Rogue Replacement: A Marvel Story

Date: Tuesday, July 27, 2010.

Location: 177A Bleecker St. Greenwich Village, Manhattan, New York

The warm morning sun glistened off the stone facade of the New York Sanctum. The wooden doors loomed ahead and the occasional passerby would glance over curiously before moving along, clearly unaware of its significance. Tyson stood with his head tilted up, taking in every inch of the building. He had been so eager to introduce himself and Illyana the day before, but now, doubt seemed to cloud his features. He fidgeted with his shirt collar, taking deep breaths, clearly trying to steady himself.

Illyana's piercing blue eyes darted between the entrance and Tyson, "What's got you so spooked?" she rasped.

"It's just... I mean... yesterday, I was so sure about this. But now," Tyson hesitated, glancing sideways at Illyana, "I don't know how to approach them."

Illyana snorted, "Oh, so the Great Illusionist is scared of a few wizards? Who would have thought?"

"Sorcerers. Please don't call them wizards. And it's not that," Tyson protested. "It's just... I don't know the proper way to introduce ourselves."

Illyana rolled her eyes, clearly exasperated. "Why are you overthinking this?" she muttered. Without a second thought, she strode up to the massive wooden doors and gave a loud, confident knock.

Tyson's eyes widened, and he blurted out, "Wait!" But it was too late. 

The grand doors creaked open, revealing a tall, bald, black man. He wore a sleeveless yellow robe with intricate patterns embroidered on the sides. His eyes darted between the two visitors, a hint of curiosity evident. 

Before Illyana could open her mouth, Tyson, in a hasty attempt to break the ice, stepped forward with a smile that bordered on awkwardness. "Good morning," he began, holding out a bag of freshly baked bagels, "we brought bagels."

The man's eyebrows rose slightly, his gaze resting on Tyson as if questioning his sanity.

Trying to recover from the awkward introduction, Tyson added, "And... uh, tea," holding a bag from the high-end tea shop a few blocks away.

Illyana rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed with Tyson's attempt. She stepped forward with her usual confidence. "What he's trying to say is we're here to see the Grand Wizard."

Tyson's face paled. Realizing her faux pas, he quickly yanked his sleeve over his hand and, in a slightly frantic move, covered Illyana's mouth with it. He whispered through clenched teeth, "Of all the things to say." Facing the man with a look of sheer panic, Tyson quickly corrected, "She meant the Sorcerer Supreme. Uh, the Ancient One." Tyson took a breath and calmly said, "We're here to see the Ancient One if she'll have us... please."

The man's stern expression cracked ever so slightly, his eyes glinting with amusement. He glanced between the two, taking in Tyson's nervous, expectant face.

A soothing voice echoed from within the Sanctum, one Tyson found familiar. "Oh, stop torturing them, Master Drumm. You've had your fun."

Master Drumm stepped aside. As Illyana confidently strode in, she tossed a "thank you" over her shoulder, her tone dripping with her signature sarcasm.

Tyson hesitated, looking between Illyana and Master Drumm. Holding up a hand, Drumm raised an eyebrow and said, "Grand Wizard? Really?"

Tyson's face reddened, "Sorry," he mumbled, "she's not American. She doesn't get how fucked up that was." He gave an apologetic shake of his head, sighing deeply.

Master Drumm, clearly entertained by the exchange, chuckled softly. "It's alright," he said. With that, he gestured for Tyson to follow Illyana inside.

They stepped over the threshold, to the entry foyer of the New York Sanctum. The floor beneath them was polished to such an extent that their reflections were clear. In the center of the foyer, a staircase reached up, adorned with brass railings that gleamed in the ambient light. 

Off the entry foyer, a room beckoned Tyson and Illyana. The walls were lined with dark, polished wood. The room's ambiance invoked a sense of calm and solitude. At the center of the room was a table with two empty chairs on one side and another occupied by the Ancient One, as if she'd been expecting them.

She sat, pale-skinned and bald, with an aura of timeless wisdom, her frame appearing simultaneously delicate and strong. Thin, arching eyebrows framed deep-set eyes. Her face, though unmarked by the passage of time, carried an air of profound experience. Every feature, from the slight upturn of her nose to the graceful curve of her lips, retained an ageless quality. She wore a long, flowing robe, and around her neck hung a pendant.

She looked up from a worn tome, her wise eyes meeting theirs, a serene smile gracing her lips. Beside the table, sat a steaming pot of water and a stack of tea cups.

Illyana stopped in her tracks, staring at the Ancient One. "You're a woman?" she blurted out, genuine surprise evident in her tone. "Well, that's unexpected. I always picture wise, old, wizards as being men with long white beards."

