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Marvel MK: CH 118 – When the Hive Mind Screams
🕑 Added 2025-07-14 13:09:38 +0000 UTCThe air crackled with a power that was both ancient and alien. Jack watched as Alexander Aaron transformed, the black, chaotic energy of Amatsu-Mikaboshi coiling around her like a living shroud. The raw, untamed force reminded him of the Phoenix—another cosmic entity throwing a tantrum in a mortal shell.
But this was different. The Phoenix had chosen Jean when she was just a child, growing with her, becoming a twisted, inseparable part of her soul. This… this was a parasite. Amatsu had latched onto a fully-formed being, a powerful demi-god, no less. 'So why hasn't he made her his host?' Jack wondered, his golden eyes narrowing. 'What's the hold-up?'
"Alexander Aaron, right?" Jack shouted over the howl of chaotic energy. "Can you hear me in there, or is the angry space squid hogging the mic?"
A voice, distorted and layered, echoed from the woman's lips. "What do you care, monkey?"
"Well, I do care," Jack said, his tone surprisingly earnest. "See, I can't kill that guy… but I can seal him. Put him back in his little cosmic timeout corner. But you're not his host, are you? What kind of deal did you make with him? As long as you didn't agree to be his permanent timeshare, I think I can kick him out."
A flicker of the real Alexander's voice broke through the chaos. "Save me? I was already dead…"
Jack snorted. "Is that what he told you? Oh, you sweet, gullible summer child." He leaned forward, his grin sharp and knowing. "You're a demi-god, Alex. I know which pantheon your deadbeat dad belongs to, you were going to be just fine after that car crash, even without Mr. Tentacle-Face whispering sweet nothings in your soul."
"What…?" The confusion in her voice was genuine.
But then, the chaos surged. 'Lies!' a voice screamed in her mind, a voice only Jack could faintly perceive. 'He's trying to trick you! Give me control!'
Jack saw it instantly. Her eyes flickered, her consciousness slipping away like a candle being snuffed out. "Ah, shit," he muttered. "He's making his move."
He dashed forward, his clones already engaging the empowered woman, their staffs a blur of gold against the encroaching darkness.
"Freeze!" Jack commanded, his voice ringing with authority.
The Body Freezing Spell hit its mark. Alexander's form, mid-slash with the Kusanagi, locked into place, a perfect, terrifying statue of divine rage. Jack reached her in a heartbeat, placing his hand gently on her forehead.
"Alright," he whispered. "Let's see what's going on in that messy head of yours. Let me inside your mind."
His eyes glowed with a brilliant, golden light, and then his physical body went limp, held up only by the momentum of his last step.
Two of the clones closest to him saw it happen. "He's mind-diving!" one yelled. "The spell won't hold for long!"
"Protect the original!" the other commanded.
They rushed forward. But they were a second too late. The freezing spell shattered under the sheer force of Amatsu's will. The now fully-possessed Alexander let out a demonic roar and swung the Kusanagi in a vicious arc.
One clone shoved the real Jack's body toward the other, taking the full force of the blow. The blade, wreathed in black, chaotic energy, sliced through the clone, who dissolved into a puff of smoke with a surprised, "Oof—".
The second clone caught Jack's limp body and leaped back, creating a safe distance. He looked at his remaining brothers, his expression grim.
"He bought us time! Keep the squid-bitch busy!"
With a collective battle cry, the dozen remaining clones charged, a wall of gold and black against the encroaching chaos, ready to hold the line.
…
In the dusty, ruined outskirts of Tokyo, Crown Prince Naruhito was extending a hand, a gesture of formal gratitude, toward one of the black-robed clones. "On behalf of Japan," he began, "I thank you for your efforts…"
Beside him, Ami Han watched with a calculated curiosity, while Phil Coulson maintained his pleasant, unreadable agent's smile. The other clones scattered around the site were, characteristically, not paying attention. One was attempting to flirt with a fiery-haired meta-human from the Japanese rescue team, another had found a discarded telescope and was trying to get a better look at the politician corpses Jack had left in low-Earth orbit.
Then, it happened.
Every single clone froze.
