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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 24

Charles couldn’t help a soft sigh of pleasure as he stroked the smooth surface of his new hoverchair. The Shi’ar technicians surrounding him nodded in approval as he touched the controls and brought the machine to life. It lifted from the floor with a barely perceptible hum, much quieter than his previous one, and Charles allowed himself a small smile. Shi’ar technology continued to march forward at a steady pace.

His pleasure was short lived, however. It amazed him to realize what a touchstone the hoverchair had become for him over the years. It gave him tremendous freedom and mobility but, more than that, it had become a symbol for him of all of the amazing things the X-Men had seen and experienced.

Turning his head, Charles glanced out the nearest viewport on the Shi’ar cruiser and was treated to a magnificent view of Earth. The blue and white planet’s shoulder took up almost all of the view, with only a small slice of black space visible beyond the translucent glow of the atmosphere.

Did I do the right thing? he wondered for perhaps the millionth time since telling the X-Men-- and Remy-- about the events of thirteen years ago. I was so certain then, but we had barely even begun. I had no idea how strong the X-Men would eventually be. He closed his eyes and turned away from the view of Earth. Could we have kept Remi safe... and sane? Could I have raised my son?

Shivering, he pushed the thoughts away. He would never know the answers to those questions. It was best to deal with the present. Opening his eyes, he thanked the head technician and moved his hoverchair out of the lab and into the corridors that lined the cruiser. He queried the onboard computer at one point and was surprised to learn that Lilandra remained in her quarters rather than taking her normal post on the bridge. She had not come to meet him when he’d come aboard the ship, and, in fact, had not attempted to communicate with him in any way since she’d learned the truth. Secretly, Charles was terrified she might never do so.

He didn’t plan to let her leave the system without at least one attempt to talk to her, however, and this seemed like the best opportunity. Mustering his resolve, he wound his way toward the Captain’s quarters, which the Shi’ar officer had surrendered to Lilandra when she arrived. At the door Charles found two guards. The soldiers stepped in front of the featureless door, their stances reluctant.

"Imperial Consort," one began. "My apologies. The Majestrix does not wish to be disturbed."

Charles frowned. He was tempted to simply leave, but his stubborn streak wouldn’t allow him to be so easily dissuaded. "Did the Majestrix leave specific instructions that no one was to enter her quarters?" he asked.

The guards traded glances. "No, Imperial Consort, she did not." He raised his chin slightly. "However, her orders were that she is not to be disturbed."

Charles cocked his head, wondering how much the Shi’ar crew knew about what had happened. "My presence is not likely to disturb the Majestrix," he stated firmly, his expression carefully controlled lest he give the lie away. "I would like to see her."

The guards once again shared glances, silently debating the point. But after a few moments, they stepped aside to allow Charles to pass.

"Thank you," he told them as the door slid open and he moved past them into the cabin. The door sealed behind him with a soft hiss. The interior of the room lay veiled in darkness. Lights burned, but so dimly that they appeared to be nothing more than luminescent circles painted on the ceiling. At first he couldn’t spot Lilandra, but as his eyes adjusted he found her seated at a small table, her head in her hands. Her Imperial armor looked gray in the low light, turning her slender form into a ghostly apparition.

She was seated with her back to the door and did not turn as Charles approached. He stopped a short ways behind her, hurt that she would not even look at him. A dozen thoughts leapt into his mind, but none of them managed to find their way to his mouth and he struggled for something to say as the silence grew thicker.

Eventually Lilandra shifted in her seat, the sound of her armor flexing like the whisper of moth wings. She raised her head, but didn’t turn around. "I left orders that I wasn’t to be disturbed." Her voice held a sardonic note that faded quickly. "But I suppose it’s good that you’ve come, Charles."

Uncertain how to read her statement, Charles hesitated. "I’m... glad you think so."

