Chapter 107
Arc 7 - Ch 24: Essex Accord
Thursday, September 15, 2011.
Location: Essex Corporation Headquarters, Manhattan, New York
Tyson strolled in through the main entrance of Essex Corp. The bustling lobby ground to a halt as he passed, his presence commanding attention. Faces turned, and conversations hushed. He was a household name now, a hero with a complicated reputation. The security guards shifted uneasily, their hands hovering near their weapons. Tyson had murdered a man on live TV recently and emerged unscathed from another fight just days ago. Their training hadn't prepared them for this situation.
He approached the security desk. "I'm just here to see the boss," he said casually before shrugging. "Or boss lady. Whatever." Tyson wasn't sure, given Sinister's gender fluidity, the one time they met.
"Please wait here, sir," the guard requested.
Tyson nodded and leaned against the desk, drumming his fingers on the polished surface. The lobby remained quiet, everyone pretending not to stare while stealing glances at the infamous mutant.
It wasn't long before the elevator doors opened, and Nathaniel Essex stepped out. He looked nothing like the flamboyant Mr. Sinister Tyson had encountered before. His forehead lacked the signature diamond, and his skin was a normal tan-white instead of ghostly pale. He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal suit that screamed corporate power rather than supervillain chic.
Essex approached with a practiced smile, extending his hand. "Mr. Smith, I wasn't expecting you."
Tyson looked at the hand but didn't reach for it. "Well, you surprised me last time. I figured I'd return the favor."
Essex's smile didn't waver as he gestured towards the elevator. "Shall we?"
As they entered the elevator, Essex pressed a button Tyson couldn't quite see. The doors closed, and instead of ascending as expected, the elevator began to descend. The ride was silent. Tyson kept his face neutral, but his mind raced with possibilities. What game was Essex playing? What lay waiting in the depths beneath Essex Corp?
When the doors finally opened, Tyson found himself facing a stark white corridor. It was clinical, reminiscent of a high-tech laboratory or a secret government facility.
Essex remained in the elevator. "Third door on the right," he said.
Tyson stepped out, confusion evident on his face. He turned back, with a question on his lips, but the elevator doors slid shut before he could speak. The soft whir of the ascending elevator faded, leaving him alone in the corridor. For a moment, he stood still, weighing his options. Curiosity battled with caution. This could be a trap, a ploy by Sinister to catch him off guard. But it could also be an opportunity.
He scanned the corridor, taking in every detail. There were no visible security cameras, no obvious traps. But Tyson could feel them, within the walls, through his magnetic sense. A series of identical white doors lined both sides of the hallway.
His powers thrummed beneath his skin, ready to be called upon at a moment's notice. He made his way past the first door on the right, then the second. Pausing briefly before the third, his hand hovering over the handle before turning it.
Tyson stepped inside, immediately noticing the flamboyant figure seated behind the desk. Miss Sinister sat there, her curvy body accentuated by her revealing outfit, cleavage prominently on display. In her hand, she held a chain that led to a collared figure lying next to her desk. The creature resembled a werewolf, its fur matted and eyes wild.
"Okay, I need to ask…"
"Did you just make me wait in the lobby so you could set up this scene? Or do you sit around with a chained werewolf all the time?" His gaze flicked to the door. "And was that the real Nathaniel Essex or a clone?"
Sinister laughed, the sound echoing in the sterile room. "Clone, original, does it matter at this point? We're all the same if the process is done properly."
"So, are you the same Sinister I met in the tunnels?"
"Not exactly. You can call me Miss Sinister. All new, all female, and as you said in your interview, single."
"So it is all for the show, then?" he accused.
"For you, of course, sweetie," Miss Sinister replied. "You seemed a bit unnerved last time, so we made me just for you."
Tyson shifted uncomfortably. "Not sure if that makes me feel better."
Miss Sinister's hand trailed along her figure, from bust to hips. "You'll forget all about the old me in time. New and improved."
"Riiight..." Tyson's voice was flat with sarcasm.
"So, the werewolf? I thought you were out of your pet phase?"
"My my, you are quite charming, even when you're not trying to be. No wonder you're a hit with the ladies." She continued, undeterred. "As for the werewolf, not quite. This is the Jackal, aka Dr. Miles Warren. You said you were getting tired of all the clones, so I tracked him down for you. No more clones. A favor from me to you." She tugged lightly on the chain, causing the Jackal to whimper. "The only clones left floating around are you, the Spider-Woman, since you seemed fond of her, and Kaine the fake Spider-Man, since I think you wanted to catch him yourself."
"Kaine is dead. Thank you for leaving Jessica."
"If only you were so fond of me. Maybe one day," she mused, studying Tyson.
"Honestly, I wasn't sure what to expect when I came here, but it wasn't this."
Miss Sinister leaned forward, elbows on the desk, placing her cleavage on full display. "Oh? Were you coming to give me a sample?" Her expression brightened. "I'd be more than happy to collect."
Tyson shook his head emphatically, stepping back. "No, that's not why I'm here." He studied her face, searching for deception. "I thought about when we met in the Alley. I initially thought you were behind the cloning and that we'd be enemies. But then thinking back on it, you didn't attack me, even after I attacked you. Plus, all of your minions that attacked me, you killed them. Then you shifted forms to make me more comfortable." He paused. "In a weird way, it was almost like you went out of your way to show that you didn't want to fight me. And showing up here, seeing that you captured Dr. Warren only confirms that. So why?"
Sinister held out her hand, challenge in her expression. "Shake on it, and I'll tell you."
"Not even a cleverly hidden trap. You probably know that when I touch someone, I absorb their psyche, but if they're too strong, their psyche becomes dominant. And you're a centuries-old, psychic, genius geneticist."
A slow smile spread across Sinister's face. "Not sure how you know that. But you can't blame a girl for trying."
To her surprise, Tyson reached out and shook her hand. When nothing happened, she narrowed her eyes, studying him intently. For the first time, she noticed how they had changed, now gray with green and blue rings.
"Your eyes are different," she noted with scientific curiosity. She leaned closer. "A physical manifestation of neurological integration. Fascinating. The shift from complete heterochromia to this distinct central heterochromatic patterning suggests… assimilation rather than just suppression." Her fingers twitched. "You've achieved cellular-level mutation control that I theorized but never managed to stabilize in the subject."
Her voice softened. "You solved the problem that eluded me. I find that... intensely stimulating."
Tyson pulled his hand back, his expression neutral. "Down girl," he said firmly but not unkindly. "What's your angle, Sinister?"
Miss Sinister moved beside him, her shoulder brushing his. "No angle, Tyson. Just... curiosity. You're a fascinating specimen. A perfect blend of power and control. I've been watching you, studying you. You've surpassed all my expectations."
"And what were your expectations?"
She smiled genuinely. "To create the perfect mutant, of course. Your mutation is so close to what I've been searching for, but initially, it was broken inexplicably. I couldn't understand. But seeing you like this. I want you so much more now."
"I'm not your creation, Sinister. I'm my own person."
"Of course you are," she agreed readily. "That's what makes you so fascinating. You've taken what I gave you and made it so much better. You've grown beyond my wildest dreams."
Sinister's expression softened. "Because, like you guessed, I'm going out of my way to befriend you."
