Subject: Brotherly Hate 1/14: A tale of the AOA Date: Sun, 25 Aug 1996 00:05:08 +0000 From: Snowlock Organization: Corporate Communications Newsgroups: alt.comics.fan-fiction Brotherly Hate by David B. Beaulieu The character used in the following story are copywrite of Marvel and are used without permission. Hope you enjoy; I'll be posting short chapters quite often as the work is already completely done. Snowlock. ______ Brotherly Hate ______________ For all intents and purposes, Wundagore Mountain is gone. The very peak of the small mountain has been blasted apart, the road made up the mound of rock and dirt and pine trees has been gouged and pitted to the point where it is unusable. Where once this worn old mountain served as a home, a refuge, it is now a ruin. Not too long ago, these two men, these two X Men who are slowly working their way up the slope would have been looking forward to reaching it’s peak. Now, they only dread it. One cannot hope to feel anything sort of positive emotions when returning home after two long years. Especially when home is destroyed. Logan: Nemesis sure did a number on this place, hey Petey? Piotr: Aye, Logan. It is still hard to believe Magnus' great fortress was brought low by one man. Logan: 'Specially with the Witch to protect it. Piotr: Yes. Poor Wanda. He looks over to a small knoll nestled in the distance. Frost has come to the mountain, winter is not far behind, its immanence portrayed by the coating of white on the cold granite headstone of the Scarlet Witch, Wanda Maximoff. Casualty of war. Logan: Let's keep movin'. The pair turn away from the quiet glade and stomp up the hillside, Colossus' heavy footprints leaving marks in the soon to be frozen ground. They turn to what seems to be a sheer cliff, its face rising up hundreds of feet above them where the duo can see the ruins of their home. Logan presses a button on his belt. A large section of the cliff face swings aside revealing the gaping hole of a deep black cavern. Piotr: Boize Moi! Logan: Into the Batcave, Petey. As they begin their journey through the tunnel, four figures meet in a secret room at the tunnel's termination. Two are old acquaintances. The others, clinging to the glowing shadows of the great computer banks, wait to be introduced. Though both of the two tall figures are indeed imposing, one is clearly the leader. Clad in violet and crimson, his face obscured by an ornate battle helm, he is the reason the X Men have made the perilous journey back to Wundagore. He is their leader, mentor, teacher, father. He is Erik Magnus Lehnsherr. He is... Magneto! Mags: Mystique, I like not at all this portent you bring to me. Mystique: I did not pull myself away from the organization of project Avalon just to brighten your day, Erik. Destiny's seen her in a vision. One day she will be needed. Mags: With Wundagore gone, I cannot possibly take under my wing yet another who would someday be a mutant. My school is closed. Apocalypse is in ascension. I have neither the time nor the resources to babysit. Mystique: Then she must be hidden... Just then, Weapon X and Colossus end their trek through the dark and come upon Magneto and his companions. Logan: Hide who? Magnus: Ah, Piotr and Logan. I trust your journey was... uneventful? Logan: We're here, ain't we. What's up? Magnus: With Apocalypse on the verge of conquering the world entire, I deem it is now necessary to seek out allies. I have been recently contacted by the newly formed Human High Council. They desire a summit. Logan: Go yerself. I ain’t interested. Magnus raises his hands and they glow in a nimbus of crimson fire. Logan is magnetically lifted off the ground and brought across the room and eye to eye with his leader. Mags: What is or is not of intrest to you matters me little. He lets Logan drop to the floor, who springs backward into a crouch, claws extended, fire in his eyes. Weapon X: How many times do I hav'ta tell ya, Mags, DON'T PUSH ME! The room is suddenly filled with the stench of brimstone and the figure hidden in the shadows disappears with an explosion of color and sound. An instant later he reappears between Weapon X and Magneto, a sword in each hand, both of their deadly tips at Weapon X's throat. Swordweilder: Achtung, mein freund. I would not go any further down this road, were I you. Piotr: A demon! Logan turns his head ever so slightly toward Magnus, and in the process cuts himself ever so slightly along the twin