Six Months Have Passed.

Thor has disappeared.

The Avengers have disbanded.

Spider-Man is absent.

The X-Men — formerly students and teachers; formerly superheroes and terrorists; formerly builders of countries and communities — stand on the precipice of a new day. But will they survive to see the dawn?

The roar rocked the Republic of Genosha to its foundation. The war cry of a thousand siege beasts in unison, as they descended upon the mutant nation. By air, by land, by sea, they swarmed — a mass of wings and horns, claws and scales, fangs and hunger. Enormous in size and devoid of color, the creatures crested the Ridgeback Mountains, blotting out the sun.

The midday dusk would not go unanswered. The response was swift and direct. A blast of pure force carved a trench into the base of the mountain range. The message was clear: Do not cross.

“Turn back now.” Cyclops, balancing on the wing of a hovering X-Jet, held two fingers next to the dial on his visor. “This does not need to escalate.”

If the beasts heard Scott Summers, they did not heed his warning. The first wave of invaders cascaded into the trench, filling it with rigid backs and ridged spines. Using their brethren as bridges, the next wave advanced, undaunted.

-[Jean, alert the public.]- Psychic communication was as natural as breathing for the couple, and within a millisecond, the Phoenix’s message reached millions of mutant minds.

-[Citizens of Genosha, this is President Jean Grey. Seek shelter. This is not a drill. Genosha is under attack by entities unknown. Evacuate Carrion Cove. Seek shelter. This is not a drill.]-

Soaring over the capitol building, the President positioned herself at the center of Hammer Bay. Scanning the streets for stragglers, she seeded escape routes and safety protocols into the thoughts of anyone who needed them. Flexing her fingers knuckle by knuckle, the Phoenix forged a dome of telekinetic energy below her, over and around Genosha’s capital city. She tinged the barrier pink to ensure no one would be caught unaware by its border. Then, she pushed it outward, toward the oncoming threat.

“Anybody have the Godzilla Squad’s number?” Iceman slid to the front of the ground-based defense force, the nation’s trident flag flapping behind him on a pole planted in his ice slide. “We could use a Red Ronin right now.”

-[Hank, first impressions?]- Cyclops unleashed another optic blast, pivoting his head for maximum coverage.

Beast shifted his weight to his bare left foot in the back of the science team’s jeep, as it swerved in line with the Genoshan military convoy. His right hand adjusted a set of binoculars, while his left hand jotted notes into a tablet held by his right foot. -[I’ll need a tissue sample to be certain; however, our immense intruders appear to be reptilian in nature. Ergo, keep the cold coming!]-

-[Can do.]- A halo of icicles sprouted around each of Robert Drake’s wrists, cold flares of concentration, as he poured forth his powers.

The leader of the mutant military literally heard the cold snap from his perch in the sky. A chill wind slapped the X-Jet a moment later. -[I like the attitude, Bobby, but easy on the overspray. Hank, any solutions short of a new Ice Age?]-

-[An apropos inquiry, for I am, in fact, formulating a chemical solution.]- The blue-furred biochemist switched between screens on his tablet, tweaking equations in one app while checking supply levels across available stores in another. -[An airborne toxin should prove effective, provided these behemoths need to breathe. I’m currently sourcing capsaicin, vinegar, alliums, and peppermint. Are fireflies in season? Their three-week lifespan is a hinderance to perfecting a potent poison.]-

-[Kurt, you up for a shopping spree?]-

-[Natürlich, mein Kapitän.]- Nightcrawler swept his saber with a flourish, parrying a tusked thrust from a charging creature three times the elf’s size.

-[Sending the list now.]- With the press of a button, Hank McCoy’s tablet emitted a tell-tale woosh, and Kurt Wagner disappeared in a bamf of brimstone. -[An anatomical or neurological scan would also be beneficial in assessing additional vulnerabilities.]-

-[Betsy?]-

-[En route.]-

Cyclops pressed the X on his chest harness, activating physical comms. “Gold Squadron, suppressive fire, south by southeast. Short bursts. On my mark. Mark.” He tapped his visor in time with their ballistic volley.

Archangel pumped his wings, weaving between talon strikes and gnashing teeth. He tightened his grip around Psylocke’s waist and dipped his head toward her ear. “Prepare for dismount in three.” Veering to the left, Warren Worthington III dug the edge of his techno-organic wing into the flank of the nearest invader. Sparks flew like steel on stone. “Two.” He rode the arc up and over the beast’s hindleg. Swooping to course correct, he brought Betsy Braddock parallel to the colossal spine and bolted forward. “One.” When vertebrae angled into nape, Archangel peeled straight up and dropped Psylocke like a pin onto the creature’s cranium.

“Ta.” Maximizing her momentum, the British royal slammed her fists into the otherworldly skull, plunging psychic blades as far as possible. The flying beast twitched the tip of an ear. Psylocke slumped slightly. “I thought we might have you seeing stars. Butterflies will have to suffice.” The insect outline framed her face, as her focus became decidedly surgical. Twisting her forearms while keeping her fists flush, she turned her telepathic knives into drills. With each rotation, the blades became thinner, longer, flatter. Sweat beaded Braddock’s brow, but she couldn’t quit. She could feel the beast’s consciousness growing closer and closer until, finally, she broke through.

A purple butterfly flashed across the creature’s face, as minds merged. -[Charting neural pathways, imaging cerebral anatomy, and mapping the psyche now,]- Psylocke reported. –[Brace yourself, Bones. There’s quite a bit to unpack.]-

The mutant Doctor McCoy barely had time to appreciate the Star Trek reference before the psychic symbol flared across his features, signalling the start of the transmission.

-[There’s an intelligence here, but it’s being supressed.]- Betsy grimaced, trying to pierce the thick veil that clouded the behemoth’s thoughts. -[And something — or someone — is squeezing its fight or flight response, triggering its most base instincts.]-

-[Indeed.]- Beast nodded. “Indeed,” he repeated aloud. His eyelids fluttered, as he reviewed, cross-referenced, and catalogued the raw telepathic data. -[If all our exotic fauna is under the same influence, severing the connection could be the key to halting this assault. I’ll tailor the toxin to first target the amygdala, then prompt a parasympathetic nervous system response.]-

-[Betsy, can you trace the controlling influence back to its source?]- Scott set his jaw. -[We need to identify and neutralize that variable.]-

-[Given enough time, absolutely.]- Psylocke scoured the surface of the psychic shroud, examining its edges.

-[We’ll buy you what we can.]- Cyclops studied the battlefield. Frost-crusted titans continued their march forward. Streams of plasma, clusters of concussive force, and telekinetically powered projectiles bombarded the swarm, as the Gold Squadron — nearly fifty strong — tried not to lose ground. Brawlers and grapplers barrelled ahead, only to be gouged by horns and stomped by hooves. The invaders were unrelenting but easy to predict. A pattern emerged. “Blue Squadron, Fabian maneuver Sigma-Delta-Nine, forty-sixty split, northwest push.”

As directed, a second set of soldiers, clad in Xavier Institute azure, rushed the flanks of the oncoming onslaught, disrupting the animals’ advance. Leading the western charge, Havok unlatched his jacket, releasing concentric rings of strobing energy. Targeting enemy ankles and knees, Alex Summers tried to knock them off kilter, then fell back, as Polaris brought spears of iron, nickel, and cobalt raining down. Ricocheting off impervious skin, the lances jabbed into the earth, manipulated by magnetism to form fencing to corral the creatures.