The Ancient One merely chuckled, "Expectations can be limiting, my dear."

Tyson felt a rush of embarrassment flood his cheeks. He was regretting not having come alone the previous day when he discovered the Sanctum. Maybe he could have avoided such an awkward situation.

Illyana added, "Didn't mean any offense. Just, you know, the stories paint a different picture."

The Ancient One, still with a gentle smile, responded, "Stories have a way of changing with the teller. Now, come. Sit. I have been expecting you both."

Tyson handed over the bag with the tea to Master Drumm, which he acknowledged with a slight nod. The room was thick with the scent of freshly brewed tea as Master Drumm meticulously poured the golden liquid into cups. 

The Ancient One looked towards the tea with a soft smile. "Thank you, Master Drumm, for preparing the tea," she began, then turned her gaze to Tyson, "And to you for providing such a thoughtful gift."

Swallowing his nervousness, Tyson bowed slightly, "Thank you for seeing us, Ancient One."

She tilted her head in acknowledgment and looked at them both, her eyes shimmering with curiosity. "So, what brings you both to my doorstep?"

Illyana, never one for hesitance, leaned forward, her voice dripping with annoyance, "We had a run-in with Azazel. I assume you know of him since he thought we were sorcerers. He decided to crash my realm, Limbo." She scoffed, "Since he made the assumption, figured we'd seek you out."

Tyson cleared his throat, taking a moment to steady his voice. "We should've probably started with introductions," he began, his eyes glancing between The Ancient One and Illyana. "I'm Tyson and this," he motioned to Illyana, "is Illyana Rasputin." Illyana raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her seat but not interrupting. "We are... or were, students under Professor Charles Xavier, at his institute." He paused, taking a deep breath as the weight of their recent battles pressed upon him. "We first encountered Azazel not too long ago. Working together, we managed to fend him off. But..." 

Illyana took over, her voice carrying a tone of frustration, "He came back, and this time he's brought along many demonic allies." She leaned forward, her blue eyes fiery with determination. "We've dealt with our share of problems, but this... This is something else. Azazel's not playing games. He has magic and confused Tyson for a sorcerer, so here we are."

The Ancient One's face remained impassive, her fingers gently cradling the teacup as she listened to their story. The silence that hung in the room was almost palpable as she took a moment to sip the brew thoughtfully. Once done, she placed the cup gently on the table. "I'm aware of Azazel and his recent activities in Limbo," she began, "Charles Xavier and I have crossed paths in the past. He reached out after your initial confrontation with the demon."

Tyson's eyes lit up, the realization dawning on him. He snapped his fingers and pointed at The Ancient One, "Oh! That's right! Professor X did mention contacting someone about this. I just didn't put two and two together." 

Tyson looked at The Ancient One expectantly. Her gaze, however, was directed towards Illyana. "So, now that we've established our connections," she began, her voice gentle yet probing, "what exactly do you want from me?"

Tyson met The Ancient One's gaze squarely. "Training," he stated simply. "We need to be better prepared for what lies ahead."

Illyana jumped in, her voice edged with desperation, "And to drive Azazel out of Limbo once and for all."

The Ancient One leaned back, her calm demeanor never wavering. "As Sorcerer Supreme, it falls upon me to protect Earth from threats emerging from other dimensions. Azazel is certainly one such threat."

Illyana's eyes lit up, hopeful. "So, you'll help me reclaim my realm?"

The Ancient One's voice was gentle but firm, "My duty extends to Earth, Illyana. Limbo, as much as I sympathize, is not within our realm's jurisdiction."

Illyana's face twisted in frustration, the weight of her predicament weighing heavily on her. She turned to Tyson, her voice laced with bitterness, "Training? That's all we came here for? More training?"

Before Tyson could respond, The Ancient One continued, her voice soft yet compelling. "You both possess incredible potential." Her gaze shifted to Tyson, eyes sharp and probing, "But you should know, the path of the mystic arts is not without its sacrifices. To learn our ways comes at a cost."

Illyana shot back, "How much? If it's money you need, we can find a way."

Tyson shook his head slowly, an expression of grim understanding on his face. "I don't think it's that kind of cost."

Illyana's eyes blazed with anger and confusion. "What then?" she demanded, her patience thinning.

The Ancient One regarded her calmly, her gaze unwavering. "The cost of your training, Illyana, can only be paid after you drive Azazel from Limbo," she stated in her composed and measured tone.

Illyana's hands clenched into fists, her voice rising in frustration. "What kind of twisted game is this? We come to you for help with that very task, and you turn around and offer to help us only if we complete it?"

