---

Cairo, Egypt

Emplate, the Horseman of Pestilence, stared down five Ladies of the Rotting Hand approaching him. He was in a narrow alley and wouldn’t have much room to maneuver, but he would not yet yield to these flesh diseased wenches. He was a Horseman of Apocalypse and would serve his master’s memory appropriately. “You would do well to leave this place. I shall not be kind to you if you don’t.”

The Ladies were clothed in tattered black dresses and sores covered their gray flesh. Each of them had eyes that glowed with menacing light. They moved towards Emplate with a slow walk that made them seem like they would topple at any moment. Emplate might have found it humorous if he didn’t know how dangerous these priestesses were. Their touch made flesh turn to ash and they wielded other dark magic. But Emplate was far more than the mutant he had once been.

Apocalypse had enhanced and changed his abilities to make him a deadlier warrior and more effective killing machine. He knew his warning had fallen on deaf ears so he would have to battle these women. Putting his hands out, his palms opened up in the center, tiny mouths with razor sharp teeth chomped at the bit to attack the Ladies of the Rotting Hand. The mouths opened wide and tiny, purple worms flew out of them. The creatures soared through the air and landed on the various attacking women. Burrowing deep into their gooey skin, the worms tore through the former priestesses’ bodies. They howled in agony as the worms infected them and caused large boils to pop up all across their body.

The Horseman of Pestilence ran forward and jumped into the air. With the mouths on his palms wide open, he smacked both of his hands into the foreheads of two writhing Ladies of the Rotting Hand. He feasted on their life essence and, as he did so, they were altered into Emplates that would serve his whim. And like a true disease, they could spread it through the forces of the White Gods and turn the tide in this battle.

“Go forth and bring me an army,” Emplate said to his two newly formed servants. The other priestesses fell to the ground, unable to maintain a grip on consciousness as their boils popped and spilled out painful, burning pus.

---

“You face Death itself, how dare you try and defy it?” Exodus asked, his voice booming across the sky as he floated outside of Cairo to face the Forest Dancers. e was not doing it alone as a host of X-Force soldiers and Deathloks were already engaged with the White God servants on the ground.

The Forest Dancers were solemn in their killing. Their white cloaks, stiff as bark, barely moved as they struck down their foes with what looked to be like wooden weapons. But Exodus telekinetically felt his way around those weapons and knew just how dense they really were. It would take a good amount of force to break their weapons, but Exodus smiled as he considered other less powerful things on them. Like their stringy, green hair.

Honing his focus, Exodus reached out and telekinetically grabbed the hair of all the Forest Dancers. With a flick of his hand, the beings were snatched into the air and cried out as they were flung backwards. Exodus’ attack ripped all of their hair out of their heads, leaving small patches. They landed on top of each other in a chaotic heap. Exodus reached out with his telekinesis to keep them from being able to get up. Looking down at the Deathloks and X-Force members, he said, “Attack them, already, and be done with it!”

One member of X-Force leaped a dozen yards into the air and flung her lengthy arms out in front of her. A large, bulbous burst of pink energy erupted from her purple palms and streaked across the sky down at the pile of Forest Dancers. The energy struck them and sent up a plume of pink smoke interspersed with Forest Dancer appendages. Exodus used his telekinesis to feel past the plume and grabbed the Forest Dancer’s loosened weapons with it. At his mere thought, the weapons flew into the air and he aimed them all downward. With a roar of rage, he sent the weapons crashing down into the pile like a hundred tiny missiles.

---

The Pantheon

Brian and everyone else on the bridge of the Pantheon were ready to attack when they saw a plume of black smoke appear right in front of their navigation officer. But tensions were immediately relaxed when Wiccan and Portal’s team stepped through it.

Director Braddock got out of his commander’s chair and went to greet the two men. He grabbed each one by a shoulder and gave them a slight shake. It was a combination of congratulations and relief. “Glad the two of you made it back. Gaia’s team is in the hangar along with the members of your team Wiccan. Feel free to join them and rest up.”

