The Legacy Quest Trilogy

by Unknown Author

  Shaw didn’t rise to the bait. He didn’t even speak as Cyclops placed a gloved hand on his shoulder and gestured to him to stand. “We appreciate your getting us this far,” said the X-Men’s field leader, tight-lipped, “but I think we can dispense with your services now.” Nor did Shaw protest as he was guided firmly toward the rear of the plane. Jean followed her husband quietly, in case of trouble.

  But only after the Black King had been bound with rope in his own comfortable quarters did he break his self-imposed silence.

  “Good fortune!” he said quietly.

  Phoenix returned to the cockpit to find Storm already bringing the plane around over Hammer Bay’s once-bustling airfield. Within seconds, she was beginning her final approach.

  Iceman looked down into Wolverine’s eyes, numb with horror. He should have remembered how he was dressed, how it would look-but then, his teammate had not given him a second to explain himself. Even now, he could see no remorse in Logan’s gaze, no reaction at all.

  He had always heard that, when you were stabbed, you didn’t feel the knife. It was like taking a punch—until you felt yourself weakening as every beat of your heart pumped more blood out of your body. He felt like that now. He had seen the claws flashing toward him, had felt the solid blow beneath his breastbone-and now, the knuckles of Wolverine’s upturned fist were pressed into his chest as if they could keep his wound sealed. A cold flush had enveloped

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  claws had been retracted. “You got lucky, kid,” he growled. “I caught your scent at the last instant.”

  It had only been a punch, after all. Bobby wanted to say something, to voice a protest: “Is that supposed to be an apology?” But he was too giddy with relief. He could hardly breathe. He tore the mask from his face and hurled it away, taking in great gulps of air.

  “Are you OK?” asked Nightcrawler.

  “Don’t suppose you’ve seen any sign of Rogue?” asked Wolverine before he could answer. When Bobby shook his head, he scowled and said: “This ain’t good. It’s past midnight in Sydney, and three-quarters of our strike team haven’t even had a sniff of the target. We need to get moving-that is, if we aren’t too late already!”

  “Perhaps Rogue has dealt with the situation on her own,” said Nightcrawler, but he sounded doubtful.

  “I’ve still got my comm-set,” offered Iceman.

  Wolverine shook his head. “No point blowing our cover now. If the good guys have won, we’ll find out soon enough. If not, we’ll need surprise on our side.”

  He led the way into the back of the house, where he forced a locked window. The three X-Men climbed out into an alleyway, and followed it until it met a street. It took them another ten minutes to find an abandoned car that looked fit to drive. Iceman didn’t recognize the make-it was a domestic Genoshan model—but, although the windscreen had been smashed, it hadn’t been burnt out like most vehicles on the road. Wolverine popped his claws, pried open the gas tank, sniffed at it and grinned. “Should get us where we want to go.”

  “It will attract attention,” warned Nightcrawler.

  “A risk we have to take.”

  Wolverine dropped into the driver’s seat and tripped the ignition like an expert. “Which way to Hammer Bay, elf?” he asked. “I wasn’t paying a whole lot of attention on the way here.”

  “I’ll drive,” said Nightcrawler firmly. “You need to rest.” It looked for a second as if Wolverine would argue—but, to Bobby’s surprise, he held his tongue. He simply climbed into the back of the car and rested his head on the seatback.

  Five minutes later, they had left the village behind them, and were roaring down an otherwise empty country road. The car’s engine ground like a hacksaw, and Bobby kept glancing over at the indicators on the dashboard, nervously. However, as the distinctive buildings of Hammer Bay came into view ahead of them, he found he had better things to wony about than the possibility of breaking down.

  He didn’t hear the small jet at first, the noise of its engines almost drowned out by that of the car. He only became aware of it as it appeared in the windscreen, having passed low over them. It must have been on its final approach—and like them, its destination was the Genoshan capital. Given that the island’s borders were supposed to be closed, it didn’t take Wolverine’s intuition to guess that the plane was important somehow. Squinting, Bobby could just about make out a red trident symbol on its tail frn.

  “I take it back,” muttered Wolverine from behind him. “Looks like we might just be in time for the fireworks after all.”

