The Game of Empires - REVIEW THIS STORY

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

Chapter 12

The sitting room was one of the few places where a fire almost always burned, but Renee would gladly have given up her warm seat if she could. Apocalypse would not allow her to leave his presence without express permission. It seemed like a matter of courtesy to him, though Renee found it nerve wracking. She could never simply slip away without him noticing, and given his present mood, she didn’t want to draw his attention.

Apocalypse sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees. Every motion was sharp, forceful, and Renee had the distinct impression that he was frustrated by something. After a moment, he turned to look at her, and Renee held her breath. It was one of those unnerving flat stares, as if she were a piece of furniture that he was debating whether to move or not.

He stood abruptly. "Come with me."

Renee swallowed her surprise and scrambled to her feet. Apocalypse didn’t wait for her. He turned on his heel and strode from the room. Renee grabbed up her cloak and trotted to catch up, her mind whirling curiously. Apocalypse always sent for her. He had never ordered her to accompany him. That wasn’t surprising, considering the limited areas to which Renee had access, but the sudden change left her wondering, in a mixture of concern and anticipation, where Apocalypse might be taking her.

Out in the hall she fell in step beside him, his long strides forcing her to stretch a bit to keep up. Apocalypse glanced at her, his expression unreadable, and Renee was momentarily afraid that she had angered him by being so bold. But she disliked the idea of walking behind him. She knew her place in his household, as did he, and she would much rather be able to see where she was going.

She tried not to let her expression show as they walked past the guards who stood at the entrance to one of the areas Renee was not allowed to see. Her stomach tightened into a hard ball and her fingers instinctively sought out the collapsed staff nestled in a pocket inside her cloak. This way would take them to the stairs that led upward to the butte. Were they going back up there? Why? She couldn’t help but look at Apocalypse, hoping to read something of his intentions, but he stared resolutely forward and did not acknowledge her.

They reached the stairs. Apocalypse immediately turned downward, but Renee paused. Down? The occasional rumblings she felt through the soles of her feet came from the depths of the mountain. Excitement mixed with fear as she started down after him on the narrow stairs.

They descended hundreds of feet into the mountain, passing the apertures of several passages along the way. Most were darkened and gaped like hungry mouths, but a few were lit with sterile white light from the familiar light tubes. Renee became aware of a low buzzing sound that grew louder as they descended. It eventually resolved itself into an ordinary mechanical hum that sounded to Renee like a fan or turbine. Perhaps a cooling system? But cooling for what? Or maybe it was the circulation system that kept the air inside the palace from becoming unbearably stale.

Finally, Apocalypse turned off the stairs into a lighted corridor. The stone walls and floor were sheathed in metal and looked surprisingly similar to the underground portions of the X-mansion. Bemused, Renee imagined walking around the next corner to encounter Uncle Hank with his white lab coat and antiquated spectacles. But instead of her uncle, Renee found only more of the featureless hallway, its smooth surfaces marred by the presence of a single door. The door had no handle, but slid aside as Apocalypse neared.

Renee followed him into a laboratory. She knew with instinctive certainty that it was a medical facility of some kind, despite the strange equipment that filled it. A large table took up the center of the room. A man lay on the table, his feet toward her. For a moment, she thought he was strapped down, but he sat up as they entered and Renee was unable to contain a gasp of dismay.

The blue eyes snapped to her face and she found herself staring into Warren Worthington’s eyes with a sense of horror. Those eyes were the only thing that she recognized, though. They were still clear and blue, the color of the sky on a bright winter day. But his skin had shaded from the powder blue she was accustomed to, to a pale gray. His blond hair was now gray as well, a lustrous dark hue. He was strangely beautiful in the stormy colors, but the change was disturbing.

"Warren?" she asked hesitantly.

The gaze that bored into her did not change.

"That is not his name anymore," Apocalypse said. He sounded pleased, and Renee turned to stare at him as the realization sank in. This was what Apocalypse had been doing that so exhausted him. She knew precious little about his powers or his technology, but it hardly mattered what method he used to change Warren so radically.

"What have you done to him?" The question came out as a choked whisper.

Apocalypse’s eyes narrowed, but before he could respond, Warren slid off the table and approached Renee. "He set me free," Warren said, smiling. His voice was low and scratchy, as if it had been worn raw and was only just beginning to heal.

