Manhattan, New York City

It started the same way that it had every other night since General Nguyen Ngoc Coy had made the move from Madripoor to New York City, renting a spacious apartment under an assumed name. It was the voice calling out to him, as though it had always been screaming but had never been loud enough to hear. The sound filled the empty space of the apartment even though Coy knew it was never there at all.

General Coy sat up in his bed, sweating. He recognized the voice, but he didn’t want to hear what it said. The voice existed because of something he had done years ago. He had convinced a zealous boy, his nephew, that doing a job and turning on his sister would be a good idea. In the aftermath of the confrontation, the boy had ceased to exist, his very essence absorbed into his sister’s mind. Few things kept General Coy awake at night. None of the things he had done in his time in the military did, nor did many of the things he had done in his time as a figurehead in the underworld.

The move had cost him many things, but above all, it had cost him his family. He had done many things that others would label “evil” in his life, but even General Coy felt the pull of blood.

His heart raced, and panic filled his face. Like the details of a forgotten dream, the words came to him without warning. No longer did the voice say. “Help me.”

Tonight, the voice said. “I am almost free.”

RESURRECTION/INSURRECTION

Part I

By Hunter Lambright

Buenos Aires, Argentina

Two forms lay twisted together on the rumpled sheets of a secondhand bed in the house atop the hill. The night was cold, but the room radiated with warmth, called from the depths of the earth with subconscious effort. Amara Aquilla squirmed in the embrace of her lover, Manuel de la Rocha, not out of a sense of discomfort, but because of the turmoil that existed only when the rest of the world went away. She squirmed because of the nightmares in her head.

“Shh . . . It will be okay,” Manuel whispered, using his contact with her to activate his mutant powers. “Everything is okay, Amara.”

As Empath, Manuel could warp emotions and feelings. It was not something he did lightly, but here he felt he had no choice. Amara’s night terrors had started not long after she initially destroyed Buenos Aires by creating a volcano in the middle of the city. For a while, they had subsided, but that time hadn’t lasted. For a moment, Amara’s body stiffened and went still, her breath calmed by his manipulative touch. Then her body temperature began to rise. Manuel recoiled from the heat that fell from her body in waves.

“Amara! Wake up!” he shouted. The air in the room began to shimmer, and Manuel could feel his skin parching. If this continued, it wouldn’t be long before something caught fire, and they didn’t have the resources to rebuild again.

Then, just as rapidly as it had started, the temperature in the room cooled off. Amara sat up in bed, looking around in a confused daze. “Manuel?”

“Over here, muñequita,” he said, crossing the room back to the bed. “Are you okay?”

“Nightmares,” Amara said, rubbing her head. “Same one.”

“We should see a telepath about that,” Manuel said, pulling her close. “You never know what might be going on. We’ve all been manipulated before.”

“Some of us more than others,” Amara said, withdrawing from him.

Manuel held up his hands. “I was a teenager back then. Misguided. Emma Frost of all people taught me. How much more must I do to atone for what I did to you before?”

Amara sighed. “Nothing. I am just . . . worked up. The dream deviated tonight.”

“I’m no Doctor Freud, but tell me it from the beginning. It might help you see things more clearly,” Manuel said.

Amara pursed her lips. “If you really think so,” she said, closing her eyes to visualize it. “It began like it always does. I see them all, the Greek gods. They’re locked in mortal combat with a creature that leads gods from somewhere else . . . Dark Gods, he calls them. He is called Perrikus, and he has come to kill them all. He once ravaged Asgard. I can’t move. I can’t speak. Zeus falls, and Hercules steps forward to avenge his father’s death. He is joined by hated Ares, united by their common foe. Both fall victim to the bite of Perrikus’ blade. The gods are slain one by one.”¹

¹This happened in Marvel Omega’s Giant Size New Mutants – Hunter

She paused, shuddering. “And then the dream changed. Hephaestus is among the last to be killed. He is on the ground, supporting himself over his crushed legs. His eyes meet mine and he says, ‘Amara, born of the forge. They seek to kill us twice.’ That’s when I woke.”

“I see,” Manuel said. “In our line of work, chances are that it means something.”

