Phoenix Rising

Title: Phoenix Rising
Rating: R, NC-17, in later chapters
Author’s Note: Sine I love the X-Men with a fiery, fiery passion of a thousand suns, I had to write this. Centered around the Phoenix entity.
Summary: The phoenix has risen again, but using an unlikely host for its revenge on the X-Men. Who is possessed by the Phoenix entity? How will the X-Men react? And will the X-Men still be whole in the aftermath?

Prologue.

This day had to come, that much she knew; but what she hadn’t planned on feeling what how wrong it all felt. It had taken her a long time to get to this point, a year in fact, and the pain was just as unbearable as the day she heard the news.
He was dead.
She wasn’t there, wasn’t able to hear his last words, wasn’t able to look into his burning eyes and kiss his lips for the final time. A part of her told her that she did not want to think like that after she had heard of what he had done. She knew that at times, he could be a coward, a liar, and was always a thief. However, he became something she never thought that he could be…
A murderer.
He had annihilated an entire race of people in her care. She had sacrificed so much of herself to help and protect them, she even killed for them, and he destroyed them without a second’s thought. That was something that she never took lightly, nor forgive.
She wished will all of her being that she would have been there when they sentenced him, to hear from his lips exactly what had transpired. Her heart was telling her that her companions must have heard wrong, been told wrong, but her mind believed it to be true. He always had a innate talent for making you believe whatever he wanted.
Some part of her soul died the day Marie told her what happened at the trial. He was dead, in fact he begged the young woman for death. Marie explained that she tried everything to bring him back with her, all in vain. He said anything, everything, to make her kill him.
The weather witch did not want to believe that. He was the last person that would ever beg for death. There were many battles that he had fought alongside her against the forces of evil in which he or both of them were severely injured. Not a complaint was heard from him except to leave the infirmary, maybe that should have told her to talk to him more about his fear of the medical facility.
She took a deep breath, she had to exorcise these thoughts from her mind so that she could get through with what she had to do. She tried the door, and found that is was locked, which did not surprise her in the least. He was a very private person, on the point of paranoia, and kept his room locked at all times. She grinned as she pulled the lock picks from her ornate headdress, she hardly had the opportunity to use her tools for so long, it was refreshing to finally use them. The door’s lock clicked, and the door opened without any sound.
She froze at the threshold, it was so cold in there, she could feel the light breeze as the door swung open. Her heart started to frantically beat, and she was surprise to find that she was afraid to go in. She shook her head, it would not do for her to be afraid now, she took another deep breath and walked through the threshold. Initially, she didn’t know what to expect. His taste for décor changed as often as the wind. She reached over to turn on the light, and as she turned, she nearly cried out in shock.
His room was exactly how he left it. She swore that she could hear his deep chuckle at her jump. He was always neat, and never made a mess. He was so meticulous about it, that you would never know that he was in the very room that you just walked into. Tools of the trade, obviously old habits died hard.
A thief never leaves a trace.
A thief with a heart of gold, or so she had thought. His bed was unmade, as usual. He was always a restless sleeper, so plagued by nightmares that he would confide in anyone. She had thought that he trusted her enough to divulge his fears. Obviously, by the state of their affairs, that he didn’t. Everything had a thick layer of dust on it, what had happened in Antarctica had shaken the lot of them so badly that no one would go near his room, much less enter it. She was the exception, she had known him the longest, loved him the longest. Marie was arrogant enough to believe that she knew of her love’s heart, but she was very sadly mistaken.
There was something about the way Marie told them about the so called “traitor’s” fate. Her manner seemed wrong. In her voice, in her eyes, she saw something that chilled her to her very soul.
Marie was lying.
Though the half that knew Marie was lying through her teeth, couldn’t prove it. The other half didn’t care enough to disagree with her. She decided to investigate this travesty, she had to find something, anything, to prove Marie’s falsehood.
The weather witch walked through the cold room. A year of neglect had changed this once warm, inviting room into a chilling tomb. This place was once alive; a vibrant, loving human being filled these walls with laughter and even tears. She could say the same thing about the mansion, years of strife and hardship morphed the once animated house into a morgue, so silent and brooding. Now, there’s nothing to mark his passage but for an unmade bed, the lingering scent of his cologne, a couple of discarded clothing, and an ash tray filled with cigarette butts beside his table. She bent down and picked up a sweater she had given him for Christmas one year. It was a shade darker than his hair coloring, and complemented his tan complexion. It soon became his favorite piece of clothing, and he wore it all the time. She brought the soft material to her chest and breathed in his scent, pretending that he was holding her against his lean, muscular chest. Her eyes opened only to find an empty room, and empty shirt.
As she turned to leave, for she would glean nothing from this room except for long-lost memories and wasted dreams, her eyes fell upon a thick white envelope propped up on the nightstand. With shaking fingers, she picked it up. It was sealed, and addressed to her. She brought the envelope and shirt to her chest once more, and a tear fell down her cheek.
These words were meant to be his last to her, and meant for her alone. She sat down on the edge of his bed, and with butterflies beating wildly in her stomach, began to read.