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Chapters
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
 
 
 

The Game of Empires - REVIEW THIS STORY

Written by Valerie Jones
Last updated: 02/13/2010 03:54:13 PM

Chapter 16

Renee crouched in the midst of an ornate garden, her form hidden in the shade of the forsythia bushes that flanked her. The black leather of her Hound’s gear itched in the mid-summer heat, and she scratched at it idly as she studied her prey. Somewhere deep inside her, the core of Renee LeBeau was curled up in a fetal knot, terrified by what the rest of her was doing.

Across the wide lawn, a family was at play in the inground pool. There were two children splashing and shouting in the water, and a woman who sat in one of the lawn chairs, her face shaded by a wide-brimmed straw hat. The woman was Renee’s target, and the only reason she had not yet moved forward was the knowledge that she would be killing the children’s mother right in front of their eyes.

The Shadow King tightened his grip, and Renee’s burgeoning horror subsided. She crept closer to the edge of the lawn, preparing for the dash across to the pool side. The skimpy bathing suit the woman wore would make Renee’s powers all the more effective.

She launched herself across the open space, her attack fast and brutal. The woman did not even have time for a yell that would have summoned help from within the house.

The Shadow King was pleased, his approval washing through Renee with shuddering intensity. But she would never forget the faces of the two children who watched her from the pool...

Renee LeBeau woke screaming, instinctively throwing herself away from the empty horror in two small children’s eyes. She surged to her knees on the narrow bed, unaware of her surroundings, as a spike of white-hot pain stabbed through her head. Grabbing her temples, she lost her precarious balance and tumbled off the edge of the bed, landing hard on her side on the metal floor.

Momentarily stunned, she could only lay there on the cold surface. Her breath came in short gasps as she struggled to breathe through her panic and the throbbing pain in her head. Then a hand closed on her shoulder, the sensation of bare skin against her own filling her with a rush of nauseated horror. She twisted with a cry and tried desperately to crawl away from the grip that held her, but without success. The hands that held her shoulders were heavy and strong and forced her onto her back, pinning her to the floor.

"Nightengale!"

The sharp word cut through Renee’s panic and she blinked against the bright lights that framed her captor. After a moment, Apocalypse’s gray face swam into focus, his expression sharp as he leaned over her. Events clicked into place in her mind in that instant and she felt a wave of pure relief. The Shadow King was dead. It wasn’t real anymore, just nightmares. She closed her eyes, her body becoming limp and unresponsive as her terror drained away.

The pressure on her shoulders eased and then disappeared entirely as Apocalypse withdrew. Renee opened her eyes to find him gone, but he returned momentarily and knelt beside her. In one hand he carried some kind of device that she guessed might be a scanner, which he held out over her forehead.

"Be still."

Renee obeyed, but watched with interest as he moved the scanner over her. The coldness of the floor felt good against her throbbing head, though it had become a painful ache on the bare skin of her arms and legs. Only then did she realize that there were bandages on both her collar and abdomen where Warren’s claws had raked her, and that her torn and bloodied dress had been replaced by a simple white shift.

Apocalypse sat back and studied the readings without expression. Renee was fairly certain both from how she had passed out on the stairs and her current headache that she had a concussion. What she didn’t know was the seriousness of it, or what damage she had done herself in the process of falling out of bed.

Apparently satisfied, Apocalypse touched one of the scanner’s controls and set the device down on the floor beside him. Then, to her immense surprise, he bent down and picked her up in his arms. The motion caused a fresh blossom of agony in her head that subsided slowly once he laid her down on the bed. She gingerly curled her body into a comfortable ball and wrapped her fingers around the corner of the pillow, trying to move as little as possible. As far as she could tell, she was in the same laboratory where Warren had attacked her, but the table had been dressed in white linen that was deliciously smooth against her skin.

Renee was content simply to lay there. She kept her sensitive eyes closed against the harsh white lights and followed Apocalypse with her ears as he moved around the room. She was oddly unafraid, but that didn’t prevent the flutter in her stomach as his shadow fell over her once again. Slowly she opened her eyes to find him watching her, arms crossed. His face had lost its expression of clinical interest and was now colored with something akin to curiosity.

"What is it you fear so desperately, child?"

Renee looked away, focusing on the edge of the table in front of her. Apocalypse gripped the corner in one hand, and she found herself studying the surprisingly elegant lines of his hand as her thoughts churned. She did not want to tell him about the Shadow King. In part because she was terrified of what he might do if he found out that her powers could kill as easily as heal, but also because the things the Shadow King had done to her were her most intimate wounds. Apocalypse was not the kind of person she wanted to share such things with.

"It was just a nightmare," she finally answered in a small voice and closed her eyes for fear of his reaction to her evasion.

He was silent for several moments. "Only nightmares that reflect the truth can be so terrifying."

Renee looked up involuntarily, stunned by the reflective quality of his words. Did Apocalypse have nightmares of his own? Their gazes met and locked, but Apocalypse’s gray eyes were shrouded and gave nothing away. Still, his gaze demanded an answer from her and, after a moment’s hesitation, she gave it.

