X-Force: Beyond Omega

Omnipresence, the power of the Space Stone, allows the user could be everywhere at once. Well, while Storm and the others are busy dealing with the politics, the cured one dealing with their traumas, and Aron enjoying his date... Well, Aron never forgot about those bastards. So, he did what he had to do... Show those bastards pain beyond their wildest imagination. He used Omnipresence to be at multiple places at the same time. 

His first presence was at the underground prison.

The damp stone chamber smelled of rust and raw meat. Blood pooled in the grooves between the stones, thick and dark, dragging strands of flesh along as it snaked toward the grated drain. The only light came from a single, swaying bulb, its harsh glow slicing through the shadows like a razor. The dimness couldn't hide the carnage—bodies hung from chains, half-flayed, or lay in twisted heaps, still breathing because he wanted them to.

Aron stood at the center, a barbed wire-wrapped baseball bat gripped in his gloved hands. His chest rose and fell slowly, each breath controlled, almost meditative. The Phoenix Force simmered under his skin, its heat a pulse in the chill air. The energy coiled around his bones, ready to stitch flesh back together, to keep hearts beating no matter how broken the bodies became. He wouldn't let them die. Not until he was done.

A guard knelt before him, trembling so violently that the chains on his wrists clattered. His face was a mosaic of bruises, one eye swollen shut, the other fixed on Aron with the glassy stare of a trapped animal. Aron ran the bat's jagged edges under the man's chin, lifting his head to meet his gaze.

"You liked breaking bones, didn't you?" Aron asked. His voice was calm, a low rumble beneath the drip of blood. "I saw what you did to the children who couldn't mine fast enough. You broke their fingers. Their legs. You made them crawl until they died."

The guard whimpered, his lips peeled back over shattered teeth. Aron didn't wait for a response. He swung the bat low, a blur of rust and steel. The impact crunched through the man's kneecap, bone shards puncturing the skin in wet bursts. He howled, a raw, jagged sound that echoed off the walls. Aron's face remained expressionless.

"Louder," he whispered.

He swung again, the barbed wire biting deep, pulling away chunks of flesh and strands of muscle. The guard's scream turned high-pitched, a shriek that ripped through his throat until it was nothing but a gurgle. Aron stepped forward, bringing the bat down in rhythmic, brutal strikes. Each hit caved in more of the guard's body, ribs folding inward, arms twisted at impossible angles. Skin peeled away, leaving red pulp exposed, nerves singing with agony.

The man's body should have given out. Shock should have taken him. But the Phoenix Force wrapped around his broken form, threading through his veins, keeping his heart thumping a desperate, irregular beat. Blood poured from his mouth, a crimson froth, as he continued to scream, voice shredding with every impact.

Another guard, chained to a wall, started to thrash, his voice a thin wail beneath the symphony of breaking bones. Aron turned, his shadow stretching across the stone. He walked slowly, his boots squelching through the viscera, dragging the bat along the floor. The metal scraped against the stone, a hiss beneath the sobs.

"You're next."

He raised the bat and this time he aimed for the face. Teeth exploded under the blow, fragments lodging in the guard's tongue. Aron swung again and again, the man's skull caving in, the bones turning to a wet mush. His eyeball popped, a spray of yellow fluid mixing with the blood. The screams twisted into an animalistic keening, a raw, exposed nerve of sound that vibrated through the air.

Aron didn't stop until the head was a mass of pulp, the neck a loose stalk holding nothing but gore. The Phoenix Force wouldn't save this one—he let the life seep away, the sounds fading to a wet gurgle as the body sagged in its restraints.

He turned to the next group. Five men, their uniforms stained dark, the insignias of scientists and engineers who had designed the camps. The ones who had turned ideas into horrors. He flicked his hand, and the chains tightened, pulling their arms taut, and stretching their joints until the shoulders dislocated with a series of wet pops.

Aron's eyes burned with amber light, and their limbs snapped off, bone and muscle tearing, leaving ragged stumps. Blood sprayed in arcs, splattering the walls, and pooling under their writhing bodies. They screamed, their voices a twisted choir of agony. One of them, a woman with graying hair, began to hyperventilate, her body convulsing against the loss of her arms.

"You built the silos," Aron said, his voice a low growl beneath the screams. "You watched them pile bodies into your machines. You turned flesh to slurry. You thought you were safe behind your glass walls. Now look at you."

He snapped his fingers, and the blood flow from their severed limbs slowed but did not stop. They would not bleed out. Not yet. The scientists dragged themselves through the gore, smearing their own blood in streaks on the stone. Their stumps pressed to the floor, nerves exposed to every grit and sharp edge.

Aron knelt beside the woman. Her eyes rolled in their sockets, her voice a hoarse rasp as she begged. He held a knife against her cheek, the blade cool against the fevered skin.

"Let's see what's under that mask."

He slid the blade down, slow and deliberate, the skin parting with a whisper. Blood welled up, thick and black, as he peeled her face away in strips. She shrieked, her voice a jagged edge that cut through the room. Aron didn't stop, his hands steady as he flayed her, muscle and fat gleaming under the raw light.

When her skin lay in a heap beside her, he reached into a bucket at his side. Coarse, gray salt, sharp-edged and unforgiving. He took a fistful and dusted it over her exposed flesh. The reaction was instant—her body arched, tendons straining against the chains. The salt bit into her nerves, fire under the skin, every grain a dagger. Her screams had no shape, only raw sound, the echoes warping as if the walls themselves recoiled.

The others wept, their bodies curled around their own wounds. Aron moved among them, each step deliberate. He tore the skin from muscle, broke bones, and reassembled them in twisted forms, his power keeping them alive, conscious, and aware. He filled the air with the stink of blood and the music of their pain. Each scream was a note, each wet crunch a beat. He was both conductor and executioner, his bat the baton.

