Logan took his first step into the Morlock Tunnels after coming out of Gateway’s portal. Scott stood behind him, ruby-quartz glasses holding back his concussive optic beams. Gateway, the Aborigine who once worked with Magneto, sat off to the side and with a snap of his fingers, the portal closed.

“So you’ve been hidin’ out here?” asked Logan.

“Pretty much, didn’t really have anywhere else to go,” said Scott. “Dr. Reyes been helping us out, too.”

“Ceci’s good people,” said Logan. “Other than Kitty’s death, what else have you managed to screw up?”

“It wasn’t my fault,” said Scott. “We had no way of healing her after you sent her into the Tunnels.”

“An’ if you hadn’t decided you wanted t’ play leader, I probably could’ve used some connections to get her the help she needed,” said Logan.

“Like who?”

“I’m more connected than you know, Summers. You’re lucky I don’t slice your throat out after royally fucking things up this way.”

“Look, I said I was sorry, what more do you want?”

“I’m not the one you should apologize to—Kitty is.”

“I’m not gonna listen to this…” said Gateway. He stood from his position and left the room.

“I fucked up, I know. I’m trying to make it right. What more can I do?”

“Hey, what’s all the commotio—”

The voice belonged to Alison Blaire. Her words cut off the moment she stepped into the room and saw who exactly it was Scott was arguing with. Her other fellow X-Man followed her in—John Proudstar, Kurt Darkholme, Peter Rasputin and Hank McCoy.

“…Logan?” asked Ali.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said.

She ran forward and threw her arms around the older man’s neck. Logan was taken aback by the sudden display of affection, and he reluctantly returned the hug.

“It’s so good to see you! I missed you so much!”

“Yeah, I can tell,” said Logan.

Once she released him from her hug, John, Hank and Kurt moved forward to welcome him home as well.

“Where the hell have you been?” asked John.

Logan shot Scott a cold stare. “It’s a long story, kid.”

“It’s good to have you back,” said Hank.

“An’ it looks like someone’s hit puberty,” said Logan, lightly smacking Hank’s blue-furred face.

“Lucky me,” said Hank.

“Things haven’t been the same without you,” said Kurt. “We really could have used those claws when we went up against the Brood.”

“You’ll hafta fill me in on the details later, Elf,” said Logan. The Wolverine looked up at the one person in the room who had yet to greet him. “Hey Petey, how ya been?”

Peter Rasputin just leaned against the back wall, arms crossed over his chest. Obviously, he was still a bit sore after his last encounter with Logan. He huffed and walked out of the room.

“I’m fine, thanks f’r askin’,” said Logan under his breath. He shook it off and turned his attention to the rest of the team.

“Did you hear about Kitty?” asked Ali.

“Yeah, Summers filled me in,” said Logan. “Where’s Jeannie?”

“I think she’s taking a nap,” said Kurt.

“Again? Asked Scott. “She’s been sleeping a lot lately. Hope she’s feeling okay.”

“Relax, she’s fine,” said John. “Probably just being lazy or something.”

PHOENIX RISING

Part II: Igniting the Flame

By Dino Pollard

Sebastian Shaw admired the garden in the countryside estate of Warren Worthington III while he waited for the young man to greet him. The garden was a passion of Worthington’s mother, who had been dead for five years now after a long battle with breast cancer. Her husband, Warren Worthington II, was so distraught that he took his own life by leaping from the balcony of a penthouse hotel room.

Young Worthington had kept the garden maintained in memory of his mother. Her ashes were even buried here. Sebastian had been an old friend of the Worthingtons. He and Warren’s father were both members of the Hellfire Club, an honor passed on to them by their fathers. Shaw looked upon young Warren as his own son after the elder Worthington’s death. Shaw’s own son had been a disappointment and now lived in the States with Shaw’s ex-wife. So instead, he took Warren under his wing, even bringing him into the Hellfire Club when he reached his eighteenth year.

Shaw’s eyes moved to the sky and he saw a silhouette in the distance. It came closer, and the silhouette grew into view. It was a young man, dressed in a pair of slacks with long, blond hair and massive, white wings protruding from his back. He swooped low and once he caught sight of Shaw, he lowered his body to the ground.