"The Shadow King made me one of his Hounds." She looked away. "That’s what I dream about."

Apocalypse shifted his weight slightly and Renee realized that he was leaning far more heavily on the edge of the table than he appeared. She looked back up at his face, searching for the signs of exhaustion she was certain she would find now that she had been alerted to his weakness. She had no desire to dwell on her life as a Hound, and so was eager to turn her thoughts to a new topic, regardless of what it was. She found herself categorizing her observations about Apocalypse’s health, and wondering if she possessed the temerity to tell him that he needed to rest.

Apocalypse returned her evaluating gaze with one of his own. "You shed your fear quickly. That is good."

Renee paused, uncertain how to respond. "There isn’t anything ... real to be afraid of anymore," she finally answered. "The Shadow King is dead."

"Indeed." Apocalypse stepped away from the bed, abruptly ending the conversation. Renee wasn’t certain whether to be grateful for or disturbed by his reaction. The Shadow King was dead. She’d felt his presence shatter through the link he maintained with each of his Hounds, and after that she’d been free. Renee closed her eyes. Free. The Shadow King’s death had left her adrift in Moscow without money or contacts or even the telepathic boost that had allowed her to understand the Russian language, but she would gladly go back to that if it meant that she could have her freedom once again.

Logan paused at the entrance to Storm’s loft as he instinctively searched for her form amongst the tangled shadows cast by the lush growth that filled the atrium. The nighttime sky was visible through the glass, the low bellied clouds smeared by the splatter of raindrops on the panes. The steady patter made a melancholy kind of music that spoke eloquently of the feelings of its mistress.

He spied her near the center of the atrium, invisible in the dark save for the pale blur of her hair.

She turned as if feeling his gaze but remained silent.

"Mind if I come in?" Logan asked.

Ororo turned away. "Of course not," she answered softly.

Logan came forward into the room, slipping silently through the greenery. He settled on the floor beside Ororo and reached over to take her hand in his. As eager as he was to tell her what he’d discovered, he knew better than to rush. The entire house was blanketed in hurt and anger, and even good news needed to be handled carefully.

They sat together for a while. Logan didn’t bother to keep track of how long. Ororo kept her face turned away from him, though her fingers were twined tightly with his.

"Y’ want ta talk about it, darlin’?" he finally offered.

"There is nothing to say." Ororo looked down at their hands, her gaze unfocused.

"What if I told ya he ain’t dead."

Ororo’s head jerked up sharply. "What do you mean?"

Logan was unfazed by the sharp question and the blue eyes that bored into him. "Gambit was here while the rest of us were gone. His scent’s all over the mansion." It’d been something of a shock to step out of Psylocke’s teleport. His nose had immediately picked up the familiar scent, and he’d almost rounded on Rogue for perpetrating such a tasteless practical joke on them. Only instinct had kept him silent, and as his enhanced senses began to pick up traces of the others who’d been in the house while they were gone, he was glad that it had.

"You are certain?" Ororo looked as if she might be holding her breath, a glimmer of hope alight in her eyes.

Logan allowed himself a smile. "I never forget a scent."

He was rewarded by a flicker of a smile as relief flooded her features. "Dear Goddess... thank you, Logan." She squeezed his hand.

"Yer welcome. That’s not the whole story, though."

Her eyebrows dipped in sudden concern. "Tell me."

Logan shrugged. He didn’t have any idea what to make of it. "Lilandra and Gladiator were here, too. Looks like Gambit met ‘em here an’ they all teleported out together."

Ororo digested that, her expression lightening. "I wonder why they did not wait for us to return... but hopefully they will contact us." She paused. "Have you told the others?"

"Nope. Don’t plan to, either." Logan was a little surprised at himself for the sharpness of his response.

Ororo raised a questioning eyebrow as if her thoughts were echoing his.

Logan frowned. "If Gumbo’d wanted ta see us, he would’ve waited ‘til we got back, or at least left a note fer ya," he nodded to Ororo. "I can’t even begin ta guess why he came here ta meet Lilandra, but m’ gut tells me he don’t want ta see the X-Men. You an’ me both know that if Rogue found out he’s still alive, she’d go screamin’ outta here in search of him, an’ I have my doubts ‘bout how good that would be fer either of them."

Ororo watched him for a moment, then looked down at her hands. "I am so angry with her," she admitted slowly, her voice no more than a whisper.

Logan kept his sigh to himself. He understood that sentiment perfectly. Part of him was absolutely furious with the both of them. "Rogue messed up royally, no doubt about it, but she ain’t the only one."

Ororo nodded slowly. "I know Remy is not innocent in all of this," she agreed in the same low voice, which grew more ragged as she spoke. "Did you know that I asked him about the Morlocks once? He lied directly to my face." In profile, Logan could see her ashen expression. "I knew it, but there was such pain in his eyes that I could not bring myself to pursue the truth."

She looked up at Logan, her eyes glimmering. "Surely there is room for forgiveness." In that instant, the stern weather goddess melted away to be replaced with a young child whose heart shone from her tear-filled eyes.