“I have no connections to the gods, Manuel,” Amara said. “That is why this is so frustrating for me. If they had to choose anyone, if this is real, then why me?”

“Because it is true, Daughter of the Forge.”

“Who’s there?” Manuel asked, putting himself between Amara and the voice.

The voice was made flesh as a man stepped out of the shadows. He was eight feet tall and built with twice the muscle of any human strongman. His biceps pulsed even with simple movements, and his left hand maintained an iron grip on an adamantine battle axe.  His eyes glowed in the pale light under his Roman-style helmet. A skull grinned at Amara and Manuel from his chest plate.

“Do you not recognize the drums of War?” asked Ares, grinning.

Years of fighting anti-mutant forces kicked the couple’s instincts into action. Manuel and Amara both leapt to their feet on opposite sides of the bed, Amara’s forearms glimmering with living fire. Both recognized him.

“I am not here to fight,” Ares said, holding his empty hand up. Manuel gulped, realizing his face could fit easily in the palm alone. “I am here to recruit you for war—my war—to save the lives of my people. The Greek gods lie slain in Tartarus, and if we do not stop him, your world is next.”

“And what does this have to do with Amara?” Manuel asked. “She has nothing to do with the squabbles of the gods.”

Ares thumped the handle of his axe on the ground in anger. “She has everything to do with the squabbles of the gods! Tartarus lies in the folds of the earth, and Amara Aquilla is the champion of Nova Roma with power over that realm. Hephaestus said as much at the last meal before the Dark Gods struck.”

Amara lowered her arms, extinguishing the flames. “The dream I had—did it happen exactly like I saw it? You and Hercules perished in defense of Zeus.”

“Aye,” Ares agreed. “Mythology is a petty creature. It has been months since the Greek gods were murdered, and yet Hercules and I are alive on Earth. I can only assume it is due to the power of faith. Of our entire pantheon, we two ventured most often into the mortal world. Our praises and conquests have been sung most often, shared most often. If there were any two of us to be revived on the power of faith alone, it would be us.”

Manuel snorted. “The mighty Hercules saved by a Disney feature?”

Ares glared. “We will speak nothing of you humans’ ‘animated movies,’” he spat.

“I don’t understand,” Amara said. “What do you need from me? I’m just a mutant with control over lava.”

“You are the only daughter of Nova Roma to wield the fires of the underworld,” Ares said. “Where they came from is irrelevant. You are needed to provide the forge in the icy caves of Tartarus in which the dead gods have hidden themselves so that the Maker might build a weapon to defeat the Dark Gods.”

Amara considered this. “I’ve seen the golden pathways of Asgard. I can handle Tartarus. I’ll do as you ask . . . on one condition.”

“Amara? Are you sure?” Manuel moved toward her, but Amara held her hand out to keep him at arm’s length.

Ares smiled. “Name your price.”

“There was a city here, a city destroyed because I lost control. When the gods are resurrected, I ask that they build Buenos Aires anew. Our efforts are not making enough difference for the homeless, and people are dying without housing and waste disposal. That is what I require,” Amara said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“No small request,” Ares said. He nodded sharply, turning toward the door. “Your condition is granted. We must go immediately. Time is not a friend of War.”

“Where are we going?” Manuel asked.

Ares turned back over his shoulder, eyeing Manuel like an insect. Condescension seethed from his tongue. “We are not going anywhere. The Daughter of the Forge and I are off to save the gods.”

“Not without me, you aren’t!” Manuel protested. He rushed to follow Amara and Ares through the door, but it slammed in his face before he reached the frame. He pulled open the door and ran out, only to be buffeted by a wave of cool air.

But they were long gone.

The Damocles Foundation—Future Home of Academy X
San Francisco, California

Roberto DaCosta had filled the “charmer” role for more of his life than he could remember. He had to think that was the reason Dani had chosen him to be Academy X’s spokesman, even though he had always paid others to handle public relations. He knew the ins and outs of selling something, whether he was trying to sell his good looks and wit to the ladies, a product to a boardroom, or, now, a school to a parent.

