The Laerathon!!! Repost of Devil's Due, Part 1 - Graphic violence
Chris W. Moore
Yes, it's all true. I'm retiring from fanfiction, but before I go, I'm
going to take you all down memory lane with each of my stories, in
order.
I will end with a new 3 part series and an epliogue to my sojourn as
a writer for this fandom.
Oh, and I'll still be around....somewhere...
For anyone unfamiliar, this one is Devil's Due, my most infamous story
to date. It gets a little heavy on the violence, but not as bad as
those stories which followed it.
This story was written about 2 years ago and should fit within the
timeline of the X-Men back then.
Laersyn
Disclaimer: The characters contained herein are all property of Marvel
Comics and are being used without either the knowledge or consent of
their creators. (More fun that way). With the exception of Maria and
Joey Velasquez, who are the property of Kielle and she has given her
grudging permission to have them guest star (10 points to whoever
remembers what story they’re from!)
Warning!!!!!!! This story contains violence of a graphic nature and
sexual innuendo intended for mature audiences only!!!!!! If you are
not 18 or older or are offended by such material, move on to something
else. If you are offended by this material but want to read it anyway,
be my guest. If you’re offended by this material and want to interfere
with my right to write it, come closer so I can beat you...
For Kielle, my mentor, because she asked. I hope my paltry efforts do
not embarrass her too much <G>
DEVIL’S DUE
Part 1
>>See the devil in the streets at night
>>See the devil in the pouring rain
>>See him grinning ‘neath a twisted light...<<
Savatage/Chance
Sam Guthrie, a.k.a Cannonball, member of the Uncanny X-men and former
co-captain of the Xavier school student team, had had a long day in
the Danger Room and had come to the conclusion one must inevitably
succumb to in his situation: He stank. He rubbed one sore shoulder and
waited for the water to warm. Damn crazy Wolverine, gettin in mah way
like that. "Figured you’d move, Guthrie," had been the only growled
apology.
"Ah’ll be ahlright, dancing in the light of the neon moon..." he sang
in perfect hick. It was a talent he was born with.
He laved away the sweat of the day’s workout once and then twice,
scrubbing every pore. It still never ceased to amaze him how life just
went on. He was, for all the aforementioned weighty titles, just a kid
from nowhere. Not bred into or prepared for the dazzle and danger of
life in the big city. Not like the others, Wolverine, Cyclops, Rogue
(what ah wouldn’t give...) or Storm. Mutant Massacre? Big f* deal!
Legacy virus? Later, there’s a movie on the TV. Onslaught blowed up
ahl’a New York? Damn, guess that means the Nix game is off.
It wasn’t that they didn’t care. He knew they did, or they wouldn’t
all be risking their lives. But the disturbing fact was that they
could take on Magneto and have him nearly kill them one day and then
welcome him with open arms the next. Ah guess that’s what these city
folks call "rolling with it". Thoughts of Magneto and so therefore
Joseph brought other, less welcome thoughts to mind.
Rogue’s too good fer the guy, that’s all, he resolved and with
equanimity, he thought too. Poor girl, first guy she can touch an’ its
gotta be him. Course she’s gonna flip for him. Joseph... That was Lohd
Jesus’s father’s name. Wonder if its a sign ah his old egomaniacal
ways coming back... Ahh who am I kidding? I’m jealous, plain and
simple. Rogue’s got Mag... Joseph, Scott’s got Jean, Warren has Betsy,
Hank’s got that nice Tilby woman... Guess I’ll have to join the
disgruntled bachelor’s club with Logan an’ Remi. Now there’s a guy
who’s been getting real jealous. Maybe ah should try and talk to him,
man to man...
Sam reached for the shampoo and an instant later realized he’d
forgotten to get it at the store. "Ah hell," he cursed, frowning as
the warm rain fell over him.
Could jus’ do without. With a smile he remembered his ma checking him
over every time he’d taken a bath, making sure he’d done a thorough
job. Might as well do her proud. Hank’s gotta have LOTS of shampoo.
Hell, with all the hair in this house, you’d think Vidal himself would
be living here.
Sam rinsed the soap from his eyes and padded his face with a towel.
