6 Arc 1 - Ch 6: Banished

The day was clear with the sun's rays dappled by the tall trees that lined the pathway. Jean Grey walked beside Tyson. Her green eyes displayed an empathy that few could match. A slight wind brushed past them, rustling the leaves and tugging at Jean's flowing red hair. She finally broke the silence, "Tyson, when you recounted Sabertooth and Logan's history... I felt it. All of it. Through your mind."

Tyson searched for words to describe what he felt. "It's like... I have two souls warring inside me. One my own, the other a ghost of Sabertooth's."

Jean took a deep breath, "Sometimes, I feel a similar tug. A sense that there's another entity, another personality inside of me, vying for control."

A moment of shared understanding passed between them. Tyson looked at her, worry in his eyes. "You do?"

Jean's eyes turned introspective. "Yes. There are moments, especially when my powers flare uncontrollably, that I feel... fractured. Like there's something else inside, something powerful and dark. But working with Professor X has helped. I've learned control techniques, and they've made a difference."

As they approached the gym entrance, Jean stopped and faced Tyson. "We'll get together soon. I promise. If I can manage, so can you. I'll help you find balance." Tyson didn't meet her eyes as they stood outside the entrance. "I know you're lonely," she said, her voice gentle, understanding. He didn't reply, didn't need to. His silence was enough of a confirmation. She continued, "It's hard...watching everyone greet with high-fives and hugs, being able to touch, and not being able to do it yourself." She said the words carefully, knowing they hit too close to home for Tyson.

He nodded, the gesture stiff. He didn't want to get depressed, didn't want to wallow in the unfairness of it all. All he could do was work through it, push past it, and try to find a way to overcome it. Sensing his struggle, Jean moved closer, placing a hand on his sleeve. "I know what it's like," Jean finally broke the silence. 

Tyson glanced at her, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "How so?"

She looked at him, her eyes searching his face. "I...I know everything about everyone," she admitted, her voice almost a whisper, as if she was telling him a secret. "I know when they're lying or keeping secrets. It's...hard to be friends with people when I know everything they're trying hard to filter or repress."

There was a quiet understanding in her words, a shared sense of loneliness. Their powers were different, but the aftereffect, the isolation, was the same.

Tyson looked at Jean, a sudden understanding dawning on his face. "So you're like me then?" He asked, his voice dropping low. "You can't turn it off?"

Jean's response was a small, sad smile, her gaze meeting his in shared understanding. "No," she admitted softly. "I can't. It's always there, always... whispering."

He watched as she said the words, saw the way her eyes lost focus for a moment, drifting off somewhere far away as if the voices were calling her even now.

"And the more people there are, the louder it gets," she continued, her voice barely audible. "Sometimes it's just whispers, other times... other times it's like a crowd shouting all at once."

The vulnerability in her eyes made him realize that they were indeed similar. Tyson felt a compulsion to comfort her. After all, she was like him, trapped in unusual circumstances by an incredible power. Curiosity kindled in his eyes as he asked, "What about Professor X? Isn't he supposed to be the most powerful telepath in the world? Can't he help you control it, or suppress it himself?"

Jean took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "He's tried," she admitted, "But it's not that simple. It's... It's like asking someone to stop hearing or seeing. The thoughts... they're just there. Everywhere. He helps me build walls, like mental barriers to keep it all at bay. But it's a constant effort, a battle that never ends."

Her words echoed in Tyson's mind, and he found himself relating deeply. They might have been different, but they were bound by a common struggle. He was silent for a moment, the weight of her words hanging heavy between them. Then he spoke, his voice filled with a sincerity that caught Jean off guard. "If there's anything I can do to help you, Jean, I'll do it."

Jean glanced over at him, taken aback by his offer. A small smile curved her lips, but there was a sadness in her eyes that hadn't been there before. "Thank you, Tyson. But this is something I have to deal with on my own. It's... It's part of who I am" she said quietly. "Thought being around you is nice. Your mental voice is so quiet… Well, when you're not shouting your thoughts." she added with a small smile. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "You know, it's okay. Everyone does it," she murmured.

Tyson looked at her, his brows furrowing in confusion. "Everyone does what?"

There was a hint of mischief dancing in Jean's eyes as she turned to face him. "You know... checking themselves out. Or...pleasing themselves," she said, her tone remained low but became more casual. "Everyone's hesitant when they first get here and realize a telepath or someone else will know they're doing it. But most get over it when they realize everyone else is doing it anyway. So they aren't special."