A taxi pulled up to the gates of the Damocles Foundation, and Roberto put on a flashy smile that extended from his mouth to his eyes. He wore one of his best suits and held his arms behind his back. Today, he was humble, he told himself. Today, he was selling a bridge, and if anyone could do it, Roberto DaCosta was the man.

It took everything Roberto had not to let his smile sag as the man turned from the cab. He was seven feet tall and lanky, moving with surprising grace for a man of his size. His skin was rough and wooden. Tree bark covered his entire body like an exoskeleton and vines traveled up his limbs in an arterial fashion. His mouth was formed from a hole that opened and closed as he breathed. His eyes were two woodpecker holes near the top of his head, marked by sprouts from twigs that gave him eyebrows. Every move he made was punctuated with the sound of creaking branches.

Roberto held out his hand, recovering. “Roberto DaCosta. You must be Giancarlo Betto?”

“I am he,” Betto said, returning the handshake. His voice was tinged with a faded French accent. The thin branches that formed his fingers were stronger than they looked. “This is your Academy X?” Roberto nodded. “Hmph. It is very . . . gray.”

“We’re working to get some more plants around here, believe me,” Roberto said. “The Academy isn’t open for business yet, and that’s because, mostly, we’re still in the preparation stage. That said, we’re more than willing to make allowances for students who need the Academy’s environment right away, rather than waiting for full staff.”

“So you would have my daughter here unsupervised by a bare bones staff instead?” Betto asked. “Perhaps we have different ideas of a safe environment.”

“Maybe you’ll be won over by our facility, then,” Roberto said, opening the gate for Mr. Betto. His smile was betrayed by the panic in his eyes. He made a mental note to give his PR coordinator a raise and followed Betto onto the premises.

The brush of feathers against the doorway gave Warren’s presence away. “How long have you been there?” she asked, brushing a lock of black hair behind her ear and settling her chin on her hand.

Warren smiled. “Not long. You look . . . happy. It’s a good look on you.”

“You mean ‘tortured’ was a bad look?” she shot back, grinning. “It’s nice to be planning for the future instead of fearing it. What have you been up to, Angel?”

“You have to be the only person who could call me that when I’m not wearing spandex and not make it sound feminine,” Warren said. “I’ve been, for lack of a better term, smoothing some ruffled feathers in Westchester.”

“Hank didn’t like the idea of a rival school?”

“Calling it a rival school is exactly why he didn’t like it.” Warren walked over to Dani’s desk and placed his hands on her shoulders, massaging them gently. “When I finally convinced him to think of it as a sister school, and I told him what our focus was, he started to get the picture. The students we have in mind just can’t be in a place that’s notorious for being destroyed by bad guys and still make it.”

“How did he react?” Dani asked, leaning her head back against his stomach.

Warren chuckled. “He said, and I quote, ‘In that case, you can keep Hellion.’”

Dani laughed, letting silence fill the room when she stopped. If all went as planned, silence was something that she wouldn’t have much of in her future. She sighed. “This—moments like this—these are why I wear too-tight clothing and fight people with the ability to kill me on a weekly basis. I’m lucky I found my guardian angel.”

“We’re lucky we found each other,” Warren responded. “Not everyone knows what it’s like to wake up from a nightmare where Apocalypse has forced you to kill everyone you’ve ever loved.”

Dani nodded. The silence grew cold as both of them relived moments from that portion of their respective pasts in their minds’ eyes.

“How’s the hunt for teachers going?” Warren said, snapping them back to the present. He pulled up a stool to her desk, where various manila folders showcased the background of potential teaching candidates.

“Bad. Applicants are few and far between, and most of them don’t have much experience in any specific field. Plus—get this—Erg sent in a crumpled, handwritten app wanting to teach the history of mutant civil rights,” Dani said, sighing. “It’s like we’re begging to turn these kids into the next Brotherhood.”

“Have you called your friends? I noticed I didn’t see a file from Shan in the stack.”

“I would, but . . . she’s happy, Warren,” Dani said, shaking her head. “She’s one of my closest friends, but I couldn’t ask her to step away from the life she and Vange have built in New York. Her brother and sister have finally had a couple of years where no one’s trying to abduct them. I could even think about asking her to say yes.”

