HELLIONS v2.0

Written by Kostmeyer
Plot by Pharoah and Kostmeyer

ISSUE 11
"Love Story"

Cover by Kostmeyer

This story features HELLIONS and related characters, which are characters of Pharoah.The X-men, and the Hellfire Club are
trademarks of Marvel comics. This is an unauthorized work and no profit is being made on this work.
This work is © Kostmeyer 2006. Please do not archive without permission of creator.

PREVIOUSLY IN HELL ON EARTH…

The mysterious beings called the Horde have attacked the Earth, imprisoning the world’s most powerful psychics and magicians in a machine called the Chaos Engine. Their leader, Samhain, has killed the only two beings he considers powerful enough to stop his plans; The Shadow King and the X Men’s founder Professor Charles Xavier. The ensuing psychic shockwave rips open the barriers between dimensions and the Horde’s demon army invades. The only safe place in New York is the Hellfire Club brownstone, protected by a magical barrier generated by the captured sorceress Zhoe Kahn.

In the brownstone, the members of the Hellfire Club have gathered for the wedding of Roberto DaCosta the Black King, and Krystil Frost, the White Queen. After the ceremony, the Black King reveals that he knew all along about Krystil’s affair with his rival Armand DeFaux. He throws the White Queen out of the protection of the building, where she is attacked by the demon army. However, in an apparently suicidal act, his sister Gillian (Teryn of the Hellions) follows the Queen…

Gillian DaCosta opened her eyes. That was unexpected. Her last memory was of hurling herself into a group of demonic monsters, in a suicidal attempt to save her friend and mentor Krystil Frost. By rights, Gillian thought, she should be dead. What had happened?

She pushed herself up into a sitting position and looked around. It was almost pitch black, and as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness she reached out with her other senses. She had already felt the cold stone of the floor beneath her, and now she used her mutant abilities to explore. As a terraformer Gillian had an innate connection – almost a symbiotic link – to the landscape around her. She used this gift now to form a mental picture of her surroundings, sensing the sweeping layers of strata, the mineral curves, instinctively understanding the geological make-up of her environment – its formations of limestone and delicate calcite. She sensed that she was lying near the end of a long narrow cavern, formed naturally by the progression of a long vanished subterranean river. The passage widened as it got further from her, until it was blocked at the far end by a heavy metal grill, turning the cave into a prison cell.

However it was not this discovery that frightened her. Ordinarily stone was her dominion – it obeyed her every whim, formed and reformed itself at her slightest wish. This stone would not. More than that – it was actively resisting her commands, as if a will more powerful than hers had permeated the rock. It was not a comforting thought and she abandoned her efforts and resorted to more prosaic senses. Her eyesight had finally begun to pick out tones of light and shade in the darkness and she began to search around her for any other signs of life. If she had been captured, surely the White Queen had also been brought here?

“Miss Frost?” she called urgently. “Miss Frost, are you there?” her voice sounded painfully loud in the silence of the prison cave, but she didn’t care. She had to find her friend. She repeated the name, louder this time: “Miss Frost?”

“What’s that? Who’s there?” said an answering voice - a familiar, male voice. Out of the shadows a tall young man emerged, his angular handsome face pale, his dark hair tied back behind his head in a ponytail.

“Warren?” Gillian said, astonished. “Warren is that you?”

“Teryn?” Warren Worthington IV – better known as Psihawk, field leader of Neo-X, the next generation of X-Men – smiled as he recognised her. They had once been friends – more than friends – before Gillian’s ambition and Warren’s sense of duty had pulled their lives in different directions. “Gillian! What are you doing here?”

“Long story.” The girl answered. “Can you get me some light in here? I need to know if Miss Frost is alright.”

“The White Queen is here?” Warren hesitated.

“Yes, the White Queen is here – I hope.” Teryn snapped. “Look I know what you’re thinking but the Hellfire Club had nothing to do with this. Now help me find Miss Frost! She could be hurt!”