“This is a surprise,” said Warren with a smile. He extended his hand. “What are you doing here, Sebastian?”

“I thought I’d stop by and speak with you,” said Shaw, shaking the young man’s hand.

“Sure, come on.” Warren led Shaw onto the large patio. They each took a seat in the chairs and a butler came out to greet them. “What are you drinking?”

“Scotch is fine,” said Shaw.

“Make that two,” said Warren. The butler nodded and walked into the large mansion to prepare the drinks.

“I see you’ve been spending more time here lately,” said Shaw.

“The penthouse is nice, but I kind of draw attention to myself if I fly around London,” said Warren. “Out here, it’s much more isolated. Plus, just about every aspect of Worthington Industries can be run by the board. I’m more or less a figurehead. But that’s not what you’re here to talk about, is it?”

“No, I’m here to talk about the Club.”

Warren frowned. “I thought we weren’t supposed to discuss it outside of the Club.”

“We’re not, but I don’t see Leland around, so I don’t think we have anything to worry about,” said Shaw. He was referring to the Inner Circle’s eldest member, Harry Leland, a man who was strict in his adherence to the tenets of the Hellfire Club.

“Okay, so what about the Club did you want to discuss?” asked Warren.

“Your role. You don’t seem very—” Shaw cut himself off when he saw the butler approaching with a tray and two glasses on it. He set both of them down on the table and gave a slight bow before he retreated into the house. Once he was out of earshot, Shaw spoke again. “You don’t seem very dedicated to the cause, Warren.”

Warren sipped his drink. “Where do you get that from?”

“The Phoenix. Leland made the observation the other day that you have the most reservations about the Club’s actions regarding it.”

“You mean her,” said Warren.

“No, I mean it,” said Shaw. “The Phoenix is a primal force of nature. It’s just taken up residence in the body of Jean Grey.”

“And yet you have Martinique and Emma buggering with the poor girl’s mind,” said Warren.

“Sacrifices must be made, Warren. The truth of the matter is that Jean Grey ceased to exist the moment the Phoenix took possession of her body. She’s been in a state of living death ever since. If anything, we’d be doing her a favor.”

“There’s a lot about this I don’t like, Sebastian.”

“This is what we’ve dedicated our lives to, son. It’s what your father strived to achieve. What our ancestors fought for. It all builds to this moment. Every five-hundred years—”

“I know all about it, I was raised on the legends of the Phoenix,” said Warren. “Every five-hundred years, it returns. And the members of the Hellfire Club are the ones that have to help orchestrate the Ascension.”

“Precisely,” said Sebastian. “And to do that, we need the host. This time, the Phoenix chose to possess the body of young Jean Grey, perhaps the most powerful host for the Phoenix in history. Her power is greater than even she realizes. That’s why we need the combined efforts of Emma and Martinique to bend her to our will.”

Warren sighed. “I know it’s what needs to be done. And I know a new age will come from this. But… it’s hard for me to believe that the ends justify the means.”

“Warren my boy, you’re still young and naive,” said Shaw. “When this is all over, once we’ve created utopia, you’ll see that I was right.”

The limousine pulled up to a large mansion. A valet opened the back door and Martinique Jason stepped out first, wearing a red nightgown that clung to her curves. She extended her hand to her companion, who took it as she stepped out of the limo as well. Jean Grey was dressed in a similar nightgown, except hers was black. Martinique smiled at her and the pair linked arms as they walked inside the mansion.

Inside were dozens of well-dressed people, with waiters and waitresses walking around with trays of hours dourves and drinks. Jean reached for a crab cake, but Martinique tugged on her arm and the two continued walking. They came to a large stairwell leading down and they descended the steps. The stairway led to a pair of double doors with two men standing guard. They were dressed in black and red with white masks and they both held automatic rifles. Jean wondered why they were here, but she did not ask.

The sentries opened the doors and Martinique led Jean inside. The next room was large and filled with several couches and chairs. Jean was shocked at the scene before her. She saw many different couples engaged in different sexual acts. They were mostly white, but there were a few other ethnicities represented. Everyone was wearing a mask of some sort, though. Jean’s mouth hung agape as she watched the acts being performed. Men on women, women on women, men on men—and all right out in the open. There was no shame in any of them.

