Subject: Brotherly Hate 3/14: A tale of the AOA Date: Tue, 27 Aug 1996 01:46:32 +0000 From: Snowlock Organization: Corporate Communications Newsgroups: alt.comics.fan-fiction Author's note not pertaining to the story: I've noticed a couple of my stories have been archived without my permission. Please, I'm am completely honored that you like my stuff and want it on your page, just ask me first; it's the polite thing to do. Thanks, Snowlock. ______________ Brotherly Hate Chapter Three All the world is at peace. Children are at play in the Urst Ordyanski Collective. The great Soviet harvest machines are plying the field. Mothers and daughters are hard at work at home while husbands and fathers go to work each morning to advance the cause of Communism. The people are happy. The homes are happy. One such happy place is the Rasputin household. Piotr is playing in the yard, his shining metallic form glimmering in the morning light. Mikhail is in the back yard, using his mutant power create wondrous sculptures to the delight of his mother and infant sister. Even Father is home today. All is quiet, all is peaceful. Suddenly, the skies darken. Purple clouds come rolling in. It starts to rain; a black rain. The rain melts the fantastic creations of young Mikhail. Armored Piotr screams in agony as the black droplets dissolve his metal skin. Mikhail looks to his mother and father and sister and finds their skin burned away, revealing black stained bone. His mother's face is a skull. Mother: It is judgement day, mutant. Death to you all! With a gasp, Mikhail Rasputin bolts upright on his thin cot. The room is dark. Weak stars glimmer through the cracked window. Dreaming? A voice calls to him inside his head: What you saw, Mikhail Rasputin, was no dream, but rather what would have been. Where does the voice come from? Mikhail gets up and walks down the hall. He checks on his sister. Illyana is sleeping, but she's tossing and turning; probably having a nightmare as well. Voice: Why do you care for these humans, Mikhail? They are not of your people. Mikhail shakes his head in an attempt to clear away the voice. Voice: I am not some lingering apparition from the dream world, Mikhail. Do not try to send me away. Mikhail: Who are you? Voice: A friend. An enemy. A brother. It is now time to decide which. A figure walks into the hall, blocking Rasputin's path. Mikhail instantly draws upon his mutant abilities, holding them close, but not yet setting them lose upon this intruder. Intruder: You, see, Mikhail? You see how easy it is for one such as you to defend your self? You are Homo Superior. A normal man would quake in fear when one such as me penetrates the sanctity of his home. But not you. You are a warrior. You make a stand. It is time for you, Mikhail, to choose. Mikhail: Choose? Intruder: For far too long you have stood on the edge of the battlefield, content to watch as your brethren fight and die for you, while you are plagued by indecision. En Sabah Nur has come for you, Rasputin. The war is about to begin in earnest. He has need of you! Mikhail: Who are you? Though Mikhail's eyes tell him the intruder is standing still, the figure in the hall suddenly rushes forward with a speed the young Russian thought impossible. The intruder grasps Rasputin's mind, and as as a trapper would peal away the protective pelt of an animal, the Soul Skinner rips away the rationalizations, the indecisions, that have prevented Mikhail Rasputin from assuming his destiny. It is like the shattering of a stained glass window. The pieces of Mikhail's life land at his feet. He watches as his mother is killed in a hail of automatic weapons fire by the provisional government's troops, human troops. Through his mind's eye his sees his father's broken body lying on a high cold ledge overlooking the thin line of the government convoy's road, sacrificed so the rebels, the human rebels, can continue their unjust war. He grimaces in disgust as his brother kneels in supplication before the hated traitor Magneto as his parents look on with approval. His heart wrenches as he thinks of his last night with Laynia, and how he found her note on his bed the next morning. She had the courage to fight, but he did not. Mikhail falls to his knees as realization rushes into him like a river of ice. Mikhail: Yesssss!!! I see! I understand! Soul Skinner: Yes, you see. It is time, Rasputin. The High Lord calls you. You must answer his summons. The humans have taken much from you; your mother, father, and brother. They destroyed the collective. They oppressed you. The time as come for