Warren concentrated – ignoring the sledgehammer pounding in his temples and manifested his psychic wings – spectacular telekinetic constructs of glowing psychic force. The eerie light they generated illuminated the prison cave, and revealed the White Queen, still in her wedding dress, lying some distance away against the wall. Teryn scrambled to her side, and sighed with evident relief as she discovered that Krystil Frost was unhurt. Warren watched her closely. This was very strange. Admittedly he hadn’t really spoken to Gillian properly for years, but this heightened concern for the older woman seemed uncharacteristic of the proud, self-absorbed girl he’d known. Had she changed so much over time, or was this something else?

He dismissed his suspicions as the light revealed another occupant of the cell. Lleander Neramani lay at the back of the cave, sleeping fitfully. Warren skidded to the boy’s side and performed a quick psi-scan. He was physically unharmed, but his thoughts were a terrified jumble of sinister eyes and demonic monsters. He telepathically located a pleasant memory they shared – Chastity Wagner’s last birthday party – and brought it to the surface. As he watched, the tension left Lee’s face and he settled into a more comfortable slumber. Warren decided to let him sleep – no need to wake him up to find out that the nightmare was real.

“Well, well. I thought that the Xavier Institute frowned on thought manipulation.” Krystil Frost said from the other side of the room. “Hello Warren.”

“Miss Frost.” Psihawk replied, with obvious hostility. “I thought…” his reply was cut short, as a wave of nausea struck him. His vision blurred and the illumination cast from his wings flickered. He regained control of himself to find the two women at his side, helping him to sit down.

“Warren, are you alright? Your arm-?” Frost began – noticing him wince as he put any weight on it.

“No – that’s an old injury.” Warren said. “Nothing too serious. It’s my head – I can’t seem to shake the effects… I don’t know if I can explain… just after I was taken by the Horde there was this… this massive psychic shockwave – like an atom bomb going off on the astral plane. I’d guess that’s what knocked out Lee as well – he’s psi-sensitive too.”

“We heard it as well.” The White Queen murmured. “As soon as it happened the sky cracked open and demons started pouring through. This isn’t just an attack on the X-Men, Warren. This is an invasion.”

* * *

New York was burning. Through a yawning chasm in the sky, numberless hordes of demons poured down into Central Park, and then out into the streets, smashing cars, setting fires, demolishing buildings, killing every living thing in their path. Unchecked, the fires spread quickly, sending clouds of choking black smoke billowing high into the air, covering the city, blotting out the sun. In this unnatural darkness, the police and the National Guard fought a desperate battle at the bridges as they tried with little chance of success to keep the invading army contained on Manhattan Island.

Above this horrific scene, drifting through the smoke clouds, a figure appeared: an attractive blue-eyed girl with freckles and a cloud of red hair. Had anyone noticed her arrival high above the Hellfire Club’s Manhattan Brownstone, they might have identified her by the form-fitting black and red costume she wore as the British super-hero Spitfire. They would have been wrong. Spitfire was dead, killed by the Horde during their attack on London. Now her body remained, but the spirit that animated it, the intelligence behind those wide blue eyes, belonged to someone else entirely.

Reese Kahn had come home.

* * *

The Grand Ballroom of the Hellfire Club’s mansion echoed with the voices of over a hundred astonished party guests, all talking at once as they tried to comprehend the shocking events they had just witnessed. Amid the cacophony, Nicolette Jones, the Black Queen of the Inner Circle, was giggling hysterically. Suddenly she cried out in pain. A single barbed quill was protruding from her arm.

“Ouch.” Jones observed, her good humour lost. “That wasn’t very nice Cassandra. What did you do that for?”

Cassandra Morrell was striding across the room towards her, scowling. The Black Queen knew that, hidden behind the holographic disguise that her image inducer projected, Morrell’s mutant body was bristling with the razor sharp spines that gave her the code-name Quill. She halted, inches from the other woman’s face.

“Get your sick thrills some place else.” Morrell threatened. “My best friend is probably dead – demons are destroying the city, and you stand there drinking in all the fear and pain like some damned vampire!”

The Black Queen shrugged. “Can I help what I am?”

In answer, Quill grabbed the other woman by the throat and lifted her off the ground.

