Undercloak: Part Twenty Six

by queenB

"I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind."

Anne Sexton, "Her Kind"

"If I accept this gift, my life is as good as over."

As the words leave his lover's lips, Warren Worthington feels something die inside him. His knees wobble, his head throbs and the whole of his being seems to wither into a tight knot of disbelief and anger. What sort of choice is this: life as a faceless, heartless undercloak or no life at all? He remembers the wounds Sabretooth left Betsy with, her internal organs shredded to pieces and barely functional. Not even the advanced Shi'ar equipment of the X-Men's high-tech facilities could save her then. He knows they can't now.

It is all so unfair, so very unfair. Why her? Why now?

His breath catches in his throat as he finally garners enough courage to look into Betsy's face... so utterly changed by her exposure to the Crimson Dawn, yet still so full of life. Her eyes, while glazed with tears, are strong and resolute. Those eyes, how he will miss those eyes. How he will miss everything about her.

She reaches out with her cold fingers and squeezes his hand, her icy grip the most precious thing in the world. As she lets him go and steps forward to address the proctor, he knows she has made the only decision she can, the only decision left to her. But as the words form on her lips, he feels that he is drowning in them.

Betsy feels the minds of her friends, her love, her new family pressing on her, clamoring with their own desperate hunger, their own pain. While she never expected this outcome, she is not surprised. She knew the Crimson Dawn would lay a twisted, convoluted path ahead of her. She just never expected the choices to be so difficult. As she looks over to Warren, her resolve almost fails her as the images of her vision play once again across her thoughts. No matter what her choice, she knows that it will not be easy on him, that it might even destroy him. So she makes the only choice that will buy her enough time to save him, to save them both... the only one that can free her soul forever.

Taking a deep breath, she finds her voice and says proudly, almost victoriously, "I accept my prize, Tar. Release me from my debt and take these cursed powers from my body."

Phoenix's eyes are wide in shock and anger as she hears Psylocke ask the proctor of the Crimson Dawn to release his hold on her. Frozen to the spot, she can barely contain her emotions as Tar stands and narrows his eyes at his victim, his pawn, his... toy. Yes, his unwilling toy. This is the only way, she realizes. The only way to finally be free. If only it weren't so...

"... unfair!" seethes the proctor. "I cannot release you. I will not! You were supposed to be mine! You were supposed to bring honor once again to my realm!"

As Tar paces, Gomurr approaches the throne as he says quietly, "There is a way to gain back your honor, Tar. Release your hold on her. Do what is right and spare her soul, if not her life."

Growling under his breath, the proctor looks down to the diminutive sorcerer, their eyes locked in a battle Jean knows will live beyond this day. After a few tense seconds, Tar finally relents, sitting back in his seat with an uneasy sigh. "Very well. I will not break my pact. But I must take the gifts the Ebon Vein granted her, otherwise, she will still wear the brand."

As Gomurr backs away, he bows his head and says, "This is only fair, yes. We understand."

Narrowing his eyes once again, he looks to Psylocke and Jean feels a chill run through her spine as Betsy unwittingly broadcasts her terror. "You do realize how serious your wounds were, child. You do know this will be the end of you? Are you sure you want to continue?"

She feels a momentary twinge of remorse pass through Betsy's mind, signifying a brief change of heart. But her thoughts once more become stoic and resolute and she says assertively, "Yes. I am sure."

Jean looks at the two lovers standing in front of her, empathy radiating through every cell of her body. She knows how hard this must be for them. If only there were another way. As if he could hear Jean's thoughts, Warren steps forward, much to Betsy's horror and bows his head before the proctor, "Can't you take my soul for hers? After all, it's my fault she's here right now."

Before the proctor can answer, Logan also steps forward as he places a hand on Warren's arm. "No, Wings. It's my fault. All my fault. Tar, take me instead."

The two men share a moment of genuine understanding and respect and Jean can see Warren is visibly moved by Wolverine's gesture. They all know either would go in Betsy's stead, if only such a thing were possible, if only their actions were more then empty gestures. Jean can't help but feel sympathy for Betsy as her eyes dart wildly between the two men that are so dear to her, hoping that the proctor dismisses their words as mere bravado... though she knows, they all know, she would never allow them to go in her place.

