"Revelations Pt. 3"
by Adam Martin

The air deadened in mere moments. A gentle breeze had blown carelessly through the trees outside Salem Center for most of the night. It had been a cool, reassuring breeze, the kind of breeze that stirs feelings of nostalgia for a person, while sitting on a porch and enjoying a smoke. The weather had been pleasant for most of the week and the inhabitants of the upscale mansion outside Salem Center had thoroughly enjoyed picnics and softball games on the front lawn, content with the calmness present in their usual hectic lives. But on this night, the breeze died in seconds and the air suddenly grew humid and uncomfortable. A few inhabitants of the mansion tossed and turned in their beds, their dreams suddenly falling sour. A few others pulled the covers off of them, sweat dripping down the inside of their thighs and down their chests. One particular man, sitting at his neat, organized desk, barely noticed the change in temperature around his home. He was too busy inside his mind, battling with ideas for the future and stress that never seemed to glide away.
This man's name is Charles Xavier, the owner of the mansion outside of Salem Center. He was a great man in many people's minds; a savior, a mentor, a father, a tactician. The labels were trivial to Charles. He did not live selfishly through others' praise of him. In fact, the whole idea of Charles Xavier being a savior left a bitter feeling deep within his stomach. A savior was an entity with all of the answers, and many times in Charles' life he had known nothing but hopeless questions. He was a mutant, after all. A man or woman gifted with extraordinary power, power far removed from the masses of society. He opened his home to kindred souls, hoping to guide them toward understanding their potential and coping with their deformities. Unfortunately, the world did not understand the idea of a human being born with other worldly characteristics. There was a large scale misunderstanding of mutants in the world, where fear and ignorance led these feelings towards thoughts of destruction and extinction. Anything different from normality bred fear and hatred, and Charles set it upon himself to teach the world that being different was unavoidable and perfectly acceptable. This was no easy task, and Charles had tasted both defeat and disappointment on many occasions. With thoughts as these churning through this man's mind, it is completely understandable why Charles did not notice the change in temperature. It also explained why he sat wide awake at his desk, as the grandfather clock in the hall chimed three times.
Certain mutants over time had attempted to wreak havoc on Charles' noble dream. He had filed away hundreds of names of fellow mutants who he had engaged in bloody battles with over the years. Magneto. Sinister. Apocalypse. Mystique. Sabretooth. Names of men and women that rivaled their rage and vileness. With beings such as those, Charles knew that, as a mutant, it was his responsibility to police them. If he did not, these men and women of great power could bring about world chaos with mere thought and action. The frightening thought that kept Charles awake at night was the fact that these vile mutants were out in society, waiting to hurt, hinder, maim. With thoughts as complex as these, it was understandable why Charles Xavier could not sleep.
Charles exhaled slowly, rubbing his weary eyes. He had been away from the mansion for such a long time, and he had too much to catch up on. There were new and old faces alike in the mansion on this night. Old friends returning to their roots. A troubled girl locked in her room, angry and bitter toward society. A wild card, accused of being part of a horrendous massacre, that many of his students had chose to ignore for the time being. The mutants living in his home had grown more complex than Charles ever figured they could have. Not only did he worry about his students, but there were other worries as well. There were evaluations to analyze and strategies to test out. Charles wondered how he slept at all.
With another sigh, Charles sipped his tea, trying to shut down his brain for a few seconds of relaxation. Before his mind could fall into ease, the sound of fingers tapping on glass plunged his thoughts back into the fore front. He jerked around toward the window to his left, heart thundering in his chest. He saw nothing but the trimmed bushes outside the window and a clear view into the front yard. He chuckled, shook his head with a nervous smile, and brought his attention back to the thoughts at hand.
A mere second later, sounds of exploding glass erupted behind him, feeling hot shards bouncing off his bald head. Immediately, his mind seemed to plunge upward, trying to access a part of his brain often considered the most deadly weapon in the world. Amazingly, he felt himself come to a brick wall. He couldn't gain access to his telepathy. Startled and suddenly frightened, he thrust back toward the window, facing what had just decimated the glass panel. His eyes widened.
Crawling through, with a ghastly grin stretching across his face, was a thin, gangly man. Light from Charles' lamp gleamed into the man's pale, luminous eyes, as he stepped down onto the carpet, black boots crunching on glass. Charles had never seen such a creature as the one which somehow had bypassed his security system and was crawling through into his home right then. He felt paralyzed, unable to cry for help or hit the emergency alarm underneath his desk. He could only watch as the pale man crossed the room, eyes never leaving Charles'. His eyes followed the man as he grabbed a chair, and politely moved it toward the desk.
"Who...?"
The pale man raised his hand, as if to halt Xavier's question. He sat down upon the chair, crossed his legs, and neatly pushed the black curly locks of his hair behind his ear. "Don't ruin the moment, Charles," the creature said calmly, grinning. "With an entrance like that, we need a few minutes of silence."
