X-Men: The Raid (Part 8)

(So this is a shorter segment, but I couldn't find a good place to stop in the middle of the next bit. Next week will be more X-Men, but a longer segment. Hopefully I can even wrap up the battle!)

From the height there were at, even once Storm and her team were near the red brick building, it took them a moment of hovering to decipher the scene below them. They could see lots of bodies milling around, most likely Morlocks, a few others lying on the ground. It looked to be some kind of gathering, but it was difficult to see with who.

They could have rushed right in and began laying into them, but remembering her earlier, over-aggressive error, Storm decided they should err on the side of caution.

Thickening the clouds around them, obscuring them from view, she kept her team close as they slowly descended. Rogue floated to one side of her, arms crossed under her breasts, while Siryn was on the other, held aloft by Storm’s winds to forego her sonic scream. They would never be able to sneak right up on the gathering of Morlocks, but at least they could maintain the element of surprise long enough to see what they were up against.

“’slike a Morlock town social down there,” Rogue arched a skeptical eyebrow, “And Bets is right in that building yonder?”

“That is what she indicated,” Storm nodded, narrowing her eyes.

Siryn’s fists were balled at her sides, her freckles bunched up as she scowled with barely restrained aggression. So far, she hadn’t said a word, but she fairly radiated furious energy. If given the word, she would swoop down like a shrieking angel and lay into the Morlocks without a thought for her own safety.

Admirable, but they had to be careful now more than ever. Storm’s intuition that they were facing great, great danger still hung in her thoughts like the dark clouds overhead.

“Think they’re gathering up the loot or something?” Rogue

Siryn muttered something about thieves and bullies, her freckles bunching up as she scowled.

“Perhaps,” Storm replied, “But Betsy stated there was something of more import. Perhaps they are…”

Sudden movement among the Morlocks on the ground below made her trail off as she watched. It was like an ant hill had been kicked, newcomers streaming in and setting the others into excited motion. They got to their feet, greeting one another, milling about. Even from this distance, Storm could hear their voices swell in jubilation.

“Well, something’s sure got em fired up,” Rogue narrowed her eyes, “Why do ah have the notion that it’s not about anything good…?”

In complete agreement, Storm ordered the fog to descend. She and her team floated down with it, running a greater risk of someone noticing the unnaturally low hanging cloud for a closer look.

As they drew close enough to make out more of what was happening, several newcomers strode into the group. The gathered Morlocks parted for them, and the general murmur of happy voices became cheers and whoops, a welcome for returning heroes. Storm couldn’t see who they were from the tops of their heads, but she could see that there were three of them and each was carrying a burden. One looked like they were carrying a yellow tarp, another something of shining, metallic blue, while the last bore a milk-white shape that was shifting slightly on their shoulder.

The watchful X-Men were silent, each squinting to try to make out details, trying to make sense out of what the small, shifting shapes were doing.

The three Morlocks made their way into the middle of the group and the small square, laying their loads down in the grass, the rest keeping their distance. Whoops and whistles grew in volume as the three figures settled beside their former burdens and settled to some sort of work. Whatever it was, it drew more laughter and even chants.

In a conversation with Hank McCoy sometime back, Storm had learned from her intellectual friend that 80% of sight is comprehension. One’s eyes only sense different wavelengths of light; the complicated part is the brain making sense of the raw data. It’s complicated enough that expectation often guides it, so that if someone witnesses something far enough beyond their expectations, they might not even see it, or simply see it as something else entirely.

At first, Storm thought she was looking at Morlocks preparing laundry. The yellow tarp looked like it had a red t shirt and blue shorts on top of it, the figure beside it pulling the yellow fabric around as if to situate it, while another figure began rolling the metallic blue fabric up, like they were repacking a sleeping bag.

However, the limp flop of an arm above the metallic fabric, and the exposure of something creamy white beneath the red t shirt made what she was witnessing snap into focus.

Storm sucked in a sudden gasp, “Goddess…”

What she’d thought was laundry was unmistakably Dazzler and Jubilee, while judging by the dark hair and white skin, the third was Domino. Domino appeared to be kneeling, but the other two were limp, either dead or unconscious. She was also clearly missing her black catsuit.

Now that she understood what she was seeing, Storm also saw that Jubilee and Dazzler were in the process of being divested of their clothing.

Her comrades realized a moment later. Rogue stiffened. Siryn hissed a curse.

Jubilee was on her back, her yellow duster spread out beneath her, her arms freed of the sleeves. Now a smaller Morlock was rolling her t-shirt up over her bra, slowly, as if with great care or awe. Dazzler was likewise having her blue bodysuit rolled down her chest, a green Morlock pausing to unclip her belt and brush it off her, before continuing their work.

