Moscow Ruins.
16 September 3965 A.D.

A young man with brown hair and graying bangs wearing a blue and red cloak with golden trim walks through the rubble. He is following an gnomish puke-colored man in a similar blue cloak. He has a staff in his hand as he supports his weakening old leg muscles.

The young man is named Nathan Dayspring. The short-statured man is called Blaquesmith.

"I've spent many years here...waiting," Blaquesmith explains. "Waiting for the right time to begin your training. It seems with Sanctity's death, I am the only one left qualified." *

* ( Sanctity was thought dead in an explosion, but it was Stryfe who captured her and used her to enhance his powers in Askani'son #4 -- Brad)

Nathan grips his left arm, which was made up of techno-organic material, "I don't get it. I thought the Askani were all women."

"No, not all," Blaquesmith smiles.

"Why are we here?" Nate asks.

"Because Ebonshire was destroyed by the Canaanites, boy," Blaquesmith says. "You formed the Clan Chosen, but you know nothing of the Askani teachings. You'll need them if you are to defeat Haight's forces."

"I know all I need to already," Nate says arrogantly. "Pull the trigger and hope you hit something."

Blaquesmith sits on a pile of junk, sighing. He props himself up with his staff sticking into the ash, "What of your powers?"

"I need them to keep this damn virus from killing me," Nate explains.

"You cannot walk and chew gum at the same time?" Blaquesmith asks.

"I used to be able to, but that was when the virus went into one of its remission cycles," Nate grunts, gripping his chest. "Well, someone who I'd call my mother, taught me some TK tricks. But it's been awhile since I've practiced them."

"Have you ever considered using the psimatar?" Blaquesmith asks. He presses a button on his staff as it mechanically transforms into the spear-like weapon.

Nate almost laughs, "That clunky thing? Hell no. It's hard to aim. Plus, it runs on psionic energy, which I need to keep the virus in check. Which is why guns are better."

Blaquesmith tosses Nate his psimatar, "Here. See those stone formations over there?"

Nate looks off into the distance of the ancient ruins and can barely make out three stone spires sticking out of the ground like a plant. "Yeah...?"

Blaquesmith walks up behind Nathan, "See if you can blast them down."

"But, the virus..."

"Just see if you can do it," Blaquesmith orders calmly.

Nate looks at the solitary male Askani as he grips the spear in his arms. He chokes up towards the blade with his left hand, while supporting the blunt end with his right as he aims at the stone spikes.

He feels his left eye spew energy as he focuses his power through the pole of the psimatar, shooting out a bolt of telekinetic force through the blade. The bolt hits just in front of the three spikes. A small cloud of dust kicks up into the air.

"Oath, all I did was create a small breeze," Nathan mutters.

"Try it again," Blaquesmith says. "Except, this time, concentrate a little more energy into the blast."

Nate takes aim again and does exactly what Blaquesmith tells him. He generates a massive pulse of energy, sending him recoiling backwards, falling into a pile of rubble. The blast overshot the targets.

Nathan picks himself up as he slams the psimatar on the ground, "Fuck!"

Blaquesmith smiles, "At least you found a range of your capabilities. All you need is control." He telekinetically attracts the psimatar to his hand. "Watch." Blaquesmith takes aim as his eyes glow with red telekinetic energy, firing three separate blasts into the stone spikes, causing them to explode.

Nate spits a wad of sand out of his mouth, "Yeah, sure, you've been doing it for years."

Blaquesmith returns the weapon back into the staff, "Yes, but it usually takes years before one can even focus their power through the psimatar. You picked up on that right away. With practice, you can--"

"Practice? I don't have time to practice, damn it! In case you're just joining us, I've declared war on the Canaanites! I don't have fucking time to learn how to fight with an archaic weapon that was not meant for a war!" Nathan shouts. "I hate to sound cliched, but I'm sticking to my guns."

Blaquesmith sighs, folding his hands together as his staff rests on the crook of his elbow, "Very well. We don't have to learn the psimatar skills right away. Shall we meditate, then?"

"You mean pray?" Nate asks. "Believe me, I've tried. I'm still living in a hellish world. If there was a God, he gave up on everyone a long time ago."

"Askani is not a religion, it is a philosophy. A philosophy on the world and on the self," Blaquesmith explains. "What is...is. That is our motto."

"Sounds kind of passive. I thought the Askani were once a thorn in Apocalypse's side?" Nate asks.

"It isn't a way of saying the world cannot be changed. We use it as a way to pardon the world before we fight the oppressors," Blaquesmith says. "In other words, we blame the tyrants and dictators, not the people. You see, people will blindly follow the rule of those in power. Out of fear, or maybe, out of loyalty."

"So, you're saying the Canaanites aren't to blame for all the rape and murder of the world?" Nate asks.

"No, but the body cannot live if you cut out the heart. You just have to change the way of thinking...in this case, Haight and Stryfe," Blaquesmith explains. "Change them, and the body will act differently."