Strong Guy led the eastern charge, headfirst, smashing into the plated pate of a clawed siege beast. Pivoting on his back foot, Guido Carosella flexed his muscles, pumped full of absorbed energy, and swung an adamantium baseball bat into his opponent’s face. Multiple Man followed a similar strategy, allowing himself to be riddled by blows. Exact duplicates of Jamie Madrox propagated in every direction, attempting to overwhelm the swarm with sheer numbers.

“Warning shots and stalling tactics,” an all too familiar voice scoffed. “Tell me, Summers, have you offered to peacefully coexist yet? That is how you handle monsters, isn’t it?”

“Lensherr.” The military commander didn’t even spare a glance at the mutant supremacist, now floating at his side.

“Truly, you are the children of the atom. Stand back and let the adults work.” Magneto lifted his clenched fists , palms up. His fingers unfurled with the intensity of an explosion, and the terrain shifted below. Jagged spikes of iron ore erupted, striking the underbellies of the beasts. If they noticed, they didn’t show any signs of pain or of slowing. No blood was spilled, no entrails exposed.

“Underhanded and ineffective. That fits.”

“An opening salvo. Observe.”

The pockmark land quaked. Earth’s exit wounds cleaved open, fracturing the warzone. Fissures raced up rockfaces, cracking crags and splintering cliffs. Crevices widened into clefts, into cavities, into chasms. The latest wave of invaders teetered atop Genoshan tors. And one hundred sixty-one kilometers of Ridgeback Mountains crumbled underneath them. Dozens upon dozens of battle-ready behemoths crashed into each other. Horn met tusk. Fang met flesh. The descent was sudden and severe.

Dominikos Petrakis didn’t wait for the dust to settle. He slammed his forearms together, and the last peaks standing matched his movement. Bookends of a once-impressive range met with a cacophonous clap. The remaining Ridgebacks compressed into a single mountain. The mutant-made monolith stood over the buried beasts. Avalanche seized the seismic shift and redirected the aftershocks to guide the merger’s detritus like a conductor presiding over an orchestra. Finely tuned vibrations brought boulders, clasts, shale, and silt surging into the battlefield. The rockslide pummelled backsides, hindquarters, and anyone who happened to be facing off against the titanic trespassers. Stone didn’t discriminate, and Petrakis didn’t care.

Frederick Dukes catapulted himself into the fray. Narrowly missing slashing claws and ravenous jaws, he smacked into the already fragile ground. And sunk. The immovable Blob expanded his sphere of influence, through sheer force of will, to become a gravity well. Enormous legs buckled around him. Anything touching the earth was drawn downward, immobilized, in an ever-expanding radius.

Mortimer Toynbee leapt from creature to creature, spitting acid in their eyes and smearing secreted resin across their muzzles. St. John Allerdyce, aloft thanks to a kerosene tank turned jetpack, threw flames at the sticky swaths. The effect of Toad’s tar and Pyro’s living fire was nothing short of napalm.

Along the treeline, at what he hoped was a safe distance, Fabian Cortez strutted triumphantly.

“As I was saying.” The Master of Magnetism made no effort to hide his pride. “You are out of your element.”

Before Cyclops could speak, the behemoths brayed in tandem. Anger, not anguish, colored the cacophony. Fuelled by fury, the buried beasts breached the surface of the battlefield, leaving tunnelled bedrock and tilled topsoil their wake. Flung into the air, the Blob spun end over end like a beachball. He landed on a trio of tusks and deflated. Hundreds of limbs loosened, no longer weighted down. Six squashed Avalanche in quick succession, as the invading swarm became a stampede. A barbed tail swatted Pyro out of the sky. The impact burst his jetpack, and the burning shrapnel tore through his torso. The facial flames he left behind sputtered out. Toad got lapped up and was gone in a gulp. Cortez beat a hasty retreat.

“Out of our element?” Summers adjusted the aperture of his visor to release a narrow beam into the pinions of a swooping siege beast. The winged creature — a wyvern in another era — flapped erratically, unable to course correct. It spiralled into the melee below. “Magnus, we control the elements. Silver Squadron, enlighten our old friend.”

Already aerial, Ororo Munroe fought her way through the firmament. She would not be boxed in. Not again. Never again. Torrents whipped around her, every gust a gale under her command. The tempest stripped the behemoths of their bellows and reversed their roar. She was the center of the cyclone. She was the eye. And the eye needed the sun to see.

“Modjadji, heed my call! Oshtur, grant me strength! Gaia, know your vessel! Bright Lady, I am your Storm!” Summoning her divine gifts, the windrider parted the swarm. With the air turned against them, the winged creatures plummeted into their earthbound brethren. A shaft of afternoon daylight bathed Ororo, and she basked in its brilliance. Four shining metal arms rose in reverence from the battlefield below.

Clouds gathered around Storm to bear witness, but they dared not block the sun. Their bodies swelled with anticipation, crackling with excitement. With their goddess’ blessing, they unleashed pure electricity. The bolts struck organic steel, turning Piotr Rasputin and Calvin Rankin into living lightning rods. They tapped fists and charged.

“For Genosha!” Colossus delivered a haymaker to an oncoming titan’s sternum and heard it crunch. Sparks leapt between its lungs, as the beast struggled to even gasp.

“For Genosha!” Mimic vaulted over a giant’s swiping claws and drove an uppercut into its flaring dewlap. Electricity arced into its throat and out of its mouth. He smelled its tongue sizzle.

While the metallic mutants squared off against new opponents, Forge loaded a mortar array with bespoke bombs. “Fire in the hole!” The shells rocketed into the felled, fuming beasts and unfolded. Pronged sheets, four feet wide and equally long, clung to impenetrable flesh and siphoned still surging lightning. Intricately fashioned by the mechanical genius, the adhesive patches resembled microchips writ large. Indicators strobed green when the energized sheets reached capacity.

Kitty Pryde snatched a patch off one charred creature and sprinted toward another rampaging invader. “Why are these threats always giant-size?” Phasing through rock-hard hide, she affixed the sheet to a heart as large as a sedan. Tacking the final prong into the pericardium released the collected lightning as a single jolt. The massive muscle seized, and blood ceased flowing through pipe-thick arteries. The chest cavity dropped two stories. The spent macro-chip peeled itself free. Shadowcat folded it back up, unzipped her collar, and tucked the sheet next to her own heart.  Manipulating her density, she swam through bone, sinew, and meat to emerge atop skin and repeat the process.

Erik Lensherr drifted away without further remark, while Scott Summers shifted his focus. -[Betsy, sitrep?]-

-[Getting warmer.]- A stray thread pulled away from the perimeter of the veil, suggesting a connection. Following the fiber sent Psylocke down a twisty trail. Traversing the mortal plane to the astral, the thread entwined with five others to form a strand, which entwined with five others to form a string, which entwined with five others to form a braid, which entwined with five others to form a plait, which entwined with five others to form a rope, which entwined with five others to form a cord, which entwined with five others to form a tendril, which entwined with five others to form a tentacle, which entwined with five others to form an undulating mass.

