Undercloak: Part Twenty Four

by queenB

"She came toward me in the flowing air,
A shape of change, encircled by its fire.
I watched her there, between me and the moon;
The bushes and the stones danced on and on;
I touched her shadow when the light delayed;
I turned my face away, and yet she stayed.
A bird sang from the center of a tree;
She loved the wind because the wind loved me."

Theodore Roethke, "The Dream"

Warren Worthington shivers and reaches a hand out to Psylocke through the murky darkness as he holds his breath. All he feels is cold, confusion and the nihilistic embrace of nothingness. If it weren't for the psychic link between them, he wouldn't even know she was there. Blackness swirls around him, tearing at his soul with icy, dead claws, and he tries his best to remain calm as his pulse pounds loudly in his ears. Amid the empty tempest, Betsy's thoughts scream into his mind, the only sound in the dark except the low hissing of the undercloaks. She is just as afraid as he is, clinging tenaciously to her weakening bond with both him and Jean. He feels her slowly slipping into madness as the song of the Dawn penetrates her senses.

He shouts desperately through their rapport, *Betsy?! Stay with me. Focus!*

Her thoughts are quiet and murky as she thinks, *Warren? I've got you, I... Jean!! I'm losing... I'm losing them!!*

Suddenly, he feels a force pull hard on him, yanking him forward like a ripcord and he knows that Betsy has lost Jean and the others. But as the world turns red around him and he slips out of consciousness, plummeting to who knows where like a leaden weight, he has no time to mourn, no time to even breathe a prayer for the safety of their souls or his.

'So this is how it ends,' thinks Scott Summers as he fights off another wave of nausea. Shadows penetrate his throat, choking the life out of him, leeching the light from his ever-shielded eyes.

"Jean," he whispers as his skin freezes in the icy darkness. So much left undone, so much still to say. So much to live for.

'Hold on, Betsy. Hold on, darlin'.'

Wolverine falls into the abyss as a chill runs down the length of his spine. It wasn't supposed to end like this. He was supposed to be there for her. They weren't supposed to fail before the battle even began. The ice-cold grip of reality sits heavy on his chest as he loses his bearings in the dark, spinning out of control, drowning in a flood of nothing. As he fights to stay conscious a name forms on his lips, though he dare not speak it.

Jean.

*NO!!* shrieks Jean Grey-Summers through what's left of her and Betsy's mind-link. 'She is not doing this,' thinks Jean. 'She is not giving up!' As she plummets quickly, trying her best to ignore the quiet horrors of the shadow realm, Jean reaches out one more time to Psylocke. If she's learned anything during her time with the X-Men it's that there is no such thing as a lost cause.

In her mind's eye, she sees a far off purple glow, the signature of Psylocke's power. She focuses all her strength on the butterfly-shaped light as she pulls Scott and Logan behind her in a telekinetic web. She won't let them die in here; they've come too far together to be beaten by a bunch of shadows. As her mother always told her, there is nothing to fear in the dark. So Jean reaches out once more, her mind clutching at the very essence of Betsy's power.

As she feels herself jerked away from the void and toward a bright, blinding light, Jean can't help but smile as she collapses in a heap on the dry, dusty earth. Next to her, she hears a low chuckle escape her husband's lips and as she sits up slowly, she can't help but join in. Soon both of them are laughing loudly, their relief quickly chasing away thoughts of just how close they came to oblivion.

They slowly and uneasily stand, brushing themselves off and surveying the rocky, deserted landscape. Their laughter ceases as they look at Logan who is obviously not amused, his face all- business and the whole of his demeanor focused on tracking Betsy. Finally Scott speaks. "Everyone okay?"

Jean nods her head. "A little shaken and a lot worn. But alive nonetheless."

She looks over to Logan who stands mutely, surveying the landscape, his heightened senses attuning themselves to his environment. Beside her, Cyclops puts a hand on her shoulder as he asks, "Any clue where Psylocke and Angel are?"

Watching Logan as he takes off running, Jean points to a dark fortress in the distance, bathed in an ominous half-light. "My guess would be there."

