“Lying to yourself again, suicidal imbecile,” Bob sang under his breath, looking closely at the negative outline of the guard against the rocks. He wasn’t so much invisible as hued exactly to match his background. Not much of a god power, but sometimes you had to make do with what you had. But from here, he could sense he was one of their magic slingers, hence the guard duty. “What’ll it take to get it through to you precious, go to this, why do you wanna throw it away like this, such a bitch -”

The guard finally picked up on him, and turned, throwing out his arm and a massive bolt of energy - a dismembering spell. Cute. Too bad it wasn’t enough.

Bob simply held out his hands, and caught the energy like it was a lobbed ball. He could feel the malevolent power of the thing make his skin tingle, although that wasn’t true - his skin was awash with his own power, blue light dripping off of him like extruded blood. This energy was nothing compared to his, couldn’t even begin to break through. He could have absorbed it; he chose not to. “- why do I want to watch you disconnect and self destruct one bullet at a time -” he muttered, as the energy arced back towards it thrower like a shooting star.

He saw it coming, but couldn’t react fast enough to do anything about it. And when it slammed into him, he seemed to explode into a million pieces, a melon on the wrong end of a rifle. “ - what’s your rush now, everyone will have his day to die,” Bob finished, as bits of the Silencias kept landing on the beach, falling from the sky like confetti. That was some spell he threw, all right. Nasty.

He had revealed the entrance to the cave at the same time, and he was within about three meters of it when what appeared to a pillar of red fire shot out of it, taking the shape of a dragon’s head as it slammed into him and actually sent him sprawling on his ass. It reared over him, seemingly roaring, red fire dripping from its wide jaws.

A manifestation, probably the combined might of many Silencias. It was cute, almost clever. Not enough, but you had to give them points for trying. “Hello dragon, meet George,” he said, projecting his own energy out into the shape of a fiery blue sword in his hand.

As he stood up swinging the sword in a perfect arc that would have neatly decapitated the projection, but before it could make contact, the dragon manifestation completely disappeared. “Aw, shit,” Bob exclaimed, disappointed. “People planning an apocalypse should not be scaredy pants.” Of course, he’d have killed their manifestation and possibly some of them if he made contact, but it still seemed like an unbelievably chickenshit thing to do.

He decided to keep the flaming blue sword, liking the ironic imagery, and entered the cave, bracing for the next hit. “C’mon, show me what you got,” he taunted, his voice echoing off the smooth rock walls. It was dark inside, save for some bioluminescent lichen clinging to random spots, but his flaming sword lit his path nicely - yet another reason to keep it. “Don’t you wanna try and kick my ass? I can stand in for the disappointingly divine parents who abandoned you! Don‘t be complete nancies!”

But the deeper he went into the cavern, the less he sensed them - and the more he smelled blood.

He felt a sharp pang of fear as he realized … holy shit, Logan’s blood was in there.

“Logan!” He shouted, running down into the darkness.

He knew they would need god blood as part of the ritual to raise Itchy, but it had never occurred to him they would use an avatar in its place - especially his. But it made sense, didn’t it? Cammy getting his ultimate fuck you gesture in by using his avatar to bring Itchy back. Bastard! If he hurt Logan, he was going to rip his bloody fucking head off.

His sword flared as brightly as a spotlight, and let him see why there was no further resistance to his approach.

The Silencias had all killed themselves.

The cavern opened up in a wide, circular chamber, hollowed out into a dome shape. On the flat, rocky ground, twenty bodies laid face down in a rough pentagram shape, their mostly red blood pooling into the charred fetish shape, making it sink even deeper into the rock, as if the blood was merely acid.

They had all slashed their own throats - many still holding the sacred blades in their extended hands - for maximum bleed. Their blood, combined with Logan’s, would more than be enough to feed Itchy, and bring him back. Cammy had probably promised to resurrect them as Itchy’s lackeys, without the problematic weakness of a partially mortal form. He wondered if he was actually going to keep the promise.

Although he smelled his blood, he got no sense of Logan being here, alive or dead, nor did he see him among the bodies. So that was Cammy’s trap - he had Logan. Bastard.

The earth started to tremble, mildly at first but quickly growing in intensity, and Bob could feel the dimensional barrier starting to break down. Here came Itchy.

“Oh no you fucking don’t!” he shouted, and squelched through the blood to the middle of the pentagram. He dropped to his knees and drove his sword of energy straight down, into the center of the form.