retribution, Nikoleivitch! The Soul Skinner increases the hold on the young Russian, subverting his thoughts, bending his will. Soon, the boy would be his. Mikhail: W-what must I do? Soul Skinner: I have travelled far to come for you Mikhail. You will return with me to our master, Nicodemus. Mikhail: Yes. It is time. The humans must pay for what they have done to me and mine. Soul Skinner: Good. We will leave at... A door opens down the hall. A being of pure innocence walks up to the kneeling Mikhail and places a tiny hand on his shoulder. Illyana: Mikhi? Who is that man? Soul Skinner: Pay no attention to her, Rasputin! She human, no longer of your blood. You are part of a new family now. Mikhail violently wrenches himself away from her sister's touch. He looks at her with a terrible rage. She is one of them. She will oppress him too; kill the ones he loves. Soul Skinner: She, too, must die, Mikhail. Kill her! Erase from our world her pitiful existence, as we will all of her kind. She is a throwback! This girl, like all of her pathetic race, has lost any right to exist in our new order! But as Nicodemus's prelate reaches deeper within Mikhail's battered soul, he encounters something he hoped did not exist: a brother's love for his sister. Mikhail: No! This is not right! Illyana is my blood. She will not be sacrificed. And as Mikhail screams these words, the nonthreatening bespecaled visage of the prelate is replaced by a monstrous being. Long green locks, more like tentacles replace his short hair. His average mass grows into a powerful frame. His teeth become fangs; his skin, emerald scales. The true face of the Soul Skinner is revealed! Illyana screams. Mikhail struggles to his feet, manipulating the floorboards beneath the prelate to grasp his legs, holding him in place. The telepathic grip of the Soul Skinner is shattered. Soul Skinner: Mikhail! You know this to be wrong! Apocalypse calls you! Do not defy his will. Mikhail: You tried to subvert me, monster. You tried to make me kill the last person who means anything in the world to me. To hell with Apocalypse! A black circle appears behind the trapped prelate. It is a portal to another place. This too is a part of Mikhail's genetic birthright. Mikhail: And to hell with YOU! The Soul Skinner is hurled backwards, screaming into the portal. As it closes, Mikhail hears the prelate's voice in his head. Soul Skinner: You are one of us Rasputin! I cannot fabricate feelings! I only showed you what you already know to be true! The portal closes and the monster is gone. Illyana rushes into her brother's shivering arms. He gently places his hand on her golden hair as she buries her face in his shoulder, shuddering violently. Mikhail: Shhhh. Shhhh, Snowflake. Everything will be alright, sister. Mikhi will take care of you. Illyana: I don't like this place anymore, Mikhi. Mikhail: Neither do I, Snowflake. Neither do I. Illyana lifts her head and stares into her brother's haunted eyes: We're leaving then? Mikhail gently brushes away a tear from her pale cheek: Yes, Snowflake, we're leaving. The computer screen glows blue in the dark room, casting shadows across the immaculate face that stares into the monitor. Natalia Romanova, president of the Provisional Government, has been before this terminal for several hours now, trying to crack a specific code. The screen reads: Project Scimitar Passcode: Access denied. Natalia: Damn! She signs and rubs her temples with the palms of her hands. Project Scimitar is the one piece of information Nicodemus has decided to withhold from her. She must find out what it is! From what her spies have gleaned, Scimitar is to somehow overcome the superior numbers the humans hold over the MLF. Does this mean more mutants, or is it perhaps some new type of superior weaponry? Natalia knows her position as leader of provisional Russia is tenuous at best. Perhaps the information hidden behind this passcode prompt would giver her the edge needed to stay in power. If only she knew the passcode! The door opens without a knock and the imposing figure of Horseman Nicodemus strides into the room. Natalia quickly closes the file and opens one designed to track the falling rate of production of the remaining farming collectives. Nicodemus: Natalia, what is it you are doing? Natalia: I am looking at... The Horseman leans over her shoulder. Nicodemus: Mmmmm... Farming productions statistics. Security reported someone trying to access Scimitar from this terminal. But here instead I find myself looking at how many bundles of grain came out of the Desvenda Collective last quarter instead. Curious, would