“And Rahne?”

“She’s working with Jamie in District X, doing good work in a place not too many people are willing to do it. She said she would if she could, but . . .”

Warren nodded. “Makes sense. Amara?”

“She wasn’t ready for the Children of the Vault, and I think she resents me asking her to help then,” Dani said. “Besides, she’s another case where, damn if I can figure it out, she seems happy where she’s at, doing her penance in Argentina. I think she thinks that if she does the physical labor to get the city on its feet again, maybe—just maybe—she can get the guilt off her shoulders.”

“Sam?”

“Teaching the next generation in New York.” She held up her fingers, counting them off one by one as she went over a series of names. “Bobby’s here. Doug is dead, and I heard rumors about ‘Lock looking like Doug and showing up in Europe, but even then . . . it’d be a long way to go for what’s probably a dead end. Illyana’s a kid again, and creeping everyone out. James Proudstar is one of the terrorist X-Men. Tabby is in District X, too, but avoiding Rahne. Cable said we could call on him, but take it from me, he’s a shitty teacher. I don’t exactly have a whole lot of friends to ask.”

“Well . . .” Warren said, inching his stool closer to her. “Make new friends. You’re good at that.” He kissed her cheek. “We’ll see what we can do.” His lips touched hers. “But for now, life is good. Let’s enjoy the moment.”

Dani kissed him back, soaking in everything about the moment. From the light shining in through the windows to the light feeling that maybe the future wasn’t such a frightening thing, Dani didn’t want to forget a thing. When she opened her eyes, two more stared back at her. She screamed.

“Sorry, Ms. Moonstar,” said Trevor Chase, his hands pulling back a fold in reality from his own room in the foundation. The grandson of Destiny had been experimented on by Adam Harkins, and no one quite knew how to deal with his off-kilter view of the future, the world, or what things were socially acceptable—like voyeurism. “Thought you should know, you’re getting a phone call in five . . . four . . .”

“Thanks, Trevor,” Dani said, letting her annoyance show. If Trevor noticed, he gave no reaction. His face remained emotionless as he closed the rift. The instant he did, a video call announced itself on her computer screen.

Dani sighed. “It’s Jones. Hurray for agreeing to be an auxiliary S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.”

“I’m gone,” Warren said, standing up. He winked. “See you later?”

“You know it,” she said, returning the wink.

A voice came from her computer. “Please tell me that wink wasn’t for me.”

“What the—?” Dani looked at her hands, which hadn’t touched the computer yet. “I didn’t answer your call yet. How did you . . .?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. stuff. I turned on your webcam so I could see if you were ignoring me. I saw you were, so I had your computer answer the call. It’s standard practice,” Gabriel Jones said. His wrinkled visage and grayed hair filled the screen, looking oddly human above his standard navy S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform.

“I . . . am incredibly creeped out right now,” Dani said. She shook her head. “Okay, so what do you need?”

Jones nodded, folding his hands in front of him. “I’m calling in the favor you owe me.”

“I owe you a favor?” Dani asked, cocking a skeptical eyebrow.

“I piloted a reprogrammed evil robot in Tokyo for you and hired another division’s primary target on your request. Yes, you owe me a favor. You owe me several, but I’m only calling one in. Just be thankful for that,” Jones said. He set his jaw. “You’re used to freelancing as a save-the-world do-gooder? Great. But don’t be surprised when someone you ask for help asks for it in return.”

Dani frowned. “Okay, you have me. Sorry. What do you need from me?”

“What do you know about Black Tom Cassidy?” Dani whistled. “I take it you’ve heard him?” Jones asked.

“Yeah, of course I do. If anyone, he was singlehandedly responsible for the downfall of the Massachusetts Academy,” Dani said. “Tom is bad news. What made you bring this to me instead of Banshee?”

“Banshee doesn’t owe me any favors, for one,” Jones said. “Second, we’re having a problem with finding Black Tom. What we do know is that some of the loudest voices in the anti-Sentinel movement are being killed. Poisoned, in fact, by extreme reactions to plant toxins—toxins that should never be lethal because the only way they would kill anyone is if they bathed in a field of them. The only person we have right now besides Tom that fits the bill is Blackheath, and he’s gone straight.”

