be a learning experience for the both of them.”

“Am I purposefully being assigned the bad kids? Was there some sort of bet that I lost and didn’t know about?” Moonstar looked at all three of them in exasperation.

“It was either you or me,” Cyclops answered. “And seniority has its perks.”

“Did Cyclops just crack a joke?” Moonstar asked playfully. “Stop the presses, someone.”

“Here’s your next squad member,” Beast stated, handing her the next file.

Moonstar opened the file, and nodded slowly. “Sophia Frost. I had a feeling I’d be getting my hands on her.” She shivered a little.

“Is there a problem with this one, Dani?” Cyclops asked.

“Have you ever seen Village Of The Damned?” Moonstar asked. Cyclops’ blank expression told her that he had not. “Never mind, then. Next?”

Beast handed her another file, and Moonstar rolled her eyes as she looked back up at him. “You have got to be kidding me. Eduardo Franco?”

“What’s wrong with…” Even Domino stumbled over it. “… Rock Hard?”

“Oh, come off it, Bea,” Moonstar retorted. “He’s a hard-luck case, no pun intended. He’s going to clash with just about everyone in the group. I know he’s a student and all, but let’s face it… he’s a little shithead.”

Beast chuckled. “Now, now, Danielle.”

Domino dropped her voice a few octaves. “Is it sad that I agree with you, Dani?”

“You take him,” Moonstar said, looking at Domino. “I beg you.”

“Sorry, Dani,” Domino replied. “My squad’s all female. He’d not really fit in.”

“Oh, fine,” Moonstar relented, pursing her lips in a most uncharacteristic pout. “Put the little tamale in my squad. Who’s next?”

“Integer,” Beast stated, handing her the file of Trent Cameron.

“But the only person who can communicate with him effectively is probably going to end up on your squad,” Moonstar protested. She was referring to Takuto Usami, known as Calculator, who was known to be Beast’s favorite student. Calculator had ended up being the only person capable of understanding Integer’s binary-code speech, and the two had struck up a fast friendship because of it.

“He requested it,” Beast replied.

Moonstar looked up from his file at that. “Why?”

“I’m not entirely certain, but this is the first real desire of interaction with other students that he’s shown. And your next squad member,” Beast continued, handing her the eighth file.

“Liam O’Keefe?” Moonstar asked incredulously. “This really is the remedial squad, isn’t it?”

“You know what he’s been through,” Domino stated. “And you know what he needs. I think if anyone here is suited to getting through to Backdraft, it’s you.”

“I agree,” Cyclops added. “You have a way with the kids, I guess because you’re closer to their age. But you do have it. Some of them think Rahne is cool because she’s young, but she doesn’t click with them like you do. Neither does Shan. I think all of them can benefit from having you as a mentor.”

Moonstar nodded, accepting the compliment. “I appreciate you saying that. But if I’m going to do this, I’m going to need someone on this squad that’s not a total screw-up. Someone other than some stuffy old history teacher than they can look to as an example of what they can be.”

Beast handed her the ninth file. “Your thoughts paralleled my own, Danielle. So I decided to assign you Ami Huo.”

Moonstar smiled at that as she took the file. “Velocity. Good choice, Henry. She’s got a good head on her shoulders, she’s been here for over a year, and she’s fairly well-adjusted considering her experiences with the Friends of Humanity.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that, Danielle, because I can tell you right now that you’re not going to like your tenth and final member,” Beast stated.

“No,” Moonstar said, shaking her head vehemently. “You are not giving me this so-called Excavator. You are not.”

“Oh, come on, Dani, you know you’re just dying for the chance to mentor the Wrecker’s kid,” Domino remarked sassily.

“Scott,” Moonstar said forcefully, looking at Cyclops intently. “He could be the worst one of them all. If he is anything like his father, it’s just going to lead to trouble.”

“Whatever happened to the fair, impartial, analytical Dani Moonstar that I used to know?” Cyclops asked.

Moonstar glowered at what she perceived to be Cyclops questioning her judgment. “I must have lost her somewhere between here and Asgard, Scott. So don’t go there.”