Apocalypse laid a hand on Warren’s shoulder and Renee blinked in surprise at the affectionate gesture. "This is the healer I told you of, my son. Show her your wing."

Obediently Warren unfurled his wings, which were feathered in the same dark color as his hair. They spread around him like a cloak as he brought them forward for her to see. His expression, however, was filled with distrust. "Healer? I thought LeBeaus were only capable of destruction."

Renee paused, taken aback by the bitter anger in his voice. She wanted to ask him what he meant, but he was so frighteningly alien that she couldn’t bring herself to. Instead, she focused on the wing he presented to her. Close up, the damage was obvious. She’d seen the break when they were imprisoned together, and now, as she peered closely at the area, she could tell that the bone had healed imperfectly. Still, the break had been in the middle of the bones rather than at a joint. It wasn’t pretty, but should be structurally sound. Then she noticed how limply the tip of that wing hung and frowned.

"Nerve damage?" she asked, her attention split between Apocalypse and Warren. She felt very strange standing there between them. Both Apocalypse and Warren watched her expectantly, and Apocalypse nodded in response to her question.

"The nerves have died and his body resists the implants." He cocked his head. "An unfortunate side effect of the biometallic materials in his system." His stare pierced Renee. "He will never fly again with wings of flesh and blood if you cannot help him."

Renee saw the poorly concealed flash of terror in Warren’s eyes and bit her lip. If she healed his wing, he would be able to fly -- and able to do whatever Apocalypse commanded him. Renee knew from history a little of what that would entail, and that death and pain would be the result. In some ways, healing him would make her an accomplice. And yet, if she didn’t heal him, wouldn’t Apocalypse simply remove the living wings and replace them with a new set of biometallics? That was what he implied, and Warren seemed to believe it as well. Otherwise, why would he be so frightened? But would that be any better for anyone? Not for Warren, certainly, and probably not for anyone that the Angel of Death might encounter, she decided. Taking his wings again would probably make it that much harder for him to turn away from Apocalypse, and she had to believe that there was still a part of him that wanted to.

She realized that she had been staring at the floor while she thought, and slowly raised her eyes to Warren’s. "I can heal you," she told him and was rewarded by a flood of pure relief that softened his gaze. She felt a small burst of hope. Some part of the Warren she knew was still alive inside him.

She reached up to take hold of his wing and looked a bit more closely, but then remembered that she didn’t have gloves and pulled her hands back. Though the feathers were technically dead and would not trigger her powers, she didn’t want to have to worry about accidental contact with his skin.

"What’s wrong?" Warren asked her. The brief vulnerability she’d seen was gone, and his expression had turned skeptical.

Renee felt her gaze sliding toward Apocalypse and forced herself not to look at him. "My powers -- " She held up her hands. "I need to wear gloves."

She could see the details clicking together in his mind. His eyes went to her hair, and the white braids that hung beside her face, half-obscured by the scarves and ornaments she wore. It was the second time she had watched someone figure out who she was, simply from her appearance, and, unfortunately, she was so engrossed in what he might be thinking that she almost didn’t react in time.

His fingers raked the air less than an inch from her face, and she noted in alarm that his nails had become short, dark talons. She dodged backward, reaching into her cloak for her staff as she did so. Warren lunged for her. He grabbed her cloak as she twisted to avoid him, and she found her breath cut off abruptly as the cloak tightened around her throat. Warren dragged her backward and Renee hit the button that caused the staff to telescope to its full length in her hand, while the other hand clawed at the clasp that held the cloak around her neck. Renee twisted the clasp and it snapped open just as his fingers closed on her braided hair. She drew a gasping breath as she drove the end of the staff backward into his stomach. He grunted in pain and she was able to tear herself out of his grasp.

Renee jumped clear of his reach and whirled, bringing her staff up in a ready stance. "Warren! What are you doing?"

Warren didn’t answer as he circled toward her right, his wings trailing him like dark streamers. His face was a mask of rage, but he did not answer.

Renee looked toward Apocalypse in mute appeal, but he was simply standing there, arms crossed. He said nothing, and made no move to interfere. She focused on Warren. Apocalypse wasn’t going to stop him, so she would have to defend herself. She tried to tell herself it was no different than training with him in the Danger Room, but the fury burning in his eyes made that hard to do.

Warren feinted toward her and she moved to block. He followed immediately with a kick, forcing her to jump back. Renee realized that she was quickly running out of room. Though the lab was fairly large, it was filled with equipment. Another few steps and she would be trapped against the strange machinery.