Throwing her hands up in exasperation, Illyana muttered a sharp curse in Russian. To her surprise, The Ancient One responded fluidly in the same language. 

Illyana took a moment, exhaling deeply to calm herself. The Ancient One waited, patient yet curious. "What exactly is Limbo?" she finally inquired.

Illyana's gaze turned distant, reflecting a deep emotional bond. "It's my safe space," she replied, her voice softening. "My dimension."

The Ancient One turned her thoughtful gaze towards Tyson. "You should know," she began, her voice filled with expectation. "Where do Sorcerers draw their power?"

Tyson hesitated for a split second before he responded, drawing on his meta-knowledge. "From other dimensions," he answered.

The Ancient One gave a nod of approval before directing her gaze back to Illyana. "Your connection to Limbo makes you unique. While most of us must pull from other dimensions for power and face the limitations and... drawbacks," her eyes shifted subtly to Tyson, hinting at an unspoken understanding, "for you, that connection offers an essentially limitless source. You can draw from it without facing those same restrictions."

Illyana's brows knitted together in confusion. "I don't understand the problem," she voiced, trying to grapple with the information, "this all sounds good."

The Ancient One's gaze remained steady and patient. "The problem, Illyana, lies with Azazel and all the demons in Limbo. Should you start drawing power from Limbo while it remains tainted by these entities, you risk transforming into a demon yourself."

Illyana's eyes widened, her face contorted with a mix of anger and frustration. "Then, like I said, you can't help me," she spat out bitterly. She paused, letting the weight of the conversation sink in before her eyes darted to Tyson. "But you mentioned my cost," her finger pointed accusingly at Tyson, "What's his?"

The Ancient One's lips curled into a mysterious smile as she took a sip of her tea. "I cannot say. His cost cannot be paid until after yours is," she responded, her tone enigmatic.

Illyana's impatience bubbled to the surface, her eyes darting between Tyson and the Ancient One. "Why are we still here?" she snapped, "She can't teach us. She won't help us fight. What's the point of even learning magic if we can't use it to fight Azazel?"

The Ancient One, ever poised, extended her hand towards Tyson, palm up, fingers slightly curled. "Would you shake my hand?" she asked softly, her eyes never leaving his.

Illyana tilted her head slightly, suspicion clear on her face, while Tyson hesitated. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, uncertainty evident in his voice.

"Quite sure," the Ancient One assured with a calmness only she possessed.

With a cautious slowness, Tyson extended his hand, fingers wrapping around her hand. Illyana, and perhaps Tyson himself, anticipated a surge of energy, memories, or some magical connection. But there was nothing. Just a simple handshake.

Illyana's gaze flitted between the two, her brow furrowed. "Is this an illusion?" she demanded.

Tyson pulled his hand back, still somewhat stunned. He shook his head slightly, "No. But...how?"

The Ancient One unclasped the pendant from around her neck. Its intricate design seemed to shimmer ever so slightly, a hint at its latent magical power. "We can imbue objects with magic," she began, holding the pendant between her fingertips, "to alleviate some of the pressures on ourselves. For this pendant, I've employed two enchantments: Sheltered Vitality and Death Ward. One neutralizes your Ability Drain, and the other counters your Energy Drain. Together, they neutralize your unique power."

Illyana's eyes darted to the pendant, a glimmer of hope within them. "Can I have that?" she asked, her usual bluntness apparent.

The Ancient One passed the pendant to Illyana but added a cautionary note, "Regrettably, the enchantment isn't permanent. The materials used can only sustain the magic for about twenty minutes."

Illyana turned the pendant over in her hand, inspecting it closely. "Twenty minutes? Can you make it permanent?" she asked.

The Ancient One sighed softly, "Yes, it's possible. But as with many things in life, it comes at a cost." She paused for a moment, letting the weight of her words settle. "To craft that pendant, it took materials worth approximately 16 thousand dollars. That, or in this case because it's a single-use item, 16 days of continuously investing magical energy. If you want a pendant or ring with a permanent enchantment, you're looking at around 369 years of magical investment, or 392 million dollars for the materials."

Illyana's eyebrows shot up, clearly taken aback by the hefty price tag. "369 years?" she questioned, disbelief evident in her tone.

The Ancient One's lips curled into a subtle, knowing smile. "That was merely one method," she said softly. Standing gracefully, she moved closer to Illyana, "If I may?" she asked, extending her hands slightly.

Illyana hesitated for just a moment. Then, with a curt nod, she consented.

