cutting_edgex23 | yellow bird flying

A streak of silver bursts from the saddlebag of a nearby motorcycle, soars high above the crowd as a duller glint through the haze, and plunges down again to smack into Thor's waiting palm.

His t-shirt and flannel and jeans look abruptly incongruous, like an afterthought of an illusion over something more real.

"X." His voice is deep, urgent, commanding: aimed to cut through noise, and cut through confusion. "If you see this demon, or another foe, point me to him. Otherwise I will help these people."

"I cannot see him," X says, shaking her head once. "Anymore."

She'd be frustrated, but there are other concerns at the moment.

"You can carry me, too? It will be faster than climbing. Some buildings have not fallen yet, and there is no one else."

Edited 2014-04-21 22:35 (UTC)

"Yes."

Of course.

He catches her around the waist with his free arm as he drops Mjölnir to its strap and gives it a quick twirl. Silver armor ripples into being, mail latches itself from nothingness about his arms, and a red cape unfurls from his shoulders as he tosses them both skyward.

Some of the shouts in the crowd take on a different tenor as they dart upward.

"Go. I will take the south." The shifting of his grasp is the only other signal; so far as he's concerned, X needs no other.

And then she's getting pitched towards a seventeenth-story window. Thor has the pinpoint accuracy of a guy who's thrown a hammer around for several centuries. It's safe to say the window will lose.

Edited 2014-04-21 22:45 (UTC)

X tucks midair so that she hits the window feet-first.

It will save on a little healing energy. For later.

That later may involve mere seconds, as she slams into a wall before coming to a complete stop. Still.

She stands, shaking glass out of her clothes, and scents the air. There are people in several rooms on this floor.

In the rest of the building --

There are so many more.

She moves as quickly -- and as carefully -- as possible, gathering up survivors and sending them to the corner apartment with the large sliding doors and the most stable floors.

Maybe the firemen will be fast enough with their ladders.

Maybe --

Fortunately for everyone involved, at least in this building --

Spider-Man shows up first. And he and X have worked together before.

Successfully, even.

It helps.

Thor has chosen a building that's going to fall soon enough; it's groaning and cracking already. Earth's steel and concrete can only hold for so long. It makes speed a necessity -- but care rather less so.

He's very careful with the people, of course. But a whole lot of interior walls get sacrificed in the name of efficiency and Mjölnir.

Everybody seems to recognize him. It's useful. Clearly they think he's the alternate version X told him of -- a few babble questions to him about Avengers and names he doesn't know -- but they listen and obey, which is what counts. He doesn't answer their questions. Those who can hurry downstairs and away. Those who can't, he carries to the ground in armloads: clinging to his back, his neck, encircled by his arm. He sets them down where it's safe and tosses himself back into the dust-clouds.

When that building is empty, the next. The tremors have ceased. The soul-embers' energy has subsided. Now would be only the aftermath, save for the great sigil glowing orange in the sky. Thor doesn't know it. Perhaps his father or mother would. (Perhaps Loki would have.) He keeps a wary eye out, but sees no sign of a foe, no surge of energy from the sigil, nothing to fight.

This is what it means to be a prince, a king, a warrior: you use your strength in service of those who are weaker.

It's what it means to be an X-man, too.

Seeing that Thor and Spider-Man have the existing buildings sewn up, X devotes herself to digging up those on -- or under -- the ground.

She lifts rebar, claws through brick and stone and steel, pulls away rocks, carries the wounded, the elderly, and the small and scared.

She helps carry food, water, and shock blankets to those that need it, and helps clear pathways for EMTs and other emergency workers.

There is never time to stop. Not until all the work is done.

And by then the sun is ready to set.

Thor leaves the medical care to those who understand human physiology. Most of what he knows is that humans are incredibly delicate.

Lifting giant chunks of rubble, though -- well, that he can do. All around him, others are pitching in, the weak and the strong alike: X, a springing white-suited man he hears called Spider-Man, the humans of the crowd, others in uniforms of rescue forces or guards.

Until it seems there's nothing more that urgently needs doing, and a look at X tells him that she agrees.