The last to suffer was Corran, the leader. His skin had been flayed in strips, the muscle beneath twitching with every gust of air. Aron bent close, his breath warm against the ragged remains of Corran's face.

"You'll never die," Aron whispered, the Phoenix Force seeping into Corran's broken body. "Not until I've had enough. And I am far from satisfied."

He plunged his hand into Corran's chest, fingers curling around his still-beating heart. Corran's mouth opened in a silent scream, his eyes bulging as Aron squeezed. The organ spasmed, veins snapping, but it did not stop. The Phoenix Force held him on the edge, suspended between life and death, every nerve alive and burning.

Aron pulled back, his hand dripping with blood. He stood amidst the carnage, the sounds of their agony wrapping around him like a shroud. The chamber had become a hell of his own making, and he was its master. There were still so many ways to make them scream. So much more pain to draw from their battered forms.

He smiled, and the screaming began again.

....

[Other side] [Aron's second presence]

Snow blew across the rocky path, a thin mist of white that clung to the bodies of the monks sprawled on the ground. Red stained the snow, and the wind carried the coppery tang of blood. Twenty monks lay still, their robes soaked, their limbs twisted in ways that bone and muscle should not allow. The stone gate behind them, carved with ancient symbols, stood dark and silent. It was the last door to Kun'lun, and Danny Rand stood before it, breathing hard, knuckles raw.

Cassandra Nova hovered a few feet off the ground, her thin frame wrapped in a long gray coat that flapped in the wind. Her bald head shone with a cold light, her pale eyes narrow and sharp. She looked down at Danny like a cat might watch a wounded bird.

"Come now, Danny," she said, her voice soft, almost kind. "Tell me where the First Iron Fist's remains are hidden, and I'll make this quick."

Danny wiped blood from his mouth. His fist glowed faintly, the golden light flickering like a candle in a storm. "I'd rather die."

She smiled. "Oh, you will. But dying doesn't have to be so... unpleasant."

She raised a hand, and the air seemed to harden around Danny. His breath caught in his throat as invisible fingers squeezed his ribs. He dropped to one knee, his glowing fist dimming as pain coiled through his chest.

"Where is her bloodline?" Cassandra asked, floating closer. Her boots didn't touch the snow. "I've searched the old records, torn through every scroll in Kun'lun's archives. The blood of the First Iron Fist is the key, and I know you've found something. A clue. A name. Give it to me."

Danny's lips pulled into a tight line. He drew in a breath and forced himself to stand. His chest heaved, and he held his hands up, his fists tight. "You killed them all," he said. His voice was rough, words edged with rage. "They were peaceful. They were just monks."

"They were in my way," she said with a shrug. "And you're wasting my time."

She flicked her wrist, and the ground under Danny exploded. Snow and rock burst up in a cloud, sharp shards cutting his face and arms. He rolled to the side, his body moving on instinct, years of training kicking in. His foot slammed into the ground, and he launched himself forward, his glowing fist aiming for her chest.

Cassandra moved like smoke. She slid to the side, his punch cutting through empty air. Her fingers brushed his neck as he passed, and a shockwave of pain lanced through him. His muscles seized, his vision blurred. He crashed to the ground, steam rising from his skin as if he were burning from the inside out.

"You're not the first Iron Fist I've broken," she said, her voice lazy. "But you are the most stubborn."

Danny groaned, his fingers clawing at the snow. He could hear the soft crunch of her footsteps as she walked around him. She circled him slowly, a predator with all the time in the world.

"Was she your ancestor?" Cassandra asked. "The First Iron Fist? Did you think her blood could make you special?"

Danny forced his arms to move, pushing himself up. His face was tight with pain, sweat mixing with blood. "You don't know anything about her."

"Oh, but I do." She leaned close, her face inches from his. Her breath was cold, colder than the snow. "She was a fool. She gave everything to protect Kun'lun, and for what? A name in a dusty old book? Her blood is worth more than her legacy. Her blood can open doors, unlock powers. And I will find it."

Danny spat at her, a fleck of red that landed on her cheek. Her expression didn't change, but the air around them thickened. The wind died, and the snowflakes hung in the air, frozen in place. She pressed a finger to his chest, and a cold spike of energy drove through his ribcage. His scream echoed off the mountains, sharp and raw.

She twisted her finger, and the pain grew. His bones felt like glass, his skin stretched too tight over a body that wanted to break. His glow faded to nothing.

"You are nothing, Danny Rand," she whispered. "Just a keeper of secrets. But I don't need you alive to find what I need. The moment you show a flicker of weakness, I will take over your body and mind." She couldn't peek into Danny's mind due to his mastery of chi and the power of the dragon.

Her hand wrapped around his throat, lifting him off the ground. His feet kicked weakly, the snow below turning red where drops of blood slipped from his lips. She opened her mouth, and shadows curled around her teeth, a void that sucked the light from the world.

Then, ice cracked.

A sharp, splintering sound cut through the silence. The snow swirled again, a gust of wind whipping across the ground, lifting frost and ash into a swirling cloud. Cassandra turned, her fingers still tight around Danny's neck. Her eyes narrowed as a figure stepped through the snowstorm.

He wore dark robes, his silhouette sharp against the gray sky. His face was hidden behind a mask of ice, jagged and cold, with thin slits for eyes. Frost rimmed his hair, and his breath puffed in soft, white clouds. His hands hung at his sides, fingers twitching like a pianist ready to play.

"Let him go."

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[14 advance chapters] [No double billing] 

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