Lilandra turned her head to look at him out of the corner of one dark eye. "I cannot refute the wisdom of your actions, Charles. You acted in the best interest of your people... your planet. As a ruler, I must respect that."

Cold tendrils of dread began to snake their way into Charles’ stomach. Lilandra was often formal with him out of necessity, but it was always a mask she wore. At that moment, Charles couldn’t see the warm, vibrant woman beneath the mask and he was very afraid her cool distance had become a reality rather than a show put on for the sake of Shi’ar etiquette.

He opened his mouth to answer, but she cut him off, her voice brittle. "I will release you from your oaths, if you so desire." She turned so that she was facing straight ahead, her gaze fixed on the darkness.

Charles could only stare. He had taken an oath of loyalty and service to the Shi’ar Imperium as well as an oath of devotion to its Empress when he was officially appointed the Imperial Consort. That Lilandra would offer to dissolve those bonds ripped the floor out of his heart and sent him plummeting through the gaping hole.

"Lil--" Charles choked on her name, horrified. He licked his lips and tried again. "Please, Lil. Don’t do this."

Lilandra turned sharply to stare at him. "Do what, Charles?" The mute accusation in her gaze felt like a needle in his heart. "I have done nothing."

Charles lowered his gaze at the double meaning in her words as Lilandra turned her back to him once again. She had a right to be angry, hurt. Charles wasn’t certain how to reach out to her, but knew he had to try or he would lose her forever.

"I know," he acknowledged softly, unable to summon more than a whisper. "I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you."

Lilandra remained silent, her posture stiff. Eventually, she spoke. "You still haven’t told me if you wish to be released from your oaths."

"No!" Charles shook his head vehemently, angry with her for not trusting him, no matter how much he might deserve it. "Of course not! Lilandra, I love you. I’ve loved you since the moment we met." He gripped the sides of his hoverchair until his fingers began to ache. "But I don’t know how to prove that to you."

Lilandra paused, then turned in her seat so that they faced each other across a gulf of several feet. "You should have told me."

Charles chewed on his lip as he regained some measure of composure. "You know why I didn’t," he answered.

They stared at each other in silence until Charles wanted to scream. Was that one decision going to cost him the love and trust of every single person he cared about?

Lilandra looked away. "What does... Gambit... think?"

Charles couldn’t suppress his painful, bitter amusement. "I don’t know. He isn’t speaking to me either."

Lilandra’s only answer was a soft snort. After a while, she shook her head. "It seems so... impossible." Her voice had fallen to a soft, distant whisper.

"Impossible that we have a child?" Charles asked gently, wishing he dared reach across the space separating them to take her hand in his.

Lilandra nodded, her face lighting momentarily with a smile. "Yes." Their gazes met, the contact speaking words neither knew how to say aloud-- tender words that reconfirmed the bond that joined them. Charles felt an immense wash of relief. The bond of their love might be stretched thin, strained by everything that had happened, but it survived and that was enough to bring joy to his heart.

Silence stretched between them, more comfortable this time. Eventually, Lilandra straightened, and her expression sharpening with curiosity. "I have been wondering, Charles. How did he become Heir to the Imperium? The noble families would have fought it tooth and talon."

Taken aback by the question, Charles had to search his memory for an answer and found little to offer. "I don’t really know. It was an issue of debate at one point, and then something significant happened to sway the nobles, but I don’t know what that was." His eyes narrowed as he chased the memory. "A coup attempt, I think." He shrugged. "It was in Remi’s memories when I scanned them, but I wasn’t paying particular attention to that facet of his life."

"Remi..." Lilandra’s gaze turned thoughtful. "Rem’aillon. That was my grandfather’s name. He was a great Emperor, a hero of our people."

Charles arched an eyebrow. "Really? I didn’t know that." And in a strange way it brought home to him the true magnitude of what he’d done. He tasted regret in the back of his throat, the bitter knowledge of what he’d taken away from his son.

Lilandra nodded, seeming unaware of his thoughts. "The resemblance is striking, once you know to look."

