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Chapter Text

Equalizer Wolverine - Ability

Log

File Status: Active

Subject: James "Logan" Howlett

Designation: Equalizer

Core Equalizer Function

Genetic Mimicry Trigger:

Following the adamantium bonding process,

Logan's altered genome developed a resonance effect. When encountering other superhuman beings, his physiology selectively adapts, copying traits that overlap with his existing weapon system (healing, senses, claws, reflexes).

Constraints:

Only compatible abilities can be copied (no gamma strength, no psionics).

Adaptations always remain tethered to

Logan's feral physiology.

Experience Note:

Every acquisition triggers an overwhelming

shiver - primal, euphoric, almost too much like raw pleasure. Logan keeps this detail to himself.

Acquired Traits

1. Predator's Senses (Wendigo)

Olfaction: Tracks pheromones, blood, sweat, even emotional states.

Auditory Range: Detects whispers,

heartbeats, footsteps - biological sonar.

Combat Effect: Near-impossible to ambush; awareness borders on omniscience.

2. Hunter's Reflex (Wendigo)

Reaction Time: Reflexes now beyond

feral limits.

Application: Dodging gunfire, reacting faster than thought.

Instinctive Precision: Moves feel predictive, almost precognitive.

3. Accelerated Healing (Wendigo)

Function: Faster tissue repair, reduced

blood loss, delayed fatigue.

Combat Impact: Recovers between blows mid-fight.

Limitation: Not true immortality - only efficiency.

4. Bone-Deep Durability (Elder Feral Twin)

Effect: Claws genetically reinforced beyond natural limits.

Result: Combined with adamantium, they're unbreakable - even against

vibranium-tier resistance.

Visual Cue: Sparks and metallic

resonance instead of fracture stress.

5. Claw Elongation (Younger Feral Twin)

Range: Extend claws up to 5 meters. Drawback: Adamantium weight makes

control unwieldy.

Applications:

Long-range piercing strikes.

Internal elongation for instant lethal kills.

Grappling surfaces for mobility.

6. Bullet-Time Reflex (Nightcrawler)

Effect: Dual enhancement layered over

Wendigo reflexes.

Result: Perception shifts into "slow motion." Logan moves in bullet-time.

7. Predator of the Night (Some Passerby)

Night Vision: Sees darkness as daylight.

Synergy: Combined with Predator's Senses, Logan becomes the apex nocturnal hunter.

8. Eagle's Eye (Young Mutant Boy) Zoom Vision: Visual clarity across 10

kilometers.

9. Spherical Hearing (Young Mutant Girl)

Hearing Sphere: 20-meter

omnidirectional hearing, creates a "sound map."

Extended Range: Abnormal perception beyond sphere, though less precise.

10 . Cat's Smell (Feral Mutant)

Function: Emotional detection through

scent.

Perceptions: Fear dripping like sweat.

Rage sharp as ozone.

Glee manic and high.

Lies sour, bitter, undeniable.

11. Presence Null (Tiger Mutant)

Effect: Logan emits no detectable

"presence."

Mechanism: Redirects bodily emissions

(heat, scent, radiation) inward.

Combat Advantage:

Magneto cannot sense his adamantium.

Supernatural and tech-based

detectors fail to register him. Limitations:

Damage from internalized

emissions.

Psychic perception still detects him. Sound remains audible, though

Logan minimizes it with training. Analogy: He becomes like a chair in a

room - visible, but "unfelt."

12. Thermal Sight (Military General Snake Mutant)

Function: Visual spectrum expanded to infrared. Detects body heat, energy emissions, and structural warmth through walls and obstacles.

Application: Identifies number of occupants in a building, living or mechanical, as long as an active heat signature exists. Robots powered by thermal-producing energy sources register clearly.

Limitations:

No detection of corpses or constructs fueled by "cold" or null-energy systems.

Cannot distinguish detail beyond heat contours (faces, weapons, fine machinery remain vague).
Synergy: Combined with Predator's Senses and Spherical Hearing, Logan can triangulate targets even in dense urban structures — rendering ambushes nearly impossible.

13. Oxygen Reservoir (Crocodile Morlock Mutant)
Function: Logan’s blood chemistry adapted to store oxygen reserves far beyond normal human limits. Mimics crocodilian physiology, upgraded by mutant overlap with his feral durability.
Application:
Enables survival underwater, in vacuum, or in toxic/airless environments.
Duration: Up to 24 hours without external oxygen before depletion.
Natural crocodile duration (1–2 hours) amplified by mutation and Wolverine’s healing synergy.
Combat Advantage:
Functions in space combat — healing factor repairs cellular damage from exposure while oxygen reserve prevents suffocation.

End of Current Record

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter One: The Hunt in the North

The Canadian wilderness was quiet, snow thick as a blanket over the endless trees. But quiet didn’t last. Not with the Hulk loose.

Department H dropped their new weapon into the fray — Weapon X, the Wolverine. Compact, clawed, and mean as a cornered badger. His orders were simple: test his claws on the green monster and bring him in.

But Hulk wasn’t the only nightmare in these woods. The Wendigo prowled here too — a cursed creature of white fur, bloodlust, and hunger without end.

When Wolverine lunged into the clearing, claws gleaming, Hulk roared back, and Wendigo was already there. Three predators, one frozen battlefield.

“Two ugly mugs and me in the middle,” Logan growled under his breath. “Guess it’s Tuesday.”

Hulk hit like an earthquake, his fists shattering trees. Wolverine darted in and out, claws slashing, but Hulk’s hide barely dented.

“Gonna take more than kitty scratches!” Hulk bellowed, swinging wide.

“That so?” Wolverine sneered. “Let’s see how Fido likes ‘em, then.”

Logan shifted targets, slipping under Wendigo’s guard. His claws tore flesh — and for a split second, something tore back.

A shiver ripped through Logan’s spine, hot and wild. He didn’t stop to think. He only smelled blood sharper, heard Wendigo’s growl clearer, felt his reflexes twitch faster. He pressed harder.

To Hulk’s dull eyes, it looked simple: the little man was taking swings at Wendigo. And Hulk knew Wendigo was his enemy.

“Hulk smash snow monster!” the giant roared. “Puny claw man fight too! Good!”

So the green giant barreled in beside Wolverine, the two of them hammering the beast together.

Claws and fists. Rage and hunger. They drove Wendigo back, blow by blow, until the monster toppled off the cliff into the void below.

Silence. The snow fell.

Hulk, chest heaving, turned his gaze toward Wolverine. For a heartbeat, it seemed like maybe they’d found common ground in the fight.

Logan wiped blood off his claws, smirking. “Not bad, big guy. But playtime’s over.”

“...What?” Hulk tilted his head.

“Sorry, big guy,” Logan muttered, and then he struck first.

Adamantium claws slashed across Hulk’s side. The green giant roared, betrayal shaking the night.

“PUNY MAN TRICK HULK?!”

“Orders are orders,” Logan spat, crouched low, ready for the storm. “Nothin’ personal.”

The battle that followed was feral. Hulk’s fists thundered into the ground, tearing craters. Wolverine slipped, slashed, his movements sharper than before — his new senses and instincts giving him half-seconds of foresight. He didn’t notice it yet, not fully, but he was dodging things he had no right to dodge.

And then—

Mist. A strange vapor filled the clearing. Marie Cartier stood hidden in the shadows, vial in hand. The air thickened, heavy with magic. Both fighters slowed, their bodies betraying them. Hulk’s eyes fluttered, muscles slumping. Wolverine staggered, claws clinking against one another.

They collapsed in the snow.

Hulk shrank back to Banner. Wolverine lay unconscious, chest rising steady.

And in the cave nearby, Georges Baptiste’s conscience gnawed at him. He could not follow Marie’s plan to curse another man. He could not damn the Hulk. And so, with grim resolve, he took the curse onto himself. Wendigo lived again, born of sacrifice, not vengeance.

Meanwhile, Department H watched from above. They had given Wolverine six hours to bring Hulk in. He had failed. And now their choppers swarmed, floodlights carving through the dark, targeting the jade giant.

As for Wolverine? He was hauled back aboard, mission incomplete, head filled with a strange echo of claws raking white flesh — and that shiver that still lingered like a forbidden thrill.

---

The helicopter rattled as it cut through the cold Canadian night, its blades drowning out everything but the pounding in Logan’s skull. He sat in the back, restraints loose, claws sheathed, staring at the snowstorm vanishing beneath them.

His body felt… off. Not bad. Not weak. The opposite.

He flexed his hands slowly, rolling the ache out of his knuckles. “What the hell was that back there?” he muttered, low enough no one else heard.

That moment with Wendigo. The claws sinking into white hide. The jolt that tore through him. Not pain — no. A rush, like lightning under his skin. Like a raw, filthy pleasure that left his nerves singing. He’d felt a lot of things in his life. But this? This was new.

He sniffed the air without thinking, and the world opened wider than before. He could smell the oil burning in the chopper’s engine, the nervous sweat on the pilot, the faint trace of gunpowder on the soldier’s rifle at his left. Hell, he could almost taste it.

His ears twitched next, catching the rhythm of heartbeats — fast, slow, steady, nervous. It was like sonar, telling him more than eyes ever could.

Logan leaned back, eyes narrowing. “No way that’s a fluke,” he thought.

The healing was different too. The cuts Wendigo and Hulk left on him had sealed almost before the fight was done. Usually he needed time, minutes at least. Now? Seconds. Like his body was ahead of itself, eager to stitch him back together.

And his reflexes. Christ. He’d dodged Hulk’s swing — a swing he knew damn well should’ve flattened him into red paste. But it was like his body moved before his brain gave the command, like instinct had sharpened into something close to precognition.

Logan exhaled slow, almost a laugh, but bitter. “Some kinda new trick, or I’m just losin’ my mind.”

The shiver came back when he thought of it, curling at the base of his spine, crawling upward. He clenched his teeth. It felt dirty. Sinful. Addictive. The closest thing to release he’d had in years.

“Hell…” he thought, dragging a hand down his face. “It was almost like an orgasm.”

But it hadn’t been Wendigo’s curse. Logan still felt like himself. No hunger for human flesh. No madness. Just… upgrades. Subtle, but there.

Was it permanent? Or would it fade? That was the question. And he wouldn’t know until it happened again.

For now, Weapon X kept his mouth shut. Department H didn’t need to know. Not yet. He’d figure it out himself, in his own way.

He lit a cigar once the chopper steadied, puffing smoke into the stale air. “Guess we’ll see what happens next time, bub.”

And with that, Wolverine sat back, letting the blades carry him deeper into the night — claws itching for the next fight, for the next shiver.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

Logan slammed the steel door behind him, the echo rattling down the sterile corridor of Department H headquarters. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, cold and clinical, as if the place had been designed to suffocate. He didn’t need to see the scowls on the brass waiting for him in the debrief room — he could smell their nerves before he even opened the door. Sweat, stale coffee, aftershave sharp as a blade.

The director, a tall man with the stiff posture of someone who’d never thrown a real punch, wasted no time.
“You failed your primary objective, Weapon X. The Hulk is still at large. We spent resources, men, and money to put you in the field, and all we have to show for it is—”

Logan cut him off with a low growl rumbling in his throat. He stepped closer, not fast, not threatening, but just enough that the scent of his breath — whiskey and cigar ash — carried across the table. “Careful,” he rasped. “Say one more word like that, and you’re liable to see what your men saw out there.”

Silence. For a long moment no one dared speak. The air conditioner hummed. One of the junior operatives shuffled papers just to break the tension. Logan’s amber eyes swept across the room, pinning them in place like animals that had just realized the cage door was open. Finally, the director swallowed and looked down at his notes. The scolding was over.

Logan turned on his heel and left before they dismissed him.

---

The next few days blurred into routine. He spent hours in the gym hammering the heavy bag, or in the training yard running drills against drones. Every time he struck, he felt something different. His claws slid out with the familiar snikt, but there was more weight to them now, like they weren’t just meant to stab but to tear. His nose caught details he shouldn’t have — the guard three halls over chewing peppermint gum, the faint trace of motor oil clinging to a mechanic’s coveralls.

Something had changed. He healed faster, too — small cuts closed before he even noticed them. Reflexes? They fired like live wires under his skin. Twice during training, he dodged paint-rounds he never should’ve seen coming.

Logan didn’t know if it was permanent or some one-time fluke from that scrap with Hulk and Wendigo. But he knew his body better than anyone alive — he’d lived with its pain, its limits, its betrayals. And this wasn’t the same old Logan anymore.

---

When the mission came down, he didn’t argue. Department H had reports of a mercenary tearing up the northern wilderness — a man called Iron Talon, ex-special forces gone rogue, armed with prototype gauntlets stolen from some military cache. Logan only half-listened as they detailed the sabotage, the villages threatened, the communications towers wrecked. None of that mattered. What mattered was he was being sent back into the only place that still felt like home: the woods.

On the way to the helipad, Logan snatched a cigar from one of the operatives’ breast pockets. The man opened his mouth to protest, but one look at Logan’s scarred face shut him right up. Logan clamped the cigar between his teeth, lit it with a match he struck against the wall, and drew in a long drag. Smoke filled his lungs, burning sharp, familiar.

By the time the helicopter blades were chopping the cold night air, Logan leaned out the open door, eyes narrowed at the snowy expanse below. The wilderness stretched endless — black pine forests, rivers cutting silver under the moonlight, mountains hunched like sleeping giants. He spat the cigar out into the night and ground the last ember under his boot when he landed. “Smoke screws the nose,” he muttered.

---

The woods welcomed him like an old scar. Every sound meant something: the rustle of branches, the distant call of an owl, the crunch of snow under his boots. He crouched low, dragging his fingers across the powder. A trail — boot prints, wide and heavy. Iron Talon’s men, probably scouting the perimeter. He inhaled deep. Oil, gunpowder, steel. And beneath it all, a faint tang of ozone, electric and unnatural.

“Got fancy toys, huh?” Logan whispered to himself, a smirk tugging at his lip. “Let’s see if they save your hide.”

He padded silently between the trees, every sense alive. His nose locked onto the mercenary’s trail like it was etched in neon. The man was close. Too close. Logan’s claws itched in his hands, his muscles coiled tight. His reflexes fired before thought, little twitches like his body already knew where the next move would come from.

For the first time since Wendigo, he wondered if these changes weren’t just useful — but dangerous.

---

Hours passed like minutes. Snow fell heavier now, blanketing the ground, muffling sound. Logan crept up to a ridge and froze, crouching low. Below, a crude camp flickered with firelight. Four men, bundled in combat gear, stood guard. And at the center, sitting on a log with gauntlets glowing faintly blue, was Iron Talon himself.

Logan drew in a breath, let the scents wash over him. Sweat. Metal. Fear masked under bravado. He could almost taste the man’s heartbeat hammering from up here.

“Gotcha, bub,” Logan muttered, lips curling into a grin.

And then he slipped into the shadows, ready to strike.

---

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

The campfire crackled below, spitting sparks into the frozen night. Logan slid through the treeline like smoke, low and silent, his breath a mist that vanished before it could betray him. Four men. One leader. Five heartbeats hammering steady in the dark. He tracked their rhythm, memorized it, let his sharpened senses line up the kill like a predator circling its herd.

The nearest guard shifted, stamping his boots against the cold. Logan smelled the cheap tobacco before he saw the glow of the man’s cigarette. Easy prey. Logan crept close, crouched low, claws sliding out with a wet metallic snikt.

The guard didn’t even gasp before Logan’s hand clamped over his mouth and the blades punched clean through his chest, hot blood steaming against the winter air. The man twitched once, then sagged. Logan lowered him gently into the snow, already moving.

“Enemy attack!” another mercenary roared, his rifle swinging up.

Logan was on him before the man’s finger found the trigger. Reflexes snapped like lightning down Logan’s nerves. He sidestepped, claws flashing silver in the firelight, and slit the merc’s throat in one fluid motion. A gurgle, a spray, and then silence as the man collapsed clutching the ruin of his neck.

Two left.

The third man panicked, fumbling with his rifle, shouting, “Talon! We’ve got—”

Logan’s boot crashed into his chest before he could finish. The merc flew back into the snow with a crunch of ribs. Logan’s claws came down hard, punching through his gut and pinning him to the ground like meat on a skewer. Logan leaned close, eyes burning gold. “Shoulda stayed home, bub.” He yanked his claws free, leaving the man writhing, and spun toward the last.

The fourth merc didn’t hesitate — he fired. Bullets ripped through the camp, tearing bark from trees, sparking against rock. Logan zigzagged, reflexes faster than thought, the world slowing into bullet-time clarity. He could see the muzzle flashes, trace the path of each round, twist just far enough to let them hiss past his ribs. By the time the merc paused to reload, Logan was already there.

“Too slow.” His claws slashed across the man’s chest, shredding body armor like paper. The merc fell, lifeless before he hit the snow.

That left one heartbeat. One voice. One man.

Iron Talon.

---

The leader stood at the fire, gauntlets glowing blue with pulsing energy. He didn’t flinch as his men died screaming around him. Instead, he flexed his hands, the light rippling up his arms like living current. His face was scarred, one eye clouded white, the other sharp with soldier’s discipline.

“So they sent you,” Iron Talon said, voice low, metallic under the hum of his gauntlets. “The government dog. Weapon X.”

Logan bared his teeth in a grin. “Funny. Don’t feel much like a dog tonight. More like a wolf.”

The gauntlets crackled as Talon raised them, arcs of energy snapping in the cold air. “You’ll find I’m not as easy to gut as those men. I’ve killed better than you.”

“Yeah?” Logan circled, claws out, muscles coiled tight. “Then let’s test that theory.”

---

Talon lunged, fists swinging wide, the gauntlets releasing a concussive blast that shook the ground. Snow erupted in a white explosion, trees groaning under the shockwave. Logan dodged left, body reacting before his brain even caught up. Reflexes faster, sharper, like every nerve had been wired to a predator’s instinct.

He closed in, claws flashing for Talon’s throat, but the mercenary blocked with a gauntlet. Sparks screamed as metal met metal, the claws scraping hard against glowing steel. For a heartbeat, neither gave an inch.

Talon grinned through the clash. “You’re strong, Weapon X. But strength isn’t enough.” He shoved, energy flaring, and Logan was hurled back across the camp, skidding through the snow.

Logan spat blood, rolled to his feet, and grinned. “Strength ain’t what I’m testin’ tonight, bub.”

He lunged again, this time weaving through the gauntlet swings with uncanny precision. Talon’s strikes were fast, but Logan’s reflexes — his new reflexes — let him see each move before it landed, ducking under one, twisting past another. The claws slashed across Talon’s side, tearing fabric and drawing blood.

Talon staggered but didn’t fall. He raised both fists, slamming them together. The gauntlets roared with energy, forming a crackling shield of blue force around him.

Logan chuckled, low and feral. “Ain’t that cute. You think hidin’ behind toys is gonna save you?”

He pressed forward, claws hammering the shield again and again. Each strike screamed like nails on glass. Sparks flew, blue light flared. And then — with one final swing — his claws punched through.

The shield shattered in a burst of light. Talon cried out, stumbling back as one gauntlet sparked violently.

“You—” he coughed, blood spattering the snow. “What the hell are you?”

Logan’s eyes gleamed wild in the firelight. “I’m the one they send when they want the job done.”

His claws plunged into Talon’s chest, carving through the man’s defenses, tearing the air with the sound of rending flesh and sparking metal. Talon gasped, staggered, and finally fell, the gauntlets flickering dim before shutting off.

Logan stood over the corpse, chest heaving, claws dripping hot red against the white snow.

---

He crouched and pried the gauntlets free, shaking blood from his hands. They were heavy, humming faintly even without Talon’s strength. Department H wanted them back. He didn’t care why. All he knew was the mission said bring them, so he would.

He slid the gauntlets into a pack, stood, and lit another cigar from his pocket. The smoke curled up into the star-flecked night, bitter and warm.

The job was done. But as Logan turned from the camp, he couldn’t shake the thought burning in the back of his skull: he’d moved faster tonight. Seen things clearer. Fought better. These weren’t flukes. They were him.

And maybe, just maybe, he was only getting started.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

The orders came in quiet, but heavy. This wasn’t another wilderness clean-up or terror squad to dismantle. This was Department H’s bread and butter — infiltration. A city job. A high-rise, black glass gleaming like a shard of night stabbing up through the skyline.

Logan stood at the briefing room table, cigar smoke curling out the side of his mouth while the suits droned about sensitive documents, experimental projects, national security. None of that mattered. He didn’t ask questions. He never did. The job was the job.

He flicked ash into an empty coffee cup. “So I sneak in, steal your papers, and get out clean. That it?”

The handler adjusted his glasses, bristling at Logan’s tone. “Those documents are guarded by more than just locked doors. You’ll encounter enhanced security personnel. Eliminate them if necessary, but the priority is the documents.”

Logan snorted. “Priority’s me walkin’ out in one piece, bub.”

Hours later, he was crawling through the guts of the building, claws cutting neat, silent holes in ductwork and steel mesh. His senses painted the place for him better than any blueprint. Heartbeats thrummed below. Perfume laced the air from a secretary working late. The hum of high-voltage lines buzzed like hornets.

And beneath it all, two steady, primal rhythms. Strong. Animal. Like his own.

He dropped down into a lower level, boots quiet against tile. The vault where the documents were stored wasn’t guarded by cameras or alarms — it was guarded by them.

The twins.

They stood in the shadows like statues. Barefoot, shirtless, their skin pale under the fluorescent lights. Their eyes caught him first — yellow, feral, hungry. The older one had scars tracing his chest, thick as ropes. The younger’s back twitched, the skin stretched tight over something moving underneath.

“Another hound of the government,” the elder rasped, his voice a low growl. “They send you to steal what’s ours?”

Logan popped his claws with a snikt that echoed off the steel walls. “Ain’t yours. Just stand aside, and maybe I don’t leave you both in pieces.”

The younger laughed, sharp and cruel. “You smell like us. Half-beast, half-man. But you wear their leash.”

Logan gritted his teeth. “Leashes don’t sit right on me, bub. Now get outta my way.”

The elder stepped forward — and then it happened. His chest split. With a wet crack, two jagged bone spears jutted out, gleaming slick with blood. He lowered his shoulders like a bull, ready to charge.

Logan’s muscles tightened. And then that shiver ran through him. The same damn shiver he felt fighting Wendigo. Like lightning shooting down his spine. Pleasure too sharp to ignore. A rush, almost obscene. His grin was feral when it passed.

“Hell…” he muttered under his breath. “That’s new.”

The younger turned, his spine bulging, then bursting open into a forest of long, needle-like bones. They sprouted out like porcupine quills, quivering, lengthening past three… four… five meters until the tips scraped against the ceiling.

Logan’s claws twitched, and another wave hit him. That bone-deep rush. New instincts slotting into place. He steadied his breathing, eyes narrowing. “Guess tonight’s gonna be interestin’.”

The twins circled, growling in unison, and Logan’s stance lowered. He didn’t understand it yet, but he knew one thing: he wasn’t just walking out with papers tonight. He was walking out different. Again.

And he had to find out just how far that difference went.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

The elder charged first, bone spears jutting from his chest like lances. The collision should’ve been chaos — bone shattering against metal. But this time, Logan felt something different.

His claws didn’t just hold. They sang. The impact rang out like steel striking steel, sparks kissing the air. The jagged spears bent, but they didn’t break his claws. Logan shoved back, grinning through blood on his teeth.