"Befriend me? You've got a funny way of showing it."
"I didn't want to trap you by sharing my memories," Sinister continued, ignoring his sarcasm.
Tyson crossed his arms. "You want to be friendly? Tell me why you sent the Marauders into the tunnels. What were you even after? Cleaning up loose ends?"
Miss Sinister's expression shifted to something like regret. "Nothing so psychopathic," she said. "I sent the Marauders to retrieve a child."
Tyson thought back to that night in the tunnels. Through the chaos and bloodshed, he remembered a face. "The bald kid," he said. "Pre-teen, maybe a teen. You took his body."
"That's the one." Miss Sinister moved away, her heels clicking against the sterile floor as she walked to a window overlooking an underground laboratory.
"But why?" Tyson pressed. "All that death for one kid, it must have been important."
She turned back to face him, uncharacteristically serious. "Insurance."
"Insurance for what?"
"You know," she said thoughtfully, "for someone who claims to have such extensive knowledge about me, you don't seem to understand my primary motivation."
"Genetic perfection," Tyson replied without hesitation. "The pursuit of the perfect mutant."
"Close." Miss Sinister smiled. "Evolution. The next step. The survival of our species." She gestured to the laboratory below. "Everything I do, every experiment, every sample, every clone, every seemingly cruel action, it all serves that greater purpose."
"And the kid?" Tyson prompted, refusing to be distracted.
"That child possessed a unique genetic marker. One that could prove invaluable in the coming years." She paused, studying him. "You see, sometimes insurance isn't about protecting what you have. Sometimes it's about ensuring you have options when everything goes wrong."
Tyson stepped closer. "You're dancing around the answer. What made that kid so special?"
"That was why I really wanted to shake your hand. I wanted you to understand. To see the point of all this."
"Now you're being intentionally evasive. What exactly is the point?"
Miss Sinister stood and began pacing, putting an extra sway in her hips, drawing his eyes to her perfectly heart-shaped ass. She looked back, catching his eye, and winked. But then her expression became serious.
"The point, my dear Tyson, is survival," she said, voice low and intense. Her demeanor shifted, the flirtatious façade receding as the immortal geneticist emerged. She moved to a nearby console, calling up a holographic display of complex genetic structures. "Not just mine, not just yours, but the survival of our entire species against extinction-level threats to our genetic viability."
"Have you ever heard of Apocalypse?"
Tyson frowned. Of course, he knew about Apocalypse, but only from his meta-knowledge. So he shook his head.
Sinister's lips curled into a bitter smile as she manipulated the genetic model, highlighting specific sequences. "Apocalypse is a threat beyond anything you can imagine. A Class-4 mutant with a genome so advanced it's practically post-evolutionary. My history with him goes back centuries. I was a scholar, Nathaniel Essex, fascinated by the concept of survival of the fittest when Darwin was still formulating his theories. My research on mutant genetic markers was revolutionary but incomplete. Apocalypse, or En Sabah Nur as he was known then, recognized what others didn't and took an interest in my work."
She continued, gaze distant. "He showed me power beyond my wildest dreams. He transformed me and gave me abilities I never thought possible. But with that power came a terrible price."
"What kind of price?"
"Servitude," Sinister spat. "Apocalypse saw himself as a god, destined to rule over humanity and mutantkind alike. He wanted me to be his loyal servant, to help him cull the weak and create a world of only the strongest. At first, I was enthralled by his vision. But as time went on, I began to see the flaws in his plan. Apocalypse didn't want evolution; he wanted stagnation. He would create a world where only those he deemed worthy could survive, stunting the natural course of genetic development."
"So you turned against him?"
Sinister nodded. "It wasn't easy. Apocalypse had given me power, but he had also bound me to him. It took centuries of careful planning and manipulation to escape his influence. But breaking free wasn't enough. I knew that one day, Apocalypse would awaken from his slumber. And when he did, he would seek to reshape the world in his image."
"Is that why you've been experimenting with mutant genetics? To create something that could stand against Apocalypse?"
Sinister stopped, turning to face him with a look of approval. "Precisely. Apocalypse believes in survival of the fittest, but his definition of 'fit' is narrow and unyielding. I've been working to create mutants who are not just powerful, but adaptable. Mutants who can evolve and change to meet any threat."
"Every experiment, every clone, every genetic manipulation has been leading towards this goal. To create beings capable of standing against Apocalypse and his Horsemen."
"And that's where I come in?"
"You, Tyson, have exceeded all my expectations. Your ability to absorb and integrate other powers, combined with your growing control over those abilities, makes you formidable. In many ways, you represent the culmination of centuries of work." She moved closer. "But you're not just a weapon or a tool. You're proof that my theories are correct. That mutants can evolve beyond their initial limitations, becoming something greater than the sum of their parts."
"So what now? You want me to join your crusade against Apocalypse?"
"I'm not foolish enough to think I can control you, Tyson. At least, not anymore. What I want is an alliance. A partnership, if you will."
She held out her hand. "I don't even know what to offer you. It seems you have money, allies, resources, and women. But I offer you more resources, knowledge, and support beyond anything you've had access to before. In return, I ask for your help in preparing for Apocalypse's eventual awakening." She paused. "But make no mistake. When Apocalypse awakens, it will take everything we have to stop him. He will seek to remake the world in his image, destroying anyone and anything that doesn't fit his vision."
"I've heard stories about the four horsemen of the Apocalypse. Is there any basis in relation to this mutant?"
Sinister's expression darkened. "Apocalypse chooses his Horsemen carefully, enhancing their abilities to turn them into living weapons. Death, Famine, Pestilence, and War. Each one is a force of nature in their own right. We need a force that can match Apocalypse's Horsemen."
"How long do we have before he awakens?"
Sinister shook her head. "That's the problem. We don't know. It could be years. It could be tomorrow. All we can do is prepare as best we can and hope it's enough when the time comes."
Tyson looked at Sinister's outstretched hand, considering the implications of what she was proposing. An alliance with one of the most notorious geneticists in mutant history wasn't something to be taken lightly. But if what she said about Apocalypse was true...
"If you haven't been lying, and you want to work with me, I'll agree if you concede to three terms," Tyson said.
Sinister's eyebrow arched with interest. "I'm listening."
"If you still have Ann Marie, release her to me," Tyson stated firmly. "Two, tell me what you wanted the bald kid for because I didn't forget or notice that you intentionally left that part out. Three, I want a future favor."
Sinister's lips curved into a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She barely took a moment to consider before responding.
"Deal," she said quickly, extending her hand once more.
Tyson hesitated for just a fraction of a second before clasping her hand in his. The touch was brief but significant, sealing their unlikely alliance.
Sinister turned and gestured toward the door. "Come with me. I'll let you have her."
"The child had a rare mutation," she explained as they walked. "His mutation disabled the X-genes of those around him."
"He was a power nullifier?" Tyson asked.
"Yes," Sinister confirmed, pausing at an intersection. "Like your opposite. Anyone who got within a few meters would revert to their natural, non-mutant state. He was quite popular among the Morlocks, as you can imagine."
"I hadn't heard any discussions about the boy." Tyson shrugged. "But admittedly, I haven't spent much time with the Morlocks."
"What were you going to do with him?" he asked, watching Sinister's face as they resumed walking.
