X-men: World of Gray

Chapter 43

Chapter 43…

A minute after Charles and the others departed, Erik's legs surged back to life as if coming out of a spell. Sensation poured through the limbs from waist to toes; he shot a look to the others. They were coming out of it as well—Azazel's eyes were already locked to Erik as both men rolled to their knees and warily got their feet under them.

However, the fury that had cursed Azazel's expression had subsided. The teleporter turned to Mystique as the girl glared at him, and a touch of guilt afflicted his features.

"You lied to me," she said.

Behind him, his tail lowered as if in defeat; he said nothing.

None of them did. As Emma and Angel approached, they all shared the same expression as though sharing the same mind. They had been foolish. They had ripped their own brotherhood apart for no real purpose.

Spotting that look of resignation on everyone's faces, Erik took the advantage.

Around them, the metal heard his call. A piece slammed into the side of Emma's head, wrapping tight. At the same time, Erik pitched a slab of metal to Angel. Both girls jerked their hands to their faces. They dropped to their knees, struggling to pry the metal away.

Before Azazel had a chance to react, Erik already had the broken fender curled around the red man's back, the ends almost piercing the teleporter's arms.

Gasping, Mystique dropped to Emma and Angel's sides. "What are you doing?" she screamed at him.

"Proving a point," Erik came back, tightening the fender.

Grunting, Azazel peered up at Erik with a mix of rage, confusion and fear. Yes, there was fear under that pale blue glare. Azazel had let his guard down. Now he would pay the price for that mistake.

Kneeling to the ground, Erik tipped his head curiously at the other man. "Now," he spoke, "we are going to take care of some unfinished business…comrade."

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The LaSabre sped down the San Diego Freeway. Moira's features appeared calm, but her foot practically crushed the gas pedal. Charles had already assured her Erik and the others wouldn't pursue. It was over, at least for Charles and the rest of them. For now.

From the backseat, Sean was breathing heavily. His face was a mess. The right eye had darkened to a puffy black and his lip was cut. Blood had dried underneath his nose; his skin was almost as red as his hair.

Resting an arm across the back of his seat, Charles told the young man, "We're taking you to hospital."

Sean shook his head. "No, I'm okay. Let's just…get out of here."

Charles had heard that line before—from his own mouth. "You're not all right," he replied. "We're taking you to a see a doctor—no debate. Yes?"

As if disappointed, the other man nodded.

With that, Charles brought his attention to Hank in the middle seat. The blue man's expression practically radiated of concern for him, the same concern he had been expressing towards Charles for the last several months. Instead of feeling annoyed, however, a surge of guilt jabbed Charles' insides.

"I'm sorry," Charles told his friend.

Hank blinked. "For what?"

"For all of it. You were right, my friend. You were right about me. Even before all of this nonsense."

"So…what do we do now?"

That seemed like the question of the day. On his seat, Charles lifted and dropped his arm. "I don't know. I honestly don't."

Charles glanced at Moira. Her eyes were already there to meet his—a reassuring glimmer in those pools of brown. She had more confidence in him that moment than he felt in himself.

"Well," Sean suddenly spoke up, "here's something that might make you feel better."

Despite the pain on his features, the young man grabbed the zipper to his shirt. Charles furrowed his brow, watching as Sean unzipped his uniform. Instead of skin, however, something white was protruding from underneath the Kevlar.

"Here," Sean said and pulled out a pile of sweaty papers. "I thought you'd want these."

He handed them to Charles. Curiously, Charles studied the pages. As he realized what they were, his eyes almost bugged out of his head.

Coordinates—pages of them.

"Where did you get these?" Charles barely managed to get out.

"On the yacht," Sean replied. "I found them just laying in one of the rooms."

On the paperwork, there were at least a hundred coordinates…it must have been the print-out from Charles' time on Cerebro.

"My God," Charles muttered as his hands fumbled through the papers. The coordinates ranged across the globe—from the United States to Europe, to Africa and as far as Australia. As the LaSabre drove further away from Erik and his brotherhood, Charles gazed at the list before him and smiled.

End of Chapter