The cave was starting to crumble, huge fissures cracking through the walls and stones started to plummet down from the ceiling - the emergence of Itchy would surely cause the entire cliff side to implode. But why wait for that?

Bob reached out with his energy, found the nascent rift, and threw it open wide - causing the entire cliff to explode around him.

Debris vaporized long before it could reach him, and he never felt the fall to the beach; the chamber simply ceased to be, and he was standing on the beach at the edge of the shore, sword in hand, waiting for Itchy.

And there he was. Among a temple of rubble and body parts, Itchy stumbled out, clearly confused at being ripped out before he could push his way through. His form was that of a naked but sexless humanoid, with ruddy skin, like the flesh was transparent but flush with blood, the blind eyes made of granite, the face flat and strangely lacking a nose, although the mouth was wide and full of jagged stone teeth, honed to knife edges.

“Welcome back to Earth,” Bob said facetiously. “Hope you had a good life, ‘cause fuck, is it over.” And with that, he drove his sword of energy right through Itchy’s solar plexus.

He opened his mouth in a pained gasp, and Bob started funneling all his energy into himself, using the sword as a conduit. He wondered if he should someday tell Rogue she wasn’t the only one with the gift to do just that. “But take comfort in knowing I’m gonna use your energy to bring Cammy down - you’ll still get to kill, just not the things you were aiming for.”

Did Cammy think he was the only one who could others? They were all gods here.

And they were all equally damned.

18

Logan woke up on a beach, with the saline smell in his nose, the sun on his cheek, and sand in his beard.

He jolted up, pushing himself up into a sitting position, but as he looked around in disorientation, blinking rapidly, he saw there wasn’t much to see.

He was reasonably certain he was back in New York, as it wasn’t the most attractive beach in the world; desolate sand stretched towards a horizon filled with buildings that looked like abandoned factories, facades decrepit and eaten away, falling into disrepair with an inevitably he associated with depressed seaside towns. In a reversal of the laws of physics, the collapse always seemed to come before the neglect.

The sun was warm in the overcast sky, but the wind had a bite of cold to it, and the sea looked choppy but gray, like poorly filtered sewer run off. Even the whitecaps looked a little scummy.

How’d he get here? Better yet, why the fuck was he here? The last thing he remembered was being kidnapped by some magic slinging bastards …

“I freed you,” A female voice said behind him.

He looked over his shoulder so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. There she was.

Jean.

Standing only a couple of feet away from him, she was clad in her black X-Man uniform, only the jacket was unzipped, exposing the blood red tank top he never knew she wore. Her hair seemed longer too, a luxurious fall of crimson that beautifully framed her face, and seemed to be calling out to be touched.

But her eyes … damn it, her eyes were still red, full of fire.

“They were going to kill you, Logan, sacrifice you to some god. I think they got some blood, but nothing else - I took you away from them.”

He felt dizzy, he felt nauseous, and it had nothing to do with blood loss. “Thank you,” he mumbled, feeling cold and numb. He closed his eyes and pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, almost feeling an ache coming on.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, her voice full of concern. “Are you hurt?”

“You’re back now?” He asked, and suddenly a song started circling in his mind; a song he’d heard lots of times, thanks to it being one of Bob’s personal favorites. It didn’t take Logan long to figure it out either; hide behind the song, use it to shelter your thoughts from a telepath. He wondered if Bob had inserted it as another tripwire, or if it was simply something remembered on his own. He knew he had learned to evade telepaths; it was just another thing that was more instinct than memory.

“Yes. Logan, what is it?”

The song hummed in his head, white noise blocking out all other thoughts (“-Drunk on ego, truly thought I could make it right-”), and stood up, barely aware he was shaking. “I’m - I’m a little cold,” he said, although he had a feeling that wasn’t true.

“Oh god. I’ll get us out of here -”

“No, no,” he insisted, turning to face her. It was almost painful to look at her, like she was the sun. (“- but you’re far too poisoned for me-, such a fool to think that I can wake you from your slumber -”) “I just-” A tear involuntary slid down his cheek, and on impulse he hugged her, pulling her tightly against him. “Jean,” he gasped, breathing in the scent of her hair.

(Her scent was different; altered.)

Her body was radiantly warm, and she hugged him back, as if trying to share her heat. “It’s okay,” she said soothingly, stroking his hair. When her fingertips brushed the back of his neck, it sent shivers down his spine. “Why does that song keep going around your mind?”