Edited 2014-04-21 23:15 (UTC)

"It is the symbol," X says, stepping close to Thor.

(After inspecting him to make sure he is not injured, of course. Just to be sure.)

"From my dream. It was on a man, too. Here. But I cannot find his scent. I -- "

She flicks a glance up at her Asgardian friend as several white-suited figures approach.

Spider-Man drops down near them, too. Apparently the white is a theme.

"It's not over yet. You say you've seen the symbol before? Here, in New York?"

Reed Richards, it seems, is not much for small talk. This is probably for the best.

Thor lifts his brows slightly at the new arrivals, but X seems inclined to converse with them on this matter. Well enough.

He crosses his arms, and settles back to listen.

X remains poised on her toes, ready to move.

Just in case.

"In a dream. About New York. And on a man. Here."

Beat.

"He vanished when the buildings fell. His scent is gone, too."

She tilts her head, then, watching the Future Foundation. Minute changes in posture and scent can be very telling.

"You have seen it, too."

Her gaze flicks between Spider-Man and Sue Storm for a moment, then settles briefly on Thor.

Will he follow her in this, too?

"Tell us what you know."

It should probably be a request. Alas.

Thor inclines his head to her very slightly.

He offered her his assistance when he came. That offer holds.

And she is the one who's been having prophetic dreams about all this. (Maybe some of these white-clad folks have too, but X is the one whose competence and good sense Thor knows to trust.)

"If you'll come with us to the Foundation," Reed offers, "We can show you the data we have on the quake and its causes, too."

"And we can strategize," Sue puts in.

Maybe she's reading X's microexpressions. Or Thor's.

X is silent for a few seconds, thinking it over. But given the circumstances --

"Okay. But it will be better to be quick."

Edited 2014-04-24 22:02 (UTC)

Well enough. But first things first:

"I am Thor Odinson of Asgard."

He's pretty sure they know that already. But some diplomatic preliminaries are important anyway. There are things for which clarity matters.

"I'm told I have another self in this world. I am not he. But the Lady X is a friend, and I have offered her my aid in this matter. I will come as well."

All of this is directed equally to Reed and Sue. They seem to be the leaders of the white-clad warriors of this Foundation.

X's shrug is one-shouldered and quick.

"Milliways."

"Ah."

There will likely be an exchange of courtesies as they walk -- and possibly some less-than-diplomatic questions about other realities from Reed -- but the trip to the Baxter Building is relatively quick.

And inside the building it's almost like a Milliways-ian old home week. Aliens and children and novel instrumentation are coming out of the building's seams.

Sadly, very little of it -- at least at this point -- relates to the recent earthquake.

"It was limited to one block, which is strange enough, but the epicenter was the physics building of the university." Reed gestures to several graphs and a glowing blue map. "There was an energy spike just before -- "

There are some interesting readings here! Some of them for their own sake, and some of them... because the equipment is antiquated enough by Asgardian standards that he has no idea how it works. (Don't tell Reed.)

"Yes," Thor rumbles.

"Soul-embers, we would say."

It's not the most precise of terms -- accurate, but broad -- but Thor isn't a scholar.

"Souls did that?"

"Whose?"

Somewhere in the background Valeria Richards is fiddling with an elaborate sensing apparatus. Adults arguing is boring. Confused adults are even worse.

X, meanwhile, frowns very slightly.

"The physics building? I -- "

She closes her fist around the star on her palm, even though it is no longer glowing and remains well-covered by her fingerless gloves.

"We were there. There was light."

Thor glances at her, and back to the others.

"The energy," he says slowly, "was from elsewhere. Perhaps another realm -- I don't know which. I am no expert in this, but it seemed to be pushing through. Not wholly, but as if a hafgufa were squeezing through a crack."

"It pulled upon X. Not on me. The energy in her fought against the pull. Then the tremors began."

X flexes her fist again, as if to check whether or not the scar wants to start burning again.

"I have been dreaming," she allows. Eventually. "Of the symbol. In the sky. It is not a good thing."

Beat.

"There is a demon."