“Well now… that’s new. Guess you ain’t the only one whose bones don’t give easy.”

The elder snarled, driving forward, but Logan twisted and slashed. His claws carved through flesh, clean and merciless, the bone spears cracking as they hit the wall. The big man staggered, eyes wide — not just from pain, but shock. His weapons had failed.

The younger twin reacted fast, his back splitting open with a storm of spears. They elongated in a hiss of bone and blood, stretching meters long until the tips scraped across tile and ceiling alike.

Logan ducked, weaving between the stabbing forest of bone. One caught his arm, tearing a red groove. He winced, then felt that itch in his own claws. A pressure in his hands, begging to be unleashed.

“Alright, bub. Let’s see what these new toys can do.”

With a roar, he pushed — and his claws shot outward, elongating, screaming with the weight of adamantium as they launched like spears. The pressure rattled his bones, but the claws cut through the storm of bones, slicing them clean in half. Not a chip, not a scratch.

The younger’s eyes went wide. “Impossible…”

Logan yanked the claws back with a grunt. They dangled heavy, useless for a moment, but intact. Not a fracture on them. His grin widened. “Yeah. Thought so. Tougher’n yours now.”

The elder roared, rushing again with another chest-first spear assault. This time Logan didn’t even dodge. He braced. The bone spears slammed into his claws with the force of a charging bull. The sound cracked like thunder — but Logan’s claws held, unyielding, unbreakable.

He shoved forward, sparks flying, and snarled, “Difference between us, bub — your bones break. Mine don’t.”

One slash across the throat, and the elder dropped, choking on his own blood.

The younger howled, launching another barrage, but Logan was already moving. He leapt onto his back, claws plunging deep. With a guttural roar, he elongated them, spearing straight through the chest. Blood geysered, the body jerking before collapsing.

Silence.

Logan staggered, retracting the claws, staring at them under the flickering light. Not a crack. Not even a dull edge. He flexed his hands, chest heaving, a low laugh rumbling in his throat.

“Unbreakable claws… heh. Guess I’ll be givin’ these a proper workout.”

He grabbed the steel case with the documents, lit a cigar, and blew smoke into the thick stench of blood. The mission was over, but his mind was already racing. These claws — heavier, sharper, endless possibilities.

And dangerous as hell.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

The chopper blades hadn’t even cooled when Department H’s brass came swarming. Suits, lab coats, operatives with clipboards — like vultures circling something that wasn’t quite dead yet.

“Outstanding results, Weapon X,” one of them beamed, clapping his hands like he’d raised a prize pig. “Your success rate is unparalleled. The department is most impressed.”

Logan gave them a flat stare. Most impressed. He didn’t need their damn pat on the head. With a grunt that could mean “thanks” or “drop dead,” he shoved past them.

Behind him, his hearing — sharp as a blade now — picked up the whispers they thought were safe.

“He’s uncontrollable.”
“Needs more discipline. More structure.”
“Animal pretending to be a soldier…”

Logan stopped in the hall. For a heartbeat, he thought about turning around, maybe letting his claws answer back. Instead, he kept moving. Their voices followed him down the steel corridor like gnats buzzing around his skull.

---

His room was bare, utilitarian. Bed. Locker. A single ashtray overflowing with cigar stubs. He shut the door and finally let himself breathe.

He leaned back in the chair, lit a cigar, and exhaled slow. Smoke coiled up to the vent, curling like a question mark.

That fight… those twins… that shiver.

It came back to him — the rush that lit up every nerve, the kind of high no drug could touch. Not pain, not adrenaline. Something else. Something inside.

He tapped ash into the tray. So far, it’s only happened when I cross claws with feral types. Wendigo. Those bone-spawnin’ kids. Not Hulk. Not soldiers with guns. Just the beasts. Means it’s gotta be somethin’ in common. Somethin’ overlap.

Logan flexed his hands. The adamantium sang in his bones, restless.

When the younger brat sprouted those bones out his back, I felt it. My claws stretched long as his spears. Five meters, maybe more. Same damn measure. Not shorter. Not longer. Exact. Means I don’t just copy—I copy to their degree. Their limit becomes mine.

He extended a claw and studied the gleam. It looked the same, but it wasn’t. The elder twin had rammed his chest like a battering ram, and his spears hadn’t splintered. Logan’s claws now carried that same density. Reinforced. He could feel it when they clashed, the metallic song deeper, purer.

Can’t sprout bones from my chest, though. Or from my back. Means no new tricks — only the ones that overlap. I can’t grow new weapons. Just upgrade what’s already here.

The cigar burned down to his fingers. He dropped it in the tray and growled softly.

So that’s the game. Equalizer. Makes me a reflection of the feral bastards I cross. Hunter’s nose. Predator’s reflexes. Stronger claws. Longer reach. Faster healing. But all only where I’ve already got somethin’ to work with.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. The shadows painted him in half-light.

The shiver’s the key. That’s the tell. Every time it hits, I know I’m changin’. Not just once. Permanent. Like layers stackin’ on layers. And it only comes in the heat of the fight — when claws are out and blood’s in the air.

For a long while he sat there, quiet but restless, turning over the puzzle pieces in his head. His instincts told him the Equalizer wasn’t a one-off. It wasn’t luck. It was a new law of his nature, and laws don’t just stop applyin’.

Somewhere down the hall, boots marched past, and someone barked an order. Logan closed his eyes, inhaled smoke and steel, and let a grim smile touch his lips.

Let ‘em grumble. Let ‘em talk about discipline. They don’t know what I’m becoming. Hell, I don’t even know yet. But I’ll find out. One fight at a time.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

It had been a year and a half since the twins. Three years since the Hulk. In between? Nothing but missions — blood, steel, and orders barked down from people who thought they owned him. Logan did what he was told, but each job carved another notch in him, another reminder that he wasn’t free.

Today was different. A rare free day. No targets. No dossiers. Just silence. He was in his room, half a cigar smoldering between his fingers, savoring the quiet.

Then it hit him.

The smell.

Not smoke. Not metal. Not disinfectant. Something else. Sharp. Wild. Close to his own. Feral.

His nose twitched, instincts kicking in before thought could catch up. He set the cigar down and stalked out into the corridor, boots padding silent against the tile. The smell grew stronger with every turn, every steel door he passed. Kinship. A scent too close to his own blood to ignore.

He followed it down to the cargo wing, where two orderlies and a scientist in a lab coat were fussing with a gurney. Strapped on it was a boy — no older than sixteen. Skin stretched tight over bones, body punctured with so many syringes he looked more pincushion than human. His lips were cracked, his eyes half-lidded, and the smell told Logan what the sight confirmed.

Dead.

Drained dry.

A feral, just like him.

Something in Logan’s chest snapped. Not a clean break. More like fabric tearing, threads unraveling. He saw the boy and, for the first time in years, the beast inside didn’t whisper — it roared.

He stepped forward.

“Hey!” one of the handlers barked. “Restricted area. Back off, Weapon X.”

Logan didn’t answer. His claws answered for him.

SNIKT.

Three blades gleamed in the overhead lights, dripping menace. The personnel froze, eyes wide.

“You… you don’t understand,” the scientist stammered, holding up a hand. “It was necessary. For research—”

Logan’s growl rumbled deep, low, vibrating in his chest like a warning drum.

“Research, huh?” His voice was gravel dipped in hate. “Kid smells like me. Like kin. And you bled him like a pig on a slab.”

The handlers shifted, reaching for sidearms. Too slow.

Logan lunged.

One slash — clean, merciless — and the first man’s head hit the floor before his body realized it was dead. Blood sprayed across the tiles, bright as paint, hot as truth.

The second man screamed. The scientist stumbled back. Chaos was seconds away from consuming the room.

And Logan?

He welcomed it.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

The first head rolled, and the alarm wasn’t far behind.

Somewhere high in the rafters, a shrill reeeeeee split the air — base-wide alert. Red lights washed sterile corridors in hellfire hues. Steel doors slammed. Boots thundered. But Logan wasn’t thinking about any of that. His eyes stayed locked on the boy. On the holes in his arms. On the stench of death that clung to him.

The scientist scrambled backward. “Contain him!” he screamed, voice breaking.

Contain him?

They never could.

Logan moved like a wolf in a slaughterhouse. His upgraded reflexes fired like lightning in his veins — every heartbeat, every footstep, every finger twitch of the handlers around him played out in his senses before they acted. He didn’t dodge bullets. He moved before the trigger squeezed.

The second handler pulled his sidearm. Logan was already on him. Claws ripped the pistol apart before it could level. One clean sweep cut through collarbone, lung, and spine. The man fell in two ragged halves, blood soaking the tiles.

The scientist shrieked. Logan barely noticed. He turned, ears ringing with the drum of boots down the hall. Reinforcements. A squad of Department H operatives, rifles at the ready.

“Fire! Fire!”

The hallway erupted in gunfire. Bullets screamed toward him — too slow. His enhanced instincts painted their paths like threads of light. Logan ducked between them, rolled forward, sprang up with a feral snarl. Claws met flesh, carving through armor like it was paper.

One operative’s jaw split open, teeth scattering like dice. Another tried to bash him with a rifle butt — Logan caught it, tore it from his hands, and rammed it butt-first into the man’s throat, crushing cartilage. Blood fountained as he collapsed.

He was everywhere. A predator in a pen of livestock. His claws rended. His senses guided. His healing patched over the stray hits that grazed him, sealing torn flesh before pain could slow him.

By the time the squad fell silent, the hallway was painted red. Pieces of men lay scattered like discarded tools. The stench of iron filled Logan’s nose, hot and overwhelming, but he breathed it in deep. Rage kept him sharp.

From the intercom above, a voice screamed:
“Top brass are evacuating! Priority-one protocol!”

He heard the rotors. Helicopters. The scent of jet fuel carried through the air vents. The leaders were running. Rats fleeing the fire. Logan tilted his head back, let out a low, humorless laugh.

“Run far, bub. Run fast. I’ll find ya one day.”

He pressed on, deeper into the complex. Every corner was another ambush. Grenades. Flamethrowers. Stun batons. Department H threw everything at him, and it didn’t matter.

He cut through a flamethrower unit, sparks flying as his claws pierced the tanks. Fire washed the corridor — whoomph — and screams echoed as men burned alive. The stink of roasted flesh clung heavy to the air.

One soldier thought himself clever, hiding behind a riot shield. Logan’s claws slammed into it — CLANG — and for a moment, metal met metal. But his claws, hardened from the older twin’s influence, didn’t chip. Didn’t bend. They split the shield in two, slicing the man behind it straight down the middle.

He didn’t just kill. He tore. He dismembered. He painted the Department’s sterile halls with their own men’s blood until the walls dripped with it.

By the time silence fell again, the floor was a charnel house. Limbs, organs, and faces mangled beyond recognition. Logan stood in the middle of it, chest heaving, claws dripping. His heart thundered, but his body healed, knitting together cuts, burns, and bruises faster than they could set in.

The rage cooled slow. Only when he retraced his steps back to the cargo bay did his chest unclench.

The boy was still there. Still strapped down. Still dead.

Logan’s claws slid back with a reluctant snikt. He walked over, unstrapped the body with hands steadier than they had any right to be, and lifted the kid in his arms. Light. Too light. Nothing but bones and wasted muscle.

“Deserved better, kid,” Logan muttered. His voice cracked like dry earth.

He carried him outside, past the flames rising from what was left of the base. Past corpses and ruin. Into the wilderness. He found a quiet patch of dirt under a tree, dug a shallow grave with his hands, and laid the boy down gentle, like family.

With a flat rock, he carved a crude tombstone. Just one word scratched into it:

Kiddo.

When it was done, Logan sat with his back against the marker. Smoke and blood still clung to him, but the rage had gone, leaving only silence.

For six months, he stayed there. No missions. No orders. No chains. Just him, the grave, and the wilderness.

For the first time in years, Logan had nowhere to go. And for the first time, he didn’t care.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9:

Logan leaned against the crude tombstone he’d carved with his claws, his body half-shadowed by the sinking sun. The slab of stone was rough, jagged, letters barely legible — but it was enough. A marker for a boy whose name he never knew. Dirt still clung to his hands, the scent of earth and blood mixing in the air.

His hair had grown longer in these months of silence, wild tufts bristling like the mane of some half-tamed beast. His beard was thick, scruffy, catching the dying light in flecks of bronze. His uniform was long gone, shredded in the rampage. Now he wore only a tattered undershirt and fatigues, both streaked with mud and ash, boots worn through from restless pacing around a grave that had become his prison.

Logan’s head tilted when he heard it: wheels crunching over gravel. Not boots. Not the clipped march of soldiers. Something slower, deliberate.

A wheelchair emerged from the treeline, rolling forward with a quiet hum of precision engineering. Seated in it was a man of stark contrast to Logan — bald, clean-shaven, dressed in a dark suit that carried the dignity of an era Logan had outlived twice over. His eyes were calm, piercing blue, heavy not with judgment but with knowing. The air shifted as he drew closer, as if even the wilderness recognized the gravity of his presence.

“ Logan,” the man said, voice clear, carrying without raising. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Logan’s lip curled at the name. “Ain’t many left alive who’d bother.”

The man smiled faintly, not offended. “My name is Charles Xavier. You may call me Professor X. And I didn’t stumble here by chance. I used Cerebro, a machine that allows me to find mutants across the world. Your mind… burned bright. Untamed. Pained.”

Logan snorted, eyes narrowing. “So you’re the type who likes pokin’ around in people’s heads. Shoulda guessed.” He tapped a claw absently against the tombstone. Snikt. Metal slid free for the barest moment before retracting. “If you’re here to collar me, you picked the wrong dog.”

Xavier wheeled a little closer, unshaken. “I don’t want to cage you, Logan. I want to offer you a choice. A path.”

“Path?” Logan’s laugh was low, bitter. “Look around, bub. This is my path. Dirt, blood, and corpses. Yours if you take another step.”

Xavier regarded the crude grave, the feral man guarding it like a wolf at a den. He spoke softer now, but no less firm.
“I know what they did to you. I know the weight you carry. But you are not alone anymore. There are others — mutants, like you, each struggling with powers they never asked for. I’m building a home for them. A place where they can belong. Where you can belong.”

Logan turned away, jaw tight. Smoke from a half-burnt cigar stub littering the ground drifted lazily as he ground it under his boot.
“I don’t belong anywhere.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Xavier’s tone sharpened, steel under silk. “You belong with us. Because the world fears what it does not understand. And unless we stand together, that fear will destroy us all.”

Silence fell. Logan’s ears twitched at the distant rustle of trees, the heartbeat of a bird taking flight. His feral instincts screamed don’t trust him. Too smooth. Too clean. Too damn hopeful. And yet… behind the professor’s words, there was no leash. No scalpel waiting. Just an open hand.

“You want me on your team, Chuck?” Logan finally growled, eyes narrowing into a predator’s squint. “I ain’t no boy scout. I fight dirty. I drink too much. I don’t play well with others.”

Xavier’s lips curved faintly. “That is precisely why I need you. Not as a soldier, but as yourself. A man who has survived everything designed to break him. A man who can teach others how to endure.”

The words hung heavy. For the first time in years, Logan felt something crack through the haze of blood and rage. A sliver of… belonging. Dangerous thought. He scowled to mask it.

“And what’s in it for me?”

Xavier’s voice softened to its gentlest register.
“A home.”

That word hit harder than any blade. Logan’s hand flexed, claws twitching but staying sheathed. Slowly, he pushed himself upright from the tombstone, his frame looming larger than Xavier’s chair, a shadow against the fading sun.

Without a word, he stepped past the professor, crouched beside one of the corpses still rotting in the brush, and tugged a bent cigar from the pocket. He lit it with a battered match, flame briefly illuminating the hard lines of his face.

He took a long drag, exhaled a cloud of smoke into the twilight. Then — for the first time in half a year — Logan smirked. Not joy. Not peace. But something close to defiance with direction.

He extended a scarred hand toward Xavier.

“Alright, Chuck. Let’s see if your ‘home’ can handle me.”

Xavier took his hand without hesitation. Grip steady. Unflinching.

And just like that, a feral loner shook hands with destiny.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

The room was wide, circular, and humming with quiet energy. White walls curving like a ribcage, sleek and sterile, but there was a weight to the place—something that felt like both a war room and a sanctuary. Logan leaned back against the far wall, arms crossed, cigar rolling at the corner of his mouth, watching. Always watching.

Xavier’s voice cut through the silence, calm and commanding.

“Welcome. Each of you has been brought here because the world is changing… and you are part of that change. Allow me to introduce you.”

The first to step forward was a tall woman with skin dark as polished bronze, hair white as snow, and eyes the color of a stormcloud about to break. She carried herself like a goddess that had wandered into the room by mistake—majestic, unshaken, but curious. Her new suit clung like a second skin, black trimmed with gold, flowing cape trailing like a thunderhead.

“This is Ororo Munroe,” Xavier said, pride in his tone. “But you may call her Storm. She commands the weather itself. The skies answer to her will.”

Ororo smiled faintly, her hands trailing across the fabric of her cape. “It is… wondrous,” she said softly. “I have never worn such a thing.”

Next came a mountain of a man, young face square and honest, with a shock of dark hair. His body looked carved from steel even before the suit formed around him—black with silver lines that mirrored his armored form. When he shifted, his skin glimmered, transforming in a ripple into organic metal.

“Piotr Nikolaievitch Rasputin,” Xavier introduced. “You may call him Colossus. His body can transform into living steel. Strength and resilience beyond measure.”

Piotr touched the fabric of his uniform, a grin tugging his mouth. “It fits perfectly,” he said in thickly accented English, voice full of awe. “Like it was made for me.”

“That is because it was,” Xavier replied. “The suits are composed of adaptive molecules. They adjust to you as naturally as skin.”

A ripple of laughter drifted from the next figure: tall, wiry, sandy-haired, with a roguish glint in his eye. He wore green and yellow, lines sharp and theatrical. His smile was just shy of cocky.

“Sean Cassidy, the Banshee,” Xavier said. “His voice is both weapon and shield. A sonic scream that can shatter steel—or carry him through the sky.”

Banshee tipped an imaginary hat. “Good to be here, Professor. Though I hope there’ll be less screamin’ and more drinkin’ when we’re off duty.”

Then came a shadow where there shouldn’t have been one. Small, lithe, his skin indigo blue, tail swishing lazily behind him. Two glowing yellow eyes gleamed from beneath the cowl of his suit, black and red with a priestly cut to it. He stepped forward with impossible grace, every movement too smooth, too exact, like a predator disguised as a clown.

“Kurt Wagner,” Xavier said warmly. “Nightcrawler. His gift is teleportation, but do not be deceived—his agility, reflexes, and spirit are just as formidable.”

Nightcrawler bowed with a flourish, smile sharp-toothed but kind. “Enchanté, meine Freunde,” he said in a velvet purr. “It seems I am in excellent company.”

Logan narrowed his eyes at him, and that’s when it happened again. The shiver. Like claws running down his spine. His instincts flared. His vision seemed sharper, his body already adjusting, senses twitching like something just snapped into place. Reflexes—not like Wendigo’s, all brute speed and muscle—but something subtler, quicker. The way the world tilted when Nightcrawler moved, how his presence demanded anticipation. Logan didn’t say a word, but he filed the sensation away.

From the back, a lean man in red and white leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes sharp with disdain. His suit was crisp, almost regal, but he wore it like a burden.

“Shiro Yoshida,” Xavier introduced. “Sunfire. He commands plasma and flame, his very body a furnace.”

Sunfire gave a curt nod. “Do not mistake me for a servant,” he said flatly. “I am here for my people, not your dream.”

The last to step forward was a broad-shouldered Apache warrior, face stern and unflinching, his suit crimson and blue, with eagle motifs spread across his chest.

“John Proudstar, the Thunderbird,” Xavier said. “His power is raw strength, speed, and senses honed by his people’s ways. He is a warrior, through and through.”

Thunderbird crossed his arms, glaring at the room. “Don’t mistake me for a tame animal,” he growled. “You want me here, I’ll fight. But I ain’t here to play dress-up.”

Logan smirked around his cigar, exhaling smoke. “Kid’s got bite,” he muttered under his breath.

Xavier, unfazed by the sparks between them all, rolled his chair to the center. “You are all X-Men now. This is your home, your team, your family. Alone, each of you is powerful. Together, you are unstoppable.”

The room was silent for a long moment, each of them weighing the words, measuring each other. Logan leaned back, watching the storm brewers, the steel giant, the sonic knight, the devil acrobat, the flame-born, the warrior—all strangers, all dangerous, all now bound by the same name.

And for the first time in a long time, he felt something stirring inside him that wasn’t anger.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11

The introductions carried on, the weight of Xavier’s words still hanging in the air. Each new face was marked, catalogued by Logan’s sharp eyes, each movement weighed like prey or predator. The air in the room was heavy, filled with power and suspicion in equal measure.

But one figure hadn’t yet been introduced properly. The professor’s gaze shifted, steady as a lighthouse, toward the man leaning lazily against the far wall.

“And this,” Xavier said, “is James Logan. Known also as Wolverine.”

Logan shifted, straightened just enough to look like he wasn’t entirely ignoring the moment. The light caught the battered lines in his face, the wild hair, the heavy frame built of muscle and scars. His suit was different from the rest—yellow and black, cut for speed and brutality rather than flair. It looked less like a uniform and more like armor torn out of some nightmare and stitched back together for war.

“He is not simply muscle,” Xavier continued. “His senses are sharper than any beast’s, his healing unmatched, his claws indestructible. He has walked through battlefields and left them red behind him. But more importantly…” Xavier’s eyes softened, “…he is a survivor. He will be your shield, and if needed, your sword.”

Logan bit down on his cigar, smirked. “Don’t expect me to babysit,” he muttered. But there was no mistaking the flicker of pride that passed through his expression before he exhaled smoke and turned his eyes away.

For a beat, the group stood silent, all their powers, pride, and egos crackling against each other like dry kindling.

And then, inevitably, Thunderbird’s voice cut through it.

“So what the hell are we waiting for?” John growled, arms crossed, impatience dripping from every syllable. “You pulled us from every corner of the earth, suited us up like circus performers, gave your big speech—and now what? We just stand around?”

Logan grunted. Kid’s got less patience than me. Didn’t think that was possible.

Xavier turned his head, calm as a man watching a storm roll over the horizon. “Patience, Thunderbird. We wait because there is one more.”

“One more?” Thunderbird’s eyes narrowed. “You had us all standing here for nothing? I don’t like waiting, Professor. Not for games, not for secrets.”

“Not a secret,” Xavier said, his voice firm now. “A necessity. He was leading before you ever stepped foot in this room. Without him, you would not yet have a team.”

And as if on cue, the doors at the far end hissed open.

A tall figure strode in—brown hair neatly parted, jaw set like a blade, eyes hidden behind a ruby-red visor that glowed faintly even in the bright light. His suit was blue and gold, clean, purposeful, cut for leadership rather than intimidation. Every movement carried authority, as though the ground itself made way for him.

Scott Summers. Cyclops.

The silence deepened as he took his place at the center.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, voice clipped, controlled. His visor tilted slightly toward Xavier, then toward the group assembled. “I came as soon as I could.”