Then he wrapped the terry cloth around his waist and walked, dripping,
out in the direction of the Beast’s room. A startled gasp and a
flutter of giggles reminded him he wasn’t in Kansas anymore, and
walking around in nothing but a towel in a house occupied at least by
half of females was likely not proper. Blushing, he turned to see
Jean, Ororo and Trish Tilby eyeing him with wickedly appreciative
glances. He flushed to the roots of his hair and tried desperately to
figure out a rational escape plan. Something less childish than
instant flight, which was what came to mind first.
**Hank’s downstairs, Sam,** Jean told him in his mind gently.
The thought of thank you was enough. "Ah don’t suppose..." He really
wished they’d stop staring at him.
"Of course," Jean said aloud. A bottle of shampoo floated from out of
her and Scott’s room, right into his hand.
"Mah thanks," he said honestly, slinking towards his door.
"Oh and Sam?" Jean called.
"Yeah?" he asked turning.
"Don’t forget this," she said mildly, snapping his towel off with a
telekinetic tug and handing it to him.
Sam sputtered helplessly, going crimson. Yet he couldn’t help but
smile at their girlish giggles. Was nice to hear them again. He turned
to go into his room and nearly ran into Scott Summers. The huge and
imposing leader of the team gave him a red-visored glare. "This isn’t
your farm, Guthrie. We don’t run around naked here." He did not appear
to be amused at all.
Sam nodded, flushing. "Yes sir. Sorry sir." Scott’s gaze turned to
Jean. Sam sensed something wrong there but it was absolutely none of
his business. He ducked into his room, intent on finishing his shower.
No sooner had he got in, though, but the water turned cold. Ice cold.
"Bobby!" he yelled, quite out of patience.
"Sorry, thought you needed cooling down," came the voice through the
wall.
The water, thankfully, returned to normal temperature. Sam Guthrie
shook his head with a smile. Life did go on. Ah guess, at the crux of
it, that’s what we’re really fighting for. That thought permanently
banished his dour mood and he turned his thoughts to happier things.
Like killing Bobby Drake.
******
Who was, at the moment, laying sprawled on his bed, reading from a
Penthouse Letters magazine. He was, quite unfortunately and
inexplicably to himself, currently not involved with someone and,
being surrounded by Earth’s Buxomest Heroes, did not help a young male
in that condition. Geez... and I’m supposed to be the frigid one of
this team.
He lay there, searching for something to at least give him an erection
he could work with, but to no avail. Stuff’s so corny. Like this one.
"Dear Penthouse, I live in a huge mansion and my young cousin came
over to stay. I found out she was having sex with all of my friends
and that’s when she came after me..." How can you be expected to
fantasize about something that unreal? He let out a huge sigh and
decided for the fifth time tonight he had to get a date. Of course,
that’s always so sticky. Where do you meet nice girls? Are they HIV
positive or negative? Do they hate mutants? Are they allied with
Zegrioth the Universal Doomslayer? Just too damn many factors.
Bobby slipped into some sweats and went downstairs. Sulking was simply
not effective if it was not done in the presence of others. He tromped
down the stairs and, with a silence he thought was artfully dramatic,
went into the kitchen. Cold pizza!!!
His mood brightened noticeably.
Back in the den, Hank was helping Trish on with her coat. They seemed
to be laughing about something. Bobby plopped down on the sofa and
turned on Voyager. He seemed to have the den to himself. "The two of
us are going to be seeking our entertainment in the el fresco, as it
were. Amidst the frosty flurry of falling snowflakes. I would entreat
you to join us, my friend, but the bouncing bombastic beast desires
the incongruous solitude of two."
"Yeah yeah, get lost," Bobby said, turning up the volume.
Warpath makes Chakota look like a dweeb, Bobby thought with a grin. It
was always fun to him to watch a show like this, since he had been to
other worlds and known so many kinds of people. I guess its kinda like
how most normal people look at old sci-fi shows. Seeing them as corny
and unrealistic.
******
Upstairs, a fight was brewing. The single most lamentable thing about
their marriage was that arguments were simply not avoidable. At least
not from his side. Being married to a telepath left no room for one to
say simply, "Nothing dear."
Scott Summers looked up from the book he was reading as Jean entered.
Her beautiful face was stern. "Ok, I counted to one hundred, and now I
want answers. What the hell was that all about in the hall?"
"You’re the telepath, you tell me," he said quietly, going back to his
book. It was childish, perhaps, but having no part of his mind to
himself was frustrating at times.