you not agree, Natalia? Natalia: Yes. Must be some sort of computer glitch, Nicodemus. I shall have my people look into it. Nicodemus: No, don't bother. I have taken steps. Anyone trying to access that file again will do so for the last time, I assure you, Natalia. After all, an unauthorized invasion of classified information is an act of treason, is it not? Natalia: Most definitely, Horseman. Most definitely. Nicodemus walks back into his office and keys the intercom: Cyber, would you come in here, please? The door opens and the massive prelate bows before his lord. Nicodemus: I fear our dear Natalia Romanova is going to become a problem in the near future. I want you to take care of her. Cyber: Now? Nicodemus: No. I have sent word to our master telling him of these recent... complications. He would stay our hand for now. However, I want her under close watch. We only wait for the word of En Sabah Nur and then curiosity will have most definitely killed this cat. Cyber: No problem, Nicodemus. The chick is toas... He does not get to finish his sentence. The air suddenly grows thick, and then a mere foot or so from the ceiling reality tears open, spilling the Soul Skinner into the room. Nicodemus: Ah, Yuri, I trust your encounter with young Rasputin went well? The Yuri Illyietch Androv rises, still in the grotesque form of the Soul Skinner. Soul Skinner: Yes, master. It went very well. Cyber: Yeah? If it went so well, why ain't he here with us? And if you and the Ruskie have become such good buddies, how come you just fell outta ceiling? Don't remember landing on yer rump to be a part a yer mutant power. Soul Skinner: Some day, Nicodemus, I hope you allow me the pleasure of a few minutes alone with our dear Cyber. I wonder how long it would take me to peel away his adamantium layer and see what his true fears are. Cyber: Oh, yer scarin' me ta death, Skinner. Look at me shake, why don't ya. Soul Skinner: To the point, though. Rasputin _is_ one of us, I have seen it in his mind. With the death of his father and the defection of his brother, only the young sister, Illyana holds him back. Nicodemus: Is he dangerous to us? Soul Skinner: Perhaps. Like I said, though he is sympathetic to us, he still identifies with his human sister. If the matter were forced, I cannot say whose side he would chose. Nicodemus: So long as this Illyana is in the picture, correct? Soul Skinner: Yes. Remove the sister, and Mikhail's last tie to his throw-back family is severed. Nicodemus: Then that shall be your task, prelate. Kill this Illyana. Make Rasputin beg to become one of us. Soul Skinner: It shall be done. I will take the next train back to Lake Baikal. Nicodemus: No. She will not be there. Pyre has learned the location of the summit. If Mikhail still associates with the rebels, he and his sister will follow them to this meeting of humans. Soul Skinner: Then where are they? Nicodemus: Kiev. Kiev. Last bastion of what could pass as freedom in the Former Soviet Union. The streets and buildings are overcrowded; maxed out with refuges from all over the USSR. Peasants, soldiers and former bureaucrats mingle together in the drab streets. All are suspicious of one another. The terrorist attacks by mutant infiltrators have been many. The capital building is a bombed out ruin. Multiple, what could have passed for, skyscrapers have been toppled. Streets have been torn up by the treads of tanks. Sulphur and worse fill the air. This city would seem to be one of the last places on anyone would want to come to. It would seem to be one of the last places on earth anyone would want to stay in. But in fact, from the newly erected gates to the city stretches a line miles long of refugees who wait to be checked out as "normal" before allowed entrance to this fortress. And in one particular conference room in the new capital building, a group of men and women have journeyed from all parts of the globe to be in this city at this time. These are the delegates to the Free World Conference. It is an illegal gathering, comprising of the leadership of the various rebel factions around the world currently fighting the armies of Apocalypse. These men and women are heroes. They have sacrificed much to be here today. Loved ones have been lost and left behind. Nations have been allowed to crumble so its leaders can carry on the fight, and dreams have been abandoned to embrace a new dream, the dream of a world without Apocalypse. These members of the Free Council are seated haphazardly around the room. Men and women stand or sit, eyeing their former enemies from across the room, whispering