Fan Fiction ❯ Power of the Elements ❯ A Plot of Ambition ( Chapter 1 )

Power of the Elements

 

By Ranitagoyle

 

Feedback to RJDolphin7@aol.com

 

Website: http://www . gargsmoon . com

 

Series/Sequel: This is the sequel to The Energy and the first in the Elements Trilogy.

 

Timeline: It's been six months since The Energy and six years since the first X-Men movie.

 

Italics denotes thoughts

“…” denotes regular speak

`…' denotes thought speaking

 

 

Usual disclaimer: Gargoyles aren't mine. The X-Men aren't mine, either. Though if they were for sell, I would buy Storm, Wolverine, and Gambit in a heart beat. ;-) So don't sue. The original characters and attacks belong to me. So you would like to borrow, please ask! This is the sequel to my first story "The Energy" from the gargoyles point of view.

 

A/N: Sorry that it has been so long since I've written anything. I am a very slow writer with a big imagination that continues to create plot bunnies! I hope you enjoy my second fanfic!

 

 

Prologue: A Plot of Ambition

 

November 15

 

Manhattan. The city has every problem in the world. From crime to unemployment, there seemed to be nothing this city couldn't handle. There was prejudice also. This prejudice is so deep, so sharp that it would rock the city and the world to its core. It is the type of prejudice that would destroy the lives of many innocents.

 

Graydon Creed was waiting. Like his father, patience was not one of his strong suits. Where am I and what am I doing here? He questioned himself. The last thing he remembered was taking a cab to the airport and the next thing he knew he was here. Where is here, anyway? Creed took this chance to really look at his surroundings. The walls of the chamber were blue, nothing special and most importantly there wasn't a window in sight. There was nothing special about the room other than the table in front of him and the chair he was tied to. The room looked fit to be an interrogation room. I wonder who had the balls to take me in broad daylight. he thought.

 

His questions were soon answered. The chamber door opened and three figures walked in. Their bodily characteristics were indistinguishable due to the bulky blue bodysuits and masks they wore. Two of the three figures carried something in their hands, something that looked like a hammer…

 

“Ah, it's good to see that you're awake, Mr. Creed. We have much to discuss-” the third figure stated.

 

“Do you have any idea who you've kidnapped? As soon as I'm free, I'll have your head on a platter!” Creed bellowed, spittle flying, as he struggled against the shackles holding him to the chair.

 

“Indeed,” he said, unimpressed, “I know exactly who you are, Mister Creed, or rather I know what you are.” The figure watched as Graydon Creed, hater of mutants, paled. “You are the son of not one, but two rogue mutants, tsk, tsk. It's a miracle of science that you didn't turn out to be a mutie like them,” the man, for the voice under the mask was certainly male, paused in his speech. “But let us be serious for a moment, Mr. Creed. We both know that no one is expecting you for at least six hours. Even if your absence was noticed, who would search for you?” the masked man questioned. The only answer he received was Creed's silence. “Now, I have a proposition for you to consider,” he stopped there.

 

It was clear to Creed that the man was giving him time to weigh his options. The man was right. No one would look for him; he'd made too many enemies. Creed realized he had only two options left: Listen to this proposition or spend the rest of his life in a cell.

 

“If I listen to this proposal and don't agree to it, will you release me?” Creed inquired.

 

“Oh, I'm sure that you'll accept my offer, but I'll lay your fears to rest. You have my word as a gentleman that you will be released upon hearing my offer whether you agree or not.” Creed could practically hear the smile in the man's words. “Here is a little hint for you to consider: How would you like to destroy every mutant on this planet?” The man watched as Creed's eyes lit up at the prospect.

 

“I'm listening,” Creed sneered, obviously curious.

 

“There is one person that has the power to exterminate every mutant on this planet. That person is a mutant,” the man explained.

 

“No mutie can do that,” Creed countered.

 

“Is it really so hard to believe? Your father is a feral madman and your mother is a shape-shifting demoness. The fact that there is a mutant with such abilities shouldn't be surprising,” the stranger argued.

 

Once said, the concept didn't sound so unbelievable to Creed. The fact that this man knew so much about his family history bothered him, but the stranger was right about the mutants' powers. The muties are like cockroaches, multiplying all over the place, he thought.

 

“How do you plan to control the freak once you catch it?” he asked the man.

 

“Controlling the mutant will be a simple matter; it's catching it that poses a problem. That is what I need your men for. With the help of my men, they will pressure the mutant right into our hands,” said the man. “The last sighting of the mutant was on Manhattan Island in New York.”

 

“I have one last question. What do you get out of this?” Creed asked. The man seemed to gather himself as if what he had to say to Creed was more important than his plan to kill the mutants.

 

“While you hunt the freaks on the ground, I hunt the freaks of the sky. Gargoyles, Mr. Creed, are just as much a plague on the human race as mutants. Now, do we have a deal, Mr. Creed?” The man motioned to one of the guards to undo the shackles. As Creed stood, the stranger extended his hand toward him. Creed took a moment to look at the hand and then back up at the masked face.

 

“Before I make a deal with the devil, I'd like to see his face,” he said. There was a slight silence, and then the masked stranger burst out laughing.

 

“Good show, Mr. Creed,” said the stranger as he pulled the mask off his head. He was obviously a young man with short blond hair mussed from the mask and a thin mustache. The man looked like the poster child of Hitler's “perfect race.”

 

“The name's Castaway. Jon Castaway and these,” he indicated the guards beside him, “are my Quarrymen.”

 

 

I hope this is a good enough start for everyone. I hope to have chapter 1 out soon.

 

Ja ne!

 

Ranitagoyle