PALE REIGN OVER GESHEM CHAPTER 2, by Abyss -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hello again, Abyss here. I would just like to thank all of you who emailed to let me know what you thought. I also have to mention, the land of Geshem was originally featured in two Wolverine Annuals; Rhane of Terra, and Knight of Terra. These were written by Marvel, and while I do think they were two of the best Wolvie stories ever, I am afraid I cannot afford to send copies to all of you who requested them. Many of the adapted characters in the story are from those books. Most are written in by myself. If any of you have particular chracters you would like to see, let me know and I'll see what I can do. Oh yeah, before I forget; DISCLAIMER; The following work uses characters and ideas that are the property of Marvel Comics. The author is receiving no payment for this. It is for private enjoyment only, and may not be sold for profit. Anyhoo, read on, things are about to pick up in the story, and if you thought it was interesting so far, hold onto your chair, cause its about to take off... As always, Hawk is awesome for posting this. Comments, suggestions, stock market tips and criticisms are most welcome, even if it is just a short letter to say you like the story, you hate the story, you like how i'm doing this, you despise it... anything really. I'll be posting about a chapter a week from here on, and the next few won't be quite as big as the first two. Exams tend to interfere with reality now and then... Keep the faith, enjoy the show, Abyss. ************************************************ Pale Reign Over Geshem, Chapter 2 - by Abyss * * * The Hunter sensed them before she saw them. The way the birds suddenly stopped singing. The slight whicker of her horse in a clearing away from the cave entrance. The shadows slipping from tree to tree. She glanced at the sky above. The sun was just beginning to set. Night was definitely the Pale Man's creatures' time, but they weren't limited to it. Not by any means. She could feel the faint tingling on the back of her neck that meant the Mage was casting his spell. She wished he would hurry, but it didn't matter. There wasn't really anywhere to go. As Tabitha watched, the Mage finished his drawings and sat down, cross legged. His eyes were closed, but she could see small flashes of blue light around the edges of his good eye. The flashes became brighter, and more frequent, then they weren't just flashes, but a nimbus of blue light that covered first his face, then his whole left side, and then his entire body. The air in the cave seemed like lightning had just raged through. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end, and a slight discomfort settled in her stomach. She had been around magical workings before, but this one seemed... different, almost unnatural, if such a description could be applied to such a thing. The Mage inhaled, a sound so sharp Tabitha jumped as the silence of the cave was broken. He held the breath for seconds that dragged like hours, and then he let it go. The breath was no mere exhalation. Pure white light left his mouth and nose, and drifted like smoke into the cave. Wisps of it drifted around her and she couldn't move to avoid it, yet it barely brushed her. It's touch was cold and hot and disturbing all at once. Another light added it self to the room as the Mage opened his eyes, and Tabitha followed his gaze to the three disembodied pieces lying where they had fallen on the cave floor. The drifting light gathered in the centre of the room, and flowed to the bloody pieces, growing brighter as it did so. It split, dividing equally into three parts, approaching eye, hand, or heart. Tabitha watched in wonder as the body pieces she had forced herself to carve from the body of a dead lord of the realm disappeared within the light, and then forms began to take shape. At first they were only indistinct blurs, then slowly they began to sharpen, become manlike... There was a sound that broke the silence of the cave. It took Tabitha a moment to identify it, but it was all too familiar to her. It was the sound of a body falling to the ground. Tabitha looked to the source, her hand reaching for the knife hidden in the folds of her skirts. A tall figure, shrouded in a heavy cloak, blocked most of the starlight coming in through the entrance to the cave. The Hunter's body lay at his feet. Arrayed around him were others, some of whom she recognized from the fall of the castle, more who were just strange forms in the suddenly threatening night. .. When he spoke, the tall figure's voice was like death itself, deep, strong, and full of contempt. "Ahhhh, Mage, Mage, Mage... had I but known you would be all this trouble, I would have used a stronger corruption sending... Pyre," He gestured to one of his followers. A young woman with striking red hair stepped forward. "...if you would be so kind?" Realization and action were almost one to the serving-girl become resistance fighter. Images of a hellish night at the castle that was once her home sprung to her mind. This was the one who had imprisoned her princess, and killed so many of her friends. This was the enemy, the Pale Man himself. Resolve and futility warred within her. Even as Tabitha drew back her hand to throw the knife, she knew there was nothing she could do. The woman called Pyre burst into flame, lighting up the cave entrance and blinding her. Her throw ruined, knife still in hand, Tabitha