amongst themselves. But, no matter what the distractions are, they remain with at least one ear turned to the current speaker and head of the Council. Nicholas Fury. Fury is an old man now. A veteran of World War II, he fought alongside the likes of Captain America and the Human Torch. He was called Sgt. Fury then, and he led the Howling Commandoes. The Commandoes are long dead. Most of them died of old age, a few had their nursing homes overrun by Apocalypse's reavers earlier this year as they swarmed the eastern seaboard of America. It was Nicholas Fury who first saw the need for the High Council. With the events of Black Wednesday, leadership in the world has been lacking, especially in Europe and the Americas. He called to his comrades, former associates of the various governments in both the West and East and began the process of putting together the august assemblage before him. They have journeyed far; Wakanda, Genosha, Britain, Germany, France, Australia, Canada, Japan, China, and the United States; all of them now on the brink of becoming former countries. The forces of Apocalypse are pressing each one hard in turn. Every delegate recognizes the fact that although their own country may not currently be under attack, as is the case of Japan, with the fall of another, they would be next. All of the delegates, then, are frightened. All are looking for leadership. All are looking to the ancient man before them in his loose fitting WWII combat fatigues and dented helmet. All the world is looking once again to Nick Fury for leadership. He can only pray that, this time, he is up to the task. The old man looks around the room, nodding to himself as he sees present those he commanded to come: Renee Majcomb and Prince T'Challa of New Pan Africa Baron Von Strucker, Georges Batroc and Peter Wisdom of the European High Council. Val Cooper, Clint Barton, Henry Gryich and Carol Danvers of Free America. Heather Hunter and the man known as Puck from what's left of Canada. Matsu'o Tsurayaba and the Lady Kawannon of Japan. The new emperor of China, the beringed Mandarin. The tough looking young men of Australia, among them, the mutant known as Gateway. The X Men have come as well. Colossus, Weapon X and an injured one Fury has never heard of. The Russians are probably the best represented. The behemoth of a man running the cell in Arkangel; Katu. Sergei Kravenoff, the hunter, runs a group of rebels out of the Great Russian Steppe, south of Moscow. The main rebel in Siberia, Alexi Vahzin is absent. He sent word saying he would be delayed a few days. The leader of the Moscow sect has as of yet not shown up. Kiev’s commander is here as well, Ivan Petrovitch Bezukhov former mentor of the most hated person in what is left of the Soviet Union, Natalia Romanova. Fury: Alright, let's get this under way. With the weak rasp of the legendary Nick's Fury's voice, the room is abruptly hushed. Fury: Bezukhov, you have the floor. A Russian in his mid forties takes Fury's place in front of the assembly. Bezukhov: Thank you all for coming. I know you all have made a very dangerous journey to get here, but I promise you, our need is most dire. You must understand, I do not speak just of the threat to the Soviet Union, or what remains of it, but rather the threat to the entire world. Black Wednesday has left all of the nations of the world leaderless. We are what is left to take up the call. Barton leans over to Gryich and whispers: Black Wednesday? Gryich: That's what they're callin' the day Apoc and his boys assassinated all the world's big wigs all at once. Barton: Gettin' rid of politicians? Where do I sign up? Bezukhov: We have gathered here today to discuss what our next step, as a people, is to be. The technology of Apocalypse is far superior to our own. An informant of mine believes his numbers will soon be as well. It is time for us to unite and take action. Von Strucker: The High Council agrees with you, Herr General. But what action can we possibly take? When Apocalypse first swept into West Germany, my Hydra aligned themselves with the military, but we fell quickly. What hope do we have in defeating an army of individuals who possess powers which we can only term as paranormal? Fury: We ain't without powerful allies ourselves, Strucker. Cole's men in Australia have enhanced themselves cybernetically. The Clan Yashida in Japan has employed the Hand, mystical assasins. We got the X Men... Mandarin: Bah! These decadent X Men will not help us, they are mutants as well! I say we assemble my empirial forces and invade! With my rings of power, victory is