Chapter 51

Arc 5 - Ch 4: Darkchylde

Date: Sunday, May 29, 2011.

Location: Four Seasons Downtown, Manhattan, New York

Tyson and Illyana found themselves back in his suite just as the sun dipped toward the horizon, painting the sky a kaleidoscope of warm hues. Tyson turned to her, the sling ring clutched in his hand. He extended his arm, offering her the powerful artifact back, but Illyana gently pushed his hand away.

"You should hold on to that," she said seriously, her voice carrying a weight that he hadn't heard outside of when they'd been in dangerous situations.

Tyson hesitated, "Illyana, I don't want to cause you any trouble. You should take it back," he insisted, attempting to press the ring into her hand.

But Illyana was having none of it. She crossed her arms, "I'm not taking it back," she stated, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Tyson searched her face, trying to discern why she was so adamant. There was a seriousness in her eyes, concern that went beyond mere stubbornness. Seeing his hesitation, Illyana sighed, her features softening ever so slightly. "Look," she began, her voice tinged with worry, "You mentioned that you sensed this week was going to be big. Jubilee said earlier, the last time you had a feeling like this, the institute was attacked."

Tyson fought back a frown. He knew that their reasoning wasn't entirely accurate. It hadn't been a feeling or a vision that had prompted his actions, but rather a recognition of the events unfolding around them. He couldn't outright explain his meta-knowledge to them. This was the closest he'd come.

"I won't let you be taken. That won't happen again. Not if I can help it." Illyana's plea was stuffed within a promise. "You need to be prepared, have an option, a way out, if things go south," she pressed on, taking a step closer. "I can't always be there. As much as I want to, I won't be there to save you next time." The admission was tinged with regret.

The weight of her words settled on Tyson's shoulders. He understood the lengths she was willing to go to keep him safe. This was her way of ensuring he survived.

"I've only been getting wins since you've been gone," he said defiantly.

Illyana raised an eyebrow, a hint of sarcasm colored her words. "Maybe. But victories against who? A guy with a flying skateboard and a small dinosaur?" She scoffed, "What if Magneto comes back? Take the ring. Use it if you need to. Just... be safe, okay?"

Tyson wanted to argue, to assure her that Magneto wouldn't come for him, but the words died on his tongue. The truth was, he couldn't be certain what the future held. Changes had already occurred from what he knew before. He couldn't predict exactly what was in store. Plus, a part of him wanted to hold onto the sling ring. If he remembered correctly, and his meta-knowledge held, Thor would be arriving on Earth soon. The Ancient One had been adamant that Tyson couldn't prevent the destruction of the Rainbow Bridge. If she was right, and he tried to interfere anyway, there was a possibility he could end up stranded on Asgard. If that happened, the sling ring might be his only way back to Earth.

Tyson let out a resigned sigh. As much as he wanted to believe he could handle whatever came his way, Illyana had a point. The threats here were minor compared to what he had faced before. The Green Goblin and Lizard were child's play compared to the likes of Magneto. Tyson pictured the master of magnetism in his mind, and a chill ran down his spine. He was making moves toward protecting himself from the dangerous mutant but remained woefully unprepared to stand against such power.

"You're right," he said finally.

Relief filled Illyana's eyes as she pressed the sling ring into his palm, curling his fingers over the smooth metal. "Just promise me you'll be careful. I know you want to help people, but remember you can't save everyone. You're important too."

Tyson nodded, tucking the ring safely into his pocket. "I'll do my best. And I'll use this if I need to escape."

She pulled him into a fierce hug, and Tyson returned it gratefully. They stayed that way for a long moment. When they finally pulled apart, he still felt uneasy about it, but he didn't push the issue further.

"Trust me, Tyson. Everything will work out," she said reassuringly. "Now, let's head back before my time is up."

With a flick of her wrist, she accessed her mutant power and a portal swirled to life. Hand in hand, Tyson and Illyana stepped through the series of shimmering vortexes, emerging onto the stone steps of the New York Sanctum.

Her voice was gentle as she asked, "Are you looking forward to your date with Jubilee?"

Tyson frowned, "I don't understand. Why are you pushing this date?" he countered.

"Jubilee cares for you deeply. Deeply enough to risk her life fighting by your side against the demons. She gave you her power to aid me, but we both know it was truly for you," Illyana responded. She paused, gathering her thoughts before continuing. "If I hadn't been there... if you hadn't helped me battle the demons in Limbo when you first arrived at the institute, you likely would have ended up with her."