Charles wasn’t certain how to answer her. He had a difficult time seeing the Shi’ar in Remy’s very human features.

"Would you be willing to talk with him?" he asked after a while. Though Gambit had gotten involved in the X-Men’s daily routine, he studiously avoided Charles, making it plain that he didn’t want to see him if possible. Charles had not yet convinced himself that he had any right to push the issue.

Lilandra gave him a piercing stare. "What would you have me say to him, Charles?"

Charles shook his head. "I have no idea." He felt utterly helpless, as he had since Erik the Red had first set recent events into motion. "Anything, Lil. He won’t talk to me." Charles finally reached across to take her hand. "Please."

Lilandra sighed, her fingers tightening around his. "All right." She shook her head. "I will think of... something."

Remy waited uncomfortably as Jean-Luc set his single suitcase down on the front porch and checked his watch. "Y’ sure y’ don’ want me t’ drive y’ to de airport?"

Jean-Luc glanced at him, shook his head. "Non. An airport ain’ de place f’ goodbyes."

Remy tried to keep his feeling off his face. Is dat what dis is? He felt strangely abandoned, as if Jean-Luc might completely disavow any knowledge of him now that he had fulfilled his part of the pact he’d made with Xavier.

He didn’t know how to ask the question, though, and so stood silently until Jean-Luc turned to look at him, his expression troubled. "Remy, are y’ all right?"

The unspoken affection behind his question shattered the young X-Man’s mask. Remy closed his eyes and looked away, hiding his face against the chance that his tears might leak out through his tightly squeezed lids. Strangely enough, this was the first time in nearly ten years that he had seen simple affection-- even love-- in Jean-Luc’s eyes. But that realization only served to fuel a painful understanding.

If he could, Xavier’d wipe out Remy LeBeau t’ make room f’ his precious Rem’aillon. Jean-Luc might’ve jus’ been doin’ what he saw as his duty, but at least he cares ’bout me. And now Jean-Luc was leaving to return to New Orleans, his part done.

For Remy, it was like being banished all over again. Jean-Luc’s words from that night so long ago echoed in his mind. New Orleans ain’ y’ home any more. Go, an’ never return.

Strong hands gripped Remy’s shoulders. He looked up to find Jean-Luc standing in front of him, his face drawn and sad. Remy needed no more invitation to lean into the other man’s embrace, wrapping his arms around Jean-Luc’s chest and burying his face in his shoulder as if he were still a child.

Jean-Luc hugged him tightly and Remy felt a hand stroking his hair. "Ah, m’ boy..."

"Pere..."

They stood like that for several minutes, until a scratchy voice, filled with venom, interrupted. "Awww, ain’t that sweet?"

Remy spun to find Marrow crouched at the end of the porch, a long bone dagger clenched in either hand. His stomach sank in horror even as the adrenaline pumping into his system brought everything into sharp focus. He’d been so intent on his memories that he hadn’t heard the warning of his spatial sense, and now he found himself face to face with one of the people he figured he’d hurt most. Both fascinated and horrified, he looked Marrow over. Bone spurs sprouted from her face and arms, painful even to look at. Wild hatred burned deep in the eyes that stared at him from a ravaged face. Her flesh couldn’t heal at the same pace as the bone growths’ progression, leaving half-healed wounds like footprints on her skin. Pink hair grew in clumps where the scalp was healthy enough, falling in gnarled tangles around her face.

With one hand, Remy motioned Jean-Luc back as he stepped away from his adoptive father. Marrow’s gaze tracked him with the unflinching intensity of a predator. Very slowly, Remy reached into his jacket and pulled out his bow staff, telescoping it to its full length.

Marrow gave him a contemptuous look. "Pretty stick ain’t gonna save you, gene-traitor." Her voice was a low, sibilant purr.