Valaria chooses this moment to pipe up with her own observations. "He's right, Dad. There are two energies, only one is older, a lot older, and passive. That's the one she has!"

And Sue. And Spider-Man. But it is strongest in X.

That may also become more clear when the scar on her hand starts glowing again.

Reflexively -- or perhaps just because she is used to things being weird -- X reaches out to grab Thor's wrist with that same hand.

Just in case.

"Oh, geez," Spider-Man says. "I think I know what this is. It's the Uni-Power, guys."

He keeps talking, but Thor's only half-listening. The device in the small child's hand seems of greater interest.

And then X's hand -- which shoots out to clamp his right wrist, tight around the vambrace, and suddenly they're somewhere else.

A ruined plain of black stone and sand beneath a febrile orange sky festooned with broken moons. This is nothing but desolation. He stands beside X, Sue Storm and Spider-Man with them, and no one else.

No one else except the army ranged across the plain before them.

Thor's left hand tightens on Mjölnir.

"We did not leave your realm," he murmurs, a deep rumble into the silence of this stricken world. "Not by any means I know."

"We still have to find some way back. My life plans didn't include a years-long coma."

X ignores the banter, focusing instead on the army before them.

Thor's words will likely be important in a minute, but for now --

She peels the glove off her left hand, scar burning dully.

From the plain before them a howl rises up. "I smell -- starlight!"

The scar brightens as the army flings itself forward, spears poised as they run toward X. And Thor. And Sue. And Spider-Man.

snikt

If they were truly on another plane, X might not hope to win. But if this is something else -- if it is an inner struggle, or if it truly takes place in some kind of Hell --

She has been here before.

There are worse fights. (If few that are more important, in their way.)

The army's ruddy, horned warriors howl, and as one they launch their spears. Sickly, dark-glowing energy bubbles within each haft. There are hundreds of spears, clustered into a vast cloud, too many to dodge or parry --

Thor spins Mjölnir low and fast, drawing on its energy and his own to build together in a crackling rush. He slams the hammer to the ground, a great overhead swing that carries him down to one knee and sends a shockwave exploding outwards from the small protected circle of this group.

Rocks crumble. The very air smells scorched. But the spears pass through, utterly unhindered.

Illusion. Illusion, almost certain. But -- but the look of that black-orange energy --

Thor spins and throws himself towards Spider-Man. He's tough, X will heal; these two are human, so far as he knows.

X does not swear. There is no point, and she is not a bastion of profanity at even the worst of times.

She does, however, fling herself backward, twisting mid-air to try to ensure that as much of Sue Storm is shielded as possible.

If only she were a few inches taller. And a few inches broader.

The spears slice home, stabbing through skin and muscle, digging deep into the earth below.

X hisses in a breath, body remaining motionless as she looks down at Sue.

The other woman is not breathing. In fact, the only heart she can hear is hers.

Yanking her own flesh away from the spears, twisting to try to cut the shafts so that she can at least regain her feet, X fights to turn toward her friend.

Sadly, the demons reach her first.

Thor is several inches broader and taller than Spider-Man. (And X, and Storm.)

In this case, the size of the target doesn't really matter. There are enough spears to go around. And between the heavy, razor-sharp points and the dark energy bubbling behind them --

(I'm sorry, father he had time to think, just in case this was real after all, before he was thrown into a blackness he's floated in once before. He's beyond remembering that.)

Thor's heavy body is a limp sprawl atop Spider-Man's. His armor is dulled by blood from the spear-shafts pinning both of them to the ground.

X fights.

X always fights.

But even with healing, it makes no difference.

Fortunately she has died before. The feeling is familiar. (And, maybe, a comfort.)

Drawing a breath again is -- not.

"Thor," X says, ignoring the intense blackness surrounding them. "Sue. Spider-Man. You are okay?"

It is best to check the important things first. They can figure out where they are -- and how they are there -- in a few seconds.

"I am well."

Thor's eyes have narrowed. His fist is tight around Mjölnir -- or the dream-projection of itself.

Spider-Man is saying the same thing with a great deal more words, and Sue with attempted reassurance.

"But I find myself very annoyed."

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