A sad, regretful look crossed Illyana's face. "And that first day, everyone downplayed me banishing you as a schoolyard fight. I could have killed you. I did not deserve your help then."

She went on, her voice heavy with regret. "Before that moment, I didn't know about the demons in Limbo. It's easy to look back now and see the way I acted… That was the first sign of the influence the demons being in Limbo had on my soul. But that's no excuse. At times, I still wonder if I deserve you even now. Without you, I would've ended up corrupted or killed by demons, or captured by Azazel and forced to be his queen. Either way, my life would have been over. Instead, I'm safe, learning to become even stronger, and taking my future into my own hands. All because of you leading me to the sorcerers."

Illyana met Tyson's gaze steadily. "But Jubes... she has earned her chance at happiness with you, even if only for a day." her voice grew solemn. "I wanted to give you a year to experience a normal life. Things did not unfold that way. Such is often the case for people like us. But this may be the last carefree time you spend with Jubilee. You will be coming to Kamar Taj soon to begin your training."

Tyson opened his mouth, ready to respond, to share the disappointing secret he'd been holding on to. "Illyana..." he began, but before he could finish she interrupted him.

Illyana's expression hardened, leaving no room for argument. "Don't try to convince me otherwise. You will do this. For her, and me, and yourself." Her tone brooked no disagreement, making it clear she would not be swayed.

Tyson felt a flicker of annoyance at being shut down so completely. When he spoke, his tone carried a slight edge of accusation. "So, you met Felicia. And it seems like I'll be going on a date with Jubilee," he said slowly, "Have you been seeing anyone?"

Illyana's gaze drifted down the street before returning to meet his. "There was this one guy," she admitted, her words laced with a hint of something unspoken.

A sharp, unexpected pang of jealousy twisted in Tyson's gut. He fought to keep his voice even, to mask the sudden surge of emotion. "Who was he?" he asked, aiming for casual but falling short.

Illyana's eyes sparkled with a teasing glint. "Jealous?" she asked, her tone playful in contrast to Tyson's seriousness. She paused, letting the question hang between them before finally offering a name. "His name is Victor."

"Victor?" Tyson echoed, the name unwelcome on his tongue. He was about to delve deeper, to probe for more information, when Illyana continued, her words cutting off his train of thought.

"He won't matter when you join me at Kamar-Taj."

Tyson said hesitantly, "About that…"

But then he was interrupted yet again.

This time it wasn't by Illyana, it was the heavy door of the Sanctum creaking open.

The Ancient One stood in the doorway projecting an aura of disappointment. "You have broken the rules, Illyana Rasputin," she stated.

Illyana's brow furrowed in confusion, then her eyes sparkled with defiance. "How? I've only just returned, and not a day has passed," she countered, her tone carrying a note of challenge.

"You stole a sling ring and taught Tyson magic. That is against our laws."

"But teaching him to use a sling ring barely counts as magic," Illyana argued. Her words were rushed and defensive as she attempted to downplay the severity of her actions.

The Ancient One's gaze shifted, settling on Tyson. "And where, exactly, is the sling ring now?" she inquired, her voice deceptively calm.

Illyana gestured towards Tyson, who raised his hand, holding the ring outstretched. "It's right here," he said steadily despite his nervousness.

"You attempted to steal a magical artifact," The Ancient One accused.

Tyson's heart sank. He rushed to explain, to salvage the situation. "No, I didn't. That wasn't my intention," he protested, but the words rang hollow, even to his ears.

"There will be consequences for this," The Ancient One declared.

Illyana stepped forward, placing herself between Tyson and the Sorcerer Supreme. "It was my choice to give it to him," she said, "Punish me."

But The Ancient One remained unmoved in the face of Illyana's defiance. "Tyson will not be accepted to Kamar-Taj this year. He may be considered again next year," she delivered the verdict, each word a hammer blow, shattering the hopes that had taken root in Illyana's heart.

Illyana's protest was fierce and immediate, "But he has the potential! You don't understand. He used the sling ring on his first try. You can't…" she began, her words tumbled over each other in a desperate bid to change the Sorcerer Supreme's mind.

"The decision is made," The Ancient One interrupted, her voice cut through Illyana's objections, leaving no room for further debate.

