Here's a scene that I just had to write...(i don't know if this'll be the version of this encounter I keep in my graphic play - but this IS definately the gist of how I feel this goes down)
“Once again, the Great Cyclops emerges from his cave.”
“Who’s there…? It can’t be…”
“Hail, Commander Summers, meine Fuhrer”
From the shadows of the bedroom a lithe figure steps forward bowing gracefully. His tail, bright yellow eyes and playful smile are the familiar signatures of a fallen teammate, a friend buried years ago – one he called brother – one of a legion of ghosts that haunt Scott Summers.
“Kurt, how!? You are…are you…”
“Legends never die Scott…and being legendary – I have my honor to keep.”
Brimstone smoke wafts through the room animating the darkness as if it were a blacklit dream. It is a witching hour past midnight and before the dawn…a time when skeletons are apt to rattle free from the brimming full closets of haunted men - but this is no dream – and this visitor is no ghost. The reckoning…is all too real.
“Take the legend of Polyphemus – the Cyclops of lore…you must know this story Scott. A man like you, you must have Googled it – struggled with the metaphorical implications and absolved yourself of it all by now…but maybe not, you’re busy fighting a war…is there still a war…of course there is…you’re still alive, still a mutant…and the world – I checked, it’s still hanging on…so I know you’re busy…haven’t quite destroyed everything yet…so the war rages on”
Scott begins to rise from the bed only to receive a prompt warning to be still. He is held in his sheet to the mattress by the sudden pounce and pin of serpentine strength.
“Don’t shoot” Laughs the other… “Grant me but a moment, my noble leader…a moment is all I ask, haven’t I earned as much?” Kurt flashes his fangs and slowly steps away from the bed. A sword catches the moonlight and glints in stride with the shadowy figure while he speaks.
“Polyphemus was a broken-hearted, abused and mistreated soul…scorned in love, wounded and made blind by deceit – forever hunted, abused and tormented until he became a monster…or was he always a monster…ever destined to commit horrible violence and grope in the desperation of an eternal night alone in his cave.”
“I know the story Kurt. You’re dead. I’m sorry…”
“Ja, I’m sure you do…enough of this ja? I didn’t come here to torment you…I’m not angry Scott…I’m tired…seeing you, just seeing you makes me so tired...this, you, this will never end…and you are still, so strong…too strong..”
“I forgive you Scott…I don’t think I can ever forgive you again…but I have faith, I pray…and we can always hope,” Kurts eyes flash with the word…”Here Scott, I want to give you something…” Kurt makes two slashes with his sword in the curtain of the bedroom window…”that’s a cross I won’t bear again…I quit.”
Scott sits up. He watches the brimstone smoke trail toward the open window and through the curtain…that has been marked with a jagged ‘X’
“Help me…” he thinks… reaching telepathically for a comfort that doesn’t answer his call.