CHAPTER 146 — BULLETS IN THE STORM
The gale shrieked over the cliffs, rain turning sideways, tearing at stone and earth. Storm hovered in the eye of her own hurricane, hair wild, cloak snapping like a banner of war. Her arms were spread wide, every breath a command to the storm.
And still—Proteus walked forward.
He moved through the gale as if each step rewrote the world around him. The road bent under his feet, puddles rippled into fire then froze to glass, and his eyes gleamed like twin suns. Every lash of lightning struck close but never touched him, reality itself warping to shield him.
Storm's voice rose above the storm, iron and thunder wrapped together. "You will not take me, Proteus! You will not take ANY of us!"
Proteus tilted his head, that warped grin cutting across his face. "You think the wind can hide you? Can save you? I see you. I will WEAR you."
He lifted his hand, light warping, space bending as he closed the distance step by step. Storm's breath hitched—she could feel his presence sliding toward her, a hand ready to rip her soul from her bones.
Then—
BANG!
The bullet whistled through the storm, cracking the air between them.
Proteus stopped, startled, his head whipping toward the sound. His face twisted—not fear exactly, but something close. A tremor.
"Metal," he hissed.
Another shot rang out. He stumbled back, his warped skin shivering at the impact. The storm made it impossible to trace the angle, the sound carried everywhere.
Proteus snarled, eyes darting wildly. "WHO—DARES?!"
BANG! Another bullet drove him back further. He twisted the ground beneath him into jagged spikes, but the metal lodged into his reality, breaking through the illusions.
Storm's eyes widened, recognition dawning. "Moira—"
Proteus's fury boiled over, his face breaking into fractured distortions. He raised his hands to rend the wind itself—
BANG!
The shot screamed for his skull. He jerked aside at the last instant, the bullet shaving past his ear with a hiss of metal and flesh. For the first time, he faltered. His form flickered, and fear gripped him.
Proteus roared, a sound like shattering mirrors, and bolted. His body warped into light and shadow as he hurled himself into a parked car. The vehicle groaned, warped, then roared to life under his control. Tires screamed on wet pavement as he vanished down the road.
The storm eased, Storm dropping to her knees, breath ragged.
And there, on the cliffs above, Moira MacTaggart lowered her smoking rifle.
Her hands trembled, her face hollow. Rain streaked her cheeks but could not hide the tears.
Her son. Her Kevin. She had pulled the trigger. Again and again.
Her heart screamed at her. Her hands had acted anyway.
Footsteps splashed behind her. She turned—and Cyclops was there, visor glowing faint through the rain, his face drawn tight.
He saw the rifle in her hands. Saw the smoke curling. Saw the war inside her eyes.
"You—" he began.
Moira's voice cracked, fury and despair tangled. "I had him, Scott. I HAD HIM! Why did you stop me?!"
She swung the rifle back up, aiming down at the road where Proteus had fled, but Cyclops's hand shot out, pushing the barrel skyward. "Because we don't kill! The X-Men don't kill!"
Moira's whole body shook, her finger twitching against the trigger. Her eyes locked on his visor, pleading and broken. "He's not just my son—he's a MONSTER! Every minute you hesitate, another life ends. You don't understand—I can't let him live!"
Scott's jaw clenched, rain dripping from his visor. His voice was steady but heavy as stone. "We capture him. We find a way. But we DON'T become murderers. Not even for this."
For one long, bitter second, Moira stared into his visor—saw her reflection, small, trembling, desperate.
Then she snarled through her tears and slammed the butt of the rifle into his gut.
Cyclops grunted, staggered, air leaving his lungs. He dropped to one knee, clutching his stomach.
Moira's lips trembled. "I'm sorry, Scott."
He heard it, faint, as the blackness pressed in. "I can't let him kill anymore."
Cyclops collapsed, unconscious on the cliffside.
Moira stood over him, hands shaking so violently she nearly dropped the rifle. She looked once more down the storm-wracked road where Proteus had fled.
And she knew. She could see the pattern, the direction.
Her son was heading for one place.
Joseph.
Her steps broke into a run, rifle clutched tight, the storm still raging behind her.