Illyana's face flushed with anger, her hands clenching into fists at her sides, trembling with barely contained fury. "This is unfair," she said.

But the Ancient One's expression was unchanging. "Fairness does not govern the law. Adherence does," she explained in a chiding tone reminiscent of a parent reprimanding a child.

Tyson remained silent, understanding with a sinking realization, that this was likely the outcome the Ancient One had expected. He wouldn't have been accepted into Kamar-Taj anyway, not until after the Battle of New York. But now, the Sorcerer Supreme had a justification, a concrete reason to bar his entry.

Her invitation to the Sanctum had been a trap. Set up to lead to this very moment.

Illyana glared at the Ancient One, her disappointment and frustration palpable, "This isn't right," she declared, refusing to accept the decision that had been handed down.

The Ancient One shook her head, a gesture that held both finality and warning, as she said, "The matter is closed."

As The Ancient One turned away, reentering the Sanctum, the finality of her words hung in the air. Illyana looked at Tyson, her sapphire eyes shimmering with guilt and apology. He could see the blame she placed squarely on her shoulders, though he longed to reassure her that it was not her fault. Tears threatened to spill from Illyana's eyes as she turned to face Tyson fully, the guilt etched into every line of her face, a silent accusation against herself. Without hesitation, Tyson stepped forward, closing the distance between them and enveloping her in a hug.

"I'm so sorry," Illyana whispered, her voice cracking under the strain of her emotions. She seemed smaller somehow with her usual confidence deflated. "We should've just stayed back in the hotel room like you suggested," she murmured, a weak chuckle escaping her lips in a feeble attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

Tyson responded with a chuckle of his own, a soft, reassuring sound that vibrated through his chest. "Hey, no, no. This is not your fault. Listen, this one is on me. I should have seen this coming. I was being selfish when I accepted the ring…" he said, pulling back slightly to look into her eyes.

Illyana shook her head, her golden hair swaying with the motion. "But this isn't right. This isn't how things were supposed to go," she said, her voice laced with a sorrow that cut straight to Tyson's heart. "I just... I can't wait another year," Illyana confessed, her voice barely above a whisper, the words hung heavy between them.

The weight of her admission settled on Tyson's shoulders. "We'll figure this out," he reassured her.

Illyana paused, uncertainty flickering in her eyes like a candle in the wind. "I don't know if I should go back," she said, her voice trembling with the weight of her doubts.

"No, you need to stay," Tyson said firmly as his hands moved to grip her shoulders, "You're meant to be a sorceress. And you... shouldn't be defined by this. By me. You're talented, Illyana. And not just that. Learning magic is your best chance to close the portals in Limbo, to stop the demons."

Her gaze held his, searching the depths of his eyes, seeking the truth in his words. And perhaps she found it. The familiar determined glint returned to her sapphire orbs.

"Okay," she finally agreed, "I'll stay. Not for you, but for me. Because you're right, I have things to do and learn." Illyana, for once, spoke hesitantly, "But I did do something for you. Or rather, I learned something, for us." She paused, glancing down as she gathered her thoughts. "I wanted to show you when you got to Kamar Taj, but since that's not happening..." Her voice trailed off and she looked up at Tyson almost sheepishly. "Promise you won't judge me too harshly. And create an illusion so no one can see us."

Tyson affirmed with a nod, "I promise.

Illyana said slowly, "Remember when the Ancient One said I could channel the Limbo dimension as a power source?" Tyson nodded, recalling the conversation from months earlier. Illyana continued, her words coming faster now, "Well it turns out that has allowed me to learn magic far beyond what I should be able to do at this stage."

As she spoke, Illyana began casting a spell, her hands weaving mystical gestures that led to the creation of sparks that hovered in the air. The sparks took on a distinct shape, forming a complex spellform.

Tyson warily watched her movements. He remembered the conversation with the Ancient One as he watched her casting, "Didn't the Ancient One say that channeling Limbo would be like letting the demons in...corrupting you?" Realization crossed Tyson's face as the implications sunk in.

Illyana began to chant in an ancient tongue, the words flowed from her lips like a haunting melody. Tendrils of crimson energy swirled around her fingers, their intensity grew with each syllable.

As the chant reached its crescendo, Illyana's body began to change. Her platinum hair darkened slightly. Her once fair skin took on an ashen hue as if the very essence of Limbo was seeping into her pores.

