hellfire

death has marked him twice now, he hangs  ————  inter vivos. his eyes graze along his body, searching for new and pre-existing wounds. he finds fresh, thick bruising veins tracing along his skin. where on a red would appear a greenish purple, rage in shades of purple and blue against his silver undertone.  a wicked smile breaks upon his face, even now, when he walks on deaths tightrope. his body is motionless for several moments. somewhere between the flash of white light in his eyes, and the sudden smell of fresh grass, his consciousness is lost. but still, somehow, mare is with him. the last pair of eyes he caught were a ghostly grey, like the storms that he could conjured with nothing but his own will. maven should have been scared, he should have accepted whatever mercy the scarlet guard was intending to grant him —— but he didn’t. it was that same white haired electricon who struck him, maven can remember mare calling him tyton. it was futons lightning that reached him just before he fell through the portal, had he not been sucked in, his death would have been ensured. but that didn’t matter, not when she was here and with him. in the purple lines that have burned their way into his skin, all to similar to the way he branded her his own. M FOR MARE, M FOR MAVEN ———— M FOR MINE.

he looks around, searching for a horizon, a mountain, a river or stream. anything that could help him deduct where it is exactly that he is. it proves to be not so easy …

there is only a platform that stretches out far beyond where his eyes can see. ❛ have i finished ? ❜ though he seems alone in the space, he directs the question to someone. someone who has always lurked in what should be the most intimate. when the question gets no response he thinks it’s all over. the voice of his mother is gone and he is alone in his mind for the first time he can even ever remember. there is no sound when his body falls hard on whatever this place’s ground is made of.

❛ have i gone deaf as well ? ❜ maven can’t tell if the sound is just echoing in his head or the area around him. he tries to rise from the ground, his clothes, colored  black and red, look like a pile of kindled ashes —— but do not take him for what he is not. this is the grave he dug for himself. the grave his mother marked for him. HE IS NO PHOENIX. rather he is the culmination of a lifetime of bad choices, all made out of envy and a thirst for blood. the place he finds himself now is the same place he was always headed to. speedily to a spiraling decrescendo, where at its base awaited a watery grave  ——  no place at all for the prince of fire.

like sand and like time, maven slips out of the clutches of death. a grain falling between two bones, a vices grip. when he opens his eyes he is surprised at such blueness. there isn’t a single cloud of smoke to be seen. he hears a disembodied voice, and it makes him suddenly that the sounds of splitting rock, bombshells colliding with roadways —— the screams of rebellion, all of them, gone silent. his ears respond first to the sound of trees rustling against a breeze. his voice comes out a jumbled mess of incoherency. here they were, two lazaruses, two voids looking back onto one another. one from a world that forgot him, and the other, from a world that cast him out into open sea. death feeds upon another death ———— resurgam.

❝ yes , i’m fine. ❞ a king does not ask for best, he does not show weakness, he does not have weakness. he says through gritted teeth. groaning roughly, his elbows dig down into the ground so that he is able to prop himself up. there is a pain that splits his vision, running a pain all across his entire body —— the vision has vanished. injuries reappear and are no longer healed, but he can still see the purple veins that scorched his alabaster skin. maven’s eyes flick over to the man aiding him in slight panic. he doesn’t know where he is, how he’s even gotten here or who this man is. but maven’s blue eyes find the lively undertone of the man’s skin. a red. the thought is quick in his mind, fueled by paranoia and blood loss. he would surely recognize him as the king of norta, a torturer, transgressor and tyrant. he calls the flames that burn within him to his frame, and even they do not answer. ❝ don’t play games with me. you’ve caught me, the charade can end. ❞ the venom in his voice is palpable. they must’ve found her by now. when he left mare behind in his throne room of silent stone, he didn’t even bother to check if she was alive or not. he will always choose himself. but the feeling of guilt finds him again, if she was dead, he was just another thing he loved and destroyed with his own hands —— like thomas. ❝ what do you intend to do with me now ? ❞

It is obvious to Maximilian that this boy is not fine, but if he did not want the help, it would not be forced upon him. After all, why would Maximilian care to help someone unrelated nor loyal to him?

Help him.