Wiccan watched Portal and Phobia walk away. He imagined that Portal was eager to make sure that Gaia was alright. Brian eyed him for a moment, trying to consider why Wiccan hadn’t left yet. He decided to end that brief speculation. “I’m going to Earth, Director Braddock. I can feel the White Gods from here and they’ve summoned forth their servants. But I think I have the power to put them back in their prison.”

Brian took a deep breath before speaking. Wiccan could already see the rejection coming a mile away, but it didn’t matter. He had made his decision and he was going to follow through with it. “Billy, I can look at you and tell you’re exhausted. What you did on Selene’s ship was brilliant and we all appreciate your efforts, but you can’t push yourself too hard. When the time is right we’ll turn this ship around and go help Earth. Right now you need to rest.”

“No. I can’t rest. Earth is in danger. I can feel it. Trust me on this,” Wiccan said, his eyes suddenly becoming completely black. Brian had never seen that kind of display from Billy before and he had to admit that he was frightened by it. “I’m more powerful than I have ever been, Director Braddock. When I killed Selene I had to absorb all her power into myself. With that power came knowledge. I know that I can lock the White Gods up and make sure it’s a prison that will never be broken.”

Brian folded his arms across his chest and looked sternly at Wiccan. He didn’t want to put the young man in danger, but he had just been shown that Billy was changed. Maybe he could handle it. “All right. Do what you have to do…but don’t make me regret this.”

---

The Lensherr Mansion
Switzerland

President T’Chaka Stark charged at Govern Lorien Lensherr with all the fury betrayal provided him. Lorien had been the Governor of Europe, but sold his world out to the Magus. For that, Stark would make sure that he delivered death.

“I will make sure that your name is emblazoned as one of the greatest traitors in all our history,” T’Chaka said as he swung both of his swords at Lorien’s head. The mutant mustered up a magnetic field and deflected the swords away from him. T’Chaka expected this so he twisted his body with the deflection and kicked Lorien in the stomach.

The blow sent Lorien crashing into his dinner table, knocking down more utensils and napkins. T’Chaka imagined that each one cost a pretty penny because even while Europe economically suffered, every Lensherr was wealthily handsome. A disparity that President Stark had never cared for and now he was going to take that out on Lorien. Along with other more grave matters. “Innocent men are dying because of your treachery, Lorien. Innocent!”

Lorien laughed and pulled a small metal bar from out of his white vest. He held the bar into his palm as it hummed and became a green energy rod. T’Chaka recognized the design. It was a Skrull battle rod, an antique but useful enough given the circumstances. Lorien spun it expertly in front of him, waiting for T’Chaka to make the first move. “This is war, Mr. President. There is no such thing as innocents. We’re all defiled and deranged. I simply just choose to cast my lot with the winning side, the side that will see Europe return to glory!”

“That’s what this is all about!” T’Chaka clashed his swords with Lorien’s rod. He spun away after his quick attack and cut Lorien across the side. As Stark figured, Lorien’s magnetic field required concentration and if he wasn’t doing that, then he was vulnerable to attack. It was satisfying to see the red blood flow from the two gashes. “You betrayed us because of Europe? You know good and well I was working to see this place rebuilt to its former stature. But these things take time, Lorien. My continent had to fight to rise out of its Dark Age. Do you think Europe so different? Do you think your people would ever really follow the Magus?”

Lorien gripped his side and turned to face T’Chaka. The blood stood out starkly against his white suit. “You should see the anger on your face. That is the same kind of anger my people have had for decades. So yes, they would serve the Magus. Because we want justice.”

“The Magus cannot bring justice!” T’Chaka said, charging at Lorien. The two parried blows, but T’Chaka was the far superior warrior. Soon a series of quick strikes rendered Lorien weaponless and covered with wounds. Dropping to his knees, Lorien looked up at T’Chaka and scowled. There was no hesitation from the President as he removed Lorien’s head. “The Magus only brings death.”

---

Cairo, Egypt

Moonstar drove her sword into the back of one Grimeak and cut off the head of another with her other sword. She danced through the creatures like she was the star of a ballet performance. Death was her music and she moved perfectly and gracefully to every note. For every Grimeak that leaped over head with their pronged feet, she cut down two others. They would remember the Horseman of War before this day was done.