Tyson watched in awe as Illyana's transformation continued, her features shifting and morphing before his eyes. Her eyes, once a brilliant blue, now glowed an eerie yellow with the pupils reduced to slits. Horns, curved and sharp, erupted from her forehead. Clothing dissolved into nothingness, the fabric unraveling like smoke on the wind, replaced by a suit of armor that molded itself to her body. The dull silver metal clung to her curves, hugging the swell of her hips and the gentle slopes of her breasts, accentuating her feminine physique. As the transformation neared its end, a leathery tail unfurled from the base of her spine, and the appendage whipped through the air with a sinuous grace.

Illyana's chant reached its final note, the sparkling energy around her pulsing and thrumming as the sorcerous spellform mixed with the demonic magic of limbo. The entwined magics settled across Illyana's skin.

She stood before Tyson, her very presence radiating an aura of danger and allure. He couldn't help but stare as he took in the sight of Illyana's transformed state. She was a vision of demonic beauty.

Illyana opened her eyes, facing him, her yellow eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. "Demons corrupt, but Limbo is mine."

"So, what do you think?" Illyana asked, her voice a throaty purr that sent shivers down Tyson's spine. She cocked her hips to the side, waiting for his response.

Tyson swallowed hard, his eyes roaming over Illyana's transformed body. "You're... incredible, Lyana," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.

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Illyana's smirk widened, showing off sharpened fangs. "Good. Because my spell allows us to touch," she stepped closer to Tyson. "And when I'm channeling Limbo, and you're basking in my dark majesty… Call me Darkchylde."

Tyson's eyes widened in surprise as he processed her explanation. "You learned that spell?" he asked, his voice trembling with excitement.

Illyana closed the distance between them, her body mere inches from his. "For one minute, I'll be unaffected by your death touch," she explained. Her breath was warm and tickled his skin.

Tyson's mind reeled. "I don't know what to say," he mumbled.

Illyana smiled a genuine, warm smile that seemed at odds with her demonic appearance. "Don't say anything," she whispered, leaning in closer. "Just kiss me."

And with that, their lips met in a passionate, searing kiss. Tyson's hands roamed over Illyana's armored body, marveling at the sensation of touch that had been denied to him for so long. He could feel the power coursing through her, the dark energy of Limbo that flowed through her veins. As the kiss deepened, Tyson's mind was flooded with images and sensations from Illyana's memories. He felt the weight of her burdens, the darkness lurking within her soul. But he also felt the strength of her spirit. They were lost in each other, their bodies and minds intertwined. And when the spell finally ended, and they reluctantly pulled apart, Tyson had touched the darkness within Illyana, and it touched him in return.

Illyana's eyes widened as she took in Tyson's transformed appearance, the result of absorbing her demonic powers during their passionate embrace. His skin, previously a light brown, had taken on a reddish tint. Tyson's eyes now glowed an eerie mismatched green and blue, the pupils reduced to mere slits. Horns had sprouted from his forehead. His face had taken on a sharper, more angular appearance. As her gaze traveled down Tyson's body, she noted the changes in his physique. His frame seemed even more powerful. His clothing had been replaced by a form-fitting suit of plate armor, not unlike her own. The metal hugged his contours, accentuating the raw power that his presence emanated.

"Darkchylde," Tyson breathed, his voice taking on a deeper, more resonant tone. "We have to do that again."

Tyson began to chant, his words echoed with power. Glyphs and sigils glowed around him, swirling with eldritch light. She could feel the hairs on her arms standing on end as the spell took form.

With a final utterance, Tyson thrust his hand toward her, and the spell sank into her body. Illyana's heart pounded as Tyson's lips met hers once more. His kiss was hungry, passionate, demanding more. She yielded to him, her body melted against his armored form. Tyson's gauntleted hands slid over her armor. Piece by piece, he stripped away her protections, baring more of her flesh to his seeking mouth.

Far too soon, their stolen minute ended. The spell dissipated in a shimmer of light, leaving them breathless and wanting. She gasped as his fingers trailed fire across her skin. Illyana gazed up at Tyson, eyes dark with desire. Her face was flushed, lips kiss-swollen, and she felt a thrill at the evidence of his need for her pressing against her side.

"More," he growled, voice rough with arousal.

A hint of concern flickered across Illyana's features. "Tyson, we need to be careful. Pulling too deeply upon Limbo's power can be dangerous."