“So what do you want me to do, go banging on doors until I find Black Tom? We’re X-Force, not the mafia,” Dani said. “I don’t know what you expect me to do.”

“I understand that you’re familiar with Cain Marko, too,” Jones said. “The Juggernaut has gone on the straight-and-narrow recently, too, but we’re hedging our bets on the idea that he’s kept in contact with his old bosom buddy. The way I see it, he’d be more likely to talk to you than a squadron of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. And word is, Juggernaut was last seen playing security on a freighter company run out of Los Angeles. His boat comes in tonight.”

“And if he doesn’t know where Black Tom is?”

“Then get his closest guess,” Jones said. “I’m not going to get rough with you, Dani. This isn’t about putting you in a tough position. We’re spinning our wheels, and we need to get the Juggernaut to play ball with us here. Without him, we’re back at square one, and people’s lives are at stake. Do you understand?”

“I get it,” Dani said. “I’ll take a small team and we can go talk to him tonight, try to avoid a fight. Is there anything else?”

Jones considered this. “Yes, one more thing. I think you’re doing good work with this school of yours. If we ever come across anyone who fits your admissions criteria, it’ll be nice to have somewhere to send them instead of a cell.”

Dani swallowed. “Thank you, sir. I think I can say pretty definitively that we feel that way, too. Most of us did some pretty stupid things before Xavier found us.”

“If Cannonball can be converted from a Reaver to an Avenger, we’re willing to give your school a chance,” Jones said. “I’ve got another call coming in, Moonstar. Report to me tonight.”

“Got it,” Dani said before the screen went blank. She gulped. Did she really just agree to attempt to have a civilized conversation with the Juggernaut? His typical reaction was “get unstoppable first, have civilized conversation later.”

Then, something else hit her as she pulled up a fresh web browser to check out news stories on the attacks Jones had mentioned. “Why would Black Tom be killing anti-Sentinel advocates?”

New York City

Shan Coy Manh had been many things in her life, but of them all, the one she least expected to be was content. Curled up at the window of the apartment she shared with her partner, Vange Whedon, it was hard to feel anything but. The Vietnamese mutant had spent a long time searching for happiness, but moments like these reminded her that sometimes, happiness could find her instead.

“Shan, Leong is hogging the computer again!” Shan’s younger sister Nga stormed into the room. “Some of us have more important things to do than World of Warcraft!” The preteen had finally started to blossom after a childhood of kidnappings. Her twin brother had grown, too, but girls had a habit of coming into their own earlier than boys.

“WoW is important!” Leong protested from the other room. “I’m with my clan right now, okay?”

Shan looked her sister in the eye, setting her coffee cup on the table. “How long has he been online?”

“All morning!” Nga exclaimed.

“Not all morning!” Leong yelled. “Just most of it! She could have used it when I wasn’t earlier!”

“But I didn’t want to use it until now!” Nga shot back.

“Stop!” Shan said, standing up. “Don’t make me mind-control you into being quiet for a minute. Leong, finish up in fifteen or you’ll be booted from your seat. Deal?”

Nga nodded and skipped out of the room while Leong groaned. Neither fought back. It was nice pulling the mind-control card every once in a while, she thought. As part of the New Mutants, she had taken on the name of Karma, taking possession of enemies’ minds to give their teammates the punishment they deserved.

She squinted and put her hands to her temples. “Another migraine?” Vange Whedon walked into the living room with a look of concern. She was a pale, slender woman with dyed black hair whose unassuming looks hid her mutant power. A limited shapeshifter, Vange was only able to change form to that of three-story tall red dragon when she came in contact with blood.

“Yeah.” Shan shut her eyes to stave off another wave of pain.

“That’s the third one this week. Should we see a doctor?” Vange asked.

Shan shook her head. “Brain powers. Comes with the territory.”

“Then at least promise me you’ll visit Westchester next week, get a check-up. You haven’t gotten a physical in at least a year from Hank,” Vange said. She moved behind Shan and began to massage her neck. “Feel better?”