Tar smiles, his eyes absent of joy. "If only it were so easy, pilgrims. Psylocke wears the mark, therefore she must pay the price. Guilt and fault have no place in the realm of the Crimson Dawn. Besides, what would I do with a pretend angel and a hairy runt?"

Dismissing the insult to her lover and her friend, Betsy seethes, the muscles of her face taut and her expression adamant. "You know I would never let you... either of you come to harm if I could prevent it."

As Archangel returns reluctantly to Betsy's side and she desperately takes his hand in her own, Wolverine stays riveted to the spot as Tar nods solemnly and finally concedes, "You are brave, child. You have my admiration. Prepare yourself. This will not be pleasant."

Betsy looks around the large chamber, her eyes filled with a barely disguised fear as Tar raises a hand and the darkness fades from her skin. Attempting to swallow his anger and save it for another time, another place, Warren grips her hand tightly as his face turns rigid. Jean looks once to her husband, her rock, her everything as she tries her best not to mentally place herself in Betsy's situation and instead be the compassionate teammate she needs her to be. Scott squeezes her shoulder once and nods as he whispers the words, "Go to her. Help her."

She quickly scrambles to her friend's side, reaching out to her with her telepathy, trying her best to soothe her fears and take away some of her pain. As the red tattoo fades from her face and her skin hisses in reaction, Betsy cannot help but cry out as her hand flies to her face. Jean looks to Warren as they lower Psylocke to the floor and his expression is filled with nothing but concern as he whispers soothing words of love to her.

A few feet away, she notices something in Logan snap as he watches his friend writhe in pain on the floor. His eyes wild with a blood-curdling fury, he growls savagely as his composure leaves him completely and he lunges for the proctor. As Scott reaches for him and fails to restrain him, he leaps toward the throne, claws bared and heart seeking retribution. Before he can reach Tar, Gomurr encases him in a magical force field, lifting him high off the floor as he slams hard into its invisible barrier. As he claws at the impenetrable wall of the force field, he fumes, "When I get outta here, I'm gonna tear you apart, Gomurr!"

Gomurr grimaces at the helpless Wolverine. "Then I will keep you in there forever."

Tar nods. "Thank you for your assistance."

Gomurr looks to Betsy and then back to Tar, visibly torn between his compassion for her and his duty to the arcane realms he pledges his allegiance to. "Just finish it, Tar. Get it over with."

Pursing his thin, stony lips, he turns his attention once again to Psylocke who kneels on the floor between Jean and Warren, gaining a little more strength and composure as she recovers from the leeching of her Crimson Dawn powers. He tilts his head and addresses her as a doctor would a dying patient, speaking quietly, "I am sorry, child. This could have been sublime."

With a wave of his hand, a dark read gash appears on her stomach as Betsy covers her face and whimpers into her trembling hands. Jean clutches at her arm and reaches deeper into her mind, attempting to turn off her pain receptors, but Psylocke pushes back with a force Phoenix did not expect, as if she is attempting to feel as much of life as she can before it slips from her grasp, be her last sensation pain or pleasure. It does not matter as long as it is real, as long as it is her own.

Wiping away a sweaty lock of purple hair, Jean is satisfied with merely numbing some of Betsy's pain and making her as comfortable as she will permit as she looks again into the face of her long- time teammate, her friend, Archangel. Try as she might, she cannot look away. It is as if she has just seen him for the first time. In all the years she has known him she has never seen him like this. His expression is one of abject horror and disillusionment and for the first time in her life, she knows what it looks like to see a man's heart break.

Another tear forms across Betsy's breast plate and cracks her ribs, spilling rich, hot blood down her torso and turning her purple uniform a dark brown and she shrieks as she flings her hands away from her face and to her wounds, exposing her anguished expression and blistered left cheek. As Jean reaches out once again to calm Betsy's increasingly erratic brainwaves, she feels Warren's resolve fade, not unlike the dimming light in Betsy's eyes. Looking to him once again, she sees his face twist and contort in pain and anger. As he rises to his feet, she calls out telepathically to him and Scott. But it is too late and he rushes toward the proctor, actually managing to place a few blows against his granite-hewn face and throw him slightly off balance by flailing his heavy feathered appendages at him.

Tar pushes him easily away with one large hand as he growls, "Foolish pilgrim! What are you doing? Hoping to delay the inevitable? Do not make me restrain you!"

