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#4
JAN 14 |
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Sudan
The country of Sudan had recently been ravaged by the power of Sekhmet, paramour to Apocalypse. It was because of that paramour that Kabar Brashir and the members of Clan Akkaba had assembled in one of their many global sanctuaries. Brashir stood behind Margaret Slade, leader of the Clan, while her two sons were to her sides. They were the four most powerful members of the organization and had gathered to deal with the news that Ozymandias had provided to them.
“For so long we have been restless waiting for the return of our king. But our waiting is coming to an end, my friends.” Margaret’s words rang true to everyone present. She was older in physical appearance, but no one doubted her power. “The weak aberrations have tried their best to keep the strong at bay, but they have failed and failed miserably. For our Lord Apocalypse has again emerged and we must be ready to be his soldiers! The words of the prophet Ozymandias must be heeded.”
Hamilton Slade, a dashingly handsome man of Edwardian clothing and quality, sat next to his mother. His long brown hair was pulled back into a neat braid and his ruffled sleeves were immaculately white. “If Apocalypse has truly returned then I think it’s clear the next step we all have to take. The Final Horsemen must be unleashed.”
A shiver went through the room at this proclamation, sending a wave of silence across the underground meeting bunker. The Clan Akkaba possessed many such safe houses throughout the world, waiting for the time when they would have to make their move. Apocalypse’s return was the fire in the sky that they had been waiting for.
Margaret broke the silence. “My son is right.”
With Margaret’s agreement, the decision had been made.
Frederick Slade, the other son of Margaret, wiped sweaty hands against the oak table. His pink hair and green eyes made him starkly different from his brother. “So we have to make the preparations. Lord Apocalypse made sure that releasing the Final Horsemen would not be an easy task. These were meant to be his most perfect weapons.”
Kabar clasped his hands together, visibly pleased with what was being discussed. “The Final Horsemen will be freed and bring in the arrival of our Lord Apocalypse. We will need to spread out and go to the various places that Apocalypse laid out for us. Unfortunately, the Clan was never told the exact locations of his warriors.”
Jack Starsmore, just as Edwardian as Hamilton, stirred his wine and took a sip. His looks were far more devilish and debonair than either Slade. “We can each take a location and unlock the capsules.”
“I will go to the Arctic. Hamilton and Frederick go to the Amazon,” Margaret said.
“We shall free The Final Horsemen and watch the world turn,” Kabar said.
Quantico, Virginia
Rory Campbell, appointed Assistant Director of X.S.E., walked back and forth across the room with methodical ease. His cybernetic leg clanked against the metal plating on the floor. The former Muir Island scientist carried a cane in one hand, but it wasn’t for walking. When he was forced to be a Horseman of Apocalypse, the cane was one weapon given to him. Despite being disgusted with the changes that had been wrought from the transformation, Campbell kept the weapon.
The wall of TVs behind him flashed scenes from across the world, to the misunderstanding of the mutants gathered there. Scenes labeled the Sahara Desert, Amazon River, Antarctica and Australia were just a few of the dozen images being played out on the connected plasma screens. Not a single person was visible in any of the images. Whatever surveillance that X.S.E was conducting didn’t involve any one individual.
“So any point to waking us up five in the morning?” Warpath asked, gently rubbing his vibranium butterfly knife against his calloused palm. The Apache never went to sleep without a weapon under each of his pillows, under his mattress and at the foot of his bed.
“I’m not Morales so I wouldn’t wake you up for fun. We’ve just received vital intel.”
Rory clicked a button on a remote sitting on the conference table and a two-sided television descended down from the roof.
The television came on and showed a picture of a rundown desert town. It looked like it was completely abandoned and had been for a long time. “This is Akkaba, the city of Apocalypse and there have been rumblings in it. The Clan Akkaba are soldiers of the bastard and they’re finally on the move. My spy in their organization has indicated something very terrible is about to occur.”
Husk tried to rub the sleep out of her eyes and ran her hands back through her unkempt hair. She could barely lift her eyes up from the table. “By everything good and holy, are we ever gonna get that rat out our hair? Even dead he’s creating a whole mess of trouble.”
Rory Campbell understood Paige’s frustration better than anyone else in the room. “I agree with the sentiment and that’s why we need to stop the Clan Akkaba. They’re trying to set free the Final Horsemen.”
Alisande walked into the room, fully garbed. “Seeing as how you were one of those wretched things yourself, I suggest you tell us everything you know, Campbell.”
A collective groan came from the members of X.S.E., prompting a smug smile from Director Morales.