"You see, Apocalypse's awakening isn't random. It's triggered by specific conditions. The presence of enough powerful mutants acts as a catalyst. When the mutant population reaches a certain threshold, it signals to him that humanity has evolved enough for his return." She turned down another corridor. "Without enough mutants, he would sleep eternally. Should we fail to have the potential to stop Apocalypse, I'd have used his unique mutation to spread the nullifying agent through the population, reducing the number of mutants to below the threshold level."
"He was the ace, the last ditch effort, the weapon of mass destruction opposite what you said Magneto was trying to do."
Tyson's expression hardened at the implications. The boy's power could have been weaponized to effectively de-power the entire mutant population. It was exactly the kind of contingency plan he'd expect from someone like Sinister, ruthlessly practical and morally ambiguous...
Holy shit. He realized...
It was the plot of Logan.
He'd understood the movie wrong.
Logan hadn't lost his powers because of adamantium poisoning. Doctor Connors' research had proven that. It must have been something Sinister did. He didn't recognize the child during the Mutant Massacre. He was just a body among all the others. But the boy with the power nullification was a vital part of X-Men: The Last Stand. The final battle centered around him being the mutant cure, with Magneto trying to kill him. Now, in this world, Tyson had killed Magneto, and Sinister, who must have held the kid captive in the movie, accidentally killed him instead.
"And now?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral.
Sinister's lips curved upward. "Now we have you. A much more elegant solution, don't you think? Instead of destroying our kind to prevent Apocalypse's rise, we can face him head-on. Though I still keep my options open. It's served me well these past few centuries."
They passed several identical doors before Sinister stopped at one that looked no different from the others. She pressed her palm against a hidden scanner, and the door slid open with a soft hiss. The room they entered was colder than the hallway. The walls were lined with what looked like large metal drawers, each bearing a small digital display. It reminded Tyson of a morgue, and a sense of dread began to pool in his stomach.
His face fell. "No..."
Sinister approached one of the drawers and checked the display. Finding what she was looking for, she pulled it open smoothly, revealing its contents.
There was a body in it. Ann Marie, the original Rogue, the girl whose psyche lived in Tyson's head. She lay still, her skin pale under the harsh fluorescent lights.
She was dead.
"You killed her?" Tyson's voice rose with anger and disbelief. His hands clenched into fists, power thrumming beneath his skin, causing the metal cabinets in the room to groan.
Sinister quickly raised her hands. "I didn't. I swear," she said. "She was perfectly healthy, then suddenly she dropped dead. It happened shortly after I released you."
"Why should I believe you?" Tyson's eyes narrowed.
"Because killing her would have been counterproductive," Sinister explained. "The strangest part is that I tried to clone her again, and the process failed, which is unusual. I haven't failed in years. So I tried again and again. No matter how many times I tried, I couldn't create a clone of her."
Tyson stared at Ann Marie's body, a complex mix of emotions washing over him.
"I also tried using the samples I had in storage from your own cells," Sinister continued. "I figured I could reverse the process, reintroduce the X chromosome, a bit more splicing, and I could come up with something close to the original, with maybe a little more milk chocolate. But that failed. Trying to make a clone of you failed, too. Whatever it is about you, it's unique now. Despite my best efforts, I haven't been able to recreate it." She looked at him with scientific curiosity. "Which is why I want to work with you."
Tyson frowned at the implications. If she was telling the truth, then something had fundamentally changed in his genetic makeup, something that even Sinister, with all her centuries of experience, couldn't replicate. And if Ann Marie had died when he was released, what could that mean?
"I need to take her with me," he said softly.
"Of course. She's yours now." She paused, studying his face. "So what are you planning to do with the body? Nothing naughty, I hope."
— Rogue Redemption —
Long after Tyson left...
Sinister's heels clicked against the floor as she strode into the adjoining lab, Dr. Warren crawling obediently behind her. Her expression shifted from seductress to something colder, more analytical, as she studied the readouts. "His mutation is proving more adaptive than even my models predicted," she murmured. "His resistance to re-creation or duplication suggests something I hadn't considered possible outside theoretical models. And why it arose spontaneously is equally baffling."
The sterile room was filled with advanced equipment, genetic sequencers humming alongside computational arrays analyzing data at speeds that matched Stark's systems. At the center stood a floor-to-ceiling cylindrical tank along the back wall. Within floated a young man, his features boyish and fine-boned. Unruly brown hair drifted in the viscous liquid, framing a face relaxed in deep sleep. His lean, athletic physique hung suspended by wires and tubes feeding into his body.
She studied the floating young man. "I must admit, I was skeptical at first," she remarked to Warren, "But after thoroughly analyzing his genetic code and your procedure, it's clear you finally managed to create a viable clone." Tapping one finger against the glass, she examined the young man's features. "The question is, what role does he play in our strategy?" Her gaze narrowed in contemplation. "Tyson already has his friendly neighborhood Spider-Man and that spectacular Spider-Woman he's so fond of. He doesn't need or want this one..." She adjusted some parameters on the holographic display, and the nutrient mixture feeding into the tank changed color slightly.
Dr. Warren watched but remained silent, knowing better than to speak when Sinister was plotting.
"Begin conditioning protocol Beta," she instructed the system. "And add the memory implant sequence." The computer acknowledged her commands with a soft chime.
Turning on her heel, she strode from the lab, yanking on Warren's chain. "Come. We have much planning to do. We'll keep him in stasis until the right time. Then our young friend here will need a name when he wakes." She paused at the doorway, looking back at the floating figure. "Something with a suitable ring to it... What was that Parker boy's uncle's name? The dead one."
Warren finally spoke, his voice a hiss from his modified vocal cords and sharp teeth.
"Ben."
— Rogue Redemption —
Calypso walked beside Tyson with a confident bearing as they entered the House of M lounge. She'd traded her leopard fur dress for a modern blue one that showed off her shapely figure.
In the corner booth sat Agatha Harkness. Though polite, her assessing gaze tracked their approach with interest.
"Hey, teach," Tyson said, "I'd like you to meet someone. This is Calypso, a voodoo priestess of considerable skill." He turned to her. "And this is Agatha Harkness, my magic tutor."
"A pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise." Agatha's tone remained warm but reserved as she appraised the newcomer.
Tyson cleared his throat. "I thought you two might benefit from meeting. Agatha, while your knowledge of magic is unparalleled, Calypso's expertise in potions and darker magics, like curses, is second to none."
Agatha's eyebrows rose. "Is that so? How fascinating."
"Oui, it is my specialty. Though I'm sure there is much I could learn from you about other aspects of the magic."
"Please, sit." Agatha gestured to the seats across from her. "I would love to hear more."
Tyson and Calypso slid into the leather booth.
"So, tell me about your experience with voodoo. I've always found it a particularly intriguing branch of magic."
"It is a rich tradition, full of power and mystery that few truly understand. The spirits of my ancestors speak through divination, the cards, through percussion, the drums, through flame scrying in ways western magical traditions often misinterpret or dismiss."
Agatha listened carefully, occasionally nodding or asking a pointed question that revealed her own considerable knowledge of magic. The conversation flowed easily between the women, much to Tyson's surprise. He had expected tension, perhaps rivalry, between the vastly different magical practices. But instead, mutual respect bloomed in the wake of their exchange.