“Well I’m an aggressive, vindictive woman prone to outbursts of extreme violence.” She whispered. “Can I help what I am?”

“Point taken.” Jones managed to say. Quill released her. “I… I have somewhere else to be.”

“I thought so.” Quill said, watching the other woman retreat across the ballroom.

“That was delightful!” Pryor Shaw said, clapping his hands. “Cassie my dear you have such a talent for making threats.”

“Shut up, Pryor.” Quill growled. “You’re no better than she is.”

“Perhaps.” Shaw smiled. “But after everything we’ve seen today, I should have thought that we would have a lot to talk about.”

“What do you mean?” Morrell asked, suspiciously.

“I mean that, assuming we survive the day – and I intend to – the Hellfire Club will change dramatically. Perhaps we should start to think about the future, Cassie. Perhaps you’ve just been given a chance to get back your seat on the Inner Circle.”

“I only care about Krystil.”

“Really? I always wondered why you attacked Synn – now I know. You lost your seat on the Inner Circle for Krystil, and she could have saved you by telling the truth. But she didn’t lift a finger to help you, did she? Perhaps you should start putting yourself first for a change. If today has showed me anything Quill, it’s that the old allegiances don’t mean a thing anymore. Think about it.”

Pryor turned and made his way across the room, without noticing the remaining members of the Hellions gathered together beside a bay window. The curtains were closed, shutting out the blood-red glare of the unnatural sky.

“We should go after them!” Lamprey was saying. “We should…”

“What good would that do?” Paris Taylor said bitterly. “They’re gone – you heard what the Knight said.”

“We don’t know that!” Lamprey snapped. “We didn’t see anything!” Minotaur put his large hand on her arm gently, and the girl lapsed into silence.

“What about Gillian?” Minotaur shook his head. “Why did she do it?”

“I don’t know.” Shade said. “She was acting weird when she came back, but… I guess we’ll never know now.” With their founder and team leader both probably dead, and Damien locked away – a prisoner – driven insane by Zen addiction – it looked as if the Hellions were as good as finished. Shade – secretly spying on the Inner Circle for Charles Xavier, studied his despondent team mates closely. Which way would Minotaur and Lamprey go? Would today’s events drive them closer to the Hellfire Club or further away? He looked around to make sure no-one was listening and seeing Pryor Shaw, lowered his voice to a whisper. “What happens now?” he said. “To us I mean. We all owe the Club a lot – but how can we carry on after what the Black King did?”

Lamprey pulled back the curtain slightly and looked out into the street. Beyond the gardens, where Zhoe Kahn’s invisible barrier defended the Brownstone, pillars of black smoke rose above the burning city.

“I think we concentrate on staying alive.” She said. “Think later.”

Minotaur nodded, but it looked to Paris as though he was pleased to have avoided answering the question.

* * *

In a prison cell several floors below the Ball Room, Damien Morgan lay on his bunk. Morgan, until recently the Hellion code-named Touch because of his mutant ability of tactile-telekinesis, was perhaps the only person in the building not to be talking about the loss of the White Queen and Teryn. Had he known about the events above him, he would not have cared. Tormented by withdrawal symptoms from the Zen he had become addicted to, Damien writhed in agony, clutching his stomach and twisting the sweat-soaked bed sheet around him. Then, somehow, he sensed a presence in the room. He hadn’t heard the door open, but in his current condition that wasn’t surprising. Someone was watching him.

“Give me my Zen!” he shouted hoarsely. “It’s mine! I paid for it! Give it to me!”

“Oh, Damien. What have you done to yourself?”

At first he didn’t recognise the voice – it was a female voice with an English accent – her tone compassionate. And yet there was something familiar… he scrambled around on the bunk, setting his back against the cell wall and staring up at her with bloodshot, black-rimmed eyes.

It was a girl. A slim, attractive girl with red hair. The costume she wore was unfamiliar to him, but he recognised her from a mission that the Hellions had undertaken in Europe some time ago.

“Spitfire? What are you doing here?”

In response the girl made a strange gesture, and a gentle blue glow surrounded his body, washed over him. As the glow receded, Damien felt the pain, the hunger, recede with it, as if his body had been purged of the effects of the drug.

