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MacReady Complex; [Broodlings First, Utopia After]
Topic Started: Jun 5 2012, 07:19 PM (2,431 Views)
Psilord
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Reality Warping, Flight, Has a Pet Galactus
Franklin, hovering in the very center of the temple, rewrote the rules of reality, his powers shaping the stone like it was putty in his hands, reknitting the fabric that made up that what was and changing it into that which he desired. His eyes glowed an almost violent blue, and his short hair plastered to his head with sweat and exhaustion, but he didn't feel it, didn't recognize it. His girl and her mother, powerful beyond their reckoning, steadied the stones of this place as he made the stone melt and run like mud floes into the cracks that had formed at the point of impact and continued downwards. Above the atrium, the heavy capstone room that was the focal of the Cerebro systems here in this strange place that was their home threatened to crumble in on him, but the pair of telekinetics held it long enough for him to stone weld it into place.

But as their power washed over him, and his reached out to augment it, the sheer scope of it and what it was that he could do with such a thing... Franklin didn't understand his powers, he didn't have a memory of learning to use it, he didn't know where it came from, or how his mind gave form and function to this ability, but he knew, in these moments, that he was a god and the world he wanted to create was simply a wish away.

Beneath him the fight raged, and the scarlet light burned his eyes where it leaked from the battle and the noise the fear the anger the power... he could stop this all, he could show these people the fullest extent of power, and he could change the world. Everything that was wrong he could fix. He could turn the Brood back into people. He could stop whatever the skrull had planned. He could open the shields so that they could go back to the world.

But why stop there? Why not take them all back to New York? Why not make everything that had driven them here go away? He could make the world be whatever he wanted... and anyone who defied him... anyone who dared to think differently, he could...

The heady rush of omnipotence without the anchoring stability of morality could overwhelm a man, and Franklin Richards wasn't entirely a man. He was young, a boy with the powers of a god, he was inexperienced, and there were parts of his mind that he could not access. It was a ticking timebomb and the seconds were counting down to utter disaster.

Until something fell from the skylight, something that Franklin realized, to his horror, was a child. Pulling his powers back, the temple now stabilized, the godling shot upward, sweeping out his arms to catch her. In that moment, every thought that had gone through him was called back into the dark recesses of his mind, overruled by the one reason he would never surrender to the temptations of his abilities... his heart.

Franklin caught Molly, straightening her hat, and even over the continuing battle, he could hear the small snore that told him she was only asleep, her powers exhausting her. He landed lightly on the patched ground, and pulled back, away from the battle, to get her to the shelters and in the hands of someone who could take care of her. He gave no sign of how close he had been to losing his mind.

Because he'd completely forgotten it ever happened.
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Hound
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She pulled at the strings of physics, pulling the building in towards her. holding it together. Rachel Summers, the girl from the future, had a mutation that much like her mothers was two-fold. It affected the physical and the metaphysical. The telepathy she had inherited was undertrained, underpracticed. The physical manifestation, however, the ability to draw physical force from the mind? What it lacked in finesse it made up for in power.

Even so, she struggled to hold the entirety of the temple steady. She felt her grip slip wide and she struggled to force her thoughts back to it, to draw in all those loose strings and keep it together while Franklin, one of a precious few reasons she was her and not the killer she'd been made to be, turned the world to his story book and wove the place back together. It was slow going, though, and painful, and even as the tension lifted, began to fade, she felt it wearing on her.

And then succor came in the form of her mother.

She did not respond to her answer; she couldn't. But Jean would know, she would feel the gratitude.

Still, even with the aid of another she was strained, held center and losiing strength. Were she using the core of her physical being, were this a feet of strength of flesh and not the mind, she was certain she'd have ripped her arms from her sockets by now. But flesh it was not, it was of the mind.

And so it was her mind that tore as she pulled inwards on the temple. Twisting against the pressure, bending in ways it should not. She stood fast as her Father marched by with his eyes full bore, knocking back their assailant's leader, imperious in his dedication to saving all who he could.

To lose hold now would be to spell disaster. To lose grip now would be to see the temple fall. Another home brought down in fire and ash and violence.

She saw her dead parents and family scatted on the lawn, her friends strewn about the burning ash-slick halls of a collapsing building. She saw everything that would come to pass, or that had come to pass. Or that, if she had her way, never could come to pass.

And in the flare of recollection, foresight, and battleborn optimism she hit that spot between rage and serenity and steeled herself from the wear and tear, locked a mental hand with her mother and, in almost an instant, that pressure was gone.

The temple itself stood steady despite the rumblings of madness coming from outside, and Rachel let go, sinking to a knee, wiping sweat and blood from her face as she knelt, forcing herself to be steady. Franklin had done it, they'd all done it.

She coughed into a hand, knelt there, trying to shake off the bell toll ringing in her mind.
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