Xavier’s hand rested lightly on his chair’s armrest, the gesture enough to signal the end of waiting. “And now,” he said simply, “we are complete.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, a faint curl of smoke drifting from his cigar. He didn’t know the man yet, but something in his gut told him this was gonna be the start of a long, sharp-edged rivalry.

The air in the room shifted. The team—still strangers, still sizing each other up—was finally whole.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12

The room went quiet as Cyclops stepped forward, arms crossed, jaw tight. His visor gleamed in the low light of Xavier’s study. When he spoke, his voice carried the clipped edge of a soldier giving a debrief — the kind of tone that brooked no interruption.

“Cerebro picked up something big,” he said. “A mutant signature off the charts. Island in the Pacific. Krakoa.”

He didn’t need to tell them twice. The memory was still fresh in his mind. His voice dropped, almost like he was dragging the weight of it back into the present.

“We assembled the team — Jean, Angel, Iceman, Havok, Polaris. Loaded up the jet — the Blackbird.” He glanced at Wolverine as if to make sure the name landed. “We flew out, touched down on Krakoa. That’s when it all went sideways.”

The flashback snapped into his head like a blade unsheathing. He saw the humid jungle air, thick and suffocating, the sound of waves crashing against black rock. The Blackbird’s hatch dropped, and they fanned out.

Then — chaos.

He remembered the earth shaking under their feet. Trees twisting unnaturally. Roots snapping up like whips. A blinding light. And then… nothing.

Cyclops’s jaw clenched. His voice tightened.
“I woke up in the Blackbird. Alone. Jet was already in the air, flying back home. No memory of getting inside. No memory of touching the controls. I tried overriding, smashing the panel, forcing a landing.” He shook his head. “Nothing. Autopilot had a mind of its own. Brought me straight back to Westchester.”

His fists curled at his sides, the faint hum of restrained power radiating off him.
“When I stumbled out, I realized… something had changed. My eyes. My optic blasts… gone.” His tone cracked for half a breath, and then hardened again. “For a moment, I thought—maybe it was over. Maybe I could finally… just be normal.”

The others stayed silent, the weight of the words hanging. Logan’s eyes narrowed, reading the man like a poker hand. He smelled the truth in his voice — the faint trace of hope quickly buried under bitterness.

Cyclops exhaled sharply, visor glinting under the lights.
“But it came back. Stronger. Unstable. Nearly burned the place down.” His voice flattened. “Xavier rigged up an old prototype visor for me. Told me to keep training. Control it, or it’ll kill someone.”

The memory closed, the flashback snapping off like a flame dying in the wind. Cyclops straightened, the steel back in his spine.

“That’s what we’re walking into. Krakoa took them. My team. My family. And now it’s our job to bring them home.”

Cyclops adjusted his visor, the red glow faintly bleeding around the edges, and squared his shoulders.

“Alright. Enough waiting around. Let’s go to the Blackbird,” he said, voice crisp, commander’s tone sharpening like a blade.

The team stirred, boots scraping as they began to move—except for Sunfire, who stayed rooted in place, arms crossed tight over his chest like the world itself wasn’t worth his fire.

“I don’t want to participate,” he said flatly, his accent carrying an edge, his pride sharp enough to cut glass.

Cyclops turned his head just slightly, visor glinting. “Whatever. Stay or go. The mission doesn’t wait for anyone.” And without missing a beat, he started walking, the rest of the team trailing after him.

The Blackbird waited, sleek and black as a predator bird with folded wings. One empty seat sat there like a ghost. Engines roared, and soon enough, they were slicing through the sky—minus one fiery stowaway.

But not for long.

A streak of heat shimmered against the clouds, and suddenly Sunfire was there, keeping pace, his aura blazing as if daring the jet to ignore him. Cyclops gave a nod, wordless, and the hatch hissed open.

Nightcrawler leaned forward from his seat, grinning, yellow eyes catching the glow.
“Vhat vas it, mein freund? Cold feet? Or hot ones, I should say.”

Sunfire scowled as he slipped inside, the fire around him dimming. “Don’t test me, demon. I go where I please.”

Kurt chuckled, tail flicking like a cat amused with its own joke. “Ja, and apparently, dat place is here.”

A ripple of low laughter went through the cabin, even from Colossus, who rarely wasted breath on teasing. Sunfire sat down with a huff, arms crossed again, but he stayed seated.

Logan smirked from the back, cigar stub tucked in the corner of his mouth. “Looks like we’re all one big happy family already.”

The Blackbird roared onward, full crew aboard at last.

Chapter Text

Chapter 13

The Blackbird’s landing gear hissed as it kissed the jungle floor, its engines winding down into a low growl before falling silent. A hush lingered in the air, heavy, almost unnatural. The new team filed out into the oppressive heat of Krakoa, boots sinking into soft earth.

Storm swept her white hair back, nostrils flaring as if the wind itself whispered secrets to her. Colossus loomed behind her, steel skin gleaming dully in the filtered sunlight. Nightcrawler crouched low, tail twitching nervously, yellow eyes darting through the thick canopy.

It was Wolverine who muttered first, cigar clenched between his teeth.
“Somethin’s off, bub. I can smell it.”

Sunfire crossed his arms, impatience dripping from his voice.
“Everything here stinks. We waste time.”

But then Banshee spoke, sharp and uneasy.
“Hold up—where’s the bloody jet?”

They all turned. The clearing was empty. The Blackbird was gone. No sound of engines, no trail of disturbed earth—just swallowed whole by the jungle.

And before they could trade more words, Nightcrawler froze, one clawed finger pointing through the foliage.
“Zat… was not here before.”

A temple. Black stone, jagged and ancient, its surface crawling with vines. It loomed where the sky had shown nothing just moments ago.

Cyclops adjusted his visor, voice hard.
“Searching anywhere is searching. Searching the temple is also searching. Move.”

The order was met with silence, but no one argued. They fell in line, boots crunching damp leaves.

Halfway there, the earth writhed. Vines exploded from the soil, slick and alive, snapping like whips. One coiled for Storm’s throat but was seared midair by a blast of Sunfire’s flames. Another lashed Colossus, only to splinter uselessly against his metal chest. Wolverine slashed through a bundle of them with a feral growl, claws flashing silver in the dim light.

In seconds, the vines lay shredded, smoking, retreating back into the earth.

“Cute trick,” Logan muttered, shaking off sap from his claws. “Let’s see what daddy vine’s hidin’ in there.”

The temple’s mouth loomed before them: a massive stone door, veined with roots like arteries. Cyclops turned, visor glowing faint red.
“Storm, Sunfire, Colossus—on me. We bring it down.”

They didn’t hesitate. Storm called lightning, her hands glowing with celestial fury. Sunfire’s flames roared, eating at the vines. Colossus slammed his fists into the stone, cracks spiderwebbing across its surface. Cyclops unleashed a full optic blast, the crimson beam tearing the rest apart.

The door exploded inward, stone and dust flooding the air.

What lay beyond stopped them cold.

A vast, dark hall stretched into blackness, the walls pulsating faintly as though the temple itself were breathing. From the ceiling, thick vines dangled—and from those vines hung bodies.

The old X-Men. Jean Grey, Iceman, Angel, Havok, Polaris—bound tight, vines sunk into their flesh, glowing faintly as if draining the very essence of their powers. Faces slack, eyes closed, their energy siphoned away.

Storm whispered, almost reverent.
“Goddess protect us…”

For once, even Wolverine was silent. His fists clenched, claws trembling with the urge to cut.

The new team stepped forward into the suffocating dark, the smell of decay thick around them—hearts pounding at the sight of their fallen predecessors.

Chapter Text

Chapter 14
.

Jean. Angel. Iceman. Havok. Polaris.

Faces pallid. Limbs bound. Vines sunk under skin, drinking—their color rising and falling in sick little waves, like photosynthesis in reverse.

Storm whispered, “Goddess…” and it wasn’t a prayer so much as a verdict.

“Alive,” Logan said, nostrils flaring. “Barely.”

Cyclops didn’t give the fear time to root. “Cut them down. Minimal force. Those vines are wired to their powers—watch feedback.”

They split. Nightcrawler bamfed to Angel first—tail looping around a supporting vine, blades quick. Banshee used precise sonic pops to snap bonds without shattering bone. Colossus tore roots away like bandages, gentle as his mass allowed. Sunfire seared through a bundle, keeping the flame tight; Iceman slid into Logan’s arms shivering hard despite the heat.

Logan worked Havok’s rig, claws shaving close. The vine around Alex’s ribs surged with a pulse of stolen energy. He carved the last wrap, eased Havok down, and moved for the next.

As the fifth and final vine fell, the whole hall tensed. The light in the roots spiked green. The floor rippled.

“Outside. Now!” Cyclops snapped.

The temple started coming apart. Cracks knifed up the walls. Roots lashed blindly, bleeding sap that smelled like hot copper. The ceiling began to sag, grinding stone-teeth.

They ran. Nightcrawler bamfed in bursts, grabbing whoever lagged and coughing through the brimstone. Sunfire incinerated falling chunks before they pancaked the team. Storm shoved with a wall of wind that turned dust aside and made a tunnel of breathable air. Colossus shoved a collapsing pillar to the left, caught the next on his shoulder, and kept walking. Cyclops cut a falling lintel in half midair. Logan took the rear, feral instincts screaming in bullet-time clarity, batting aside a whipping vine, dragging Banshee up by his collar as the floor sloughed toward a pit.

They burst into daylight as the hall imploded, the temple sinking in on itself like a lung exhaling its last. The crash chased them out into the clearing, a wave of dust and spores rolling past.

They set the rescued down in the shade of a bent palm. Jean coughed, eyes fluttering; Iceman managed a shaky thumbs-up. Polaris touched Havok’s face and exhaled relief. Angel sat up slow, feathers molting grit.

His gaze found Cyclops. The bite in his voice was immediate, raw.
“Why did you come back? Krakoa spat you out. It wanted you gone. And you brought more of us to feed it?”

Cyclops took the hit, visor steady. “We don’t abandon our own.”

Angel’s laugh had no humor. “Then you’d better figure out how to stop an island, commander.”

A tremor rolled underfoot—subtle at first, then teeth-rattling. Birds knifed from the canopy in panicked sheets. The ground bulged. Roots surged up through soil like a thousand spears, ripping the earth into raw seams.

“Positions!” Cyclops barked, already turning, already lining the team into a defensive arc. Storm’s eyes went white. Sunfire lit like a flare. Colossus stepped forward, metal ringing. Nightcrawler vanished—reappeared three meters left, tail lashing.

The clearing tore open.

Mud, stone, and root coiled into a torso, a ribcage of timber, a spine of braided mangrove, shoulders crowned in strangler fig. A head formed—a mask of earth with eyes of sunlit swamp, burning green. Vines wrapped into arms thick as train cars. The thing rose until the trees were its knees, rainwater sluicing down its flanks, the stink of loam and electricity filling the air.

It looked at them.

KR A K O A.

The island had decided to wear a face.

Logan rolled his neck until it popped, claws sliding out with a promise. “You wanted big brother,” he muttered to the ground. “There he is.”

The giant took a step, and the jungle stepped with it.

Chapter Text

Chapter 15

The earth split open. Mud, stone, and roots surged skyward like a titan pulling itself from a grave. The shape was grotesque — a mountain of soil and tangled vines knitting into a hulking humanoid form, dripping seawater and shedding chunks of itself with every movement. Two pits in its mud-smeared face flared open, glowing faint green, alive with hunger.

Krakoa.

Its voice came not from a mouth, but from everywhere — the ground, the air, the marrow of their bones.
“You return… and you bring me more food.”

The old X-Men staggered back in horror. The new ones tightened their stances. Cyclops stepped forward, visor gleaming. “Food? We’re not here to feed you.”

The earth-man only laughed, a deep, tectonic rumble.
“I was born of fire. The bomb that scarred this land gave me thought. But thought without flesh is emptiness. Hunger followed. Your kind… mutant kind… filled that void. When you first came, I tasted power. It was not enough. So I let one of you go, knowing he would return with more.”

Cyclops’ fists curled. “You used me.”

“I grew stronger.” Krakoa’s massive hand, thick as a cliff face, slammed into the ground. The shockwave tore through the clearing, sending everyone tumbling.

The fight began.

---

Nightcrawler recovered first, blue tail snapping as he rolled upright.
“Mein Gott… fighting a whole island? This is madness!”
He bamfed away just as a vine lashed down, the sulfur-smoke of his teleport filling the air.

Colossus braced himself as vines thicker than oak trees coiled toward him. He transformed in a flash of steel. “Then let madness be broken!” He ripped the vines apart, metal muscles straining, shards of root exploding around him.

Angel, wings already spread, dove low over Krakoa’s chest. “Stay distracted, tin man — I’ll keep it ugly!” His feathers slashed like knives, cutting back the roots that tried to snatch Colossus.

Banshee hovered nearby, lungs expanding. “Ach, if ever there was a time fer a banshee’s scream—!” He unleashed a wail, a sonic shockwave that shattered boulders into dust, scattering a cluster of advancing vines.

Sunfire flared alive, his aura blazing red-gold. “And if ever there was a time for fire!” He streaked through the air, carving a molten arc across Krakoa’s shoulder. The flames licked, but the soil reformed, the wound already closing.

Storm lifted her arms skyward, eyes gone white. The sky answered instantly. Wind howled, trees bent, thunder rumbled in the distance. “The storm rises with me!” Bolts of lightning speared down, splitting vines into cinders — yet still, they crawled back together.

Jean raised her hands, TK force wrapping around a bundle of whipping roots. Her brow furrowed. “It’s… alive everywhere, Scott! Cutting it down doesn’t matter!” She flung the vines back, but more replaced them.

Cyclops clenched his jaw. “Then we keep hitting until we find what matters.” He ripped a beam of ruby energy skyward, cutting a trench into Krakoa’s chest. The monster staggered, but its rumbling laugh rolled back.

“Futile. You cannot kill the land itself.”

---

And in the chaos, Logan finally moved.

While the others blasted and tore, he sprinted low, weaving between collapsing earth and whipping vines. The roots lashed in all directions — jagged stone, writhing branches, falling boulders. A death maze.

That’s when it happened. The Equalizer reflex. The world slowed, the chaos stretching into frames he could step between. He saw the exact moment each rock would fall, every vine’s path before it cracked the ground. His body slipped through, fast but unhurried, eyes locked forward.

Still, no dodge was perfect. A root the size of a tree trunk slammed into his ribs, throwing him sideways. Pain lit his nerves, bone snapping, flesh tearing. But by the time he hit the ground, his healing factor had already started its work, knitting him back together. He spat blood, grinned, and kept running.

“Keep yer eyes on me, big guy,” Logan growled. “I’m comin’ for ya.”

He darted up Krakoa’s side, claws sparking as he stabbed into roots for leverage, pulling himself higher. Another stone boulder tore free, hurtling toward him. He dodged left, but let a vine whip his shoulder — flesh ripped, blood sprayed — yet he held on. Enduring what he couldn’t avoid.

Every step up the monster’s spine was hell — falling rocks, swiping vines, the ground itself trying to throw him off. He dodged what he could, tanked what he couldn’t, and climbed higher. Always higher.

The rest of the team glanced up mid-battle, catching flashes of him in the stormlight. The feral little Canadian, half-dead and still climbing.

And then he roared, claws flashing, driving higher toward Krakoa’s head.

---

Down below, the X-Men regrouped. Cyclops barked over the chaos, visor glowing hot.
“Keep it busy! Whatever it is, we’re not letting it win!”

The monster spread its arms wide, roots tearing up the landscape in all directions. The ground shuddered, trees fell, the air filled with dust and hunger.

Krakoa laughed again, booming like an earthquake.
“You cannot fight the earth.”

But somewhere high on its back, Wolverine grinned, bloodied and relentless.

“Yeah? Watch me.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 16

Krakoa’s laughter shook the canopy as vines thick as towers ripped the earth open. The X-Men scattered, but still, the monster grew — more limbs, more roots, more hunger.

Cyclops fired another beam, ruby energy slicing across Krakoa’s shoulder. “We’re not even scratching it!”

And then, like a voice whispered into Scott’s skull, came the calm weight of Charles Xavier.

“Scott. Do not lose focus. You’re not fighting alone.”

Cyclops staggered, clutching his visor. “Professor?”

“Yes. I’ve reached it. I am in its mind. But to cage a beast this vast, I must wage war within it. You must hold it in the physical realm while I press in the astral one. Hear me — you must guide the others. Now.”

For a heartbeat, Cyclops could see flashes of the psychic battlefield: Xavier, seated in his chair, facing down an endless writhing landscape of teeth and roots. A titan consciousness, a forest of hunger and fire, slamming against his telepathic shields.

Then the vision vanished. He was back in his body, visor buzzing, storm winds tearing through the island.

He breathed deep, straightened, and barked his first order:
“Storm! Call it down — all of it!”

Ororo’s eyes flashed white, her voice thunder over thunder. “By the sky’s fury, by the storm’s rage, I call you!” The heavens cracked wide. Lightning as thick as tree trunks slammed into the clearing, arcs of raw electricity grounding into the writhing roots. The monster shrieked — for the first time, hurt.

But Xavier’s voice pushed harder in Scott’s head.
“Not enough. The earth regenerates. We must strike its core — below. We must unmake it.”

Cyclops grit his teeth. “Polaris!”

Lorna Dane hovered, arms trembling as the magnetic field around her vibrated with incoming power. The storm’s lightning crawled toward her like snakes of light, slamming into her aura. She screamed as it filled her veins, body glowing green-white.

Havok shouted over the roar: “Scott, stop this! You’re gonna kill her!”

Cyclops’ jaw tightened. “We can’t risk the world for one person!”

“Damn you!” Havok spun, rings of plasma spiraling around his body, ready to fire. But before he could unleash, a lightning strike ripped across the ground — Storm’s storm still pouring. It stopped them cold, leaving only Polaris, wracked with energy, her scream splitting sky and earth.

Jean threw up a TK barrier around her, eyes wet. “Scott… this is going to burn her alive.”

But Scott only said, “Then make it count.”

---

Meanwhile, Logan was still climbing.

Roots swiped at him, boulders fell, vines stabbed — a dozen death-traps at once. He couldn’t dodge everything, even with the Equalizer reflex. The world slowed, and he chose: slip left past the crushing root, duck under the rockslide — but let the thorned vine stab clean through his shoulder. He howled as it pierced muscle, blood hot down his arm. He ripped free, flesh knitting already, and kept moving.

Half his body was slick with wounds closing even as new ones tore open. But higher he climbed.

“C’mon, bub,” he growled to himself, claws sparking in the stormlight. “Don’t tap out now.”

He reached the creature’s neck. Vines lashed in from all angles — too many even for the Equalizer. For a split-second, the slowed world gave him three impossible paths:

Dodge right, fall.

Dodge left, get buried.

Or take the hits, all of them.

Logan roared, crossed his arms, and took them. Vines smashed his ribs, rocks shredded his back, blood poured. His healing factor worked overtime, skin sealing even as claws stabbed into the earth-flesh of Krakoa’s neck. And then, with one last leap, he dug into the monster’s skull.

“Gotcha.”

With a primal scream, he drove all six claws straight into Krakoa’s eye. The glowing pit burst, ichor and mud spraying like rain. For the first time, the island screamed not with laughter, but with pain. With a savage twist of his wrists, Logan elongated the claws inside, shredding deeper into the pulsing core of the eye until the monster howled and reeled.

“Yeah, that got your attention, didn’t it?” Logan snarled through gritted teeth, hanging on as the giant thrashed like a wounded beast.

---

Below, Polaris staggered, her body a beacon of light, lightning and magnetism fused. Havok shouted again — “You’ll kill her!” — but Scott snapped back, “If she doesn’t do this, there won’t be a world left to save!”

Jean turned away, unable to watch. Storm wept silently, still channeling the storm.

And then Polaris, voice raw but iron-hard, screamed:
“Then let it end!”

She thrust her arms downward, a torrent of magnetic force like a lance of green fire stabbing into the earth. It pierced the island’s core, warping the planet’s own magnetic field, tearing Krakoa’s essence apart at its roots.

The entire island bucked. The X-Men were thrown into the air as the ground lost all weight.

The island started to tremble and rock, and Cyclops gave the command to escape.
“Move! Everyone out, now!”
“Hold on!” Bobby shouted, freezing the water into a raft as the XMEN scrambled to ride it
For a moment — the island floated. Gravity gone. Water peeled away from its edges in vast curtains, glittering in lightning flashes.
“What in the hell—” Thunderbird started, his voice drowned out by the rising roar.

The returning gravity directly launched it into space, torn from the ocean’s cradle. And before the X-Men could fully escape, the water returned with rage to fill the vacant spot of the island, a flood that struck with apocalyptic force.
“On it!” Bobby shouted, freezing the air in panic as their raft lurched like a leaf in a hurricane.

But the water was faster. The raft spun, pulled toward the maelstrom. The roar drowned out their screams. Bobby cursed, then clenched both fists.
“Hold tight!”

A sphere of ice locked around them, a bubble against the crushing flood. The world became spin and chaos — a storm inside water inside silence.

And then… stillness.

When the ice cracked open, they floated on calm seas. Storm clouds gone. Ocean endless. And there — bobbing like a miracle — the Blackbird, watertight, waiting.

The team dragged themselves toward it, broken, bloodied, alive.

Logan pulled himself last from the water, body a mess of scars already fading. He spat out seawater, lit a cigar he’d somehow kept dry, and muttered,
“Helluva first day on the job.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 17 – Smoke, Fire, and First Glances

The Blackbird rumbled to life, the battered X-Men filing aboard like a pack of wet dogs after a storm.

“Uh…” Colossus stopped halfway down the aisle. “There… are not enough seats.”

Nightcrawler flicked his tail, smirking. “Mein Gott, Charles never expected he’d need a bus license.”

Sunfire crossed his arms, fiery arrogance in place. “I told you—this team is overcrowded.”

“Quit whining,” Thunderbird shot back. “I’ll sit on your lap if it shuts you up.”

“Try it, and I incinerate you.”

Storm raised her hands, eyes flashing with irritation. “Children. Please.”

Cyclops pinched the bridge of his nose beneath the visor. “We’re not here to debate seating charts. Pack in. Wings and tails tucked. It’s a short ride.”

“Short ride, big egos,” Logan muttered, elbowing his way to the back with his cigar still unlit between his teeth. “Hell of a team.”

The banter turned into awkward shuffling. Kurt perched upside down like a bat in the overhead compartment, Bobby froze a makeshift seat, and Colossus gave up, sitting cross-legged in the aisle. Finally, the jet cut through the clouds, leaving Krakoa behind like a bad dream.

---

Westchester greeted them with silence. Charles Xavier sat waiting in the hangar, his face a calm mask that didn’t hide the tension around his eyes.

“My X-Men,” he said softly as the group filed out. His gaze lingered on the old team, weary but alive. “You’ve been through more than I can imagine. And you—” his eyes swept the newcomers, “—have shown courage beyond expectation. Tonight, we heal. Tonight, we stand together.”

Logan grunted. “And tonight, maybe we drink?”

Xavier’s lips twitched. “Yes, Logan. Tonight, you may drink.”

---

The party filled the mansion with warmth. The wariness of battle washed off in laughter, clinking glasses, the shuffle of records playing from Hank’s old stereo. Xavier took his time, introducing one by one.