"Maybe, chere," he agreed, taking another step and gauging her reactions as she pivoted to stay with him. From what little he knew, she was fast and vicious. He didn’t want to underestimate her despite the voice inside that kept insisting that Sarah would never hurt him.

"Do y’ remember me, Sarah?" he asked as memories overwhelmed him. As he spoke, X-Men converged on them from several directions. They formed a broad circle around the two combatants, absorbing Jean-Luc into their ring.

Marrow spat, her eyes never leaving Remy. "I know who you are, traitor."

Remy almost laughed at that. If it weren’t for the terrible sorrow he felt at seeing what had become of her, he might have. Since she’d ignored the Professor’s summons to the meeting where he had completely unraveled Remy’s life, she probably had no idea who he really was.

Focusing, Remy spun his staff once, getting the balance. "Dat wasn’ what I asked, Sarah."

For the first time, Marrow faltered. Her eyes clouded for a moment, but then blazed with renewed hatred as her lips curled in a snarl. "My name is Marrow," she hissed at him and raised one of her knives.

From the corner of his eye Remy could see the X-Men standing ready, held back by Wolverine’s outstretched hand. He was grateful for the Canuck’s restraint. Marrow would never be able to hold up against the combined power of the X-Men and he didn’t want to see her get hurt trying.

Without warning, Marrow launched herself toward him. Remy ducked, swinging his staff around to shield him from the flashing knives and heard bone clang against metal. He dove aside as the second blade sliced through the air where his throat had been a moment before and rolled to his feet, untouched. Marrow landed in a crouch a short ways away and began to circle, knives held ready. Remy moved with her, keeping a constant distance between them.

"Y’ still haven’ answered m’ question," Remy reminded her, keeping his voice gentle with an effort of will. She was fast, and there was no question that she would kill him if she could. It hurt to see how much she hated him.

"Shut up!" Marrow glared at him, but that couldn’t completely disguise the pain in her face.

Remy could only shake his head. It had been a struggle to get the four-year-old Sarah to speak politely, even at the best of times, and the memory brought a fleeting smile to his lips. "Tsk, tsk. Dat’s no way f’ a lady t’ talk, now is it, m’ Sarah Beautiful."

Marrow stopped dead, the blood draining from her face. Slowly, she began to shake her head in denial. "No." Recognition flooded her features, followed by horror. "No. It was you." Her voice never rose above a whisper. Then, with a strangled cry, she turned and ran, pushing between two of the X-Men as she fled across the yard toward the lake.

Silence reigned for several long moments as Remy stared after her.

Logan finally broke the stillness. "Ya want ta tell us what that was all about, Gumbo?" he asked, his characteristic drawl masking a keen interest.

Remy didn’t look at him. There’d been entirely too much truth in his life lately, but he couldn’t seem to find the means to avoid it. At the moment, he felt too weary to even try.

He shrugged. "Dere ain’ much t’ tell. After... de Massacre, dere wasn’ any place t’ take her. No one was gon’ take such an obvious mutant in, so I kept her. Had a place in de Caribbean dat was pretty isolated..." He trailed off, remembering the long days on the beach and the sound of Sarah’s tinkling laugh.

Logan made a guttural noise and Remy looked up. The other man’s piercing blue eyes bored into his own. "I had a talk with Marrow, while back," Logan said. "Was tryin’ ta figure out if there was anyone on the planet she cares for."

Uncertain where he was going, Remy frowned. "An’?"

Logan lifted both bushy eyebrows. "An’ I found one." Something in his gaze made Remy tense in expectation. "I thought she was talkin’ about her blood father... but now I think she meant you."

"Me?" Understanding hit Remy and he closed his eyes. "Merde." He shook his head.

Logan was nodding. "An’ now she knows it, too."

Beside Logan, Ororo watched Remy with obvious distress. He wasn’t certain how she felt about Marrow, given all that had occurred between them. "How did Sarah return to the Morlocks?" she asked after a moment.

