PALE REIGN OVER GESHEM - CHAPTER 18 by Abyss DISCLAIMER: All characters and ideas that are the property of Marvel Comics are used without permission, for no profit. This work may not be resold. It may be redistributed in its original form. And on a less formal note, comments, criticisms... even just a short email saying `I liked it.' are much appreciated. Keep the faith. ----------------------------------------------------------------- ------- The sorcerous energies he was working with were complex. They needed to be sanctified in the body of the enchanter who would invoke them, and then released into the vessels that would collect life-force for the invocation, and finally, they had to be reabsorbed. Only the essence of life itself, made unstable by a violent death, corrupted in a vessel of un-life... only such energies would allow a spellcaster to harness the greatest power in the Land. He would be the enchanter of course. Who else but the Pale Man, usurper of the throne of the land and sorcerer without peer, could conceive of and bring about a spell of this level of sophistication? He would succeed where others had failed. He would harness the living energies of the heart of the Land, by using the energy of the living... of the Land's people. Where others had been unable to control the enormous power involved, he would succeed. He gestured, and the guards pulled aside the massive doors of the throne room. A chorus of noises, the guttural cries and screams of the preyers, sounded within the dark hall. The Pale man opened his hands and let a surge of energy arc between his palms, and then cascade forwards, running like emerald waves across the floor, leaping high and driving the creatures back from the entrance. A moment longer to let the words of the spell run through his mind, and then he stepped forward into the room. The guards hurried to close the door behind him. Inside the hall, for the first time since the preyers were locked inside, all was silent. *** Pure chaos. Screams, smoke, the clash of steel on steel and the sickening sound of steel on flesh. Cyclops had lost track of how many opponents he had put down. The close confines of the tunnel limited the use of his optic blast, which meant he was down to hands, feet and brains. A bandit swinging a battle-axe cut down a thief and moved towards him. Cyclops caught the haft and wrestled the man for the weapon for a moment. Someone else, friend or enemy, it was impossible to tell, hit him hard in the back. He stumbled and the bandit with the axe grinned. A short optic blast shattered most of his teeth. The bandit was knocked away and Cyclops tossed the axe aside. He forced himself between the combatants and into a small gap in the fighting. The thieves had set up the barricade in the narrow main tunnel when the bandits had managed to block most of their escape routes and bolt holes. They were holding, but the bandits had numbers on their side. Cyclops suspected a large number of thieves were not in the fighting because they were busy moving merchandise elsewhere. Briefly, Cyclops saw the Gambler, battle-staff whirling from side to side, jumping from skirmish to skirmish. Again and again the bandits tried to take him down, and each time he fought clear, putting a score of bandits out of the fight in turn. The thieves were holding their own... *But for how long? We're outnumbered and boxed in... unless...* Taking a deep breath, Cyclops plunged back into the thick of the battle. *** It was like a riot in the Pens, only the participants were not desperate prisoners, weakened by starvation and mind-numbed by Apocalypse's pet telepath-brains. These were battle-crazed men who fought like Infinites and took plenty of punishment... for flatscans. Prelate Summers kicked a sword-thrusting opponent in the gut and sprang back, twisting and turning, swinging the broken halves of a spear like fighting sticks to make himself some room. Someone pushed up against his back. He whirled and almost crashed face-to-face with the Hunter. She was covered in blood, apparently none of it hers. Scarlett covered her, from the tips of her long knives to her elbows. For the briefest instant, she grinned at him, and the Prelate couldn't help but grin back. They both whirled around, back to back and fighting for their lives. Covering each other's rear, they could be more focused on their opponents. Seven bandits fell in quick succession before the soul-sworn fell back. A ring of steel circled the two, a brief island of contained violence in the greater chaos of the battle. "Suppose they expect us to sit here while they rush us." The Prelate shouted over his shoulder, splintered sticks held ready. "More the fools they are, then." was the Hunter's reply. She bent her knees and back flipped over the Prelate and into the bandits facing him, her knives extended and flashing. Even as she flew through the air, the Prelate spun in a quick half circle, a red sheet of concussive force disabling the bandits who had been facing