“What is this place?” she asked Martinique.

“Shhh, you’ll find out soon,” said Martinique with a smile. They walked calmly through the room and Jean could feel everyone staring at her from behind those masks. At one end of the room was a large fireplace with a roaring fire. Above it was a painting. It also seemed to be of flames. In fact, when Jean looked closely at it, it looked like it was a bird made of flames…

They came to another door and Martinique opened it. This door led to a room with a large, four-poster bed in the center. Jean also saw they weren’t alone. There was a chair seated in front of another fireplace and the occupant of it stood. She had long, platinum-blonde hair and held a glass of champagne in one of her hands. She wore a white corset, a white thong, and had a white cape with a fur collar draped over her shoulders. Her boots were white and knee-high, complete with heels and she wore white gloves that reached just below her shoulders. She had piercing blue eyes and smiled at the pair while she sipped the champagne. Her eyes bore a come-hither stare and Jean felt herself drawn towards this new woman.

“Come,” said this… white queen. She beckoned at Jean with a finger from her free hand and Jean complied. When she came close enough, the white queen wrapped her free arm around the young redhead’s neck, gripping her hair as she pushed their heads together and their lips connected. The kiss lingered and seemed to last forever, and when the white queen broke it, Jean’s eyes were still closed and her lips were pursed, ready for another.

Jean looked behind her at Martinique and saw her companion’s clothes had now changed. She was dressed in the same thing as the blonde, except her clothes were a deep crimson. Martinique came closer, her hips swayed as she approached Jean. The two women kissed as they had so many times in the past, and Jean felt herself aching for more. But Martinique would have none of it. She broke the kissed and placed her finger against Jean’s lips.

“Not quite yet, little firebird,” she said with a smile. “Emma and I have a gift for you, first.”

“A gift?” asked Jean.

“Oh yes,” said Emma. Suddenly, a mannequin appeared in the center of the room, one Jean hadn’t noticed before. The mannequin wore the same outfit Emma and Martinique did, except this one was black. Martinique placed her hands on Jean’s shoulders and kissed her neck from behind. Her hands slid down Jean’s back and found the zipper of her dress, slowly pulling it down. The dress fell from Jean’s body and she stood completely naked.

Martinique circled around in front of Jean and kissed her, then led her towards the mannequin. “We want you, Jean. We want you to be one of us. Our Black Queen.”

Jean just stared at the outfit on the mannequin, then looked at Emma. The blonde woman smiled at her. Jean looked up and above the fireplace, she saw something else. It was a large, red H with a pitchfork in front of it. A crest of some sort. It was the last thing Jean saw before she felt herself forced onto the bed by Emma and Martinique. She watched as the two women stripped off their own clothes and descended upon her.

There was a knock on the door of Cecilia Reyes’ office. The young doctor looked up from her paperwork. “Come in.” The door opened and a man stepped in, dressed in a fine suit.

“Can I help you?” asked Cecilia.

“Yes, you can,” he said, reaching inside his jacket. He pulled out an envelope and handed it to her. Cecilia examined the envelope and saw it bore an odd seal on the back. An H with a pitchfork in front of it. She looked up at him.

“What’s this?”

“It’s for the X-Men,” he said.

“I-I’m sorry, what did you say?” asked Cecilia.

“I said, that invitation is for the X-Men.”

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Cecilia. “Who are the X-Me—”

“Relax, Dr. Reyes. Just see that they get it.” He turned to leave, but stopped before he reached the door. “Oh, one more thing before I forget.” He reached into his jacket and pulled something else before dropping it on the desk. Cecilia picked it up and saw it was a credit card.

“See to it that they use that to purchase whatever clothing they may require,” he said. “After all, we can’t have them showing up in leather riot gear, now can we?”

“Wait, what’s this all abou—”

Before Cecilia could finish her sentence, the man left the office. She looked at the card and the envelope and sighed. What she found surprising about the credit card is that the name on it read JEAN GREY.