The psychic stopped short, watching the roiling coagulation birth and absorb facial features in no discernible order. She wanted to look away but found that she couldn’t. Chalk white eyes held her gaze, sunk, resurfaced, and held it anew. Betsy’s mind recoiled and issued an SOS. -[Madame President, can you spare a thought?]-

The firebird appeared with synaptic speed. -[Lady Braddock.]- The Phoenix’s presence was enough to break the visual thrall.

Psylocke blinked. Purple irises addressed blazing green ones. -[I’ve a rather pressing need of a bigger blade.]-

As the telepaths pooled their talents in the realm of the mind, Cyclops studied the corporeal theatre of war. The Gold Squadron had fallen back half a klick to redouble its efforts. A steady rhythm of offensive strikes and defensive blocks managed to slow but couldn’t stop the invasion. The left and right factions of the Blue Squadron were about to meet in the middle of the melee but would soon be surrounded. The Silver Squadron was making inroads against the intruders but needed more manpower to boost its circuit. Across the battlefield, the mutant military fought valiantly, but the truth was undeniable. Genosha’s army — a full expansion of the X-Men —  was outnumbered. -[Hank, E.T.A. on the toxin?]-

-[T minus three minutes, twenty-six seconds, if our padded paws remain nimble.]- Beast inserted liquid delivery flow and aerosolization air flow tubes into the top of a modified keg. He checked the tightness of the output channel, gave it an extra twist, and rolled the stainless steel cask to Nightcrawler. -[Filling the last of the deployment vessels now.]-

-[Erinnert mich an die Sauerkraut-Herstellung.]- Kurt coughed, as he coupled the industrial distiller’s hose to the keg’s liquid inlet. -[Diesen Gestank habe ich nicht vermisst.]-

-[I successfully synthesized lucibufagins from discarded Lampyridae larval chitin, and we acquired a particular pungent strain of Malagasy tongo mainsto.]- The biochemist connected a carbon dioxide line and purged the cask of its oxygen before the elf activated the fluid flow. -[So, yes, the aroma is quite formidable. I’m contemplating labelling this batch ‘Justice Like Lightning Bug,’ but suggestions for alternative sobriquets are welcome.]-

-[Not the time, Hank.]-

-[Very well.]- Doctor McCoy hefted the filled keg and stacked it on a pallet with thirty-nine others. -[In any case, the assistance of a certain wonderful weather witch would prove invaluable in spreading our payload. That is, if you’re available, Ms. Munroe.]-

-[Of course, Henry.]- Ororo remained in the center of her namesake storm, slinging lightning. -[Whenever you are ready.]-

Beast looped a cable through the last keg’s handles and around its swollen stomach. He stepped onto the edge of the wooden platform and drummed gently on the tops of the casks. -[Then, I do believe it’s go-time.]-

Nightcrawler hopped onto the opposite end of the pallet, and they were gone in a plume of purple smoke.

On another plane of existence, flames flowed over Betsy Braddock’s projected form and dissipated, leaving behind pink armor. A butterfly was etched into her chest plate, a phoenix into her pauldron. Focusing the totality of her psychic powers birthed knives that extended into curved blades, each four feet in length.

Four miles above the warzone, the wooden platform appeared, disappeared, and appeared again another four miles up. A squall caught the pallet before it could fall. Henry McCoy backflipped off the ledge, pulling the ripcord with his left hallux. The wooden planks came apart, as forty aerosolizers were strewn across the sky. Kurt Wagner wrapped his tail around his teammate’s torso and teleported them to terra firma.

Psylocke slashed her psythes through towering tentacles. The amorphous mass shifted into overlapping mouths, chanting in an unknown tongue.

Kegs whirled wildly, spraying toxin. Winds whipped past, collecting and carrying poisonous particulates to their intended targets.

Chalk white lips screamed, as connections were severed.

A thousand siege beasts howled, wheezed, choked.

And the universe flashed red.

A DAY LIKE TOO MANY OTHERS

By Ed Ainsworth and C.T.Kincaid

Genosha | Five Days Post-Desolation

Samuel Guthrie sat on the very precipice of a hole so deep, even he dared not blast down. The heat and steam that rose from it filled the horizon, leaving the ocean behind it wavering in a haze. The Indian Ocean had ceased its relentless lapping over the edge of the crater, leading scientists over the world to puzzle over the sudden decline in the sea level.

Billions of tonnes of sea water, suddenly gone.

It made no sense.

Sam felt a hand on his shoulder, his sister, Paige, setting herself down next to him and hugging his arm.

“Hey,” she said. He nodded in silence.

“Dani told me you’d be here,” Paige said after some time, the pair staring into the hole.

“Reminds of me of pappy,” Sam said somberly. She squeezed his arm again.

“I know.”

“Sometimes, I wonder what the point of all this is, y’know?” He looked at his sister, his face without emotion. “We do all this work for the world, for ourselves, and it takes moments for this to happen. Genosha, our…home. Nation. Just half of it blown out of the water. Not even out of the water. Out of existence. And with it–”

“Stop,” she said. “It’s not your fault.”

“I shoulda been here, Paige,” the hero known as Cannonball said. “I shoulda… I was one of them, an X-Man. I was the first to go through the whole program: New Mutants to X-Force to the X-Men. The first to make good. Why wasn’t I here?”

“You can’t blame yourself, Sam. I’m glad you weren’t here. You were protecting the students in Westchester. We didn’t know if this thing was going to stretch beyond Genosha, if it was going to hit the school.”

“God in Heaven.” Cannonball sighed.

Pacing down the incline towards the lip of the hole in forever, the remainder of the New Mutants arrived slowly. They looked exhausted with one exception. Roberto da Costa was crisp and clean, sporting an emotionless grin and a well-tailored suit, open at the chest with a barely buttoned-up shirt. Rahne Sinclair looked mortified.

“We,” Sunspot said, “are glad you weren’t here to get obliterated, Sam.” He gripped his best friend’s shoulder tightly and sat down on the opposite side to Paige.

“Smells unusual,” Illyana Rasputina said. “Beyond magic and beyond science. Something between the two?”

“Or something more,” Sam said. He didn’t look up but gestured, wearily, with his hand. “I been here for about four hours, and I ain’t seen that thing do anything more’n waft in the wind.”

Over the crater, like some monument, a figure hung. The skeleton, sporting Magneto’s helmet and cape, appeared to ebb and flow to the thrum of some sound, deep, deep within the hole.

“What is it?” Roberto asked.

“I don’t care. It ain’t right.” Sam looked up at Rahne and Illyana. “Where are Dani and Xian?”

Wolfsbane whistled a low note. “Coming, but I dinnae think you’re gonna like what they have t’say, Sam,” she said hesitantly. Her body shifted between lupine and human form every few seconds. Her ears constantly pricked, her eyes searching.

Sunspot offered her a sympathetic yet patronising look.

Cannonball turned back to the missing piece of Genosha. “What do we do with this? How many people have leapt in now, trying to find answers or an escape?”

“Twenty-three that we know of.” Dani Moonstar used a bow as a crutch to help her move through the loose soil and wreckage.

“Twenty-three too many,” Sam replied.

“James and Tabitha have cordoned off the area,” Moonstar said. “Tabby wanted you to know Team ThunderBoom has the site locked down.”