To see her comrades defeated was one thing, to see them being defiled was something else entirely. Rage gave strength to her storm, making thunder rumble, lightning to flash.

However, before she, or even Siryn, could do anything, Rogue shot towards them, the shockwave of her takeoff opening a wide hole in the cloud cover.

Siryn took off next, letting loose with her sonic cry and rocketing after her southern comrade, her red hair and striped cape flapping wildly.

Storm hesitated only a split second before following, calling on a cyclone to propel her. A frontal attack wasn’t the wisest course of action, but a decisive action was better than going off half-cocked. Her goal now was simply to hit these Morlocks as hard as she could.

Lightning crackled in her hands and even danced from her glowing white eyes. Below her, the Morlocks were already looking up with alarm, gaping as they heard the distinctive approach of her X-Men. Now that their attack was committed, Storm felt a swell of satisfaction at the looks on their faces. They deserved punishment for what they’d done this day.

Thrusting her hands forth, Storm called down lightning upon her foes, the bolts leaping past Rogue and striking their targets. Several Morlocks were knocked off their feet, while many others scattered, crying out in alarm.

“Getcher grubby hands off em, ya sewer rats!” Rogue swooped down, plowing through half a dozen of them like bowling pins.

Siryn was in the action an instant later, coming to a stop just above the ring of rooftops. Hovering, she refocused her sonic scream, sweeping it around and sending Morlocks to their knees with their hands clamped over their ears.

For her part, Storm threw a group of the villains off their feet with a gale, then tossed away the hoodie-wearing boy kneeling beside Jubilee. The young Morlock yelped as he was cast aside, then landed on his butt and scurried away.

The battle, if it could even be called that, was over in seconds. The Morlocks were already running for it when the X-Men had descended on them and now they had scattered, leaving their victims behind and piling through doors into nearby buildings or simply running.

While Rogue sent a few stragglers flying and Siryn drove the rest away with her sonic scream, Storm landed on the ground beside Jubilee and quickly surveyed her fallen teammates.

Of the three of them, Dazzler concerned her the most. The starlet was pale and shining with sweat, her short auburn hair sticking to her forehead, breasts heaving raggedly. Jubilee was sprawled out with her t shirt rolled up to her neck, but appeared to be peacefully asleep, probably drugged. Domino, on the other hand, was awake and aware, but stripped to her gray underwear, hogtied, and gagged.

“Mrmmh! Rhmmh hmmuh hhhh!” the mercenary tried to call through her gag.

Storm knew the position must have been humiliating for her comrade (a sock had been stuffed in her mouth then tied in place with her own gun belt), but as degrading as it was, Dazzler’s straits appeared more dire.

She hurried to Dazzler’s side as Domino began calling out more urgently, twisting and jerking in her bonds. The mercenary fell over onto her side, continuing to arch and writhe as she tried to free herself.

“MRRRH! HMM MHHH HHH!” Domino cried.

Before Storm reached her visibly ill teammate, a voice rang in her head once more. A telepathic message, like the one that had warned her of what was happening here, but now there was a different tone to it.

“That’s perfect, Storm.” she hissed, “Just where I need you.”

Storm froze.

It was the same voice, but with a harshness that hadn’t been there before. Psylocke could be sarcastic and sharp at times, but Storm had never the British ninja spit her words with such naked vitriol. This person hated her with a passion.

Whoever had brought them here, it wasn’t Betsy.

The realization turned Storm’s heart to ice.

“Rogue!” she cried out to warn her teammates, “Siryn! To me!”

Too late.

As a group of Morlocks fled, Rogue flew after them only a few feet from the ground, quickly catching up. Her speed tore up the grass as she passed, fluttering the scattered blades in her wake.

“Ah’m not even close to done with you—Whuh--?!”

Just before the southern belle was about to knock the rearmost sewer dweller into the others, a pitch-black circle appeared in front of her, like a painted hole in an old cartoon. Unable to stop herself, Rogue flew right into it and vanished with a surprised yelp.

The Morlocks the beautiful powerhouse was pursuing stopped running when they heard her cry. Seeing their trap had worked, they cheered and celebrated, even slapping high fives

A moment later, the portable hole shrank down to a tiny dot then vanished altogether. Rogue was gone.

Seeing what had happened to her teammate, Siryn’s eyes widened. She was young but experienced enough to understand a trap when she saw it. Pulling up in mid-pursuit, she turned back to regroup with Storm.