The one flirting stopped mid-sentence. The one with the telescope dropped it with a clatter. The one about to shake the Crown Prince's hand went rigid, his polite smile vanishing, replaced by a cold, hard mask of deadly seriousness.
A silent, psychic scream had just echoed through their shared consciousness. The main body was in danger.
Without a word, without a single glance at the stunned dignitaries, each clone whistled. A chorus of sharp, piercing sounds, and from the sky, their Zephyr clouds descended like loyal, misty hounds. They leaped onto them, and in a synchronized burst of speed, they shot into the sky, vanishing into the horizon, leaving behind a group of world leaders and a very confused rescue team.
…
The first hint of dawn was just beginning to touch the New York skyline. In the penthouse of the God Tree, in a bed of silk and shadows, the clone who called himself 'J' jolted upright. He had been in a deep meditative state, his energy a calm, steady pool beside the sleeping form of Natalie Beckman.
The sudden movement woke her. "J?" she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep. "What is it? Did something happen?"
J was already out of bed, striding toward the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, his back ramrod straight. He opened the curtains, letting the pre-dawn light spill into the room. Natalie instinctively pulled the bed covers over her naked body, blinking in the sudden brightness. It was unusual for him to wake before her, let alone with such urgency.
She slipped out of bed, the silk sheets pooling around her feet, and came up behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his back. "What happened?" she whispered, her voice full of a soft concern. "You know you can tell me."
J didn't answer for a moment. His gaze was fixed on the sky. "I think it's more serious than I thought," he said finally, his voice a low, grim rumble.
Natalie followed his gaze. And then she saw it. Across the New York sky, dozens of robed figures on swirling white clouds were streaking away, flying east with a speed she had never seen before. They were leaving. All of them.
"You… you're not going with them?" she asked, her arms tightening around him.
J's objective was clear. His purpose, singular. He didn't turn.
"My objective is to protect you," he answered.
"What are the other clones' objectives, then?"
A faint, almost sad smile touched J's lips.
"Be handsome. Be free."
…
On the blooming, sun-kissed shores of Krakoa, the morning training session came to an abrupt halt. The clone, the one who had taken on the role of Krakoa's master, froze mid-strike, his vine-stick hovering inches from Krakoa's leafy head.
His usual manic grin was gone, replaced by a deep, troubled frown. He muttered to himself, his voice a low whisper that was almost lost in the sound of the ocean waves.
"Not yet… He's not ready. Hopefully, you get away from this ordeal."
Krakoa, still holding its meditative stance, tilted its petal-humanoid head. "Who are you saying that to, Master?"
The clone's gaze snapped back into focus, his expression hardening into one of stern discipline.
"Focus," he commanded, his voice sharp. "You don't need to know. You still have a long way to go if you are to help."
Krakoa was about to ask, Help what? But it held its words. It saw the look in its master's eyes—a distant, cold fire it had never seen before. It simply bowed its head and continued its training, the silent question hanging in the peaceful, morning air.
…
Jack's soul plunged into darkness, a dizzying fall through a void that tasted of chaos and old sorrow. He landed with a soft, soundless thud, not on hard ground, but on something yielding. Woodchips. The scent of damp earth and childhood neglect filled the air.
He stood in a small, lonely playground. A single set of swings, a rusty slide, and a lonely tire hanging from a dead tree branch were the only features in this small island of memory. Beyond its edges, a swirling, endless void of black and gold churned silently, the oppressive presence of Amatsu-Mikaboshi.
On one of the swings, a woman sat, her body rigid, her posture out of place. It was Alexander Aaron, but she was dressed in the sharp, formal business suit of her adult life. Her head was bowed, and she didn't seem to notice him. Surrounding her, like ghosts made of television static, were several blurry, void-smoke figures shaped like children. Their voices were a muffled, constant stream of insults, pointing, mocking, their words indistinct but their intent a sharp, painful sting.
Jack watched for a moment, his usual grin absent. 'So this is her soulscape,' he thought. 'A playground of old wounds.'
He walked forward, his bare feet silent on the woodchips. He reached out a hand to touch the head of one of the blurry, mocking children, but his fingers passed straight through it, like smoke. Just memories. Phantoms with real teeth.
He stopped in front of the swing set. Alexander still hadn't looked up.