blinked and tried to clear her vision, but what she saw couldn't have been real. Where the woman had been was now a cloud of ash, which flowed across the room, towards the Mage who had was concentrating on his spell. When the ashes struck him, he cried out, fury and pain and frustration in his voice. The ashes ignited anew... and then all hells broke loose. * * * The Mage's light was everywhere suddenly. The cave was lit as bright as day. Tabitha could hear the cloaked figure, the Pale Man, shouting something, but the entire cave seemed filled with a roaring wind. A scream, barely heard nearby, caused her to look up, just in time to see the red haired woman called Pyre fall to the ground. The Mage was on his feet, though from his looks, just barely. The Pale Man's minions crouched behind their master. Between the Mage and the others, three spectres of light flickered in the dimming brilliance of the cave. "Nathan, Nathan, Nathan...," The Pale Man sounded as though he were chiding a child. He looked down at the crouching Mage through red eyes that glowed in the shadows of his hood. He reached up and pulled the cowl back, and Tabitha gasped. His face was as pale as a corpse, hideously lit by the crimson slits that were his eyes. His face was all hard lines and sheer surfaces, and on his forehead, near the mass of thick black hair, a mark like a black diamond. He smiled, and Tabitha saw his teeth were like those of a shark she had seen caught at the coast. "...I am almost disappointed in you." The tall, deathly white figure waved his hand, and a swath of crimson energy flew across the space before him. Tabitha watched with dismay as the red shimmering blast collided with the three spectres of the Mage's own pale blue light, and dispersed them, shards of light flying everywhere. The Pale Man gestured once. There was the sound of displaced air behind him, and a similar bamf' near the Mage, as a creature that could only be a demon appeared out of this air and hit the Mage across the head with a three-fingered fist. The Mage dropped and the howling in the cavern ceased as well. Tabitha could barely see the creature. It was manlike, almost naked, but for briefs, and she could see it was covered with dark blue, almost black fur. The faintest hint of sulphur reached her nose. "Well done, Crawler." The creature seemed to shake in ecstasy at it's master's praise. It stood over the fallen Mage, fists clenched, leathery tail twitching from side to side. "Golem, pick the Mage and his companions up." Something huge and shining moved forward. Tabitha's eyes widened. It was a man, but easily a head again as big as even the tallest of men, and covered in iron, or made of it. Half his face was covered with a metallic mask, featureless except for an eyeslit, while the other, like the rest of him, looked metallically, impossibly human. And even worse, impossibly familiar. If not for the mask, this could be one of the knights who had rode out with the lord-Consort before the coming of the Beast and the fall of the castle. *Tabitha...* She had to force herself not to start. The golem was picking up the Mage, but she could hear his voice...in her head! *It IS me Tabitha, but there's no time to explain. When the golem comes to pick you up, close your eyes, then grab Stephanie if you can, and flee.* Her thought were chaos... *Dammit girl, there's's no time for panic, if the Land is to have any hope. Find Lord Summerisle, find the basilisk mask, free the land...* Tabitha had a million questions, but they all flew from her head as the creature of steel approached. She lay where she was, cowering, and then the Mage acted... Blue light burst through the cave yet again. She barely had time to shield her eyes. This wasn't like before, this light was fire unleashed, and radiated... power. The golem was frozen, as were all the Pale Man's minions, as were all in the cave, except for Tabitha. Stunned, confused, she forced herself to her feet. *Hurry girl, hurry, I can't hold this long...* With a cry of pure fear and frustration, she forced herself towards the entrance of the cave. The Hunter lay there, and Tabitha grabbed her up as she went directly by the Pale Man, who even now was forming an aura of energy around himself, bloodlike crimson dispersing the Mage's vibrant blue. The girl pulled the older woman's arm over her shoulder and pushed for the door. There was the sound of an explosion as they entered the trees. Dragging Stephanie with her, Tabitha ran for their lives into the night, all the while cursing the Mage. "Find Lord Summerisle, Mage, you soulblack bastard, you already sent me to cut out his damn heart from his corpse..." * * * His first instinct was that he had stepped into a danger room scenario. One second he was running towards the biosphere entrance, the next he was hanging onto a mountaintop for dear life. He had the strangest sensation of have been somewhere else, surrounded by people, yet it was unclear, like a waking dream. He looked around as best he could. He was high above a forest that stretched roughly as far as he could see, which wasn't very, because his cheek was pressed up against the rock, along with most of his body. Instinct, honed by years of training, kicked into overdrive. He released the deathgrip his right hand had on the rocky surface, flexed his hand, and moved it to a better location, closer to his left. He then shuffled his feet around so that the toes and not the edges were resting on the rock. The