“Heavenly,” Shan said. “Maybe I will go see the X-Men. I bet if nothing else Beast can give me mutant ibuprof—”

Silence.

“Shan?”

Shan opened her mouth, but could not speak.

Halt.

Now even her mouth wouldn’t work.

“Shan? Babe, you’re really starting to worry me,” Vange said, moving around the side of the couch.

“Xi’an is not here anymore,” said Shan’s voice, but she no longer controlled it. She watched as, beyond her control, her body stood up and, in short, jerky movements, faced Vange. Then, Shan’s right hand slapped Vange across the face.

“Shan?!” Vange asked, pressing a hand to her cheek. “What is going on with you?”

“What’s . . .?” Nga stood in the hallway. “Shan?”

“Did you miss me, little flower?” Shan’s voice said. Shan struggled to scream. The voice’s nickname for Nga sent panic through her psyche, though it didn’t register in her heartbeat. Shan’s body belonged to someone else now.

Nga took a single step back. “Tran?” Her voice was small.

“Yes,” Shan’s voice filled with malice. “You thought when Xi’an defeated me, I died?”

“What the hell is going on, Shan?” Vange demanded.

Tran turned sharply toward Vange. “Kneel. Silence,” he commanded, returning his gaze to Nga. “I’ve been watching from Xi’an’s mind, learning from watching the Shadow King when he was in her head. You’ve been a bad girl, Nga, hiding your powers from Xi’an.”

Powers? Shan thought. But that would mean . . .?

“Powers mean bad things happen to us,” Nga protested, staring at the floor. “But bad things are happening anyway.” She started to cry.

“Stop crying, or I’ll make you,” Tran said. “You have your Replica powers. They tried to hide the times you were artificially aged. They were wrong to do it. Build me a body, Nga.”

Realization hit Shan as she remembered a time in the past when the twins were aged to a point in the future where their powers had emerged. Nga had the power to replicate DNA patterns and create new forms then, and it seemed that power had developed now. Shan’s heart ached as she watched her sister tearing herself apart over the decision.

“I don’t want to,” Nga said quietly. “If I do, you’ll just go do bad things again.”

“Scratch yourself,” Tran commanded, pointing at Vange. Shan watched on in horror as Vange began to dig her fingernails into her right forearm, reddening the skin on the first scratch. Tran returned his gaze to Nga. “I’ll tell her to stop when you pull my body from Xi’an’s and build it anew.”

“You can have the computer now, Nga!” Leong’s voice echoed down the hall. No! Shan thought.

Tran had something else in mind. “Come in here, I have something to show you,” he said in Shan’s voice. “Now,” he added. Leong brushed past Nga in a mind-controlled state, joining Vange near the couch. “I’ll do the same to your brother, Nga.”

Nga whispered a prayer as she stepped forward, quivering as she touched Shan’s body. Shan felt something begin to leave her, a weight she didn’t know she had carried. Under Nga’s careful control, the weight emerged in wisps from Shan’s very pores. Gas became solid as Nga formed a body for Tran in the same way her powers had emerged years before. She wove flesh like thread, pulling Tran’s form from her memory. Bones snapped into place. Nga looked on fearfully, but continued, moving her fingers as she sculpted.

Seconds dragged on into minutes, and soon, from the air, a replica of Tran’s former self stood, inhabited by the presence from Shan’s mind. She reached out against him with her powers, but a sadistic smile sliced across his face. “You won’t touch me while I have our poor siblings under control, Shan,” he whispered.

Tran pointed to Vange, who struggled desperately with her finger nail to draw the blood she would need to trigger her transformation. “Sleep,” he commanded. She slumped to the ground.

Shan, released from Tran’s control, pressed her fingers to her temple, extending her telepathic reach his way. A wave of telepathic feedback sent her to her knees.

“Now, now, sister. I spent years figuring out how to best your mind. You didn’t think I’d suddenly forget how now that I’m in a body of my own?” Tran crowed. He grabbed each of the twins by the hand. “Come along, now.

“It’s time for a family reunion.”

Next: Amara vs. Perrikus the God-Killer, Dani meets the Juggernaut, and more! Plus, find out what the rest of X-Force has been up to as Resurrection/Insurrection continues!