“Glad to hear it,” Cannonball acknowledged.

Xian Cao Manh following closely behind Dani, arms outstretched to catch her friend if she toppled. “And Julio and Gaveedra are on sea patrol,” Karma added. “Not exactly the honeymoon they planned, but at least they’ll have some alone time.”

“That’s something anyway,” Sam said. “Was it Terry I saw flying by earlier?”

“It was.” Cannonball recognized the voice immediately. “Siryn has been doing sweeps for survivors.” The red haired woman, not Theresa Cassidy herself, made her way toward the crater. She was dressed in a sharp suit, her hair clipped at the back, half up, half down.

“Jean?” Sam asked, rising to his feet.

“Not quite,” the redhead said, flashing a malevolent grin at him. “Madelyne.”

“Pryor?” The soles of Cannonball’s feet began to smoke.

“You’re to going to want to hear what your associates say.”

London, England | Twelve Days Post-Desolation

Chamber flicked the guttering cigarette onto the floor. He couldn’t smoke, didn’t and wouldn’t, but was trying to embrace the aesthetics of the act. His trench coat was covered in a thin layer of drizzle from a rain that hadn’t quite decided if it was a thin, low cloud or was attempting to actively participate in precipitation.

To the left of him, Danielle Moonstar was fighting for her life against jetlag with a large coffee and a croissant.

“We’re going to need your help.” Her voice was sore and dry, from the flight from Genosha to England.

-[Still not sure what I add to this,]- Chamber said, adjusting himself in the cold, plastic seat. -[I’m not a traditional telepath.]-

Dani nodded slowly. “The process of greylinking, such as it is, connects everyone and everything to each other. We can share information, experiences, emotions. It’s a mutant internet. A safe haven, unique to us. The more users we have, the easier it is to use that mental energy to show the world a Genosha that works.”

-[And don’t have a fucking great hole in it, right?]-

Moonstar pursed her lips. “Yes, and that — but we’re starting with those we can trust and know. Xian, Rahne, Roberto, and I have all volunteered. Everett, Monet, and Paige have as well.”

Jono waved his hand in the air. -[Jubes and me being the last hold outs?]-

“Right.”

-[Nah, I’ll pass.]- Starsmore said, getting to his feet. -[No interest in being someone’s mental battery, thanks.]-

“It’s not really an ask,” Dani said, finishing her coffee. “You’re being told.”

Chamber narrowed his eyes and fingered the edge of the scarf that covered his face. -[Forgive me for not being quite up to date with how politics work, Dani, but I was under the impression that democracy at least pretended I had a choice in my own fucking life.]-

The New Mutant screwed up her face and made a half-mocking silent recreation of his comments. “Oh, it’s so fun to fly all this way to hear your particular brand of British wit, Jonothan, but we don’t have time for your surliness. Without Jean or Emma or Charles, we’ve lost all the most powerful psionics. M is fine, but you contain such raw power. The Astral Plane is a fragile and volatile place these days. It needs another pillar to stand on.”

-[Sounds like a you problem, Dani,]- Jono said, pushing his chair in and starting to walk away. -[Not interested in the slightest.]-

Moonstar sighed and remained, slouching in her chair. “Suit yourself, Chamber. The mutant internet is open and free for all.”

-[Yeah, problem with that is, Dani, I live in England. I’ve seen what free at the point of consumption looks like. It starts off with good intentions and ends up crippled under the weight of corruption. Not keen to be a forerunning on that boat, if you don’t mind.]- He continued walking away from her, heading down a side street towards a more central part of town. As he did, he heard whispers, tickling the edges of his perception, of his senses.

-[Do you understand?]- -{Are you in the know?]- -[Do you get it? Are you there?]-

Chamber bunched up his face in anger and paused, leaning against the nearest wall. He could feel the sweat dripping down his back, the effort taken to dull the outbursts around him. Was this the Dani’s mental network? Something calling to him?

“Jonothan,” a voice said, calm with a fractious edge of the unhinged. “We need to have a talk. Dani wasn’t quite clear on what we need.”

A man in a smart blue suit appeared in front of the Brit. A scandalously open shirt showed half of the man’s chest and abs.

-[I’m sure you’ll do an admirable job,]- Chamber said. -[Now out with it, or fuck off.]-

The man inclined his head, stepping closer. Now he was in the light properly, Jono could see his face was obscured by a large, domed helmet with an X emblazoned across the front.

“You don’t get a choice because of this.” The man promptly put his hand to Chamber’s head, and he felt his body fall away, leaving only a glowing, naked, and, importantly, whole astral form.

-[Fuck!]-

-[Yes, It’s a little disorientating at first, but…]- The man gestured at the energy flowing in every direction around them. The pulsing streams stopping at nodes, which Chamber realised were the intersections of experience, knowledge, and memories. They were people. Mutants.

-[It’s already so big,]- Jono said. He paused. Something moved, casually, slowly, through the transmissions. It disrupted them. Seemingly paused around them, sucking their glow into translucent bodies.

-[You see them,]- the man said, folding his legs up underneath him. Chamber noticed he was barefoot, and half exposed from his open shirt was a large X in a circle, like a brand.

-[Yeah,]- Jono said, looking at the massive forms moving through the energy. -[I do.]-

-[Good. We knew you were special. None of us, Starsmore. None of us can see them. We can feel them when they stop on us but can’t see them — but you?]-

He touched Jono’s chest gently. -[Your brand of telepathic bio-psionic energy makes you really special. Not only can you see them, but we think — and this is to preserve mutant society, mutant history, a nation — you can get rid of them.]-

Chamber scoffed. -[I’m nowhere near that important.]-

-[But you are. We need your unique blend of self-pity, mutant powers, and, frankly, terrible dress sense to help maintain this lie we’ve built. Without it, the world will see Genosha for what it is. It’ll see that we’ve failed, that mutants couldn’t protect, defend, or maintain themselves. Our world will be worse than ever.]-

The man shook his head, grabbing Jono’s shoulder. -[No, no, we need you, Jonothan Starsmore. We need you to be the weapon. We need you to be our bullet inside your own Chamber. We need you to be our exorcist.]-

Genosha | Five Days Post-Desolation

“That’s your plan?” The anger in Cannonball’s voice was practically visible. “An imposter at the podium and a mirage on the map?”

“We’ll know the truth,” Moonstar placated. “The people of Genosha will know the truth.”

“That isn’t better. You don’t think someone is going to speak up? Then, we’ll have even more to answer for.”

“What alternative do we have?” Karma said, sliding down the bank towards him. “Let the world see the gaping maw of reality and a nation with no leadership?”

“Her?!” Sam shouted. “I know we, of all people, let villains into our ranks, but…evil Jean? The woman who kidnapped and nearly killed Cable?”

“Nearly isn’t as bad as did,” Madelyne muttered.

Dani shot her a look.

“Well, technically, Jean stole him from me first,” Pryor mumbled under her breath. “Not that I am counting.”

“I know it seems counterintuitive, Sam.” Xian kept her tone soft. “But this is what we need right now. We need to appear strong. The world is going to notice that we’ve lost most of our old guard and more.”