Remy gave her a brief glance, unable to hold her gaze longer than that. "Callista an’ de rest o’ de survivin’ Morlocks came f’ her-- ’bout a year after..." He collapsed his staff and put it away, uncomfortable. "I would’ve had t’ kill some o’ dem t’ keep dem from takin’ her." The thought alone made his skin crawl. "At de time, it seemed like de best t’ing f’ her-- goin’ back t’ her family."

Ororo’s gaze filled with compassion. "You could not have known, Remy."

He shrugged as a yellow cab turned into the driveway. "Non." There was no way he could have known about Mikhail and the horrible alternate world he would transport the Morlocks to. But knowing that didn’t help much.

There was nothing else to say, so they waited in silence as the cab pulled up and the driver got out. Remy followed Jean-Luc down the stairs as he went to put his suitcase in the trunk.

"I guess dis is goodbye," Remy finally said as Jean-Luc prepared to get into the cab.

Jean-Luc paused, then turned to face Remy directly. "Oui," he agreed.

Remy didn’t know what to say to that. Unable to meet the other man’s gaze, he looked away.

After a moment, Jean-Luc’s hands captured his face, his expression sad. "T’ings have changed, Remy." He shrugged, seeming embarrassed. "I’m a little relieved, honestly." But then he paused, his discomfort evaporating as if it had never existed. "But de t’ings dat bind us are stronger dan dat. If y’ ever need me, jus’ call. I will come."

Touched, Remy nodded. Jean-Luc watched him a moment longer, then turned and got into the cab. Remy shut the door behind him, then watched as the car slowly pulled away, taking with it the only father he’d ever known.

Renee clung to the rail of Apocalypse’s skimmer as the sand-laden air whipped past. Harsh sunlight drenched her, falling deliciously hot on her skin, and were it not for the circumstances, Renee might have enjoyed the trip. What little she could see through her slitted eyes was bare rock and sand, with here and there a scraggly, dust colored bush.

After her late night conversation-- she didn’t want to call it an argument-- with Apocalypse, she had run back to her rooms in terror. But by morning, guilt prodded her to once again try to breach the subject of their food shortage with the High Lord. And now, for no reason she could understand, she found herself becoming part of his entourage as he went to deal with the local tribesmen.

A few feet behind her, Apocalypse sat in a throne-like chair at the center of the skimmer. Angel stood behind him, guiding the craft while two of the cat men stood at the forward corners. Renee wondered if she were the only one who felt like she was about to be blown away by the rushing wind. None of the others showed any signs of concern. But, she amended sourly, they were all dressed in close-fitting clothing while she wore a long skirt and scarves that trailed in the wind like flags. A larger hovercraft, filled with the cat guards, followed them, but it wasn’t open to the air the way Apocalypse’s ship was.

The skimmer banked sharply, losing altitude in the process, and Renee was forced to brace herself to keep from tumbling out of the open airship. In the distance, she could barely make out a dark formation on the horizon that swelled with each passing moment. It resolved itself into a small village of mud and straw huts, arranged in a loose ring. Tiny figures moved between the buildings, visible at that distance only because their dark skins and brilliantly colored clothing stood out against the pale desert sand.

Renee didn’t think any of the villagers had even noticed the skimmer’s approach when Angel opened fire. Bright streaks of light lanced out from the skimmer’s nose, striking the huts, which exploded in great flashes of orange fire. Where the lasers hit the ground, dirt and sand fountained twenty feet into the air, throwing nearby people and animals around like cloth dolls.

"No!" Renee’s cry was lost to the rushing wind. She turned to look back at Apocalypse, horrified. He sat in his chair, the hard planes of his face still and his eyes smoldering with the intense stare that frightened her beyond words. Rather than face him, she turned back toward the burning village that grew larger with every passing moment. They were close enough now that she could see individual figures lying on the ground, both adults and children. Some lay broken and still, but others rolled around, their agonized screams barely audible above the wind but impossible to ignore.