Regretfully, she spun the staff around, building momentum, and then lashed out at him. He ducked the blow and dove toward her, trying to close the distance between them and remove the advantage the bo staff gave her. Renee switched her grip and brought the end of the bo whistling toward his head, but he saw it coming. The blow landed on his shoulder rather than his skull. Then he plowed into her, driving them both backward into the banks of equipment.

Renee was unable to contain a small cry of pain as a sharp edge dug into her back. Instinct kept her arms up, warding off the hands that reached for her throat. She regained her balance and drove her knee upward, which unfortunately hit Warren’s hip rather than anything more sensitive, but it was enough to make him flinch. She drove her fist toward his face, connected, and he staggered back

She wasn’t paying enough attention to his wings, though. He had a seven foot reach and startling speed. The edge of one wing struck her in the side of the head with enough force to make stars explode in front of her eyes. Warren closed the distance again while she was stunned and she gasped at the sudden fiery pain as his claws raked across her collarbone. The pain snapped something inside her. This was her uncle who was for some unknown reason trying to kill her, and it made her angry. She was angry at Warren for selling out to Apocalypse. He was supposed to be an X-Man, not an enemy, and she was tired of meeting the people she loved and finding them to be strangers. She was angry at Apocalypse for allowing this to go on -- for making her fight a member of her family, no matter how different he was. And she was angry at Apocalypse for making her a prisoner when she’d begun to believe she might be able to go home, and for the painful punishment he’d inflicted on her for daring to defy him, even a little bit.

She lunged at Warren as all of the frustration she felt boiled over. She could see the change in his face as her eyes began to glow, tinting her vision with red. She darted forward, staff raised, but at the last moment, she ducked under his guard and hit him beneath the ribs. His breath whooshed out of his lungs, but he didn’t slow. They traded blows in a flurry, and Renee found herself grateful for the high slit that allowed her so much movement in the long skirt she wore. She used her staff and her feet as much as she could to counter the longer reach of his wings as they danced around the tight confines of the lab. Apocalypse managed to stay out of their way without ever appearing to hurry, and Renee caught occasional glimpses of him as she spun and dodged.

Warren managed to land another blow to her head and Renee staggered, falling to her knees as nausea swept through her. She raised her staff instinctively as he followed with a savage kick, but was only partly able to block him. She ducked and took the brunt of it in the shoulder, paying that price to stick the end of her staff behind his leg. She swept the staff around, throwing him off balance. He fell backwards with a yell, landing hard on the metal floor. Renee forced herself to her feet, but her head was still spinning so fast that Warren had regained his own footing before she could muster a new attack. But now he was limping heavily.

Renee bit her lip as she forced her mind to focus. She wanted to believe that Apocalypse would not let Warren kill her, but she was afraid that was just wishful thinking. History recorded Apocalypse as a purist believer in survival of the strongest. She wasn’t certain that he would save her if she could not defeat Warren on her own. After all, if she wasn’t the strongest, then why would he let her live?

To save his own life, of course, she answered herself immediately. But was that true? With almost anyone else, she would have believed it, but Apocalypse was a fanatic.

Warren came after her again, and Renee dove to the side, trusting her reflexes to get her out of the way in time. She rolled to her feet, staff in motion, but Warren had anticipated the move. He was already inside her swing, talons stabbing toward her abdomen. She leapt backwards, hitting the edge of the table and falling back onto it. Using the table as a brace, she planted both feet in the center of Warren’s chest and shoved him away, but the fresh burn across her stomach told her she hadn’t gotten away unscathed. She touched the secondary switch on her staff, releasing the trident blades that were folded into one end. They snapped into place, and she changed her grip on the weapon to use it as a polearm.

"Enough." Apocalypse stepped between them. Renee slide to a stop, startled, but forced herself not to look at him. She didn’t trust Warren not to try to continue his senseless attack on her despite Apocalypse, so she kept her attention focused and her staff held ready. Though it made her feel guilty, she was grimly pleased that Warren looked like he hurt as much as she did. At least she’d made a good accounting of herself.

Apocalypse, however, was watching Warren. "I see you have learned the full truth about the Massacre."

Warren’s gaze snapped to Apocalypse’s, full of anger and betrayal. "You knew?! Why didn’t you tell me?"