“Don’t you know me, Damien?” the girl said, meeting his gaze. “It’s not the first time I’ve come back for you.”

“My God.” Damien whispered. “Reese is it really you?”

* * *

No-one had seen the Black King since the Grey Knight had carried him into his private suite, screaming with rage. Now the door to DaCosta’s office was closed, firmly, meaningfully closed. He was quiet now, but his rage was like a physical, tangible force – the servants stayed away, fearing another outburst.

A tall man in a black suit walked up to the door. He knocked twice, then, hearing no reply, gripped the handle firmly and opened the door. The Black King didn’t look up as he entered. Sitting behind his desk the head of the Inner Circle seemed to be intently studying the screen of his computer. The new arrival knew better.

“Son?” Roberto DaCosta Senior said, closing the door behind him. “We haven’t had a chance to talk.”

“I’m very busy, Father.” The Black King still didn’t look up.

“Yes, I know.” The older man smiled slightly. “That was one of the reasons I gave up my seat on the Inner Circle in your favour. You always were so dedicated.” The Black King made no reply and an awkward silence settled over the two men. DaCosta Senior tried again to engage the other in conversation.

“Your mother sends her love.” He said. “She wanted to come to the Wedding – in fact it’s only the delicate state of the Asgard Project that prevented her from coming. We found it, you know – but we still have to find some way of overcoming the First Enchantment before we can bring it to you.”

The report was known to the Black King and DaCosta Senior knew it. The younger man didn’t respond. Finally abandoning small talk, Roberto DaCosta Senior put his hand on his son’s shoulder.

“It’s not your fault. – Gillian, I mean.”

“I know.” The Black King said, finally.

“You couldn’t have planned for what she did. It seems so out of character. I just want you to know – I don’t blame you.”

“That’s good.” the younger man scowled. “Close the door on your way out.”

Had the Black King looked up, he would have seen the sorrow on his father’s face, the shame that he was unable to reach his son. But the expression passed quickly. The older man forced his features to adopt an expression of steely determination. The two men looked very alike. At the door, Roberto DaCosta Senior halted.

“Why did you do it, son? You loved Krystil. Why did you throw her out to them?”

“No-one betrays the Hellfire Club and lives.” The Black King said, finally turning and looking up at his father. “You taught me that.”

“But she didn’t betray the Hellfire Club. She betrayed you.”

“It’s the same thing.” The Black King muttered. They were interrupted by the noise of a heavy hand knocking at the door. “Come in Knight.” DaCosta said.

The Grey Knight entered, bowing low to both the Black King and his father.

“Well?” the younger man said. “What is it?” In answer, the Grey Knight turned slightly towards the elder DaCosta.

“You can speak freely in front of my father, Knight. I have no secrets from him.”

“You have hundreds of secrets from me, ‘Berto – as it should be. You are the Black King after all.” Roberto Junior smiled at that, and smiling in response, his father moved towards the door. “We’ll talk. Properly. Soon.” Then he was gone.

“Well Knight, what is it?” DaCosta demanded.

“It’s Damien Morgan, Sir – The Hellion Touch.” The Knight replied. “He’s gone! Vanished from his cell. The door remains locked – never opened – but he’s gone.”

“Magic again no doubt.” The Black King sighed. “I for one will be glad when all this is over.”

“There’s more.” The Knight said. “Zhoe Kahn has been talking.”

The Black King inclined his head slightly as he stared at the Hellfire Club’s security chief. “Forgive me if I have misunderstood the situation Knight, but didn’t the Horde cut out her tongue?”

“They did Sir. She apparently grew a new one.”

“I hate magic.” DaCosta scowled. “Well, what is she saying?”

“She says her son is here. She says Reese Kahn is back from the dead.”

* * *

Above the city, illuminated from below by the bonfire glare of burning buildings, Damien Morgan drifted on the boiling air, hand linked with that of his companion. Everything that had happened to him seemed so unreal that he barely heeded the war-zone beneath him. The Horde’s invasion was a side show – a distraction. He looked into the unfamiliar face beside him but knew that he had been told the truth. This was Reese. Conjur met his gaze, and smiling drew him close. At the last moment, Damien pulled away.