Tyson blinked in surprise before a grin slowly spread across his face. "So you're saying... I'm not special?" he asked, the laughter clear in his voice. This was the most relaxed he'd seen Jean since he'd arrived, and he found her candidness refreshing. 

Jean laughed, the sound light and genuine. "You're about as special as I am, Tyson," she admitted, her green eyes sparkling with humor.

Tyson looked at her, his grin still in place but with a slight blush creeping up his neck. "You know, I'm going to be honest," he confessed, "I'm not sure if that made me feel less or more awkward." His words brought forth another laugh from Jean.

Jean and Tyson strolled into the physical education class a few minutes late. To their relief, the teacher, Cyclops, was also just stepping into the room. A pair of sleek, ruby-quartz sunglasses hid his eyes. He nodded at the two newcomers before clapping his hands together, grabbing everyone's attention.

"Alright, everyone. It's a nice day today. Let's go out and play some basketball!" he announced. 

At the announcement, a smirk of anticipation crawled onto Tyson's face. Thanks to Sabertooth, he stood 6'6" and was far beyond human speed and strength. In his mind, he was already envisioning himself scoring basket after basket. However, as the game kicked off, Tyson's self-assured grin faltered. One of the kids caught the ball, then passed it to noone. Tyson barely had a moment to be disappointed by the kid's skills when astonishingly, there was a blur as the kid disappeared, only to reappear a few feet away, and catch the ball in his hands. With two rapid passes and blinks of teleportation to the ball's impending location, the kid scored a clean shot. All eyes turned to the kid, who shrugged modestly and chuckled. The room burst into applause.

Tyson's smirk returned, this time tinged with an excited thrill. This was no ordinary game of basketball. He thought to himself, leaning into the challenge with a wicked grin, 'Well, at least it'll be interesting.'

The shrill of the whistle signaled the continuation of the game. With rapid movements, the ball was passed from player to player, finally reaching Tyson. Taking his stance, he leaped with the ball in hand, his elbow in a textbook L position as he aimed for the basket. His release was smooth, but as the ball reached its zenith, it halted, hanging in mid-air. Baffled, Tyson spun around, scanning the court for the cause. His eyes finally landed on Jean Grey, standing with a mischievous grin, her outstretched hand subtly controlling the ball. With a playful wink, she directed the ball to one of her teammates.

Tyson jogged over to Jean, feigning annoyance. "Telepathy, you told me about. But you didn't mention you were a telekinetic too. I forgot that you held my hand yesterday with your power."

Jean smirked, her emerald eyes sparkling with amusement. "Playing with powers keeps things interesting, doesn't it?"

He chuckled, shaking his head in mock exasperation. "Oh, it sure does. Just wait until I get the ball next time."

Jean leaned in, her voice dropping a note lower, "Looking forward to it."

The rhythmic bounce of the basketball echoed in the gymnasium. Every mutant in the room was intently focused on the game, the usual rules of basketball given an unpredictable twist thanks to the student's unique abilities.

As the opposing team regrouped, one of Tyson's teammates threw the ball his way. Confidently, he extended his hands to catch it. But to his shock, the ball phased right through his fingers and torso as if he were made of air. 

He stumbled for a moment, feeling slightly disoriented before a sensation on his back snapped him back to reality. Whirling around, he found Shadowcat, her hand passing through him as she tried to recover the ball. The ghostly feel of her power still tingled on his skin. Yet, thanks to Sabertooth's enhanced speed now part of his arsenal, Tyson quickly raced ahead of her to seize the ball. He sprinted towards the three-point line. But just before he got there, in a display of sheer athleticism, he leaped into the air, higher and farther than any normal human could. The entire gym paused, eyes fixed on the airborne Tyson. As he soared through the air, the ball was palmed firmly in his hand, his arm cocking back to prepare for the slam. And then, in one fluid motion, he dunked the ball straight through the hoop, causing the net to snap back with a satisfying swish. 

The court erupted with cheers. But before Tyson could even touch the ground, a sharp whistle cut through the noise. Professor Summers, walked forward, a slight smirk on his face. "Nice one, Tyson. That's two points."

"What?!" Tyson exclaimed, facing his gym teacher. "I took off from behind the three-point line!"

Cyclops raised his hand, flashing three fingers. "Alright, three points it is." causing Tyson to grin triumphantly.