The book was relocated to a table. Jean’s eyes narrowed on him. "I was
just playing," she told him.
"Were you?" he asked.
"What does that mean?"
Scott rose, feeling bile in his throat. "I know it happens in
marriages, Jean. Sometimes, the woman gets bored. Wants to ‘comparison
shop’."
"That’s funny, its usually the guy who does that from my memory."
"Look, its bad enough the way you and Logan carry on, but now Sam too?
How much of this am I supposed to take?"
"‘Carry on?’ Scott, we’re friends. More than that, for god’s sake. We
have to trust each other with our lives," she cried in exasperation.
"Yeah, I know."
"Scott, what has gotten into you?" Jean demanded.
"Maybe I’m just sick of not being what you want," he snarled, hating
the words, hating himself for saying them. Hating it for being true.
"What?"
He glanced fiercely at her. "Warren is dashing, Hank is adventurous,
Logan is wild, Bobby is funny, Sam is good looking. Next to them, what
am I?"
"You’re my husband." The words were the crack of a whip. "You’re the
man I love and chose to spend the rest of my life with."
"And are you regretting that now?" he asked suspiciously.
"I am at the moment," she snapped.
They glared at each other for a moment. "You think I don’t notice you
glancing at Ororo? Or Betsy in that skimpy outfit she runs around in?
Or Rogue, for that matter?"
He turned away. "That’s nothing. All guys look at girls."
"And girls look at guys, so what’s the problem?"
"Its not the same," he hissed.
"How is it different?" she demanded.
Scott had no answer for that. "It just is."
"You know what you’re problem is Scott? You can’t allow yourself to be
happy. You’re always looking to find something wrong with what you
have. That’s what happened with you and Madeline."
Scott reared back as if slapped. "How dare you..."
"How dare I?" she shrieked. "You accuse me of infidelity... what all
do you think I’m up to, anyway?"
"I don’t know. I don't have your gift of telepathy," he remarked
snidely.
Energy crackled in the room. A vase exploded into powder. "We are not
having this discussion now," she said in a low, measured voice. "I’m
going to go to the Danger Room and break some things and then I’m
coming back. I trust you will have found a couch somewhere to stay the
night on."
Scott clenched and unclenched his hands. "Jean..."
"No, Scott, this discussion is over. When we are both calmer, then we
can talk." She turned to go. "Marriage is about trust, Scott," she
said over her shoulder. "Without trust, we cannot be lovers,
friends... or team mates. Think on that."
******
"Daddy, can I get this candy bar?" Luna asked plaintvely, Her blue
eyes were wide and full of childish desperation.
Pietro sighed and nodded, knowing it was not good for her but also
knowing with a sinking sensation, that it had become terribly
difficult to say no to her of late. Since I became a.... Ever since...
Now that I’m a...
Well, go on, he chided himself.
A widower.
Pietro took the Hershy bar and put it in the basket. Being a distant,
isolated (and yes, Jean, a person who has problems connecting to
people emotionally, he thought with a mental roll of his eyes at his
telepathic friend) had resulted in one small inconvenience. Anything
he needed at the store he had to get himself.
Grocery store lines drove him batty.
"Joey, no!" he heard a distressed cry.
Quicksilver turned, seeing everything in slow motion as he always did.
A small child, perhaps a little older than Luna, with darker skin, was
studiously attempting to remove a can from a carefully balanced
display. Not only was the structure’s foundations threatened, the boy
himself was in serious jeapordy.
Pietro was over there in less time than it takes most people to
inhale. With one arm he swept the boy out of reach of the display and
with his free hand he pushed the critical can of SpaghettiO’s back
into place.
The woman, a young hispanic with long brown hair staired at him in a
mixture of relief and dismay. The relief he could understand, but the
worry puzzled him. Then he saw her eyes tracking to her son whom he
still held. Pietro smiled gently at her and set the boy down. "He’s
okay," Pietro told her awkwardly.
The woman nodded and quietly scolded her son for a moment. Then she
turned back to Pietro. "Thank you. He could have gotten himself hurt."
Pietro shrugged, unused to dealing with "gratitude to the hero". Joey
had espied Luna, it seemed, and had taken the moment of his mother’s
distraction to sidle over to her. Pietro kept a protective eye on them
but returned his attention to the woman. "Children sometimes don’t
think about the consequences of their actions."