Cyclops let it drop, knowing that Moonstar’s recent trip to Asgard was a rather taboo subject at the moment. “Do you really think I’d ask Hank to assign these ten kids to you if I didn’t think you could handle it? More to the point, do you really think I’d ask him to do it if I didn’t think the outcome would be a positive one?”

“What possible positive outcome could come from me teaching the son of a murdering, thieving super-villain?”

“Having him turn out to be nothing like the Wrecker,” Cyclops answered easily.

Moonstar sighed heavily, leaning back heavily in her chair. She regarded the three of them carefully, and it was several long moments before she nodded. “Alright, I’ll do it.”

Beast smiled widely. “Delightful! What will you be naming your squad?”

Moonstar had to think about that one. From what she understood, Beast was leading the Excelsiors, Cyclops was leading the Corsairs, and Domino was leading the Diaboliques. But nothing leapt to mind for her. Until her eyes just happened to land on the portrait of the New Mutants hanging on the wall. She regarded the years-old picture of herself and her eight closest childhood friends, and all of the experiences that they’d shared over the few years they’d spent together as students of Charles Xavier. She smiled as she reminisced for a moment, and the smile remained as she looked up again at the three X-Men.

“The New Mutants.”

---

EPILOGUE

Amara Aquilla opened her eyes, and found herself in the midst of an epic battle, the type of battle that would be immortalized until the end of time. All around her, she could see men and women clad in classical Roman garb and armor, engaged in mortal combat with beings that were more infernal in appearance. She could hear screams, war cries, roars, and the distinctive metallic sound of steel against steel as the swords of the Roman warriors met those of the reptilian humanoids. Another moment, and she took in her surroundings: classical Roman architecture, buildings arrayed all around her, and she realized that she was in a forum or plaza of some sort.

At that moment, she felt something was off, and she looked down to see that she was not wearing the nightgown that she had gone to sleep in. No, the young woman known as Magma was now clad in a form-fitting combination of brassiere and breastplate, the intricate metalwork showing through in the beautiful designs etched over every square inch. The same metal and designs were also protecting her shoulders and upper arms, bound there by studded maroon leather armbands just above her elbows. A wide studded maroon leather belt encircled her waist, bearing the scabbard for her father’s gladius which now hung at her side. A skirt of studded leather straps also hung from the belt, nearly concealing the crimson leggings that protected her thighs. A pair of armored boots and a regal white cape with red trimming completed the ensemble of this Nova Romanii warrior-queen.

With a sudden, jarring clarity of mind that eluded most during dreams, Magma realized who the invaders of Olympus were, and what was happening. She had faced these beasts in battle once before, and quite recently, during the epic struggle that saw the Lord of Asgard, Odin, murdered at the hands of an alien goddess and the Golden Realm itself subjugated and enslaved. In this conflict, her erstwhile friend and teammate Danielle Moonstar had assembled an ad hoc team of allies to liberate Asgard, breaking the bloody grip of the Dark Gods of Narcisson and bringing the vile Majeston Zelia to a final, fitting end for her crimes and the crimes of her minions. Were the Dark Gods now turning their infernal eyes on blessed Olympus itself, having been turned away from Asgard?

“Get moving, lass!” shouted a familiar voice over the raucous din of battle.

Magma turned around to see the Prince of Power himself, Hercules. She remembered the demigod fondly from their close encounter when she was a New Mutant, and they had combined their forces to save lives. What was he doing here, now? More to the point, why was she on Olympus? The home of the gods… Great Zeus’ beard, I never thought I would set foot in this sacred place! But was this a dream… or something else?

Without warning, a massive, armor-clad demon lunged at Magma’s position, brandishing a wickedly-serrated sword that glinted evilly in the twilight. The beast cast off a foul, inhuman odor, and its eyes glowed a sickly green. Magma reached for her own gladius then, removing it from its scabbard in a smooth, practiced motion. “To arms!” Magma shouted as her gladius met the sword with a loud metallic clang, using the demon’s momentum to parry the blow away from her and gain a better foothold.

The demon recovered quickly, mounting a new offensive in something less than a moment. Magma rose to the occasion, her sword meeting its own in a macabre dance of death. For every thrust and swipe that the demon made against her, Magma defended with skill and aplomb. She remembered one of the first rules of swordsmanship: the first full minute counted more than any other. If she tired herself too quickly, the demon would vanquish her instead of vice versa. So she allowed the demon to keep her on the defensive as she maintained her footing, not willing to allow the beast to make her give up an inch of ground.