  Phoenix let out a breath of relief as the mutate guards stood aside, and she and her three colleagues marched into the command center. There had been a limousine waiting for them at the airport-but throughout the short journey here, she had had to maintain the belief in all onlookers that Magneto’s visitors were really Sebastian Shaw, his personal assistant and two bodyguards. Normally, this wouldn’t have been a problem-but it would have taken just one skilled telepath to pierce the X-Men’s disguise. In a country with a majority population of mutants, Jean had feared exposure at any second.

  The guards had wanted to escort the visitors to their sovereign’s throne room, but Cyclops had played the part of the Black King well, dismissing their offer with exactly the right amount of contempt. The quartet swept up a flight of steps, and then, after checking that no eyes were upon them, they slipped into the shadows of an adjoining corridor.

  Jean had been scanning the building, and she sensed a familiar set of thoughts. “I’ve found Rogue,” she reported. “She’s in a cell on the next level up. No trace of the others yet.” The Southern X-Man had felt Jean’s telepathic touch too, and she welcomed her into her mind. They didn’t converse as such; the exchange of information was much faster than that. Rogue simply allowed her friend to riffle through her recent memories.

  Phoenix relayed her findings to her teammates. “Magneto has a laboratory in the basement-and Rogue thinks it’s where the Legacy cure is kept. She can take us to it.”

  “OK,” said Cyclops. “It won’t be long before Magneto realizes we’re here. Hank, your job is to free Rogue and find that cure. As soon as you have it, the pair of you should get out of here. Don’t risk coming back for us!” A shadow passed over the Beast’s face, and Jean could see that he wasn’t entirely happy with his instructions. However, he didn’t argue.

  “And the rest of us, I assume ... ?” began Storm.

  “Will keep Magneto busy. For as long as we can, at least.”

  They went their separate ways, then. Phoenix placed an image of Rogue’s location in the Beast’s mind, and he loped away up the next flight of stairs. The rest of the X-Men raced along the corridor, no longer hiding behind a pretence. Jean hadn’t dared scan for Magneto’s presence, lest he detect her psychic tendrils—but she had picked up stray thoughts from a few of his minions, which suggested that he was indeed in his throne room.

  Cyclops didn’t hesitate for an instant when he reached the heavy metal door. He attacked it with a full-strength optic blast, which sent shrapnel flying inward. And the X-Men burst into the presence of their greatest foe.

  To find that he was ready for them.

  Magneto’s metal throne had been shaped out of an old magistrate workstation. It stood in the center of the room, dominating it-but unlike, say, Selene’s throne, it was not in any way ornate. Genosha’s ruler was not interested in the opulent trappings of power, merely in power itself. His throne didn’t even look particularly comfortable.

  Numerous thick cables straggled across the floor to plug into it, and the arms and back of the chair were festooned with dials and switches. From here, he could presumably override any mechanical or computerized device in the building, and perhaps beyond.

  The sloping wall behind the throne was studded with windows, which looked out over the master of ma
gnetism’s domain. The setting sun cast a dull red light through the glass. Magneto stood with his back to it, facing the door. He wore his full red and purple combat suit, and his metal gladiator’s helmet. His hands were clasped behind his back, and his eyes burnt with white-hot contempt for his three uninvited visitors. The shrapnel from the door hung in midair before him, a cloud of twisted scraps of metal.

  “I’m dismayed,” he said, “that you apparently think so little of me. Did you really believe I would be taken in by such an obvious ruse? No, I allowed you to enter my country for one reason alone: because you have proven yourselves too dangerous to remain free.”

  With a nod, he sent the shrapnel flying back toward them with the force of a hundred bullets. But Phoenix had anticipated such a move. It was hellishly difficult to seize so many small objects in her telekinetic grip, but she succeeded in deflecting those that would have caused herself or her friends harm. A telekinetic force bubble would have been more effective-but this way, there was nothing to stop her teammates from rushing to the counterattack even as the metal shards clattered off the wall behind them.