“Ororo Munroe—Storm,” he said, gesturing as she glided into the room, her white dress flowing like thunderclouds split with moonlight.
“Piotr Rasputin—Colossus,” the farm-boy awkward in a clean shirt too tight for his shoulders.
“Kurt Wagner—Nightcrawler,” all charm, bowing in a secondhand suit with a grin too wide.
“Shiro Yoshida—Sunfire,” crisp in a tailored jacket, radiating the same fire as his power.
“John Proudstar—Thunderbird,” stiff in his leather vest and jeans, refusing to pretend to be something he wasn’t.
“Logan,” Xavier finished with a faint smile. “Our Wolverine.” The man stood in a wrinkled white shirt, cigar finally lit, looking more weapon than guest.

Then came the old guard.
“Warren Worthington—Angel,” immaculate as ever, wings folded like golden drapery behind a midnight blazer.
“Bobby Drake—Iceman,” tieless, sleeves rolled up, already juggling ice cubes for anyone who’d laugh.
“Jean Grey,” Xavier said with warmth, the woman radiant in emerald silk, her hair loose flame over her shoulders.

Introductions done, conversation bloomed. Angel and Thunderbird clashed immediately—two alphas circling. Bobby teased Colossus into blushing through half the night. Storm soothed tempers with her soft voice. Nightcrawler played the clown.

Logan? He stayed near the drinks, letting the others laugh. He felt older than them. Harder. A knife at a dinner table.

When the laughter got too loud, he slipped to the balcony, lit his cigar, and poured a glass of something sharp. Smoke curled around him as the night air cooled his skin.

“You isolate yourself, Logan.”

He didn’t flinch—Xavier’s voice just arrived in his mind before the wheels of the chair whispered behind him.

“Yeah,” Logan said, blowing smoke toward the stars. “Crowds ain’t my style.”

“They’ll need you,” Xavier said softly. “As much as you may not believe it, they’ll need your strength. And you…” His eyes were kind, steady. “…you need them.”

Logan smirked bitterly. “We’ll see about that, Wheels.”

The Professor chuckled, unoffended. “Yes. We’ll see.”

---

The party dwindled. Laughter faded. Mutants drifted to their rooms. Logan stepped back inside, intent on another drink before the night died. And then—

Her eyes.

Jean Grey’s.

Across the room, her emerald gaze caught his. Not long. Not deliberate. But enough. For a heartbeat, time bent—not in his bullet-time way, but in something crueler. Deeper.

He didn’t know why he looked away first. Didn’t know why his chest tightened like he’d taken a blade. All he knew was one thought, sharp as his claws:

This was the start of a struggle that would never leave him.

Chapter Text

Chapter 18

The sunlight sliced through the blinds of Xavier’s office, glinting off polished wood and making the quiet tension almost tangible. Charles Xavier sat in his chair, hands folded, eyes calm as always, while the new recruits shuffled in. Cyclops stood beside him, arms crossed, visor glinting faintly red.

“Today,” Charles began, voice serene but firm, “we will start your training to develop combat skills without using your powers.”

The room went silent, a single pin could have dropped.

“Without our powers?” Colossus muttered, eyebrows knitting. “How are we supposed to—”

“Learn to fight like humans first,” Xavier interrupted, “so that your powers enhance skill, rather than compensate for lack of it.”

Nightcrawler’s tail flicked lazily. “Ah, so we’re meant to trip, fall, and hope the other guy has mercy?”

“I don’t fall,” Orora said, smirking, arms crossed. “I teach people how to regret underestimating me.”

“Good attitude,” Xavier noted, though his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Scott and Logan will lead you through this phase.”

Logan let out a low growl, rubbing the back of his neck. “As long as you want your X-Men guys ruined… bon appétit.”

Xavier only smiled serenely. “You won’t.”

Logan tsked, muttering under his breath as he pushed past the group toward the exit.

In the hallway, the new recruits murmured among themselves.

“Did you hear that?” Colossus said to Iceman. “That man thinks we’re all doomed.”

Sunfire grinned, “Well, that’s one way to motivate us. Or scare us into shape.”

Nightcrawler twirled once, tail flicking. “I vote for fear. Works every time.”

“Hmm,” Orora said, shrugging. “Fear? Nah. I like to see what breaks first: their confidence or their bones.”

Cyclops spoke up, stern as ever. “Save your observations for the field. I will supervise—follow the instructions, or don’t complain when you lose.”

The team dispersed to their rooms, the murmur of excitement and apprehension trailing behind them. Training suits awaited: black with reinforced padding at elbows, knees, chest, and gloves, sensors embedded to track strikes, blocks, and falls.

The training room smelled faintly of sweat and polish, sunlight streaming from high skylights, glinting off the black mats. Each X-Man stood in their suit—sleek black with padding at elbows, knees, and chest, the faint hum of sensors under the material tracing every subtle movement.

Logan leaned casually against a wall, cigar dangling, arms crossed. Cyclops stood near the center, visor gleaming, scanning the group like a hawk.

“Pairs,” Cyclops said, voice sharp. “Test skill, timing, and reflexes. No powers. I expect focus. Logan and I will supervise.”

The first pairings were set: Banshee vs. Sunfire, Colossus vs. Nightcrawler, with the final bout reserved for Storm vs. Thunderbird.

---

Banshee vs. Sunfire

Banshee cracked his neck, fists flexing. “Hope you’re not hiding behind heat today.”

Sunfire’s stance radiated controlled tension. “Wouldn’t dream of it, scream-boy. Strategy beats bluster.”

They lunged simultaneously. Banshee swung low, aiming for Sunfire’s midsection; Sunfire twisted, pivoting on his heel, elbow catching Banshee’s shoulder. The smack of contact echoed off the mats.

“Too slow!” Banshee spat, ducking another strike.

“Focus, old man taught you nothing?” Sunfire shot back, spinning to land a glancing kick.

The two moved like predators circling, blocks met strikes, feints tangled with counters. Sweat beaded on their foreheads as both exploited minor openings, every dodge and hit meticulous.

Finally, a well-timed nudge from Sunfire sent Banshee stumbling back, and Banshee caught a last swing, smiling despite the burn in his lungs.

“Good… not enough,” Banshee panted.

“Not bad yourself,” Sunfire said, chest heaving.

Tie—but respect carved into each glance.

---

Colossus vs. Nightcrawler

Colossus planted his feet, towering and grounded, arms like iron girders. Nightcrawler bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, tail flicking with anticipation.

“Going easy on me, old man?” Nightcrawler teased, tail curling.

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “Keep your eyes open, bub. One misstep, you’re face-first on the mat.”

“Old man critiques everything,” Nightcrawler chuckled. “Guess I like it.”

Colossus swung, deliberate and heavy. Nightcrawler ducked, rolling, kicking lightly off the mat, teleporting a short distance, appearing behind Colossus. “Miss me?”

“You’ll pay for that,” Colossus grunted, spinning to catch him mid-dodge. Nightcrawler twisted, slipping free, landing just out of reach, smirking.

Logan shook his head, half-amused. “Could be faster, bub. Try thinking ahead next round.”

“Thinking ahead is boring,” Nightcrawler said, teleporting again, laughing.

Back and forth, strike and counterstrike, grab and dodge—neither could claim victory. Finally, Colossus nodded. Tie.

---

The Big Bout: Storm vs. Thunderbird

Thunderbird planted his fists on his hips. “I don’t fight women.”

Storm’s eyes flashed lightning-bright. “Who’s the woman?” Before he could react, she ducked low and swept his legs. Thunderbird hit the mat with a grunt, rage flaring.

She moved like a storm unleashed: punches precise, kicks landing with sharp accuracy. Thunderbird blocked and countered, brute force against calculated movement.

Thunderbird growled, fighting seriously now, the room vibrating with tension. Storm refused to yield, every feint and pivot testing his limits.

Finally, Thunderbird pinned her briefly, hovering above. “Admit defeat.”

“I won’t!” Storm spat, eyes blazing, energy simmering like a thundercloud ready to break.

Chapter Text

Chapter 19
“I won’t!” Storm spat, eyes blazing, energy simmering like a thundercloud ready to break.

Scott stood rigid, arms crossed, gaze fixed—his personality demanded discipline, but restraint here was tested.

Logan stepped in, separating them, hands firm on her shoulders. “Easy, darlin’. Nobody’s dying today.” He helped her to her feet, guiding her arm over his shoulder.

Thunderbird backed off, fists clenched, still muttering. Cyclops, silent and observing, thought: How can he challenge my leadership? No words left his lips, but tension thrummed in the air.
The training room had emptied hours ago, leaving only the faint hum of sensors in the padded mats. Logan and Storm (Ororo )had settled in a quiet corner, away from the others. Logan slouched against a wall, one booted foot resting on the opposite knee. He produced a cigar from his pocket, lit it with a sharp flick of his lighter. The tip glowed, the faint scent of tobacco curling into the air.
Storm leaned back on the bench, legs crossed, holding a glass of deep amber liquid—whiskey, neat, a single ice cube clinking softly as she swirled it. Her expression was half-smirk, half-curiosity, catching the dim light in her eyes.

“Not bad, darlin’,” Logan said, exhaling a plume of smoke. “You held your own today. Almost made Thunderbird regret trying to pin you.”

Storm tilted her head, taking a slow sip. “Almost, huh? Don’t let him hear that.” She smirked, watching him through lashes.

Logan took a long drag, letting the smoke curl lazily around his head. “So… tell me about yourself. Hometown, family, how a girl like you ends up kicking grown men across the mat without powers.”

Storm chuckled, tracing the rim of her glass. “Cairo. Born to a photojournalist father and a mother of Kenyan royal blood. My parents… were killed when I was five during a conflict in the region. After that, I survived on the streets, learned early that if you want to live, you rely on yourself first, maybe a few friends second.” She paused, swirling the ice, letting the amber liquid catch the light. “I was… stubborn, reckless, stubborn again. You pick up bad habits from surviving, but some of ‘em work in your favor.”

Logan exhaled slowly, watching the smoke drift. Huh… fiery and careful. Dangerous combination. She’d get herself killed if she didn’t learn control, but she’s already doing better than most.

He flicked the ash, eyes narrowing. “And the nickname? Ororo?”

She smirked, a hint of pride in her voice. “Storm… came later. People tend to call what they fear, or admire, depending on the day. Ororo is just… me being me. Real name, real me.”

Logan tilted his head, letting a grin tease his face but not quite touching his eyes. “I like it. Fits you. Makes people think twice before trying to test you.”

A beat passed, quiet except for the faint tick of the training room clock and the soft ice shift in her glass.
Storm leaned forward, curious now. “And you? You’ve been quiet today, Logan. What’s your story?”

He drew a deep buff from the cigar, smoke curling around his face. Then he exhaled slowly, letting it drift toward the ceiling. A ghost of a smile teased his lips—half amusement, half something unreadable.

“I… also want to know,” he said, voice low, carrying that gravelly edge that could be warm or dangerous depending on his mood.

She cocked an eyebrow, leaning back, glass in hand. “What?”

Logan’s eyes met hers, sharp but distant. “I… lost my memory.”

Storm blinked, then set her glass down, interest sparking. “Lost it? Like… wiped clean, or pieces missing?”

He shrugged, a small smirk still lingering. “Bits, pieces. Some smells, some faces, some… feelings. Wandered in the dark for a long time. Doesn’t matter what I had. Doesn’t matter who I was. What matters is what I do now.”

Storm studied him, her fingers drumming lightly against the rim of her glass. “And… does it bother you? Not remembering?”

Logan’s lips twitched into a shadow of a smile. “Used to. But wandering’s… helped. Walking streets, watching people, learning. Feeling… things again. Makes me… almost human again.”

She let out a low whistle, a mix of awe and respect. “That’s… not an easy road. Sounds lonely.”

He shrugged, puffing the cigar again, letting the smoke curl and frame his face. “Lonely’s just a word. Used to it. Now it’s a hobby.”

Storm grinned softly, raising her glass to him. “I’ll drink to that… even if I don’t fully understand it.”

Logan chuckled, the smoke catching in the light. “You’ll understand enough soon, darlin’. If you stick around long enough, you’ll see what it does to a man… and what it leaves him capable of.”

They sat like that for a long while—Storm with her drink, Logan with his cigar—two survivors of past fights, bonding over scars, lost memories, and the quiet thrill of testing themselves in a world they barely controlled. The room was warm with shared silence, punctuated by laughter, smoke, and the occasional clink of ice.

Chapter Text

Chapter 20

The garden was bathed in early morning light, grass still jeweled with dew. The whole gang was there—the old guard and the new blood—lined up in their training suits. Black and gold, sleek and snug, designed to move with the body but also scream uniformity. Not that it could hide personality: Nightcrawler perched on a stone wall with his tail curled like a question mark, while Colossus stood with arms crossed like a monolith.

Xavier gestured from his wheelchair, voice calm as scripture. “Today, you will demonstrate your powers. You’ve seen glimpses in the field, yes, but true teamwork requires trust. Trust requires understanding.”

Cyclops stepped forward first. His visor gleamed red as a sun about to rise. He didn’t say much—he never did—but he tapped the side of his visor and a thin crimson beam lanced out, slicing a stone slab in half like butter.

Iceman whistled. “Clean cut, Slim. Bet the barber hates you.”

Cyclops didn’t dignify it with a response.

Jean followed, aura of pink energy wrapping her like a second skin. With a flick of her wrist, she levitated three benches into the air, spun them lazily, and lowered them back without breaking eye contact.

Storm murmured, “Elegant.”

Logan, arms crossed and half-bored, leaned toward her. “Elegant, yeah. But I’m bettin’ it’d look less cute if she decided to spin me like that.”

Storm smirked. “She wouldn’t. You’d be too heavy.”

“Watch it, darlin’. Steel pride under this leather.”

The line-up moved on. Colossus transformed in a flash of organic steel, sunlight gleaming off him until half the group squinted.

“Remind me to bring sunglasses next time,” Havok muttered.

Then his turn came. The concentric rings on his chestplate glowed with energy, then exploded outward in a controlled blast that scorched the grass.

“Nice firework,” Iceman said, forming an ice slide beneath his feet. He zipped around Havok, circling him before coming to a stop. “But you still can’t cool down the ladies like me.”

“Cool?” Havok snapped. “Jeannie doesn’t think so.”

The tension between them rippled through the team like static. Logan caught it, chewed on it silently. Rivalries… always useful if you knew how to play them.

Nightcrawler appeared next, bamfing in puffs of brimstone, vanishing and reappearing across the garden like a demonic jack-in-the-box. “Tada!” he announced with a bow.

“Smells like rotten eggs,” Thunderbird grunted.

“Don’t be jealous,” Kurt shot back. “You’d smell worse if you teleported.”

Storm finally took her place in the circle. She raised her hands and the morning sky dimmed, clouds coiling unnaturally. A crack of thunder rolled across the mansion grounds, followed by a flash of lightning that struck harmlessly at her feet.

The group stepped back instinctively.

Logan let out a low whistle. “Subtle as a brick to the skull.”

Storm tilted her chin, amused. “You sound impressed.”

“Impressed? Nah.” He smirked. “Terrified? Maybe.”

The laughter broke the tension, and with each new display—from Iceman’s ice constructs to Banshee’s skull-shattering scream—the team slowly learned each other’s strengths… and weaknesses.

When the session wrapped, the group scattered toward the mansion. That’s when Logan saw it: Scott and Jean, walking close, their hands intertwined.

It hit him like a gut punch. Not anger—something sharper, meaner. A sting.

He didn’t linger. He just shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away.

---

Logan stripped out of the uniform in his room, tossed it over the chair like it had wronged him. He lit a cigar, took two drags, then killed it halfway through. Restlessness crawled under his skin.

So he walked. Out of the mansion, down into town, boots clicking against pavement. He didn’t need a destination; he just needed to move.

The hours slipped past. The light dimmed. Evening set in, and neon flickered on across shopfronts.

That’s when it happened.

He passed an ordinary man. A face you’d forget the second you turned away. But Logan froze. His body knew before his mind did. The shiver tore through him like lightning under the skin, hot and cold at the same time.

It was better than booze. Better than bloodlust. Hell—it was better than sex.

The man kept walking, oblivious. But Logan… Logan saw. The night unfolded like it was noon. Streetlamps became unnecessary, shadows useless. His vision had shifted, sharpened, predatory.

A smirk carved itself onto his face. “Well, ain’t that somethin’. Got myself a new toy.”

---

The next days blurred. Training. Missions. Nights filled with wandering.

Logan discovered something vital: the shiver came only when powers overlapped, when something in him resonated with something in them and not limited only for ferals. But that wasn’t the point.

The point was forgetting.

That first night—when the night vision flared to life—he realized he hadn’t thought of the chains of his past, the memories that gnawed him raw. For once, they’d gone quiet.

So he kept walking. Nights bled into weeks. He’d wander with a cigar dangling from his lips, hoping for another shiver, sometimes finding it, sometimes not. But even when it didn’t come, the act itself gave him peace.

Because when he wandered, his past came to him differently—no longer first-person POV, tearing his heart open. Instead, he saw it like a bystander. A story. Someone else’s scars.

And that, bub, was enough.

One evening, he found himself back at the very same spot where it had started. His boots stopped without asking permission. The night vision clicked alive, and he chuckled low.

He pulled the cigar from his lips, lit it, and let the smoke curl upward. He exhaled deliberately, the smoke shaping itself into an “X” against the dark sky speckled with stars.

His smile was crooked, bitter, but real.

“I gained one hella naughty hobby there,” he muttered.

And for the first time in a long time… he didn’t mind smiling at the night.

Chapter Text

Chapter 21 – Mission

The sunlight poured through the towering windows of Xavier’s office, glinting off the polished mahogany desk. Charles Xavier sat calmly, hands steepled, eyes serene as always. Across from him, Logan, Storm, and Nightcrawler waited, a palpable tension vibrating in the room.

“Morning, team,” Xavier began, voice calm but firm. “Cerebro has detected two teenage mutants in a small town in California. They are being exploited—bullied, forced to use their abilities for the gain of others.”

Storm leaned forward, arms crossed. “And you want us to…?”

“Rescue them,” Xavier finished simply. “And bring them safely back here to the University.”
Logan tilted his head, voice low, gravelly. “And you’re making me lead this merry little parade, huh?”

Xavier didn’t flinch. “Yes, Logan. You will lead. Your experience… your instincts… they’re needed.”

Nightcrawler flicked his tail nervously. “Does this mean we get to see how our fearless leader flies us into the jaws of danger?”

“Ha-ha,” Logan muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t worry, darlin’. If I wanted anyone dead, I’d just let you fall through the floor.”

Storm’s eyebrow arched. “You’re charming, as always.”

Logan grunted. “I try.”
Xavier smiled faintly. “Focus. This mission is about teamwork, discretion, and speed. No unnecessary risks, understood?”

“Understood,” Storm said.

“Understood,” Nightcrawler chimed in, tail flicking.

“Good. You depart immediately. Logan, you are responsible for flight navigation and strategy. Storm, wind support and crowd control. Kurt…” he paused, giving Nightcrawler a sharp look, “…recon and infiltration. Understood?”

“Yes, Professor,” Kurt said, voice firm.

Logan muttered under his breath, “Bon appétit, bub.”

Xavier’s smile remained unshaken. “You won’t ruin them.”
Logan tsked, arms crossing, and headed toward the exit. “We’ll see about that.”

Outside, the trio moved toward the Blackbird. Storm adjusted her gloves, eyeing Logan. “Just promise me one thing: no crashing today.”

Logan smirked. “No promises, darlin’.”

Nightcrawler chuckled. “Oh, I’m certain chaos is included in the package.”

Storm rolled her eyes, muttering. “I swear, if we don’t die of villainy, we’ll die of him.”

The Blackbird’s engines hummed to life, and Logan settled into the pilot’s seat. The controls felt like an extension of himself “Alright… hold onto your tails, kiddies.”
Nightcrawler grinned. “Hope you know where you’re going, oh mighty leader.”

Logan’s smirk was slow, dangerous. “Course I do… more or less.”

The engines roared, and the aircraft lifted, cutting through the morning haze, heading west toward the Californian horizon.

Chapter Text

Chapter 22 – Blackbird Mayhem

The Blackbird hummed smoothly at first, slicing through cotton-white clouds. Logan gripped the controls, eyes narrowed, visor reflecting the horizon. Storm sat to his left, fingers drumming lightly on her knee, while Nightcrawler fidgeted with a strap.

“Feels… a little tight in here,” Kurt muttered, glancing at Storm. “I suppose there’s room, technically… but not comfortably.”

Storm smirked. “Oh, you worry too much, Kurt. Just… survive the ride first.”

Logan let out a low growl, smirking. “Alright, buckle up, kiddies. Captain Logan at the helm.”

“Captain?” Storm raised an eyebrow. “Do you mean crash course instructor?”
“Funny,” Logan grumbled, “but I was aiming for hero.”

The engines roared higher, wind buffeting the fuselage. Logan pushed forward, twisting the controls slightly too aggressively. The Blackbird lurched violently.

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” Nightcrawler shouted, tail curling around the seat. “What did you just do, Logan?”

Logan’s grin was crooked. “Just a little spin, darlin’. Adds thrill to the ride.”

Storm clutched the seat. “Thrill? You almost turned us into a mountain snack!”

Logan flicked a hand, dismissive. “Details, darlin’, mere details.”
The Blackbird careened toward a looming mountain peak. Logan’s eyes sharpened, instincts flaring. In a blink, he spun the aircraft in an impossible arc, the nose dipping, the wings flaring, and somehow the plane skidded around the peak. Storm and Nightcrawler were thrown lightly against the roof and sides, but neither seriously harmed.

Kurt coughed, tail flicking. “Ahem… that was… impressive? And terrifying?”

Storm groaned, brushing her hair back. “I’m going to need a stiff drink after this flight.”

Logan exhaled, hands steady now. “Relax. Thrill over, we’re alive. Mostly.”

Kurt shook his head. “Mostly? Mostly? Oh, mighty pilot, you are… catastrophic.”
Storm smirked, leaning back. “I’m filing a formal complaint with Professor Xavier when we land.”

Logan let out a low, amused growl. “Good luck with that, darlin’. I’m the captain. Complaints get… ignored.”

Nightcrawler laughed, voice high and shaky. “Ignored, yes. But fear? Immense fear, that we did feel!”

Storm shook her head, exhaling sharply. “I swear, if we survive the day, I’ll pretend this never happened. Mostly.”

Logan muttered under his breath, “Best crew a man could have, though.”
The Blackbird leveled, engines roaring with power as the Californian landscape stretched below. The small town appeared in the distance, sunlight glinting off rooftops, streets bustling with ordinary life—oblivious to the drama that awaited.

“Finally,” Storm murmured, rubbing her arms. “I thought we’d never get here alive.”

Kurt smiled softly, tail curling in amusement. “We made it, mostly in one piece. Thanks to our fearless—if slightly unhinged—leader.”

Logan smirked, fingers tapping the control. “Mostly in one piece, that’s all I ask. Now… let’s go find the troublemakers.”

The Blackbird descended toward a remote spot outside the town. Logan landed the plane with precision that belied the chaos of the flight, engines humming a calm purr.
“Next stop, gang bastards’ headquarters,” Logan said, stepping out. “Kurt, keep your poofy tail on alert. Storm, don’t blow the place down before I say so.”