"Your work with potions sounds particularly impressive," Agatha said with genuine interest. "I've always found that aspect of magic to be quite nuanced and challenging."
"It is an art, to be sure. But one dat can be mastered with patience, skill, and understanding de properties of each ingredient."
"Perhaps we could exchange knowledge. I'd be very interested in learning more about your communion with the loa and your potion-making techniques. Your approach seems... refreshingly direct."
"Western magic builds walls between the practitioner and the power. My people, we become vessels for the power. Your magic comes from formulas, incantations, precise movements, and controlling the energy from a distance. In Vodou, we invite the power to possess us, to work through us."
"Different paths to similar destinations. My tradition emphasizes separation for protection. Many witches who blend too intimately with their magic find themselves consumed by it. But there's wisdom in both approaches. I could share insights into magical theory and obscure rituals that have survived through... careful preservation of knowledge."
"I hope you're ready to teach." Tyson interrupted, "Since I won't be going to college, I'm almost all yours full-time now."
"Finally gonna earn that paycheck, huh?" Agatha's eyes held amusement. Inwardly, she felt a spark of excitement. She hadn't had the opportunity to teach Tyson beyond the basics of magic because of his busy schedule. Now, she might finally discover how deep his potential went, and perhaps how useful he might become. During their work together, Agatha had watched his power grow, but not so much his magic. He had talent... but not that much. It was why she'd guided him toward blood magic. While he didn't have substantial magical potential, using the power of his blood would make him far more formidable as a practitioner. The maternal part of Agatha, a part she thought long dead after centuries of hardening her heart, felt a twinge of guilt at steering him toward such dangerous arts. But power was power, and she'd learned the hard way that sentiment had no place in survival.
Tyson leaned forward. "I've been meaning to ask you about blood magic. I know it's a powerful form of sorcery, but I'm curious about its intricacies."
"Ah, blood magic," Calypso said. "It is one of de most potent forms of magic, mon cher. But it is also one of de most dangerous."
"What makes it so dangerous?" Tyson shifted closer.
Calypso traced the rim of her glass. "Blood is life, Tyson. When you use it in magic, you're not just using your energy or de energy around you. You're using your very essence, your life force. It can grant incredible power, but at a terrible cost if not handled properly."
"I've used it before, with Agatha's guidance." He glanced at his tutor. "But I feel like I've barely scratched the surface."
"You're right about dat," Calypso said. "Blood magic has many facets. It can be used for healing, for curses, for divination, even for resurrection in some cases."
"It's important to note that blood magic often comes with unforeseen consequences," Agatha added, her voice carrying a note of caution. "The price for such power can be steep."
Calypso nodded in agreement. "Oui, dat is true. But for dose willing to pay de price, de rewards can be... substantial."
"What kind of rewards are we talking about?"
"Imagine being able to heal wounds dat would otherwise be fatal. Or to see into de future with clarity dat rivals de most powerful seers. Or even to bind spirits to your will." Calypso leaned forward. "But de most powerful aspect of blood magic is its ability to strengthen other forms of magic. It can amplify spells, break through wards, and even overcome other magical defenses. But it takes study, practice, and most importantly, sacrifice. You must be willing to give of yourself, literally and figuratively."
She reached out and traced a line across Tyson's palm. "Every drop of blood used in a spell is a piece of yourself given away. You must be careful not to give too much, or you may lose yourself entirely."
Agatha cleared her throat. "It's also worth noting that blood magic is often viewed with suspicion and fear. It has a dark reputation, not entirely undeserved. You know, Tyson here has quite an advantage when it comes to blood magic. He can bleed seemingly endlessly with no detrimental effects."
Calypso looked at him with renewed interest. "Is dat so?" She studied him carefully. "Now dat is something truly remarkable."
"It's true. My healing factor takes care of any blood loss almost instantly."
The priestess tapped her fingers on the table as she considered this information. "Do you realize what dis means? De potential for your blood magic is... extraordinary. Most practitioners of blood magic are limited by de amount of blood dey can safely use. But you? You could channel immense power without risk of draining yourself dry."
"It's one of the reasons I've been encouraging Tyson to explore this avenue of magic," Agatha said. "The possibilities are vast."
"Vast indeed," Calypso agreed. "You could perform rituals dat would leave other mages bedridden. Sustain powerful spells for hours, even days. De strength of your enchantments would be unparalleled."
Tyson absorbed this information thoughtfully. After a moment, he turned to Calypso. "Speaking of strength, in your memories, I saw flashes of the ritual you used to make Kraven stronger?"
Calypso's demeanor shifted. "Oui, it was... a ritual we performed together."
"We went to de zoo and consumed de hearts of de most powerful animals to gain their strengths."
"A blood ritual involving animal sacrifice?" Agatha asked.
Calypso nodded. "It was. We took de hearts of de fiercest creatures. Each heart was sacrificed, calling upon ancient spirits to imbue us with de animal's attributes."
"And it worked?" Tyson leaned forward.
"Oh yes." Pride and regret mingled in Calypso's voice. "It worked better dan we could have imagined. Kraven became faster, stronger, more agile. His senses sharpened beyond human limits. He truly became de ultimate hunter."
Agatha's lips pressed into a thin line. "But such power always comes at a cost. What price did Kraven pay for this transformation?"
"De price was not high. Kraven spent years becoming the ultimate hunter. During that time, bits of his humanity slipped away. When we did the ritual, he should have became more animal dan man, driven by instincts and hungers dat were not entirely his own. But all the years of being a predator, he already had those instincts. The ritual did not create strength, it took it from de hearts. The price was paid by de sacrifice." She turned back to Tyson. "It's why I caution you about blood magic, especially rituals as powerful as dat one. De strength it grants is tempting, but it can change you in ways you might not expect or desire. Taking in de essence of a creature is not something done lightly."
Tyson nodded slowly. If anyone knew what taking in the essence of others meant, it was him. "Would it need to be an animal heart? What would happen if we used the heart of a monster? Or a man?"
Calypso regarded him with apprehension. She crossed her arms.
"Dat... dat is a dangerous question," she said, her tone cautious. "De ritual we performed was already treading on de edge of what's considered acceptable."
"I hope you're not considering something so reckless, Tyson," Agatha said.
Tyson held up his hands. "It's just a question. I'm trying to understand the limits and possibilities of this magic… And I saw other things in your memories."
"It doesn't have to be an animal heart. De heart is used because it's seen as de seat of life, de core of a being's essence. But using de heart of a monster or a man... is truly forbidden territory." She paused. "A monster's heart might grant even greater power dan an animal's. De strength of a Wendigo, de regeneration of a troll… dese could all potentially be harnessed. But de risks would be immense. De more powerful de creature, de harder it would be to control."
"And the price would likely be steeper as well," Agatha added. "You might gain incredible abilities, but at the cost of your sanity."
"Eh. Maybe, maybe not. Depends on de hearts and de spirits and de sacrifice. As for a human heart... dat be de darkest of magics." Calypso continued. "It could potentially grant access to dat person's memories, skills, even add their magical abilities or potential to the practitioner if dey had any. But de consequences..." She paused, troubled. "De spirits do not look kindly on dose who sacrifice their own kind for power… Trust me, I know."