Through a dizzying haze of cold sweat, Warren feels his booted feet scraping against a hard, stone floor. As he tentatively stirs, he notices an icy grip around his chest and arms as he is dragged along a long corridor, his face only a few feet above the granite flooring. Slowly opening his eyes, he groggily calls out, "Betsy, where are you?"

Still unsure of his surroundings, he tilts his heavy head up, hoping to find a glimpse of Betsy. Instead he peers straight into the absent visage of one of Tar's undercloaks, its face a dark hollow of shadows, its eyes glowing red like the blazing pits of Hell itself. He closes his eyes and represses a shiver as he hears Betsy speak to him from close by, "I'm right here, Warren. I'm safe."

He clenches his jaw tightly and twists in the undercloaks' frozen grasp, trying to stand on his own, trying to free himself from the monster's clutches. Their claws sink further into his arms with every move he makes and in his weakened state, he is not sure he can break free. Then from behind him, he hears Betsy speak, her voice deep and alien, "Leave him be. Let him go."

As soon as she speaks the words, they relinquish their hold on him and he drops shakily to his knees. Taking a deep breath, he begins to stand on his own power as he feels Betsy's hands on him, helping him get to his feet. Her touch is not as warm has he remembers and when he looks into her face, he understands why. Her skin is a bluish hue, not much different than his own though much more ashen, and the mark of the Dawn glows brightly over her eye as if it were alive, pulsing with energy. As his eyes open wide in shock at her change in appearance, she averts her gaze from him and supports some of his weight as they continue down the corridor.

"It appears I have some power here."

"Yes. Yes it does."

They continue on in silence for a few moments, a trio of undercloaks skirting their every movement. Warren then dares whisper, "And how does this make you feel?"

Betsy continues the conversation through their rapport as she says into his thoughts as her left hand hovers over the katana hanging from her belt, *Frightened. And a little empowered. I seem to be turning into one of them. But I am fighting, don't worry. I am still myself.*

Warren nods as his steps become a bit more confident and sure. Betsy then relays all that she knows of their situation, showing him that their friends are alive if not slightly misplaced and that Gomurr is no place to be seen. Soon they come to a large set of ornate doors and one of the undercloaks bangs a large gong, letting a hammer fly three times against the gold metal. It rings pure and solemn, sending a chill through his heart, making the moment seem undeniably real. This is no dream, no nightmare.

The doors swing open, creaking noisily on their giant hinges. They stand for a moment in the doorway, waiting for what, they don't know. Finally the cold hands of the undercloaks push them forward and as they stumble into the room, Warren realizes he's been here before. The lava-like substance visible through the cracks in the stone floor, the large, heart-shaped vessel in the center... this is the heart of the Ebon Vein of the Crimson Dawn and his skin crawls with the reality of it. He had never wanted to see this place again, never wanted Betsy to come face to face with it. But now they are here, preparing to fight for Betsy's soul and there's not a thing he can do about it.

As they are escorted past the vessel, Warren hears a deep, baritone voice boom in his ears. "Well, well, well. The pilgrim has returned."

Tearing his gaze from the deep glow of the Vein, Warren looks up into the dark face of Tar, Proctor of the Crimson Dawn. Anger grows quickly and fiercely in the pit of his stomach as Betsy begs him not to lash out at him, not to provoke him. So he holds his tongue, remembering the promise he made to her before they departed for this realm.

The large, physically imposing wizard leans over the two of them as he says to Warren, "So you've come to bid your final farewell, have you?" His expression is one of mock pity as he continues, "How disgustingly romantic."

The proctor then turns his attention to Betsy as he places a large, granite-like hand on her face. Warren watches her wince under his touch as he runs a thumb over the blazing mark that covers her cheek and eye. It's almost more than he can take as the proctor speaks, amusement apparent in his features, "And welcome home, little girl. We have such grand plans for you."

He walks away in a flourish and sits upon his rough-hewn throne as he leers down at them, obviously savoring every moment of their encounter. "But I forget my manners, Psylocke. We have not been formally introduced. I am Tar, Proctor and Lord of the Crimson Dawn."