Storm grinned, brushing back her hair. “No promises.”

Nightcrawler crouched low, a grin spreading. “Adventure awaits, eh? And possibly… scolding?”

Logan’s eyes glinted. “Mostly scolding… with a side of pain, for those bastards.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 23 – The Rescue and Shiver

The town sprawled below them, sun dipping slightly westward, shadows stretching across cracked streets and weathered buildings. The Blackbird had been parked discreetly behind a small ridge, hidden from prying eyes. Logan, Storm, and Nightcrawler crouched behind the edge, surveying the gang’s hideout—a grimy warehouse pulsing with danger.

Logan glanced at his companions. “Alright, three rules. One: no powers unless absolutely necessary. Two: stay sharp. Three: I handle the point.”

Storm’s arms crossed, wind whispering faintly around her fingers. “Point taken. But if anyone gets reckless, I’m stepping in.”

Kurt’s tail flicked, eyes wide but serious. “And I’ll… teleport where I need. Keep thesurprises.”

They approached the warehouse, the sounds of laughter and clinking bottles reaching their ears. Inside, two teenagers were trapped—a boy and a girl—used as tools by the gang.

Logan’s eyes narrowed. Something shivered deep inside him. A double shiver—the boy’s eagle-eyed precision, the girl’s enhanced hearing resonating in his altered genes.

‘Here we go again,’ he muttered under his breath, feeling that familiar thrill that came when he absorbed overlapping powers. Not now. Not yet. First, the job.

Storm led, gliding ahead like a shadow. “It’s alright… just breathe,” she whispered as she approached the boy, crouched in fear. Her hands wrapped gently around him, drawing him into a comforting hug. “I know what it’slike.”

The boy froze, then relaxed slightly, eyes wide as Storm’s warmth reached him. Nightcrawler’s tail flicked nervously, but he knelt near the girl, noticing her wary expression, a mirror of his own past fears.

Logan stepped closer, scowling as he approached the duo. “You kids… want out of this hellhole?” he asked, voice rough but steady. The teens shuddered in the hug of Storm’s embrace, glancing at each other before meeting Logan’s piercing gaze. A hesitant nod from both, their silent agreement echoing courage in the quiet.

Storm growled softly at Logan’s effect on them. “Careful, Logan! You’ll scare them more than me!”
Logan simply turned his head, spitting at the ground, muttering a low, gruff acknowledgment. “They’ll live… because I say so.”

The battle erupted. Logan and Nightcrawler moved as a deadly duo—Logan’s claws slicing and striking with precision, Nightcrawler teleporting to appear behind the surprised gang members. Storm’s wind powers surged, lifting and throwing debris, using the environment to trap and disarm.

The gang bastards were overwhelmed quickly, their overconfidence crumbling. Logan’s claws flashed, Nightcrawler’s movements unpredictable, and Storm’s gusts crushing weapons against walls.

Finally, Storm piled the subdued gang members at the doorway of the local policestation with a controlled gust, a wicked smirk on her face. “Tell them I said hello.”

Logan stepped back, wiping a trickle of blood from a cut on his knuckle. Nightcrawler teleported beside him, eyes reflecting newfound respect.

“Uncle,” Kurt said softly, almost shyly, glancing at Logan. “I didn’t know you were… kind.”

Logan arched an eyebrow, lips twisting into a crooked smirk. “Who’s your uncle, bub?”

Kurt’s grin spread, lightening the tension. “My new favorite uncle.”

Storm shook her head, smirking at the exchange. “He’s going to be trouble, but I like him.”

The teenagers followed, still clinging lightly to Storm and Logan’s protective presence. Thesun dipped lower as they made their way back to the Blackbird, shadows stretching long across the streets. Logan’s eyes glinted faintly with the residual shiver—the double resonance of their abilities whispering potential, a new deadly combo in his mind.

He didn’t speak of it yet. Not now. Tonight, they survived. Tomorrow, he’d think about how to play with bullet time and their overlapping powers.

Chapter Text

Chapter 24 – Welcome Home

The Blackbird hummed softly, engines steady as the trio and their young passengers settled into their seats. The fight was over, but the air still carried the static of adrenaline. Storm guided the kids gently into the back row, her hand resting protectively on the girl’s shoulder, while Kurt slid into the seat beside them, still grinning faintly from earlier.

Up front, Logan strapped himself in at the controls. His hands gripped the yoke with deliberate care—no reckless spins, no daredevil dives this time. He shot a glance over his shoulder at the kids, then back to the dash. “Alright… smooth ride this time. Promise.”

The Blackbird rose from its hidden perch, slicing upward into the sky.
As clouds parted, Logan’s eyes narrowed, mind drifting inward. That shiver… the eagle’s eye, the hearing sphere. He could feel them now, simmering beneath his skin.

Kid’s got eyes that cut through ten kilometers of horizon. Not just seeing—it’s clarity, every detail sharp as claws on bone. Paired with my bullet time… I’d spot a sniper before he even pulled the trigger.

His jaw clenched, muscles taut.

And the girl’s gift… hearing the world breathe. A full sphere, no blind spots,with a radius of 20 meters. She don’t just hear noise—she sees with it. Every step, every whisper, every trick in the dark. Add that to my reflexes? Hell, that’s no edge. That’s cheating.
Logan exhaled through his nose, gruff and quiet. “Damn kids… what did I just sign up for?”

The Blackbird soared silently across the evening sky, Logan keeping his promise—no swerves, no chaos. Just steady flight. His eyes occasionally flicked toward the back, catching Storm softly speaking to the teens, Kurt offering small jokes to lighten their nerves.

By the time the mansion’s grounds spread out beneath them, dusk was kissing the treetops. Logan guided the jet down with surprising gentleness, the landing smooth enough to make Kurt raise an eyebrow.

“Not bad… Uncle,” Kurt teased from behind.

Logan growled, muttering, “Keep it up and you’re walking home.”
The ramp lowered, and Charles Xavier was already there, waiting with his calm, unwavering presence. His voice carried, warm and steady as always.

“Welcome back, Logan, Storm, Nightcrawler.” His eyes shifted to the two young mutants stepping hesitantly into the open air. His smile deepened, welcoming and kind. “And to you two… welcome home.”

The kids froze for a heartbeat, as though the words themselves were foreign, then slowly leaned closer to Storm’s side, the girl’s hand brushing Logan’s claw-scarred knuckles for the briefest moment.

Logan didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But his eyes softened.

The doors of the mansion opened, golden light spilling out to greet them.

Chapter Text

Chapter 25 – Eavesdropper,The Garden Fire

Logan dragged himself out of bed well past noon, stretching like a cat that didn’t owe the world a damn thing. He padded barefoot across the floorboards, scratching at his chin. The mansion was quiet—too quiet for a place full of young bloods. He figured Chuck must’ve kept them busy with drills.

But then… a sound. Voices. Heated ones.

He stopped at the stairwell, ears twitching like radar dishes. His hearing wasn’t just sharp—it was surgical. Through wood and plaster, the words sliced through clear as day.

“…I told you before, Xavier,” came the sharp, clipped tones of Sunfire. “I came here for one purpose. To help save your team. That’s done. Tomorrow, I leave.”

Logan leaned against the wall, smirk tugging at his lips. Hah. Samurai boy wants out already.

Inside the office, Xavier’s voice rose, tinged with something dangerously close to pleading. “But Shiro—you’ve proven invaluable. You could be so much more here, among allies. Why cut ties so quickly?”

“No buts.” Sunfire’s voice burned hotter than his flames. “I am not here to play student in your school. I have a homeland to protect. I leave tomorrow morning.”

The room fell into silence after that. Heavy silence. Logan let it stretch, arms folded. Then he muttered under his breath, voice low and rough, almost amused:

“Figures. Man talks big, but he’s got one foot already out the damn door.”

Logan pushed off the wall, heading toward the kitchen, already thinking about cracking open a cold one. But the thought nagged him. Tomorrow, huh? Maybe he had a thing or two to say about that.
Night fell heavy over Westchester, the mansion bathed in moonlight like a cathedral no one prayed in. The kids had gone to bed, the halls were hushed, but Logan… Logan never slept early.

He sat hunched at the kitchen counter, one hand wrapped around a brown bottle. Poured a shot into a glass, tossed it back, felt the burn. Then poured another. His eyes drifted to the window, and there—out in the garden—he caught a flicker of movement.

Shiro Yoshida. Sunfire. Alone under the stars, pacing like a man with too much fire under his skin.

Logan’s lip curled. He grabbed the cup, walked outside barefoot on the stone path, and without ceremony threw the drink straight at Sunfire.

Shiro’s reflexes were sharp—hand snapped out, caught it clean before it spilled. He stared down at the liquid, then at Logan.

“…What’s the meaning of this?” His voice was tight, coiled.

Logan stopped a few feet away, the beer bottle dangling casually from his grip. His grin was the kind that made men want to punch him.

“Heard you’re leavin’.”

“That,” Sunfire snapped, “is none of your concern.”

Logan laughed. Not a belly laugh, not a warm one—a short, jagged bark that smelled of smoke and old scars.

Sunfire narrowed his eyes. “…What?”

“Nothing,” Logan said, drawing out the word. Took a long pull from the bottle.

“No. Speak. What did you mean?”

Logan let the silence drag, just long enough to be infuriating. Then the smirk came back, wolfish.

“Just figured I heard right. That the Japanese…” He paused deliberately, taking another swig, his eyes never leaving Shiro’s. “…are cowards. Don’t finish what they start.”

The air snapped like kindling in a fire. Sunfire’s fists clenched, heat radiating off his skin as he stepped forward, grabbing Logan by the collar.

“What did you say?!”

Logan didn’t flinch. Bottle still steady in one hand, his other hung loose, relaxed, almost daring Shiro to try something.

“Easy there, birdy,” Logan drawled, voice low, almost taunting. “Don’t spill the booze.”

For a long, dangerous moment, they locked eyes. Neither moved. It wasn’t strength against strength—it was will against will.

Then, slowly, Sunfire broke first. His grip loosened. He set the glass to his lips, drained it in one gulp. Without a word, he turned his back.

“You’ll see,” he muttered, shoulders stiff. “I am no coward.”

Logan tipped the bottle toward him like a mock salute. “We’ll see.”

As Shiro walked away into the shadows, Logan leaned against a post, savoring his drink. The corners of his mouth tugged upward in the faintest of satisfied smirks.

A moment later, wheels clicked softly across the flagstones. Charles Xavier rolled into view, his face carrying a small, knowing smile.

“Thank you,” he said simply.

Logan arched a brow. “For what?”

“Shiro was in my office moments ago. He’s decided to stay.”

Logan chuckled darkly. “Chicken got it, huh? Right, baldie?”

Charles’s smile didn’t falter. “Call me Charles, Logan. Not Professor. At least when it’s just the two of us.”

Logan’s expression shifted—just a flicker. Respect, maybe. Or something close to it. He lifted the bottle, nodding.

“…Alright, Charles.”

The night air held its breath. For the first time, there was something like kinship between the wild animal and the man in the chair.

Chapter Text

Chapter 26 - The Last Supper

The dining hall felt too small for so many bodies, and too quiet for so many hearts.

At the head of the table sat Professor Charles Xavier, hands folded, expression calm in that carefully constructed way that meant he was anything but. To his right and left, the table split like a river with two currents flowing in opposite directions.

On one side, the old X-Men:

Cyclops, upright as ever, shoulders taut, eyes hidden behind that visor.

Jean Grey, graceful and warm, though tonight her smile faltered.

Angel, wings folded in tight against the chair, but every inch of him radiated restless energy.

Iceman, trying too hard to act like nothing was wrong.

Havok, silent, but his jaw worked as though chewing unspoken words.

Polaris, eyes darting, caught between.

On the other side, the new blood:

Storm, calm and dignified, hands resting in her lap.

Colossus, straight-backed, uncomfortable in the tension.

Thunderbird, arms crossed, suspicious of everyone in the room.

Nightcrawler, tail twitching nervously, trying to smile but failing.

Sunfire, aloof, gaze fixed on his plate.

And Wolverine, one hand on his fork, the other wrapped around a beer bottle he'd smuggled in despite Charles's raised eyebrow.

For a long while, the only sounds were cutlery and the occasional cough.

Then, Angel cleared his throat. "Professor... we've talked about this. The old team-we're leaving."

Charles looked up sharply, the tremor in his fingers betraying him as the words landed. "Leaving? Warren... why now?"

"Because it's time," Jean said softly, though her voice carried in the silence. "We came here as children, unsure of ourselves, of our powers. You gave us a home, Charles. A family. But we're not children anymore. We've grown. We want to... to live our lives."

The words hit like a crack through glass.

Iceman stared at his plate, stabbing at potatoes he didn't eat. Polaris reached under the table and squeezed Havok's hand. Thunderbird muttered something under his breath, but Wolverine silenced him with a look.

Charles's lips trembled before he steadied them. "But after everything we've faced together-after all we've survived-you would abandon this cause?"

Angel's jaw tightened. "Not abandon,

Professor. Just... step away. You've got your new team now." He glanced at Storm, at Colossus, at Wolverine, as if handing over a torch he wanted no part of.

The silence afterward was unbearable.

When the old X-Men pushed back their chairs, the sound of legs scraping wood was louder than any argument. They stood together, almost ceremonially. Not storming out. Not angry. Just... done.

As they filed out, Havok slowed, his shoulder brushing his brother's. "Scott," he murmured, voice low, "are you coming with us?"

Cyclops didn't look at him. His jaw worked, throat tight, visor tilted toward the table. Finally, in a voice hoarse as if dragged over gravel, he said, "I don't know."

Havok lingered a second, then left.

The room was emptier than it should've been, and the new X-Men sat in uneasy silence, watching Charles stare down at his untouched plate as if it might hold the answers.

Chapter Text

Chapter 27 - A Leader in the Dark,The Ones Who Leave
The mansion was quiet. Too quiet.

Scott Summers sat alone in his room, visor resting heavy on the bridge of his nose. The light from his desk lamp painted his face in sharp lines, throwing the rest of the room into shadow. His suitcase lay half-packed on the bed.

A shirt folded. A photo frame turned down. A choice half-made.

He rubbed his temples, muttering to himself. They're right. They've grown. We all have. Maybe this place... maybe it isn't home anymore.

But then his eyes drifted to the corner of the room, to the faded banner that still hung there. A relic from their earliest days as X-Men. A scrap of cloth with the letter X stitched into it. Charles had insisted they hang it in their dorms, a reminder that they were more than lost kids. They were a team.

Without this place... who am I? Just a man who can't open his eyes without destroying everything he looks at. Out there... I'm dangerous. In here... I had purpose.

He stood, pacing. His boots thumped dully against the floor. His hands clenched, unclenched.

"Leave or stay," he whispered. "Be a brother, or be a soldier. Be free, or..." His throat tightened. "Or be alone."

Scott pressed his palms against the desk, head hanging low. His reflection stared back at him in the glossy wood-visor glowing faintly, like an ember refusing to die.

Maybe I never had a choice. Maybe this place isn't just where I live-it's the only place I can live.

Hours passed in silence, broken only by the ticking of the old wall clock. When dawn's light finally slipped through the curtains, his suitcase was still there on the bed, untouched.

He hadn't added another thing to it.

He hadn't taken anything out, either.

The choice lingered, unmade, heavy as the mansion's walls pressing in around him.
The morning sun streamed through the mansion's tall windows, too bright for the mood it fell upon.

In the main hall, the old X-Men stood with their bags at their sides:

Jean Grey, her fiery hair catching the light, though her eyes looked dim. Bobby Drake, Iceman, with forced humor gone missing for once.

Lorna Dane, Polaris, holding tight to Alex's arm but glancing back at the walls like they still owed her something.

Warren Worthington, Angel, tall and proud, but his wings drooped ever so slightly, feathers brushing the floor.

Alex Summers, Havok, shifting uncomfortably, caught between family and freedom.

And at the front of it all-Scott Summers, Cyclops, though no bag sat at his feet.

Across from them sat the new X-Men-Storm, Colossus, Thunderbird, Nightcrawler, Wolverine, and Sunfire-silent, watching, unsure if they had the right to speak.

At the head of the table, Professor Charles Xavier looked smaller than ever in his wheelchair. His hands trembled slightly on the armrests. His voice wavered when he asked, "Why?"

Jean answered for them, her voice steady but heartbreakingly soft.

"Charles... we joined because we were young. Because we didn't know who we were, or how to control what we had. You gave us that. You gave us discipline... and family."

She swallowed hard, fighting her own words. "But we're not those children anymore. We've grown. And we want to... live our own lives."

Charles's lips parted, but no words came.

The silence was heavy, broken only when Warren stood and placed his hand on Xavier's shoulder, feathers rustling. "We'll always be grateful. But this isn't goodbye forever. Just.... goodbye for now."

One by one, the old X-Men rose. Chairs scraped, bags lifted. The air was thick, suffocating with everything left unsaid.

Alex lingered, stopping by Scott. His voice was low, almost pleading.

"Are you coming, brother? Or staying?"

Scott's jaw worked, but no sound came out. His throat burned. Finally, he shook his head, whispering hoarsely, "I... I won't."

The words cut Alex like a blade. He turned away, leaving without pressing further.

When they reached the door, Jean hesitated. She turned back-just once. Her green eyes locked on Scott, shimmering with the weight of years.

She crossed the hall slowly, every step a

battle, and when she reached him, she lifted her hand to his visor, just brushing the edge of it with trembling fingers.

"I wish..." she whispered. The sentence broke before it could end.

Scott's hand caught hers, held tight for a heartbeat-and then he let go.

Tears welled in her eyes as she stepped back, forcing herself to turn and follow the others out the door.

The sound of it closing echoed like a gunshot through the mansion.

The new X-Men stood frozen, watching. They hadn't earned the right to speak into this kind of grief. Not yet.

And Scott-Scott remained in the hall, visor glowing faintly, staring at the door as though he could burn it down with the force of his gaze alone.

Chapter Text

Chapter 28 -Danger Room
The steel doors stenciled DANGER ROOM swallowed their reflections as the team lined up: Cyclops at point, jaw set; Wolverine loose-shouldered and watching; Storm calm as a held breath; Colossus a patient mountain; Nightcrawler perched on a wall sconce like an Imp; Sunfire standing tall, arms folded; Thunderbird rolling his shoulders like he wanted the room to swing first; Banshee with his hands tucked into his bell, eyes crinkled, taking the measure of things.

"Today we stop being strangers," Cyclops said, voice clipped, visor a narrow, burning promise. "Scenarios escalate every session. You use your powers-or you get benched. We're training for a world that won't pull punches."

Logan flicked his gaze over the bulkheads as they irised open to reveal a hangar-sized chamber. Panels slid, retracted, and rose; false walls telescoped out of the floor; gunmetal gantries folded like origami into a maze. The air smelled faintly of ozone and machine oil. Hidden turrets tracked like blinking eyes. A dozen discs hummed to life overhead.

'Big shiny cage, Logan thought, mouth quirking. "Let's see if it bites.'

"Scenario Delta-One," Cyclops ordered. "Live drones. Minimal lethals. Keep your heads."

The room answered with a waspish whine. Spherical drones popped loose from ceiling cradles and streaked down in spirals. Red targeting dots jittered across the floor.

"Colossus-front!" Cyclops barked.

Piotr exhaled and steel rippled across him in a gleam, skin becoming mirror and weight. He planted, taking the first three impacts on his chest with a clang that rattled ribs all the way to the observation glass.

"Good wall," Logan said. "Keep your feet, big man."

"Da," Colossus grunted, shoving a drone aside hard enough to crater a panel.

"Nightcrawler-harass and relocate," Cyclops snapped.

Bamf. Bamf. Bamf. Brimstone and shadow, Kurt flickered through the air like a swallowed cough, tail flicking as he cuffed a drone with playful precision. "Catch me if you can, ja?"

"Stop showboating, Scott growled. "Tag those nodes."

"Let the boy dance, Summers," Banshee called, planting his feet. "We'll get more done

if ye let rhythm in." He drew a long breath, chest expanding. The scream that leapt from him was focused, a tight lance of sound that hammered two drones into the same wall with

a crunch. "There's a sweet spot at their seams -hear it and ye'll never miss."

"Nice pipes," Logan said, grinning.

"Thank ye kindly," Sean shot back, eyes bright. "Try not to slice the speakers."

Sunfire ignited in a low flare, heat rolling off him like desert noon. "Targets acquired," Shiro said, voice stiff with control. Microbursts of flame spat from his palms, clean, surgical-two drones slagged into sparking hunks.

"Dial it back," Cyclops warned. "Conserve fuel."

Sunfire didn't look over. "I am not a gas tank, Cyclops. I am a man."

"Save the debate for later," Scott snapped. "Storm-wind shear corridors. Give Nightcrawler lanes."

Ororo lifted her hands, fingers scribing

Invisible geometry. Air answered; the room's haze snatched sideways as if grabbed by a glant. "Paths open," she said, calm as rain.

Bamf-Kurt vanished, reappearing mid-lane to boot a drone through a retracting gate. "Danke, Ororo!"

Thunderbird hit the field like a linebacker, no finesse just speed, angles, and fury. He hurled a drone into another, took a ricochet off his shoulder and grinned like it woke him up. "C'mon!" John barked. "You call this a fight?"

"Hold formation!" Cyclops called. "Don't outpace your cover!"

"I am the cover," Thunderbird snapped, driving through a hall of pellets.

Logan slipped between bearns, eyes narrowing as the world slowed into that familiar syrup. Bullet-time stretched the room thin: darts drew white commas in the air.

servos whined in notes; heat shimmered like

breath. He saw the pattern-the half-beat

between turret sweeps-and flowed through it,

six claws breathing in and out, silver

punctuation marks that snipped sensors and split housings. A drone fizzed behind him and fell apart in neat, embarrassed halves.

'Still got it, he thought. 'Still hate the smell of hot circuits.

Cyclops pivoted, visor ticking. "Wolverine, left flank. Banshee, with him. Colossus-anchor. Storm, hold those lanes. Sunfire, precision only,"

"And me?" Thunderbird shot back. "Don't die," Scott said. "Yet."

Thunderbird laughed and went faster.

Chapter Text

Chapter 29-Heat Check
Weeks blurred, measured in bruises and the rubber stink of burned matting. Breakfasts were quiet. Dinners were quieter. The Danger Room adjusted, learned them the way predators learn prey.

-Scenario Delta-Four: retractable floors, hidden pits, hydraulic walls that tried to herd thern into kill-boxes, Storm threaded them through crosswinds as if she were drawing a map with air. Banshee found harmonics in the ducting and collapsed a whole catwalk with a single, tuned shout. "Singin' to steel," he said, pleased. "It listens, if you're kind."

-Scenario Epsilon-Two: holographic jungle, damp heat and insect buzz piped through speakers. Sunfire fought like a scalpel. Cyclops' orders cut narrower, harder.

Nightcrawler vanished into foliage and reappeared with a drone's core in his hand. "Peek-a-boo," he told it gravely before tossing

It away.

-Scenario Zeta-Seven: Sentinel arms from the ceiling, blind-firing lasers in irregular rhythm. Colossus took a full bore along his ribcage and only grunted. "Is good," he said, smiling. "Reminds me i am awake."

Thunderbird hated the pacing drills. He hated waiting. He hated being told to hold.