"Can this ritual be done more than once?"
"It can. It isn't recommended. Better to collect all de hearts and do de ritual once." Calypso's expression darkened. "I personally have performed it twice. Once to... grow my magic. Another time, with Kraven." She shook her head. "De boost I got de second time was small compared to de first."
Tyson nodded. His mind drifted to the heart he had taken from the Abomination when he defeated it in Harlem. The organ still lay preserved in his vault, waiting. But if what Calypso said was right, and he had no reason not to believe her, he'd only get one shot at the ritual. He'd have to start collecting the hearts of his defeated enemies.
The thought should have disturbed him more than it did. He sighed, wondering what it meant that he was even considering it.
Agatha watched her student's face with growing concern. "Tyson, I can see those wheels turning. Remember what we discussed about the price of power?"
"Each ritual carries its own cost," Calypso added. "De first time, I lost something precious… Family." She traced a pattern in the condensation on her glass. "De second time, de price was different. Less severe. I lost my love… but de gains were also less significant."
"Like diminishing returns," Tyson mused.
"Exactement." Calypso nodded. "De body, de spirit, dey remember de first transformation. Dey resist further change."
"Which means if you're considering this path, you need to be absolutely certain about your choices," Agatha said, fixing Tyson with a sharp gaze. "There's no room for regret or second chances."
"De timing must also be perfect," Calypso said. "De stars, de moon, de alignment of spiritual forces, all must be right. And de hearts..." She paused. "Dey must be fresh enough to still hold de essence of their original owners."
"Wait, it has to be fresh? How fresh?" Tyson frowned. "If I've had a heart on ice about three months, is it still fresh?"
"You already have a heart?" Calypso asked. "What kind of heart?"
"The Abomination. A gamma-enhanced monster. Uh, you've been in the city for a while. It was that creature that rampaged in Harlem back in June. I kept it preserved in a special container after I ripped it out of his chest."
Agatha's nails drummed against the table. "And you never thought to mention this before?"
"It never came up," Tyson shrugged. "I figured it might be useful someday, mostly for research."
"De preservation method matters greatly. Simple ice? Non, dat won't do. But if it was properly preserved..." She studied Tyson. "How exactly did you store it?"
"Static Cold Storage. It's a pretty standard method that involves flushing the procured organ with preservation solution at near freezing, then immersing it at the same temperature until transplantation. The hypothermic environment decreases cellular metabolism, and the preservation solution provides cytoprotection." Tyson answered, drawing from Magneto's understanding of the process that Connors used. "Organs can be transplanted up to a few hours, maybe a day or two, using this technique."
"Ah!" Calypso's expression brightened. "Dat changes everything. If de tissue truly hasn't degraded, if de cellular structure remains intact... De essence, de power, it would still be there."
"You're saying the heart could still be viable for the ritual?" Agatha asked.
"Oui," Calypso confirmed. "De physical freshness, while important, is secondary to de preservation of de essence. If dis container truly keeps de tissue in stasis, den de power within should remain intact."
"So I could use it?" Tyson asked.
"Technically, yes. But it would not provide de same benefits if de ritual had been done sooner. And remember what I said about collecting multiple hearts for a single ritual? If you're planning to do dis, you might want to wait until you have more... specimens."
"And where exactly do you plan to get these additional hearts?" Agatha crossed her arms.
"I have some ideas."
"De more powerful de creatures, de stronger de ritual will be. De timing must be right. Certain celestial alignments enhance de power of such rituals."
Tyson's fingers drummed against the table. The implications of what they discussed settled heavily in his chest. The power such a ritual could grant him would be immense, but the logistics and moral implications were equally weighty.
"I know roughly when there's going to be a massive celestial alignment, and also, a better place to store hearts."
If only he had access to a place where time didn't pass…
Thank you, Illyana Rasputin.
Tyson smiled at what he perceived as his own cleverness.
He'd told himself he was keeping the Abomination's heart for research purposes. A rational, scientific motivation. But now, considering Calypso's words, he recognized the deeper truth he'd been avoiding. Some part of him had always known this heart might be useful someday. Not for science, but for power. The realization should have disturbed him more than it did. Six months ago, even three months ago, the idea of consuming the hearts of his enemies to gain their powers would have seemed barbaric, the kind of thing villains did.
As if his inherited power from Rogue hadn't been bad enough.
But now...
He considered the shift in his moral compass. When had he begun to see dark magic not as forbidden, but as another tool? Was it after watching Jubilee die? Or earlier, when he first started using blood magic?
"Penny for your thoughts?" Agatha's voice interrupted his introspection, her knowing eyes studying him.
"Just thinking about how far I've come," Tyson replied. "About how much I've changed."
"Power changes us all, dear. The question isn't whether you'll change, it's whether you'll recognize yourself when the transformation is complete." Her words struck uncomfortably close to his unspoken fears. The Tyson who first arrived in this world would have balked at blood magic, at collecting hearts like trophies.
But Tyson had failed to save those he cared about.
Maybe using the hearts wasn't evil if the purpose behind it was to better defend those he loved. Perhaps the end truly did justify the means. But if so, how was he any different from Magneto? From Essex? From any of the villains who justified atrocities with noble-sounding goals?
"De ritual requires focus," Calypso said, misreading his silence. "Your mind must be clear, your purpose certain."
"My mind is clear," Tyson assured her, making his decision. "And I know exactly what I'm doing."
Tyson looked up, struck by a sudden realization. He turned to Calypso. "Wait a second. Can you call the spirits of the dead?"
Calypso nodded casually. "Oui, easily."
"Could one of those spirits inhabit a body?" Tyson leaned forward.
"It could, but der are significant hindrances," Calypso replied. "It depends on where the spirit rests and its willingness to return to the world of the living. Some loa, some spirits, have found peace and don't wish to be bound."
She became more serious. "Those spirits must be forced through powerful gris-gris and require constant willpower to maintain, or their mortal shell will decay. Zombie. The same happens if the body is not properly prepared before forcing the spirit inside. Zombie, lifeless yet moving."
Tyson's mind immediately latched onto the possibility this presented. Jubilee. This could be a way to bring her back. His heart raced as memories flooded his consciousness—her laugh, her bubbly personality, the way her plasmoids would light up a room.
But reality tempered his enthusiasm.
He didn't have a body appropriate for her... but Sinister could provide that missing piece. Once again, he found himself circling back to the idea of a clone body. He'd previously considered using Jubilee's saved blood sample to clone her, to bring her back. But was it right? The ethics of resurrection weren't something he'd discussed fully with Illyana, and he wouldn't make this choice on his own.
What if Jubilee came back changed? It was the question that haunted him. But if he could summon her spirit and bind her into her own clone body, wouldn't that be her? What if the process corrupted her spirit? As the implications of Calypso's words sank in, Tyson made a silent promise to himself. He would master this power, understand its costs and limitations. If there was even a chance to bring Jubes back, truly back, not as a shadow of herself, he needed to explore it. The thought both thrilled and terrified him.
But he had to ask himself. Was he seeking this for her sake, or to ease his guilt?
Agatha watched the emotions play across Tyson's face. She could see the wheels turning in his mind.