Renee watched them both in confusion. Knew about what? she wanted to ask. What Massacre? Whatever they were talking about, she knew it was the reason Warren had attacked her.

Apocalypse frowned disapprovingly. "It was, and is, unimportant. You have greater tasks to accomplish than to track down one insignificant thief."

One insignificant... Renee felt a chill invade her as the full realization of where and when she was finally sank in. He had to be talking about Gambit. And in this time, her father was just a mutant thief. She felt a pang of sorrow. Gambit, not Remi. That meant Remi didn’t exist any more. It also meant that the only person who knew the full potential powers of a certain insignificant thief was the prisoner of Apocalypse. She sucked in her breath at the thought. She was going to have to walk very, very carefully if Apocalypse decided to ask her more questions about her family.

Warren was still staring at Apocalypse, his expression hinting at stubborn defiance, but Apocalypse seemed willing to take his silence as an agreement. Apocalypse turned to Renee, apparently dismissing the topic entirely. He stared at her intently and Renee straightened her shoulders self-consciously, trying not to let the pain of her injuries show. From the blood she could feel trickling across her skin, she guessed that she would need a few stitches, but now didn’t seem like the time to ask Apocalypse about it. Not with that frightening, impersonal gaze fastened on her.

"You will tend to my son’s injuries."

Renee’s eyes widened and she bit her lip against a protest. It hadn’t been a request. So she nodded once in acquiescence and collapsed the staff she held back into its compact form. Apocalypse stepped obligingly out of the way as she approached Warren. Renee hardly noticed. Her attention was focused on the winged man. She was ready to jump if he decided to attack her again, but, though his eyes were still full of anger, she didn’t see anything in his body language that suggested danger.

"Sit." She pointed to the table.

He registered surprise at the sharp syllable, but did as she directed. Gathering herself, Renee reached over to touch her fingertips to his forehead. Her powers surged outward, lunging against her control. The effort of keeping them reigned in magnified the pain of her wounds and turned the dull throbbing of her head into a sharp spike of agony. She forced herself to concentrate, seeking out the damage she had just done him. There was a gash just above his temple, the blood invisible in his hair. She knit that wound together, and the fractured bones in his ankle. There were two broken ribs as well, and a host of contusions. Then she turned her attention to the dead nerves in his wing. She could feel the demarcation where the living cells ended. Beyond that was only emptiness, but her powers gave her an innate knowledge of how the nerves should be. She wanted to scream at the pain in her head, but she was acutely aware of Apocalypse standing behind her, watching. She would rather endure this pain than give him another excuse to punish her, so she gritted her teeth and struggled to make her unruly powers obey her will.

Finally, the nerve paths were complete and Renee let her hand fall with a small gasp of relief. She watched dully as Warren twisted his wing tip. His smile was triumphant as he slid off of the table and stretched his wings to their full length before folding them behind him. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Apocalypse nodding in approval.

"Very well." Apocalypse gestured for Renee to follow him as he turned away. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Renee fell in behind him. She didn’t care where they were going this time, so long as she would get to rest when they got there.

They reached the stairs, and Renee felt a brief bout of nausea sweep through her at the thought of the hundreds of stairs that she would have to climb before they reached the residential level. But Apocalypse started upward, his stride steady, and Renee had no choice but to follow. She fought the urge to cry as she climbed. Each step was a tremendous effort, and, at some point, she realized that she had fallen behind Apocalypse. He was well above her on the stairs, and seemed oblivious to her as he continued upward. Her vision swam momentarily and she put one hand down on the stairs to steady herself. But the dizziness didn’t go away. Feeling faint, and afraid she might fall down the stairs, she sank onto the cold stone and leaned her forehead against the steps.

Just a short rest, she promised herself as she closed her eyes. The cold stone felt wonderful against her throbbing skull. For a moment, she thought she heard footsteps coming toward her, but she could not place the sound.

The last thing she felt as she drifted into darkness was a hand closing on her shoulder.

Remy’s nerves were screaming by the time he reached the front door. Simply being there was bad enough for the memories the place evoked. But the silence that surrounded him set his senses on edge and his heart to pounding in his chest.

The Xavier Institute for Higher Learning was deserted. His kinesthetic sense picked up nothing but the gentle swaying of the trees. The defense grid that usually surrounded the house was deactivated, and, as he touched the doorknob, he discovered that the front door was unlocked.