The gambit paid off, as the demon made a potentially fatal mistake and left its defenses open for just a moment. She could tell, despite the reptilian features and soulless eyes, that the demon considered her something less than equal to itself, and she knew in that moment that she had it. She delivered a sharp, lightning-fast kick with one of her armored feet to the clawed hand which bore the wicked sword, knocking the blade out of the demon’s hand as she inflicted considerable pain to the creature. The demon hesitated for a moment, and Magma took that moment to impale the beast upon her gladius. She smiled wickedly as she twisted the gladius, ensuring a killing blow as a feral scream sounded from the demon’s throat and the jade fire faded from its eyes. As the demon fell to the ground, dead, Magma turned again to Hercules, who continued to battle the hordes of the Dark Gods not twenty feet away from her.

“Good work, lass! But our work is far from over… behold!” Hercules stabbed a finger toward the horizon, drawing Magma’s attention to a most ghastly, offensive sight that set her teeth on edge… but her heart beating faster with fear.

Above the beautiful marble palaces and temples of Olympus, which even now began to run red with the blood of its defenders, a… hole… between Olympus and another realm hung in the air, the legions of the Dark Gods spilling forth in an unstoppable tide of infernal destruction. All eyes turned to see the latest arrivals that drove the legions forward, beings that Magma recognized instantly… and dreaded.

Spiked, scaled, leathery-winged Tokkots. Beautiful and deadly Tserron. Decadent, filthy Slototh. Mysterious and deceptive D’Cel. Enigmatic, powerful Adva. And leading the pantheon of Narcisson, the immortal incarnation of energy and power himself… Perrikus. The massive humanoid, clad from head to toe in fearsome, midnight-black armor and wielding a wickedly curved scythe. Magma knew Perrikus to be one of the most powerful, fearsome, and ruthless warriors in the universe, a being capable of fighting even the mighty Thor to a standstill. She prayed to every god on Olympus that her own pantheon was up to the task.

Perrikus met the ground with an earth-shattering finality, scattering the legions of Olympus before him. As Perrikus entered the fray, destroying Olympian warriors by the dozens with wide, sweeping arcs of his scythe, the army of the Dark Gods rallied, pressing their assault furiously and driving the defenders before them. Both Magma and Hercules found themselves swept away by the regrouping of the Dark Gods, but making their foes pay for every inch of Olympian ground they gained as they both refused to relent to the assault. Magma herself took down nearly a dozen of the demon warriors, armed only with her father’s gladius and her unwavering courage… a courage that made Hercules smile a private smile even as he eliminated a dozen times over the number of Dark Gods that Magma did. To him, it wasn’t quantity, but quality that counted.Olympus would survive and even thrive after this invasion should every Olympian bear such a warrior’s heart, Hercules declared to himself. Fight on, lass!

Magma smiled her own smile as a torrent of thunderbolts rained down upon the newly-arrived Dark Gods, striking down the lesser demons of the legions even as Tokkots, Adva, and the rest found themselves under an immeasurably powerful attack: Zeus himself was leading the Olympian gods into battle! Hera, Athena, Ares, Hephaestus, Apollo, Poseidon, Artemis, Hermes… even flirtatious Aphrodite, humble Hestia, and dread Hades! The sight of the Olympian gods heartened the defenders of the realm, and they halted their inexorable retreat to meet the demonic legions of the Dark Gods in an ecstatic orgy of battle.

Distracted by her first physical sight of the gods she worshipped so dearly, Magma found herself caught flat-footed by one such demon, who barreled into her with such force that she crashed upon the steps of one of the resplendent temples, losing her gladius and her footing. The demon remained standing a few meters from her, gloating imperiously as it let out an inhuman laugh. It believed that it had beaten her… and that was where it had made a fatal error.