Calypso, seemingly oblivious to the internal struggle her words had sparked in Tyson, continued to explain the intricacies of spirit calling. He listened intently, absorbing every word. Each piece of information was a potential key…
A step closer to the possibility of reuniting with Jubilee. But he had an idea for a… trial run.
— Rogue Redemption —
The bored, indifferent tone of Wednesday's voice echoed through the lounge. "Tyson. It seems Tony Stark has sent you a gift after the recent crisis. How thoughtful of him to be so generous in the aftermath."
Right on cue, the screen in the lounge turned on, showing two high-tech trucks emblazoned with the Stark Industries logo rolling up to the garage.
Tyson made his way down, curiosity propelling his steps. As he entered the garage, the lead truck's door swung open and a man stepped out onto the concrete floor. Tyson recognized the face immediately.
Quentin Beck.
But this was before his turn to villainy or the adoption of his signature fishbowl helmet. Beck strode forward confidently, hand extended in greeting, a charismatic smile across his face.
"You must be Mirage, or is it Tyson now?" he said as they shook hands. "I'm Quentin Beck. It's a real pleasure to be working with you."
Tyson raised an eyebrow. "Either is fine. Working together?"
"Expanding your shows, of course!" Beck's smile grew. "My team—well, I should say my vision, executed by my team—has been working closely with Mr. Stark on a proof of concept." He gestured as if presenting to an audience. "As a joint venture between Mirage Enterprises and Stark Industries, we'll be able to stage House of M performances that will revolutionize entertainment. The world won't know what hit them!" There was something in Beck's manner, a hunger for recognition, a need to be seen, that gave Tyson pause. He knew this man's fate. His resentment would lead to the theft of Stark's tech after his death, and lead to him becoming Mysterio.
But the Beck before him now was untainted, brilliant, and ambitious, but without the bitterness.
The path that led him to villainy was not yet set. Tyson saw a chance and made his choice in an instant. He would not ignore Beck's talents or let that seed of discontent take root.
Tyson clasped Beck's shoulder firmly. "I've been looking for ways to take the House of M to new heights. Sounds like you're just the man to help make it happen."
Beck straightened at the vote of confidence. "Mr. Stark doesn't fully appreciate what we've created," he said, lowering his voice. "Between us, I've made some... enhancements to the original designs. Improvements that weren't in the official specs." Pride and defiance flashed across his face as he spoke before his charming smile returned.
"Don't worry. I'm not Tony Stark. Let's get your team situated. I want to see this proof of concept in action." Tyson steered them toward the arena. "Ready to show me the future of live entertainment?"
"Trust me, you haven't seen anything yet." Beck glanced around the arena with a calculating gaze. "What I'm about to show you goes far beyond what most people believe is possible."
He activated a small device, and suddenly the empty arena transformed. The concrete floor became a vast desert landscape, stretching to the horizon. Above them, twin suns blazed in an alien sky. The illusion was flawless, not just visually, but also with sound.
"Reality itself becomes... negotiable." Beck's expression turned serious. "The world thinks tech like this is just smoke and mirrors. They call it illusions. But I call it the future that most aren't ready to understand." He snapped his fingers, and the desert vanished, replaced by a cityscape. "Stark saw this as entertainment primarily, but also considered other applications," he continued, resentment edging his voice. "Training, therapy, education."
The cityscape shifted again, now showing the House of M arena filled with cheering crowds witnessing battles between fighters who weren't actually there.
"Your audience can experience anything." The passion in Beck's voice was undeniable. "And they'll never know what's real and what isn't."
The moment passed, and with renewed enthusiasm, he shut down the projections and began unpacking more equipment. Tyson watched him work. Perhaps this time, the story could end differently.
Suddenly, a thought struck him. There was someone he owed a show to, someone who had been patiently waiting. Someone else whose story he needed to end differently.
"Once you're all set up, I'll have to show you what one of my illusion shows is actually like, so you can make the experience as authentic as possible. I was planning a private showing soon anyway."
— Rogue Redemption —
Tyson and Calypso stepped out of the freezer, the chill air clinging to their skin as they entered the warmer laboratory.
"So, what do we need to do?"
Calypso twisted one of her dreadlocks, adorned with small bones and feathers, before answering. "We must bury the bodies in consecrated ground. The earth will cleanse and prepare them for the ritual."
"Where do we find consecrated ground in New York?"
"We don't," Calypso said. "We create it. We'll need to prepare a site, preferably somewhere isolated."
Tyson led the way through the tunnels beneath the House of M with two floating metal sarcophagi and Calypso close behind. They reached a junction where the tunnel branched off. "This way," Tyson said, gesturing to the right. "This leads to the Alley."
As they entered the adjacent tunnel, the atmosphere changed. The walls became smooth and uniform. "When the government built the Alley, they made a bunch of extra rooms and spaces they never ended up using."
"Perfect for our needs. Isolated and unknown."
They passed several sealed doors before Tyson stopped at one that looked no different from the others. He placed his hand on the metal surface, concentrating. With a slight groan, the door swung open, revealing a large, empty room.
"This should do," Tyson said, stepping inside.
The adamantium armor he wore began streaming from his body. With a flick of his wrist, it expanded, forming a large drill-like shape. It whirred to life under the power of his magnetism, its tip biting into the concrete floor. Dust and debris filled the air as Tyson guided the machine, widening the room and reinforcing the ceiling with metal supports. The noise was deafening in the enclosed space, but Tyson's growing construction experience allowed him to work with precision and speed.
With the room expanded, he turned his attention to the floor. The drill broke through the remaining concrete. Cracking stone filled the air as chunks of flooring gave way, revealing the dark soil beneath.
Once he'd exposed a large enough area, Tyson reshaped the metal into a tiller. The metal churned through the earth, turning over the soil and creating a rich, loamy bed that filled the entire room.
Calypso knelt, running her fingers through the freshly tilled earth. She closed her eyes, murmuring words in a language Tyson didn't understand. When she opened them again, she nodded with satisfaction.
"This will do nicely," she said, rising to her feet. "The earth here is old, untouched for decades. It will serve our purpose well."
Tyson surveyed their handiwork. "So, what's next?"
Calypso reached into her bag, pulling out several small pouches and jars. "Now, we prepare the ground. It must be consecrated before we can bury the body."
"And how long will that take?"
"As long as it needs to," Calypso replied. "These things cannot be rushed."
She directed him to dig a shallow grave, just deep enough to cover the bodies. As Tyson worked, she began chanting and sprinkling herbs and powders.
"Now," she instructed, "retrieve the bodies."
As they laid their bodies in the shallow graves, Calypso began the ritual in earnest. She lit candles at the four cardinal points of the circle. The air grew thick with the scent of burning herbs and incense. Her voice rose and fell in a hypnotic cadence as she called upon the loa, the spirits of Vodou. She sprinkled rum and cornmeal around the grave, offering libations to the spirits. Her eyes rolled back as she entered a trance-like state. Her chants grew more intense, her body swaying to the rhythm. She drew symbols in the dirt with a mixture of ash and bone dust, intricate patterns that seemed to pulse with an inner light.
The ground beneath their feet trembled. A faint glow emanated from the shallow grave, pulsing in time with the chants. She produced a pair of small, crudely fashioned dolls and placed them on the mound of earth covering the respective bodies.