assured! Weapon X stands and faces the Mandarin: The X Men'll stand with ya, Mandy. That's why we're here. As for the shinnies on yer fingers, they ain't nothin' compared ta what the Horsemen are packin'. They got telepaths, teleporters, guys with healin' factors, guys who control the weather, super strong guys, super fast ones, folks who've lived longer than anybody's gotta right too. Don't think a few million soldier boys can stand against that kinda power. Ain't gonna happen. Mandarin: Mutant dog! You dare challenge the power of the Mandarin. Fury: Hang on! Just everybody slow down. We're all friends here. The fight's just on the horizon. We don't need a brawl in here. Val Cooper: Nicholas is right, Mandarin. I agree, your plan has merit, but by yourself, not even you have a chance. Mandarin: Perhaps. Barton leans over to Gryich again: Jeez, who does this guy think he is, Joe Confidence? Gryich: Joe's the reason Stark didn't show. Those two have had a mad on for one another for years, I guess. Barton: How could anybody get mad at his empiralness, over there? He's so dang charming. The leader of the Australian delegation, a cybernetically enhanced man known as Cole stands and faces the assembly. Cole: Da runt's gotta point, mate. Fer tha last year or so we all been fightin' by ourselves, and we been gettin' our butts kicked. Let's let Bezukhov 'ave 'is say, 'right? Bezukhov: Thank you, comrade. As all of you now know, thanks to the briefs that were dispensed to each of you, the Ukraine is the only free zone left within the former Soviet Union. We still have our fleet, our army, our nuclear... Barton stands, shaking off Gryich's restraining hand. Barton: Now just hold on a dog gone minute! You're thinkin' about nukes? I didn't sign on fer that! Fury: Barton! Sit down! Bezukhov: No, it is alright, General. Yes Mr. Barton, we are currently considering the nuclear option. The Soviet Union has fallen. All of Europe except Britain has been what we are now calling "culled". The forces of your own federal government in the United States have been pushed back to the west of the Mississippi. Japan and China are threatened. Australia has been conquered. Even if we were all to stand together now using conventional arms, it would not be enough. Barton: So you want to blow up yer own country then? That's yer answer?! Bezukhov: It is merely a proposed course of action, one of many. However, it is sadly the one with the greatest chance of success. Cooper: General Bezukhov, Apocalypse has claimed the American city of New York as his headquarters and capital. Does this mean you are considering launching against it as well. Bezukhov: It is a consideration. Although we have no confirmation, New York is the most likely location of Apocalypse. If we are to employ the nuclear option, we can ill afford not to attack New York as well. Barton: There's millions of innocent people in New York! Weapon X: No, Barton, they're ain't. I know, I been there. Fury: Which is the reason you and Colossus are here now. The X Men are the most reliable source of information in the conquered zone. Wisdom: Reliable? That's not a trait I would attribute to Magneto or any’a his people. Fury: Put that cigarette out, Wisdom. It ain't helpin' my emphazema any. Wisdom scowls, takes another drag, and puts it out on Colossus's armored shoulder. Bezukhov: Now then, we have two options so far. The Mandarin has pledged his forces and we have the Ukraine's nuclear arsenal. Are there any other proposals? Fury: I've been in contact with an old buddy'a mine. He helped me out during the Big One. He feels his kingdom is threatened as well. He'll help us too. Mandarin: And just who is this man? Fury: His name is Namor. Some'a you'll remember him as the Sub-Mariner from the history books. Barton to Gryich: A fish man? The old codger finally cashed in the rest of his reality chips. Cooper: The Sub Mariner? Was he not an enemy of all surface dwellers, General? Fury: Yeah, he was. He is. He attacked New York back in the thirties because tha comin' war was raisin' a little cain with his kingdom. Apocalypse is doin' far worse. Bezukhov: He'll fight, then? Fury: Ya got me, but he's pretty ticked off right now. If Apocalypse keeps disruptin' everything, he is sure to attack. Von Strucker: But attack who, Fury? I was a young boy when the Sub Mariner sacked New York, but I remember reading that he held all of the surface peoples responsible for what was happening to his kingdom. Fury: That's tha chance we might have'ta take, Strucker. I wouldn't exactly call Namor an ally, but I know he's not to keen on Apocalypse