But Tyson was undeterred, and spoke with a wild, almost feverish enthusiasm. "I can handle it. I've never felt so alive, so powerful. We could go to Limbo, cast the spell again, and make love like before."

Illyana's heart ached at the longing in Tyson's voice, the desperate desire for a connection that he had been denied since their last encounter. She understood the temptation, the allure of losing oneself in Limbo's raw, primal energies. But she also knew the risks, and the toll that such an act could take on their humanity.

Reaching out to cup his cheek, her thumb traced the sharp contours of his newly transformed face briefly before retracting as she felt the drain on her life force. "I know how much you want this. How much you crave the touch and connection you have been deprived of. But we have to be strong."

Tyson's eyes had fluttered closed for a moment as he savored the sensation of her skin against his. "But why? Why deny ourselves this pleasure, this opportunity to be together?"

Illyana smiled sadly, her heart heavy with the weight of her next words. "Because, my love, if we pull too deeply upon Limbo's power, we risk losing ourselves entirely. We could become consumed, our humanity stripped away until nothing remains but the demons. Search my memories and you'll understand. The demonic influence of Limbo tempts you and pulls at your base desires. It's like Sabertooth. But you've gotten so good at controlling your impulses, your influences. This is no different."

Tyson delved into Illyana's memories, seeking understanding. He learned that the demonic appearance they had taken on was not a physical transformation like Dr. Connors experienced. Rather, it was a side effect of channeling too much of Limbo's dark magic. When drawing upon that tainted power, the corruption of the demons seeps into the magic itself and infects the caster. Tyson had already received a double dose; once from kissing Illyana, and again from casting the portal spell, tapping directly into Limbo's energies. The transformation was not something that enhanced the magic; it was a symptom of pulling too deeply from that demonic dimension to fuel arcane spells. Draw too greedily, and the bleed-off could warp Tyson or Illyana into full demons, potentially even binding them permanently to Limbo.

The revelations left Tyson shaken. He knew now the seductive danger of Limbo's power. Like an addictive drug, it could transform the user beyond recognition if abused. Tyson understood he would need to exercise restraint when wielding magic tied to this realm, lest he lose himself to corruption, a price that neither of them could afford to pay.

With a heavy sigh, Tyson pulled away. "You're right," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "We can't risk it, no matter how much we might want to."

Illyana's mouth curled into a bittersweet smile. "I know it's hard, Tyson. But we have to be strong, for each other and ourselves. I'll get stronger and be able to cast this spell without the downsides, I promise."

The two lovers stood in the shadow of the New York Sanctum in their demonic forms. "You should think about college," Illyana suggested.

Tyson was caught off guard by the statement and shifted uncomfortably. "My guidance counselor made me send out a few applications, but I haven't followed through..." he admitted with a hint of guilt.

"You should," Illyana insisted, her voice brooking no argument. "Keep living your life. We'll see each other next year." Her words carried a note of finality.

Without warning, she swirled her arm in the air, and a portal appeared with a whoosh. Tyson's eyes widened, "Wait," he said quickly, urgently.

"It'll just make it harder," she said as she avoided his gaze, unable to bear the pain lurking in its depths. "And have fun with Jubilee. I like her. She's got spunk. Felicia's...acceptable, I suppose."

Tyson's voice was tinged with desperation as he pleaded, "Darkchylde… Illyana, slow down."

But Illyana's expression hardened with solemn resignation. "This is better. For both of us." Her voice was barely audible as she stepped through the swirling vortex and disappeared, the portal snapping shut behind her.

A sinking feeling settled in Tyson's gut, a sense of foreboding as the empty silence echoed Illyana's departure. He stood there, heart heavy with the knowledge that she was gone. Sorrow welled up within him, but receded as fragments of Illyana's memories surfaced. Thoughts about their relationship, her feelings towards him. Inevitably, they turned to Jubilee and the man she had mentioned, going on a date with. Victor.

Curiously, Tyson delved into her memories around this… Victor. But he only got as far as his surname before he froze.

Von Doom.

Tyson rolled the name around in his mind, lost in contemplation at its familiarity for less than a heartbeat.

Then rage flooded through him like a lightning strike, scouring away all traces of melancholy. His hands curled into white-knuckled fists, nails biting into his palms. His jaw clenched, breaths coming in sharp, harsh bursts through flared nostrils.