"Bullshit," Nathan retorts.

Blaquesmith rolls his eyes, "You have to remain at peace with yourself to become a true Askani. The meditation can help with that."

"What's so big about being a true Askani anyway?" Nathan asks, picking up a hand sized rock and throwing it into a tablet of glass.

Blaquesmith smiles, "You've never seen a full Askani agent, have you?"

"Well, yes, actually," Nate says. "Except...they were dead. Which justifies my question of why being an Askani makes things different. Plus Aliya isn't really a full-fledged Askani, either. And Sanctity, she was a few bricks shy..."

"Like Buddhaism, Askani offers the individual inner peace," Blaquesmith says. "It's like being born or falling in love."

"So this meditation will give me a wet dream?" Nate snickers. "Gee, where do I sign up?"

"The meditation is just one of the steps to becoming an Askani. There are the mental martial arts you must learn, as well as the melting pot style of fighting techniques to learn, not to mention the psimatar skills. Believe me, you have not seen what a psimatar can really do when in the hands of a skilled Askani," Blaquesmith smiles. "Even I am not skilled enough...but I can show you the path. You just have to walk it."

Nate looks at the enigmatic man with skeptisism, "Okay, show me the yoga and we'll see where it goes from there."

Blaquesmith smiles, gripping his phoenix medallion. "Did you bring your medallion?"

"No, it's in my pack back at camp," Nathan says. "I can have Professor bodyslide me there and I'll be back--"

"No, that's fine," Blaquesmith says, "just use mine." He hands Nathan the golden necklace with the phoenix emblem. "I'll just guide you through the process..."

"Does the medallion really make a difference?" Nate asks.

"Quiet, clear your mind...," Blaquesmith commands.

"...Hopefully, this will change you for the better."

Canaanite Base - Neo-Stalingrad.
20 September 3965 A.D.

"How'd the session with 'Smith go?" Aliya asks as she sneaks against the wall, peering around the corner to see if any guards are there.

Nate grips his energy cannon as he whispers, "I learned how to meditate...that was pretty cool. Not hovering yet, though. But I think I'm one step closer to that inner peace bullshit. Heh."

Aliya smiles as she puts down her rifle and ties her beautiful brown hair back into a ponytail. As she had her arms raised behind her, her breasts stuck out with her back arched. "Yeah, that's how I felt when Sanctity began teaching me."

Oath, I'd sure like to strip her down and fuck her to kingdom come..., Nate thinks to himself.

Aliya smiles to herself as she picks her rifle up, "Did he teach you mental discipline yet?"

"What?" Nate asks dumbly. He blushes, "Shit. You read my mind?"

Aliya smirks, "I wasn't exaclty trying. You practically broadcasted that one. I never knew the Chosen One had a potty mouth."

"Yeah, well from what little we know of the Xavier Collective, they weren't all the poster-childs of perfect, either." Nate pauses, "I hope this doesn't change our relationship."

~Don't worry, Dayspring. You'll get your chance to penetrate my forbidden valley...just as soon as we take out this Can-Can installation,~ Aliya says telepathically.

"Professor," Nathan whispers. "How many guards are there?"

A glowing orb of light appears in front of Nathan, {{I am picking up ten to fifteen guards, armed with psimatars.}}

"What?" Nate almost shouts. "I thought Askani only knew how to use them."

Aliya peers around the corner with a pair of night vision binoculars, "He's right. I can see them. They're kind of dressed like Askani, but they're wearing purple cloaks."

"So? Does the clothing really matter?" Nate asks.

"Not particularly, it's just that only the Mother Askani and Sanctity wore the purple cloaks." Aliya focuses the lenses, but the guards were gone, "Shit, where'd they go?"

"They're gone?" Nate asks. "Professor, did they bodyslide?"

{{No, but they have eluded my sensors,}} the sentient computer responds.

Aliya stares at Nathan, "They had some pretty serious vibes."

"You mean their fashion sense?" Nate asks.

"No, their powers, they're strong, trained well in the Askani arts," Aliya says as she peers into the distance. "If the Canaanites have their own Dark Askani -- Dukani -- working for them, the resistence is finished."

"Good God...," Nathan mutters.

"...What the hell were they?"

Greymalkin II. Cable's meditation chamber.
The Present.

{{...Nathan? Are you awake?}} Prosh's voice blares through the speaker system.

Cable's eyes jerk open. His meditation awakened lingering memories. That was the one time he saw those "Dukani." He had forgotten about them, simply because they posed no threat that he could recall.

Cable floats rightside up and clears his throat, "What is it?"

{{I've just received a report that some KGB installations were overthrown in Russia,}} Prosh informs. {{Shall I call Rachel to handle it, or...?}}

Cable sighs, "No, I'll check it out."

{{She still doesn't know you are alive,}} Prosh says.

"I know," Nate says. "I need more time before I can tell her. Until then, I've got to get back into the swing. Where's my gear?"