swords' edges. Logan: Who's your new friend? The wounds on Logan's neck reclose. Swordholder: Mien Gott! Magnus: His name is Kurt Darkholme, code-named Nightcrawler. He is our newest X Man. Logan: Darkholme, huh. I thought I smelled the stink of Mystique on 'im. This li'l monster yer kid, Raven? Kurt: You know, Herr Weapon X, I like your attitude not at all. Nightcrawler teleports again, the air rushing to fill the void with a loud [Bamf]. He reappears with the same smell of brimstone and the light and sound display on Logan's shoulders, his swords now crossed under Logan's chin. With an animal's fury, Weapon X tosses the blue furred teleporter against the wall, and his eyes red with rage, leaps after him. He's on Nightcrawler before the teleporter can recover and pins him to the floor, his blue chin caught between Weapon X's two outer claws, the third still retracted. Logan: Gimme a reason not ta give ya another nostral, punk. Nightcrawler grabs Weapon X's hand with both of his and prepares to teleport. Kurt: Oh, I can think of one... Lefty. Magneto: Enough of this! Gingerly, in armored form, Colossus pries Weapon X off the newest X Man, then stands between them. Magneto: I am glad you have taken up the role of mediator, Colossus. I was about to impart that duty to you anyway. Logan: Waddaya mean? Magneto: A summit is about to be held in Asia with other factions of those who would fight the coming of Apocalypse. You will meet with them and be the X Men's representatives. However, that is not your only task. Secondly, but of equal importance, you must get this man... The fourth figure, a young man with a slight build and dark features, steps out of the shadows. Magneto: ... Simon Williams, to his contacts at the summit. He is an employee of Braddock Enterprises and one of the primary designers of their Sentinel Project from America. He has come along way to help secure this vital project's viability. Make sure he arrives safely. Weapon X: Ya ain't told us where this summit is yet, Mags. This man, this living legend, hesitates: I don't know. You are to go to Lenningrad, and once there, contacts will give you the location of your final destination. Apparently, our would-be allies do not yet trust us enough to just tell us in advance. Piotr: Lenningrad is in Russia! Magneto, sir, would it be possible, I mean could we stop, before or after, to... Magneto: I realize the call of your former home and family is strong in you, my Colossus. Unfortunately, you have not the time for touring the countryside. Kiev is much too far from Siberia. It would take too long for you and your companions to journey there. Things are starting to move quickly now. I must have the information you will return with after the summit. Piotr: B-but they're my family and I miss them! Magneto: The X Men are you're family now! I have had enough of this insubordination! Would that I could call on other, more diplomatic X Men to accomplish this task, but Apocalypse's forces are in position to conquer all of America, and they are needed elsewhere. Now go! I await your return and the information you bring. Many lives depend on the successful completion of your mission. The Soviet Union, now called the Former Soviet Union, but not because of a bloodless revolution or a wave of denial of Marxism. Instead, Apocalypse has claimed this once powerful empire as his first conquest. Striking hard and suddenly, Apocalypse and his Horseman seized the major cities of Moscow, Leningrad, Minsk, Vladivostok and Arkangel; taking the heart and soul from the Russians in one fell swoop. To appease the remaining countries of the world community, Apocalypse set up a puppet human government out of Leningrad, restoring the lost Romanova dynasty. However, Former Russia is a vast country, and in some of its remotest locales, the hand of Apocalypse has not yet crushed the opposition to this new rule in its relentless grip. One such place where men and women, mutants and humans alike, yet strive to vainly stem the changing genetic tide is in a remote defunct farming collective near Lake Baikal in bitter Siberia. Once it was called the Ust Ordynski Farming Collective. That name no longer applies. Its farmers are long gone; dead or scattered, it matters not which. Now all that remains is a pitifully small group of rebels, striking quickly and vainly against their country's new lord. Their number has been reduced yet again. A powerful man splitting wood