specially designed boots of his uniform gripped the thin edges well enough to be secure. He leaned back against his arms and looked around with a bit more freedom. First he looked up. The top of the mountain was lost in the clouds. Next he looked down. The forest was far, far below, but at least he knew it was there. Tightening his left hand grip, he released the right and fumbled at his combat harness. In a moment, he disconnected a cigarette pack sized metal case. The wind blew coldly at this height, but though he could feel it on his face, the unstable molecules of his costume protected him. The case was pushed edgewise against the rockface, and his thumb pushed down on a corner. There was the hiss' of a gas cartridge going off. He pulled back the case, and a thin cable stretched out of the spike driven into the stone. A quick motion connected the case to the X' symbol of his belt buckle, then he relaxed. "Bless you Forge." he said out loud. "If only you had included something against unwanted teleports..." He depressed the corner of another pack, this one on his belt. Then thought better of it. *I don't know where I am, so setting off a homing beacon may not be the best idea just yet. Where on Earth..., then again, I may not even BE on Earth, this could be a pocket dimension, or Limbo, or an alternate future, or I could be being tested....* His mind racing with possibilities, Cyclops, co-leader of the X-men, began the long climb down. * * * He looked around, confused. This wasn't a section of the park he recognized. A moment ago, he had been on the jogging trail, now he was... well... lost. But, the air seemed... different, and somehow everything felt... wrong. It took him a moment to register why. Where were the sounds of traffic, why did the birds sound strange? He stopped and looked around. The trail was gone, his dog, Havoc was no where to be found, and everything just seemed... wrong. To top it all, it was the middle of the night, and it had been midafternoon.. Seconds? Minutes? Hours ago? On the bright side, his leg was not hurting. Probably because there was no sign of the rain that had been soaking the park all day. No droplets soaked his face, no moonlit shine of moisture on the grass. *I must have passed out and wandered around... but I haven't had a blackout since I was a child...* He looked at the moon, took a bearing and started jogging west, towards where he thought the river should be. After about an hour he came upon a trail, wide and clear enough to be seen even at night. Relieved, he began to follow it. Voices finally began to filter through the trees to him, so he picked up the pace, trying to catch up and maybe find out where he was. Ahead, the moon reflected off of something metallic. Scott Summers stopped dead. It was a man, tall, made all of metal, walking with another man carried over his shoulder. "What the hell...?" He slowed down a bit and continued to approach. *Maybe a parade or something...* But something seemed wrong, some sixth sense screamed danger at him, like he had only felt once before, in the Iraqi desert, on the run for his life. Without knowing why, he slowed down even more. Hard hands grabbed him suddenly, roughly, pulling him into the woods. A grip like steel closed over his mouth, as he was dragged backwards by the collar. Scott tried to struggle, but the assailant had the advantage of surprise. In a moment, he found himself shoved face-first up against a tree, one arm twisted painfully behind his back. The grip on his mouth shifted to his throat. "I can break your neck before you scream. Don't try. Understand?" Scott nodded his head. The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it. "Where am I?" "What?" The grip tightened around his throat. "You heard me." "Wilson park... I think..." "Next joke will be your last..." The grip had faltered slightly, and Scott had reacted as trained by the United States Air Force; suddenly and violently. His leg came up hard against the mugger's instep, then he pivoted and brought his fist around into the man's face. The grip on his arm loosened and he pulled his arm free, ignoring the ache in his shoulder to swing a hard left cross to the man's cheek. Scott felt his hand connect with something metal, sharp pain making him grit his teeth, even as his opponent twisted away from the blow, grunting in pain. The man jumped back, and Scott had his first clear look at the man, and the man looked back, into a twisted mirror. * * * Prelate Summers had been confused, and the burning in his chest hadn't helped clear his head. That he was no longer on the bridge in the dying city was clear, but everything else was like a twisted memory of his childhood. A forest, but without the red haze of the Magneto effect that had coloured the sky since the rebel's confrontation with Apocalypse, without the contrails of high altitude Sentinel flyovers. The lone human had seemed a logical source of information, except for the little fact he was looking in the face of a twin. Confusion, rage, curiosity... all twisted together in the prelate's mind. He was looking at... himself, but not... it was Scott Summers, but hardly the heavily muscled frame he had worked so long to develop, and of course, he had two good eyes, with no facial scars from the claws of a certain renegade mutant. *Two eyes, and no visor... how can this be? * * * * Both men spoke at once. "Who are you?" Scott crouched low, his combat training running through his head, he took a