The Death March - Part Twenty-Two
Title: The Death March
Fandom: X-Men / Crossover - Buffy/Angel
Part: Twenty-Two: The Ritual
Previously: Prologue | One | Two | Three| Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen | Seventeen | Eighteen | Nineteen | Twenty | Twenty-One
Words: 1410
Prompts: writers_muses 37.6- amulet
Note: Takes place directly after this ficlet/RP.And, as you can probably tell, I am winding down the Death March plot. (Finally! *hurrahs*) However, I still have a trick or two up my sleeve, so it's not quite done yet. ;)
The Temple is dark inside, the sun setting over Genosha. John doesn't know if it has electricity, but that seems to spoil the mood - not that he really knows what sort of mood one needs for a ritual, but he doesn't figure that it's fluorescent lighting. That doesn't matter, though, because he's Pyro and he's made of fire. At each end of the main open room, there are gold stands holding kindling that light easily under his power. They're probably meant for something ceremonial and sacred, but they'll do for this.
The Marchend Cauldron. He sees it immediately, sitting at some table at the front of the room. He wonders if it's meant for an alter or something more significant and meaningful to people, something other then this personal quest, but it doesn't look out of the ordinary. Just a wooden table. The Cauldron itself, just a plain and simple thing for something so damn important.
It's a little more purpley then he expected. Then again, it's from another place, another time, and maybe purple is an important metal substance there or something.
John goes about setting up his materials, spreading them out on the table, carefully lifting each from the silver lockbox and placing them down gently. He pulls out the magic book that he and Ste collected, the one with the right information on how to do this thing.
And then he gets the translations that Doug did up for him. Thank fucking god for Doug and his linguistic powers, or John would be stumbling over this thing and messing it right up.
This magic stuff isn't exactly his forte. When it's all set up, when he's about to start the ritual thingy, he takes in a shaky breath. And then properly berates himself immediately. He is John Allerdyce, for fuck's sake, he doesn't get nervous. Not even in matters that involve life and death. He's faced those before, too, as a member of the Brotherhood and even with the Freedom Force, so this is nothing. This is a piece of cake. This is just making stew. John likes to cook.
He removes his hoodie, getting hot in the stuffy room, and places the amulet over his head, and it rests against the middle of his chest. He notices now that the metal of the chain matches that of the cauldron. It's crude and elementary, and it looks like it clutches with talons at the clear jewel it holds. It's ice freezing cold, he can feel it through his t-short, and he can barely stand it. But he keeps it on, as uncomfortably painful as it is, because he's supposed to do it this way. He's not about to fuck anything up... hopefully.
He begins to carefully mix in the right ingredients in the right order, pouring or dropping them into the pot. He's amazed with how each ingredient instantly changes the mixture, from something light and pink with little floaties in it that look like miniature stars, to something thick, green and chunky and smelling awful.
With each new ingredient, the stone in the amulet around his neck changes, turning from clear to take on colour, light yellow to orange, greens, blue, and finally nearly black. Like some kind of hippie mood ring, but in reverse, because he feels better and better the darker it gets. He has a fluttering thought that perhaps it's his death being held inside it, but maybe not, because it becomes warmer and warmer, losing it's chill, hitting a comfortable room temperature, and then slowly heating. The heat comforted John, soothed his nerves. He liked heat; he'd been losing his own, and he missed it.
Finally, the last ingredient. Those damn mystical diamond shavings that Doug and he burned down a store and nearly got shot for. It was the end, these little sparkling things. He sprinkles them into the cauldron. The moment they drop into the rest of the mixture -
-BOOM-
- an explosion of light, like some sort of science experiment gone wrong. John flies backwards, landing hard on his ass. "Fuck," he mutters, scrambling to his feet. The amulet settled on his chest burns now, more painful. It's not a burn he can control, it's not fire, and it fucking hurts like hell, and the air smells a little bit like burned cotton and flesh now.
But. It's ready. He knows it's ready.
He goes to the cauldron, and looks inside. Water. It looks like clear water, but it can't be, not after all that for some fucking water. But, he does as he is supposed to, and sips the liquid, drinking all of it down. It's tastes warm and sweet, like raspberry pie. He places the cauldron back down on the table and...
"That's it?" John wonders aloud, frowning. Nothing happened...