Charles' eyes seemed to widen even more. The man had not only bypassed security, but he knew Charles enough to find his home and call him by name. And yet Charles had never seen this man in his life. And even more pressing, he wondered if this man was powerful enough to halt his telepathy, what kind of man could he be?
"I hope you know that at any moment a large number of startled mutants are going to burst through that door, quite disturbed at your presence here," Charles responded, trying to regain his composure and find an angle to combat this strange, grinning man.
"What, your X-Men?" the man responded with a chuckle, his voice sounding gravelly, yet humored.
"I see you are aware of certain secrets," Charles returned, slowly breathing to calm his battering heart. For a few seconds, he felt he had been close to cardiac arrest and if he did not calm himself immediately, he was afraid something might rupture. "And, yes, my X-Men, which are, by now, most assuredly awake."
"Are you threatening me, Charles?" the man asked, eyes glowing with a lurid madness.
"No. Merely preparing you."
The man snorted and rolled his eyes. "No one is coming through that door, Charles. Trust me, I've made sure of that. To think that the great Charles Xavier would stoop down to idle threats just baffles me."
"I don't mean to "baffle", but you'll excuse me if I'm a little alarmed at the moment. Guests usually knock at the front door instead of randomly bursting through expensive windows."
"Did I tickle a nerve?" the man said playfully, gaily twirling locks of curly black bangs, hanging in his face.
"I assume you've come here for a reason, and I don't have the patience to engage in a chat with you. So, if you have something to say, then say it. If not, then get out of my house."
Charles stared intently into the man's mad eyes, not wanting to show any more fear as he had already shown. He would maintain the upper hand, no matter which buttons the pale man tried to push. This was not the first time a devious looking gentlemen had sat in front of him, and he was certain that it would also not be the last.
The pale man rolled his eyes again and ceased toying with his hair. Charles had never seen such strange beauty in a man before. The man's pale skin seemed smooth and flawless. His lips were a dark purple, yet without a blemish or a sign of disease. The man, dressed in the blackest of suits, carried the look of a man who had just left a lavish party. He carried the look of a socialite, an upscale moneybagger with a gift for gab and a pocket full of credit cards. Charles had seen many of the type in his time, but none that looked so?threatening.
"I'll be honest, Charles," the pale man finally said. "I'm really not much of a man for small talk. Ever since I was a child, I've had quite an annoying attention disorder. I like getting right to the point. Do you mind if I have a smoke?"
Charles stared, revealing nothing.
The pale man smiled. "Fine. I suppose you don't." And with that, the pale man slid a cigarette from behind his ear and dropped it into his mouth. Behind the other ear came a match that he lit with the flick of a well filed thumb nail. The match lit immediately, and the smell of sulfur filled the room. The pale man inhaled deeply, let the smoke drift from his nostrils, and nodded as if to say, "thanks."
"Don't ash on my floor," Charles said, annoyed.
"Of course not," the pale man responded. "Upfront, my name is Mulberry. I'm quite a fan of yours, if you can believe that. I've been wanting to meet you for such a long time."
"Why not arrange an appointment?," Charles said, humorlessly.
"Heh...you're quite the busy man, Charles. I find stopping by uninvited much more responsive. Now, as I was saying, I have a deep respect for a man with power such as yourself. Such a noble creature, you are, Charles. You'd give a dying man your last quarter, even if it meant for you to starve. Not exactly an intelligent trait, but admirable nonetheless."
"I thought you disliked small talk, Mr. Mulberry. State your reasons for breaking into my home, or I will have you thrown out."
"More threats. I really must have caught you unaware. I do apologize. Back to my point, I'm here to give a proposition. I'd like to work with you, Charles. Intimately, for a lack of a better term. Man to man, mind to mind. You see, you are a man with a love for mutant studies, and I have always been closely associated with mutants myself. They are a fabulous new breed, wouldn't you agree?"
"Are you a mutant, Mr. Mulberry?" Xavier asked shortly. "If you are interested in working with my mutant underground, I can certainly arrange that. Not before a checkup on your past, which if I may be honest, I'd say probably does not constitute you getting a job for me."
"Judging by looks, Charles?" Mulberry asked, with a grin. "How unlike you."
"Not looks, Mr. Mulberry. I have allowed murderers with faces much more grim into my home on many occasions, yet they did so willingly and politely. You barged in, destroying my property, and then expected me to engage in a conversation with you. You are trying my patience."
"Then I suppose I must be get to the point," Mulberry continued, the humor in his voice fading out. The man's voice sounded vaguely familiar to Charles. There was a small twang in his pronunciation of vowels. Charles noted the characteristic in his mind, and continued to listen. "The reason your telepathy doesn't work is because, in my presence, anyone privy to the astral plane is blocked off. Although your telepathy is invalid, mine is not. I have a unique relationship with the astral plane. A part of the plane that you are not allotted to travel unto. Of course, you could try to reach it, but it would most likely fry your brain and show you things so terrible they would tear apart your soul. You know what that means, Charles? I have the upper hand here. Not you. You will listen to me, and keep your comments to yourself. Do you understand?"
