“It’s Anya,” Lensherr interjected, an unmistakable trace of desperation in his voice. “I want her to live.”
The Professor tilted his head to one side, confused by the statement. “I’m not certain I understand what you’re asking of me.”
“I want you to promise me, Charles,” Lensherr insisted. “Give me your word that, no matter what may happen once I have turned the Cube over to you, you will preserve and protect my daughter’s life.” Xavier’s eyes widened in surprise. Out of all the favors he’d imagine Magneto would ask of him, this request had been the farthest from his mind.
“Erik, I. .he began slowly. “I’m not certain I can make such a promise. There’s a risk that anything remaining from this world—even Anya—might exacerbate the situation, might cause irreparable damage to the omniverse—”
“Damn you, Xavier!” the mutant overlord bellowed. “Are you so dedicated to your view of what must be that you would destroy all I have done—the dream we both hold dear—that you would sacrifice the one thing that has finally healed my soul?”
The Professor’s gaze lowered. It was hard enough saying words even he didn’t want to say without having to look his old friend in the eye.
“Erik, you must believe me,” he said softly. “I wish there was another way to restore the cosmic balance, some way to keep even a small portion of the wonders you’ve created... but there isn’t.” Slowly, he raised his head. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, “but no trace of this world can remain, if the omniverse is to survive.”
Xavier steeled himself for the inevitable. He waited for his oldest friend—his oldest enemy—to lash out in anger, using either his magnetic powers or the cosmic energies of the Cube to wipe him from existence. Waited for the killing blow he knew would come—and prayed silently that his death would be a quick one.
But then, slowly, the lightning faded from Lensherr’s eyes. His shoulders sagged, and the feral snarl into which his mouth had seemed permanently set just a moment ago faded into a deeply furrowed frown. The transformation was startling—gone was the Master of the World, the master of the Cosmic Cube, the terrifying mutant overlord called Magneto; in his place stood a tired, beaten old man.
Lensherr sighed, and his entire body shuddered from the effort. Wordlessly, he turned from the Professor, and walked over to a window. He stood there, silently watching the lights of the city, for a number of minutes. Xavier remained where he was, not sure what to do next. Magneto’s sudden fit of depression had taken him by surprise, but he knew that, if he pushed too hard about the dangers posed by the Cube, the ennui that gripped the scarlet-clad villain could quickly become a murderous rage.
“I thought, perhaps, you would act differently about this, Charles,” Lensherr finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Threatening me with harm, as you did last night—such words come as no surprise. You and I have had similar exchanges, far too many to count... although it has usually been my role in those little dramas to be the one who delivers such ominous declarations, and you and your students the ones facing extermination. Heaven knows I’ve come close enough to killing all of you on a number of occasions, so I can understand your reluctance to help me on any level.
“But Anya is ... not like you or I. She ... her life has never become a vicious circle of hatred and prejudice and despair. She’s never experienced the horrors of a cruel, fearful world; never had her innocence savagely stripped away; never been tom from her mother’s arms, knowing she will never see her parents alive again.” He turned from the window, a haunted look darkening his blue-gray eyes. “You were my last hope, Charles—the last chance to preserve a part of my legacy. Anya was—is—the one truly good thing I’ve ever done in my life. Why should she be made to suffer for the sins of her father? ”
“Please, Erik . . .” Xavier said quietly. “You’re not making this decision any easier—”
“It’s not supposed to be easy, damn you!” Lensherr roared. He pointed an accusatory finger at the Professor. “You keep talking of the lives of countless billions threatened by the Cube’s power—faceless billions you don’t even know, who shall never know you, and to whom you owe nothing! But you’ve met Anya, you’ve seen how much she means to me. You know the guilt I’ve had to live with, the emptiness in my soul I’ve felt since the day she died.”
Xavier nodded in agreement, but said nothing.