The large psychic wolves that she summoned as her personal army ripped into the Grimeak like they were a great feast laid out just for them. With every bite, her creatures sent surges of psionic energy through the Grimeak, forcing them to live out horrible nightmares only their minds could conceive of. She felt their fear and lusted for more of it. Moonstar would not walk away from this battle until the Grimeak knew her as a deliverer of darkness and nightmares.

Diving forward from her latest kill, Moonstar rolled under one Grimeak and drove her sword upward into the bottom of its tiger-shaped head. The creature’s eyes rolled back as her weapon of steel and psychic power pushed through flesh and bone. There was no time to relish the victory as another Grimeak charged at her, swinging its four tails wildly. What made those tails deadly were the blue blades on the end of each of them.

Before Moonstar could make her move against the Grimeak, it was enveloped in a pillar of fire. It let loose a horrible scream as its flesh was charred and turned to ash. The inferno ceased and stinking, green skeleton fell to the Cairo street. Moonstar looked for the source of the attack and saw Fire Mage approaching with members of her X-Force. Normally, she would have found herself in battle with these mutants, but today they were allies.

Though she honestly lamented the lack of lives she would now be able to claim. When alone, all the Grimeak were hers to slaughter. Now she would have to share the kills and that did not suit the Horsemen of War well at all. She wanted to be able to brag of her prowess to her brethren, to show them that she and she alone was the most dedicated to Apocalypse’s vision. She almost felt like abandoning this battle for one where she would be able to operate more freely.

But a true warrior put accomplishing a task before glory and this battle with the Grimeak was not yet done. She saw a member of X-Force be gutted by a Grimeak’s tail blade. In vengeance for that fallen soldier, Moonstar directed six of her wolves to attack the Grimeak. They charged in like ravenous monsters and laid waste to the Grimeak, rendering its mind a thing filled only with horrors. Yes, it was a worthy vengeance.

A large vibration suddenly ripped through the area and knocked Moonstar to her feet. She quickly rose up and spotted the source of it. The White God, Mulzeta, was in their midst. He stood at least two heads taller than her and had a mouth full of blue pike-shaped things that might pass for teeth. It was impossible. Exodus had communicated to all of them that one of the other dimensional mutants had rendered the White God’s mind clean. So she felt out with her empathic abilities and felt absolutely no emotion coming from the deity. His mind was indeed clean, but something else was guiding him.

Something told her to look skyward and she saw a young man hanging in the sky. His eyes were completely black and he had his hands in the air. Mulzeta copied his movements. Sheathing her swords, Moonstar created a bow and arrow with which to strike the young man down. That was until Fire Mage stepped into her path. “Don’t. He’s one of ours.”

“He commands a White God. Who is he?”

“He’s someone Alise brought along. Don’t know the kid’s name.”

---

Alise and Amiri were back to back fighting through Ladies of the Rotting Hand. She shot diamond spikes out of her hand while Amiri ruthlessly cut through them with his sword. This felt right to Alise, being at Amiri’s side, even if this was where it all ended.

“I wonder how the Horsemen fare,” Amiri said as he buried his sword in the chest of one of the priestesses. For every one he cut down though, their corpses were transformed into fleshless dogs that howled and snapped at his heels. He hated magic.

“We fare well, Child of Apocalypse,” Emplate said as he leaped over a wall and into the fray. From another alley a roar of multitudes came forth and dozens of Emplate’s new slaves poured into the battle attacking like starving, rabid animals.

Amiri pulled Alise close to him. It felt good having her so close. Her diamond skin gave off no warmth, but sparks flurried between them. If this was his second chance, he had no intention of losing it so soon. “Let these creatures do their work and we can try to make our way to Fire Mage.”

“Yes, you should go,” Emplate said pointing to the sky where a young man with black eyes levitated. Hundreds of tiny red balls were starting to circle around the man and the light from these balls few with intensity every second. “I believe your friends now make their move.”

Amiri gave his thanks to the Horseman of Pestilence and took Alise with him to see exactly what was going on.

---

Wiccan could feel the power flowing through him; with Selene’s knowledge he was able to latch on to Mulzeta. He would have to thank whoever had mindwiped the creature for it made his task a much easier one.