Magma drew herself to her feet, shouting for strength from Zeus himself as she threw her arms wide and cast her head back, drawing upon the power of the earth itself to empower her. Suddenly, her Roman garb was blasted away as Magma’s form began to glow with powerful energies. The young woman drew upon her mutant powers to become one with Gaea herself, and her body seemed to transform into one of living, churning lava. Her eyes blazed with furious crimson energies, and her hair had become as a raging inferno. Now she was truly Magma.

The demon which had bested her widened its eyes in fear, and Magma didn’t waste a moment as she gestured at the creature with an outstretched arm, a narrow cone of superheated air and flames emitting from her fingertips to impact and impale the creature through and through. In mere seconds, she had completely incinerated the demon before her, leaving only ash and memory behind.

As said ash drifted away in the hot winds sweeping over Olympus, Magma rallied to the cause of her gods, drawing upon the immeasurable, unlimited strength of the earth to empower her attacks. She beheld a phalanx of demonic warriors advancing on the temple which she defended, and she acted instinctively. Lowering herself to a crouch and slamming a single fist on the ground before her, she tapped into the molten core of the earth, causing a massive fissure of lava to burst forth from the ground beneath the advancing horde, completely annihilating them without them even seeing it coming. She smiled wickedly as the screams of indescribable pain and terror were silenced all too quickly for her tastes.

Turning her eyes to the clash of the titans before her, she saw Perrikus leading a charge against Zeus and the rest of the Olympians. The goddess of wisdom and warfare, daughter of Zeus and champion of Olympus, Athena herself leapt forward, meeting Perrikus’ scythe with her own sword. The two fought with such ferocity that Magma could feel every clash of steel against steel in her body. She knew Athena to be a warrior without match, a woman that tempered the savage, blood-fury of unbridled combat with a strategic, tactical mind without equal. The golden-clad warrior queen met Perrikus blow for blow, her smoky-grey eyes meeting his own, refusing to show anything but a determination to repel the invasion.

While Perrikus drew the lion’s share of attention from the more powerful Olympians, his beautiful wife Tserron had managed to flank the gathered gods, and before Magma could emit so much as a cry of warning, the Dark Goddess impaled Hestia! The goddess screamed in pain, crimson ichor running from her mouth even as Olympus began to shake violently for several long, agonizing moments. It was the herald of the passing of a god, a cry of pain from the earth itself that Magma felt very keenly. She clutched her chest in agony, willing the pain to subside… which it did, but only after the deathquake had abated. As for Hestia herself, she had crumpled to the ground, dead.

“NO!” screamed Magma as she suddenly lunged forward, pushing her way through dozens of demonic foes even as Hercules moved to join her. The pair fought desperately to reach the unfolding disaster before them, each of them knowing in their heart of hearts that they could turn the tide of battle and preserve the rest of the Olympian pantheon… if only they could get there!

The Dark Gods laughed mockingly at the death of Hestia, and two of them rushed forward at Tserron to avenge the death of the warm, loving goddess that had fallen at their feet: Poseidon and Hephaestus. Poseidon raised his trident to strike the evil goddess down, but found that her husband, mighty Perrikus himself, met the god’s trident with his scythe… and cleaved the trident into two very useless pieces. Before Poseidon could recoil from the attack, Perrikus slashed again at the god of the oceans, inflicting a mortal wound that brought Poseidon to the ground, dead before his massively-bleeding body could hit the surface of Olympus. Another deathquake, this one accompanied by dark, furious storm clouds which began to coalesce over Olympus. A sign, Magma believed, of the beginning of the end.

Hephaestus, moments later, met the same fate as Poseidon, as his mighty warhammer was no match for a weapon that had destroyed even Thor’s mighty Mjolnir some time ago. The goddess of love clutched her chest in sympathetic agony as Hephaestus was murdered, feeling the loss of her husband physically and emotionally even as another moments-long earthquake erupted and furious thunderbolts beyond the control of Zeus crashed in the distance. Aphrodite’s pain didn’t last long, however, as winged Tokkots surged forward at the urging of Perrikus, stabbing his serrated talons into her chest and drawing out her still-beating heart. He crowed like a monstrous vulture as he viciously took a bite out of the heart of the goddess of love, letting her body join that of her husband’s.