On the next possession, as Tyson dribbled the ball down the court, he found himself face-to-face with Illyana. Given his size, the power he emanated, and the sheer agility he displayed, any regular opponent would have been daunted. But Illyana was anything but regular. Her blue eyes locked onto his, not a hint of fear in them. Instead, they glittered with mischief and challenge. Suddenly, she disappeared, reappearing at his side and snatching the ball from him mid-dribble. 

Magik smirked, clearly pleased with her steal. "Not so good at this basketball, are you?" she teased.

Tyson used his superhuman quickness to lunge for the ball, but Illyana disappeared again, popping into existence beyond his reach. He glanced up, only to be met with her smug smirk. The vibrant lights from the teleportation shone brightly with his struggle as he attempted to close the distance between them.

"Well, well," she purred, circling him like a predator studying its prey. "Looks like the big, bad new guy met his match, didn't he?"

She paused in front of him, tilting her head with feigned sympathy. "What's the matter, Tyson? Can't brute force your way with me any better than you could brute force your way through Physics?"

Tyson's jaw tightened, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and embarrassment. But he refused to give her the satisfaction of a response. She tossed the ball to one of her teammates but remained focused on Tyson, more interested in him than the game. Seeing his silent defiance, Magik's smirk only grew wider. "You know," she continued in a taunting whisper, "this could have been avoided if you'd just played nice."

He straightened up, dwarfing the girl, and looked down to meet her challenging gaze. "Illyana. What do you want?"

She slowly, deliberately, reached up to cup his cheek. It was a mocking gesture of condescension not meant to show affection or comfort. Instinctively, Tyson dodged back, the speed of his reflexes should have been far beyond Illyana's ability to track or match. But Illyana wasn't one to be outdone. In a flash of white light, she teleported, matching his every move. 

As he looked around, startled, she was right beside him again, "You're fast," she murmured, her voice soft but with an underlying threat. "But not fast enough."

She lightly brushed her hand across his face. The world faded away as a rush of memories engulfed Tyson. 

She was kidnapped but escaped her tormentors by retreating into her personal realm, Limbo. She had a mystical weapon, the Soulsword, forged from her very soul. Her stuffed-dragon companion, Lockheed, the plushie was her only company through a traumatic childhood. Then, she was with her brother, Colossus, escaping to the institute. She trained rigorously to control her portals and teleportation. Her youth had left scars, both visible and invisible. Those years shaped her resilience yet underneath her tough exterior lay vulnerability and a deep-seated mistrust of the world.

The chaos of the basketball game, the thumping of sneakers on polished wood, the shouts and cheers of the players and spectators, all seemed to fade into the background for Tyson. 

Illyana flinched back from the pain of touching his skin. Whatever Tyson's power had done, it was clear she wasn't expecting it and the effects had struck her deeply. Her pale skin turned a shade paler, and her breath caught. "You—!" she began, voice quivering with a mix of pain and fury. "You're not allowed to—"

Tyson interrupted, trying to defuse the situation, "Look, I just—"

But Illyana's fury was a force of its own. Cutting him off, her voice thick with anger, she retorted, "You'll regret that!"

Without another word, Illyana's expression twisted with rage. She swept her arm dramatically. The gymnasium's atmosphere suddenly grew cold, and under Tyson, a swirling portal manifested. The very air seemed to vibrate with dark energy as the opening revealed glimpses of a nightmarish realm.

Before Tyson could react, gravity took hold and with a cry of surprise, he fell into the portal.

The sensation of falling was disorienting, but the sudden shift in temperature jolted Tyson to his senses. Gone was the warm, summer sun, replaced with a cold, biting wind. The sky was a haunting shade of red, casting the entire realm in an eerie crimson glow. Towering rock formations, like giant fingers of a monstrous hand, reached up, clawing at the blood-colored expanse. The distant wails of tormented souls echoed through the air, and the acrid stench of sulfur was suffocating. Tyson witnessed the first sight of Limbo from far in the sky… as he plummeted to the ground.

Pain seared through Tyson's body as he collided with the hard rock, the impact breaking several of his bones. He gasped for breath, each inhale sharp and stinging. But then, an incredible warmth spread through his body as his healing ability worked to fix the damage. Flesh mended, bones knit back together, and soon the young mutant was whole again. The intensity of the sensation was overwhelming, but it also gave Tyson a momentary reprieve to pull himself together.