“You know how it is - a song gets stuck in your brain, and you can’t get it out.” Partly on impulse, and partly out of need, he kissed her, burying his hand deep in her soft hair. As he had hoped, she didn’t shove him away, didn’t telepathically reject him, just responded to him with the same intensity. He knew, in her way, Jean did love him.

(She tasted the same. Almost.)

He pulled away from her, and told her, “I love you.” And then he moved.

It was so much instinct, so much his knee jerk response to avoiding telepathy, that even he didn’t know what he was doing until he did it. He spun away from Jean rapidly, only popping the claws on his right hand in time to make contact with Jean’s neck. He completely spun around, back to her, so he did not have to see what he did.

But he heard her head thud down onto the beach, seconds before her body collapsed.

Logan dropped to his knees and screamed - it was a scream of anguish and rage, the sound of a mind starting to fracture like thin ice. It came deep from his solar plexus, scouring his throat raw, and he lifted his bloody claws to the sky, as if pleading for absolution from some god he knew wasn’t there. And he would not accept absolution if it was given.

Claws retracting, he let his head fall forward into the sand as sobs ripped out of his body with a violence that made his whole body tremble. It wasn’t real; it didn’t happen. He didn’t do that. As long as he didn’t see it, it didn’t happen. He kept telling himself that over and over, a mantra sliding into madness.

(He stank of her blood.)

“You did it,” an unfamiliar voice said behind him. “I have to admit I wasn’t sure you would.”

Still shaking, trying hard to swallow his sobs, he looked up to see a shadow now covering him. The shadow of a tall, lean, bronze skinned man , shirtless and clad only in jeans … with bulging eyes of swirling blood, somehow staying within the confines of an invisible bubble growing out of the sockets. He smelled like power, and a somewhat familiar alien scent - the smell that lingered in the back of Jean’s scent.

He glared at up the man, possessed of the sudden urge to rip out his fucking throat with his teeth, but he couldn’t feel his legs beneath him. You could fool a telepath if you reduced yourself to instinct without thought; that didn’t work with a god. “You goddamn motherfucker - this isn’t real, is it?” He growled, feeling tears still streaking down his face.

Camaxtli gave him a savage grin, baring teeth as thin and sharp as needles. “I had to see what you would do. You don’t think I’d really put my avatar at risk without testing the waters, did you? You’re a vicious little Human - I like you.”

Logan gulped down his sobs, snarling up at him, the waves of arrogance and blood coming off of him just feeding Logan’s already voluminous rage. He made him think he’d killed Jean … for sport. It was a game, a fucking game. “I’m gonna kill you, you fucking bastard. As soon as Bob is finished with you, I’m gonna scatter your fucking entrails to the crows, you lousy piece of shit.”

Camaxtli continued to leer down at him and gloat, his amusement and contempt palpable. “I can’t believe you hitched your wagon to a loser like Bob. You’d be so much better off working for me. You want to kill, Logan? Do you want to let go of all those inhibitions and just do what you were born to do? I can make that happen. You want Jean? You can have her as often as you’d like - why do I care?”

“Fuck you. Fuck you!”

“It’s not really a choice,” he told him, folding his arms over his chest. “I can take you any time you want.”

Logan panted, unable to breathe through his clogged nose, but he was so enraged he almost couldn’t breathe at all. “No you can’t,” he snarled, only realizing he was right as soon as it was out of his mouth. Yes, yes that was right. “You can’t have two avatars at once; you can only have one. You don’t even have a world to return to on the Higher Planes. Jean was your only chance for escape.”

Camaxtli’s bloody eyes narrowed, and Logan knew he had hit a nerve. “Don’t you talk to me like that. I am a god, and you will not speak to me -”

“I’ll speak to you any fucking way I want,” he snapped. “You’re not my god.” It was then that Logan realied exactly what he should do - there was a way to save Jean, without killing her. His heart raced as he realized what it would cost … but did he care? Saving Jean was all that mattered; he could deal with the consequences later. “You're a chicken shit, you know that?  Bob’s got more balls than you.”

His eyes narrowed further, and the vessels within them seemed to increase their Brownian motion until they looked like blood tornadoes. “Shut your mouth, insect.”

“Bob at least avatared a killer - but you? A so-called war god, you took a pacifist, a doctor for fuck’s sake. You’ll have to hide within her own fucking mind like a repressed memory. And you said I was inhibited.” The song continued to circle around in his head - definitely a tripwire.