The Ancient One began moving her hands in intricate patterns. Bright, ethereal lines started weaving in the air, intertwining and expanding. The once-simple lines became mesmerizing patterns, a shimmering, iridescent dance of colors and symbols that seemed both ancient and otherworldly. The spellform's complexity grew, spiraling and glowing brighter and brighter. As the Ancient One gently touched Illyana's chest. The radiant spellform descended upon her like a cloak of luminescent starlight. It wrapped around her, encasing her momentarily in its brilliant glow before sinking seamlessly into her very being. The room was momentarily cast in a softer, golden hue before everything returned to normal. 

Drawing back, the Ancient One met Illyana's eyes. "Go ahead," she encouraged, nodding towards Tyson. "Take his hand." As Illyana reached out hesitantly, the Ancient One added, "That was the Death Ward spell. For the next seven minutes, Illyana, you will remain unaffected by Tyson's life drain. Tyson, while you will still gain her memories and abilities, I promise, you won't harm her."

The weight of the Ancient One's words hung in the air, and a profound silence settled over the room. Illyana and Tyson's eyes met, a cascade of emotions passing between them. Hope, fear, longing, and perhaps… love. In that instant, they didn't need words; their eyes said it all.

Hesitatingly at first, they inched closer. Illyana's fingers trembled as they reached up to touch Tyson's cheek. He responded by placing a hand gently at the nape of her neck, drawing her in. Their foreheads touched first, a gentle collision of souls basking in the safety and warmth of each other's presence.

And then their lips met, a delicate brush at first as if testing the waters. But as seconds passed, their kiss deepened, growing more passionate and fervent. Every pent-up emotion, every ounce of longing they had held back, poured into that kiss. Their embrace tightened as if trying to merge into one. Time seemed to stop, and all that mattered was the here and now.

When they finally pulled apart, they rested their foreheads against each other's, breathing heavily. Their eyes remained closed, savoring the aftermath of their shared moment. The world around them faded, leaving just the two of them, intertwined in an embrace that had been denied for far too long.

The silence that filled the room was broken by the Ancient One's soft voice, "Time is nearly up."

Illyana's face softened, her eyes reflecting gratitude. "Thank you," she murmured with sincerity. "Really."

Beside her, Tyson was overwhelmed. The sensation of touch, unmarred by his power, left him almost breathless. "Thank you," he managed, his voice fragile, laden with emotion.

Illyana tilted her head thoughtfully, and her earlier frustrations subsided. "Why offer us a glimpse of something we can't have?" she asked, curiosity evident in her tone.

The Ancient One, with her perpetual air of calm, began to explain. "What I displayed to you is a mere glimpse of potential. Tyson," she motioned gracefully towards him, "you came with aspirations to grasp the intricacies of magic. And Illyana," she looked directly into the young mutant's eyes, "you arrived with a mission to defeat Azazel."

As she spoke, a spellform began to glow and take shape in the air, illuminating the room with its intricate patterns. She then gestured towards Illyana's amulet, which gleamed in response.

"You assumed that without sorcery, Azazel remains unbeatable. Your challenge," she continued, her gaze unwavering, "is to prove this belief wrong. What you see before you, this spell and that amulet, are merely two solutions to a singular problem. While the way of sorcery might be barred to you now, another route exists to defeat Azazel. Discover it, tread its path, and then magic will be yours to wield."

The Ancient One lowered her hands, the sparkling spellform fading into the air. "However, in five weeks, this Sanctum will be sealed to you."

Illyana's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "Five weeks? Why so specific?" Her frustration was evident. "So, what you're saying is, I have to defeat this demon, reclaim my dimension, and come back here, all in less than five weeks? Just to have a chance at learning sorcery?"

The Ancient One met Illyana's fiery gaze with a calm demeanor. "Yes. Challenges often present themselves in tandem. Life rarely gives us the luxury of facing one obstacle at a time."

Illyana crossed her arms, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, how very insightful of you." Illyana sighed, her sharp edge softening just a bit. "Alright. Five weeks. I'll do it." She paused, her resolve clear as she looked at Tyson. "I have to."

~~ Rogue Replacement ~~

The golden hue of the morning sun painted the streets of New York as Illyana and Tyson exited the Sanctum Sanctorum. The city's relentless pace surrounded them, but for a moment, they felt detached, processing everything they had just experienced.

"How is it even possible?" Illyana mused, her voice tinged with frustration. "To feel like I've learned so much and yet... nothing at all?"

Tyson glanced at her, taking a deep breath. "It's like... when you learn that each star in the night sky is like our sun. You suddenly realize just how much of the universe you don't know."

Illyana sighed, looking at the ground. After a moment, she looked back up at him, her gaze serious. "What do you think we should do?"