Before Scott can reach him, Warren launches a second attack, hovering a few feet in the air and attempting to level the sorcerer with an aerial round-house kick. Tar shakes his head and grabs Archangel's ankle with hands that move faster than liquid metal as he flings him against the wall with a sickening thud.

Snapping his fingers, Tar unleashes two dozen of his neon minions and they scamper and tick their way over to Warren as he shakes off his injuries and ignores a badly dislocated shoulder, readying himself for another attack. Before he gets another chance at the proctor, the living neon characters swarm over him, tearing at his uniform and skin, puncturing sinew and vein, pinning him quickly and painfully to the wall. As they dig their sharp, glassy feet into the thick stone Warren screams, his throat raw and ragged, "Betsy!!!"

Next to her, Psylocke lifts her head and mutters through a red haze of pain, "Warren."

As a solitary character scrambles over his face and digs its claws into Archangel's scalp, sending rivulets of dark blood down the blue skin of his face and neck, Jean looks frantically from the proctor to her husband and back again. Scott hesitates, obviously wondering if he should attack the proctor but instead rushes to Warren's side, doing his best to keep the minions from causing any more damage, picking them out of Warren's flesh and throwing them to the floor. As they begin to ascend Cyclops's leg and dig into his flesh, he does his best to block out the pain and save his friend as Jean looks back down to Betsy. How easy it would be for her to release her hold on Psylocke and erect a telekinetic shield to keep the minions' sharp claws from Scott and Warren. But she can't do that to Betsy, she won't. Instead, she lifts her head and looks into the vacant, glowing eyes of the proctor and begs quietly, "Please. Let them go."

It feels as if those blank, gleaming eyes are looking right through her, noticing all the darkness and terrors of her soul as he smirks, his lips curling into the faint recollection of a smile. "Please," she whispers again, hoping underneath all his bluster that the Lord of the Crimson Dawn has at least a small modicum of pity.

Then with a simple snap of his fingers, the creatures skitter away from the wall and return to their position at his throne. Jean can't help but breathe a sigh as Warren collapses into Scott's arms and they sit in a heap on the floor. Cyclops has only suffered a few bruises and scratches, but Archangel has numerous lacerations over the length of his body and while he is barely conscious, Jean perceives from a quick, superficial mind-scan that he is in no real danger and safe for the time being. All she can hear as she turns her attention fully to Psylocke is Warren's whimper, "Betsy..."

At that moment, Psylocke grips Jean's hand with as much force as she can manage as she looks into her eyes, the bright violet of her irises dimmed by a wall of tears. "Watch out for him, Jean. Don't let this destroy him."

Squeezing her hand in return, Jean whispers, "I swear it."

Before she can regain her breath, Psylocke's eyes open wide as she writhes in Jean's arms, reacting to yet another reopened injury. As if from a great distance, she thinks she hears Logan shout out in agony as he futilely strikes again at the walls of his magical prison. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she feels Betsy fight to stay conscious as another and then another wound forms on her torso. Finally, it is too much for even Betsy to stand and she slips into unconsciousness. Jean focuses all of her power on keeping her organs as intact as possible, hoping to keep her alive and whole until they can seek medical attention for their fallen comrade. Face flushed and fully focused on her task, she barely notices as the lacerations cease to form on Betsy's body and Scott whispers in her ear, "Jean it's over."

She dare not look up at him as he asks, his voice obviously shaken and distressed, "Is she... alive?"

Sparing a nod, Jean says quietly as she fights her own anguish, saving her anger and sadness until Betsy is delivered to the healing powers of a Shi'ar bio-bed, "Yes. For now."

Scott stands as he says solemnly, leaving her alone to gather their broken teammate in her arms and encase her in a bright, telekinetic bubble. "She needs medical attention... she needs her family. Gomurr, please take us home."

Assuming that Warren and Logan are incapacitated from their own battles, Jean shuts her eyes, allowing herself to see the flickering of Betsy's astral self. Even in her weakened and unconscious state, the fragile, yet sturdy butterfly beats its wings. "Beautiful," she whispers absently. "So very beautiful. Just like her... so very like her."

She dare not turn her mind's eye from the pink and purple flickering of Betsy's true self as the shadows swallow her and deposit all of them in the foyer of the Xavier's School of Higher Learning and bring them home. Yes, finally... home.

[next part]

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