Chapter 14
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Jean. Angel. Iceman. Havok. Polaris.
Faces pallid. Limbs bound. Vines sunk under skin, drinking—their color rising and falling in sick little waves, like photosynthesis in reverse.
Storm whispered, "Goddess…" and it wasn't a prayer so much as a verdict.
"Alive," Logan said, nostrils flaring. "Barely."
Cyclops didn't give the fear time to root. "Cut them down. Minimal force. Those vines are wired to their powers—watch feedback."
They split. Nightcrawler bamfed to Angel first—tail looping around a supporting vine, blades quick. Banshee used precise sonic pops to snap bonds without shattering bone. Colossus tore roots away like bandages, gentle as his mass allowed. Sunfire seared through a bundle, keeping the flame tight; Iceman slid into Logan's arms shivering hard despite the heat.
Logan worked Havok's rig, claws shaving close. The vine around Alex's ribs surged with a pulse of stolen energy. He carved the last wrap, eased Havok down, and moved for the next.
As the fifth and final vine fell, the whole hall tensed. The light in the roots spiked green. The floor rippled.
"Outside. Now!" Cyclops snapped.
The temple started coming apart. Cracks knifed up the walls. Roots lashed blindly, bleeding sap that smelled like hot copper. The ceiling began to sag, grinding stone-teeth.
They ran. Nightcrawler bamfed in bursts, grabbing whoever lagged and coughing through the brimstone. Sunfire incinerated falling chunks before they pancaked the team. Storm shoved with a wall of wind that turned dust aside and made a tunnel of breathable air. Colossus shoved a collapsing pillar to the left, caught the next on his shoulder, and kept walking. Cyclops cut a falling lintel in half midair. Logan took the rear, feral instincts screaming in bullet-time clarity, batting aside a whipping vine, dragging Banshee up by his collar as the floor sloughed toward a pit.
They burst into daylight as the hall imploded, the temple sinking in on itself like a lung exhaling its last. The crash chased them out into the clearing, a wave of dust and spores rolling past.
They set the rescued down in the shade of a bent palm. Jean coughed, eyes fluttering; Iceman managed a shaky thumbs-up. Polaris touched Havok's face and exhaled relief. Angel sat up slow, feathers molting grit.
His gaze found Cyclops. The bite in his voice was immediate, raw.
"Why did you come back? Krakoa spat you out. It wanted you gone. And you brought more of us to feed it?"
Cyclops took the hit, visor steady. "We don't abandon our own."
Angel's laugh had no humor. "Then you'd better figure out how to stop an island, commander."
A tremor rolled underfoot—subtle at first, then teeth-rattling. Birds knifed from the canopy in panicked sheets. The ground bulged. Roots surged up through soil like a thousand spears, ripping the earth into raw seams.
"Positions!" Cyclops barked, already turning, already lining the team into a defensive arc. Storm's eyes went white. Sunfire lit like a flare. Colossus stepped forward, metal ringing. Nightcrawler vanished—reappeared three meters left, tail lashing.
The clearing tore open.
Mud, stone, and root coiled into a torso, a ribcage of timber, a spine of braided mangrove, shoulders crowned in strangler fig. A head formed—a mask of earth with eyes of sunlit swamp, burning green. Vines wrapped into arms thick as train cars. The thing rose until the trees were its knees, rainwater sluicing down its flanks, the stink of loam and electricity filling the air.
It looked at them.
KR A K O A.
The island had decided to wear a face.
Logan rolled his neck until it popped, claws sliding out with a promise. "You wanted big brother," he muttered to the ground. "There he is."
The giant took a step, and the jungle stepped with it.