“The heart of Aphrodite, goddess of love, I have obtained! Now, back to the fall of Olympus, as is ordained!” the Dark God whimsically rhymed, joining Perrikus and Tserron in a renewed assault upon the remaining Olympians. With four of the gods down, the Olympians were more determined than ever to destroy the Dark Gods for their perfidy… but saying was easier than doing. With a furious war cry, Ares sprang forward to do battle with Perrikus, and met the Dark God with a ferocity and savagery that matched Perrikus’ own. Alongside Athena, with whom he shared the responsibility of war, Ares kept Perrikus at a dreadful, tense standstill.

“We will not make it in time!” Magma shouted as the Dark Gods continued to decimate the ranks of the Olympians. Even as she spoke, the shadowy Dark God known as D’Cel the Deceptor descended upon Hermes. D’Cel used his phenomenal ability to misdirect and confuse to bring the messenger god low, creating true fear and doubt in the heart of Hermes even as Adva moved forward to take advantage of Hermes’ weakness long enough to impale the handsome god.

“ENOUGH!” Zeus bellowed furiously, his voice carrying over all of Olympus and causing the dwelling of the gods to quake furiously. The ruler of the Olympians had experienced terrible loss this day, and was determined to bring an end to it. Hera stood by his side, her slate-grey eyes filled with murderous intent as she supported her oft-estranged husband in this time of crisis. “Bring an end to this, my love. Destroy Zelia’s brood before all of Olympus is destroyed!”

“He will do no such thing, Hera,” a new voice sounded from the heavens. A sibilant, megalomaniacal voice that Magma instantly recognized… and never believed she would hear again. Casting her eyes skyward, she saw Zeus raise his hand to summon a thunderbolt… and a slender, deceptively dainty hand caught his wrist and prevented his intended assault. A hand attached to a form that wore a sleek, form-fitting gown, a regal purple cloak wrapped around her shoulders, and an elaborate, white headdress which revealed naught but a single eye which blazed with hellish fury.

Majeston Zelia had returned. And once the queen of the Dark Gods had her sight set on a goal, not a force in the universe would keep her from it.

Zelia tossed Zeus to the ground almost casually, the mighty thunder god landing with a resounding crash. Zelia’s dangerously beautiful form settled to the ground then, hovering mere inches from the surface of Olympus, where she regarded Hera with her single eye and a vicious, knowing smile upon her face. “Come to me, Hera. Come to my embrace.” She raised a hand to indicate Hera, and Magma could see the fear on Hera’s face. An intense, white-hot shaft of divine energies leapt from Zelia’s hand to skewer Hera, felling the queen of Olympus with but a single blow. “The embrace of oblivion!”

Hera’s demise brought a deathquake more furious than the others, and it was in that moment that Magma knew that Olympus was doomed. With half of the Olympian pantheon destroyed, the armies of the Dark Gods fell upon the demoralized, disorganized remnants of Zeus’s own armies with a vengeance, once again driving the defenders before them as they closed in on what remained of Olympus’ defense. Adva, D’Cel, and Tokkots combined their might in a sudden strike against Hades himself, and the merciless god of death found himself unable to cope with the attack of three very determined, very evil gods. The death of Death himself… Magma would not have believed it possible had she not personally witnessed the event taking place before her.

As Tserron destroyed the assault that Artemis launched upon her and brought the goddess of the hunt low by hurling her own arrows back at her with divine strength and accuracy, the other Dark Gods completed their portion of the battle by utterly destroying Apollo. The god of the sun and of music screamed one final time, his body vaporizing as he was caught in a trio of divine energy blasts that overwhelmed his defenses. Magma and Hercules fought their way past the last line of demonic legions barring the path between them and the deific struggle, too late to stop the deaths of Artemis and Apollo. Even Hercules found himself hesitant to interfere with the battle between Perrikus, Athena, and Ares, and decided to charge forward at Zelia herself, his only driving thought to protect his father from this merciless bitch goddess. “Father!” he cried as he rushed forward, only to find himself driven viciously into a pillar by a single blast of Zelia’s divine power.