  Between them, Cyclops and Storm wielded some of the most powerful mutant energies yet identified—but Magneto had surrounded himself with a barrier of magnetic force, which coped admirably with the combination of energy beams and lightning. Phoenix held back, tiying to remain inconspicuous as she probed at the psi-shielding in his helmet. If she could penetrate it, she could take him in a second-but Magneto knew the X-Men’s abilities and strategies too well. Ignoring his closer foes, he extended a hand toward Jean and took control of her magnetic field. As she rocketed into the air, she was forced to break off her assault to concentrate on keeping herself from being dashed against the ceiling. Magneto hurled her this way and that, faster than she could apply the telekinetic brakes: it was like playing a furious game of Ping-Pong, with her body as the ball. She cannoned backward into one wall, the impact winding her. Magneto tried to press his advantage by slamming her into the floor, but she caught herself in time.

  Cyclops had switched tactics, aiming his optic blasts between his enemy’s feet. He blew a hole out of the floor, but Magneto simply levitated himself above it. Still, the distraction was enough to make him momentarily lose his hold on Phoenix. She flashed a quick telepathic message to Storm before trying to overbalance him by pulling his legs, force field and all, out from beneath him. The X-Men’s weather elemental applied a well-timed gust of hurricane-force wind—and Magneto staggered back and fell against his throne.

  The expression on his face was priceless: a mixture of astonishment and fury. Cyclops hammered at his force field again—and this time, some of his ruby energy penetrated it, and his target flinched as if stung. The X-Men had gained an early advantage, but they couldn’t afford to let up. Their opponent was too dangerous, especially when cornered. They hammered at him, hitting him with everything they had, just trying to keep him down.

  And then, the throne itself reared up, grinding and screeching as Magneto reconfigured its metal components into the shape of a gigantic fist. It hurtled toward Storm, who tried to fly out of its path— but the fist reacted with the speed of Magneto’s thoughts. It struck her in the back, and knocked her out of the air. With a wide-angle blast, Cyclops blew the fist to smithereens—but Magneto simply reformed it, the fragments coming back together as if in a piece of time-lapse photography shown backward. It swooped toward Phoenix next, and she only avoided it by leaping aside and simultaneously giving it a TK push away from her. It thudded heavily into the floor, almost punching through it.

  Magneto was back on his feet now. “No matter how many times I spare you,” he raged, “you won’t learn your lesson. You keep trying to thwart my ambitions!”

  “And no matter what you do, Lensherr,” contested Cyclops, “you’ll never change that. Even if you kill us, people will always rise against a tyrant like you!”

  He shoulder-charged Magneto, but rebounded from his field as if he had run full-tilt into a rock wall. Magneto then felled him with three powerful punches in quick succession, apparently relishing the use of his physical strength. Storm came at him again, but she was still groggy and she couldn’t get out of the way as the metal fist encircled her, turning into steel bands that pinned her arms to her sides.

  Magneto turned on Phoenix, then, and she gasped as she was buffeted by a wave of magnetic energy. When she was able to open her eyes again, she found herself pinned against the wall, her feet not quite touching the floor, Magneto’s sneering face an inch from hers. “I ought to be insulted,” he said, his anger having lessened now that he had the upper hand, “that you thought it would take only three of you to defeat me. I have fought three times as many X-Men to a standstill.”

  She could feel him in her veins, controlling the iron in her blood, exerting just enough pressure for her to start to feel the pain. Just enough to remind her that, should he so wish, he could turn that pain into unbearable agony. He could kill her in a heartbeat.

  “We’ve always stopped you before,” she said, defiant nonetheless, “no matter the odds.”

  “Oh, my dear Jean.” Magneto shook his head like a disappointed father. “So proud, so stubborn, so strong. I have allowed myself to harbor such high hopes for you. You could accomplish so much at my side, if only you would see the world as it truly is, if you could forget the naive dreams of your mentor.”

  He let her go, and she fell to the ground, exhausted and aching inside.

  “Of course,” he said, looking down at her with a dark smile, “you didn’t really expect to win this battle, did you? You only thought to keep me occupied for a time. Perhaps you thought I would have forgotten so soon that I encountered four X-Men in Sydney. It was a futile gambit. That Legacy cure is important to me, Jean. It is the foundation stone upon which I will build a new, more peaceful world. Henry McCoy will not leave the building with it.”