Renee didn’t stop to think about her actions. Some things, her mother had taught her, just had to be done. It was a lesson her timid, reserved natured did not want to learn, but after everything she’d been through since following Remi and Cody into that vortex, she finally had. Even her fear of Apocalypse wasn’t enough to drown the inner voice that compelled her to act.

Under Angel’s control, the skimmer shot straight across the center of the devastated town. Renee figured he was probably going to turn back for another pass, but she didn’t wait to find out. At exactly the right moment, she vaulted over the waist-high railing, tucking her long body into a ball as she plummeted toward the ground. She straightened after a moment and spread her arms for balance, forcing herself to look down toward her landing site rather than up toward Apocalypse.

Blessed with her father’s unique physiology, she hit the ground feet first and rolled, stirring up a cloud of sand and dust that choked her as she struggled to draw air into her lungs. The echo of the skimmer’s engines filled the air with a sound like constant thunder that diminished by degrees. Renee regained her feet and sprinted across the ground, everything inside her tensed in anticipation of Apocalypse’s wrath. But until he caught up with her, she was determined to do whatever she could to help these people whose lives she had inadvertently destroyed.

The hot sand felt like tiny sawblades on her bare feet, but Renee had no attention to spare for anything but the villagers. Panicked men and women ran in all directions around her, some simply fleeing, others gathering weapons or possessions. Bodies littered the ground around blackened and burning craters, and the burning huts had become nothing more than huge columns of fire that sent intense heat radiating outward in waves. Dodging the flames, Renee searched for those she could help with her powers and found many. They cowered away from her-- those who were aware enough to notice her presence-- until they felt her healing powers began to take effect. A dozen voices babbled at her in rapid-fire Egyptian, far too fast for her to follow, as she reached out to touch them.

She looked up with terror to match the villagers as the roar of Apocalypse’s ship became deafening. The slender hovercraft descended on a pillar of energy at the center of the village, the second craft following it nearby. Even at a distance, Renee could see the fury that darkened the High Lord’s face as he stood in the middle of his ship, his thick arms crossed over his chest. Everything inside Renee wanted to flee, to run away from Apocalypse as fast as she could. Instead, she continued what she was doing, gritting her teeth at the effort of controlling her powers and forcing her body to keep going even as each new use drained her that much further.

To Renee, the entire event slowly took on a dream-like quality. She ignored Apocalypse because she didn’t know what else to do and continued to heal the villagers she could find. Around her, the cat-men went through the wrecked village, rounding up everyone and herding them into the central clearing. Eventually, a cat-man stopped Renee, motioning with his sword for her to precede him toward the place where the villagers were gathered around Apocalypse’s skimmer. She went without protest, instinctively trying to brush some of the dirt from her skirt. It was foolish, she knew, but some part of her was frightened of going before Apocalypse with blood, soot and dirt staining her normally pristine dress.

The cat-man marched her through the terrified crowd, which parted before them like a wake, and brought her to the edge of the skimmer on which Apocalypse still stood. Shaking, Renee looked up at his wide, ugly gray face, but he ignored her. Instead, he turned and spoke to Angel in a voice too low for her to hear. Angel listened and nodded, then launched himself into the air. Gasps of shock and fear followed him as he wheeled over the crowd.

A moment later, he landed, singling out a tall man with a gash on his forehead that bled unnoticed down his face. The man stood proudly straight before Angel, his skin pale with fear but his face composed and his eyes defiant. He didn’t flinch when Angel leveled a laser rifle at him, but calmly went where he was directed. He walked to the front of the crowd with Angel following and stopped before Apocalypse. He was standing only a few feet from Renee and his gaze flicked curiously to her before focusing on the High Lord.

Apocalypse’s expression darkened even further as he stared at the man Renee suspected was the village leader. At a nod from Apocalypse, Angel stepped forward and swung his rifle at the backs of the man’s legs. The man grunted in pain as he fell to his knees, but the fire in his eyes remained undiminished.