Victor Von Doom.

Dr. Doom.

Fury coursed through Tyson's veins as he stormed towards the door of the Sanctum. Blood dripped from where his adamantium nails had dug into his skin. He cocked his arm back to slam the door, but before he could strike, it swung open. The Ancient One stood there, her voice as smooth as silk, contrasting the boiling rage within him. "Tyson, please come in."

A growl rumbled in his throat, a primal sound that spoke of the depth of his emotions. "Skip the pleasantries." His words were sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. He wanted answers, not courtesies, and his voice rose with each passing second.

"Inside, please," The Ancient One said, a note of firmness underlined her calm demeanor, a subtle reminder of the authority she wielded.

Tyson decided against making a scene on the street. He stormed in, his steps heavy with the weight of his frustration. The door closed behind them, sealing them off from the outside world. The lights within the Sanctum dimmed red as Tyson's demonic form triggered the wards. But he paid them no mind as he exploded, the name bursting from his lips. "Victor Von. Fucking. Doom!"

"No more games! I played along with your plans, but this is too much. No more."

The Ancient One listened silently, her expression an unreadable mask. When she finally spoke, her words carried the weight of inevitability. "I am going to die. You know this."

Tyson's anger wavered, and a flicker of uncertainty broke through the storm of his emotions. But it was short-lived, his rage wasn't so easily quelled. He pointed at her angry and accusing, "You don't get to pull that card. You were the one that made me promise not to interfere with that," he shot back, his voice a mix of betrayal and desperation, "And why shouldn't I? I could take down Kaecilius, and stop Doom before he's a real threat!"

The Ancient One held Tyson's gaze, her eyes boring into his soul, as if she could see the very fabric of his being. Her voice carried the weight of her position, "Because I cannot see past my end. The next Sorcerer Supreme must protect the Earth and the time stone. It transcends me, it transcends you, Tyson, and it certainly transcends any feelings you harbor for Illyana."

Tyson stood silent, his posture stiff, his mind racing with the implications of her words. He knew a possible future, but it was only one. There were already so many small changes. Despite what he thought he knew, and what his metaknowledge granted him, the future was unknowable. Illyana going on a date with fucking Dr. Doom was proof of that.

The Ancient One continued, "There are many who might succeed me, but things keep changing." She began to count off on her fingers, each name a possibility, a potential path that the future might take. "Steven Strange, Kaecilius, Karl Mordo, Wong, Illyana Rasputin, Victor Von Doom, several others whom I cannot say, and..." She paused, a hint of something that might have been amusement in any other situation crossed her face.

"Tyson Smith."

Tyson's reaction began as a low, rumbling chuckle, but quickly died into something more manic, a sound of frustration and disbelief.

"Don't patronize me. The whole 'You're the chosen one' bullshit might have worked back when I first arrived at your doorstep," Tyson said, his voice raw with emotion. "If I'm truly a candidate to succeed you, let me begin training now. I'll work harder than anyone. I'll protect the Earth, the Time Stone, the Sanctum, Illyana, all of it." He was nearly begging now, pleading with everything he had. The depth of his conviction was clear in every word, in the set of his shoulders, the intensity of his gaze. This was more than a request. It was a vow.

The Ancient One shook her head, her expression unchanging, "No, Tyson. There is a price to pay first." A growl of frustration tore from his throat, it was a sound that spoke of the weariness that came from being told of costs and consequences that he could not fully understand. The Ancient One remained calm as she faced his anger, though it did little to quell the fire burning within him. "If I let you into Kamar-Taj now, your anger will lead you to confront Victor Von Doom, and likely Kaecilius too, altering the future I strive to protect."

Tyson's hands clenched into fists, his adamantium talons slid out involuntarily in a physical manifestation of the rage that consumed him. "It's not Kaecilius and Doom you should be worried about," he declared.

Suddenly, the world around them shifted, the walls of the Sanctum gave way to an illusion created by Tyson's powers, a manifestation of the fury that coursed through his veins.

They stood by a window in a hospital room, gazing out at a river as a solitary bolt of lightning branched across the stormy sky. Time slowed to a crawl, and the lightning bolt spread as slowly as molasses.

The Ancient One recognized this scene with a heavy heart. It was the furthest point in the future her eyes had been permitted to see, a limitation imposed by the Time Stone itself. She took in the view of her final vision, knowing what it represented.