And Cyclops-Cyclops wore a mask under his mask. There is a right way to do this, his whole body said, every clipped order a prayer to the god of control.

Logan watched it all, the threads tightening. 'Gonna snap, he thought more than once. 'Question is-who snaps first?

It happened on a Tuesday that tasted like Monday.

*Scenario Omega-One," Cyclops said. The room dimmed. Red lights bled along the seams. A dozen laser turrets unfolded like. lilies, petals of polished steel, and began to

track.

"Shields and angles," Scott warned. "No hero charges."

Thunderbird exploded off the line anyway.

"John-" Scott started, but the warning cut off as a lattice of ruby beams stitched the floor.

Logan saw it in syrup-time: the fraction John misread; the half-inch his heel landed wrong; the beam that would miss-and the one that wouldn't. He lunged, caught Proudstar at the belt, yanked-

The grazing shot kissed John's thigh. Fabric charred, flesh sizzled, the room filled with burnt hair and pride. Thunderbird rode Logan's pull into a tumble, rolled hard, and came up with murder in his eyes.

"Stand downl" Cyclops barked. "Reset positions!"

"You nearly took my leg off!" Thunderbird roared, stalking forward. "All because you want to play drill sergeant!"

Cyclops met him chest to chest, visor brightening a dangerous shade. "You broke formation. You ignored a direct order. I can't teach you if you won't listen."

"You can't lead if you don't trust the men you're leading," John shot back. "Where I'm from, we fight. We don't tiptoe behind a red visor and a rulebook."

Banshee slid between them just enough to be

present without being a shield. "Lads," he said quietly, Irish music smoothed soft. "Let's not do the stupid thing in the room built to kill us."

"Get out of my way, Cassidy," John growled.

"Wish I could," Sean said, gentle as rain. "But I like all our limbs attached."

Sunfire's hands were already lit, not in threat-habit. Storm's gaze cut to Logan. Kurt hovered at her shoulder, tail stiff.

Logan stepped once, a weight shifting, nothing more. "Kid," he said to John without heat. "You bleed more if you keep talking"

"I'm not your kid," Thunderbird snapped.

"Good," Logan sald, flat. "Means I don't gotta coddle you." "Enough."

The word didn't hit ears so much as happen in the base of their skulls. Cold rang like a bell.

Muscles loosened against will; jaws unclenched; the room itself seemed to inhale.

Professor X sat just outside the threshold in

his chair, hands steepled, eyes like winter sky. *This room obeys my voice," he said, calm and terrible. "And so will you."

Thunderbird's breath came rough. He didn't

look away, but the line of his shoulders changed-just enough.

Cyclops didn't move at all. The light behind his visor dimmed a fraction. You cut me in front

of them, he thought, not to Xavier but to himself, and the thought tasted like iron. 'But I

let it stand.

Xavier's tone softened. "We train to survive.

We survive to serve. Scott pushes you because this world will push harder. John, your courage is never in question. Temper it with discipline and you will be unstoppable." His gaze flicked to Scott. "And a leader

respects the fires he is trying to harness. Bend -do not always break."

The telepathic pressure eased, like a hand lifting from the back of a neck.

"Session over," Cyclops said, voice steady, jaw tight. "Medical bay if you need it. Back here at 0600."

Thunderbird turned away first, limping once, refusing to limp again. Storm stepped toward him. "Let me-"

"I'm fine," John muttered. She remained beside him anyway, a quiet weather front.

Sunfire powered down with a hiss and walked out without a word. Nightcrawler fell in behind him, tail curling thoughtfully. Banshee clapped Piotr's steel arm and winced. "Ow. Right.

Maybe not that one."

Colossus smiled, the expression small and sorry. "Apologies."

Logan lingered at the threshold, looked back at the chamber as the walls re-folded

themselves into blankness. He could hear the machine's heartbeat, the little clicks as heat bled off, the sigh of vents.

'Cage bit, he thought, and the corner of his mouth twitched. 'Didn't draw blood but it left a mark.'

He slid his hands into his pockets and followed the others out, the Danger Room doors whispering shut behind him like a secret kept for now.

Chapter Text

Chapter 30 -The Count's Gambit

Inside the heart of Colorado's Rocky spine, a fortress lay hidden in the hollowed guts of Valhalla Mountain a secret known only to generals and whispered in shadowed halls. But Count Nefarla didn't deal in whispers. No, his voice was a cathedral bell, meant to toll across the world.

He stood draped in aristocratic finery: a sweeping purple cape lined with blood-crimson silk, a doublet tailored like an echo of long-dead nobility, and his eyes oh, those eyes, cruel jewels set deep in a pale, almost corpse-like face. His mustache curled like a villain out of an old opera, and the grin carved on his lips spoke of a man who believed history was already written with his name on every page.

At his command stood his Ani-Men, grotesque parodies of evolution itself:

Dragonfly, her wings chittering, eyes bulbous and inhuman.

Frog-Man, squat and hunched, throat ballooning with a wet, croaking hiss.

Cat-Man, his striped muscles taut, claws gleaming, every move feral.

Bird-Man, with feathers that bristled in agitation, his hooked beak snapping for phantom prey.

Ape-Man, a looming brute with knuckles like sledgehammers, veins bulging beneath fur-covered arms.

Together, they were his living army.

"Now," Nefaria purred, hands dancing over the control panels. With the flick of a jeweled finger, the mountain's air ducts released a silent mist - anesthesia gas that swept over the soldiers manning consoles and missile bays. One by one, men slumped, chins hitting desks, heads lolling like puppets cut from strings. The Count laughed a baritone, booming thing that echoed through the cavernous chamber.

"Fools!" he roared. "For decades you worshipped your machines of war. Now they are mine. Mine! Every missile, every code, every key of Armageddon dances to my tune!" His cape flared as though bowing to his madness. "And the world shall pay - in gold, In power, in submission or it shall burn!"

He jabbed the switch, and screens flared alive. Across the globe, every intelligence agency, every government with an ear to the wire, received his broadcast. The Count's face filled their monitors.

"To the nations of this wretched Earth: bow, or choke on your own firel My Ani-Men stand ready! My Doomsmith program is already active! If I do not receive my ransom, the sky shall rain fire and oceans shall boil in nuclear flame!"

Back at the mansion, the X-Men crowded into Charles Xavier's office. The glow of Nefaria's transmission painted their faces. Logan leaned against the wall, jaw tight, his claws itching to come out. Sunfire folded his arms, his pride bristling. Storm's gaze hardened, while Colossus' hands clenched like steel hammers ready to strike.

Charles' voice was iron wrapped in velvet: "You have seen it. Count Nefaria threatens not just Arnerica, but the entire world. We have no choice. You are the choice."

Cyclops, already stiff with command, nodded. "Then let's move."

The Blackbird thundered skyward, slicing

through blue skies like a blade. Inside, the new X-Men sat strapped tight, their chatter betraying the edges of nerves and resolve.

Banshee muttered in his Irish lilt, "Ach, and here I thought retirin' would mean less madness in me life..."

Nightcrawler, tail twitching, flashed a sharp grin. "At least it is never boring, ja?"

Thunderbird cracked his knuckles. "Boring's for weaklings. I'll take a fight any day."

Logan smirked, popping open a cigar. "Careful what you wish for, kid. This ain't gonna be a barroom brawl."

The mountain loomed ahead, scarred with hidden doors and sensor arrays like eyes in stone. Then the first missile screamed upward, a silver streak cutting across the sky.

"Missile lock!" Cyclops barked. "Evasive maneuvers!"

The Blackbird dove, twisted, its engines

howling as rockets tore past. Storm clenched the armrests, summoning calm even as her heart hammered. Nightcrawler laughed -

nervous, but thrilled - as the jet bucked under Cyclops' sharp hands.

More missiles launched, the air filled with smoke trails and thunderous bursts. Logan's teeth clenched around his cigar as the Blackbird twisted again, metal groaning.

"Too many!" Banshee shouted, knuckles white on his seat.

Cyclops pushed the bird harder, wings clipping turbulence, metal shrieking under the pressure. For a moment, it seemed they might outfly death itself- until the final barrage came. Three missiles in perfect unison.

The sky split open.

The Blackbird became a fireball, light swallowing shadow, the sound of a hundred thunderclaps all at once.

And then silence.

Chapter Text

Chapter 31 Jump or Burn

The Blackbird was supposed to be uncatchable. A shadow slicing the skies, faster than radar, swifter than death. But tonight, death wasn't chasing. Death was waiting.

Logan's pupils shrank to pinpricks as the missiles launched. His mutant senses slowed the world into molasses - silver serpents ripping from the mountain's lurrets, hungry and screaming toward them. In that stretched eternity, Logan's brain ticked like a gunslinger's clock: No way out. No barrel roll.

No evasive split. They've got us dead to rights.

"MOVE!"

He didn't wait for Cyclops' order. Didn't care.

He kicked the hatch with a roar, steel boot slamming until it buckled open. The air ripped into the cabin, clawing and shrieking like some furious beast. Logan grabbed the two nearest mutants by the scruffs each, no hesitation the abyss. one arm and hurled himself into

The wind shredded his voice, but still he

howled:

"JUMP, DAMN YOU! JUMP NOW!"

Behind him, Cyclops' voice cut through the chaos like a drill sergeant made of fire: "Sunfire! Take one down. Banshee, grab another! Storm-two at once, then come back for me!"

They spilled into the black like sparks from a fire, Right after they jumped ,The blackbird exploded ,the Blackbird blooming behind them into a sun of twisted metal and screaming flame.

Freefall wasn't flight. It was raw, murderous gravity, eager to make meat paste of them against the jagged mountain's foot. Mutants flailed, arms pinwheeling, faces locked in panic. But Cyclops' orders carried like gospel, each flying mutant streaking into action:

Sunfire, blazing comet, snatched one rookie under his arm, a trail of fire marking their descent.

Banshee, voice splitting the night, harnessed sonic thrust to rocket downward, cradling his teammate like a banshee ferrying souls.

Storm rose like a goddess torn from myth, wind wrapping around her like silk. She reached for two at once, straining

against gravity's demand.

Cyclops hung in the air alone, visor burning red as he waited. His jaw was stone. His hands clenched into fists against inevitability.
But Logan told Storm to take Cyclops instead of him.
But Logan wasn't gliding to safety.

His instincts snarled. His claws SNIKTed out, gleaming silver banners against the black. Not

the usual three, but five-meter lances, grotesque and glinting in the moonlight.

"Darlin'!" Storm's voice ripped across the gale, desperate as she swept by with Cyclops and Colusses. "You'll die!"

Logan's grin was wolfish, feral, madness on the edge of reason.

"Trust me, 'Ro! I die every damn day!"

She wanted to reach for him, but she couldn't. She had Cyclops and Colusses in her arms, weight straining her winds, and for once the goddess of the skies looked afraid.

The mountainside rushed up to meet him like the fist of God. Logan snarled, Jammed his claws into the rock and the world exploded.

Sparks screamed, stone shrieked, his

shoulders wrenched nearly out of socket. The

claws carved deep scars into the

mountainside as he dragged, slowing, slowing tearing himself raw against unmovable earth.

The impact rattled his bones until he thought they'd burst out of his skin. His muscles tore, then healed mid-tear. His hands split open on the hilt of his own claws, blood slicking down steel. But he kept going.

He slammed to a halt at last, breath ragged, arms trembling. His Inertia bled away. He

retracted his claws and the sudden snap pulled him closer to the cliff. He jammed them back out again, climbing down like some nightmarish insect.

By the time his boots hit dirt, his chest was heaving, his body a bloody mess already stitching itself together.

The rest landed in bursts of fire, thunder, and sonic shriek. Cyclops touched ground last, eyes sweeping his ragtag squad. One team, alive. One miracle.

Cyclops didn't smile. He never did. He just gave the order, volce flat as bedrock:

"Form up. Colossus - smash us an entrance."

And just like that, the mission moved forward. No time for thanks. No time for fear.

Logan spat a mouthful of blood into the dirt, wiped his jaw, and muttered to himself: "Helluva warm-up."

Chapter Text

Chapter 32 - Through the Rock

The dust of the crash still clung to their uniforms. Hair matted with sweat, faces lit by the moon, the X-Men stood before the mountain like pilgrims before an altar. But there was no worship here only war.

Count Nefaria's fortress loomed above them, silent as a tomb, bristling with hidden guns and unseen eyes. Somewhere inside, missiles sat waiting to scream across the skies, and the world's doomsday clock ticked down with every heartbeat.

Cyclops planted his boots in the dirt. His visor glowed faintly, a caged sun waiting to scorch. His voice cracked the silence:

"Colossus. You're up."

The young Russian exhaled once, slow and deliberate, before letting the steel take him. His skin shimmered, then rippled, hardening until every inch of him gleamed like a walking statue hammered from iron.

SKRRAAK- his body finished the transformation, joints locking with metallic finality.

He stepped forward, colossal fists flexing. The wall of the mountain wasn't an obstacle; it was an invitation.

"Bozhe moi," Piotr muttered under his breath, voice deep as church bells. "This mountain will yield."

Then he drove his fist into the rock.

The world shook. Stone cracked like gunfire.

Shards spat outward, grazing Logan's cheek -not that he flinched. Colossus slammed again, again, his rhythm steady as a war drum. Each blow dug deeper until the earth Itself began to groan in protest.

Finally, with a thunderous roar, the mountain gave. An opening yawned before them, jagged and raw, leading into the black heart of Valhalla Base.

"Move," Cyclops ordered, but his throat was tight. He could hear the tick-tick-tick of the Doomsmith program in his imagination, a drumbeat of annihilation.

The X-Men slipped Inside in pairs:

Nightcrawler, vanishing in a puff of brimstone and reappearing farther down the cavern, scouting the shadows.

Storm, her white eyes glowing faintly, whispering wind into the tunnels to sniff out traps.

Banshee, ears tuned sharp for the hum of machines.

Wolverine, claws already out, muttering, "Gotta be rats down here somewhere..."

Cyclops followed last, because of course he did. Always last. Always the shepherd.

The air inside was stale, acrid - the stink of

old stone and newer metal. Lights flickered like dying stars, powered by some hidden

generator. Every step echoed, reminding them they were intruders in a tomb with a mad god waiting inside.

Nightcrawler reappeared with a snap of sulfur. His voice was low, but urgent: "Mein freunds... zis place is crawling.

Cameras. Guns. Ani-Men guarding ze halls."

Logan's lip curled back, feral grin flashing.

"Good. Means we don't gotta go lookin'."

Cyclops shot him a look that could cut steel. "We're not here to brawl. We're here to shut Nefaria down before he turns the world into ashes."

Logan shrugged, claws gleaming in the dark. "Bub, sometimes those two things are the same."

The First Signs of Madness

As if summoned by the thought, a voice rippled through hidden speakers, booming through the tunnels:

"Ahhh, my guests. Charles Xavler sends me his misfit army. How delicious. Do you know what I hold in my hand? Entire nations.

Futures. The delicate threads of tomorrow. And I will cut them unless the world kneels."

Nefaria's laughter was not the cackle of a

lunatic. It was worse cold, calculated, the laughter of a man utterly convinced he deserved dominion.

Storm shivered, though the air around her was already rising with static. "He is drunk on his own grandeur..."

"No," Cyclops corrected, his voice low and tight. "He's sober. That's what makes him dangerous."

They pressed deeper, hearts pounding,

weapons ready, Somewhere ahead, five Ani-Men waited like wolves. Somewhere beyond them, Nelaria sat on his stolen throne with his finger over Armageddon's trigger.

And with each step, Logan's claws flexed like tuning forks.

Soon.

Chapter Text

Chapter 33 Into the Maw

The mountain moaned under Colossus's fists.

Each strike was an avalanche compressed Into one heartbeat. Stone shattered like brittle bones, dust choked the tunnels, and still the Russian pressed forward.

"Keep hittin', tin man," Logan growled, claws half-bared as he stalked behind. "Straight. path's the fastest way. Don't waste time

sniffin' around corridors."

Piotr (Peter) didn't answer-he was the answer. His glowing fists split granite like it was chalk, carving a brutal highway through Valhalla's guts. Every punch echoed like a war drum, announcing their trespass to the mad count within.

The tunnel widened, swallowing them in blackness. The smell shifted-sharper, chemical, dangerous.

Logan froze.

His nostrils flared. The musk of poison. "Gas," he snarled. "Stay back."
Thanks to his Night vision ability He saw the green gas in the dark tunnel , and also smelling it.
Storm's eyes flashed silver. She raised her hands, and the air itself bent to her will. A gale roared down the passage, swirling green clouds into a writhing sphere of venom that hovered like a captured phantom.

"Contained," she whispered, though sweat beaded her brow.

"Good work," Cyclops said tightly. "Colossus, keep us moving."

The Russian nodded once, then tore through the next wall. Sparks spat as steel gave way to wires and circuitry. Sirens wailed. The base had awakened.

Lasers slashed from the celling. Banshee's cry shattered them mid-flight, glass and metal raining down harmlessly.

Spike pits yawned open, but Nightcrawler darted forward in a blur of sulfur, yanking teammates to safety with his bamf-bamf-bamf dance.

Trap after trap fell, and still Logan kept growling directions, ears twitching like a wolf in the dark. "Left. Another one waitin'. Two more ahead."

The team trusted him, carving their way straight through Valhalla like a spear hurled at the heart of madness.

And then-voices. Bestial. Snarling. Waiting.

The Ani-Men.

The corridor opened into a vast chamber lit by sickly fluorescent light. Five figures stood in formation, grotesque parodies of nature,

Count Nefaria's hand picked monsters.

Dragonfly: wings like razors, eyes glowing alien green, her whole body twitching with

Insectold hunger.

Bird-Man: feathers matted, talons dripping with steel grafts, his grin a knife's edge.

Frog-Man: swollen muscle, slick skin

glistening with venom, his tongue flicking like a whip.

Cat-Man: lean, predatory, fur striped in black and tawny gold, yellow eyes

burning with primal cunning.

Ape-Man: hulking brute, arms knotted with corded strength, chest pounding like a war drum.
Just at this moment Logan's equalizer haplend.
Logan felt it first. A tremor through his blood. That euphoric shiver came again,His nose flared-sharper than ever. The cat's smell sense combined with his alread powerful smell sense and suddenly the world peeled open.

He could smell their emotions.

Fear dripping like sweat.

Rage sharp as ozone. Bird-Man's manic glee.

Ape-Man's low frustration. Cat-Man's cold amusement.

And deeper-truths. Lies. Hidden hearts.

It was like standing in a cathedral of humanity's rot, every incense stick replaced by raw feeling.

So this is what you are, he thought, a grim smile tugging at his lip. Walking lie detector. Smellin' the soul itself. Ain't sure I wanted this-

but it's mine now.

The Ani-Men roared as one, leaping forward.

Logan launched himself at two at once-Cat-Man and Bird-Man-his claws flashing arcs of silver death.

"Uncle is amazing!" Nightcrawler gasped from the sidelines, golden eyes wide.

"As expected of the grizzly bear," Storm breathed, winds whipping unconsciously at her feet.

Sunfire only clicked his tongue, firelight

dancing in his scowl. "Tch. Show-off..." But even his flame bent warmer at the sight.

Banshee let out a laugh, wild and lyrical: "A symphony o' slaughter, sung in steel an' sinew!"

Cyclops said nothing. His visor glowed, his silence heavier than any praise.

Logan fought like a demon. Cat-Man's claws raked his flesh, Bird-Man's talons pierced his shoulders but he let them. Pain was fuel.

Blood was the price of his trance.

Bullet-time settled in. His world slowed.

Hearing spread in a perfect sphere-twenty meters, every sound etched into his skull. No

blind spots. No surprises.

Cat to the left, breathing shallow. Bird to the

right, wings beating a war tempo. He moved between them like a dancer in a storm, claws carving both beasts bloody.

And when Cat-Man snarled, Logan grinned, blood dripping down his chin. "Smell it, bub. You're afraid."

The battle was only beginning.

Chapter Text

Chapter 34: Beasts in the Dark

The chamber reeked of oil and sweat. Fluorescent light flickered overhead like a failing heartbeat, painting the Ani-Men in jagged strokes of shadow and glare.

They didn't wait for Introductions.

The five abominations lunged as one, shrieking with animal fury.

Logan's world tilted sideways for half a second. That shiver crawled up his spine again and then his nose split the world wide open.

He could smell it. Not just musk, not just sweat - feelings.

Cat-Man's smug delight. Bird-Man's Jagged hunger. Ape Man's dull, angry rhythm. Beneath them, the deeper layers: fear like copper, pride sharp as vinegar, madness like burning tar.

A cathedral of stench, every emotion a bell tolling in his skull.

So this is what you are, old man. A hound sniffin' souls. You didn't ask for it but it's yours now. Might as well use it.

He grinned, teeth red in the sick light. "Alright, bub. Let's dance."

Cat-Man and Bird-Man were his.

They hit him together talons gouging, claws raking. Flesh split, hot blood running. He didn't dodge. He let then. Pain dragged him deeper, pulled the trance around him like a cloak.

And then the world slowed.

Twenty meters of perfect sound unfolded in

his skull - every wingbeat, every gasp, the hiss of sweat on Cat-Man's claws. A 360-degree map without a single blind spot. Bullet-time clarity.

Bird-Man swooped right, wings snapping sharp as blades. Cat-Man slashed left, fast,

precise.

Logan flowed between them, claws flashing silver arcs. He took Cat-Man's slash across his ribs just to sink steel into Bird-Man's shoulder, then spun, carving bloody trails in fur and feathers.

From the sidelines, Nightcrawler's golden eyes glowed with awe. "Uncle is amazing!" he gasped, tail flicking.

Storm's lips curled into a fierce smile. "As expected of the grizzly bear."

Sunfire only hissed, "Tch. Show-off..." yet the heat of his flame betrayed the truth: he couldn't look away.

Banshee's laugh rang out, high and wild. "A symphony o' slaughter! Blood for percussion, steel for strings!"

Cyclops stayed silent. His visor glowed a steady, watchful red.

But the others didn't have time to gawk.

Thunderbird roared, charging straight at Ape-Man with reckless fury. His fists slammed into

the beast's chest, echoing like war drums -

but Ape-Man was stronger. He caught Thunderbird by the shoulders and hurled him like a ragdoll through a console. Sparks showered.

"Damn fool!" Cyclops snapped, firing a blast to stagger Ape-Man back. "Stay in formation"

"Don't order me, one-eye!" Thunderbird spat, staggering up. "I fight like a man!" And he lunged again, ignoring the blood on his lip.

Meanwhile, Dragonfly's wings hummed with a sound that split bone from brain. She dove,

razors flashing, only for Storm's gale to slam her sideways. Lightning forked across her wings, crackling her nerves.

"Nightcrawler! Now!"

Bamf! Sulfur smoke Dragonfly's scream as Kurt snatched her midair and dropped her

headfirst into Banshee's sonic howl. The combined blast rattled the chamber, shredding her wings to ribbons.

Frog-Man bounded, tongue snapping like a whip. It lashed around Sunfire's arm, venom

burning. Shiro gritted his teeth and answered with fire, searing the longue until the stench of charred flesh filled the room.

Frog-Man screeched, hurling himself at the flame. Colossus intercepted with a single, hammering punch that cracked the floor beneath them.

The chamber was chaos claws, lightning, fire, steel.