... Suddenly, there's a pain that starts in his gut, and quickly moves throughout his body. It was like those pain attacks he used to get, before Sinister's meds doped him up. He falls to his knees, crouches over in pain, and can't stop crying out as it rips through him. It feels like it's going to tear his heart apart. He grabs at the amulet with one hand, and it feels like it's vibrating, and scorching to the touch, so he lets it drop. Looking at his hand, he sees that there's a perfect little circle burned into the palm of it. The amulet now hangs down from his neck, swinging back and forth through the air, the black in it swirling around, looking like a miniature tornado caught in a crystal ball. He hears something else, and looks up to the table, and sees the Cauldron practically jittering it's way across of it. And then-
-BOOM-
- another explosion of light, and John finds himself on his back again. "Holy fuck," he says, and scrambles to his feet, again, and notices that the pain is gone. Completely gone. He feels...
"Alive."
He reaches up to his neck, and the amulet is not there. He glances to the floor, and he sees the little jewel there, back to it's clear colour, but the chain isn't there. Automatically, he looks at the table, and the Cauldron is gone too, and there are no shards or pieces of it anywhere to be seen. It's as if it never existed. No wonder they were so hard to find.
He picks up the jewel and shoves it in his pocket, a souvenir of sorts, and shoved the empty lockbox in his backpack, and picks up his hoodie. There's nothing else there that's his to take, and there's no point in standing around.
John wants to see Mike, wants to see him and thank him and maybe even hug him (and see if John's thoughts annoy the hell out of Mike with physical touch, because then he knows that it really worked) but when he walks outside, there is no Mike. It's dark and John calls out to him, but there is no response. There is, however, a little floating ball of light up the path a little bit. John knows from his mutation's instinct that it's not fire, but he can't help himself from going up to it.
Hanging there, suspended in air, is a key.
The key. The key to the house in Kansas.
"Maybe I'll throw in a little something extra, then. A surprise, like."
John's house.
John takes the key, plucking it from the little bubble of light, and it immediately goes dark. Not a problem, for a man who controls fire, and he clicks on his flamethrower (never leaves home on a mission without them) and pulls up a little bit of fire, so it hangs over his head. He manipulates it so it lacks heat and expels light, like a little lantern. He holds the key in his palm, and stares at it. He puts it in his pocket and walks about three feet, the fire moving with him at his will, but then stops. He reaches into his pocket again, fishing beyond the jewel and finds it. The key. The key was still there and the house was still his and-
- And he was alive again.
He smirks out into the darkness, and wonders if Mike can hear him or sense him or whatever it is that Mikes does, and says aloud: "Thanks."
John starts his trek home, to his boys,and to his friends, and to his life.
ooc: The ending with the key was worked out with shaman_x before hand, and written with permission.
Fandom: X-Men / Crossover - Buffy/Angel
Part: Twenty-Two: The Ritual
Previously: Prologue | One | Two | Three| Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen | Seventeen | Eighteen | Nineteen | Twenty | Twenty-One
Words: 1410
Prompts: writers_muses 37.6- amulet
Note: Takes place directly after this ficlet/RP.And, as you can probably tell, I am winding down the Death March plot. (Finally! *hurrahs*) However, I still have a trick or two up my sleeve, so it's not quite done yet. ;)
The Temple is dark inside, the sun setting over Genosha. John doesn't know if it has electricity, but that seems to spoil the mood - not that he really knows what sort of mood one needs for a ritual, but he doesn't figure that it's fluorescent lighting. That doesn't matter, though, because he's Pyro and he's made of fire. At each end of the main open room, there are gold stands holding kindling that light easily under his power. They're probably meant for something ceremonial and sacred, but they'll do for this.
The Marchend Cauldron. He sees it immediately, sitting at some table at the front of the room. He wonders if it's meant for an alter or something more significant and meaningful to people, something other then this personal quest, but it doesn't look out of the ordinary. Just a wooden table. The Cauldron itself, just a plain and simple thing for something so damn important.
It's a little more purpley then he expected. Then again, it's from another place, another time, and maybe purple is an important metal substance there or something.
John goes about setting up his materials, spreading them out on the table, carefully lifting each from the silver lockbox and placing them down gently. He pulls out the magic book that he and Ste collected, the one with the right information on how to do this thing.
And then he gets the translations that Doug did up for him. Thank fucking god for Doug and his linguistic powers, or John would be stumbling over this thing and messing it right up.
This magic stuff isn't exactly his forte. When it's all set up, when he's about to start the ritual thingy, he takes in a shaky breath. And then properly berates himself immediately. He is John Allerdyce, for fuck's sake, he doesn't get nervous. Not even in matters that involve life and death. He's faced those before, too, as a member of the Brotherhood and even with the Freedom Force, so this is nothing. This is a piece of cake. This is just making stew. John likes to cook.