A few moments later, Renee saw the fire replaced by fear as cat-men dragged a woman and two young children forward. The woman’s face was streaked with tears, and though she whimpered softly as she walked, her face was set. She held a child’s hand in each of hers, and when the cat-men forced her to her knees behind her husband, she gathered them both into her lap and held them tightly.

Renee’s stomach clenched in horrible anticipation as Apocalypse looked down at the man. This is my fault, she thought miserably. If I hadn’t told him about the food supplies, he wouldn’t have done this. She knew that wasn’t the whole story though, because if she hadn’t said anything, Shala and the other slaves would have starved to death inside Apocalypse’s palace. She felt helpless in the face of Apocalypse’s inhumanity and angry at him for putting her in a position where people would die no matter what she did.

"Who dares defy me?" Apocalypse boomed in Egyptian from atop the skimmer’s deck. Renee was surprised by how powerful he sounded. His voice rang across the clearing, deep and unnaturally loud. The frailty and weakness she regularly saw in him was completely hidden, making him all the more frightening.

The man who knelt a few feet from Renee flinched minisculely, but then raised his head to look at Apocalypse. "Lord Apocalypse, I am called Namores."

It took Renee a moment to translate the name he’d used for Apocalypse. In Egyptian, the name meant Forever Walker, which, she mused distractedly, was an entirely different thing than the English translation.

Apocalypse stared down at Namores. To Renee, his stance seemed somehow thoughtful, though his angry expression had not changed. "You show courage, mortal," Apocalypse said after a moment, as if granting a concession. "But I will not tolerate rebellion by my servants." His gaze narrowed. "You will be punished for your disobedience. I will erase your lineage from the face of the Earth, and you will serve as a warning to the rest."

Namores’ eyes widened in horror as he cast a glance over his shoulder at his family. Renee wanted to scream, but fear rooted her in place. Her own disobedience would likely result in her death as well, if not something worse. On the headman’s far side, Angel watched silently, his mouth curled upward in a smirk that lit a white-hot fire of rage inside Renee. Apocalypse’s motives she understood somewhat, even if she hated them. Angel was just cruel. The troubled but gentle man she’d known as a child had been completely devoured by his darker impulses.

Apocalypse raised one hand and Renee was overwhelmed by the memory of lightning spitting from his hands to impale the two cat-men who had only acted to protect him. With a cry, she jumped forward, placing her body squarely in front of the terrified man and instinctively spreading her arms in an effort to shield him as much as possible. Her heart throbbed frantically in her chest, making it hard to breathe. Behind her, she could hear his children wailing in fear and confusion, and their mother’s whispered reassurances.

Apocalypse paused, an expression of pure surprise crossing his face before being consumed by anger. In her peripheral vision, Renee could see Angel take a menacing step toward her and she pulled out her bo, telescoping it to its full length. He stopped where he was at the warning gesture and looked toward Apocalypse. Renee, too, watched the High Lord, her entire body reverberating with fearful expectation.

Apocalypse speared her with his gaze. "You presume too much, Nightengale. Move, or you will suffer punishment for your disobedience." The words were in English, cold and harsh.

Renee’s mind raced. The fact that Apocalypse had paused to threaten her meant she had a chance to influence him, but no moral or emotional appeal would sway him. With a convulsive swallow, she gathered her wits.

"Killing this man is only a temporary solution," she told Apocalypse in English, her pale voice growing stronger with each word as she sorted through the logic. "You’ll terrify them into submission, but the fear only lasts for a few generations and after that they will revolt again." Ozymandias had told her the history of Apocalypse’s relationship with this remote tribe, so she knew it to be true. "But if you let him live, you can create a more permanent solution."

Renee stood frozen while Apocalypse stared at her, wondering what he would do. He could as easily kill her as answer.