Rory sat his cane against the table and folded his arms across his chest. “You’re right, Alisande, I was a Horsemen of Apocalypse and in that time I learned some of Apocalypse’s secrets. I’d hoped that the Final Horsemen would have stayed buried forever, but that no longer is the reality we’re dealing with. Think of every other set of Horsemen as the guns and the Final Horsemen as the nukes.”
Magik, the only member of X.S.E that was fully awake, laughed. It was the kind of laugh that told everyone present she expected most of them to be dead in the next twenty-four hours. “So we’re supposed to be going up against these wonderful individuals? I suppose body bags have already been prepared.”
“We’re not going to fight the Final Horsemen. We have to stop them from ever being awakened,” Rory said, waving a hand back to the wall of screens behind him.
Bedlam counted the screens with his fingers. “I’m not counting more than four screens up there, boss.”
“Not even the Clan Akkaba knows where The Final Horsemen are exactly and they’re about to be on the hunt just like us.”
The Arctic
Four Hours Later
Margaret Slade waded through the icy land as chill wind blew through her cape and other garments. A dozen Clan members walked behind her as she spotted in the distance what they had come for. A gray cylindrical spire marked with glowing green etchings shone in the distance. Despite the harshness of the environment, Margaret moved through it with incredible ease. She would not be deterred in preparing the path for her Lord Apocalypse.
When she got to spire, she ran her hand across it. These spires had only recently emerged from their hiding places, ready to see their creator. Margaret could hardly imagine the glory that the Final Horsemen would create in Apocalypse’s name. “Prepare to open the spire.”
Warpath shot down from the sky and landed in the midst of the Clan members. He hit them like a meteorite, scattering the mutants and pointed a knife at Margaret. “Afraid I can’t let you do that.”
Margaret’s fingers morphed into long, metallic talons. “You have come to your death, whelp!”
The two mutants charged at each other, fury in Margaret’s eyes and determination in Warpath’s.
The men and women gathered behind Slade all began to growl and quiver. Their skin turned to night and muscles started to bulge and rip them out of their winter equipment. Eventually, the transformation presented them all as panther/human hybrids, all muscle and claws. Warpath back away from Margaret and laughed. “Didn’t think varying up the cultists was a good idea, huh?”
Clan Akkaba’s numbers had been dwindling over the years because they were always so selective in their process. That changed after Apocalypse’s death because Margaret knew he would eventually return. “When you buy from the Genegineer, sweetie, it’s better to buy in bulk.”
Her cultists charged past her and dog-piled Warpath. Claws and teeth swiped at his chest as he struggled underneath their weight. With one guttural roar of determination, Warpath burst upward and flew out of the pack.
Margaret’s hands were back to normal and running along the spire when she saw Warpath take flight. “Humph…wasn’t expecting that.”
Warpath dove down toward her, teeth bared and a knife in each hand.
Margaret, with nimbleness her age didn’t portray, stepped back and avoided Warpath’s kamikaze style dive. The Apache cracked the ground beneath and would have been right on Slade if not for her servants. They once again pounced on Warpath with all their fury.
Wasting no time, Margaret went to the spire and her fingers searched along it for the hidden keys to activate it. Eventually, she found the indentions in the spire and pressed her fingers into them, her DNA serving to bring it to life.
Warpath gritted his teeth at the sight and started cutting through necks and faces in an attempt to get to Slade. He eventually broke through the ranks of the cultists, cut and covered with blood. Pointing at knife at Slade, he said, “Stop that thing! Now!”
“Once started it cannot be stopped,” Slade smiled smugly as the stone of the spire broke away piece by piece.
It was Warpath’s turn to smile when it was shown nothing was inside the spire. “Guess you came across a dud.”
“Perhaps, but the Clan Akkaba and Apocalypse will ultimately prevail,” Slade said, clamping her hand across a bracelet on her other arm. The woman started to dissipate and was gone.
Warpath kicked one of the cultist corpses beneath him in anger and pressed the earpiece X.S.E. had given him. “Command, Slade was able to open the spire, but it was a dud.”
Alisande’s voice responded loud and clear. “Magik will be there for extraction in two minutes. Sit tight and try not to screw up any further.”
Quantico, Virginia
Alisande walked into Assistant Director Campbell’s office and saw him pacing. “How long have you known about these Final Horsemen, Campbell?”
Rory stopped walking and looked her square in the eye. “For quite some time.”
“And why did you think to never inform anyone?”
“Because the secrets of Apocalypse are many and it is best for the world that those secrets stay just that. I am no fool, Alisande. I know exactly what would have happened if I told any government about the Final Horsemen…they would have tried to use them.”
Alisande shook her head. “You’re a fool, Campbell. Better that we had the Final Horsemen as our weapons than as weapons turned against us.”