He removes his hoodie, getting hot in the stuffy room, and places the amulet over his head, and it rests against the middle of his chest. He notices now that the metal of the chain matches that of the cauldron. It's crude and elementary, and it looks like it clutches with talons at the clear jewel it holds. It's ice freezing cold, he can feel it through his t-short, and he can barely stand it. But he keeps it on, as uncomfortably painful as it is, because he's supposed to do it this way. He's not about to fuck anything up... hopefully.
He begins to carefully mix in the right ingredients in the right order, pouring or dropping them into the pot. He's amazed with how each ingredient instantly changes the mixture, from something light and pink with little floaties in it that look like miniature stars, to something thick, green and chunky and smelling awful.
With each new ingredient, the stone in the amulet around his neck changes, turning from clear to take on colour, light yellow to orange, greens, blue, and finally nearly black. Like some kind of hippie mood ring, but in reverse, because he feels better and better the darker it gets. He has a fluttering thought that perhaps it's his death being held inside it, but maybe not, because it becomes warmer and warmer, losing it's chill, hitting a comfortable room temperature, and then slowly heating. The heat comforted John, soothed his nerves. He liked heat; he'd been losing his own, and he missed it.
Finally, the last ingredient. Those damn mystical diamond shavings that Doug and he burned down a store and nearly got shot for. It was the end, these little sparkling things. He sprinkles them into the cauldron. The moment they drop into the rest of the mixture -
-BOOM-
- an explosion of light, like some sort of science experiment gone wrong. John flies backwards, landing hard on his ass. "Fuck," he mutters, scrambling to his feet. The amulet settled on his chest burns now, more painful. It's not a burn he can control, it's not fire, and it fucking hurts like hell, and the air smells a little bit like burned cotton and flesh now.
But. It's ready. He knows it's ready.
He goes to the cauldron, and looks inside. Water. It looks like clear water, but it can't be, not after all that for some fucking water. But, he does as he is supposed to, and sips the liquid, drinking all of it down. It's tastes warm and sweet, like raspberry pie. He places the cauldron back down on the table and...
"That's it?" John wonders aloud, frowning. Nothing happened...
... Suddenly, there's a pain that starts in his gut, and quickly moves throughout his body. It was like those pain attacks he used to get, before Sinister's meds doped him up. He falls to his knees, crouches over in pain, and can't stop crying out as it rips through him. It feels like it's going to tear his heart apart. He grabs at the amulet with one hand, and it feels like it's vibrating, and scorching to the touch, so he lets it drop. Looking at his hand, he sees that there's a perfect little circle burned into the palm of it. The amulet now hangs down from his neck, swinging back and forth through the air, the black in it swirling around, looking like a miniature tornado caught in a crystal ball. He hears something else, and looks up to the table, and sees the Cauldron practically jittering it's way across of it. And then-
-BOOM-
- another explosion of light, and John finds himself on his back again. "Holy fuck," he says, and scrambles to his feet, again, and notices that the pain is gone. Completely gone. He feels...
"Alive."
He reaches up to his neck, and the amulet is not there. He glances to the floor, and he sees the little jewel there, back to it's clear colour, but the chain isn't there. Automatically, he looks at the table, and the Cauldron is gone too, and there are no shards or pieces of it anywhere to be seen. It's as if it never existed. No wonder they were so hard to find.
He picks up the jewel and shoves it in his pocket, a souvenir of sorts, and shoved the empty lockbox in his backpack, and picks up his hoodie. There's nothing else there that's his to take, and there's no point in standing around.
John wants to see Mike, wants to see him and thank him and maybe even hug him (and see if John's thoughts annoy the hell out of Mike with physical touch, because then he knows that it really worked) but when he walks outside, there is no Mike. It's dark and John calls out to him, but there is no response. There is, however, a little floating ball of light up the path a little bit. John knows from his mutation's instinct that it's not fire, but he can't help himself from going up to it.
Hanging there, suspended in air, is a key.
The key. The key to the house in Kansas.
"Maybe I'll throw in a little something extra, then. A surprise, like."
John's house.
John takes the key, plucking it from the little bubble of light, and it immediately goes dark. Not a problem, for a man who controls fire, and he clicks on his flamethrower (never leaves home on a mission without them) and pulls up a little bit of fire, so it hangs over his head. He manipulates it so it lacks heat and expels light, like a little lantern. He holds the key in his palm, and stares at it. He puts it in his pocket and walks about three feet, the fire moving with him at his will, but then stops. He reaches into his pocket again, fishing beyond the jewel and finds it. The key. The key was still there and the house was still his and-
- And he was alive again.
He smirks out into the darkness, and wonders if Mike can hear him or sense him or whatever it is that Mikes does, and says aloud: "Thanks."
John starts his trek home, to his boys,and to his friends, and to his life.
ooc: The ending with the key was worked out with shaman_x before hand, and written with permission.