Though he hears the voices begging, Maximilian ignores them easily. It would not be the first time someone whispered into his ear trying to force his hand. Why should he? Looking down at the kid, listening to what he had to say, those reasons become his answer and still they are ignored. Maximilian dismisses them and moves to leave the boy alone here in the dirt, bleeding out. The thought does occur to him to take his jacket back, but what would be the point? Bloodied clothing is forever tainted no matter how many times they are cleaned.

Halfway up to his knees, a distant voice stops him. As it speaks, he looks up to see where it could be coming from. It’s almost like the voice is coming from his wife walking down the great halls of their home. He sees nothing, but a moment later her voice is clearer than ever. “There is a ruthless strength within him. You must help him, my love.” Maximilian looks at the wretched creature before him, a bleeding mess with fire and determination behind those eyes. Elosie is right, and he is inspired to offer his assistance once more.

“I don’t know the charade you insist upon, but I intend to get you medical attention. Let’s see if this poor excuse for a school is better at helping you than they were at taking care of my daughter.” Maximilian stands and holds his hand out to the boy to help him up, “I ruined my best suit for you already, I believe you owe me this. Now take my hand, or die here in the dirt.”

@pyreashes

rebirth. —————  his vision is covered in splotches of blackness , something metallic dances all across his tongue. the world swirls around his peripherals as his legs , which would now seem to be made out of jelly , struggle to keep him upright. a familiar sensation envelopes him , warmth. he soaks up the slightest change in temperature , what might be the closest thing he has ever felt to real consolement. but it’s the smell of smoke ———  at his back is home , NO , a city not even ——— a country on fire. flames leap up towards the sky in desecrating red and he can feel them as the burn freely in the oxygen heavy sky. they erupt from a countless explosions that spread charcoal smoke up into the air around him. how poetic it all seems. the fact that revolution bleeds and rises with his colors. crimson and onyx. his own blood leaks out from his wounds , splattering on the ground. there is no grass beneath his racing feet , nothing left for his body to nourish. should he die here , all of it would have been in vain.

soot covers his face and his plain clothes , wherein that small moment he is almost thankful that the idiots were stupid enough to dress him in such plan clothes. he even sneeringly contemplates crediting whatever gods those wretched lakelanders believe in. he can’t afford to be recognized in his current state , he needs to survive this. and the conventional clothes that shroud his body provide him with just enough cover to be mistaken for a civilian caught in the crossfire of it all. despite the chaos around him , his mind calls out to someone   .   .   .

ｉ ｗｉｌｌ ｓｕｒｖｉｖｅ ｔｈｉｓ , ｉｆ ｏｎｌｙ ｆｏｒ ｙｏｕ , ｍｏｔｈｅｒ．

the choice was easy , even in center of a blitz. but did he make that choice ? has maven calore ever made a single choice on his one ? a boy king stuck between making the decision to live another day or relinquish the fight. something deep within him yelled to be listened to , telling him the price of it all was too high. not her. a girl with tanned skin and a determination that nearly rivaled his. but whatever voice was trying to tell him something is quickly brushed away by one that sends a shiver down his spine. this choice was already made for him , like so many others , from the very moment his mother wove her way into his mind. the weight of the letter opener lingers like some kind of phantom sensation , as if he had always been carrying it , always prepared for a moment like this. he can remember it lying in a small pool of red blood , quickly spreading out across the marbled floors. he did nothing but watch as the blood crept its way up into the newly dyed purple ends of her hair. he hisses away the memory , the picture of her face fading away into the darkness.

Ｉ ＴＲＩＥＤ ， ＭＡＲＥ．

her name echoes against the walls of his mind. it makes him feel something he thought would never be in his capacity. something so foreign it almost stops him dead in his tracks , until he feels the ground rumble in response to yet another explosion. his weight sends him heaving forward ,  crumbling down onto the hard ground. he’s still coming to his senses but the feeling remains the same. guilt. his stomach drops and the skin of his arms go colder. what is this ? his mother had cut out the love he had for his brother , the love he had for thomas ——— and now there is a guilt that claws at his feet , threatening to end it all. it is the sweetest lull , beckoning him to rest , a place to dream. it is gone in a moment. 𝑔𝑒𝓉 𝓊𝓅 , 𝓂𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓃. 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹 𝒾𝓈 𝓃𝑜 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝒸𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒶 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔. 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒾𝓈 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒻𝒶𝓇 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇. the blade is already in his hand when the cold voice cuts into his thoughts. a small glow of red begins to grow in size on the dull knife. his hands work feebly to lift up his shirt for better access to the wound. it is an ugly one , and it is a scar he will have to live with for the rest of his days. going to a healer would be too risky , a imperfection of skin  is a small price to pay he decides. his pale hand tightens on the handle of the letter opener as he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. much to his surprise there is not much pain. what should be searing and a nearly unbearable feels like nothing more than something to cause goosebumps to rise on his skin. he suspects it has something to do with his ability to withstand torture and other physical inflictions.