However, just as she began her retreat, a ball of fire shot down at her from the western building’s upper windows. It missed but was quickly followed by a variety of other projectiles and energy blasts from the other four buildings. In a split second, the air was filled with criss-crossing beams and blasts, all intent on downing the Irish X-Girl.

Siryn banked and weaved and spun, barely managing to find a path through the colorful attacks. She swept her sonic scream across one of the buildings, shattering almost all the windows in the upper floors. The attacks from that side paused as the Morlocks ducked to avoid the glass, but then their fire renewed as intensely as before.

For a moment, Storm was stunned at the cunning and military precision of the trap. Her team had been led right into a kill zone between four buildings, their enemies able to fire down on them from cover. They were not only surrounded, but they had lost almost all the advantages their abilities of flight had given them.

Even now, Siryn was only barely managing to avoid the incoming fire. The Morlocks weren’t the best marksmen, and the fiery redhead was well trained at evasive flying, but she was being driven lower and lower. A beam of blue energy glanced off her shoulder, making her clamp a hand to that arm in pain. She wouldn’t be able to keep it up forever.

Nor would she have to. Storm’s eyes glowed white and she raised her hands high, summoning the winds. They picked up dust and grit from the buildings as they swirled, whipping against the walls and windows, becoming a cyclone that filled the square.

The attacks from the hidden Morlocks grew less accurate as it became more difficult for them to see. Gradually it even began to taper off as many of them took cover to avoid the stinging winds and occasional debris.

“Away from us, cowards!” Storm called, “Your tricks are not enough to fell us!”

She drove cyclone on, urging it to become faster, more powerful. For herself and Siryn, in the maelstrom’s center, the shrieking winds were merely awesome, but to the Morlocks outside it, it must have been like hell itself. The stationary tornado was quickly shattering any windows that weren’t already broken, blasting paint from the walls and even starting to loosen bricks.

But despite her outward confidence and display of raw power, worry grew in the back of Storm’s mind. To carry out this ambush, all those Morlocks would have had to be waiting for who knows how long in the upper floors, completely silent and still. The Morlocks that had been used as bait had even feigned retreat, an incredibly dangerous and difficult maneuver even for trained soldiers. The amount of discipline and organization they were showing now was almost perfect, far beyond their usual mob tactics. The X-Men were facing something new here.

The incoming fire ceased altogether as the cyclone began to pick up bits of broken glass and tear out the windowpanes. She wouldn’t stop, though, not until she’d shaken those buildings to the foundations. She had to regather her scattered team, take care of their unconscious allies, perhaps even retreat until she had a better idea of what they were dealing with.

Siryn took advantage of the reprieve to touch down and silence her scream, resting her voice. Still rubbing her shoulder, where the shining yellow of her costume had been burned open, she stared with wide eyes at all the windows she’d been taking fire from. Like her leader, the young X-Man was growing concerned, her brow furrowing as she stared, close to shock at the skill of the ambush.

“Bloody hell, Storm!” she cried out, “Where’d they all come from?!”

“It matters not!” the wind rider called back, “Take Jubilee, I will take Dazzler and Domino! Prepare to—"

Suddenly, Storm dropped several inches. It was like she’d missed a step in the dark, her eyes widening in surprise at the sensation of falling and the abrupt stop. She wobbled but maintained her balance and looked down to see what had tripped her.

She hadn’t tripped. Her feet had vanished into the earth, burying her to her ankles. There wasn’t even any displaced dirt around them, they’d simply sank down, the ground closing around them.

Storm gaped. Before she could say anything or call out a warning, it happened again; the earth came to life and swirled around her ankles, then she dropped again. She cried out in surprise and fear, buried to mid-calf.

Siryn, who had knelt beside Jubilee and was in the process of sitting her up, turned when she heard the cry.

Noble features slack with encroaching terror, Storm stared at the ground with eyes the size of saucers. She had no idea of what was happening or how to fight it, particularly with a large portion of her focus on maintaining the cyclone.

She made another sudden drop, this time up to her knees. Then slowly, gradually, she began to sink into the earth.

“Storm!” Siryn cried out, dropping Jubilee and rushing to help her.

Storm’s heart was pounding in her chest, her breath coming at a frantic pace. Her feet and lower legs were completely enclosed, trapped. She couldn’t move them in the slightest and now she was sinking to her mid-thigh. She was slowly being swallowed by the earth, drawn into an inescapable, smothering grip. Soon it would be to her waist, then her chest, then…

The cyclone wavered as its mistress’ began to fight panic.

Siryn skidded to a stop beside her, but then looked around wildly, unsure what she could do.