Impulsively, Logan reached over and hugged her. "Darlin’, we’re gonna have ta make room." He paused as her fingers knotted in the fabric of his shirt. "An’ it has ta be enough room fer everyone," he concluded more softly. That was the only way they would ever be able to rebuild the X-Men -- and the only way they would ever see Professor X’s dream become real.

"Y’ found him?" Remy asked as he joined Lilandra on the bridge. He was still a bit groggy from having been awakened in the middle of what his body was telling him was the night, but his sleepiness disappeared when he saw the readouts on Lilandra’s console display. There was a bright indicator flashing on a map of the earth, its location somewhere in the New Mexico desert. Two smaller dots flashed in counterpoint to the big one, and Remy looked at Lilandra curiously.

Lilandra shook her head. "Not Charles." She glanced at Remy. "I found Cerebro."

Remy raised an eyebrow and she tapped one of the screens that flanked the map display. "Spectral analysis picked out the more exotic materials used in some of Cerebro’s components -- things that don’t exist naturally on this planet or any other." She shot Remy a covert look as she tapped the two smaller dots. "And these are Cyclops and Phoenix. The rest of the X-Men appear to have returned to the mansion."

Remy kept his expression flat with an effort of will. Pure dread filled him, even as the more logical portion of his brain began to wonder what Scott and Jean were doing tracking down Cerebro by themselves.

He met Lilandra’s gaze more to prove to himself that he could do it than anything else. "Are y’ plannin’ t’ drop in on de happy couple?"

Lilandra cocked her head, her expression appraising. Remy had the feeling that she knew all too well how uncomfortable he was, and that she was debating how far to push him.

Finally, she straightened. "I am. It would be foolish not to work with our allies the X-Men." Her stare was even, not accusing but definitely challenging. "Would you like to accompany me?"

Remy’s mind raced through his options. To be honest, he didn’t have the faintest idea what either Cyclops or Phoenix would think of him, or how they would react. He had to assume that they knew about the Massacre. He couldn’t imagine Beast or Psylocke not telling the rest of the X-Men what had happened in Antarctica. But Scott and Jean weren’t the real issue. The real question was, did he really want to be trapped on the Shi’ar cruiser when Lilandra found out what he’d done? He doubted she would have much tolerance for the slaughter of innocents.

He forced a smile. "O’ course, chere."

Lilandra nodded, the challenge fading from her eyes as she looked him over. Curious, Remy followed her gaze. He was dressed in black jeans and plain T-shirt, which he’d worn to the mansion. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to wear his colors since Antarctica, despite the fact that it had been his thief’s gear long before he’d become an X-Man.

Lilandra pivoted smartly. "Come with me."

Warily, Remy followed her off the bridge. "Where’re we goin’?" he asked as they walked.

"The Cerebro components we have located are being stored inside what appears to be a highly guarded facility. With Gladiator’s help and the firepower of this ship if necessary, I intend to retrieve them." She turned a corner and stopped before a featureless door that opened when she placed her palm over the lock pad.

"We will scout the area first, of course, and hopefully Cyclops and Phoenix will have information that will be of use in that." She glanced at Remy as she led the way into the room. "The chance that we will encounter resistance on this foray is small, but it would be prudent to be prepared for the worst."

Remy looked around him at the indecipherable tangle of machinery whose focus appeared to be a circular pad on the floor near the center of the room. "Looks like de replicator," he commented.

"It’s a more advanced version of the replicator at the mansion, yes." She moved to a control panel and began working with the controls. "Since you don’t have your armor, I was going to offer you a temporary replacement." She waved at the replicator pad.

Remy raised an eyebrow, tempted despite himself. He’d seen the Shi’ar suits in action and knew they could take a lot more punishment than his kevlar, which he didn’t have with him anyway. But, there was an inherent problem with the quicksilver suits.

"Much as I’d like to, chere, I’m gon’ have t’ say no."

Lilandra turned to look at him curiously and he shrugged. "At heart I’m still a t’ief, chere. Camouflage protects me ‘bout as much as de armor does." He nodded toward her. "Dat stuff o’ yours reflects light. It’d be like paintin’ a great big target on m’ forehead."

Lilandra frowned thoughtfully. "The reflective quality gives the best protection against beam weapons, but I take your point." She gestured toward the pad once again. "If you don’t mind the degradation, changing the color isn’t a problem."

Remy studied her for a moment, and then gave in. Grinning, he stepped onto the replicator pad. "All right, let’s see what y’ have in mind."

The armor that Lilandra created for him was jet black with a matte finish, and yet the light running across it still produced an effect similar to that of the quicksilver, causing shadows of gray to chase over the contours of the form-fitting suit. Remy looked himself over with pleasure. The constantly changing tones of black and gray would provide him with fantastic camouflage -- far better than the static colors he was used to.

"Satisfactory?" Lilandra asked him once he’d finished examining the armor.

Remy felt a pang of guilt, knowing that he would most likely be making a quick exit once they got back on Earth. He doubted he’d have much chance to use the suit to aid Lilandra.

"Oui," he answered quietly. "T’ank you."

 

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