The moment of her death.

Tyson's voice cut through the silence, colder than the air outside the illusionary window.

"You act all wise, you think you know what's best," Tyson said, his voice cold and sharp as a blade. "You. Know. Nothing." He drew out each word for emphasis. "Nothing beyond this point."

He stalked closer, looming over her though she did not retreat. "You're trying to direct a play when you haven't finished reading the script. How could Kaecilius be a candidate when you know what he'll do?" His lip curled in a sneer. "Is Ned on your list too? Or America?" He laughed mockingly. "No, they wouldn't be. Because you don't know who they are. Because you can't see past this point and have no idea who I'm talking about!"

The Ancient One said nothing, her placid expression betraying not a hint of the turmoil Tyson's words stirred within her. She had known this confrontation was coming, though she had hoped that possibilities would align to avoid it.

With deadly calm, he spoke, each word a promise, a threat that hung heavy in the air. "If anything happens to Illyana. You won't live to see this day."

The vision around them dissolved, and the walls of the Sanctum reappeared as the lights returned to their normal brightness. Tyson had teleported away, leaving the Ancient One alone with the weight of a future clouded by uncertainty.

She stood alone in the Sanctum, the burden of her knowledge weighing heavily upon her. But the Ancient One held fast to the belief that there was still hope, that the future was not set in stone.

— Rogue Replacement —

When Tyson materialized, the ground beneath his feet was a scorched, barren wasteland, littered with jagged rocks and pools of bubbling, noxious liquid. The sky above was a swirling maelstrom of reds and blacks, punctuated by flashes of sickly green lightning that illuminated the hellish scene in brief, disorienting bursts.

Tyson's eyes, still held the demonic form as he scanned the horizon, his face contorted into a mask of pure, unadulterated rage. The Ancient One's words echoed in his mind as a taunting reminder of his limitations. He could feel the anger within him, a seething, boiling fury threatened to consume him entirely. In the real world, Tyson knew he couldn't give in to his darker impulses, and couldn't unleash the full extent of his powers without devastating consequences. But here, in Limbo, the rules were different. This was a realm where the strong thrived and the weak were consumed.

Tyson's fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles turned white with the force of his grip. He needed to unleash his rage, to find an outlet for the fury that burned within him like a raging inferno. And thanks to Illyana's gift, he had the perfect hunting ground. In the distance, he could see the twisted, malformed creatures that inhabited this hellish realm, their bodies were a grotesque amalgamation of flesh and bone, and their eyes glowed with a feral, hungry light.

Tyson smiled a cold, predatory grin that held no trace of humanity. These were the perfect targets for his rage, the ideal victims upon which to unleash the full extent of his powers. Tyson manifested the armor around his hands and arms, leaving only his adamantium claws uncovered.

He stepped, and the borrowed teleportation power allowed him to close the distance. Tyson approached the first of the creatures, a hulking, misshapen beast with razor-sharp claws and a maw filled with jagged, needle-like teeth. The creature lunged at him, a blur of teeth and claws, but Tyson was ready. He sidestepped the attack with inhuman speed, his wickedly sharp talons, sliced through the beast's flesh like a hot knife through butter. The creature howled in agony, its blood splattering the ground in a spray of crimson.

But Tyson wasn't finished. He unleashed a flurry of blows. The creature stood no chance against the onslaught, its body sliced and eviscerated with each strike.

The creature's body hit the ground with a heavy thud, its limbs twitching sporadically as the last vestiges of life drained away. Tyson turned to the horizon and the expanse of Limbo that stretched before him. His eyes glinted with a wild, predatory light, feral instincts rose to the forefront of his mind. This hellish dimension was his playground now, a landscape ripe for unleashing the full fury of his rage and darkest desires.

He intended to take full advantage of the time he had allotted himself. One hour in which restraint and mercy would be cast aside, his inner demons given free rein to mete out destruction. One hour to visit every ounce of pent-up misery he harbored onto the inhabitants of this nightmarish realm. The thought stirred his blood, primal anticipation flooding his veins. His claws flexed at his sides, razor-sharp talons aching to rend flesh. Tyson bared his teeth in a savage grin and broke into a loping run, his powerful limbs eating up the ground, bolstered by occasional teleports, as he raced toward his next victim. For one hour… the hunt was on.

