By Mercy_ 33 Comments
The piercing spring sun shone down on the ancient city of Alexandria. Once a font of civilization and location of some of the most notable monuments and moments in history, the city had warped over time, changed to fit in with the present, without losing its touch of the past.
There was now one more momentous occurrence to add to its rich history, one that would not be forgotten for ages to come.
Pulling the head-covering garment around her, Mercy Sheridan walked casually down the street outside the House of L Legacy Museum. One of the newest wonders of the world, it had been appropriated from the Knightfalls and was another affront to them.
She was dressed head to toe in white, the color of the Sanguine. Her eyes were framed with kohl to reflect the sun back, and to further obscure the features of her face in addition to the headcovering that she wore.
A ruby necklace surrounded by small onyx stones hung across her collarbone, slightly obscured by material.
There was a calculating fury unmatched that ran through the veins of the Sanguine. She was one of the worlds deadliest killers. The Sanguine of the Sicarii, an esoteric sect of assassins tied to Mary Magdalene and pre-dating Christ. The Anassa of the Arashikage. The Black Queen of the Hellfire Club. Her titles were many, her kills more, her fury unrivaled, her skill and her patience great assets.
They were assets that had paid off.
An injured knee faltered under her stride, giving a slight hint to the injured nature of much of her body,
It was nothing compared to the macabre scene atop the roof of the Legacy Museum.
A sign had been left for all the world to see, an unmistakable sign in the most simple of measures.
He was an anti-mutant extremist. Slayer of Knightfalls. Arashikage Pretender. His titles were as numerous as Mercy's, and as deadly. Now they were dust, ash laid out to blow away in the wind.
Charlemagne LeBeau had been many things, and now he had one more to add to that list.
A makeshift cross had been trussed up on the roof, and strung up on it was none other than the unmoving body of LeBeau. Stripped down to nothing more than tattered pants, his bruised physique was on display.
Across his chest was a carved letter, an ‘M’. Presumably for Mutant, but, to the knowledge of none other than herself, also for Mercy. Etched into his skin with precise telekinetic talent, it was a sign for all the world to see.
His blood had dripped down his body, forming red rivulets that had dried and crusted to his skin in the heat of the sun. On the flat roof of the building, next to the cross, was a marking less than two inches in circumference, and traced in blood. A simple dagger enwrapped with a rose.
Adjusting the garb, Mercy cast one furtive look over her shoulder at the architectural modern marvel before ensconcing herself in the cool air conditioned interior of a nondescript sedan, departing Alexandria, and heading once again back to Agiad'coda.
Her work here was done, and done well.