Chapter 49 – The Siege and the Storm
Kierrok's corpse twitched like a puppet under broken strings, ichor crawling back into its veins, bone knitting, flesh writhing. The thing wasn't dying—it was rehearsing its next birth.
Charles Xavier's eyes narrowed. He knew the smell of resurrection, the psychic stink of something eternal. His hands trembled as he gripped the rims of his chair. "I'll see what it IS."
"Chuck—" Logan growled, still dripping blood.
"NO TIME."
And then Charles thrust his mind forward.
It was like plunging his skull into molten glass. Kierrok's essence roared—a continent of hate, a planet of contempt. He saw visions: endless battles, fires, humanity crawling in the dirt like insects under the hooves of giants. He saw the Cairn, pulsing, alive, a heart in stone feeding Kierrok's immortality.
Then came the backlash.
Xavier screamed, blood trickling from his nose, his body wracked with spasms. Colossus lunged, steadying him as psychic fire burned behind his eyes. But through the pain, Charles forced the words out, every syllable clawed from his lungs: "Storm… the Cairn… DESTROY IT."
And Ororo understood.
The battlefield trembled as Kierrok reared back to its full height again. The monster's voice was a choir of grinding tombstones. "YOU CANNOT ERASE ME. I RETURN STRONGER. ALWAYS."
"Not if we stall you," Cyclops barked, raising a bloody hand. "TEAM—FORM UP!"
The X-Men roared and surged forward.
→ Colossus became the wall, standing unyielding, steel flesh taking every strike like a fortress.
→ Thunderbird dove in like a warrior poet, fists like hammers, body reckless, each strike daring death to take him.
→ Nightcrawler darted like a shadow, bamf after bamf, tail striking, fists slashing, vanishing and returning, a swarm of ghosts.
→ Sunfire and Banshee lit up the skies, flames and sound battering Kierrok's head, hurling him off balance.
→ Cyclops, still battered, unleashed blasts like artillery fire, carving gouges into Kierrok's regenerating chest.
→ And Wolverine—cockroach, berserker, the eternal pest—slid into BULLET TIME. The world slowed, smoke curling in syrup, Kierrok's claws inches from tearing Thunderbird apart. Logan moved, claws intercepting, blood flying. He saw every attack before it landed, his hearing sphere mapping heartbeats, footsteps, gasps of his team. He was everywhere at once, intercepting death, throwing himself into claws, into fangs, into fire. Every wound healed, every second bought was another chance for Ororo.
Storm was already gone.
She sprinted through shattered forest, heart slamming harder than any thunder. The air thickened with sulfur, a sickly green glow guiding her to the Cairn.
And it was guarded.
Ngaria's spawn oozed from the shadows: demon-shapes half bone, half shadow, eyes burning with alien hunger. They closed in with shrieks, blades and talons glinting.
Storm summoned the wind. Lightning crackled across her fingertips, ripping the first demon into ash. But they swarmed her, hundreds, pressing, suffocating. The air grew tight. The walls of trees, the heaving mass of bodies—they closed in, the darkness squeezing her chest. Claustrophobia wrapped its fingers around her throat.
She gasped, dropped to her knees, visions of buried coffins and collapsed walls crushing her mind.
"No… no… I can't—"
The demons screeched closer.
But then, through the terror, a voice inside her whispered. 'You are not a prisoner. You are the STORM. You are the SKY.'
Ororo's eyes snapped open white.
Lightning split the heavens. Wind tore demons apart, ripping them into dust. Her scream became thunder itself, tearing the forest wide open. She rose from the ground like a goddess reborn, the storm wrapping her in glory.
The Cairn pulsed before her, alive, its stones glowing with Kierrok's immortality.
She raised her arms.
"BEGONE."
The lightning bolt shattered the sky, tore through her body, and crashed into the Cairn. Stone exploded, fire burst, the forest shook like the end of days. The Cairn cracked, shattered, and collapsed into rubble.
Back at the battlefield, Kierrok froze. His roar turned into a strangled howl. Smoke poured from every wound, body tearing itself apart. He tried to lunge forward, but the strength was gone. His body unraveled into vapor, his voice vanishing into the night.
"NOOOO—"
And then there was nothing. Only silence, and the stench of smoke fading in the wind.
The X-Men collapsed to their knees, panting, bloodied, but alive.
Scott stood, visor cracked, chest heaving. He looked to Charles. "What the hell was that thing?"
Charles wiped the blood from his lips, his voice trembling. "I… I don't… I don't know."
The night held its breath. The team stood among ruin and ashes, knowing this wasn't an end—only the first shadow of something larger.