X-men: World of Gray

Chapter 34

Hi, everyone.  I just wanted to jump in here really quick and let you know I've launched a new blogging site.  It's for my fan fictions, currently discussing issues revolved around X-men.  The first blog compares movie Charles and comic book Charles, and there's a quick news flash about the sudden exit of Matthew Vaughn as director to the X-men prequel-sequel.  The website is www.erinjensen.wordpress.com

And now, on to the fan fiction... 

Chapter 34…

For most, the Pacific Ocean was a delight to behold. Especially on those mornings—sunny and warm—the right ingredients for serenity. Azazel wasn't a particularly serene person. He worked best in conflict, when the clouds began to gather and the thunder would boom. Anything else seemed lackluster.

Standing by the bed in his quarters, Azazel peered at the coordinates Riptide had given him. It was all of them—almost all, at least. Azazel hadn't bothered going back to the base since Riptide's death.

Poor, stupid man.

His demise made this triumph bittersweet. The coordinates would permit the mutants to rise together, their powers unlimited. Unstoppable. Nonetheless, as Azazel considered the way his friend had died, the fury surging throughout him almost made his skin a deeper shade of red.

Magneto would pay for what he'd done.

But first, more pressing matters required attention. Dropping the papers to his nightstand, Azazel flashed into a cloud of red. He needed to find Emma; they had already set up an emergency rendezvous near the docks and if she stuck to their plans, then finding her shouldn't prove difficult. She needed to know what Magneto had done. Soon after, they'd go on the hunt to rescue the others. Angel would surely join their cause, especially after Riptide's murder. But Mystique…Azazel wasn't so certain. He needed to find her before Magneto did.

If he was lucky enough, Azazel could convince her Magneto was their enemy.

All the other mutants were.

As Shaw had once told them, "If you're not with us, you're against us."

Azazel had every intention to follow that dogma.

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Day two. It was just past eight o'clock in the morning, but it could have been any time of day. In the ICU, Charles shared a room with two other men and there were no windows to prove an outside world existed.

Erik sat by Charles' bed. The other man lay motionless as he had since early yesterday morning. Nurses had shifted him this way and that to prevent pressure ulcers. At the side of the bed, a urine bag gradually swelled. An IV dripped fluids into his veins; the heart monitor beeped its forty times per minute like it was a dying wristwatch.

Erik sank back in his chair. He rubbed his face. Even if the doctors weren't right—that Charles hadn't suffered a stroke—the results might end up the same. And all of it was Erik's fault. He knew Charles would refuse to operate Cerebro. He had known that since agreeing to Riptide's plan.

Then, why did he agree to it?

Even before the question completely surfaced, Erik already had the answer, and it was so simplistic, it almost made him sick. He had to see for himself. He had to know what really happened to his old friend, to resolve what had been left on that beach. Cerebro had been such an easy excuse. Erik thought he could control the other mutants, to get everything he wanted. His army…and perhaps even his old friend.

Erik extended a hand and rested it on Charles' forehead. The other man's skin felt clammy and cold like no blood could reach it. Erik had already taken half of Charles away six months before. Now, he'd completed the job.