Cannonball shook his head at her. “I don’t want to be a part of this. We’re the X-Men’s legacy, for God’s sake. We represent Xavier’s dream. We’re not–”

“–A ruling political force that has shoved itself into allegiances and alliances all over the world to make ourselves seem more legitimate when, in reality, we could take over the entire world with force in less than twenty-four hours but choose not to because of the guidance of two old, white men, who seemed to think that the path towards peace was accepting others making us small?”

The group stared at Madelyne.

“Oh, come on.” She shrugged. “We all think it.”

Guthrie stretched both his hands out toward the clone. “See? Evil Jean.”

“Sam.” Dani stepped forward. “Take stock with me here. Scott is gone. Jean is gone. Professor X, Magneto, Kurt, Logan, Piotr, even Ororo — they’re all gone, and we’re what’s left. We need a way forward. You said it yourself: you were an X-Man. Now, you might technically be the only X-Man. What should we do here? What would the X-Men do?”

Cannonball paused and furrowed his brow, staring into the island’s abyss. “I don’t…”

Husk put her hand on her brother’s shoulder. “Dani is right, Sam. The smart play here is to make it seem like this didn’t happen, even though we — and most of the mutant population — know it did. We lost a part of ourselves, but we can’t lose everything we’ve built.”

The older Guthrie pushed his fingers through his short hair, past his goggles. “It all just seems so…hopeless. Can’t we call for help from someone? The Shi’Ar?”

“Well, sugah, the only problem with that,” a voice resonated over the gap, as a figure, silhouetted against the setting sun, drifted toward the group, “is that space is kinda messed up at the moment.”

Nevada, United States of America  | Four  Days Post-Desolation

“Rogue.”

“Carol.”

The pair stood facing each other in the sterile corridors of the government aeronautic facility. Rogue turned her face to the floor and held her shoulder blades.

“Been a while,” Carol Danvers said, putting her hand on top of Rogue’s. The X-Woman offered a weak smile and gripped her former enemy’s fingers.

“I don’t know what’s happened,” the former Avenger said, tilting her head to look into Rogue’s eyes. “But whatever it is, I am sorry.”

“We lost.”

Carol offered a thin smile. “So you want us to–”

Rogue shook her head again. “No, no Avengers. This is X-Men business, Ah think. Just in space.”

Danvers adjusted herself and stared at her former foe. “And you think that because…?”

Rogue released her shoulder blades and shoved them into her coat. “Couple’a days ago, Ah got a message. It was weird, didn’t really make much sense until Ah thought it might be alien. Turns out, it was. It was Skrull.”

The Avenger arched an eyebrow. “Skrulls are contacting you rather than infiltrating?”

“Carol, Ah don’t know what to tell ya, only that the Skrulls that made contact have real specific issues that need someone from Earth to deal with.”

Danvers paused and stroked her chin gently. “Walk with me for a moment,” she said, turning on her heels.

The mutant followed slowly, her brows knitting together. “Is this an Avengers snub thing because Ah–”

“No,” Carol said, looking over her shoulder. “Do you feel it as well?”

Rogue stopped dead in her tracks. “Feel what?” she asked, cocking her head to one side. “Like maybe somethin’ pulling on my vision, tryin’ to draw me towards something Ah can’t see?”

Danvers’ eyes lit up. “Yes. Can you ignore it?”

The X-Woman nodded.

“Oh, god. How?” Carol asked, grabbing Rogue’s shoulders. “It’s taking everything I have to not drop what I am doing and following its source. It feels like it’s boring into my brain.”

The mutant shook her head. “It isn’t that strong for me. Maybe it’s because Ah only took a fraction of your power?”

The former Avenger nodded quietly. “I joined this unit — it’s like NASA  but not quite — to try and help me understand what it is inside my head. It’s like…a star crashing into a moon? A symbol that gets burned into my head and I don’t know what to do with it. Is that…is that what the Skrulls are talking about?”

Rogue sighed and reached into her pocket. “Not quite, Carol.” Leaping from her hand, a tiny spec slowly grew in size. Resolving itself into the size of a cat, then a child, and finally a Skrull, standing half a foot taller than both the women, with large, fleshly lobes sitting on each section of his forehead.

“Hello,” he said, smiling.

“Carol, this is Fiz,” Rogue said, holding her hand up to stay Earth’s Mightiest Hero, whose hands glowed with energy. “He asked for my help. Fiz is a mutant.”

Carol stared, her mouth slightly open. “A…mutant? Skrull?”

The X-Woman nodded. Fiz, looking at Rogue, also nodded, slowly.

“Fiz,” he said, thumbing his chest. “Mew tohnt.”

“Uh, English is somethin’ we’re workin’ on at the moment,” Rogue said, offering a sly smile to the alien.

“So this is what you want? You want to head off into space to help mutant Skrulls? They’re Skrulls, Rogue. How do you know he isn’t–”

Rogue shifted her size slightly, growing another five inches to look down at Carol.

“But your features — you haven’t…”

“Fiz can change his size, but he can’t shapeshift. Whatever mutation he has turned off his ability to morph. I touched him, took his mutant power and his memories. He’s telling the truth, Carol. The mutant Skrulls are treated worse than mutants are on Earth.”

The former Avenger rubbed the bridge of her nose. “How?”

“They’re used as a slave caste or as cannon fodder in their war, or they’re killed at birth. But this is just the start of it.”

Carol widened her eyes, looking at the ceiling. “Is it now?” she asked, exasperated. “How is it just the start?”

“Think about it!” Rogue gestured at Fiz, then up to the sky. “Mutant Skrulls means mutation, like we have, is possible anywhere. That means, for every alien race — Kree, Zy’noxx, Kymaellian — Carol, they all potentially have mutants.”

“We can’t just go firing off into space to sort out other civilisations, Rogue. We can’t even sort our own out.”

“Carol.” The X-Woman stepped closer. “Ah can’t tell you, but something has happened. Something that’s changed mah life. Ah can’t stay here no more, and this…kid?”

They both look at Fiz, who was gently touching one of the metal walls with his tongue, shifting in size to lick different parts of it.

“Kid,” Danvers agreed.

“This kid needs mah help,” Rogue said. “He needs me, and Ah ain’t got no ties here no more. Ah need to get gone.”

“Fine, fine.” Carol waved her hand at old foe. “I’ll get you up there, but if you have no ties here, you can’t be a Rogue anymore.”

The former Avenger smirked. “I’ve got something else in mind.”

A few minutes later, the X-Woman returned. Her usual green and yellow costume was replaced with a blue and red ensemble, sporting the Kree star in the center of the chest. She adjusted herself, pulling at the edges of the top.

“Ah don’t hate it,” she said.

“You look good in a military uniform,” Carol said.

The mutant looked at her old clothes mournfully for a moment, then gave Danvers a wink. “Call me Ms. Marvel now.”

Genosha | Five Days Post-Desolation

“So we’re on our own?” Sam asked, looking up at the hero he knew as Rogue. Her white fringe fluttered in the wind, her new costume clinging to her and shining in the setting sun.

“Ain’t we always?” the Southern belle said, landing on the rim of the crater. “This ain’t ever easy, but we’re stuck for the moment.”

She offered Cannonball a hand, which he took, pulling him up.

“But we’re X-Men,” she said, smiling. “I’m goin’ to space to see what I can do to sort things out. They got a need for some X up there, too.”