  Phoenix summoned all her remaining strength, and tried to hit him with a psi-bolt. She must have reached his mind, because his lips tightened and his nostrils flared—but if she caused him any more than a minor twinge of pain, he certainly didn’t show it. His eyes flashed angrily, and he delivered a stinging, backhanded blow to her cheek.

  And, at that moment, the windows behind him exploded.

  The three missing X-Men rode into the throne room on an ice slide, glass shards flying before them. They were a mismatched bunch-Nightcrawler in his red tunic, Wolverine wearing nothing but a frayed pair of khaki shorts and Iceman dressed in, of all tilings, a magistrate’s uniform—and Jean could hardly imagine what they must have been through to get here. But right now, she would have been hard pressed to think of a more delightful sight.

  The cavalry had arrived.

  The Beast put a foot against the wall to brace himself, wrapping both hands around the metal tube that clamped Rogue’s arm to that same wall. He strained with all the power of his sinews to tear it loose—but, even with the addition of his teammate’s much greater strength, he couldn’t make it budge.

  “I should have known that matters were proceeding with a suspicious lack of difficulty,” he muttered under his breath. Phoenix’s directions had taken him straight to Rogue’s cell, where he been surprised and pleased to find no guards posted outside. Just as happily, the simplistic lock had yielded to his manipulations after only a couple of minutes. The restraints around Rogue’s arms and legs, however, must have been created by Magneto using his control over all things metal. They had no clasps or keyholes, nor even seams into which he could pry his clawed fmgers. And they were riveted firmly to the metal-plated wall.

  Rogue looked weary, her face streaked with sweat and her striped hair in disarray. Hank wondered how long she had been forced to hang in this uncomfortable position, her limbs splayed out behind her. “I’d suggest you go on without me,” she said bravely, “but last time I was there, Magneto’s lab was guarded by one of Shaw’s watchdogs.” “Anyone whose acquaintance I have previously made?�
� “Holocaust.” '

  “Holocaust?”

  “Armored bruiser from some alternative dimension or other. Used to call himself Nemesis.”

  “I’m familiar with him,” said Hank, chagrined. “My outburst was prompted rather by the belief that his powers are considerably more than a match for our own.”

  “We’ll see about that,” growled Rogue through gritted teeth. “We’re X-Men. We don’t give in to anyone or anything. Not Holocaust, and not these blasted manacles!”

  “On three?”

  She nodded. Hank counted down, and they bent their combined strength to one final supreme effort. To the Beast’s satisfaction, it bore fruit; the metal tube was wrenched from the wall, and Rogue’s right arm was freed. After that, the left came easier: she could pull at this restraint with both hands, while the Beast supported her so that, still held by the legs as she was, she didn’t fall to the floor face first.

  “Leave Holocaust to me,” said Rogue as they worked together on her final manacle. “I can take him.”

  “Pardon my skepticism,” said the Beast. “I was under the impression that you had put that claim to the test already today-and that this period of incarceration was the result.”

  “I’ll be ready for him this time,” said Rogue stubbornly. “I don’t have to beat him outright, anyhow-so long as I can keep him busy while you do your part.”

  The Beast sighed. “Cyclops and the others are pursuing a similar course of action with regard to Magneto.” Rogue’s left leg came free at last, and he waited patiently while she sat and massaged her feet to restore circulation to them. “I cannot claim to feel entirely at ease,” he said, “with a plan that involves so many of my teammates endangering themselves against superior opponents on my behalf.”

  He didn’t tell her the rest of it. He didn’t tell her about the nagging guilt he had felt since Emma Frost had brought her news to the X-Men’s mansion. Nobody had blamed him for helping Shaw find a cure to the Legacy Virus: his friends had understood his reasons for doing what he had. Nobody had pointed out the fact that, were it not for him, Magneto’s plan could not have progressed this far. He had, nevertheless, set into motion a chain of events that had led to this moment. He had ignored the warning signs and taken an extreme risk, in the misguided belief that he could manage the consequences.