"Quite the formal wear for a playground," Jack said, his voice cutting through the muffled insults. "Are you a journalist trying to get an exclusive interview with the local ghosts? I hear their story is very moving. Mostly because they don't stop moving."
Alexander's head snapped up. Her eyes, wide and full of a pain he recognized, fixed on him. For a moment, she just stared. Then, a sound she probably hadn't made in years escaped her lips. A genuine, surprised, and utterly out-of-place laugh.
"What… what are you?" she asked, a flicker of her true self shining through the despair.
Jack put a hand on his chest and gave a dramatic bow. "I'm a certified handsome man with a tail. Jack Hou. Nice to meet you, Alex." He paused, his golden eyes twinkling with a dangerous light. "Or should I say… Phoebe?"
Panic. Pure, absolute panic. It flashed across her face, and she lunged from the swing, her hands outstretched, trying to cover his mouth, to silence the name that was a curse. But Jack was faster. With a lazy sidestep, he dodged her, his grin returning.
"Don't say that name!" she cried, her voice cracking. "My mom… she said it to me once, just once. The next day, she was sick for a week."
"I know," Jack said simply.
Her panic turned to anger. She rushed him again, this time her fists were balled, and she started punching his shoulder, her blows weak and desperate. "You dare to read my mind?! That's why you know, right?! How dare you! Can't a lady have her secrets?!"
Jack let her punch him. The blows felt like nothing more than raindrops against his skin. He waited until her frantic energy subsided, her fists slowing to weak taps against his chest.
"I'm sorry," he said, and for a moment, he actually sounded it. "But I had to see your soul to get in here." He gestured to the ghostly playground around them. "But I never saw your mind, other than your surface thoughts. As for the name Phoebe and the curse…" He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, his grin returning, sharp and wicked.
"I have my informants. Kekekeke."
…
Meanwhile, in a realm woven from twilight and sorrow, the informant took his first steps.
Yomi was a place of eternal gray. The ground was packed, dead earth, and the sky was a permanent, starless dusk. Here, in the Shinto underworld, Yao, the Sorcerer Supreme, walked alongside Izanagi, the Skyfather, their divine presences a stark contrast to the oppressive silence.
But the silence did not last. From the gray plains, figures began to rise. Hordes of Oni, their brutish forms armed with spiked clubs, and shadowy Shinma demons, their bodies little more than whispers of malice, swarmed toward them.
"Did you not see that your prisoner was amassing followers like this?" Yao asked, his tone calm, almost conversational.
Izanagi's jaw tightened. "Why should I? I left it with my wif—" He caught himself, the word dying on his lips. "I mean, with Izanami."
"Is it because you are not with her anymore?" Yao pressed, his gaze steady. He groaned internally, a sound of infinite weariness. "You better not let this personal separation become the reason the aspect of oblivion roams free."
Izanagi sneered, his divine pride wounded. "Just do your work, Vishanti's disciple."
He drew a blade of pure, solidified moonlight and cleaved through the first wave of demons, their forms dissolving into black dust. But more kept coming.
Yao sighed. He raised a hand, his fingers tracing a complex sigil in the air. He did not fight with fury, but with a quiet, absolute authority. He pushed his energy outward, and a wave of soft, golden light washed over the demonic horde. The monstrous forms of the Oni and Shinma began to dissolve, not into dust, but into a swirling cloud of countless, delicate white moths. The air, once thick with the stench of decay, now filled with the silent, fluttering grace of a million tiny wings.
They walked through the harmless flock, their path now clear. They arrived at the heart of Yomi, a great, dark chasm where ancient, glowing chains bound a figure of pure, primordial chaos.
A dry, rattling laugh echoed from the darkness. "It seems I have done something to warrant a visit."
Amatsu-Mikaboshi, the Chaos King, looked up, his empty white eyes fixing on Yao.
"Oh," the chaos god said, a note of bored disappointment in his voice. "You're not him. Are you the new disciple? What's your name?"
Yao stood at the edge of the chasm, looking down at the imprisoned god with an expression that was neither pity nor fear, but simple, final judgment.
"You don't need to know," the Sorcerer Supreme said, his voice calm as the void between stars. "You will rot here for the next generation of Sorcerer Supreme to worry about, anyway."