Sam nodded, his features still grim. “You’re right. This isn’t new. It just feels so different with everyone gone. No Professor, no Scott, no Logan.”

“No Remy,” the woman once called Rogue added. “But we got you, Guthrie. We got the leader of X-Force and the New Mutants. Ya just gotta step up now, shake off this funk that don’t suit you, and get yourself together.”

He looked over his shoulder at the collected mutants behind him.

“This ain’t even the half of it, Sam. We got the school. We got Genosha. We got people callin’ out for our help, mutant or not, Earth-born or not. We gotta get up.”

Cannonball closed his eyes and took a long, drawn, laboured breath. “You drive a real hard point there, Rogue. I ain’t lookin’ to argue, but you reckon I’m the best we have?”

“Ms. Marvel,” she corrected, rolling her tongue to the corner of her cheek. “Ah don’t reckon you’re the best we got, Sam.” She gave him a light jab to the bicep. “I reckon you’re the best we had all along.”

Crunching gravel hailed the arrival of the remainder of Generation X. Angelo Espinosa slid down the ridge to peer over the edge of the hole, while Monet St. Croix floated imperiously over the group. Jubilation Lee looked less than jubilant, and Everett Thomas held her up, as she skittered down the loose terrain. Paige Guthrie searched for any sign of Jono Starsmore, but he was nowhere to be found.

Jubilee pulled herself out of Synch’s grip and skidded down the last bit of the debris.

“I was an Olympic gymnast, Ev. I can do some gravel,” she said before directing her gaze at Sam. “We got a Wolverine problem, Kentucky.”

Northwest Territories, Canada | Eight Days Post-Desolation

Daken snarled, as the cold bit through his coat and clothes. Canada was far colder than Japan ever felt, and these last six months had really shown him that the world was far larger than he’d ever imagined.

His feet trudged through the subtle crunch of snow. He stopped to sniff the air. He could follow the scent of something, a wisp of metal and skin, muddled together. He pulled his cowl up over his face in preparation.

Antlers hit him in the side of the body, throwing him through the air and into a tree. It cracked and fell apart under his weight, as he slammed head first into the dirt. Quickly twisting, he thrust his fist upwards, his claws sliding through the flesh on his knuckles and one under his fist.

“Damnit!” he yelled. “Stop!”

His claws nicked the edge of the creature that had attacked him, causing it to yelp in pain and twist out the way. It fumbled, hitting a tree and shrinking in size. The fur shed onto the snow, leaving a panting and bloodied girl, who couldn’t have been older than sixteen.

“All right! All right! I’m sorry!” she pleaded, holding her hands up. “Don’t cut me!”

“Why would I cut you?” he asked, pulling the hood of his costume down. “I’m dressed up like a national hero!”

“Who is dead! And is killing people!” she yelled, her voice shifting slightly to include the background roar of a bear. “Why would you do that?!”

Daken paused, taking a moment to consider that. “That is a good point, actually,” he admitted, his claws sliding back into his hands. “I’m Daken. The new Wolverine.”

The girl sighed and dropped her hands by her sides. “Snowguard,” she said. “Are you really the new Wolverine? What has happened to the first one?”

The man dressed as a national hero sighed and brushed his hand through his long mohwak. “That’s a long, complicated story. I doubt you’d believe it.”

She scoffed and shrugged. “I can turn into mythical monsters from Canadian folklore.”

“Oh, in that case, he was possessed by an evil Japanese warlord’s spirit.”

Snowguard nodded sagely. “Seen it before. Very difficult to cure. Very common.”

“It isn’t common,” another voice said from the treetops. “She is right about it being difficult to cure, though.”

Descending through the leaves, Michael Twoyoungmen, the Shaman of Alpha Flight, landed in the snow, followed by several armed Canadian Special Forces operatives and a woman wrapped in a huge fur coat.

“I knew your father,” Shaman said.

Daken nodded, eyeing the men with guns. “And?”

The woman stared at him, adjusting her glasses.

“And,” Twoyoungmen said calmly, “I knew you were no threat. Snowguard needs some training, and I wanted to see if you were like your father.”

Shaman looked over his shoulder at the woman in the fur coat.

“He is not like his father,” she said. “For reference.”

The new Wolverine closed his eyes in frustration. “Everyone thinks they know me because they knew him.”

Twoyoungmen held out a hand to Logan’s son. “No, I don’t know you at all.”

Daken took his hand firmly and shook it.

The woman, walking slowly towards the pair, pushed past Snowguard to the would-be national hero.

“My Name is Doctor Valentina Bostock. I’m a scientist with the Canadian government’s Department H.”

Daken sniffed at her, curling the corner of his mouth. “Okay?”

“We need your help, Mr. Howlett. And in exchange, we can help you track down your father and the rest of your family.”

The new Wolverine’s eyebrows raised before shifting into a dubious look. “If you can find my father, why haven’t you already got him?”

Shaman grinned and thumbed toward Daken’s chest. “Excellent question that the doctor will answer fully and completely, now.”

Doctor Bostock looked moderately annoyed with the representative from Alpha Flight and sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Department H was the governing body of Weapon X before it splintered off. We don’t have a great track record with your father. We don’t have a great track record with many things…” She paused, closing her eyes and breathing in heavily through her nose.

Daken said nothing, his hands balled by his side.

“But I am the director now,” the doctor continued. “I want to change that.”

“You’re wasting my time.” The new Wolverine pulled his cowl on again. “I need to find Ogun before he does something worse.”

“I want to give you the choice and a voice. I want to give you something in return and not just force you. I want to collaborate on this, and in return, Department H will get Logan cured. Return your father to you as much as we can possibly do so.”

Daken paused and rounded on the woman. He stood over her, staring down. “Why?”

The director of Department H swallowed. She ran a hand through her short, blonde hair. “Because I like to clear up mistakes rather than make them again. Because I want this to be a department of healing and not of violence and death. Because I believe that superheroes exist to protect this world, but it’s up to us to actually look after and care for each other. Is that enough?”

The new Wolverine, quick with a toothy smile, nodded. “I accept.”

Doctor Bostock passed him two packets. “The first folder contains the last known whereabouts of your father — and what we think Ogun is doing to him and with him.”

“The second?” She tapped the other packet. “The second is something just for you.”

Daken, ripping open the second package first, felt fabric fall through his fingers and onto the snow-packed dirt. Black and red. A costume. He picked it up. A new cowl, for a new Wolverine.

He opened the first packet slowly. Pages and pages of information were stuffed inside. “What’s all this?”

Shaman, pursing his lips, gave the director a nod behind Daken’s back. Then, he narrowed his eyes and shook his head. She nodded once, casting a quick glance to a transfixed Snowguard.

“The details of your family, Daken,” Twoyoungmen said, moving around to stand in front of Logan’s son. “They’re the names and locations of your siblings.”

Genosha | Five Days Post-Desolation

Jubilation Lee looked tired. The kind of tired that ages someone, leaving their eyes sunken and their skin paper thin. She let gaze linger for too long over the gathered group of New Mutants, the newly minted Ms. Marvel, her fellow graduates  from the Massachusetts Academy, and the woman impersonating the President of Genosha.

“First, not a fan of whatever that situation is,” Jubilee said, nodding her head at Madelyne Pryor, who stared at the pit, her eyes unblinking.

