First Team: A Marvel: Xavier's Institute Novel (Marvel Xavier’s Institute) by Robbie MacNiven

Author:Robbie MacNiven [MacNiven, Robbie]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: action and adventure, superheroes, Marvel
Publisher: Aconyte
Published: 2021-03-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Two

The sound of a hymn service spilled out onto the street from the church, filling the early evening with songs of praise. Rockslide listened for a while, crouched in the alley running along the side of the building. It felt incongruous, almost peaceful, far removed from the reality of what he knew was about to occur.

It had taken a week, and he’d had to call in several favors with the Hellions on top of the intel he had received from the Institute, but at last he’d found a good lead. Intercepted phone traffic suggested that a hostage was being held at a small church in western Newark. The identity remained a secret, but apparently, they were going to be put to use in tonight’s sermon.

It was the best Santo had to go on. He’d attempted to track several Purifier leads in New York, but covert work wasn’t exactly his forte, and he’d been forced to act faster after the Institute had contacted him to tell him that Victor had disappeared. It didn’t surprise him. He’d hoped taking on the case personally would be enough to convince the kid to stay in school, but he knew what Vic was like when he got restless. He’d offered to switch his search from the father to the son, but Cyclops had refused – find Dan Borkowski and Vic would have no more reason to stay on the run.

He shifted his bulk, stretching out his arms and feeling the rock grind and scrape. He’d been in place for almost a full day, not wanting to break his cover and risk being detected. Mutants weren’t exactly welcome around New York at the moment. He realized that the hostage the Purifiers were holding could well be another mutant or sympathizer they’d kidnapped over the past few months, but even if it wasn’t Dan, they might know where more prisoners were being held.

The singing came to a stop, the final, long chord of the accompanying organ ringing away into silence. Santo shifted towards the church wall, crouching down and planting one large hand in the dirt. This was one of what the Purifiers called their “recruitment sermons.” Similar services had started popping up across New England, steadily, and in the mid-Atlantic states too. At first glance they looked liked nothing more threatening than an unannounced guest lecturer in a random parish, but their true purpose was far more sinister. They were attempting to radicalize the faithful. The Purifier poison was spreading, its tendrils reaching out from soaring inner-city cathedrals to small, whitewashed-timber community churches like this one, drip-feeding people anti-mutant sentiment. Well, tonight’s lesson in hatred was about to be rudely interrupted.

Santo heard a voice address the congregation within. It was time. He closed his eyes and delved deep into the earth with his consciousness, letting both body and mind commune with the bedrock below. The soil under his hand shuddered and shifted, slowly at first but with growing speed and purpose. Santo grasped the rocky roots he felt there with his mind, urging it on, stirring it up for the first time in eons.

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