simple karate stance and faced the other man. He was disturbed by the resemblance, by the strange costume the man was wearing, like a blue jumpsuit with combat harness, and the chest had been torn away, revealing nasty looking burns beneath, and by the fact that he bore more than a passing resemblance to the face he shaved every morning in the mirror! But this face was scarred. Long hair was held back by sweat and dirt, and though the man was wearing some kind of weird goggles, he could see the long scars running down the left side of the man's face. One side of the eyewear had a deep red lens over the eye, but the other was a just a smooth metal brace. A small radio piece, similar to a pilot's, was hanging, broken by his punch. The prelate saw the combat stance and disregarded it. It looked practised, mechanical, and totally predictable, besides, one optic blast could take his double out no problem. He was more concerned with the possibilities: a clone Sinister had created? A shapeshifter? What? Prelate Summers had already decided to take the double down, when a vaguely familiar noise caused him to drop to the ground and kick out. He knew that noise, it was the x-man Nightcrawler's teleport signature. He felt his boot connect with a foe's midsection, even as the action made the pain in his chest return, fiercer than before. Scott Summers didn't understand what was happening. One second the one-eyed man was just looking at him through that unnerving visor, the next he was kicking out at some black furred freak that had appeared out of thin air. The newcomer took the blow hard, but rolled back in mid-air and recovered to his feet instantly, confronting the man, who was crouched on the ground, arms folded over his chest. Summers' mind raced. He had heard about mutants, but they were so rare, he couldn't accept he was watching one, maybe two, fight it out in the city park! Let alone that one was a twisted twin of himself! Shouts broke his train of thought. Two men were running at him. They were in full medieval costume, metal plates on leather vests, heavy boot, right down to the swords they were carrying. Long cloaks flowed out behind them, and their faces were lost in the depths of heavy hoods. It could have been a trick of the moonlight, but he could almost swear their eyes were... glowing? Glowing red? More importantly, they didn't look friendly. *Parade or gang fight, I'm out of here.* Summers turned from the running men and broke for the trees. Another swordsman appeared in front of him, shouting from the depths of his hood, his voice a threat and command all at once. "Stop!" Summers didn't slow down, he ducked in low and hit the man in the gut, just below the plating of the armor. The man doubled over and Scott followed through with a hard blow to the chin, or at least where he thought the chin should be. The connection felt right, even though it stung the cut he had received on his double's radio piece. The armored attacked folded and Scott ran into the trees. Behind him, he heard a sound like a muffled jet fighter engine warming up. He ignored it and kept running. * * * Prelate Summers saw the blue-furred attacker spring at him. His reaction was reflex. A beam of energy fired out of the red lens of his goggles, the sound of the blast ringing through the forest as it took the attacker in the chest. The prelate held back from a fatal blast, hoping he could convince the x-man he had changed sides. Shouts rang out from around him. Men were coming, armed with swords, but not dressed like any rebels or soldiers of Apocalypse he had ever seen. Dark hoods and full armor, and glowing red eyes. "Nightcrawler,... Darkholme, I'm on your side. Call then off..." A burst of pain in his chest doubled him over. The teleporter glared at him, and a deep growl emerged from his bared teeth. Prelate Summers forced himself to his feet. The shouts were closer, two armed men seconds from being right on top of him, and he wasn't going to hang around and hope they were friendly... The first man reached him, grabbing at his arm with a free hand, swinging the sword around with the other. The prelate brought a knee into the man's groin, then grabbed the sword arm and swung it around, hitting the other soldier in the face with the flat of the blade. His chest was on fire. He wasn't going to be able to keep this up for much longer without killing someone. The man he had kneed collapsed to the ground, retching noises emerging under the hood. Two more men ran up. An optic blast shattered one's knees out from under him. The angle of the blast sent him falling into the other's path, both falling tangled to the ground. A feral growl announced the mutant he had taken for Nightcrawler's next attack. The prelate looked and released a blast at the same time, but the sound of displaced air sent him diving away even as he fired. He kept rolling, the teleporter appearing again and again in the air, striking at the ground. As he rolled, he triggered another blast, this one into the ground, on an angle. Dirt and grass flew up into the air. The teleporter appeared just in time to get a face full. He was stunned, and the prelate hit him with a blast hard enough to send him across the clearing and into a cluster of saplings. Not lethal, but definitely not gentle either. Forcing himself to ignore the waves of pain in his chest, Prelate Summers, briefly a Horseman to Apocalypse in a reality that should never have been, ran into the woods. END CHAPTER 2