Magma hesitated, unsure of what to do. And in that moment of hesitation, her favored goddess fell at the hands of Perrikus. Athena’s lifeless, bleeding body lay at the feet of Zelia’s son, and with her death, Ares was much easier prey. Moments later, the god of war too lay dead at the feet of the champion of the Dark Gods, the destruction of the Olympian family very nearly complete. Perrikus laughed mightily as Olympus shook furiously, crying out in pain at the passing of its patrons.

To his credit, Hercules recovered swiftly, and charged at Perrikus. He might not have felt particularly warmly toward Ares, and Athena had always chosen merely to ignore the half-human progeny of her father, but they were still family to Hercules, and he would not allow their deaths to go unpunished. He tackled Perrikus, catching the Dark God unawares, and the two of them crashed to the ground. Perrikus flung the Prince of Power from him a moment later, and got to his feet again, brandishing his scythe ominously. He quickly strode to where Hercules lay before the Olympian could get up, and placed a single, armored foot upon Hercules’ chest.

“I might have failed to destroy Thor, but you will do quite nicely until I can return to Asgard and finish what we started eons ago!” And with that, he raised his scythe above him, preparing to deliver the killing stroke. Hercules canted his head to the side, his gaze meeting Magma’s… without fear. Instead, he spoke words that she instinctively knew were meant for her and her alone, despite the battle still being waged all around her.

“Amara Aquilla… avenge us! Do not let this travesty go unpunished! Destroy these mongrels, as they will next turn their eyes upon Gaea herself!”

“End this for me, Perrikus,” Majeston Zelia stated evenly, even as she held Zeus powerless on the ground beneath her, ensnared in magics too powerful even for him to circumvent.

Perrikus brought his scythe down with a chilling finality, and Magma screamed.

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NEXT: The all-new, all-different New Mutants are here… and where the New Mutants go, the Hellions are sure to follow! Keep your eyes peeled for New Mutants #1!

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Author’s Notes

Well, after much hype and propaganda, the ‘new’ New Mutants are here! Writing this giant-sized special has been a joy for me in so many ways, not least of which is that I put my heart and soul into each and every character involved. The original New Mutants will always be my favorite characters, especially the four you’ve seen here, and I hope that these oddball characters can have a tenth of their impact and legacy… at least as far as Marvel Omega goes!

The placement of this issue is a bit awkward, so I thought I would clarify here. This issue takes place after the yet-to-be-written Moonstar #12, and right before the present-day events in Uncanny X-Men 3.0 #1. So to readers of the Moonstar series, this issue might seem a bit… out of place. Dani’s back at the school? Karma, Wolfsbane, and MAGMA are with her? There was a recent trip to Asgard? What the hell’s going on here? The answers to all this will be forthcoming in the pages of Moonstar… and I promise you, you won’t regret the wait!

For those of us just interested in the here-and-now, you can catch Dani next in Moonstar #5, as she journeys to visit her parents and meets up with an old friend of the X-Men. Karma won’t be seen until Moonstar #9, as she is quite busy livin’ it up in NYC with Evangeline Whedon. Rahne is currently appearing in the pages of Captain Britain, and her adventures there will ROCK the X-Men’s world! And as for Magma, she too is appearing in Captain Britain, having embarked on a journey of discovery and healing with Rachel Summers… and the answers she finds will be shocking ones!

As for the new New Mutants themselves, I’ve left a lot of unanswered questions in this giant-sized issue, and I did so intentionally. Unlike Marvel’s own original Giant-Sized New Mutants, I didn’t want the story to be neatly tied together upon its conclusion. I figure, why not just give a bare taste of what’s to come? Besides, if I gave each of the new New Mutants a proper conclusion to their stories, do you realize how much longer the issue would have been?! I was pushing forty pages as it was!

What happened to Sirocco that has traumatized him so deeply? What’s the real deal behind Excavator and his presence at the school? Who is Fusion, and why does she bear the face and surname of the White Queen, Emma Frost? What happened to Jinx at the Hellfire Club, and how did she come to attend the Xavier Institute? Who the hell is Integer, and what makes him stand out in these freaks among freaks? And why is Milkshake such a raging bitch?

Bootylicious. Milkshake. Air Force. Sirocco. Fusion. Rock Hard. Integer. Jinx. Velocity. Excavator. The future of the X-Men rests in the hands of these ten teenagers.

God help us all.

~ George Cameron

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