Slowly, the dark gray brows knotted in an expression of disgust. "You are a child. What do you know of the use of power?" Apocalypse asked scornfully. "If I cut off the head of the beast, it dies."

Renee flexed her fingers on her bo staff and raised her chin in unconscious pride. "I am an X-Man and a daughter of X-Men. I have survived being thrown backward in time, and have outlived the Shadow King, who made me his slave. He made me his Hound and his assassin, and from him I learned a great deal about the application of power." Renee almost spat the word at him. What Apocalypse considered power, she considered detestable, and his arrogance only served to make her more angry. "If you show mercy and give this man back his family-- the things he loves most-- he will serve you out of gratitude."

Apocalypse’s scorn deepened. "I do not care about gratitude, only obedience."

Renee nodded, holding forcibly to her composure. "Of course. But don’t you see? He--" she pointed behind her at the kneeling man. "-- will obey willingly because you gave him what he loves. And he will teach his people to obey, and they will teach their children, and their children’s children..." She paused to regroup, watching Apocalypse for any sign that he understood what she was saying. "You said yourself that this man has courage. It would be a shame to sacrifice that genetic trait when there’s another way to gain his obedience. You are the High Lord Apocalypse. You have as much power to spare this man’s life as to take it away."

Apocalypse stared at her in silence. Renee desperately wanted to fidget under his gaze. She’d done everything she could, and now she could only wait to see how Apocalypse would respond. She watched Angel out of the corner of her eye as well, hoping she would see an attack coming if he decided to take matters into his own hands.

Very slowly, Apocalypse crossed his arms over his chest once again. "You are sentimental and weak, Nightengale," he pronounced solemnly as if passing a sentence. Renee’s stomach clenched in dread, filling her throat with bile. "But, perhaps there is value in proving you wrong."

Renee looked up in surprise. Apocalypse met her gaze, the fierce, ancient intensity in his gray eyes burning into her like a brand. "You will explain to this human what I expect, Healer. I will hold you responsible for his actions, and this tribe’s."

Renee could only stare at him, breathless. His sudden reversal left her reeling, her emotions scattering across the landscape of her heart. One by one they caught fire, blazing inside her until she wanted to throw her arms up toward the sky and scream, just to give the conflagration some kind of release.

Apocalypse watched her for a final moment, then turned away, calling Angel to him. Renee let out a long, shaky breath as the winged man launched himself into the sky, and began to tremble violently. She set the butt of her staff on the ground and leaned against it, fighting for control.

"Lady... what did the Forever Walker say?" The quiet voice from behind Renee startled her. She turned to find Namores looking up at her, his face filled with conflicting hope and fear.

Gathering herself, Renee straightened and turned to face him. "He said he will not kill you or your family this time..." she struggled with her limited Egyptian. "As a gesture of good faith." Namores’ eyes widened as she continued. "But he expects the shipments to start again, and that you will make sure your people do not rebel."

Namores looked over his shoulder at his family, then nodded his head. "I understand, Lady." He dropped his gaze. "I... will do as you say."

Relieved beyond words, Renee reached out to touch the man’s blood-streaked face, concentrating on the power that was her birthright. Startled, Namores looked up at her, his expression faltering as the wound in his head knit itself together. As she withdrew, he touched the spot in wonder.

"Others of my people are hurt..." he began hesitantly.

Renee glanced up at Apocalypse, but he was talking with Angel and seemed to be ignoring her. She turned back to the headman and nodded. "Of course. Bring them to me."

Namores jumped to his feet, pausing only for a moment to tenderly touch his wife’s face, then went into the crowd, talking and gesturing toward Renee. Soon, a steady stream of people approached and she had little attention to spare for anything else. But still, she couldn’t help but overhear snatches of conversations as she worked, and what she heard sent a chill crawling up her spine. The tribesmen didn’t call her "Lady" as Namores had. Instead, they called her another name... the same one they used for Apocalypse but with a feminine ending attached. In English, that name was Forever Walker.

 

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