Leaving Warren to stand on his own power, Betsy steps forward as she asks sternly, "Where is Gomurr?"

An amused grin creeps across the proctor's face as a dozen neon creatures skitter down the walls to his feet, orbiting him like a litter of hungry beasts waiting to be fed. "Let us just say that Gomurr is... indisposed at the moment."

A deep laugh comes from his chest as he continues, his undercloaks hissing from the shadows, "I do hate uninvited guests. As you well know, Psylocke."

Holding her anger in check, Betsy says as she narrows her eyes, "You did not maroon my friends. They will come. They are here."

The proctor merely shrugs. "Mere flies in the proverbial ointment. Besides, they will never arrive in time."

Warren steps forward, daring for the first time to speak to the proctor, "In time for what?"

Pressing his palms together and staring hard into Warren with green, unblinking eyes, "For the challenge, of course. The ceremony in which you finally get to say good-bye to your dear, precious lover here, watch her finally become mine: heart, body and soul."

Unable to contain his anger anymore, Warren lunges toward the throne and a pair of undercloaks emerge like liquid oil by Tar's feet. Before Warren can reach the proctor and his guards, Betsy steps in front of him and holds him by his shoulders with a strength he has never witnessed from her before. He sees his wild expression briefly through her eyes and the rapport they share as she whispers, "Not now, Warren. Save your strength."

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Warren relents as Betsy turns once again toward Tar. "And what of this challenge? What am I to do?"

"Why fight my undercloaks, of course. Didn't Gomurr tell you?"

Betsy nods. "A little, yes. And what if I win? What then?"

Tar shakes his head as laughter once again erupts from him. "Win? Win?! Child, no mortal has ever won the challenge."

Warren feels Betsy's heart sink and it is all he can do not to rush to her side. Instead, he shares his mind with her, how much confidence he has in her, how grand a warrior she is. As he feels her self-assurance build once more, he asks solemnly. "How many undercloaks must she fight?"

Tar looks at him curiously, obviously amazed that his words have not dimmed his hope. Warren is pleased with this one, tiny victory over the machinations of the Crimson Dawn. For the first time since he has entered this realm, he feels as if the outcome of this night might not be as dismal as he has feared. He speaks again, his voice sure and certain. "How many, Proctor?"

A smile of satisfaction surfaces on the proctor's lips as he savors his answer, speaking slowly and ominously, "As many as it takes, boy. As many as it takes."

Outside of the fortress, Cyclops shakes his head as he calls out to his wife, "Nothing over here! Not a window, not a door. Nothing!"

He watches Jean encase herself in a telekinetic bubble and float to his side as Logan races toward them, his nerves obviously frayed and his temper extremely thin. Behind his visor, he squints his eyes as he looks from his teammate to his wife. "What did you find?"

Logan grunts. "Nothin'. Not a blamed thing. This place is sealed up tight."

Wolverine pauses to look up at the blood-red sky as he growls quietly. "Like a damned tomb."

Through their rapport, Scott feels Jean worry about Logan's frustration as she says cautiously, "My guess is that they don't need doors. They do travel through shadows after all."

Scott nods. "And anyone else would be unwelcome."

As the words leave his lips, Wolverine lunges for the wall as he shouts, "Unwelcome! I'll show ya unwelcome!"

Unsheathing his bone claws, his temper flares and he digs futilely into the thick, stone wall of the temple. Scott thinks that if he still had his adamantium skeleton, the wall would be well on its way to rubble. He draws a deep breath as he looks over at Jean and shrugs his shoulders. They had wanted to make a subtle entrance, to find Psylocke and Archangel's location without affronting the proctor of the Crimson Dawn. They had all agreed quiet diplomacy and stealth would be the best way to help Betsy. Sadly, Logan has given them no choice. If they don't find a way in quickly, his berserker rage will surely give them away.