the Hunter a moment before. "Prelate!" The call drew his ears, but his one eye was too busy tracking opponents to follow it. The sticks crossed over his head to block a sword blow. He turned the blade aside and shattered one of the sticks on a bandit's forehead. Another bandit lunged in with a spear, but a blue-clad leg extended from the press of fighters and snapped the haft, nailing the man in the gut and sending him sprawling underfoot in the melee. Prelate Summers saw his double force his way to his side. He noted with some amusement the man's clothes were barely creased. "Scott, what a pleasant surprise... having fun?" He had to yell to be heard in the melee. "Save it..." Cyclops had to pause as a bandit launched a sword-blow at his head. He ducked and drove a fist into the man's kneecap, followed by an uppercut to the jaw. "...we need some room to manoeuvre... Hunter!" "What?!" "Get Gam... get the Gambler to rally his thieves back behind the barricade." Whether she understood what he had in mind or not, Stephanie ducked low into the press of combat and darted off towards where a swirling cape and spinning staff marked the thieves' leader's struggle. An axe swinging bandit tried to stop her, and got his intestines spread across his shoes for it. She didn't even slow down as she cut him. Cyclops turned back to the Prelate, both of them keeping opponents at bay. "Follow my lead." The Prelate watched as Cyclops fought his way towards the barricade, not waiting to see if he followed. Irritation and admiration fought within his mind, The Prelate forced his way after him, pausing only to break the arm of a bandit who got in his way, and blast two more trying to attack a thief from behind. Battle-crazed seconds passed and he found himself up against the barricade. Thieves stood to either side, forcing soul-sworn bandits away with long pikes and jagged halbreds. Cyclops stood dead centre, optic blasts flaring angrily. The pikes and the blasts made enough clearance around the barricade for the Prelate to scramble next to Cyclops. He pushed his back against the crates and tables and looked into the corridor. Smoke and flame and whirling bodies were everywhere, and in the centre of it all, the spinning staff of the Gambler. In his own world, the Prelate had clashed only once with the man called Gambit, leader of a band of thieves. He had fought well, but run away at the first opportunity... *Whatever else he is, this one is a warrior worthy of the Elite.* *** Side by side with the Prelate, Cyclops covered the withdraw as the thieves fought their way back towards the embattled barricade. A few at a time, they emerged form the press and dove into the relative calm beyond the barricades, barely avoiding being impaled on the pikes and halberds of those holding the line. Fewer and fewer emerged, until Cyclops and the Prelate were maintaining an almost constant stream of energy down the hall to keep the bandits back. Crossbow bolts were beginning to strike around them as the bandits had enough room to shoot, when the Gambler emerged from the fighting, the Hunter at his side, Katherine at the other. His cape was a waving tail of rags, he bled from a nasty cut over one eye, and he was grinning like a madman. The other two were much less amused. Katherine ran right for them and faded through the barricade. A cheer went up behind the makeshift wall as the Gambler was pulled through. At the end of the corridor, the bandits rushed forwards. Cyclops grabbed the Prelate by the arm and shouted. "Now, bring the house down." Two wide blasts of concussive energy arced out and slashed across the ceiling of the corridor. The bandits stalled in their rush, and then suddenly a mass of wood, stone and earth came falling down, dividing the two forces. After the rage of the battle, the sudden silence was a shocking change, and then the cheers of the thieves rang out. The Prelate looked at his double. "Effective." he said. "Thanks," Cyclops responded, " just hope we don't have to do that again soon." "If we stay here we might." the Hunter cut in, " The gambler is dispersing his people, and we need to get out of here. He's keeping a few to help us with the raid." "He's coming?" Cyclops asked, surprised. "You don' spect me not to take this little mess outta ol' pasty face's hide now, do ya?", came from the remains of the barricade. The Gambler stuck his head around the edge, "Now, if y'all be done jawin' we gotta be movin right quick. There still be red-eyes in the tunnels." Katherine joined them. "And who's fault is that?" she looked quite deliberately at the Hunter and the two Scotts. The Gambler patted her on the shoulder. "Now, now, little one. Twas only a question o' time b'fore they crashed d'party. Now we go crash back, hey?" The group moved off down the tunnel. The sight of the battle was silent except for timbers settling and small flames crackling... and the near soundless hiss of a mound of ashes flowing like a cremated snake across the floor. END CHAPTER 18