The woman blinked. Oh, that’s right, normal people don’t talk like
that, he reminded himself. "You’re one of those heroes, right?
Quicksilver?"
Pietro nodded. The children giggled about something. Pietro saw her
smile at that and found himself doing so as well. Luna hadn’t laughed
much of late. He also noticed the woman was watching her boy as
closely as he was watching Luna. Seeing that made him relax a bit.
"My name is Maria," She introduced herself awkwardly. "Velasquez."
"You can call me Pietro."
"Oh, good, less syllables," she said with a grin.
Taken a little by surprise by her jest, he did not quite know what to
say. "Er, um, I don’t believe I’ve seen you in this market before."
Okay, little small talk and then we’re out of here. Luna hasn’t had a
chance to play with anyone her own age in a while.
"Oh, no, Joey and I just moved here." She pushed a stray lock of hair
behind one ear and shrugged a little. "New promotion, better part of
town, you know?"
Pietro nodded and darted away a second to retrieve the two children
who had decided upon an impromptu game of tag. The kids squirmed in
his arms, and something on his face made her laugh. "That’s a handful
for anyone, superhero or no," she said and took Joey.
"Yes, I think parents are the real heroes of this world, for all they
go through," he commented, tickling Luna.
Pietro turned to go, feeling awkward and out of place. It had always
been Wanda and then Crystal who had guided him through social
interaction. He could not do it on his own.
"Say, do you, I don’t know, maybe wanna go for a cup of coffee?" she
asked.
Pietro froze and turned back, perplexed. "Coffee?"
She grinned in that infectious way of hers. "Yeah, you know, its a
black liquid kind of thing."
Pietro froze like a hunted deer, totally unprepared. "Um, well, I
really have to-"
"Oh come on, you can’t really tell me a guy like you has to worry
about being late?"
And that pretty well answered that. Pietro accepted her offer with a
close proximity to gratitude and they finished their shoppng together.
Joey and Luna had taken to each other with uncharacteristic ease and
it warmed his heart to see her happy. They repaird to a quiet coffee
house and sat and talked. Oddly, the time slowly passing did not
bother him this day.
******
Ororo settled across from Logan at the low table. "It has been a long
time since we have had tea together, my friend," she told him with a
smile. Around them, the serenity of her gardens cloaked them both in
peaceful harmony.
The hirsute hero, wrapped in a kimono, smiled at her. "Doesn’t seem we
have time, anymore."
The white haired woman smiled wistfully and nodded. "Do you remember
when we first came to this school? It doesn’t seem so long ago to me."
"It was though. And a lots changed. People have gotten a lot rougher.
Even you’ve got your barbs now."
A wicked smile at that. "I have always had them, my friend. You just
didn’t know them at first."
Logan smiled back at her. "Maybe. But you’ve been through some rough
times, girl. Changed you. Pyetr too. Lost a lot of the wonder you two
used to have."
"And you?"
He snorted derisively. "Me? Hardly. I don’t think I was ever
innocent."
Ororo grinned at his jest. "Maybe not. But you have faced some horrors
yourself. I know losing yourself in the animal in you hurt you more
deeply than you will ever admit."
"Oh come on, ‘roro! I’m tougher than that. I don’t get all teary eyed.
Go to Summers for that."
Ororo smiled. "He is the expert, isn’t he? But I know you, my friend.
Perhaps better than anyone else ever has. I know what you strive to
be, and how becoming feral stole that from you."
Logan sipped his tea, mulling it over. He was not introspective by
nature, and certainly did not make a habit of discussing his problems
with others. But Ororo was not just anyone. They had been friends
forever, it seemed. Perhaps he owed her a little honesty. "Well, I
can’t say it was the experience of my life," he growled
non-commitally. Why was it, he wondered suddenly, that what I want to
say and what I actually say are always different?
"I imagine not," she said softly. "It truly does frighten you, doesn’t
it?" she asked behind her teacup.
Logan frowned, thinking. "It ain’t fear, really. You gotta know by
now I ain’t scared o’much. ‘cept one of Summer’s sermons." They shared
a laugh. "But I just hate to think what’ll happen if I do lose it.