Tyson cautiously got to his feet, taking a moment to assess the infernal realm he had been thrown into. Limbo was a terrifying realm of contradictions. The ground was a mosaic of molten lava, hardened rock, and jagged obsidian. The sky above was a swirling tapestry of dark red and black, casting the realm in a foreboding light. Massive spires and pillars jutted out randomly. The air was thick with smoke and the stifling scent of brimstone, making every breath an effort. In the distance, on some of the jagged peaks, Tyson could see dark, foreboding shapes moving. Their howls and roars echoed hauntingly, adding to the eerie symphony of Limbo. Everywhere he looked, there was an overwhelming sense of despair and malevolence. The land itself seemed alive, pulsing with dark energy that was palpable. Despite the absence of any immediate danger, Tyson felt an unshakable sense of being watched, of being unwelcome in this nightmarish realm.

The loud thud of a basketball being dribbled, and the shouts and cheers from the court, all came to a sudden stop. The gym fell eerily silent as every player and spectator stood frozen, their gazes locked onto the spot where Tyson had been just moments before. The vibrant energy of the game had been violently disrupted by Illyana's rash act.

Her eyes were filled with fury, her breaths were heavy, and a visible aura of dark energy surrounded her. Her eyes glowed silver and her left arm was encased in metallic armor. She wielded a magically glowing, fiery longsword whose aura matched the color of her scintillating eyes. Illyana's decision to banish Tyson to Limbo had been impulsive, driven by raw emotion, but showed no signs of regret.

Scott Summers recognized the danger of the situation. "Illyana!" he shouted, his voice echoing on the court, "Bring him back, now!" His ruby-quartz visor gleamed under the fluorescent lights as he sprinted towards the still-seething Russian mutant, ready to intervene if necessary.

But it was Jean Grey, on the other side of the court, whose reaction was the most palpable. Her heart raced, and a cold dread settled in her stomach as she watched the portal, with its fiery depths, swallow Tyson whole before disappearing. "Oh no, Tyson," she whispered, her voice trembling. Her green eyes, usually so composed, were now filled with panic and sorrow. The potential friendship, the bond they were just starting to form, seemed to have been cruelly snatched away.

Scott reached Illyana, grabbing her by the shoulders. "Illyana! You have to bring him back. We don't harm our own!"

But Illyana, still looking defiant, responded, "He hurt me first! Let him rot in Limbo."

The gym's atmosphere changed abruptly. A cold gust of wind blew through, carrying with it the sensation of a storm's approach. Most of the students reflexively looked around, half-expecting to see Professor Ororo Munroe, better known as Storm, with her white hair signaling the change in atmosphere. But she was nowhere in sight. Instead, the source of the disturbance became evident, and it was not what anyone had anticipated.

As Illyana's words settled within Jean's mind, her feet began to lift off the pavement. She elegantly floated, surrounded by an almost palpable aura of raw power. Her usually sleek, red hair danced around her, alive and defiant. Her deep green eyes now burned a fiery red. It was a sight that captured everyone's attention.

"Bring. Him. Back. Now!" Jean's voice echoed through the gym, but it wasn't just her voice. It sounded as if another, deeper voice spoke in tandem with hers, amplifying her command.

The atmosphere in the gym was so thick with tension, that you could cut it with a knife. Every pair of eyes was trained on Illyana and Jean, two of the most powerful mutants at the academy, their showdown impossible to look away from.

Illyana, known for her stubbornness and fiery nature, always held her ground. Few, if any, had ever seen her back down from a challenge. Yet, as Jean's voice echoed, there was something different in the air. A force, a presence. It wasn't just Jean speaking; it was as if the very essence of her psychic abilities reached out and wrapped around Illyana's mind, compelling her to comply.

The Russian mutant's usually fierce eyes lost their spark, replaced by a dazed, almost trance-like expression. Jean's influence was evident. Silence fell, broken only by the soft hum of energy as Illyana summoned her portal. It unfurled before her, a rippling expanse of shimmering silver that seemed almost otherworldly. The normally defiant girl looked lost, her usual swagger absent. This wasn't just her acquiescence to Jean's request. It was a psychic command, a direct manipulation of Illyana's will.

Illyana didn't glance back at her peers or the professors who looked on, concern etched on their faces. Instead, she stepped through the portal with a single-minded focus: to bring Tyson back.

Those who knew about Jean's psychic prowess whispered amongst themselves. It was rare to see it displayed so openly, and even rarer to witness its effects on someone as strong-willed as Magik. Usually when she displayed excessive power, it was in an accidental or uncontrolled manner. The realization that Jean had not only commanded but perhaps even controlled Illyana sent shivers down many spines.