he lies there for several moments , careful not to undo the wound. when he finally rises , his strides are long , working with a slow brisk to put as much space as he can between him and the battle. the only sounds that echo are the explosions now. he passes residential houses now vacant. some doors are even left completely hanging ajar , a testament to just how fearful the scarlet guard has become to silvers. he wants to call them cowards for running , but here he is doing the same. and maven may be arrogant , but he is far from stupid. a revolution was coming , no one could stop that. if it didn’t happen to norta now , it would have happened ten , maybe twenty years from now. the only thing that mattered was it was coming. the world had been shaking off the night and cloaking itself in robes of dawn. not even all the silvers in norta could have stopped them. he’s almost at the edge of town now , a forest borders harbor bay to the next city , about a quarter mile in the distance. but a crackling sound accompanied by a flash of white light makes everything in him go rigid. he doesn’t bother to turn around , he knows who is coming for him. the white haired electron who had been guarding him on his arrival. teeth grind in his mouth as he begins to run , careful to keep a rather warm hand close to his wound. a line of fire blazes to life behind him and a trickle of sweat falls down his face in exhaustion. the forest. the whisper ushers him before it’s too late. above him , the sky cracks with a ray of lightning ——— he is all too aware of it’s lack of purple hue. the next strike passes just above his head. a taunt. on the flight to piedmont maven overheard about the man’s ability to kill people by using only the electrical currents in their minds. it’s a small jest but it’s purpose is reeks of mockery. quick footing has him facing back at his challenger and as he sees the mans hand raise outwards to him , small sparks falling off his fingertips. but before he has any chance to dodge or prepare his own counter attack , his legs lose their strength and light splits across his vision. maven calore has no last thoughts. maybe under different circumstances his last words would have been the name of a red girl on his lips. but the world does little to grant him even that. maven calore his empty. empty as the throne of his country. empty as his mother’s coffin. and empty as his heart.

Crawling out of the ashes haunted Maximilian. Every night he went to sleep he would relive that moment when he lost everything. His mind would replay the vision of Eloise’s face when the bullet entered her skull, and the sound of his own voice howling her name in despair just before a fire erupted. Then the agony just before he was dragged into nothingness for far too long before waking up in a private hospital. His memory liked to play tricks on him. Dreams would always skew the truth, but the facts were that he died that day too.

Perhaps that was why he ventured into the forest boundary of the campus. Maximilian was told his children would be here, he was told they would have been safe here in the care of the greatest telepath in the world. After several days of waiting for an answer, the headmaster finally had time for him. News of Eriadon’s death meant little to him, it only stung because of how it could affect Eliza. Good riddance, she didn’t need that weight carrying her down any longer. Eliza was a different story. Maximilian could only keep his composure for so long. Flames coiled up his arms and destroyed the sleeves of his Armani suit while Charles attempted to talk him down. The promise that his daughter could still come back eased his rage enough for Maximilian to storm out of the office with threats if she didn’t make it within the week.

The call from the forest was loud and thumping in his ears. A promise that something he was looking for would be there hiding, waiting for his arrival. Just above the trees, he can see a bright flash of light and instinct begs him to run. At the center, he hopes to find someone he actually, truly loves. The sight is neither of those things, but Maximilian goes toward the person lying on the ground anyway. The state of the boy is poor, he feels the boy’s forehead then takes the charred coat off of his back. In another world, he wouldn’t do this for anyone outside of his family. This boy, something was different about him, so Maximilian did what the whispers were telling him to do. Help him.