The Anl-Men fought with savage instinct. The X-Men fought with desperation, raw talent

barely stitched into teamwork.

But desperation makes fire burn hotter.

Cyclops directed through gritted teeth, visor blasts cutting lanes for his teammates:

"Colossus, left flank! Banshee, pin her down! Storm, cover Thunderbird!"

Bit by bit, the new X-Men began to click. Storm's winds lifted Frog-Man off balance,

Colossus slammed him down, and Sunfire scorched him unconscious. Dragonfly

collapsed twitching under Banshee's scream. Ape-Man staggered under Cyclops's beams,

then look Thunderbird's furious headbutt to the jaw-reckless, brutal, but enough.

When the dust settled, only Cat-Man and Bird-Man still writhed bleeding, pinned beneath Logan's claws.

He licked blood from his lips, half feral, half triumphant.

The chamber went qulet but for their heaving breaths.

And then Logan stiffened. His nostrils flared.

Beyond the blood and smoke, he caught it -one raw emotion burning hotter than any fire. Madness.

Count Nefaria's scent. It was waiting for them ahead, seething, boiling, ready to consume.

"Found him," Logan growled. "And he's burnin' with crazy, bub. Like a whole damn house on fire."

The team braced themselves. The real battle was still waiting.

Chapter Text

Chapter 35-The Mad Count

Logan's tongue scraped a line of blood from his lips. Metallic, warm, electric with the pulse of battle.

But beneath the taste, something else clawed at his senses - the smell.

His world tilted. The new feline-sharp sense burned bright in his brain, weaving colors where there should be none.

Fear. Rage. Panic.

Each emotion had a scent, a flavor, a note in the orchestra of human frailty.

Nightcrawler's awe smelled like incense at a cathedral.

Storm's vigilance like ozone before a storm.

Cyclops' fear hidden, disciplined, but real -like copper wires too hot to touch.

And beneath everything... a stench so raw, so feral it nearly doubled him over.

Madness.

Count Nefaria's madness, seeping through stone walls, dripping into the air like kerosene waiting for a match.

"Got 'im," Logan muttered, voice low and guttural. He tapped his temple. "The Count's this way. And trust me, he ain't exactly smellin' like roses."

The team pressed deeper, their boots crunching over shattered rock.

Storm's winds thinned the poisonous gas behind them. Colossus bore the scars of shrapnel and flame from the traps they'd battered through. Every wall they smashed, every laser turret bent and twisted, carried them closer to the heart of the beast.

And then-

The tunnel opened.

Steel walls hummed with power. Screens flickered across the chamber like a thousand watching eyes.

And at the center, raised on a platform surrounded by glowing consoles, sat Count Nefaria.

His cape fell around him like imperial robes.

His eyes gleamed with aristocratic contempt and unhinged delight. His voice was silk and venom as it poured from the speakers:

"Ahhh, the mongrel pack arrives. You've done my work for me tearing paths where none existed, smashing walls as though the earth itself bowed before you."

He rose to his full height, gesturing with one gauntleted hand. On the screen behind him, numbers rolled down in crimson:

00:47:21... 00:47:20...

The Doomsmith Program.

Each heartbeat dragged the world closer to the abyss.

"Listen carefully, little soldiers," Nefaria purred. "I am a generous god. You want to stop my Doomsmith missiles? You can. But the system is... shall we say, entangled."

His finger hovered over a switch.

"One command halts the program. The same command ignites this base's self-destruct. You'll burn with me in Valhalla's tomb, martyrs to a world that will never know your names."

His smile widened. The madness Logan smelled earlier now howled like a bonfire.

"And that, my X-Men, is revenge. For the humiliation you dealt me last time. For every sneer, every cage you stuffed me in. If I must fall, I'll drag the world into the grave with me!"

His laughter cracked the chamber like lightning. Not the bark of a madman - but the triumphant hymn of a king convinced the world was his to ruin.

Cyclops' jaw clenched. "Spread out! Storm, Banshee - disrupt those consoles! Colossus, with me!"

But before they could move, the floor split apart with a mechanical scream.

Dozens of panels slid back, vomiting steel monstrosities into the chamber - humanoid robots clad in Nefaria's crest, arms tipped with cannons and plasma blades.

The Count spread his arms, like a maestro

commanding his orchestra.

"Dance for me, mutants. Dance for your doomed world!"

The robots surged forward in a storm of fire and steel.

Logan popped his claws with a metallic SNIKT, grin feral and eager.

"Now this," he growled, "is a party."

And the chamber dissolved into war.

Chapter Text

Chapter 36 - Fire and Ruin

The chamber detonated into chaos.

Steel giants lurched from hidden panels, their cannons vomiting fire. The floor shook as if the mountain itself raged against the trespass.

Storm's hands shot skyward - winds shrieked, lightning forked, frying two robots into smoldering heaps. Banshee's scream ripped through the din, shattering glass and shorting circuits. Colossus waded into the fray like a living battering ram, his fists turning robot skulls into scrap.

Cyclops cut the battlefield into lanes with precise ruby beams. Every shot was an order, every blast a command. Stay sharp. Move. Cover the flank. His visor sang discipline while his heart hammered fear - Logan smelled it, sharp as copper wire, wrapped in control.

And Logan himself?

He dove headlong into the storm, claws carving metal like butter, letting sparks and shrapnel rake his skin. He wanted the pain. Needed it. Every cut dragged him deeper into the trance. The world slowed - bullet-time again the whine of servo-motors became a lullaby, the tremor of enemy footsteps a guide. He moved like instinct wearing a man's skin.

But then came Thunderbird.

The Apache warrior bellowed a war cry, slamming into the thickest knot of robots. He tore one's arm free and clubbed another with it, savage and reckless, raw power with no restraint.

"Thunderbird, fall back!" Cyclops barked. "Shut it, one-eye! I don't need your leash!"

And for a while, it worked. His fury was a fire that melted circuits. But fire burns uncontrolled. A robot's cannon whined, loosed a searing blast and Thunderbird, too slow to dodge, took the hit full in the chest. He roared, collapsing to one knee, smoke curling from scorched flesh.

"John!" Storm cried, winds faltering.

But Thunderbird shoved himself upright, eyes burning. "Ain't dead yet!" he spat, and hurled himself back into the fight even as his wounds tore deeper with every movement.

The Count watched it all from his dais, cape swirling, eyes fever-bright.

"Magnificent! Such valor! Such futility!" His laughter drowned the gunfire. "Yes! Die for me, little pawns! Every second you bleed, the world burns closer to annihilation!"

The robots fell, one by one. Logan ripped out throats of steel, Sunfire's inferno melted ranks, Colossus crushed them like paper toys. At last, the chamber lay littered with wreckage sparking, smoking, silent.

Count Nefaria stood alone.

Logan's nose filled with it the reek of madness, so potent it felt like it could set the world aflame.

He believes this. He believes the world is already his coffin, and us just nails in the lid.

The Count stepped down, slow, deliberate. His eyes burned like jewels, his voice velvet over poison.

"You think you've won? No. You've only brought yourselves here to kneel at the altar of my vengeance."

He raised both arms. Energy flared around him, crackling like liquid lightning. For all his aristocratic poise, the power was raw, brutal, enough to stagger even Colossus.

"X-Men," Cyclops barked, "on me! Take him down!"

The final battle ignited Count Nefaria against the full fury of the new X-Men.

Chapter Text

Chapter 37-Tomb of Heroes
The air stank of ozone and blood.

Nefaria lowered in the ruin of his machines, arcs of power crawling across his armor. He looked less like a man than a storm in velvet, a god wearing a corpse's grin.

The X-Men closed ranks. Their breaths came ragged, their uniforms lorn, but their eyes still burned.

Logan popped his claws with a metallic whisper. "Alrighty Count. Curtain call."

The fight was a brawl written in lightning Cyclops directed with military precision, ruby

beams carving lanes through the storm, Colossus locked fists with Nefaria, steel straining against the Count's crackling gauntlets Storm unleashed a hurricane in the sealed chamber, her lightning dueling his aura like gods at war.

Logan slashed, ducked, bled, healed, dove back in again every wound a toll paid to

keep him sharp. His hearing sphere and scent-map gave him an edge: he could smell where Nefaria's confidence faltered, hear the half-second quiver before each energy burst He danced through it like death with a cigar,

Blow after blow cracked the chamber: Colossus slammed Nefaria through a wall, rubble raining down, while Banshee's scream blasted open a path. "Hit 'in now, lads" he bellowed through the sonic wave.

Storm's voice rose like thunder, "By the skies, fall!" Her lightning arced, only to be caught in Nefaria's hand, redirected back in a jogged whip. She screamed, hurled into Iogan, both Tumbling across the Door in smoke and pain. Cyclops barked orders, visor flashing.

"Nightcrawler! Blink him blind!"

*bamf! Kurt vanished in a puff of brimstone, reappearing behind Nefaria to

hammer fists against his back only to be swatted away like an insect, crashing Into the console. Sparks burst The countdown ticked.

But Thunderbird on, Thunderbird he fought like a wildfire. Straight at the Count, fists hammering, roars shaking the chamber. He wanted glory Wanted to prove himself. And for a moment, it almost looked like he could take the mad king down alone

Until the blast hit.

A bolt of row power tore across the floor, caught him full in the chest, and hurled him against the far wall with a sound like breaking stone. Smoke curled from his body. He coughed blood, staggered upright, and still he

spat.

"Nor...cone yet."

Logan's stomach twisted at the scent of it -Thunderbird's will, burning hotter than his

breaking body. Pride. Rage. Recklessness. All tangled in blood.

"Damn kid," Logan growled, cutting his way back into the fight..

Together, straining muscle and will, they

finally toppled the Count. Iogan's claws

pierced the armor, Colossus's fists crushed

the gauntlets. Cyclops's visor beam hurled him to the ground. Storm crowned him with lightning, and Banshee's scream rattled the chamber until Nefaria's body went limp.

But even beaten, the Court laughed - that terrible, triumphant laugh "Go on... stop It. Be martyrs. The Doomsmith will drag you down

with me!"

And then came the silence. Just the countdown.

00:00:27 00:00:26

The X-Men froze. Bloodied, exhausted, staring at the console like it was an executioner's blade. One command. Stop the program. And

die with it.

Thunderbird, half-conscious, croaked: "Do it.... better us than the world."

Banshee spat blood, voice cracking. "That's madness! We're no bloody martyrs!"

Nightcrawler's golden eyes darted between them, fear plain. "But... If we let It run... millions, ja? Millions dead..."

Sturm's voice was heavy, solemn. "Our lives.... against the earth. It is the cruelest equation."

Cyclops's hand trembled over the panel. "If we shut it down... the chamber detonates. We

burn with it." He looked at each of them,

sweat glistening beneath his visor. "If we don't... every nation falls every city, Families.

Children."

Logan snarled. "So what's it gonna be, Slim? We die, or the world dies? Spit it out!"

Colossus's steel fists clenched. 'If sacrifice is needed... then let it be me. My life is not more than the world's,"

"No!" Storm's voice cracked. "Nut like this. Not thrown away by madness!"

The coun.down roared in their heads.

00:00:12... 00:00:11...

Cyclops whispered, hoarse: don't know. I don't know..."

And then-Charles Xavier's voice thundered in their skulls.

X-Men. Hold fast. The missiles will not fire.

Relief hit like a tidal wave. Xavier explained in

grim calm: Your... destructive entry compromised the systems. The Doomsmith is crippled. The Count's threats are ashes You

live. The world lives.

The team collapsed Into laughter, sobs, silence a wild mix of relief and disbelief.

Then Cyclops snapped, his voice sharper than any blast. 'Thunderbird. You nearly killed yourself. You nearly doomed the team."

John looked up, face bruised, chest scorched.

His Iip curled. "Ain't your business, one-eye. I'm a man. I fight like one.". The silence that followed was heavier than The mountain.

They delivered Nefaria to the military, bound and sneering, his madness dimmed bul not extinguished.

And then Westchester

Charles welcomed them home, his smile warm out battle. He praised their courage,

their victory, their survival. Yet behind his eyes was sorrow - the old X-Men gone, the family fractured. A new team forged in fire, standing

in the ashes of what was

He wheeled forward, hands folded, voice cam, "You did well, my X-Men. The world will never know what you saved it from... but I do. And I am proud."

Storm bowed her head. "We were nearly

broken, Charles, we nearly chose death"

"You chose lite, Xavier said softly. "Even in despair, you hold together. That... is what makes you X-Men."

Banshee rubbed his bruised ribs. "Well, Professor, a pint wouldn't hurt for the trouble."

A ripple of strained laughter passed through

the teams.

But Cyclops stood rigid, visor gleaming red. "They con't trust me. Not yet."

Xavier's voice was steady. "Leadership is not born in trust, Scott. It is forged in storms such

as this. They will follow you... in time."

Logan sniffed the air, catching that smell clinging to Charles Salt and sorrow. He

muttered, half to himself, half to Xavier: "You're proud, old man... but you're lonely too."

Charles met his eyes and said nothing.

The X-Men stood together. battered but alive. A beginning. A reckoning

And above it all, the unspoken truth: this was only the first war.

Chapter Text

Chapter 38 – The Table

The clatter of forks and plates echoed through the mansion’s dining hall. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, cutting across a table packed with mismatched heroes who were still figuring out how to breathe the same air without killing each other.

Logan sat near the end, tearing into a steak like it had insulted him personally. Beside him, Kurt was already on his third plate, piling sausages with the shameless grin of a man who knew metabolism was on his side. Storm ate with the calm grace of a queen. Colossus sat straight-backed, napkin folded neat in his lap, every bite polite as if manners could hide that he was built like a tank.

Banshee muttered between sips of tea, “This mansion’s cookin’ could raise the dead. Not that I’d wish that on anyone after last week.”

“That’s because you haven’t tasted German sausage properly prepared,” Kurt chimed in, waving a fork like a conductor’s baton.

Sunfire scoffed, setting his glass down with sharp precision. “German, Irish, Canadian… food is food. We should be sharpening our blades, not our stomachs.”

Logan glanced at him, smirk curling under his moustache. “Relax, flame-boy. You’ll get your chance to burn off the calories.”

Sunfire bristled but before he could snap back, a quiet cough cut through the chatter.

Professor Xavier rolled forward at the head of the table, hands folded, gaze steady. The room quieted, though not out of fear — out of that odd respect Charles always managed to summon, even when delivering bad news.

“I’ve been reflecting,” Xavier began, voice calm, “on our recent battle with Count Nefaria. You were all brave, and you saved the world. But bravery alone won’t win the next fight. What I saw was strength… but also hesitation. Coordination lacking. Too much reliance on powers, too little on yourselves.”

Storm inclined her head thoughtfully. “You mean… without our gifts, we are less than we should be.”

“Not less,” Xavier corrected gently, “but untested.” He gestured toward Logan. “So, we begin a new training regimen. From tomorrow forward, you will spar without your powers. Pure combat. Body, mind, discipline.”

A groan rolled around the table. Banshee nearly dropped his cup. “Without powers? Charles, ye may as well tie one hand behind our backs!”

“Exactly,” Xavier said, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Because when one hand is tied, you learn what the other is truly capable of.”

Kurt leaned back, tail swishing lazily. “Ja, I like this. Acrobatics, finesse, no lightning bolts or laser beams to scorch my tail. Sounds wunderbar.” He turned to Logan with a wicked grin. “But… you will go easy on us, ja, Uncle? No shredding your poor family?”

That broke the tension — Storm chuckled softly, even Colossus let out a reluctant smile.

Logan stabbed another piece of steak, chewed slow, then finally grunted, “Don’t worry, Elf. I’ll only break what grows back.”

Kurt’s eyes widened in mock horror. “Mein Gott, I knew it!”

Banshee chuckled into his tea. “Grand. I’ll be facin’ the Canadian butcher instead of a sparrin’ partner.”

Thunderbird snorted, arms crossed, muscles flexing under his shirt. “Good. About damn time someone tested me properly. Don’t hold back, short stuff. I can take whatever you throw.”

Logan’s eyes flicked to him, steady, unimpressed. “Kid, you can’t even take your own ego. But we’ll see.”

Sunfire slammed his fork down. “This is insulting. To strip us of our gifts is to strip us of our identities. What’s next? Shall we train in blindfolds?”

Cyclops, who had been silent until now, finally spoke — voice clipped, precise. “That’s the point, Shiro. If your identity crumbles without your powers, then you never had strength to begin with.”

The table tensed at that. Sunfire looked ready to bite back, but Storm cut in smoothly. “Perhaps it is wise to test ourselves in ways we do not expect. The storm learns from stillness as well as fury.”

Colossus nodded solemnly. “Da. If it makes us stronger, I will do it. Logan… I will try not to crush you by accident.”

Logan smirked. “Don’t worry, big guy. Gravity’ll do the work for me.”

Kurt raised his glass with a dramatic flourish. “To our funeral, then. May Logan at least let us keep our limbs for the wake.”

Everyone chuckled — even Xavier, quietly amused.

“Tomorrow,” Xavier said firmly, voice carrying finality. “Scott will oversee. Logan will spar with each of you. Learn. Adapt. Become more than your gifts. That is the only way forward.”

The group fell into murmurs again, some joking, some grumbling, but all restless with the same nervous anticipation.

Logan leaned back in his chair, watching them with half-lidded eyes. He already knew how tomorrow would go. They were strong, sure. Brave. But they didn’t know yet what it meant to fight with nothing but your body, your instincts, and the will to survive.

He smirked to himself, low and wolfish. Tomorrow, they’ll learn.

Chapter Text

Chapter 39 – First Blood, First Bruises

The training wing smelled of steel and polish, floor mats stretched wall to wall like a battlefield disguised as a gymnasium. The room was tall and echoing, the ceiling lined with retractable scaffolds and observation balconies. It wasn’t the Danger Room with its holograms and deathtraps — not today. Today it was just wood, mat, sweat, and bone.

Their suits were stripped-down combat gear: black fabric reinforced at the joints, padded to take a hit, sleeveless or short-sleeved to give arms freedom. Boots thick enough to grip the mat but light enough to move fast. No helmets, no gadgets. Just them.

Scott stood on the platform above, arms crossed, visor gleaming crimson under the lights. He looked every inch the drill sergeant. “Remember,” he called down, “no powers. No exceptions. This is about reflex, awareness, control.”

Logan cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders. His own suit looked half-worn already, sleeves cut ragged at the biceps. “Alright. Who’s first?”

Colossus stepped forward, towering, fists clenched. He looked almost embarrassed to not be steel-skinned. “I volunteer. Let us begin.”

Logan smirked. “Brave of you, tin man. C’mon.”

Colossus charged like a freight train. In Logan’s eyes the world slowed — each heavy footfall a drumbeat, shoulders telegraphing the coming grab. Logan let him come, let that mountain of muscle close the distance… then pivoted sharp, slipped under the arms, and caught Colossus’ momentum. With a grunt, Logan shoulder-threw him clean over. The big man slammed onto the mat hard enough to rattle teeth.

The team winced. Kurt clapped anyway. “Bravissimo, Piotr! You made a beautiful crash.”

Colossus sat up, rubbing his back with a sheepish grin. “Da… he is very quick.”

“Next,” Logan growled.

Storm flowed forward, movements poised. She circled Logan lightly, eyes sharp, waiting for her moment. She feinted left, spun right, leg whipping toward his head — a dancer’s strike. Logan ducked clean under, caught her ankle in mid-air, and gently — almost politely — set her back on her feet.

“You fight graceful,” he muttered. “But grace don’t win against a brawler.”

Storm narrowed her eyes but gave a small nod, stepping back with quiet dignity.

Sunfire was already stomping forward. “Enough play. Try me, beast.”

“Suit yourself.”

Shiro came in hot, fists swinging with raw aggression. Logan blocked each strike with minimal motion, letting his hearing sphere read every breath, every muscle twitch. Then he stepped inside the guard, tapped Shiro’s chest with two sharp jabs, and shoved him back onto the mat. Not a knockout, not even a wound — but humiliatingly clean.

“Your pride makes more noise than your fists,” Logan said flatly.

Shiro seethed, scrambling up. “I was not ready!”

“Outta excuses, bub. Next.”

Nightcrawler popped up with his trademark grin. “Finally! Let’s see if you can catch a devil.”

He darted in, weaving, acrobat’s footwork dazzling. For a few seconds he made Logan move, dodging swipes, ducking rolls. But Logan’s ears caught the subtle scrape of Kurt’s boot before a lunge. Logan pivoted, hooked Kurt’s ankle, and swept him down flat on his back.

Kurt groaned dramatically. “Ach! I am slain.” Then he winked up at Logan. “Uncle, you are cruel.”

Banshee replaced him, fists raised like an old pub fighter. “Alright then, Canada. Let’s see if yer bite’s worse than yer bark.”

They traded blows — Sean swinging wild, Logan ducking, weaving, tagging his ribs with quick jabs. Within seconds Logan slipped inside his guard, hooked his arm, and twisted him into a lock. Sean cursed, tried to wriggle free, then hissed through clenched teeth, “Fine, fine, I yield, ya devil.”

Logan released him, letting him stumble back red-faced.

And then the mat shook under heavy boots. Thunderbird. Arms folded, chest bare of hesitation.

“My turn.”

Logan gave a low chuckle. “Been waiting for this one.”

John came at him like a storm — fists, shoulders, raw power in every strike. Logan blocked, sidestepped, tripped him once — but Thunderbird hit the ground and sprang right back up. Again. And again.

“Stay down, kid,” Logan grunted, after planting him face-first into the mat for the third time.

Thunderbird spat blood, eyes burning. “Not till I break you.”

“Yer pride’s doin’ the breaking.” Logan swept his legs, dropped him again.

From the sidelines, Storm called out, “John, stop! This is sparring, not war.”

Banshee muttered, “He’s gonna tear himself apart.”

Thunderbird barely heard them. He kept lunging, swinging, teeth bared. Logan met him with patient brutality — each strike countered, each rush punished. But even as sweat poured and bruises darkened, John roared back up, eyes blazing defiance.

Finally, Logan caught him mid-charge, twisted, and slammed him flat on his back with bone-rattling force. Logan knelt, pinning him with a forearm. “You done?”

Thunderbird snarled, panting, chest heaving. His hands twitched, like he wanted one more swing. Then, finally, his body gave out. His head lolled back, breath ragged.

The room fell silent.

Logan stood, shaking his head. “Stubborn damn kid.”

Scott’s voice echoed from above, clipped and cool: “That’s enough for today.”

Thunderbird lay sprawled, still breathing like a war drum, eyes burning even through exhaustion. He wasn’t broken. Not yet.

But the lesson had begun.

Chapter Text

Chapter 40 – Forged by Bruises

The next morning the mats still smelled like yesterday’s sweat. Bruises had bloomed on ribs and jaws, joints still ached, but Xavier’s orders didn’t bend, and Scott’s watchful eye didn’t blink.

Day after day, they came back. Day after day, Logan broke them down.

---

Day Two

Thunderbird rushed him again. Logan didn’t even flinch. He pivoted, let John’s fist whistle past his ear, then caught his arm and flipped him hard enough to shake the mat.

“Again,” John snarled, scrambling up.

“You’re not hearin’ me, kid,” Logan said, shaking his head. “You’re tryin’ to win with fire. Fire burns out. Try bones.”

John’s answer was another swing. Logan dropped him twice more before Scott finally called the match.