"The spirits are listening," Calypso murmured. "They will prepare the vessels."
As the night wore on, she continued her incantations, occasionally pausing to pour more libations or add new symbols to the growing pattern around the graves. Tyson stood vigil throughout.
Near dawn, Calypso's chants reached a fever pitch. The air crackled with energy, and for a brief moment, Tyson thought he saw ghostly figures dancing around the circle. With a final, guttural cry, Calypso collapsed to her knees, spent. The candles flickered out simultaneously. Tyson rushed to her side, helping her to her feet.
"Is it done?"
Calypso nodded weakly. "The bodies have been prepared. Both will now accept a soul without decay. But the ritual is not complete. We must leave them buried for three days and three nights. On the fourth night, we return to raise them and complete the transference."
"What happens in those three days?"
"The spirits work their magic," Calypso explained as her strength slowly returned. "They will rejuvenate the flesh, make it habitable for a new soul. It's a delicate process, not to be rushed."
As they stepped back to survey their work, Tyson noticed something had changed in the chamber. The air had grown heavier, thicker somehow, carrying scents that shouldn't exist in this underground space; rich loam, flowers. The scattered chunks of concrete reminded him of fallen, weathered stone monuments.
"Do you feel that?" he asked, his voice hushed.
"The veil between worlds is thinner here now. The loa have acknowledged our offering and blessed this ground."
A subtle pressure built in Tyson's ears, similar to descending in an elevator, but pulsing in rhythm with what could have been distant drums. The temperature in the room had dropped several degrees, creating a pocket of cool air that didn't mix with the warmer air from the corridor.
"The spirits are gathering," Calypso said, watching small eddies form in the dust motes. "They are curious about what we attempt."
Tyson's skin prickled with goosebumps.
"Perfect for our purpose, but..." She paused, her expression serious, "Be careful while you're here."
As if in response to her warning, a shadow seemed to shift in the corner of Tyson's vision, but when he turned to look, nothing was there.
"Calypso," he said quietly as they prepared to leave, "are you sure about this? Can you actually bring someone back from the dead?"
"We're not bringing back the dead, Tyson. We're preparing a vessel for a living soul. But you're right to be cautious. The line between life and… death. It is not one to be crossed lightly."
— Rogue Redemption —
Felicia's gaze swept across the arena, taking in the equipment Beck's crew arranged along the perimeter. In the center stood Tyson, a small cooler at his feet, facing their assembled group. Herself, Jessica, Maki, and the others he'd specifically requested, Logan, Agatha, and Gambit.
"So what are we doing in the arena?" Felicia asked, crossing her arms.
"What are we doing? What I should be doing… Is punishing you for hiding that you underwent an experimental procedure without telling anyone." Tyson responded, pointing an accusatory finger at her. "I'm going to let it slide because I love you. But you'll be getting a spanking later."
Felicia tossed her white hair over her shoulder, and stuck her butt out challengingly, unconcerned. "Technically, I told Connors and Jessica."
"Whoa, don't bring me into this," Jessica protested, raising her hands defensively. "I knew what you wanted to do and worked on the science. I gave the stamp of approval that it was safe, not that you should do it."
Gambit shuffled his cards absently. "Remy thinks secrets between lovers never end well, non? Though Gambit understands the desire to become stronger."
Logan snorted. "Now that that's out of the way. Why are we here?"
Agatha nodded in agreement. "Can we get on with this? I just found a new show to watch on HBO."
"Which one?" Jessica asked, curious.
"Game of Thrones," Agatha replied.
"Alright, alright, let's get on with this," Tyson said. "No more interruptions or I'll spoil the finale." He extended his hand, focusing intently as he pulled Nexus from its place within his soul. The sword materialized in his grip.
"I made Nexus in Limbo with Illyana's help," he explained. "I used several runes, including ones that symbolized home, and integrated some special metal from the dimension itself... I think I can open a portal to Limbo."
Felicia frowned. "Shouldn't you have tested this while Illyana was here?"
"Probably," Tyson admitted with a shrug.
Gambit leaned forward, his red eyes glinting with curiosity. "What's de problem? Why do you need us here?"
"Limbo is filled with demons," Tyson said simply. "Just in case something goes wrong."
"Demons," Gambit repeated, his expression suddenly wary.
Logan cracked his knuckles. "Alright, if you see a white stoney one, he's mine."
Gambit pulled out a deck of cards, his fingers nimbly separating them as a faint magenta glow began to emanate from his hands. "I dunno what's going on, but I'm ready."
Tyson took a deep breath, centering himself as he gripped Nexus with both hands. He focused on the blade, feeling the connection to Limbo embedded within its very essence.
He spun and slashed through the air.
The adamantium monomolecular blade didn't just cut through the empty space. It sliced through reality. A jagged tear appeared, edges crackling with arcane energy. The portal widened, revealing a landscape that defied earthly logic.
Beyond the tear stretched a blood-red sky above a landscape of sharp, obsidian rock formations. In the distance, rivers of what appeared to be molten lava snaked across the terrain.
Jessica took an involuntary step back. "Holy shit."
"That's Limbo?" Felicia whispered, her eyes wide. "It looks like someone took Hell and decided it needed a new name."
Logan's nostrils flared as he caught the scent wafting through the portal. "I've smelled a lot of bad things in my time, but that place takes the cake."
Agatha moved closer to the portal, her eyes narrowed in professional assessment. "Impressive work. The boundaries are stable, at least for now. You've managed to create a proper threshold point."
Maki remained silent, but her hand had moved to rest on the hilt of Muse.
Gambit let out a low whistle, the cards in his hands glowing brighter. "Gambit has seen many things in his life, but this..." He shook his head. "This is something else, mon ami. You sure about this?"
A hot, sulfurous wind gusted through the portal, carrying with it the distant sounds of inhuman shrieks and growls.
"I spent a few weeks there," Tyson said. "It's not as bad as it looks."
"It looks like a nightmare had a baby with an acid trip," Jessica muttered.
Logan's claws slid out with a distinctive snikt. "I'm smelling something approaching on the other side. Something knows we've opened a door."
Indeed, forms had begun to gather in the distance. They seemed to be moving toward the portal with deliberate intent.
"Tyson," Felicia said, her voice tense as she shifted into a combat stance, "please tell me you have a plan beyond 'cut a hole into the demon dimension and see what happens.'"
Tyson gripped Nexus tighter, the runes along its blade glowing. "Of course I do."
"And that plan is...?" Agatha prompted, her hands beginning to glow with purple energy.
"Don't let anything through that isn't me or Illyana," Tyson answered, stepping closer to the portal. "And if I'm not back in an hour, uh, call her, and tell her I need a lift."
"How exactly are we supposed to close it?" Jessica demanded.
"Agatha knows how. Don't you?"
Agatha sighed deeply. "Yes, though it would have been nice to discuss that before you ripped open the fabric of reality."
"Gambit thinks maybe we should have brought more people, non?" the Cajun muttered, his entire deck now glowing with kinetic energy.
Tyson gestured dismissively at their concerns. "Don't sweat it. I've got a feel for it now. See you in a second. Or not. Always hard to tell with these things." He grabbed the cooler by his feet and stepped inside the portal, then willed it closed. The tear in reality rapidly sealed behind him, leaving the group in the arena.