Once and for all. I mean, let’s face it, I’m harder to kill than a
cockroach and viscous as... well, as a wolverine. If I went feral once
and for all, I’d be... I don’t know..."
"Sabertooth?"
Silence at that, stretching out between them. Logan stared into her
eyes, finding only kindness there. "Yeah. Or worse. He at least has a
mind. Not much of one, but there’s a thought behind what he does."
Ororo reached out and laid her hand over his. "One thing you never
have understood, my friend, is that you do not fight your inner demon
alone. We, all of your friends, stand with you against it. And when
you falter, we will be there to pick you up again."
Logan swallowed back a heartful of difficult emotions, but he did
smile a little. "And doncha know, Windrider, that that’s why I stay?"
His hand tightened around hers.
They let the moment linger, a gift of intimacy between friends. Then;
"You are not angry with me for arguing as I did for Xavier to be taken
away?" she asked, reclining again.
"Aw hell no," Logan growled, gruff again. "I don’t agree, and I wish
you thought the way I do, but I will never fault someone for speaking
up for what they believe in."
"Good," she said with a smile. "I am glad. Charles and I have had our
differences, but I assure you his leaving pained me as much as it did
you."
"Don’t apologize, Ororo. You’re too good for that."
She inclined her head gracefully. They chatted about easier things
then, eventually descending into an absurd discussion about which of
their team mates would get pregnant first. When Logan put his money on
Gambit, she near to died of laughter.
******
Siryn froze for a moment in shocked disbelief. She had meant to get
here sooner. To spend the holiday with her father. Yet there always
seemed to be some emergency. Now she had finally slipped away and come
to Cassidy Keep and found it burning.
Smoke billowed from the windows, floating inky and black into the
night sky. "Da?" she whispered under her breath.
The moment of shock passed and she was moving, through the doors and
flying up the stairs. "Da!" she screamed. Smoke was everywhere, making
it hard to see and harder to breathe.
Ancient paintings and tapestries wilted and burned around her. The
heat was nearly unbearable. Still she flew down the familiar corridors
and halls of her home. Searching through every room, every stairway.
The smoke was thick and oily. Choking and gasping, she continued to
cry out, "Da!" until she had no more breath to scream.
I can’t stay in here much longer, she thought. If I don’t find him
soon, I’ll have to leave and get help. Oh god, please do na let him be
here. Please let him be all right. Desperately, frantically, she
searched until she came at last to the study. Where she found him
sprawled on the floor.
Flames glowed and crackled all around as she went over to him and
rolled him onto his back. The twisted grimace frozen on his face
confirmed her worst fears. And the smoking hole in his chest told her
this was no accident. Siren shook and fought back tears. Have to
think, can’t get all messed up yet. I am my father’s daughter.
"Such a pity," a high, whiny voice chirped.
She looked up from Banshee’s body to see the tall, glittering form of
his murderer. "Prism?" she rasped.
The crystalline Marauder nodded. "You know, when Mr. Sinister told me
I was to kill Banshee and Siryn, I really thought he’d finally lost
his marbles. I mean, two supersonic super heroes versus the man of
glass? Ridiculous!"
Hate burning in her heart, Siren took a breath to send him the final
scream he would ever hear. And her lungs filled with smoke. Gagging
and choking, she held her throat and stared at him in horror.
Prism smiled happily. "His plan was quite marvelous, actually. You
see, I don’t need to breath. But you do, especially if you want to use
your powers. And I like fire. Such a pretty kind of light."
Siren barely rolled out of the way of his first shot. She staggered to
her feet and began to back away. First lesson she had been taught was
when to run. Prism fired another blast which she rolled out of the way
of as well. Burning embers caught her hair and clothes, though. She
writhed in panic, unable to scream even now.
Prism walked calmly over to her where she was desperately trying to
put the flames out. She had just managed it when she felt his hand
around her throat. He lifted her to her feet and smiled. "Humiliating,
isn’t it? To be killed by the weakest Marauder? Sorry, but the others
are busy in Washington. Guess I’ll just have to do."
A razor thin laser beam shot forth from his hand and her body jerked
convulsively once. Her wide eyes froze as her head slid off the top of
his hand and her limp body collapsed. Prism smiled, glittering all
over in pleasure. Then he calmly walked out, leaving behind the
Cassidy family to burn in their pyre.
******