“There’s more than just violence here,” Jean Grey’s stand-in remarked. “Subtle magic as well. New.”

Illyanna Rasputin watched the sometime Goblin Queen with a keen eye. “I’ll cut her if I need to,” Magik threatened, under her breath.

“Hey, do it even if you don’t.” Jubilee sidled up to Cannonball and put her hand on top of his, smiling up at him softly. Their connection to the loss of the X-Men was deeper than the others’. Some had lost family, like Illyana, or idols, like Rahne. Sam and Jubilation had lost something intrinsic, something essential to their sense of self.

“What did you find?” Cannonball asked.

“Nada.” Jubilee shook her head. “Can’t find Logan; can’t find his son either. Since Kitty left me in Japan, I’ve come up with zilch. I don’t think either of them are in Japan anymore. Thought I was close, but…”

Sam quirked an eyebrow.

“Tried looking around Canada, but Department H escorted me out as soon as I got there. Told me that Weapon X was mothballed and I had no business digging around. Apparently, we wouldn’t like it if they dug around in our business.” Lee  glared at Pryor.

“That’s probably a fair statement at the moment,” Cannonball said glumly.

“Yeah,” Jubilee said. “So we’re down two Wolverines instead of one.”

“What are ya proposing?”

“Well…” A wry smile played on her face. “You and me, Bluegrass? We’ve both been X-Men, right? What’s stopping that from being the case again?”

Guthrie tilted his head. “There ain’t anything, I guess.”

“No, Sam, there isn’t. Hank would say this is the winter of our discontent. Well, all the Summers are gone, and half of Genosha has fallen. But hope springs eternal, right? Maybe mutants can, too. Let’s own our inheritance as the New Mutants and the next Generation of heroes.”

“And what? Make a new X-Men team?”

Jubilee shrugged and looked at the missing section of the island, a void that desperately needed to be filled. “I’m not big on listening to authority figures, Guthrie. So…why stop at one?”

Washington, D.C., United States of America | Forty-Three Days Pre-Desolation

“In biology, we have a term for mutations that cause cells to act erratically and proliferate uncontrollably,” the blonde woman in scrubs explained to the camera. The graphic overlay on the lower third of the screen identified her as Linda Donaldson, PhD, Senior Research Assistant, Genetics Division, Brand Corporation.

“Cancer.

“With more X-genes activating every day with increasingly unpredictable outcomes, there is no doubt in my mind that mutants are society’s cancer. They need to be treated. They need to be cured. They need to be stopped.”

The image froze, as a spotlight appeared on stage in front of the screen. An older Doctor Donaldson, her hair shot through with silver, stepped forward to address the conference’s attendees. “Fifteen years ago, I made that bold claim. I’m here today to tell you I was wrong.

“Mutants aren’t cancer. They can’t be treated with chemotherapy and radiation. Mushroom extracts don’t have any effect. The X-gene can’t be surgically removed. There is no cure for mutants, and there never will be. Because mutants aren’t cancer — they’re something far worse.

“Mutants are natural disasters. Unknowable. Uncontainable. Ungovernable. Uncanny. They are, above all else, dangerous. Incredibly so. You’ve probably seen the body count online. I watched the number of deaths by mutant means tick past two million on Sunday. This month alone, eighty-one San Franciscans were caught in a conflagration, started by a pyrokinetic. One hundred and twenty Bostonians were crushed in a building collapse when a choirgirl decided to test her vocal range. And an entire English class in El Paso was rendered brain dead by a telepath, who was worried about stuttering during a book report. The devastation is unfathomable.

“Mutants are walking earthquakes and wildfires. They are living, breathing volcanic eruptions and tsunamis. They are unthinking and unthinkable threats to our continued existence. And they could be anyone at any time.

“My challenge to you, the participants at this — the sixty-third annual Hugh Jones Symposium on Fuelling Futures — is simple:

“Prove me wrong. Find a way to stop the mutant menace. Prevent the next natural disaster.”

Genosha | Five Days Post-Desolation

Sitting near the unnatural edge of the island again, Sam closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the sea for a while. The others murmured around him. He could make out Jubilee and Ms. Marvel catching up and the flutter of M’s cape. The barely stifled laughter belonged to Sunspot and Skin, who were coming up with the most inappropriate things to say at a wake in English, Portuguese, and Spanish. Synch was discussing auras with Magik, while Wolfsbane was praying to someone. Cannonball couldn’t quite hear whom, but it wasn’t Rahne’s usual prayer.

While the others gave Sam space, Madelyne approached him directly.

“Guthrie,” she said, sitting down. “This is all very uncomfortable, isn’t it?”

“You can say that again,” he said, turning to her. “How can I trust you?”

Pryor shrugged. “You can’t really. Anything I say will make you immediately distrust me. I can tell you three things, though. I lost the man I love to a better version of me. I lost my child to time and to a better version of me. And that better version of me was far more powerful, aggressively destructive, and horrific than anything I have done, but you all forgave her and treat me as a pariah.”

Cannonball swallowed, loudly. “Yeah, but the thing is–”

Madelyne held up her hand. “Jean was an original X-Man, and she had history of doing more good than bad. Except for the space genocide, but that was fine because of the cosmic raptor that inhabited her, which just turned out to be her anyway, right?”

She sighed and rubbed her temples. “Jean had cosmic power; I have dark magic. I’ve gotten better — more controlled, more precise and strategic. Dark magic is dark magic, so we need to keep an eye on its effects. That’s why I’ve agreed to let Dani and Xian watch me, and Illyana won’t hesitate to stab me if I arch the wrong eyebrow. I have a standing appointment with Strange the last Thursday of every month to check for mystical maladies and the like.” Pryor, her eyes glassy with emotion, took Sam’s hand. “The others are gone, Guthrie, and I could really do with a little bit of that X-Man forgiveness right now.”

“Fine.” Cannonball, gritting his teeth, squeezed her hand tightly. “I’ll take a chance here, Madelyne. We all need a some grace from time to time, right?”

She smiled a faint, grateful smile. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick. “Thank you.”

Chicago, Il, United States of America | One Day Post-Desolation

Douglas Ramsey sat quietly in the park. A twitching mass underneath his jacket wrapped around his arm. He tapped his foot, in Morse code, against the edge of the bench he sat on. The writhing underneath his jacket slowed down and stopped, undulating softly on his skin.

“It’s okay,” he spoke gently. “I’m watching, and I’m okay.”

A group of hooded individuals stopped in the parking lot to glance around before they entered the nondescript building across the asphalt from the park. The building itself claimed to be a warehouse, but a bit more research and cajoling of a search engine revealed that it had a symbol over the threshold.

The Symbol of the Clan Akkaba.

Cypher adjusted himself gently and got to his feet. He brushed off his shoulders and walked, with confidence and self-assurance, towards the door. He uttered the password to the guard and entered, pulling his hood over his head and clinging to the shadows of the back of the room.

“Experience, brothers and sisters, the Deus of Revelation! And the Word of En Sabah Nur!” A bald man in a long yellow robe gestured in the center of the room. “Long has his message been lost to the rest of the world, but En Sabah Nur is more than just a physical form. He is a message! A thought! A way of life! He is the Gardener of Amenth, the place of choosing, the place of change! He is husband of Genesis, the Birth Giver!”