He mumbled to himself. "Okay, so Limbo is timeless. If they call Illyana in an hour to come get me, does that mean she'll be here instantly, in an hour, or never?" Tyson began walking and said, "Pretty sure never is the correct answer." He shrugged. "Doesn't matter. Worst case scenario, I have a way home."
He hovered into the sky, trying to get his bearings. While he'd spent weeks here, most of it was in meditation. Recognizing a few of the ridges, he flew off in that direction, looking for something specific. He found it a short while later.
A stone castle ruin that looked like a nuclear bomb had hit it.
Massive chunks of obsidian masonry lay scattered across a half-mile radius, some embedded deep into the crimson soil. The central structure remained partially standing. Scorched patterns, still marking the ground, told the story of an immense series of explosions.
It was the castle that the demons had begun building under Azazel's instruction. Tyson had destroyed it using Jubilee's power when they attacked the demon invader. The memory of how adamant she had been that he use her power, how she willingly shared herself, enduring the pain of his touch, the brilliant multicolored bursts of her power.
It all struck him with unexpected force.
He slowed to a hover. There was a stone cairn off to the side. It was where he and Illyana had buried Azazel. The rocks were undisturbed, which surprised him, given the scavenger nature of Limbo's denizens.
Tyson landed beside the cairn, his boots crunching on the volcanic gravel. He extended his hand, focusing his magnetic powers to carefully shift the stones one by one, exhuming the mutant's body beneath.
Illyana had said Limbo existed in a single timeless moment, which meant the dimension's strange properties should prevent decomposition. The corpse revealed it was true.
Azazel lay perfectly preserved. His red skin had darkened to a deep burgundy, but otherwise, he appeared as he had in life, save for the stillness... and half of his head being blown out.
Tyson unsheathed Nexus, using the sword to cut through the demonic mutant's rib cage and remove his heart.
"One more ingredient," Tyson muttered, tossing the heart into his cooler alongside the Abomination's heart. The two organs lay side by side, one red, one greenish, both containing power he hoped to one day harness.
He carefully replaced the body in its shallow grave and reconstructed the cairn, stone by stone. "That's two," he mumbled to himself. He didn't intend to do the ritual now, unless he needed to, to get out of Limbo, but in the meantime, he took to the sky again, searching for the metal cabin he had created for himself and Illyana.
The landscape below was a chaotic patchwork of impossible geography. Rivers of lava flowed uphill in some places, while in others, gravity seemed optional with boulders hovering in the air, creating a stunningly otherworldly display.
Tyson navigated by landmarks he recognized. A spire of obsidian that resembled a gnarled hand, a crater, a field of stone formations that resembled petrified bodies.
He passed over a group of lesser demons engaged in what might have been combat or mating. With Limbo's creatures, it was often hard to tell the difference. Tyson snorted as he mused that it had been the same way the last time with Illyana. Fighting then fu… well, you know. The demons paused their activities to track his flight, but none dared to pursue. His previous time here had established a reputation, and the denizens of Limbo had long memories.
The air grew thinner as he ascended a plateau, the temperature dropping noticeably. Here, the constant background wails and growls of Limbo faded to a distant murmur. Tyson spotted his next destination. Nestled in a valley was the metal cabin he had constructed during his previous stay. It was a simple structure, utilitarian in design, built from salvaged metal debris he had manipulated with his powers. A small clearing surrounded it, free from the jagged rocks that dominated most of Limbo's landscape.
The cabin appeared undisturbed, just as they had left it. Time meant nothing here, and for all he knew, they had departed only moments ago from Limbo's perspective.
Tyson landed before the entrance, cooler in hand, and paused to listen for any signs of danger. The relative silence was broken only by the distant rumble of what might have been thunder or the roar of some creature. Pushing the door open, the metal hinges creaked in protest. The cabin's interior was exactly as they had left it. A bed with rumpled sheets occupied one corner, a small table with two chairs in another. He half expected Illyana to be inside, curled up on the bed or standing by the window, but the cabin was empty. The silence felt heavier somehow, more pronounced within these walls that had witnessed their intimacy.
Tyson set the cooler down beside the bed, running his fingers over the cold metal surface. Memories flooded back in, conversations held in whispers, skin against skin, laughter, and tears. The soft metal bed still bore the impression of their bodies, preserved in this timeless realm.
He sat on the edge of the mattress, feeling the weight of absence more acutely than he had anticipated. Being here without her felt wrong somehow, like returning to a childhood home only to find strangers living in it.
The door suddenly swung open with such force that it slammed against the wall. It would have surprised Tyson had he not felt the approach of the figure silhouetted in the doorway.
Illyana stood there, her blonde hair wild around her face, her blue eyes wide with surprise. She wore her adamantium armor, her Soulsword clutched in one hand.
"Tyson?" Her voice was a whisper, as if she feared speaking too loudly might make him disappear.
Before he could respond, she crossed the distance between them in three swift strides and threw herself into his arms with such force that he staggered backward. Her arms wound around his neck, and her lips found his in a kiss that was equal parts desperation and joy. Her body pressed against his as if trying to eliminate any space between them. When she finally pulled back, her eyes searched his face, her hands cupping his cheeks.
"What are you doing here? How?" she demanded, her Russian accent thicker with emotion. "I was just thinking about you, and then I felt... something. A disturbance in Limbo."
Tyson smiled, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her face. "Nexus," he said simply, nodding toward the sword he'd leaned against the wall.
Illyana snorted, a sound somewhere between amusement and triumph. "I knew it. I knew the sword would connect to Limbo."
She moved to the cooler he'd placed by the bed, curiosity evident in the arch of her eyebrow. "What's this? You brought supplies? Planning to stay awhile?"
Tyson shook his head. "Not supplies. Ingredients."
"For what?" Illyana asked, reaching for the cooler.
Tyson gently caught her wrist. "It's better if you don't look. Trust me."
Something in his tone made her withdraw her hand, though her eyes remained fixed on the container. "Mysterious," she murmured. "I like it." She turned back to him, her expression softening. "But you didn't answer my first question. Why are you here?"
Tyson sat back down on the bed, pulling her down beside him. "I wanted to see if I could do it. Open a portal to Limbo without you. I needed to know I had a way to reach you and this place, if... When. I need to."
"And you chose to test this theory by actually coming through? Rather than just opening a portal and looking?" There was amusement in her voice, but also understanding.
"Where's the fun in that?" Tyson countered with a grin.
Illyana laughed, the sound bright and clear in the metal confines of the cabin. "You're insane," she said, leaning against him. "But I'm glad you came."
"How are your studies with the Ancient One going?"
"Well, though I'm still having issues implementing sorcery into combat," Illyana admitted. "She insists I learn to create spellforms with one hand, so I might do it while using my soulsword in combat. I've been working with Master Hamir... He says I lack patience." She sighed. "But I'm learning. Slowly."
Illyana's expression turned thoughtful. "She says I could be Sorcerer Supreme one day, if I wanted it." She shook her head. "I'm not sure I do. Too much responsibility."
"Hopefully, when that day comes, you won't have to shave your head," he joked. "So I hate to do this, but I need to ask the future Sorcerer Supreme for a favor. Can I use you for storage again? Oh, and I wanted to invite you over for a show."