In the weeks leading up to her arrival, Emma was aware that the school had several new attendants. Some students, some teachers, and some… floaters. She stares at him, tapping her pen against her desk. She didn’t bother reading him, not yet. That was Charles’ shtick like their powers were some magic trick. “And you are?” She straightens up in her chair before leaning forward on her elbows. 

He was an interesting looking man. Carried himself with the sort of posture that was familiar to her. Arrogant, powerful, rich. Most men she associated herself with had the same air, and as such she was never impressed by it. She had a feeling he was used to being impressive. “I’m not sure we’ve met. My name is Emma Frost, and for the time being I am the headmaster.”

“Maximilian Dils.” he offered her his hand as a proper greeting. Power radiated off of her; it was almost like she was glowing with it. He had heard of her and knew of her empire which made him appreciate her being here even more. It seemed such a shame that she was merely a stand in and not the actual headmaster. His children would be better off under her rule, he was sure of it. However, not all things could be the way he had wished them to be. After his death, where else would the children turn? He’d been assumed dead for a few years now, but he’d crawled out of the ashes with sheer determination to live. Time gave him back some missing memories, and now all he wanted was his daughter.

“You see, my children seem to have...” he paused to think of the best way to describe their reasoning without saying fled, “been enrolled here while I was away, yet I haven’t laid eyes on either of them.” How would it look to her, if he only asked about his beloved Eliza? His son was a disappointment, not because of his physical ailments, but because he was weak minded. Maximilian cared very little about that boy, but Eliza loved him therefore his wellbeing mattered. “Maybe you can help me figure out which rooms they are staying in?“

It wasn’t surprising to Emma that the Summit turned out to be a disaster, and she wasn’t entirely sure what Charles had expected or why Raven would let him proceed with the field trip. She’d been fielding phone calls from concerned parents and guardians for days, and had even talked a few of them out of pulling their child from the Institute entirely. And of course she had to lie through her teeth and swear that Erik Lehnsherr had not returned with them. Just his presence in the school opened the door to so much chaos that it gave Emma a headache before it even began.

She rubs the space between her eyes with two fingers as she scribbles out another item on her to-do list, trying to alleviate the pressure growing there. Before the mutant on the other side of the door can knock, she calls to them. “Door is open, come in.” When they step inside she offers them a reserved expression. “What can I help you with?”

To say the headmaster was an idiot seemed like an understatement. Despite how intelligent he was supposed to be, it seemed like he didn’t understand how the real world worked. Maximilian couldn’t care less about that though, none of those in attendance were his children. Which made him wonder, where the hell were his children? They were both supposed to be here, but he was more worried about Adalinda. How had she fared while he was out of commission? At least, he thought, this stand in headmaster seemed to have a brain. Before he knocked on the door, she was already inviting him in.

“Hello, I’ve been trying for weeks now to meet with the headmaster to get some answers. I fear he may be avoiding me.” Maximilian smiled and stood next to the empty seat in front of her desk, refusing to sit before she offered it to him. Instead, he stood stock still with his hands in his pockets and continued, “Would you be able to answer my questions?”

❝ Monstrosity cannot be judged objectively. Such as beauty, monsters are in the eye of the beholder. ❞

They mourned him, or they didn't. The man was considered a silent monster. A killer of dreams, children, anything. Ruthless and altogether others considered it a blessing to be free of him. The casket was empty, they never did find his body and assumed it burned to ash along with that building.

“For a place with mutants? Definitely.” She snorts and shakes her head. “That obvious, huh? Was it the comment or the walking up the drive?” The snark didn’t always appear for Lorna. Much of her outward attitude tended to change with her mood. Unstable, they called her. It wasn’t like she felt like she changed all that much inside though. Her moods simply changed how she presented herself.

Her attitude brought a smile to Maximilian’s face, he wasn’t here to make friends and it seemed she wasn’t either. They both had their own purpose for being here, he was sure of it. However, he wouldn’t be able to help her with whatever the hell she needed and it was probably the same the other way around. “Seems like the quiet before a storm, doesn’t it?” he completely dismisses her other response.

“This is the place then? Xavier’s? Seems pretty quiet.” Lorna was walking up the long driveway, approaching the only place she knew that might help her find Magneto. After the journey she’d had getting here, she hoped they wouldn’t make this difficult on her.

❝ I only have one. Eliza, of course. ❞