“Then, why, Charles?” Lensherr demanded, stepping toward him. “Why can’t you make this one exception?” He gestured in the direction of the Cube, hidden behind the framed painting on the other side of the room. “I’m going to die soon-—the dream will follow me into oblivion once I have drawn my last breath. I’m willing to accept that fact, willing to turn the Cube over to you now, before that happens, while there’s still time to preserve a tiny piece of it. Why, then, can’t you find it in your heart to do this one thing for me? For us? Can you only see Anya as some sort of example of the singleminded goals I once pursued, instead of the embodiment of all the good I have achieved?”
Lensherr sighed. “We were friends, you and I, long before our philosophical differences caused us to drift apart. . .” His voice trailed off, and he stood silently, eyes closed. His hands clenched into tight fists, and a slight tremor ran through his body. It looked as though he was fighting a battle with himself, forcing his next words through stiffened lips: “I have never been one to beg, Charles ...”
“Erik, listen to me,” Xavier replied. “It’s not that I don’t want to help you, but with the very fabric of reality unraveling around us, even a small piece of your fantasy-realm might prevent us from reversing the destruction caused by the Cube. If there was some way for me to protect Anya, I would not hesitate to take advantage of it.” He shook his head sadly. “It’s true that we’ve had our differences over the years, but I would never seek to cause you misery by striking at your family—you know that.”
The mutant overlord opened his mouth, as though to argue the point, then stopped. He frowned, then gently nodded his head. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
Lensherr inhaled deeply, slowly releasing the breath through his nostrils. “All right, Charles, all right,” he said wearily. “You win. I have made my arguments, and you remain unmoved.” He lowered himself onto a nearby sedan and closed his eyes, resting his head against the cushions. “Nevertheless, I gave you my word, and I shall honor that promise.” He waved a hand at the large oil painting on the far side of the room, behind which the Cube lay hidden. “Take the damnable device—and may God have pity on your miserable soul for what you do with it.”
The heated comment was like a physical slap to the Professor’s face, and he flinched from the blow. Ignoring the Cube, he remained seated, staring at the colorfully-garbed man lying before him. It was a sobering sight for Charles—he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Erik look so vulnerable. Had he ever seen him look this vulnerable? The man had been a powerhouse for as long as Xavier had known him—a force of nature that not even death itself had been able to stop. “Vulnerable” had never been a word the Professor would have ever used to describe his former friend. But now. . . now, though, he looked drained—of energy, of life, of the will to live. Fantasy though she might be, Anya’s presence in Lensherr’s life had greatly affected him, and having at last come to the realization that he could do nothing to save her. ..
The weight of his decision sat heavily upon Xavier’s shoulders . . . and he hated himself for the choice he had been forced to make. Knowing that he was right, that there had been no other conclusion to reach given the severity of the situation, did nothing to ease the burden.
“Tell me, Charles,” Lensherr suddenly asked, his eyes still closed, “are you familiar with the writings of Christopher Dawson?”
“Not as much as I would like,” Xavier admitted.
The mutant overlord nodded, as though in understanding. “He was a British cultural historian and educational theorist, bom at the turn of the twentieth century. A gifted, ins
ightful man—you might even consider him a visionary. As Hitler’s jackbooted animals marched across Europe, as my family and I were rotting away in that squalid hellhole called Auschwitz, Dawson saw the direction in which the world was heading. There is a line in his Judgment of the Nations that proves how well he understood the dark days ahead—a line that, based upon your responses this day, I consider all too appropriate for this occasion: ‘As soon as men decide that all means are permitted to fight evil, then their good becomes indistinguishable from the evil that they set out to destroy.’ ”
Lensherr opened his eyes, and gazed evenly at his old friend. “How does it feel, Charles—being the villain this time?”
For perhaps the first time in his life, Charles Xavier could think of nothing to say.
18
T WAS becoming a nightmare from which she seemed unable to
awaken.