Charles frowned, his face burning red. Yet, he remained silent.
"Good," Mulberry said, as if pleased, and flicked a line of ash onto the carpet. "Back to my point, we have a lot of things in common, but we also have a few differences that should be worked out. You see, like you, I offer my assistance to those in trouble. A lot of times, I offer my assistance to mutants. In fact, I just spoke with a guy who knows you, Charles. I believe he calls himself Pyro, or some other asinine, childish name as that. And as the story goes, Poor Pyro was dying, Charles. He had himself a most unfortunate disease, one that was eating his very genes."
"I am aware of this information," Charles declared.
"Yes, of course you are. Back to my point, Charles, I showed poor Pyro a new light. I gave him a new hope for life and a new attitude toward living. A complete personality overhaul. Instead of being loud, crude, and annoying miscreant, Pyro suddenly spoke with a quiet confidence and a love for life in itself. Intriguing, non?"
"Allerdyce has the Legacy Virus, Mr. Mulberry, and he is sadly delusional and dying. I doubt seriously he was in full mental capabilities when you encountered him. Now, I ask you again, what does this have to do with the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning?"
"I cured the sonvubitch," Mulberry stated, eyes blazing.
"How?" Charles responded skeptically.
Mulberry's smile widened, and long, fearsome fangs sparkled in his mouth.
Charles suddenly stopped breathing in mid-breath, eyes wide once again.
"I know all about you Charles Xavier. I've kept tabs on you for years. I've been closer to you then you could ever imagine. For a time, I was an understudy of an entity known to you as th e Shadow King. I found his acquaintance in the dark spheres of the Astral Plane, in a place you are forbidden to go. He told me all about you and your wooden disciples. He told me of your great, undying power. He told me where to find you. He told me how to hurt you. He had quite an obsession with you, Charles. Such an awe inspiring beast, wouldn't you agree?"
"He is a beast that has never defeated my X-Men, Mr. Mulberry. I find it amusing that you ally yourself with one of the X-Men's most hated foes, yet you expect me to work with you. I admit, you surprised me with your ability to shut down the access to my powers, but I want you to understand something. I don't need my telepathy to throw you out of my home. You do not threaten me. You do not scare me. And, I am tired of listening to your inane ramblings."
"Your security system no longer works, Charles," Mulberry said with a chuckle. "Go ahead, punch the button underneath your desk. I don't mind at all."
Charles firmly pressed the emergency button, praying the man was bluffing. No alarm kicked in. He heard no sounds of feet running down the hall toward his study. The mansion remained eerily quiet.
"What do you want?" Charles breathed.
"I want you to become my ever loving slave, Charles Xavier," Mulberry said, a snarl present upon his face. "I want to taste the life essence inside your body. I want to feel your blood trickling from my lips. I want your mind within me, your soul intertwined inside my being. You have such beautiful potential, Charles. Together, we can make such divine chaos."
"You're mad," Charles whispered. "You are down right crazy if you think I'd sell my soul to you. I'd rather die."
"Oh, I expected that, Charles," Mulberry confided. "As we speak, my children are waiting in the wings. Hovering in your closets. Hiding under your stairs. Playing boogey men, if you can believe that. But, if you choose to defy me, Charles, the boogey men are going to become all too real. In other words, you so much as give me the wrong look, and I'll awaken my followers and order them to devour your lovely students, bit by bit, claw by claw."
"My students are more formidable than you might believe," Charles growled. "Go ahead, Mulberry. Make all the petty threats you desire. My X-men will fight your "boogey men." My X-Men will die fighting against you! I will not work with you! I will not bargain with a monster bent on death and misery! You don't know me as well as you think you do. In fact, I think you're downright foolish. My answer now is no, and if you ask me later, it will still be no!"
Mulberry smiled calmly. "How predictable. It's not that simple, Charles. Not only will I kill your X-Men, but I'll kill everyone ever associated with you. I'll travel down to Massachusetts and play with your children. I'll head west and pay a visit to your troubled rejects. Anyone and everyone associated with you will die. I'm very accustomed to getting what I want. And if I don't, I'm known to pitch a hell of fit."
Charles glared, not giving. "I gave you my answer, you disgusting stain! Call out your god forsaken boogey men and get it over with! You will not threaten me!!"
"As you wish, Charles Xavier. How unfortunate we won't have the chance to work with each other. It's your choice. Now, and rather unfortunate for you, it's time for my children to feed."
The room suddenly was blanketed in darkness. Charles stared frantically, trying to get a view of Mulberry in the pitch black room. Red eyes burned from across the desk, and Xavier swore he could see the monster's teeth shining in the darkness. Xavier jerked open the drawer in his desk, heart racing and hands shivering. A gun, never once fired, sat in the back. He had never resorted to such tactics, but it mattered very little now. Xavier had never dealt with a situation such as this. He had never felt so completely powerless. He had never felt so completely alone.
"Bad boy, Baldie," a voice hissed mere inches from his face, and seconds later Charles could feel claws around his neck and teeth ripping in to his flesh.


To be continued...