Chapter 164: Duel in the Astral Plane
White. Endless, blinding white.
Cyclops blinked as he stood in the void, boots crunching on nothing. It wasn't emptiness. It was potential. The astral plane had no walls until a mind decided to shape it.
His hand brushed his visor, but it was gone. His uniform shimmered, threads twisting and changing — blue spandex warping into black leather, then into something older, rougher. A long coat. A sword hung at his hip. Medieval garb. He frowned. "Jean…"
A door appeared ahead of him, tall, arched, carved oak. Torchlight bled through the cracks. He swallowed, squared his shoulders, and pushed.
The door groaned open into a stone hall. Fire roared in iron braziers, casting shadows across banners that bore a sigil he didn't know. At the far end, she stood.
Jean Grey — no, the Black Queen — in velvet and lace, a crown glittering on her brow. She turned, her voice echoing in the vast chamber.
"Who are you, intruder, to enter my Lord's hall?"
"Jean. It's me." His voice cracked, just a little. "Scott. You know me. You know me."
Her brow furrowed, but before he could take another step, another figure strode from the shadows.
Jason Wyngarde. Cloak flowing, blade gleaming, smirk sharp as a dagger. His medieval costume shimmered between reality and illusion, knight and king. He moved with the swagger of a man who owned the world.
"My Queen, step back. This thief dares to profane your court. I will deal with him."
Cyclops drew his sword, steel ringing in his grip. He set his stance, mind racing. 'If I can break through here, I can break through to her. I just have to hold.'
Wyngarde's grin widened. He lunged. Steel met steel in a shower of sparks. The clash thundered through the hall.
Cyclops gritted his teeth, straining. "Jean! Don't you see what he's doing? This is a prison. He's chaining you!"
Jean's lips parted — a flicker of doubt. Wyngarde snarled and shoved Cyclops back.
"You think your petty link could hide from me? Fool. I saw it the moment it was forged. I waited. I wanted you to come here. Do you not understand? This is MY battlefield."
Cyclops stumbled but steadied, blade raised again. His jaw clenched. "Then let's see if you can take me, bastard."
The duel grew faster. Sword ringing against sword, sparks flying. Wyngarde pressed the attack with impossible precision, his blade slashing in ways that bent the rules of the fight. Cyclops fought back with grit, with desperation, but every strike felt heavier, slower.
Jean gasped. "Jason… you promised…"
Wyngarde smirked, forcing Cyclops to one knee. "Promised you freedom, my Queen. And he is the last chain. Watch, and be free."
He twisted his wrist. Cyclops' sword flew from his hands, clattering across the stone.
"No—!" Scott's heart thundered. His chest was bare. Wyngarde's blade pierced through. Pain exploded white-hot as steel drove into his chest.
He gasped, blood in his throat. "Jean… fight him—"
His body dissolved into light, shattering into sparks.
---
In the real world, Cyclops' head snapped back. His body jerked against the restraints, breath coming shallow, broken. His face drained of color beneath the ruby cage.
"SCOTT!" Storm screamed, fighting against her collar until it burned.
Colossus roared. "You demons! You've killed him!"
Nightcrawler's golden eyes went wide with horror. "Nein… nein… his heart… it is stopping…"
Jean blinked — the illusion wavered. A tear rolled down her cheek even as Wyngarde whispered, "Don't look at him. Look at me. He is gone."
Cyclops' body slumped. His chest rose once, weakly. Then stilled.