The red balls of energy that now swirled around him at an ever increasing pace where pieces of Mulzeta’s divinity made manifest. With this power at his fingertips, Wiccan could become a god himself if he wanted to. Something in the back of his mind yearned for him to take that power and forget this war, but he ignored that desire. His friends came first.

“Gods of old who never see dust.” Wiccan didn’t realize it, but his voice could be heard throughout all of Cairo. “Your immortality is a gift squandered. Be now flesh and blood like those who worshipped. Be deprived of power and made to plea. For immortality you shall never again see.”

As he spoke those words, all the red balls spinning around him solidified into one giant ball. Wiccan dove his hand into it and felt all the power of the White Gods and their servants. It felt like his hands was entwined in a thousand strings. All he had to do was pull the right one. He smiled as he found it and yanked his hand out. As he did so, the red ball crumbled like snow and fell to the ground.

Wiccan watched as the White Gods and their allies throughout Cairo stumbled and gripped their bodies as pain rushed through them. That pain was only the beginning as they all began to crumble away like ashes on the wind. Smiling, Wiccan looked down at his hands. The hands that had defeated gods.

“This is power. True power,” he whispered.

---

Uranus Orbit

Magus could feel it. He had lost.

He was surrounded by a small force of powerful entities and all of his generals were dead. The Kree homeworld had been devastated and he had just felt the deaths of the White Gods. All he had left was the Accusers. His assault on the Sol system had cost him far too much. What was left of his forces would not be able to defeat was what left of Earth’s. A smart general knew when it was time to pull back.

Looking to Gravity, the Cosmic Protector, he said, “You have won this day, but my war is not over. I will rise again.”

Lifting up a hand, the Magus dissipated from space and whatever Accusers were still alive followed him soon after. Tyrusa Zane howled in rage. “Cowards! You run from a worthy death!”

Gravity flew to the man’s side. “Maybe…but we did what we set out to do. We protected Earth. Your Immolated Holiness has my gratitude.”

Tyrusa smiled and Gravity knew that there was nothing expressing friendship in it. “Yes, you have. Our task is done, but remember that you now owe our Lady of Fire a boon.”

“And when she asks for it, I will be there to repay it.”

Tyrusa nodded and turned to his Dark Legion. “We go home! Back to the Fault!”

---

Cairo, Egypt (A Week Later)

Brian walked through the devastated streets of the city with President Stark on one side and Alise Parker on the other. “So now that the Magus is gone, what will you do about the forces you called to help you? Do you still require our aid in that regard?”

The President shook his head. “No, I have another task for all of them. The Magus was tremendously weakened. We need to track him down and deal the final blow while he still remains in such a state. That will be their task.”

“That’ll give us enough time to figure out what we want to do with them,” Alise said.

Brian nodded. “Then I will report to the M.D.A. that our mission here is complete.”

“And tell your alliance that we cannot thank them enough. Without your help, I fear we may have lost this battle,” President Stark said.

“I wouldn’t doubt your forces too much, Mr. President. You had some worthy soldiers out there. I just wish we could have saved more lives.”

The President stopped walking and looked up into the sky. “You had a man who single-handedly stopped the White Gods. That is something none of my forces could do. I think my assessment is accurate enough.”

Brian had heard of Wiccan’s feat, but he was more disturbed by it than anything. Wiccan always showed potential, but such feats never seemed within his current capabilities. He could only wonder what absorbing Selene’s power had done to him. Would all the changes be for the better?

“Well, it was a pleasure to serve with you, President Stark,” Brian said as he shook hands with the mutual descendant of Tony Stark and T’Challa. “I think my world’s versions of your ancestors would be proud.”

Stark pulled off his mask and smiled. “I would hope so. But my people have work to do and I’m sure you have things to handle as well.”

“Indeed I do. My people will be pulling out within the hour. A few will be staying behind to monitor our prison for any damage if that’s fine with you?”

“Of course. I owe you my world, Brian. How could I refuse?”

---

---

The End...

Next: In A.R.M.O.R. #18: The A.R.M.O.R. agents get up to speed on happenings they’ve missed and Wiccan prepares himself to go to Earth-521. But who else now wants to go with him?

---

Previous Issue | Next Issue