in particular. Bezukhov: Enemy of my enemy, then? This Namor is, unfortunately too much of an unknown to be of much use to us at this juncture, however. We cannot decide on a course of action around him. Fury: I'll by that, Bezukhov, but he's somebody we can keep in mind. The king of the former African Nation known as Wakanda addresses the assembly. T'Challa: A third option could be a strategic retreat. Africa has enough resources and room left to support a massive army. If you were all to withdrawl there, we could strike as one. Fury: The logistics of that would be impossible, T'challa. I don't think that's an option we can exercise right now. Batroc: Mon amis, are we not forgetting the Braddock project? Fury: Yeah, the sentinels are another option; some kind of joint attack of sentinels and ground troops. Bezukhov: Now we have three options, all of which make my homeland into a battleground. Matsu'o Tsurayaba has been quiet up to his point: There is one other course of action. Why not send a small strike force into New York and assasinate this Apocalypse. My people in the Clan Yashida have been contemplating this for quite some time. The Hand has come up with some intriguing senarios. Kravenoff, the hunter: Da! A small force could penetrate the city and hunt this beast down! Weapon X: The X Men have tried that at least five times, Mats. We've gotten into the city, but never to Apocalypse himself. And we've taken some pretty heavy losses gettin' that far. Kravenoff: Just because you have failed does not mean all would. I would wager not many of you X Men know the skill of the hunt. Matsu'o: Nor the art of the kill. Weapon X: I know both. Believe me, it just ain't an option. Fury: I tend to agree with Weapon X, but that don't mean we can't keep it under consideration. Bezukhov: Alright then. We have four options to consider. However, before we put it to a vote, I suggest we wait for my comrade from the Moscow resistance. She will be here tomorrow and may bring with her even more information. Fury: This council is adjourned. Get some sleep, people. You've got long lives ahead of ya. Barton: I hope. Colossus and Weapon X walk together down the hall away from the conference room, toward the medical wing. Piotr: You think Kurt will recover? Logan: Who can say? We don't know to much about the elf... Piotr: Don't call him that, he hates it. Logan: Like he can hear me. Like I was sayin' we don't know much about him. Mags didn't think it necessary to clue us in, of course. Piotr: The surgeons got the bullets out. Logan: Butchers, more like. Yeah, they got the bullets out, but its like they dug 'em out with a spoon. Don't know which is worse. Piotr: Perhaps he can heal himself, like you? Logan: Doubt it. He woulda come around by now. I don't think its gonna be too long before Mags is lookin' in the want ads for a new X Man. Piotr: I hope not. Logan: I never liked the kid anyway. Piotr: You don't like anybody, except Jean. Logan: You're okay, Petey, just don't tell anybody I told ya so. Piotr: What now? Logan: It don't look too good. Either the council goes for the suicide run against Apocalypse or we run home and tell Magneto ta break out the hot dogs 'cause New York's gonna turn inta one big weinnie roast. The two X Men enter the I/C unit of the med center and check in on their fallen comrade. Nightcrawler is on life support; tubes stretch from his arms and nose. A respirator is helping him breathe. He is covered with bandages, around his neck, arms, legs and torso. Kurt Darkholme's first mission is likely to be his last. Piotr: What about the Mandarin's offer, or these Sentinels? Logan: Mandy's nuts and that's that. The Braddock project's got a chance, but I don't think it's ready yet. Piotr: Then we [are] doomed. Logan: Lookin' that way, kid. Moscow. The former office of the former Secretary General. Nicodemus sits in front of a communications terminal. The glow of the screen bathes the entire room in a blue radiance. Nicodemus: Pyre, what is your status? Pyre: The council’s bustin’ themselves to figure out what to do. They havn’t made any decisions yet. Nicodemus: And is [he] present? Pyre: Yes, he is here. Nicodemus: He is a natural leader, Pyre. He and he alone has the strength of will among the humans to pull them all together toward a course of action that could actually injure the plans of our lord. Pyre: I have a green light, then? Nicodemus: The way of Apocalypse is that of survival of the fittest. That decrepit man is most assuredly unfit. Pyre: As you command, Horseman. The transmission is disconnected and the room is again dark.