The winds of Antarctica howled ferociously over the frozen desert. Heavy clouds were covering the pole as a great storm brewed in Asia as portents of complete destruction passed from mouth to ear. The roiling vapors in the sky seemed to take on different shapes as they passed over the icy wasteland. First a great hood, that of the demon. The impending destruction of all life was just the sort of thing the sycophant would revel in. He was as the vapor, ephemeral and fleeting. Damned impressive, though.

Strangely floating behind the visage of Pain was a small golden figure. It wasn't a cloud nor a trick of the strange magnetic fields which cause effects similar to the Aurora Borealis. It was a small humanoid of living light. In perceiving the two separate images in the same field of vision, Garrett found himself standing naked in the snow. The sky was the two images, where one retracted, the other lengthened. There was no escape from it.

Duality. The golden man was Garrett, the black void, the demon. His integration had to be fully realized. Especially before him, should he ever be able to become new. His bare heels turned on the glassy ice beneath his feet. Behind him, the great domes of the Colony glistened in the strange light that the skies of dual nature gave. It was much more magnificent and polished than it had ever been before. As Garrett focused on various parts of it, the exteriors would melt away, displaying the wonders within.

It was a magnificent and polished castle of imagination and wonder. A fantasy not realized. Garrett's vision trailed off to a bare part of the landscape, the shimmering figure of Maya in her transparent glories hovering there. There was an entire world there to be explored. His vision swept again the hard surface beneath him. To his feet.

As the view rolled down to his feet, the vision continued to turn underneath Garrett until it righted itself in his reflection in the ice. He was now the reflection or was his reflection real? His smooth, hairless body was even smoother. It was made of the ice of the tundra, a brilliant blue sheen to the ice. Inside, there was no blood or tissue. Only nerves. Living, electric nerves coursing through his being. The sky now was a brilliant yet ominous crimson. The crimson of the blood of the slain. It was a sea of torment, roiling and frothing above him.

Swirling eddies of blood swirled from the visceral sea, inverting on themselves and becoming small spouts of blood, though from their inverted position, appeared to be tornadoes of the red stuff. As Garrett marveled at the sight, the spinning motion seemed to create billions of DNA strands. The message was as clear as if someone had been carrying a sandwich board. Haywire. It caused the deaths of millions and ramped up the lynch mobs of humanity.

A single drop of blood fell from this strange sky of portent and woe. Garrett's focus centered on the small orb as gravity pulled it down. Though gravity was afforded only to those of the waking realm, as this solitary drop of life slowed and hovered before the man's vision. He knew he had to reach out. To ignore the red elephant in the room was madness. His index finger turned, nail facing the 'ground', so that the small drop could land on its end. It settled and flattened out a bit before seeping into the pores of the flesh and vanishing from sight.

A most alarming sight came to Seizure's eyes, once the blood had joined with his own. The neural sketching and mapping, that usually occurred with people Garrett came in contact with, was occurring in reverse. His flesh and bones were unraveling as the nerves slowly erased themselves out of existence. His entire forearm was a small cyclone, mimicking the similar turbulent vortexes in the area. The two major bones, the radius and the ulna, gleamed at him. His eyes scanned over their surfaces, noting the interosseus membrane between the two bones, helping to hold them in place.

The glorious lateral cutaneous nerve of the forearm showed itself briefly , sliding away from sight. The process of unmaking was going quickly now. Seizure saw the brief glimmer of the suprascapular nerve that ran over the clavicle and then under the scapula itself. A host of similar names came to mind to the good doctor. The names rattled off in his mind, their functions and connections, their care, their diseases, the treatments for any such ailment all squirreling their way firmly into the man's brain.

Years of training, lectures, residency, all worked and pushed through the man's psyche. His dream body had completely unraveled, leaving only an essence which tried, however futile, to process so much knowledge. Seizure knew instinctively that the sudden appearance of so much information would come at a high price. His brain was superior to a human's, but it was also only a mortal thing. Images of memories began to swell to the surface of the roiling mass of blood and nerves above the essence of Seizure.

First, the great glittering domes of the Colony. All those who he had known and treated. His dear friend and colleague, Peter Graves. Rita, his dedicated nurse. The Council and their rulings. The endless winds. All these images came for a moment and flashed out, disappearing into the recesses of the stored trash information in the brain. With the memories gone from his conscious mind, the medical information increased in its volume, a torrent of information slamming into his mind. It wasn't pain he felt, just a sensation akin to smothering as so much data filled his mind.

There was still too much resistance, large blocks of memories that could not coexist with the medical training. Seizure felt the image coming to the surface before her honey brown eyes had formed, the white hair tousled and cute. Any resistance to the idea of forgetting someone so integral to his life was immediately met by a sizzling fracture, precipitating a possible total meltdown of all information, leaving Garrett as a virtual vegetable. He thought hard to wake up, as the risk might be worth a fleeting memory, but with a flash, she was gone. The surrender put the man into a lulling slumber, as he hadn't the energy to fight any longer. The Far East and his knowledge of it beyond book memories was gone in an instant. His body soon forgot the rigorous training he had endured to tame the demon. There was no need for such nonsense in the world to come. The X-Men and the Mansion went just as easily, as most of it made little sense without the memory of Maya.