Tyson stopped walking and turned to face her. "Look, the Ancient One believes we can take on Azazel, so there must be a way. Training at the dojo is a start. It'll sharpen us, prepare us." He paused, running a hand through his hair. "But let's be real, five weeks won't close the skill gap between us and him. We need... something more."

"Like more allies?" Illyana suggested. "The X-Men?"

He shook his head firmly. "I don't want to involve Xavier unless the world's ending. And putting our other friends in the crosshairs with Azazel?" He shuddered at the thought. "You saw how quick he was, trying to kill me."

Illyana nodded, her face clouding with worry. "So, what? We're on our own?"

Tyson hesitated, then with a slight smirk said, "Well... maybe Logan."

Illyana raised an eyebrow, "Wolverine? That could work." She mused. Illyana added confidently, "My brother will help. He can be discreet."

Tyson asked, "And how exactly do you plan on contacting him?"

Illyana shot him a quizzical look, her tone dripping with dry humor, "His cell phone, genius."

"Right," Tyson murmured, making a mental note. He'd forgotten that just because smartphones were uncommon at this point, didn't mean cell phones didn't exist. He seriously needed to get a phone, he thought.

The two continued to walk. Illyana held up the pendant the Ancient One had given her earlier. A mischievous glint in her eye, she teased, "Well, if nothing else, we do have twenty minutes." She swung the pendant playfully. "Any ideas on how you'd want to spend it?"

Tyson's face flushed slightly, caught off guard by her flirtatious suggestion. "Twenty minutes... It's just not long enough," As he considered their situation, Tyson's thoughts raced, connecting dots that seemed obscure moments ago. He froze, his eyes wide, a realization dawning.

Illyana noticed the change and turned to him, brow furrowing in a mix of concern and curiosity. "What's wrong?" she asked, her voice taking on a slightly impatient tone typical of her.

Tyson looked at her, excitement gleaming in his eyes. "The spell," he began, his voice trembling with urgency. "We hugged, Illyana. For seven minutes."

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Yeah, and it was nice," she remarked, a teasing tone evident.

But Tyson was in no mood for light banter. His voice elevated in excitement as he exclaimed, "Not just that! Because of that hug, I have your power now. For seven hours!"

Illyana's playful demeanor disappeared, replaced by a look of dawning comprehension. Her powers, combined with Tyson's unique abilities, had been key in driving off Azazel the first time. "Wait, so you mean..."

He nodded fervently, "Exactly. If there was ever a time to take the fight to Azazel, it's now. With both of us having your powers at full strength, we have a chance."

A fierce determination settled over Illyana's face, her stance shifting into one of readiness. "Then let's not waste any time," she said. 

"Do you know how to get back to the institute?" he asked, brows furrowing slightly in concern.

Illyana gave him a look that was half-amused, "Kind of," she replied, her tone casual. "Just go north. If we get lost, pop into the sky and follow landmarks. Easy." She shrugged, as though navigating through the vast city was just another mundane chore.

He nodded, appreciating her confidence, though he knew her nonchalant exterior often masked the depth of her thoughts. "Call your brother," he instructed. "Get him and Logan on board. We'll pick them up at the train station."

Illyana's gaze lingered on him, noticing the tense line of his jaw and the distant look in his eyes. "Okay," she agreed slowly, "But what are you going to do?"

Tyson exhaled, his expression solemn. "Getting some supplies. We need to be prepared." His gaze met hers, intensity evident in his eyes. "Then I'll meet you there."

Illyana watched him for a moment, the strength and determination evident in his stance. With a resolute nod, she used her power to their penthouse to use the phone. When she arrived he was already at the computer looking something up. By the time she got off the phone, Tyson was already gone.

Tyson focused on his surroundings, heeding Illyana's advice to guide him. He summoned the energy to teleport, and in the next instant, he was standing atop a nearby building. He looked around, using the vantage point to gauge his direction. The wind ruffled his hair as he blinked rapidly, teleporting from one building to the next, moving swiftly northwards. His teleports were precise, ensuring he jumped less than a quarter mile each time, but doing so in rapid succession allowed him to cover vast distances in mere seconds. The city blurred beneath him until the familiar curve of upper Manhattan came into view. His eyes locked onto Interstate 87, and he adjusted his trajectory.

As Tyson reached Yonkers, he slowed his pace, searching intently for the location he'd researched earlier. It took him about 15 minutes of zigzagging across the area, but finally, he saw the sign he was looking for.

He stopped in front of the establishment. The gun shop's windows were dark and covered with crisscrossing metal bars. Without hesitation, Tyson reached for the door handle. He knew that every step was leading him closer to the ultimate confrontation with Azazel. And he had to be ready.