— Rogue Replacement —

Nearly two hours later, Tyson found himself sitting in a lab at the House of M, his mind reeling from the aftermath of his impulsive rampage through Limbo. The lab was a mess, a chaotic jumble of papers strewn haphazardly across every available surface.

Tyson sat hunched over a large, wooden table, he rested his elbows on the surface with his head cradled in his hands. He was kicking himself mentally, cursing his stupidity and lack of control. He had been given an incredible gift, a chance to wield Illyana's power for an extended period, and what had he done with it? He'd wasted most of his allotted time on a meaningless rampage through Limbo.

The last time Tyson had been granted access to Illyana's abilities, he had used the opportunity to amass a fortune through a single heist. It had been a risky, stupid, fool-hearted move. It had put him in the crosshairs of multiple government agencies. But it had set him up for a comfortable existence, free from financial worry. But this time, he had squandered his chance, allowing his baser instincts to take control, to guide him down a path of destruction.

Tyson sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping in disappointment. He knew he had no one to blame but himself. He had allowed his anger, his frustration, to cloud his judgment. And now, he was left with the consequences of his actions, the bitter taste of regret lingered on his tongue.

But even as he berated himself, Tyson knew he couldn't afford to wallow in self-pity. He had to make the most of what little time he had left, to use Illyana's power to its fullest potential. And so he turned his attention to the pages that spread out before him, the fruits of his labors from the remainder of his time with her knowledge.

The table was littered with sheets of paper, each covered in an array of arcane scribbles and rough translations. Tyson had been working feverishly, his hand flew across the pages as he sketched out the intricate runes and symbols needed to cast the Death Ward spell. It was a complex incantation that required an understanding of the mystical arts, ancient languages, and an unwavering focus.

Tyson had none of those things. Yet, for now, he had all those things, thanks to the temporary, borrowed knowledge he had absorbed from Illyana during their kiss.

But Tyson would only have true understanding, for the next few minutes until Illyana's power and memories faded. And now, as he stared down at the pages before him, he could see the fruits of his efforts taking shape. The runes and symbols were intricate, each one carefully crafted to channel the mystical energies needed to cast the Death Ward spell. The translations were rough, hastily scribbled in the margins, but they were enough to guide him through the complex incantation.

Tyson's eyes flicked across the pages ensuring that every detail was correct. He knew that even the slightest mistake could have catastrophic consequences, and as soon as her knowledge faded Tyson would be unable to recognize any mistakes he'd made.

But as he reviewed his notes, Tyson felt a sense of growing confidence, a certainty that he had done everything right. The Death Ward spell was within his grasp; the ability to touch, the freedom and normalcy that had eluded him for so long, was within his grasp.

Tyson felt the last wisps of Illyana's borrowed knowledge slipping away as his connection to Limbo faded. He took a deep, steadying breath, he shut his eyes to gather his resolve.

When he opened his eyes, his gaze fell upon the transcribed spell. A flicker of disappointment twisted his features as the runes and symbols danced across the page, their meanings slipped away like grains of sand through his fingers. Expectantly, the understandings and insights that had guided his hand during the transcription had vanished, leaving behind a jumbled mess of gibberish.

Yet, a glimmer of hope remained. His notes scrawled in plain English, remained clear and legible.

Without Illyana's mystical expertise to guide him or her connection to Limbo, achieving the Death Ward casting would be impossible. Though the intricate incantation was now far beyond him, the completed spellform and hasty notes were securely in his possession. He had documented every detail he could. But with the spellform fully transcribed and hints at how to acquire the necessary foundational arcane knowledge, Tyson had a base to build upon. The road ahead would be difficult without a mentor to lead him through the intricacies of the mystic arts. But with his substantial financial resources and connections, Tyson was determined to begin the journey on his terms, rather than wait at the Ancient One's whim.

It would be a long, solitary road of study and experimentation. But Tyson now possessed the tools to take the first steps. He tightened his jaw in quiet resolve. The reward would be worth whatever the cost. The ability to touch others, to truly connect with them on a physical level, was a gift beyond measure.

And so, with a final, determined nod, Tyson pushed himself to his feet, his hands swept the pages into a neat stack before him. The spell he now possessed was only one of the avenues he planned on pursuing. He had work to do. And nothing, not the lingering regret of his impulsive actions in Limbo, nor a powerful sorceress who could see the future, would stop him.