near his family's small home pauses to adjust his hood against Siberia's bitter arctic winds. Down the slight hill before him he sees a figure trudging his way through the snow; his breath coming from beneath a heavy fur hood in long white tendrils. The figure waves as he approaches, two long arcs left to right, the signal all is safe. The man chopping wood puts down his axe. Approaching Figure: Hello! Mikhail, is that you? Mikhail Nikoleivitch Rasputin walks forward and takes the hand of the visitor. Mikhail: Alexi. What brings you? Father said the ambush would not take place for another two days. Surely you should be still tracking the convoy? Has something happened? Where's Father? The man named Alexi takes both of young Rasputin's hands in his own. Alexi: Mikhail, I'm so sorry. We were discovered. A prelate was there. Your father... Mikhail: My father is dead. Is that what you are trying to tell me, Alexi Vahzin? Vahzin: I'm so sorry, Mikhi. There was nothing we could do. The prelate and his men came on us so fast. Your father and a few men stayed behind to delay them so the bulk of us could escape. He is a hero. Mikhail: Fah! He is dead. First your rebels claim my mother, and now my father as well. Leave me Vahzin, and take you damned civil war with you! Vahzin: Mikhi, please! It was not the rebellion that claimed your father and mother, it was the mutants of Apocalypse! Mikhail: Mutants?! Mutants like me? The snow around Vahzin's feet swirl and seem to cling to first his ankles and then twine around his knees as Mikhail Rasputin uses his mutant power to rearrange the molecules of the snow. Vahzin: Mikhail, please! You're father would not want this! He died to free his country. Would you dishonor his sacrifice now? The snow abruptly falls from Vahzin's legs. Mikhail: No. Begone, Alexi. I must tell my sister what has happened. I will contact you tomorrow. Vahzin: Again, I'm so sorry for your family's loss. Whenever you need me and my people, we shall be there for you. Mikhail: That is truly a comfort, old friend. Please except my apologies. In my grief, I acted rashly. Vahzin: We will speak again tomorrow, Nikoleivitch. Goodbye. Mikhail walks back up to his worn house and scrapes the snow off his boots before entering. A small voice calls from the room adjoining the entryway. Voice: Mikhail? Who was that man? Mikhail: That was your uncle Alexi. A small girl runs into the hall to stand before her eldest brother. Through the long blond hair hanging in front of her eyes, she looks up innocently at Mikhail, absently chewing on the end of her a length of hair. "So young," Mikhail thinks. "Too young..." Mikhail: Snowflake, we have to talk. It was late before Illyana finally stopped crying and fell asleep. Mikhail walks from her small room into the kitchen bringing a kerosene lantern with him and sits at the old table. He leans forward and takes a battered piece of paper from his back pocket and gingerly unfolds it. The letter is crumpled and faded, the creases from the folds are deep. This letter is old and has been read and reread many times. Dearest Mikhi: I am sorry I have not the strength to tell you this to your face, but I am leaving. I have seen the light. A new empire will be forged by this man, En Sabah Nur, and he wishes me to be a part of it! I know you do not agree, we have argued this many times, but Homo Sapien Superior has been oppressed far too long. With the liberation of Vladivostok, I now see the tide turns. I will not be left behind. I love you more than words can possibly say, and I do this for you as well. Farwell my love, Laynia. For perhaps the twentieth time, Mikhail savagely crumples the page in his trembling hands and lets it fall to the floor. Mikhail: Farwell, my Darkstar. He puts his head in his hands and silently weeps. Approximately twenty-seven hundred miles west of this sad house is the heart of the cause of all this misery. Moscow. When Apocalypse came, he came like a lamb, promising the greedy Soviet officials wealth and power, the destruction of their enemies and exalted positions in the new order. The Soviets accepted. They're all dead now. Moscow is now a city of rubble. It is the location of the very first culling. The Horsemen War and Death led mutant commandoes into the heart of the Kremlin and slaughtered all they found. They found them all. Sinister and Nicodemus came after with their lord, bringing their new army with them, mutants from around the