The robed figure, the proclaimed Revelation, began to shape the words from his mouth into images that weaved their way directly into Doug’s mind.

[Self…Friend?]

Cypher scratched his chin gently with one hand, while he tapped out Morse code with the other.

[It’s not telepathy.] [Then what?] Warlock tapped back, against the flesh of his friend.

[I think…I think this might be something new?]

“His Horsemen ride to spread the message, as the Law of Amenth tests those of us brave enough to face it.” The orator’s words twisted through Doug’s thoughts, but he felt them deeper.

[Can you feel it, ‘Lock? It feels like it’s inside me, but it’s not telepathy. This isn’t in my head; it’s in my body.] [I cannot feel it, Self-Friend-Doug. Warlock can only feel you. Body has changed.]

Cypher moved forward a little more. He could see better. There was something emanating from Revelation. Something he faintly understood.

[I…I am not sure, ‘Lock.]

“Our lord’s message was undervalued. It was misunderstood. Those of a more simple disposition mistook it as violence for the sake of violence. Fitness as simple strength. That is not to be. That is not the way. En is the way of thought! Sabah is the way of change! Nur is the growth of the unknown!”

Apocalypse’s disciple threw his hands in the air, the mutants around him experiencing massive growths of power that exploded out of them. Green hair burst out of the pores of one attendee and folded into twisted plats of spines. Another’s skin surged with superflow energy, leaking extradimensional particulates everywhere. A third’s hands grew eyes in the palms and walked themselves, finger by painful finger, up his arms and onto his face, before thrusting themselves into his mouth and choking him.

“Clan Akkaba! The Way of En Sabah Nur, the Thought Ghost of Mutation, Lord of Amenth, God of Change. En Yakesh That Sabah Nur! The Gnostic Priest! The Philosopher’s Stone!”

The wall to the Church of Apocalypse exploded in a gut of fire. The energy quickly dissipated, leaving behind another man, backed by several of his own priests. Pulling back his hooded cloak revealed a humanoid frame with a single, enormous eye. The interloper unfurled his wings, staring at the significantly more human Revelation. “Amenth take you, your message is untrue! En Sabah Nur grants more than just mutation. He is the way! He the true test of life! But first, he must test the spirit. The belief!”

Revelation hurled a bolt of something transformative that melted the bones from underneath the skin of his rival. One of the eye’s priests lurched forward, wings pelting the room with a burst of energy unlike anything Doug Ramsey had ever seen. He stumbled for a moment, the realization washing over him, as he struggled to make his way toward the door.

Bursts of energy kited around the room, calling out to their foes and tugging at the back of Cypher’s perception. They collided, as Doug reached the doorway, and exploded into a ball of power that hurled him across the parking lot and into the side of a car. Warlock absorbed most of the fall, but the impact left Cypher’s senses ringing.

[What was that, Self-Friend?]

“That,” Doug said, pushing himself to his feet, as the winged creature shot into the sky, leaving a trail of dust and debris behind it, “was a religious spat, but worse than that, ‘Lock.”He closed his eyes and sat with his back against the car door. “I think we just witnessed the rebirth of an old religion and the birth of a new form of magic. Mutant magic.”

Genosha | Five Days Post-Desolation

Sam Guthrie stood up, taking a long, drawn breath.

“Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do.” He turned to the collective group around him. “We need to keep this crater under wraps. Until we know exactly what caused this and how to prevent it from happening again, we don’t need Genosha’s compromised state going public. That means projecting the right image and plugging potential leaks. That, in turn, means shoring up our new mutant ‘net. Jubilee, can you get Chamber to sort that?”

“Jono doesn’t want anything to do with me,” she replied.

“Or any of the rest of us,” Paige added.

“I might be able to get through to him, pseudo-psychic to pseudo-psychic,” Dani offered. “I’ll just need a week to get things set up here first.”

“I appreciate it,” the older Guthrie said.

“Who made him the leader?” M asked, floating above them all still.

“Did ya miss mah rousin’ pep talk earlier?” Ms. Marvel launched herself into the air.

“More interesting things captured my attention.” St. Croix kept her gaze fixed on the skeleton in Magneto’s garb.

“You’re welcome to start your own crew, if ya feel so inclined,” Cannonball said. “Until then, Rogue — sorry — Ms. Marvel, Jubilee, and I have the experience. We’ve been at this an awful long time, and we lived to tell the tale. So we’re in charge.”

Sunspot let out a “whoop!”

Sam glanced from M to the huge hole in the island, so deep that the ocean’s roar died back to silence compared to its gaping maw, before addressing the crowd again. “Now, like Dani said, she and Xian are staying here with Madelyne. It was their plan, so they get to see it through.”

Pryor put her hand on Cannonball’s shoulder.

He placed it back at her side. “Hands to yourself, Madame President. I’m giving you a chance, but I ain’t on team Maddie yet.”

Sam walked toward the woman formerly known as Rogue. “Take the X into space. We can hold the fort until you come back.”

He gave her a short, curt wave. Ms. Marvel nodded once and shot straight up, a sonic boom heralding her leaving the atmosphere.

“Huh.” Skin craned his neck. “I figured she’d have a spaceship or something.”

“All right,” Cannonball said. “This is it. We’re the X-Men now. Two teams: mine and Jubilee’s. I’ll let you decide who’s with who ‘cause I ain’t leading nobody who don’t wanna follow. This ain’t dodgeball, so take your time and consider your options.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Sunspot beamed, as he took his place at his best friend’s side.

“’Yana, before you choose, can you check on Doug?” Sam asked. “We haven’t heard from him since he went to investigate those rumblings about Clan Akkaba, and I’m worried he got tangled up in something.”

“On it.” A stepping disc appeared below Magik’s feet, and she dropped into Limbo.

“Now, me?” Cannonball said. “I’m gonna start by finding Logan’s son. I wanna know why his daddy’s body’s been running around, killing folks, with our X on him.”

“And I’ve got plenty of tips to follow up on,” Jubilee said. “The Mutant Underground is alive and thriving, thanks to our new greylinking network.”

“So you wanna do the honors?” Sam asked.

Lee spun and pointed at him. “Professor Guthrie is a jerk!”

Cannonball rolled his eyes and let his shoulders drop, looking into the sky. “The other thing.”

Jubilee called out, “To Sam, my X-Men!”

Guthrie grinned. “That’s more like it.” He looked out across the divide. “Let’s make their sacrifice mean something.”

For more astral ghosts, plane walkers, and spiral travellers, follow Chamber’s adventures in Amazing X-Men, while he decodes who — or what — the man in the helmet is and what that has to do with Nathan Grey, and the flipside of Amazing X-Men what exactly has Doug fallen into?

With Genosha’s new status solidified, follow the adventures of Moonstar, Karma and Madelyne Pryor in Hellfire

For more Daken, Logan, and Department H, follow the new Wolverine’s escapades in, well, Wolverine, while Cannonball’s crew mounts an investigation in X-Men proper.

For more on what the Mutant Underground has unearthed, follow Jubilee’s team in…X-Force?! Yep, you read that right.

And more titles to spin out from this new Status Quo are coming…something that looks a lot like Justice

In Memorium: Those who we have lost but will never forget…

Authors

Titles