“What is it?” Conjur said. “What’s wrong?”

“What were you doing?”

“I thought…” Conjur began. Damien interrupted him.

“You’re my friend. My best friend – but that’s all.”

Conjur’s expression darkened. “No.” he said. “This is more than friendship and you know it.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you need to be honest with yourself” Conjur’s new blue eyes focused on the Hellion, so intently that Damien turned his head away.

“No… I’m not! I mean… this is…”

“Why do you think I came back for you when the Seven had taken over the Academy?” Reese said. “I’m precognitive, Damien. I knew that if I left New Salem I would be killed. I did it for you! I died for you!”

Touch still couldn’t look at him. He tried to change the subject.

“What have you done to Spitfire?”

“Spitfire’s dead!” Conjur said angrily. “She had her time!”

“So did you!” Damien responded. “What gave you the right to take her body?”

“The right?” Reese shouted. Then, lowering his voice, he drifted closer to Damien, tears forming in his eyes. “I died for you. And I love you so much that even death couldn’t keep me from you. That’s what gives me the right Damien. That’s what gives me the right.” Conjur turned his face away. “I needed to know. I couldn’t… I… I needed to know if you felt the same. I guess now I know.”

Conjur began to fly away, but something stopped him – he felt a pressure forming around his new body, as if a giant invisible hand were holding him, gently but firmly. Slowly he was pulled back towards the Hellion, whose tactile telekinesis drew him back, drew him close.

“What are you doing?” Reese said, brushing the tears away.

“You’re the precognitive Reese.” Damien Morgan said, putting his arms around Conjur and smiling nervously. “You tell me: What happens next?”

* * *

Inside the cavern prison, Warren Worthington looked up sharply. “Someone’s coming.” He said.

“How can you tell?” the White Queen demanded.

“Footsteps. Can’t you hear them?”

Soon all of the captives could make out the noise that the Neo-X leader’s enhanced hearing had already detected – heavily armoured feet ringing against the uneven stone of the tunnel floor. The noise grew increasingly louder and a flickering yellow light began to appear.

“Do we fight?” Teryn whispered, looking at Frost. The White Queen shook her head.

“Wait and see.” She said. “We need to know what we’re up against.”

The faint patch of light was spreading along the wall, and finally a large figure stepped into view, a pale skinned woman carrying a large double-bladed battle axe. Her golden armour was glittering in the light of a burning torch carried by a skulking demon attendant. Behind them, a small troop of demons followed, carrying heavy iron manacles and chains.

“Who are you?” Krystil demanded. “Why have you brought us here?”

The armoured woman ignored her. “Take one of those two.” She said, pointing towards Psihawk and Reaver, the latter still sleeping. Warren backed away, positioning himself between the demons and Lleander, as the attendant produced a rusted key and unlocked the gate.

“We stay together.” The White Queen said, her voice firm. The armoured woman narrowed her red eyes and then aimed a kick at the nearest demon.

“Why did you bring these mortals here Worm?” she said to the demon, who cringed in fear. “They’re no use to us.”

“Mercy, Maaxa!” The demon whimpered. “The Lady Perdition ordered that any humans taken from a certain mansion in New York should be brought here! I think they interested her!”

The armoured woman glowered. “Her appetites are a distraction we can ill afford.” She said. “Just make sure you keep them out of the way.”

The gate swung open, screeching noisily on rusted hinges, and the demons loped into the cell, pushing Teryn and Frost to one side of the cavern and separating them from Warren and the children. Suddenly the chamber was filled with light, as Warren let loose with a concussive blast of psychic force, swatting the nearest demon back and shattering the creature against the wall of the cave.

“Not him!” Warren shouted, lunging at the demons as they reached out for the sleeping boy.

“As you wish.” Maaxa strode into the cell, and Psihawk’s telekinetic bolt was refracted and dissipated as it made contact with the axe she carried. Before he could react, Maaxa brought the haft of her weapon down hard and Worthington crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

Teryn had been moving to help him, but the White Queen laid a restraining hand on her shoulder. The two women watched as the demons began to chain their victim, then drag him out of the cell. Maaxa turned and grinned at them as the gate slammed shut.