{{Right where you left it.}}

"Thanks," Cable says as he takes off running out of his chamber and into the armory.

The Pentagon.
Washington, D.C.

My name is General Parraidan Haight. I am native to the year 3984, of the 40th century. At least, that was the last time before I ended up here, roughly 2000 years in the past.

I've found out some pretty interesting stuff ever since that Askani witch, Sanctity, brought me here. Why me? I have no idea. I slept with her a few times. She's totally insane, I think. Either way, she's brought me here to the past, to the captial of America. She also brought along her personal army of psis, the Dukani.

She somehow "washed her age away" in the timestream, ending up in Greece, almost totally amnesiac. * A few months after she escaped her imprisonment under Cable, that's when she time-ripped the Dukani and I here.

* ( Back in early issues of the series -- Brad)

Using her mutant gifts, she convinced the Joint Chiefs that I was alongside Powell and Schwartzkopf during Desert Storm. That little lie has given me the top spot in many respects. I'm almost in full control of the CIA now. The Dukani are doing their part in Russia. Soon, the rest of the Canaanite army will be brought here from the future.

We'll rule everything and start anew, without Apocalypse depleting almost every natural resource for his goddamn survival of the fittest bullshit. In some ways, I'm glad Cable did him in. I thought that Twelve legend was shit the Clan Chosen talked about as a way of hope. In many ways, those dozen mutants helped the Canaanites.

Cable helped us, as well. Originally, we sent Tyler, his son, back in time to kill Cable and Stryfe, but that didn't turn out so well. Cable did us a favor, ironically. So did Apocalypse.

It doesn't matter. There's no one that can stand in our way...except for possibly a woman named Rachel Summers. Turns out by some weird twist, she's the founder of the Askani. Not only that, but Cable was her brother. I've got the Shining Path funded by some of Uncle Sam's dollars. Hopefully they'll overwhelm that redheaded bitch and kill her.

That's what I found out from the biography that reporter was compiling on him. I've got a copy of it right in front of me, stamped as Classified. Agent Paris and Raymond got it for me, but those weak-minded fucks were convinced by that Askani Mother bitch that it was a science fiction novel. *

* ( Back in issue #30 -- Brad)

It doesn't matter, anyway. I know the secrets of Cable, I read the biography word for word. It's all in my brain, now. Where it will stay.

I toss the thick stack of papers into a wastebasket and strikes a match, throwing it into the bin. The biography is set ablaze. Who cares? Cable died stopping Apocalypse.

"Rest well, Dayspring...watch your native era succomb to the Canaanites," I mutter.

Manhattan.

"This...is where I used to live?" Nathan asks as he stares at a rubbled square block. He was now clean-shaven and got his hair trimmed short.

"It used to be one of your safehouses, until it was blown up a couple times," Irene Merryweather says with a slight smile. Her smile fades, "It's when Blaquesmith, your teacher...died." *

* ( Back in issue #24 -- Brad)

"I don't remember him," Nathan says.

Irene sighs, "Well, let's try to see if Rachel is home yet. I know, we tried a couple times. I think she may have been on a mission or something."

"No, can we walk around some more?" Nathan asks. He puts on a pair of sunglasses, "I want to know more about this place."

"Um, yeah...sure," Irene says. "Anything to jog your memory." He and Irene begin walking among the lunch break crowd as people scurry to the nearest cheap restaurants.

"Tell me about this virus that you said I used to have," Nathan says.

"Well, it was kind of this thing that made your left arm and leg metallic," Irene explains.

"Yes," Nathan says with a smile. "Yeah, I remember that." He observes his normal-fleshed left hand, wriggling his fingers. "Guess I was cured when I came back from the...Fifth Dimension, right? Is that what it's called?"

"Yes, that's right," Irene smiles.

Nathan remains in deep thought as he ponders his next question, "Did I...kill people?"

Irene shoots Nathan a glance and waits a few moments. They come to the curb. The do not walk sign is blinking. "Well...sometimes, you did. But it was to help people...I mean...if that makes sense. You're a soldier from the future trying to make sure the present day doesn't screw up and go all Terminator on everyone."

"I'm not sure what you mean...but you're saying I killed people...sometimes?" Nathan asks.

Irene simply nods.

"Hmm," Nathan grunts, "a soldier, hey? Yeah...I remember the war. The suffering. The blood. The fire."

"Do you remember Aliya?" Irene asks as the walk sign blinks on. She and Nathan continue over to the next block.

"Aliya...," Nathan mutters. "Sounds a little familiar, why?"

"She was your wife. She died in your arms," Irene says. "Oh! I mean...Sorry, I didn't mean to--"

"No, no...it's okay, I asked," Nathan says. "She...had a blonde-haired son, didn't she?"

Irene smiles, "Yes, that was your son, Tyler."

"Tyler! That's the name!" Nathan shouts, laughing. He looks at his reflection in the window of a bakery shop. He strokes his chin, "Hm...I think I'll grow a goatee."