Subject: [OTL]: [HORROR] [DOUGLAS RAMSEY]--- Resurrection -- Upon a darker path Date: Thu, 2 Sep 1999 22:05:48 +0200 From: "oberon" Disclaimer : Warlock, Douglas Ramsey and Kitty Pryde along with other recognizable characters belongs to Marvel. I have borrowed them without any kind of permission, but I hope that this can be somehow forgiven due to the fact that I do not do this to belittle them, or even meaning to make any money out of this. And even if I am not forgiven for this little transgression, I'm still too poor for ya to get anything worthwhile from. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Warning : This story contains some rather disturbing images to say the least. And no, I do not hate Douglas Ramsey or Warlock for that matter. In fact Douglas Ramsey was long one of my favorite characters in the books. But I do NOT want to see him returned to life. In fact, consider this to be a boot to all the miraculous resurrections of the world of Marvel. For in letting people return after death, they belittle the meaning of their death. Resurrection --- Upon a darker path I am cold. So cold. And my mouth tastes of dirt and mold. My heart pounds in my chest like the wings of a captured bird while every muscle in my body twitches with the effort as I drag my befuddled and misty brain kicking and screaming back into the lands of the conscious. It really IS cold, and the darkness that presses in on me, smelling of damp earth, does nothing to help me quell the pangs of panic and claustrophobia. But somewhere deep inside, I find the strength to force a deep calm to settle over me. Assessing the situation takes a clear mind I keep telling myself and I try not to give in to the growing panic as I realize the horrible fact that the space I am currently occupying isn't just small and dark, it also smells as if something died in here. Not died. Something has been dead in here. And I have a sneaking suspicion that 'thing' was me for the last thing I remember was pushing Dani out of the way and the bullet striking me square in the chest. That would make this cold, dark and cramped place a coffin. My coffin. The very thought of it throws me into panic again and this time it takes me a while to calm down. But as I do, I pull my hands up to my chest, perhaps to see if there is any wound left or perhaps just to confirm that it was where I was shot. My hands however encounters something I am not prepared for. Rougher than skin it is still something familiar to me for I have worn it as my skin before. It feels oddly comforting. Testing my voice I call out. "Warlock, are you there?" But there is no reply. I would give just about anything to hear him answer with a "yessoulselffriendDouglas". But even so there is no reply, only the feeling of flesh not quite my own covering the place where I was shot. I let my hands explore further and realize that the wound is not the only place where the techno organics have spread. It's all over me. Without Warlock here to guide me though, I don't have access to the powers that usually would come with this kind of merging. Only one thing is clear, that even in this form I need sustenance or I will die again. So I desperately try to draw on the energies in the wood around me, which is surprisingly easy, the very wood of the coffin it seems is crawling with small living things. Rotting. The coffin is rotting. Dear God, how long have I been down here! The panic rears its ugly head again and I tear my nails off against the lid of the coffin. I push with every ounce of my strength and stop only as the lid tears and a rivulet of sand starts streaming into the already small space. Think Ramsey, think of something else. How? How come that I am alive? Of course I have heard about the miraculous resurrections of others, especially on the X-teams. But I just never thought it would apply to me too. And so something strikes me. The TO that covers me is from Warlock. And this is what he always warned would happened sooner or later if we kept merging. And the TO is almost impossible to destroy, as long as a single molecule is still in existence it will be able to rebuild the full creature. I have heard the words before, but now lying here they take on a new meaning. I have been reconstructed, but it took far longer time than anyone would have thought. Sweet God. What if they had cremated me? So now I have an explanation for what has happened, not that it helps my current situation, but at the least it lets me anchor my thoughts somewhere. My parents. My friends. I have brought them so much grief if they all thought me dead. The mere thought of being the source for all that pain almost makes me start crying. But the reasonable part of my mind advises me to not waste fluid like that. And the time passes while I try and find some way to communicate my plight to my friends so that someone can come and dig me out from this grave before it becomes so once more. The telepaths it seems aren't listening for me anymore, and that I guess is no greater wonder. Not even the professor could have had his shields down for very long without going insane with the chatter of a few million people inside his head. No, the telepaths give me no hope, and by now I'd even hope for Emma Frost hearing my desperate cries for help. The techno organics gives me more hope for a while. And I experiment with them hoping to find a way to send a message through radio communication or even the telephone. But either I have too little experience to manage this without Warlock's help or I am too deep down in the earth. Either way I can not be sure that I have managed to get my messages through to anyone that could help me. So instead, I sleep and dream of my friends. I dream over and over how they come to my rescue and save me from this deep dark grave. I dream of sunlight and laughing with friends and family that have long thought me to be gone and dead. But as the dream goes on things change in subtle but horrible ways. I see Illyana released from the curse of the Darkchilde, so sweet and so beautiful she is. And then as the dream shifts she shrinks to a small child and withers away. I see Roberto as a grown man, and dear God he is fighting us. I wake with my cheeks wet from tears, merciful God what nightmares. And what is worse I can feel that the life energy stored within me is fading far quicker than it would in a normal human being. And so, to conserve energy and give some time to my would be rescuers, I force myself to sleep again. * * * Her dreams are horrible and for once the close warmth of her lover does nothing to ease the horror or the pain. She starts awake with what is only half a scream. But it's by far enough to wake the man that shares her bed. "What's the matter, Pryde?" he asks. "Just a nightmare. Go back to sleep, Pete, I'll be okay." Not very convinced by her answer, and no stranger to nightmares himself, he doesn't listen but instead pulls her into his arms and asks her to tell him all about this dream. And she tells about how she dreamt of an old friend, long time dead. And how at the very core of the dream it didn't seem as much as a dream, but more like when the New Mutants were still around. "I had dreams back then that were not just dreams, but actually messages. We always thought that it had to do with my close bond to Illyana, and I haven't had any dreams like that since she died. Not until tonight's nightmare about Douglas. You never knew him, but he was the sweetest kid, none of us could quite believe that he was gone. I even went so far as to phase down into the coffin to make sure it really was him." The last sentence doesn't really end, instead it changes into a gut ripping sob as Kitty Pryde cries in anguish for a friend long since gone and thought to rest in peace. Through the night the horror continues as she is ripped time after time from sleep by the same dread nightmare of rebirth and smothering earth. And in the end, the decision is easy to make. Open the grave if need be, to make sure that he is not there suffering and perhaps finally appease whatever demon has sent these dread nightmares. And even as the decision is reached the nightmares start growing fainter. On the very flight over the ocean back to USA the nightmares finally seems to abate and Kitty Pryde enjoys her first undisturbed period of sleep in almost three days. * * * The dark soil parts easily enough under the combined strength of Brian Braddock and Piotr Rasputin. Each shovel of dirt meant getting closer to the core of a realm of nightmares. Very quickly the shovels strike against wood softened behind its age and very carefully the wooden box is lifted into the shade of a nearby tree. The coffin lid is lifted away by strong hand, and everyone steels themselves against the smell of putrefaction that must surely be there by now. There is no smell from the coffin. Only a husk of dried and brittle things that might once have been a techno organic creature. That and the scratch-marks on the inside of the coffin's lid.