“I control this reality, maggot,” he said, as the sky turned black, clouds roiling like living things being boiled alive. “Watch your tongue, or I’ll rip it out.”

“Take me,” he growled, swallowing back bile. He was terrified, but he let his own anger barely cover the surface of it. If he was right, Camaxtli was like a rapist or torturer who got off on the defiance of his victims; it gave him more incentive to “break” them, bend them to his will. He was a shithead little sadist, a god for the limp-dicked predators who could only take on those that were so far weaker that the outcome of any fight was never in doubt. He was a war god - war preyed especially on the weak. What had someone once said?  War was cruelty?  That was probably doubly true of the war gods.

“What?” But Camaxtli was smiling now, showing the tips of those needle teeth.

“Take me, you vicious little shit,” he said, and made sure that Camaxtli could see he was trembling - but now it was out of pure, murderous rage. “Let her go, and take me as your avatar instead. I’m already a killer; in fact, I’m fucking great at it. You don’t need to force me to hurt anything - I was made to do that. And how much more could you fuck over Bob if you stole his avatar right out from under his nose?”

Camaxtli’s leer grew to savage proportion, threatening to split his entire face in half. Light seemed to glow through the blood of his eyes. He was loving this idea - and this scenario - more and more. “All for her? You haven’t even fucked her yet.”

“Eat me.” He couldn’t avatar two people at once; he would have to make a choice. One or the other. He just had to make himself the more attractive target.

“You know what I could do to you, Mister Nobility? I could make you kill her - I could make you kill all your family and friends. I could make you kill Bob.”

“Leave her out of it, and you can use me to kill the whole fucking planet,” he snarled. “But I’ll kill you one day, you fucking son of a bitch. Count on it.” The continued defiance was just added spice to the stew.

He knew torturers, sadists - he’d spent his life being broken by them, molded … not that it did them good for long. But they liked to crush the bugs, see them squirm under their heel - and what sadistic god could resist breaking down a mere Human who spit in their face?

Logan knew very well he might not come back from this - in fact, he hoped Bob killed him before Camaxtli could do much damage. But Jean would be free of him, and maybe that was all that mattered.

He didn’t have to kill her. He just had to be tortured and die for her … which was probably fair enough. He hoped she understood; he hoped the Boy Scout treated her right.

He wondered if anyone would miss him when he was gone.

“You’re terrified,” Camaxtli said approvingly.

Glowering up at him, flop sweat falling into his eyes, he snarled, baring his slightly lengthened canines just for effect.  It really wasn’t an act - he detested this sick son of a bitch, this casual manipulator who'd kidnapped Jean and made her a prisoner without her knowledge, this murderer who was little more than
a vampire god for feeding off of it.

They were both killers - they deserved each other. And it was clear, from the way his face seemed to glow, that Camaxtli was beginning to see that.

“I adapted to Bob’s energy,” he snarled, throwing more fuel on the fire of Camaxtli’s avarice. “I’ll adapt to yours too.”

“No you won’t,” he replied, his smile confident and patronizing. “Bob held back, not wanting to hurt his little bitch. I’d never hold back, slug.”

“You couldn’t hurt me, asshole; I’m beyond pain.” He had to be careful here - lay the bullshit on too thick, and he’d know he was being manipulated.

But maybe he already did; maybe he didn’t care.

Camaxtli crouched down, so he’d be at his eye level, reaching out and grabbing Logan’s chin. He wanted to pull away, but of course he was completely frozen now, unable to move, barely able to seethe. Logan was starting to hate the reek of his own panic, but there was nothing he could do about it. His animal
brain was rebelling at the idea of volunteering for slavery and torture - he’d been through it several times already, and his brain was screaming “No more!”  But he couldn’t listen.  He had to ignore what little shred of self-preservation he had.  This was for Jean; it had to count for something.  If he did nothing
good in his life, let him do this.

“Oh, my little insect, I can show you pain you never could have imagined if you lived for one thousand years,” Camaxtli told him, his chest puffing up with glee. He was enjoying this. His needle teeth sparkled in the dim light.

“You talk big, motherfucker,” he spat. “But you haven’t showed me shit yet.”

If a shark could smile, it would look like him. He was the evil Cheshire cat, something gone horribly wrong. All Logan could see were his teeth and his bloody eyes.

And he could do nothing but wait for Camaxtli to make up his mind.

____

To Be Continued....

(I’m an incredibly evil bastard, aren’t I? I’m sorry…)