Rory laughed. “The Final Horsemen can only be controlled by one person. One, solitary person and that is Apocalypse. To think otherwise is foolish.”
“You doubt the strength of your own kind, Rory. Humans have kept mutants in line this long and those Final Horsemen are just more mutants we could have restrained.”
Campbell slammed a hand on his desk. “People like are you are exactly the reason I never told anyone about them! You think everything is to be controlled and bullied about for your pleasure. One day, Alisande, you will reap the rewards of everything you have sown.”
“This coming from the cybernetic freak? I think it’s clear which one of us karma has shit on.” Alisande walked out of the office, leaving Rory to go back to his pacing.
Alisande’s taunts weren’t important. Rory knew deep down that the Final Horsemen were just the beginning. Even if the X.S.E. was able to prevent their coming there was still the matter of why they were coming in the first place. Apocalypse chose his Final Horsemen aptly and for one purpose.
To make sure the world burned.
The Gobi Desert
Kabar Brashir had come to this spire alone, not needing any other member of the Clan Akkaba to accompany him. He believed in his strength and superiority, never doubting it for a moment. It was why he believed that Margaret needed to be removed from her place as leader. She feared herself weak. Kabar could smell the stench of it on her. She was on the outs and when the Final Horsemen were freed, he would see to it she was removed.
Unopposed, Kabar walked to the spire and admired it. The structure was born of the thoughts of Lord Apocalypse, the greatest being to have ever walked the face of the Earth. Kabar could trace his lineage to the man, as could most of the upper members of the Clan Akkaba. Their familial link to the mutant made them stand above others members. Kabar didn’t mind that connection giving him a foot up, but he always felt rank in the Clan should be solely based on who was strong and who was weak. When he assumed the reigns of the Clan with Apocalypse’s blessing, he would purge the weak from their ranks. And first among those purged would be Margaret Slade and her two prissy sons.
The spires were designed for only those descended of Apocalypse to be able to open them. Of course that was no problem for Bashir, so he watched in awe as the spire began to crumble. It fell piece by piece until a large crystal was in front of Bashir. Though it was blurred, he was able to see someone was inside it. He smiled as the crystal began to crack, but using caution he stepped away from the structure.
Out of the broken crystal and rock stepped forth a man wide as a truck, every inch of body muscled and carrying some battle scar. Not possessing a man’s head but a large bull’s, the Final Horseman looked down at Kabar. “Who has freed Decimus Furius, last Horseman of War for the High Lord?”
Kabar showed no fear in the face of the Horseman. “Clan Akkaba has need of you. Our Lord Apocalypse is due to rise up from the ashes and smote this world.”
Decimus leaned down, his large nostrils blowing hot air across Kabar’s brown skin. “Ashes? Of what do you speak, servant?”
“There is a great deal that you need to be informed of War, but first we must gather the rest of your brothers and sisters.”
Belfast
Stryfe floated lotus style above the members of the Brotherhood he assembled before him. His white hair hung loosely over his shoulders as his telekinesis easily kept him afloat. “We struck a blow to humanity once, but we cannot rest on our success. We must be prepared to strike again. To make humans fear mutants properly, as they always should have.”
Mystique looked up at Stryfe, her hand serving as a resting point for her head. “So what’s next?”
“Another Little Rock,” Stryfe said, coming down to the ground. His feet touched the ground and a moment later he gripped his head. Shaking it off, he looked up at Mystique and Toad. “We will purge the weak from this Earth! Mutant and human alike! Only those are strong can stand with us?”
Mystique stood up. “What the hell are you talking about, Stryfe? We’re not killing mutants!”
“Killing mutants? What are you talking about Mystique?” Stryfe asked, genuinely looking confused. But he picked up on her surface thoughts and saw that was exactly what he had said. “Forgive me. I think I picked up on a powerful thought. It threw me off.”
Mystique was no fool and recognized the words as very familiar ones, but she kept quiet as Stryfe continued. He told them that he planned another psychic bomb in another major US city. He was drawing down a list of candidates, but at that moment Mystique spoke. “We need to hit Chicago.”
Stryfe nodded, his eyes glossed over. “Yes. All cities of decadence and filth must be wiped away like ink on a papyrus. Their blood will through their rivers and streets until only those who are worthy remain. Only the worthy deserve to inherit the Earth.”
The future born mutant looked up to see a room of eyes all looking at him agape. Again, he picked up on their thoughts and saw what he had said. “I’m sorry.” He laughed weakly. “Perhaps that is a bit too grandiose of a statement, but I agree with Mystique. Chicago should be the next target. The X-Men have set up a home there and what better way to crush them than to destroy the minds of the humans they were meant to protect?”
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To Be Continued...
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