Braced for an ambush, Remy slipped inside and silently shut the door behind him. He found himself staring dumbly at the empty foyer. It was completely empty. The furniture, the pictures on the walls, even the carpeting -- everything was gone. It was as if someone had stripped the mansion bare.

He walked cautiously through the foyer, stopping for a moment to study a stain in the wooden floor. It looked like blood. Someone had obviously made an attempt to clean it up, but had done only a half-hearted job.

Dismayed, Remy moved further into the house. He had finally forced himself to come here in the hopes that Professor Xavier had returned and could answer some of the questions that whirled around inside his head. Jean Luc had let that hint drop on purpose, he was certain, though he couldn’t begin to guess why. But the face of the woman Token had carved and his father’s words mingled in his thoughts, haunting him with the promise of knowledge. Knowledge of who he was, and perhaps someone to help him find the path he should take from here.

He paused as he entered the kitchen, his thief’s eye automatically noting the dirty dishes in the sink. They were plastic plates, he noted, cheap picnic ware with matching glasses in a dazzling array of pastel colors. He checked the cupboards, finding them thinly stocked with easy-to-prepare foods. He sniffed the milk cautiously, confirming what he already suspected. The house had been stripped, but there were people living there. The food was fresh and the dirty dishes no more than a day or two old.

From there, he moved toward the bedrooms, noting more signs of recent occupation. The first door he came to had once been Bishop’s, and, as he glanced inside, he saw that it was empty. Briefly, he wondered what had happened to Bishop, and if he was still out in space somewhere with the madwoman Deathbird. Remy pushed his concern away. Bishop could take care of himself. If it were even remotely possible, he knew Bishop would find his way home.

The next door was Bobby’s. Bobby Drake, who had left the X-Men temporarily to be with his family. This room was occupied, with a mattress on the floor in one corner and a small pile of clothes apparently serving as the dresser. Remy didn’t see anything that gave him an insight into who might be using the room now.

He moved on. The other rooms in the men’s wing were the same. He couldn’t find anything that proved to him that the X-Men were still there. Finally, he let his feet take him toward the women’s wing. There was one room there he could check. No matter how little might be inside, he was certain he would know if the owner was still living there.

He paused at the entrance to Rogue’s room, oddly nervous, then pushed the door open and walked in. He stopped in the center of the room and turned a circle, absorbing the interior. The door swung slowly shut behind him and as he completed his turn, he found himself staring into his reflection in the mirror mounted on the back of the door. But it wasn’t the sight of his own face that made his blood run cold. It was the playing card taped to the center of the mirror. Creased, water stained and singed around the edges, the queen of hearts stared back at him.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, until a flicker at the edge of his perception demanded his attention. Down in the depths of the underground complex, someone moved. Two someones, he corrected as they came more fully into his range. They were too far away for him to identify, but he didn’t worry about that as he ran for the lifts.

Remy drew three cards but didn’t charge them as the lift doors slid open. He’d been able to resolve the motion of the two people as the lift descended, enough to realize that they were familiar, but not people he had enough exposure to to identify exactly. So they couldn’t be X-Men. Cautiously, he moved out into the hall, picking a course to intercept them.

As he moved through the complex, he was stunned to realize that it wasn’t just the house above that had been emptied. Everything was gone. Hank’s lab was barren. Cerebro was gone. The Blackbirds were no longer in the hangar, and even the tools and spares had been taken. He was so startled by the sheer quantity of what was missing that he didn’t think about the path he was taking until he turned the corner and found himself standing before the door leading down into the Morlock tunnels. He felt the blood drain slowly from his face. The words, "This way to a dark ride" were scratched into the door’s metal surface, and he wondered with a sinking sense of horror which X-Man might have written that.

Shuddering, he forced himself to go on down the hall. The two he tracked were just ahead, their movements consistent with a slow exploration of the area. He slowed, his footsteps becoming utterly silent as he crept around the last corner and stopped in the doorway of what had once been the War Room. Surprised by who he found, but still somewhat reassured, he cleared his throat.

Lilandra Neramani whirled, instinctively raising her staff of office. Beside her, Gladiator also spun and stepped protectively in front of his Empress. They both stared at Remy for a moment before slowly relaxing.

Lilandra set the butt of her staff back on the floor with a dull thunk. "Gambit." She glanced behind him, as if expecting to find others there. "Where are the X-Men?"