_ As she gazed down at the chessboard that floated before her,
Roma felt a cold weight settle over her soul. In the center of the black onyx and white ivory squares were two white pieces: miniature representations of Charles Xavier and Elisabeth Braddock. The Professor— the king—sat in his hoverchair, his finely detailed features set in an expression of fierce determination. Beside him, the female warrior called Psylocke—one of the knights—was garbed in her traditional costume; one gloved hand was tightly gripping the hilt of a katana. Roma stared at them despondently, for they were the only white pieces on the board. Surrounding them were a collection of black pieces, posed menacingly as if to strike: Magneto, Doctor Doom, and the X-Men who had traveled to Earth, only to fall victim to the very madness they’d tried to end: Phoenix. Cyclops. Nightcrawler. Rogue. Wolverine. For some reason, she could not locate the piece representing the last member of the team: Gambit. Its absence only served to increase the feelings of anxiety that plagued her thoughts.
Much to her surprise, however, there was one other black piece on the board—one she couldn’t identify; one she hadn’t placed. Its features were indistinct, half-formed, and it stood off to the side, as though waiting for . . . what?
Roma picked up the Psylocke piece and studied it in the dim, gloomy lighting of the throneroom. It had been this figurine that had given her the first inkling of serious trouble in the omniverse. While Elisabeth had been under the controlling influence of von Doom during the time he’d held the Cube, she had come to believe that she was not a mutant, or even a member of the X-Men, but rather a cabaret singer. As Roma now knew, that second life actually belonged to an alternate version of the lavender-tressed telepath, who lived on a von Doom-controlled alternate Earth. But the Cube’s restructuring of Elisabeth’s psyche had not just changed the X-Man; it had caused her chess piece to morph, from warrior to chanteuse and back again. That peculiar instability had repaired itself, it seemed, the moment Psylocke materialized within the walls of the citadel.
Frowning, Roma wished Merlyn had bothered to explain why the board and its pieces seemed to know more about what was going on in the omniverse than the Guardian who protected it. It could be most frustrating at times.
Behind her, the main doors to the chamber opened slightly, and a figure dressed in a flowing white gown slipped inside. From the outside corridor came the brief sounds of shouting and feet scuffling, but they were sharply cut off by the closing of the doors.
“Did you grow tired of waiting, Satumyne?” Roma asked, putting just enough emphasis in the question to make it clear her lieutenant shouldn’t make a habit of disobeying her orders.
“Forgive my impertinence, m’lady,” the Majestrix said, “but you did summon me earlier, and—” she glanced over her shoulder “—I have had my fill of arrogant children for one day.”
A faint smile crossed Roma’s lips. “I do so wish that you and Captain Alecto would reconcile your differences, Satumyne.”
“If m’lady commands it...” Satumyne replied, “. . . although I am certain you have more important things on your mind than how I interact with the staff.”
Roma nodded and sighed. “Yes. After much soul-searching, I have made my final decision—the crystal must be destroyed now. Charles Xavier and Elisabeth Braddock have had more than enough time to reverse the Cosmic Cube’s effects—” she gestured toward the darkened scrying glass “—and yet the situation remains unchanged.”
Her Whyness shrugged. “If you think that’s best, m’lady.”
Roma paused, and glanced at her trusted aide. For someone who had so eagerly campaigned for her to end the threat posed by the Cube, Satumyne seemed strangely unconcerned about so grave a matter. Perhaps she was just being polite, not wishing to appear disrespectful now that Roma had at last come over to her way of thinking. Perhaps she no longer cared. Perhaps—
The Guardian shook her head. There had been enough contemplation on her part; now was the time to take action.
“Come, Satumyne,” she said, and gestured toward the collection of life crystals. “Let us put an end to this madness.” She moved across the transept, heading for the platform, with the heavy tread of someone being led to their execution.
And then the main doors burst open, and Captain Alecto came flying into the throneroom.
He crashed down onto the cold, stone floor and bounced twice before coming to rest in the center of the main aisle. A low moan escaped his lips, and he made a feeble attempt to rise, only to sink back down and lie still.