globe under the banner of the Mutant Liberation Front. Even though they were outnumbered twenty to one, the MLF destroyed the Provisional Army stationed in Moscow, and mutants from all over the Soviet Union flocked to their banner. The other countries of the world, locked in the depths of the Cold War, were happy to see their hated rival fall. They praised this man, this monster, En Sabah Nur, as a liberator, not a conqueror. Now, a year later, these same countries are locked in a struggle against him, and losing. En Sabah Nur was clever enough, however, to realize the world community was not yet ready to accept the rule of mutants over average humans, so he created a provisional human government to rule in his stead, watched over by the oldest Horseman, the immortal Nicodemus. It is this man who strides down the dark hall of the ruined Kremlin. Guards bow their heads as he passes, but he takes no notice. He is a man who has for the last thousand years devoted himself entirely to the business at hand. Today, that business is war. As he enters what was once the private office of the General Secretary, the two mutants in the room immediately drop to one knee, heads bowed. Nicodemus: Rise, my prelates. We have much to discuss. The two prelates get back to their feet. To any passerby who happened to glance into the ornately appointed room, he would surely find it curious that the two figures standing before this frail old man are trembling in fear. The one to the Horseman's right is an American. His hideous features only partially reveal the monster within. His skin shines with an adamantium gleam. Massive steel hands end in needle sharp claws. He is a vulgar beast of a man. He is Cyber. The second prelate is even more dangerous than his powerhouse of a comrade, though he appears to be a normal middle aged Russian. He was recruited by Apocalypse early on to help pacify his Mother Russia. His name is Yuri Illyietch Androv. He is better known as the Soul Skinner. Nicodemus: I have received a report of a powerful mutant hidden near Lake Baikal, Siberia at what was once called the Urst Ordyanski Collective. Yuri, you will retrieve him. Skinner: Yes, Lord. Nicodemus: Cyber, Prelate Pyre has successfully infiltrated this laughable High Council. I have learned they plan a summit with the Russian rebels. You will take a force to Leningrad and destroy them. Cyber: What about Pyre? Ya got us runnin' all over heck, what's he doin'? Nicodemus: Pyre is no concern of yours. Just assemble your team and move out. Yuri, you must begin your journey as well. Both prelates bow and leave. The Horseman is not alone long. Nicodemus is alerted to a commotion beyond his door. A guard is suddenly sent toppling into the room. He lands at Nicodemus's feet. The eternal casts his mind outward into the hall. He relaxes once he senses there is no threat. He merely has a visitor. A strikingly beautiful red headed woman steps over the guard sprawled just inside the room. She carries herself with an air of strength and confidence. She should. She is a Romanov. Nicodemus: Ah, Natalia. It is so good to see you again, and so soon. Romanova: I'll bet. Listen, Horseman, En Sabah Nur left me in charge of the remnants of this country and I find it an insult that you and your gene-spliced monstrosities seek to deny me passage in any part of my capital! Nicodemus rises from his leather chair, his eyes gleaming red, a crimson mist seeming to issue from their sockets. Nicodemus: And _I_ find it insulting to be spoken to by the likes of you, a mere mortal and homo sapien no less! Romanova: Oh, sit down, old man. You can't harm me. Without me, who will lead your government? You? Do you really think the people are ready to follow a mutant? I think not. Nicodemus: What do you want now, Natalia? Romanova: The rebels in Leningrad are growing stronger and stronger. The number of troops you have allowed me to station there are inadequate. We need more. Nicodemus: Woman, for the thousandth time, I have no more troops to give you! The MLF must stay in Moscow, Minsk and Vladivostok. It is in these three places that the threat to us, to you, are greatest. Your own Provisional Army must handle the rebels. Romanova: Most of the Provisional Army are dead, remember? What about Scimitar? Nicodemus: No. I hope one day you will tell me how you learned of operation Scimitar so I can give whoever told you over to Androv. Scimitar is not yet ready. Romanova: How can it not be ready? You have emptied most of Azerbaiijan and Armenia for this project. Do you require more materials? Nicodemus: For the last time, Romanova, Scimitar is not your affair. You must run this pathetic, mortal, flatscan country. If your pitiful soldiers cannot best a handfull of rebels, perhaps En Sabah Nur need not continue this sham of provisional government. Then you too would feed project Scimitar. Now, get out of my office and do not be so presumptuous as to come here again uninvited or you will feel my wrath! Natalia Romanova glares at the Horseman for a minute, is about to say something, thinks better of it, and leaves; closing the door behind her. Logan: Well, Russia's changed. Ain't what I remember it to be. Indeed, Russia is not what Logan remembers it to be. The streets of Leningrad are strewn with rubble. Buildings are blasted and burned out. The cold wind coming off the oh-so-near arctic circle kicks the snow and dust up into the X Men and Simon William's faces. Piotr: I was here, once before. My mother and father took Mikhi and I here for my birthday, years ago, before my sister was born. I wanted to see the Winter Palace. Logan: Ya, well there it is, Petey, what's left of it. The once monolithic Winter Palace of the Romanova dynasty has been completely destroyed. It is a pile of debris now. The tallest remnants of the structure are a few of the stone pillars left standing with no longer a roof to support. Kurt: Where to now, mien freunds? Logan: I ain't yer friend, elf. Remember that. Kurt: You call me elf one more time, beast, and... Piotr: Hold! We must stop this bickering! Magneto said the rebels should be just past this... Colossus doesn't get a chance to finish his sentence. Weapon X suddenly tenses, he smells something. A second later the air is filled with bullets. Logan: Williams! Duck! Colossus dives behind a pile of rubbish and quickly assumes his armored form. He then throws himself in front of Simon Williams, who is too shocked to heed Logan’s warning. Nightcrawler teleports in a flash, reappearing in the gaping hole of a blown out four story building above the street. Weapon X simply charges into the hail of bullets, his healing factor closing each wound as it is inflicted as he reaches the squad of Provisional Army Soldiers who attacked them. [Snikt!] His claws are out. The soldiers fall back. Colossus rushes into the fray just in time to finish off the last soldier who was trying to get a bead on the savage Weapon X. Logan retracts his claws. Logan: Williams? Simon Williams steps out of a shadowed doorway: I'm okay! Logan: Where's the elf. Colossus looks around and sees the blue furry mutant on his high perch. He points him out. Piotr: Up there! Logan: Looks like yellow is more his color. In a flash, Nightcrawler teleports again and is gone. More gunshots are heard and the sounds of death again rise with the wind. Colossus: Come on! He must have spotted more soldiers. Weapon X: Williams, stay where you are, and stay hidden! Simon Williams attempts to melt back into the shadows of the broken shop-front as Weapon X and Colossus charge down the broken street . They turn a blind corner and find their new comrade amidst a swirling mass of soldiers, his twin swords flashing. Colossus and Weapon X hit the Provisional soldiers from the perimeter of the battle, trying to get to Nightcrawler, who looks as if he has taken many injuries already as he tries to dive the soldiers back. Suddenly, the crowd of soldiers parts. A coil of energy finds Nightcrawler, wrapping itself around his neck. He drops to his knees. In the next instant a bubble of force, an absence of light, forms around Colossus and Weapon X, imprisoning them. A figure wrapped in red and blue hauls Nightcrawler to his feet by the glowing cable. If Weapon X could see through the black bubble he and Colossus are locked in, he would know this man. Senyaka. As it is, Colossus knows who his particular captor is. By the very nature of their black prison, he knows. Laynia Petrovna. Darkstar. Mikhail's lover. Weapon X slashes at their confine in a blind rage, causing the armored Colossus to back away from his companion for those adamantium claws would pierce even the Russian's hard shell. Weapon X: I'm cuttin' this thing, but it recloses as soon as I try another swipe! The bubble starts to constrict, tightening itself around the two X Men, forcing the air out. Weapon X: Can't breathe! Blackness.