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“[color=DarkOliveGreen]Holy…[/color]”

It was Rory that broke the silence first. The unlikely duo had been amongst the wreckage of the English pub for some time now. Long enough for Illyana’s tears to come to an end and for her to rise. 

She had been tending to the body of the Canterbury Cricket, doing her best to avoid the gruesome mess where he’d been split down the middle. She had located a tablecloth from behind what little remained of the bar and had placed it over him ceremoniously. She hadn’t known the creature for long at all, yet he had wanted to help her. A decision that cost him his life. S’ym would pay for what he had done. But now was a time for mourning. 

Rory had been watching in silence, both out of respect for the fallen, and out of pain. He’d offered to help at first, but Illyana had simply told him that she had to do this alone. As such he simply kept where he was slumped up against a wall. Until now anyway.

Illyana turned towards him and saw that his gaze was no longer on her, but directed towards one of the dusty old television screens that hung near the bar. She was a little taken aback that it had survived the carnage that had taken place here, however what surprised her more was what it was showing. A news broadcast from America showcasing a man in a metal mask;

[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/j32UPAs.png[/img][/center]

Her blood boiled as she listened to the man's speech. She never felt such shame about being a metahuman. About being a mutant. It was a side to her that she didn’t really think about much, given what had happened to her. However, as she looked on at the silver madman on the television, she just wished she’d done more. That’s what she wanted to do now. 

But a thought held her back. 

[i]Belasco has a new pet to play with.[/i]

S’ym’s words filled her mind and they made her sick. Her mind began to race through all the possibilities. Who they were. Where he’d taken them from. How were they? That had to be her priority. This mutant terrorist couldn’t be her concern. Besides, the world had other heroes. Wonder Woman. The Spider guy. Hell, even Batman was supposedly back. They could surely be enough to handle whatever was happening/.

Then the metallic swarm began to fill the screen as an image of Central Park appeared before them. Her heart sank further. All those innocent lives. She watched in terror as a young girl ran in fear from her mother, who chased her like a ravenous tiger. No. There was no point in rescuing this child in Limbo if there wasn’t a world worth bringing them back to. The words that Rory said next was the confirmation that she needed. 

“[color=darkolivegreen]We have to do something.[/color]” He wheezed with determination as he struggled to find his feet. His movements were rigid as he moved, with him stumbling slightly from the pain of his arm. She frowned at the sight, taking a second to glance back towards the body of the Cricket. Rory couldn’t help her. She wasn’t losing anyone else today.

“[color=rosybrown]No, [b]I[/b] have to do something.[/color]” She stated boldly. “[color=rosybrown]You’re not going anyvhere with vhat arm.[/color]”

Rory gawked at her in confusion, before gesturing to his arm, which he attempted to move. 

“[color=darkolivegreen]C’mon, I’m fine. We have to— ackk.[/color]” He let out a cry of pain, as he crumbled downwards. His spare arm went to support himself. Despite how he tried to recover and keep a straight face through the pain, Illyana knew that he was done today.

“[color=rosybrown]I’m sorry. I’m sending you home.[/color]” 

She couldn’t even face him as she pointed her arm towards him, summoning a stepping disc. As much as the words stung, she ignored his cries. The room grew silent as he disappeared; the body of the Cricket vanishing with him. 

Taking one last look towards the unconscious body of Rath, who was still buried underneath the wreckage of the bar, Illyana Rasputina summoned a stepping disc once more, whisking herself away.
[center][h3]☠[/h3][/center]
As she appeared in the streets of Manhattan, Illyana found herself in what could only be described as a warzone. Screams and shouts echoed around her, as Magik navigation through a sea of burnt out cars and bodies. People charged frantically around her; some scared for their lives, while others with a lust for blood, clearly infected by the swarm. 

Magik reacted swiftly as one such infected made its way towards her. Her Soul Staff appeared within her hand as she swung low, taking the individual out by its legs. As they catapulted to the floor, she jabbed downwards with the butt of the staff for continuing onwards. The next few infected men and women that came towards her fell to the ground in similar ways, however as more and more kept coming it was clear to Illyana that she wasn’t even making a dent.

She moved backward, sending out a cone of frost from her hands to slow down the approaching horde, an icy incantation escaping her lips. 

There were too many. She needed help. She needed to get back to the Sanctum.

A stepping disc appeared beneath her feet to teleport herself away, however, once she had arrived, Illyana found herself emerging into a much different New York than she had been in before. Around her were the all-so-familiar streets of Greenwich Village, however, the brownstones were now flooded with a tinge of blue. The sky around her seemed to follow suit, and as she stared, Illyana seemed to spot its source; a dark blue bubble seemed to encapsulate the surrounding area, spreading its magical light down onto the streets below.

Illyana’s eyes stared around her, shocked at the sight of refugees from the rest of the city resting against the stationary New York taxis, tending to their wounds and just being thankful for being alive. A smile spread across Illyana’s face as she realized what was happening. It was a safe zone; free from the terror of the battles currently being faced out in the rest of Manhattan. 

“[color=royalblue]Ah Illyana, I was wondering where you’d gotten to.[/color]” A calm voice called out from above. 

She knew exactly who was the cause of this even before she laid eyes on the billowing cloak of scarlet that floated above them miraculously.

Doctor Stephen Strange was an imposing presence in the New York skyline. He sat in the air, his legs crossed in front of him, reminding Magik of their frequent lessons in meditation. Despite the wrinkles that were beginning to coat his face and the flakes of grey littered throughout his hair, he radiated power, with mystical energy flowing around his body. With each breath the bubble above seemed to grow slightly brighter in colour, growing closer to the shade of the deep blue robes Strange wore.

“[color=royalblue]Be a darling and come give me a hand.[/color]” He smiled boldly before waving for Magik to join him.