As the Supreme Guardian stared in disbelief at the sight of her finest warrior lying broken and bloodied, virtually at her feet, his attacker entered the throneroom. Candlelight gleamed off the parts of his armor that were not concealed beneath dark-green cloth. Behind a facemask of gleaming metal, dark-brown eyes glared at her in triumph.
“Von Doom!” Roma snapped angrily, lips pulled back in an uncharacteristic snarl. “You dare enter my chamber in so bold a manner, after all the chaos you have unleashed upon the omniverse?”
The dictator strode across the vast room, boot heels ringing sharply against the flagstones that lined the floor. “Doom dares much, woman, when the prize he seeks is within his grasp!”
“Prize?” Roma’s eyebrows rose in an inquisitive fashion. Did that mean he had come to try and depose her? That he was challenging a Guardian of the Ominverse—a celestial being with limitless power— for possession of the throne? Could he truly be that arrogant, that foolish, as to think he stood a chance against her in battle?
It was utter nonsense, and she had no time to waste on a power-hungry madman suffering from delusions of grandeur—especially when she had far more important matters to attend to, like trying to repair all the damage he had caused to reality with his scientific blundering. But if it was power von Doom craved, Roma decided, then let him have his fill of it—at the center of the vortex. Let him experience the terrifying forces of Creation, and know what it means to anger the protectress of the omniverse—before the temporal and spatial currents tear him apart. She raised her hands, prepared to rid herself of him once and for all.
Her intended attack was cut short, however, as a sharp, unfamiliar sensation exploded across the back of her head. She staggered forward, surprised at having temporarily lost her sense of balance. It took her a moment to recognize what she was experiencing.
Physical pain. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt it, but she definitely recalled its unpleasantness. Was the dull ache at the base of her skull supposed to be this intense? Did it have any connection to the black spots that danced before her eyes, making it difficult to see?
She’d seen how the limitations of the flesh had affected Merlyn, when one of his cosmic chess matches had gone wrong—his hands had been burned while he protected a piece from harm. So she knew that, immortal though she might be, her unusual longevity did not guarantee protection from injury. But still. ..
Dazed, she turned to face her attacker, and was shocked to discover it was her dearest friend and confidante. The Majestrix had unbuckled the heavy belt she always wore ar
ound her waist and now held it in two hands, wielding it like a club. Roma noticed the gleaming jewel in its center was speckled with drops of blood. Placing a hand on the back of her head, the Guardian was surprised to find her scalp was disturbingly moist and tacky.
“S-Satumyne?” she stammered. “But, why ... ?” Her voice suddenly trailed off, as she saw the mad gleam in the woman’s visible eye—and then she knew. This wasn’t her friend, but an imposter. Yet, the only alternate version of her trusted aide who could be so bold as to openly confront a Guardian of the Omniverse would be ...
“No . . .” she whispered hoarsely.
Sat-yr-nin grinned broadly. “Oh, yes ...”
Any other thoughts Roma might have been about to express were lost in a spasm of incredible pain, as a burst of charged particles struck her in the back, spinning her around before roughly slamming her to the floor.
“I-impossible . . .” the Guardian said through gritted teeth as the energy discharge continued to bum its way into her brain’s pain centers, overwhelming them. “N-no w-weapon can function inside the c-citadel...” She struggled to regain her feet, but could only succeed in balancing on one knee.
“So I understand,” von Doom replied coolly. “But then, this is not a weapon—it’s one of the medical devices you used to separate me from my elderly doppelganger, modified for my armor.” He fired again, and Roma stiffened, mouth agape, head snapped back, eyes wide as saucers. The pain this time was so intense she was unable to make a sound.
And then another Roma suddenly peeled away from her body, and dropped to the floor, unconscious.
Von Doom stepped forward, and gazed down at the prostrate Guardian and her insensate twin. The second woman looked exactly the same as her “sister,” but this one’s hair was cut short, the ends frosted a cool pink color, and her clothing consisted of leather pants and boots, and a cut-off T-shirt emblazoned with the word megadeath, whatever that meant. Her left ear was punctured with a dozen or more metal studs; another two pierced her left nostril.
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