As his claws rake dully against the wall, barely scratching the stone finish, Scott nods to Jean and she erects a telekinetic force field around her and Logan. He then steps a few paces away from them and stares intently at a section of wall, sizing up the force of impact required to topple it. Squinting, he opens his visor and then his eyes, only releasing a fraction of his power. He then lets his force beam build in intensity, easily tumbling the ancient stones of the temple, creating a large gash in the otherwise smooth, uniform outer wall. With Jean's telekinesis helping to muffle the impact and debris, Scott prays he has gained them an undetected entry.

Walking over to the hole in the wall, he examines his handiwork, noting the thickness of the stone and the darkness lying on the other side of the now exposed fissure. The air inside the temple is musty and stale, as if nothing has lived within its sheltering walls for a very long time. He can't help but agree with Logan's earlier assessment. This place is as dank and lifeless as a tomb.

He motions for Phoenix and Wolverine to join him and the three step into the dim passageway, lit only by a few scattered torches and an eerie glow coming from the center of the structure. He shares a wary look with Jean as their eyes accustom themselves to the darkness and Logan gets his bearings. He hears his teammate draw in a deep lungful of the fetid air and then mutter, "This way," as he takes off at a quick pace down the corridor.

Before either Jean or he can warn Wolverine, the shadows on the floor and walls come to life and a half dozen undercloaks spring into formation, readying themselves in an attack posture. Scott races for his teammate, preparing to release his optic blasts when he hears a voice shrill, "Leave them be, demons!"

Another voice then rings in his head, the familiar lilting of his wife, her thoughts spilling quickly over their rapport, too quickly for him to completely comprehend. Scott freezes in his tracks and looks over his shoulder at Jean. Her face contorts as dark shadows slither up her body and over her face. Acting only on instinct, he runs to her, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. Before he can reach her, her eyes glow red and she speaks with a strange muffled tongue, her words hissing from behind her teeth as she holds him motionless with her telekinetic powers. "You... have no... power here, old man. These... intruders are... ours!"

Scott struggles in her grip and looks to the tiny man floating above the floor. He assumes from his appearance that he can be none other than Gomurr the Ancient. Blue bolts of energy surge across his diminutive frame and a white orb of light protects him from the shadows as he bellows, "I'll show you power! You good for nothing, spineless puppets!"

In a bright flash, Gomurr illuminates the room as he expels a magical light from his body. Scott watches as the shadows attacking Wolverine disappear in a hissing, steaming flare of dark energy. He then hears Jean's voice fill the hallway as she exorcises the spirits forcefully from her body, her words triumphant and true. "I belong to no one!!"

He smiles in relief and pride and rushes to her side, making sure she has no injuries. Nodding gratefully to the wizard as he lowers himself to the ground, Scott lends an arm to Jean for support and says, "Thank you."

Gomurr beams brightly, exposing a few crooked teeth as he says over his shoulder, "Now this is what you call respect, Logan. You could learn many things from this one."

Brushing off the old man's comments as well as dust from his torn uniform, Logan says gruffly, "Yeah. Yeah. If I had known getting rid of these guys was that easy, I would have brought a flashlight."

Gomurr levitates once more in the air, shaking his staff at Wolverine as he says, "Not just light! Magic. These beasties are tougher than that and you know it... they even slowed me down long enough for Tar to get the ninja-girl alone."

Narrowing his eyes at Gomurr, Logan says, "Even you, Gomurr?"

Gathering up his robes and attempting to look as dignified as possible, the wizard scoffs, "Pah. No respect. No respect at all."

Turning back to Jean and Scott with a grin, he then says, "Now let's get going. We have a... how do you say? Party to bash?"

Jean nods as she smiles up at the wizard, standing on her own power and regaining her bearings after her brief possession. "Yes. That's about the gist of it."

Gomurr then floats ahead of them, leading them deeper into the heart of the fortress as he says quietly, "And Tar and I will have words. Humph. Yes. Ugly, four-letter words."

As the group trudges forward into the dimly lit hallway, Scott looks suspiciously at the walls, steeling himself for another attack and preparing himself for whatever awaits them once they find Warren and Betsy. Magic, he scoffs silently to himself. Why does it always have to be magic?

[next part]

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