“Welcome to Wundagore.” She grinned.

* * *

Half a world away, night had fallen over New York. The glare of the burning streets was too bright for the stars to shine through, but the moon hung above the city like a baleful red eye, shining on the Hellfire Club brownstone and through the window of the suite of rooms occupied by Damien Morgan.

Conjur stood at the edge of Morgan’s bed, looking down at his sleeping friend. Damien was smiling, his face relaxed, at peace with himself for the first time in many months. Reese smiled and turned away.

On the other side of the room, his reflection in a full length mirror caught his attention. It was still a shock – to look at himself and see Spitfire reflected back at him. He raised his hand to his chin and saw the girl in the mirror do the same. It would take some getting used to, he thought. Or perhaps he could alter the body with magic and restore his true form.

“Liar.”

Reese stumbled back a pace. Who had spoken? He had sealed the room with powerful spells, no-one should even be aware that he was here! He scanned the room, but other than Damien, still sleeping, he appeared to be alone.

“Over here.”

The colour drained from Reese Kahn’s face. The voice was coming from the mirror. Conjur felt a cold shiver run the length of his spine. He didn’t want to look, but compelled, he lifted his gaze.

“You betrayed me.” The girl in the mirror said. “You promised me this would be temporary. You lied!”

“No!” Reese shouted. “This isn’t possible!”

“Everything’s possible with magic, Reese. You should know that.”

“Carrie Conway has no knowledge of the art!” Reese said to the figure in the mirror. “She couldn’t communicate from the other place! There’s no way!”

“Then either I’m being helped by someone else, or I’m really just your guilty conscience.” The reflection said.

“No!” Reese lashed out, beating his fists against the mirror. Unfamiliar with Spitfire’s strength he shattered the mirror and the wall behind it, punching a hole in the brickwork.

“Reese?” Damien called out. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“Nothing.” Conjur said. “Nothing’s wrong.” But his voice was trembling.

* * *

Lleander Neramani opened his eyes. He had been dreaming – dreaming about a birthday party – but the dream had been spoiled by monstrous, grinning faces and the voices of his friends crying out in pain and fear. With a start he had woken up.

“Miss Frost?” A dark haired girl was standing beside him, motioning to someone else, just out of his field of vision. Lee sat up quickly, hoping to see a familiar face, but he didn’t recognise the blonde woman in the ragged white dress who appeared.

“Where’s Chase?” the boy demanded, backing away from the strangers.

“Chase?” the blonde woman said. “Was Freelove captured with you?”

Lee nodded. “Where is she? What have they done to her?”

“I don’t know – she wasn’t put in our cell. Maybe they didn’t take her – maybe she escaped.” Teryn suggested.

“Psihawk – Warren was here with you. We promised him we’d look after you.” Krystil Frost added. The boy looked around him, eyes wide with horror as he took in the darkened cell. Frost realised further reassurance was needed. “I won’t lie to you child – we’re in trouble. But we’ll stick together and everything will be OK in the end. You can trust us. Isn’t that right Gillian?”

“Yes Miss Frost.”

“You’re from the Hellfire Club.” Lee said, recognising the names and frowning. “My Dad said you were bad guys.”

“Well, maybe to him we are.” Frost acknowledged. She had quickly realised that Lee was a bright kid and decided that honesty was the best policy to win his trust. “But we’re not as bad as the things that have brought us here. The monsters are our enemies too. We can help each other. We’ll look after you, don’t worry.”

“I guess.” Lee said, slowly. Then he smiled. “I met one of your friends once, at the mansion, and he was really nice.”

Frost and Teryn exchanged glances.

“Really?” Krystil Frost said. “You must tell us more about this.”

“We were really scared of him at first.” Reaver said. “But they said it was all OK because he was a friend. He’d been on a secret mission for my Dad and Mister Logan.”

“Tell me child…” Krystil Frost said. “Can you remember his name?”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Issue 12

Issue 10

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