“Hang on, Storm!” the younger woman cried out, “I’ll…”

Trying to calm herself, Storm focused on her powers. She called the winds to herself, drawing them around her.

“Theresa!” She cried out, “Back!”

Siryn hurried to obey and Storm brought up another much smaller cyclone, around herself this time, trying to pull herself out of the dirt.

Quickly the tiny tornado picked up grass and dirt, forming a dark funnel that obscured her from the world around her. Gritting her teeth, she used every ounce of control she had, focusing the funnel to widen at the top and narrow at the bottom, to use its energy to pull, allow her to fly.

The ground refused to relinquish her. As much earth as the mini cyclone pull up with it, more seemed to take its place. A more powerful force was pulling her down into its vice-like embrace. She sank to her hips, then her waist.

“WINDS!” Storm screamed, “Free me!”

The cyclone increased in power, pulling more fiercely at the wind rider’s chest and shoulders. Her hair was tugged straight up like a white ribbon, whipping and snapping, her arms and cape even pulled up over her head. Her breasts even rose slightly, her chest arching out, showing the curves of her stomach beneath the gleaming black spandex.

But her descent barely slowed. As strong as her attempts were to free herself, the earth had a better grip on her and wasn’t letting go.

Stabbing pain shot through the joints in Storm’s neck, arms, shoulders, back, even her ribs. With two supernatural forces pulling from opposite directions, the goddess’s body was the weak link. Already, she was unable to breathe, both from the cyclone creating a vacuum and its tug on her neck, threatening to strangle her like a hangman’s noose.

Despite this, she didn’t stop. Panic was driving away rational thought as the earth rounded over the swell of her butt, then rose up over her stomach and back.

“Storm!” Siryn cried again, “It’s not working!”

No sooner had she said this than a bone-like spike slammed into the dirt by her foot. The young X-Man looked up to see that the protective cyclone was dissipating. One by one, the Morlocks were poking out from their cover to begin firing at them, cautiously but becoming braver.

Siryn fired a keening cry back at them, blasting a few loose bricks free from the walls, but that only kept their heads down for a moment. The tempo of their fire gradually increased as more and more Morlocks began to realize the storm was dying.

Storm herself was going mad with fear. She was being pulled into the belly of the earth where she would be trapped, closed in. Her body was already more than half enclosed, unable to move. Every fiber of her being was screaming.

“No… nononono…”

As the earth pushed up at her breasts, the African goddess began to lose her steely control. The mini cyclone around her vanished as the winds simply went wild, fighting against each other or lashing out with sudden buffets and vanishing.

Siryn cried out as a rogue gale knocked her off her feet, then sent her tumbling along the grass.

Lightning lit up the sky, thunder booming, the clouds whirling and becoming so black it was almost like night.

“Nooo! NOOOOO!”

Blue eyes wild, insane with terror, she pushed frantically at the ground her hands. When this failed, she began clawing, then beating at it, gasping and panting at such a staccato pace that she never took a full breath.

The frenzied winds around Storm forced Siryn to take to the air. She let loose with her sonic scream and lifted off from her stomach, shooting upwards but staying close to her leader, circling as the Morlocks above her began to open fire with greater aplomb.

Storm was up to her neck now. The earth was tight around her chest, and it seemed to be growing tighter, threatening to stifle her breath.

“NOOOOO!” she screamed, flailing with her arms as best she could, “NONONONONONOOOOOOO!”

Siryn aimed a focused cry at the ground near her panicked leader, trying to blast the earth clear. The sonics dug a small trench, but it quickly filled back up, repairing itself.

The young X-Man didn’t have time to try again. She had to bank away to avoid an incoming fireball, then swerved and looped as more attacks came her way.

Storm couldn’t even scream any more. Her mouth was covered, then her nose. She was being pulled down into her worst nightmare and she could only wave her arms pitifully, all her power unable to help her. If her wits hadn’t been driven away by sheer, primal terror, she would have begged for help from anyone, anything to rescue her from this hell. She would have paid any price.

But as she slipped the rest of the way down, a voice did come to her. It echoed tauntingly in her mind.

“Come down here with us, Storm,” it chuckled, “It’s nice and cozy in here…”

If she had been remotely lucid, the wind rider would have recognized the voice. It was someone she’d beaten long ago, who was responsible for all of this.

As it was, Storm only barely understood the words and had no response. She only screamed wordlessly, the sound muffled by the earth as she sank the rest of the way in.

The last thing she saw before she was trapped in close, tight darkness, was Siryn desperately fighting the Morlocks in the buildings around her, with more charging in to attack her from the ground.