On the sidelines, Kurt whispered, “He is going to break himself in two.”
Storm answered, low, “Perhaps that is how he learns.”

---

Day Three

The air reeked of liniment and determination. Logan circled Colossus again, dodged a heavy punch by a hair, and tapped his ribs.

“Don’t swing where I was, big guy. Swing where I’m goin’.”

Piotr grunted, adjusted, and this time clipped Logan’s shoulder. A small victory, but Logan’s grunt of approval meant more than applause.

Thunderbird watched, jaw tight. When his turn came, he didn’t charge straight in — he feinted. Logan still read it, still countered, but the look in Logan’s eyes after—that’s it, kid, you’re learnin’—stung and soothed all at once.

---

Day Four

Banshee dropped to a knee, wind knocked out of him. Logan hauled him up. “Yer fight’s in yer lungs, Sean. Without ‘em, you gotta dig deeper. Stop thinkin’ pub brawl, start thinkin’ survival.”

Banshee coughed, muttered, “Yer idea of survival’s bloody murder.”

On the mat later, Thunderbird lasted longer than before. He blocked once, twice, even landed a glancing blow across Logan’s jaw. The team erupted in cheers.

Logan licked blood from his lip and grinned wolfishly. “Not bad, kid. Still reckless. But not bad.”

Thunderbird’s chest swelled with something between rage and pride.

---

Day Five

By now, the bruises were badges. They laughed about them over dinner, compared them like trophies.

“Logan hit me here,” Kurt said cheerfully, pointing to a welt on his thigh. “And here, and here. I am a modern art piece.”

Banshee grumbled, “Aye, but yer tail makes for a good tripwire. He’s near broke my ankle on that thing.”

Storm’s voice was calm but firm. “We are sharpening. The pain is a whetstone. Each cut makes us keener.”

Thunderbird sat silent, rubbing at his bruised knuckles, eyes still burning but softer now, more focused.

---

Day Six

Scott finally saw it: Logan wasn’t just beating them down. He was teaching. Every throw, every counter, every takedown was a lesson hammered into bone.

And Thunderbird—he’d stopped charging headlong. He circled now, tried to read Logan, tried to time his strikes. Logan still dismantled him, but the fire in his eyes was less blind fury, more sharpened steel.

“Kid’s finally lettin’ his pride work for him, not against him,” Logan thought, catching John’s fist and twisting him down. “Took ya long enough.”

---

Day Seven

A week of bruises and sweat.

Scott blew the whistle. “All of you. Together. One target. Let’s see what you’ve learned.”

Logan cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders, smirked. “Finally. A real fight.”

The team formed up, circling him like wolves. Their eyes were different now — sharper, hungrier, unified. Even Thunderbird’s. Especially Thunderbird’s.

Logan could smell it on them all. Not fear anymore. Resolve.

He grinned to himself, crouching low. Alright then. Let’s dance.

Chapter Text

Chapter 41 – All Against One

The mats were already stained dark from a week of sweat. Scott stood at the edge, arms crossed, visor gleaming under the overhead lights. His voice cut across the room like a blade:

“Final exercise. All of you against Logan. Prove you’ve learned something.”

The team spread out, circling. Logan crouched in the middle, hands loose, claws unsheathed only in his imagination. His eyes narrowed, grin wolfish.

Their hearts are steady now. Fear’s dulled. Resolve sharp. Good.

He inhaled through his nose, slow, letting the scents open up like a deck of cards:

Storm — calm steel wrapped in thunderclouds.

Kurt — playful confidence, a spark of mischief.

Colossus — loyalty, heavy and unmoving.

Sunfire — pride sharpened into a dagger.

Banshee — nerves, but grit under them.

Thunderbird — fire, not wild anymore, but focused, honed.

Logan smirked. Not bad, kids. Let’s see if you can bloody me.

Scott barked: “Begin!”

---

Colossus thundered forward, every step a drumbeat. Logan’s world slowed — reflexes snapping him into bullet-time. He saw the weight shift in Piotr’s shoulders before the punch even came. Logan slipped aside, shoulder-rolled under the blow, and slammed his elbow into Piotr’s spine. Not enough to hurt steel, but enough to stagger flesh.

Storm was already there, leg slicing like a scythe. Logan ducked, caught her calf, and twisted — but Kurt blurred in from behind, foot whipping toward his jaw.

Boot scrape. Left angle. One second early.

Logan tilted, let Kurt’s kick whistle past, then shoved Storm into him. They both tumbled into the mat with a crash.

---

Banshee roared forward next — no voice, just fists. Logan caught the rhythm of his footfalls in his ears, pivoted with surgical timing, and clipped Sean’s jaw with a short hook. Banshee spun, crashing down, groaning.

Sunfire came in hot, eyes blazing though his fists were bare. He launched a straight jab at Logan’s throat.

Pride smells like ozone. Easy to break.

Logan stepped in, chest to chest, and slammed his forehead into Shiro’s nose. Blood spattered. Sunfire staggered back, cursing in Japanese.

“Learn to fight with more than your damn temper,” Logan growled.

---

John bellowed, leaping in like a hawk. Logan braced, caught his swing, twisted, and slammed him down. But Thunderbird rolled with it this time — came up fast, swept Logan’s legs. For the first time all week, Logan hit the mat.

The others froze for half a heartbeat.

Logan spat blood, grinned up at him. “Finally.”

He sprang back to his feet. The fight turned into a storm.

---

Colossus grappled him from behind, arms like iron bands. Logan smelled the strain in his breath, the effort, the loyalty. He hooked his legs, flipped Piotr clean over his shoulder. The big man slammed down hard enough to rattle teeth.

Storm darted in, eyes sharp, her strikes flowing like water. Logan let her drive him back a step, then pivoted, used her momentum, and tossed her past his hip. She hit the mat but rolled gracefully, already springing up again.

Kurt blurred left, right, feinting with acrobat’s grace. Logan’s ears tracked the scrape of his boots, the hitch of his breath before the kick. He caught him mid-spin, tossed him headlong into Sunfire, the two of them collapsing in a heap.

Banshee came swinging again, knuckles split, stubborn as hell. Logan absorbed the punches, let them sting, let the pain pull him deeper. Then he slammed his palm into Sean’s chest and sent him sprawling.

And Thunderbird… Thunderbird just kept coming. Again and again. Each strike sharper, each block cleaner. Pride was still there, but it burned with purpose now, not recklessness.

Logan felt it, smelled it — honor.

They traded blows, hard, bone-deep. Logan’s fists thudded into John’s ribs, John’s shoulder slammed into Logan’s gut. Both men grunted, both refused to yield. Finally Logan swept his legs, slammed him down one last time, pinning him.

Thunderbird thrashed, then stilled, chest heaving like a war drum. His head turned to the side, sweat in his eyes, and he looked at Logan.

And in that look was something new. Respect. Admiration.

This is what a man is, John thought bitterly, proudly. Undefeatable. Fighting with honor. I’ll follow that, even if it kills me.

---

Around them, the others groaned, pulling themselves up. Storm smiled faintly despite the bruise on her cheek. Kurt laughed weakly, “Next time, ja? We nearly had you.”

Logan rose, breathing steady, sweat dripping, chest scarred with fresh bruises. He looked over them all, reading the scents of their emotions: fatigue, frustration, but no despair. Determination still burned in every one of them.

He smirked. “Not bad, kids. You’re finally learnin’ how to fight like a team. Next time, maybe you’ll even scratch me.”

Scott called down, voice sharp but tinged with something almost like pride. “Enough. That’s progress.”

The team staggered out together, battered but bonded. Thunderbird lingered, one last look at Logan before following.

Logan lit a cigar, the smoke curling up into the rafters. He could smell it still, even under the sweat and blood — that new bond forming, fragile but real.

Good. Maybe this crew won’t get themselves killed after all.

Chapter Text

Chapter 42– Midnight Lessons

The mansion was silent, the kind of silence that wrapped around you like a heavy blanket. Logan padded down the hall barefoot, scratching absently at his stomach, hair sticking out in wild tufts. He yawned wide enough to crack his jaw.

The kitchen door creaked open under his hand. Darkness swallowed the room. But to Logan’s eyes, sharpened by night vision, it was clear as day.

And there he was.

A blue misfit crouched half-hidden in the corner, tail twitching, a drumstick clenched between his fangs, arms piled with bread rolls, fruit, and what looked like half a pie. His lips moved in a desperate whisper: "Please don’t let anyone catch me, please don’t let anyone—"

Logan smirked. 'Elf’s midnight raid. Figures.'

He made a show of ignoring him, tromping over to the fridge. The door glowed bright when he swung it open, pulling a beer from the shelf. He twisted off the cap, chugged a long swig, foam dribbling down his beard.

Then he turned, eyes locking on the thief.

"What’re you doin’, Elf?"

Nightcrawler froze. The drumstick still dangled from his mouth. "Mmmmf. Nuffing."

Logan tipped the bottle toward his arms. "Then what’s that in your hands?"

Kurt blinked, looked down at the wobbling tower of food, then snapped his gaze back up. With a frantic shuffle, he shoved it all behind his back, tail curling to shield the pie. "Nothing, Uncle!"

Logan started toward him. Slow. Heavy boots echoing on tile. He inhaled deep — panic smelled sharp and sour, rolling off Kurt in waves.

Kurt took a step back for every step Logan took forward. Until his back hit the wall with a soft thunk.

A bead of sweat rolled down Kurt’s forehead. He swallowed audibly. "Uhh… what’s wrong, Uncle?"

Logan’s mouth curved into a wolfish grin. "Nothin’."

And in one swift motion he snatched the drumstick right out of Kurt’s hand.

"Hey!" Kurt yelped, muffled, tail flicking in outrage. "That’s mine!"

Logan bit clean through, chewed twice, swallowed, and tossed the bone into the trash with a clink. He reached a hand out, palm open, eyebrow raised.

"C’mon. Gimme another."

"You wouldn’t dare," Kurt whispered dramatically.

"Try me."

And in a puff of sulfur and brimstone — BAMF! — Kurt vanished, food and all. His voice echoed faintly from upstairs: "Thief!"

Logan chuckled low, shaking his head, and padded out of the kitchen.

The night air was cool when he stepped onto the garden steps. He dropped onto the stone, beer bottle dangling from one hand. The stars shimmered above. He took a long gulp, then pulled a cigar from his pocket, striking it up with a flare of orange.

Smoke curled skyward when he heard the soft whirr of wheels behind him.

"Couldn’t sleep either?" Logan asked, not turning.

"No," came Charles’ calm voice. He rolled up beside him, pale in the moonlight, hands folded in his lap. He looked out at the garden for a long moment before speaking again. "I should thank you, Logan."

Logan frowned. "For what?"

"For John." Xavier’s voice was gentle but heavy with meaning. "For teaching Thunderbird discipline. He’s fiery, yes, but he listens to you. He respects you. That… may have saved his life, and perhaps all of theirs, one day."

Logan puffed his cigar, exhaling a stream of smoke into the dark. His mouth twisted into a smirk. "For what again?"

Charles chuckled softly, eyes glinting. "You know."

The silence after wasn’t empty — it was easy. Two men who carried weight, sitting under the stars, saying more with nothing than most could with everything.

Logan leaned back, beer resting against his thigh, smoke curling from his cigar. His lips curved into that crooked smirk.

"Guess we’ll see if the kid proves me right."

Charles smiled faintly. "I believe he will."

And the night settled again, the two of them keeping watch over a house full of dreamers, warriors, and thieves sneaking pies in the dark.

Chapter Text

Chapter 43 – Morning Sparks

The mansion was quiet in the early morning. Most of the team was still dead to the world. Logan cracked his window open, the cool air washing into his room. He scratched his chest, yawned, and raised a beer bottle to his lips.

Down below in the garden stood Sunfire. Arms folded, chin high, eyes locked on the rising sun like he was drawing power from it. The light hit him just right — made him look like some proud samurai standing in judgment.

Logan smirked, tipped the bottle back, and let the foam dribble over the edge.

The spray pattered down, spattering over Sunfire’s shoulder, soaking into his collar.

Shiro froze. Slowly, he tilted his head up, rage burning hot in his eyes. “WHAT are you doing, CANADIAN DOG?!”

Logan leaned an elbow on the sill, lazy grin cutting across his face. He let the silence stretch, then drawled, “Nothin’. Just coolin’ off a JAPANESE CHICKEN.”

The garden went quiet.

Sunfire’s fists clenched. His jaw tightened. His stare locked onto Logan’s with enough heat to scorch paint.

Logan didn’t blink. He just kept smirking, taking another slow pull from the bottle.

For a long moment, it was just two predators staring each other down.

Then a calm voice echoed in both their heads. Charles Xavier, telepathic and steady: “Logan. Shiro. That is enough. Come to the dining room. Breakfast is waiting.”

Sunfire huffed, turning away with a snap of his cape. Logan just chuckled, finished his drink, and flicked the empty bottle onto the floor.

“Gonna be a long day,” he muttered, closing the window.

Chapter Text

Chapter 44 – Breakfast Briefing

The dining room buzzed with clatter and chatter. Plates piled high, coffee mugs steaming, forks scraping. The new team was slowly learning how to eat together without starting a fight… but only just.

Kurt leaned back in his chair, tail coiled around a roll, teeth flashing as he bit into it. “Mein Gott, this cook is trying to fatten us for slaughter. I will not complain.”

Banshee sipped his tea with a sigh. “Aye, but someone still has to clean all the bloody dishes.”

Colossus sat upright, napkin folded neatly. “I do not mind dishes. At home I was responsible for family meals.”

“Then by all means, big man, you can take my turn,” Sean muttered.

Across the table, Sunfire ate with stiff precision, ignoring everyone else. Thunderbird shoved food into his mouth like it was a challenge, glaring at anyone who glanced his way. Storm’s movements were graceful, slow, deliberate.

Logan sat at the end, beer in hand even this early, chewing like he was in a bar fight with his steak.

Charles cleared his throat. The room stilled.

“There is something I must tell you all,” Xavier said, voice calm, measured. “I’ve hired a new housekeeper.”

Forks froze halfway to mouths.

Nightcrawler tilted his head. “A housekeeper? You mean… someone to wash our socks?”

Logan grunted. “Guess the professor’s tired of pickin’ up after us brats.”

Sunfire scoffed. “A warrior does not need a maid.”

“Speak for yourself,” Banshee said quickly. “If it means I’m no’ scrubbin’ pots, I’ll gladly welcome her.”

Scott frowned, visor glinting red in the morning light. “Is that wise, Professor? Bringing someone into the mansion… our identities aren’t exactly public information.”

Storm added gently, “He is right. Even the kindest stranger may bring danger without meaning to.”

Charles only smiled. “She is very reliable. I assure you, there is no risk.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Reliable, huh? Don’t tell me you’re sneakin’ a girlfriend into the house, Chuck.”

Thunderbird barked a laugh through a mouthful of eggs. Banshee nearly choked on his tea.

Xavier ignored the jabs with perfect patience. “You will meet her shortly. And as for why—” His eyes softened. “Even a teacher needs a vacation. I’ve earned one, and now… it is time for mine.”

That statement dropped like a stone into the room.

Kurt blinked. “A vacation? You mean… you are leaving us?”

“Only for a time,” Charles reassured. “I trust all of you to continue your training, and Scott to oversee operations in my absence.”

Scott straightened, shoulders squaring. The weight of the visor seemed heavier all at once.

Before anyone could press further, the sharp ring of the doorbell cut through the air.

Everyone glanced at one another.

Banshee stood up, brushing crumbs from his shirt. “I’ll get it, lads. Best make sure this so-called reliable stranger exists.”

He left the room, footsteps fading down the hall. The others leaned in, murmuring.

Logan smirked, muttering around his cigar stub. “This oughta be good.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 45 – Enter Moira MacTaggert

The front door creaked open. Banshee froze in the doorway, eyes going wide.

Standing there was a tall woman in her thirties, suitcase in one hand. Her hair was tied back but still framed her face in soft waves. Blue eyes sharp enough to cut glass scanned the hall before landing on him. She wore simple clothes — slacks and a blouse, no nonsense — but carried herself like someone who’d marched through fire before.

Banshee nearly swallowed his tongue. “Ah… good mornin’, lass. Did heaven lose an angel, or have I died and gone to paradise?”

Moira raised an eyebrow. “If you’re trying to charm me, you’re failing. Now are you going to step aside, or do I have to move you myself?”

Sean sputtered, tripped over his words, and scrambled out of her way. She strode past without a second glance, suitcase swinging easily at her side.

“Sharp tongue,” Sean muttered under his breath, watching her walk. “I like a challenge.”

She followed the sounds of clinking cutlery into the dining room. Conversation died as soon as she entered. Every pair of eyes turned to her.

Moira set her suitcase down and straightened, posture confident but calm. “Moira MacTaggert. Professor Xavier’s new housekeeper. Pleased tae meet ye.”

The silence stretched a beat longer before Kurt broke it with a grin. “Ach, so this is the one saving us from dirty laundry! Willkommen, Fräulein.”

Storm inclined her head politely. “We are grateful for your help.”

Colossus smiled warmly. “Yes. Please, sit. You are welcome here.”

Sunfire only scowled, muttering, “Ridiculous.”

Logan leaned back in his chair, sniffing the air. 'Not just soap and perfume. She smells like gun oil. Like someone who’s seen combat.' His eyes narrowed slightly, though the smirk stayed on his lips. “Housekeeper, huh. Sure.”

Banshee stumbled in behind her, trying again with a hopeful grin. “So, Moira, if you ever need a strong pair o’ hands around the house—”

She cut him off flatly. “I’ll manage.”

Sean winced, the others chuckling under their breath.

Xavier smiled warmly at her. “Everyone, please welcome Moira. She’ll be taking care of the mansion in my absence. Treat her with respect.”

Moira’s gaze swept the table, cool and steady. She didn’t flinch under the stares, didn’t soften her edge. She simply took a seat, folding her hands neatly in her lap, completely unfazed by the circus around her.

Logan’s smirk deepened as he watched her. 'Yeah. This one ain’t just here to mop floors.'

Chapter Text

Chapter 46 – The Burden of Leadership,The Scent of Contempt

The forest was silent, save for the crunch of Scott Summers’ boots against fallen leaves. He had come here to breathe, to escape the walls of the mansion that suddenly felt too heavy, too crowded, too filled with eyes that looked to him for direction.

His visor glowed faintly, casting a red shimmer against the bark of trees. He leaned against one, palms pressing flat, forehead bowed.

‘Was I right to stay? Was it strength or cowardice that kept me here when the others left? Xavier says leadership is sacrifice. But how much of myself am I supposed to burn before nothing’s left?’

He exhaled sharply, jaw tightening. The faces of the old team drifted in his mind, ghosts in the foliage. Jean’s soft smile. Bobby’s laughter. Warren’s restless wings. They had all gone, chasing their own paths, while he remained chained to the Professor’s dream.

‘They left because they could. I stay because I must. That’s the difference.’

His hand curled into a fist.

‘But what if staying wasn’t duty? What if it was fear? Afraid of a world where I’m not the one in control, where I’m not useful anymore.’

The pressure in his chest swelled. His optic beams pulsed behind the visor, demanding release. With a guttural sound he didn’t recognize as his own, Scott slammed his fist into the trunk. Wood exploded under the force, the tree groaning, splintering, toppling in a rain of bark and leaves. The raw sound of destruction echoed through the forest like a gunshot.

His breathing came hard, ragged. He stared at his shaking hand, not proud, not relieved—only hollow.

Then came the change.

A shadow stretched across the clearing. Not the shade of trees or cloud, but something vast, something wrong. Behind him, the air thickened, and a low vibration hummed through the ground.

Scott turned slowly.

A monstrosity loomed, towering and grotesque. Its form seemed carved from stone and sinew, limbs too long, skin ridged with cracks that bled faint light. Its face was no face at all—only a jagged mask of horns and teeth, eyes burning with hatred that was not merely seen but FELT. The contempt rolled off it in waves, seeping into Scott’s bones.

A hiss like escaping steam filled the air as thick smoke spilled out from its body, curling around the clearing, suffocating the stars above.

Scott staggered back, his instincts screaming.

‘What the hell is this…’

The forest was no longer silent. It was a coffin filling with smoke. And in that coffin, Scott Summers stood alone, facing the first shadow of something far greater than himself.

The TV flickered inside the mansion’s lounge, casting lazy light over the room. For once, there was peace. Colossus sat with arms folded, politely indulging a comedy he didn’t quite understand. Sunfire leaned against the wall, eyes half-closed in disinterest. Banshee chuckled loud enough to rattle the windows. Nightcrawler dangled upside down from a rafter, tail flicking at nothing.

It was almost normal. Almost.

Logan sat on the edge of the couch, a cigar stub clenched between his teeth. He wasn’t watching the screen. His nose twitched once, twice. His brow furrowed. The smoke from his cigar couldn’t hide it—something cut through, acrid and sharp, a stench not of nature, not of man.

It was the smell of a soul steeped in loathing.

He spat the cigar into a nearby tray. “Something’s wrong.”

Storm tilted her head, brows knitting. “What is it?”

Logan’s nostrils flared again. He growled low, feral. “Contempt. The kinda stink that wants the whole damn species gone.”

Before the others could question, a deep tremor shook the floor beneath them. The lights flickered, the television popped into static.

Banshee rose, hand to his throat. “You all hear that?”

No need to answer. A muffled BOOM rolled through the walls, and outside the window, the night sky bloomed with a sudden plume of black smoke rising from the forest. It spread fast, swallowing moonlight, a living cloud that pulsed with something sinister.

Professor Xavier rolled in, drawn by the disturbance. His eyes locked on the window. “To the forest. Now.”

No hesitation. Colossus swept Xavier into his arms like carrying a child, chair and all. The others scrambled to their feet, adrenaline snapping the peace in two.

They burst into the night, the mansion shrinking behind them as the smoke swallowed the trees. The smell hit them full force—burning, bitter, carrying a whisper of hate so sharp it made the skin crawl.

When they reached the clearing, the scene was chaos.

Scott lay battered, suit torn, visor cracked at the edge, his chest heaving as he struggled to rise. And towering over him, born of smoke and hatred, was the monstrosity. Kierrok, the Shatterer of Souls.

His body was a grotesque sculpture—horned ridges like a crown of bone, sinewed limbs thick as stone pillars, claws that dragged furrows into the dirt. His eyes burned a dull red, not of fire but of hatred that seemed ancient, eternal.

The X-Men froze for a heartbeat, caught between awe and dread.

Cyclops managed a broken shout. “Stay… back!”

Logan ignored him. He crouched low, voice a rasp meant only for himself. “Big, ugly, and smells like the end of the world. Just my kinda night.”

And then the clearing erupted into war.

Chapter Text

Chapter 47 – The First Clash

The monster roared, a sound like rockslides grinding against each other, and the forest itself seemed to flinch. Smoke swirled outward, choking the stars, pressing against the lungs of everyone who dared to stand before it.

Scott staggered, lifting his head with sheer will. “X-Men… ENGAGE!”

They moved.

Colossus thundered forward, his body hardening to living steel in a shimmer of silver. His fists crashed into Kierrok’s chest like piledrivers, sending shockwaves through the ground. The monster hardly budged. It raised a claw the size of a man and swatted him back, the impact bending trees like grass.

Banshee’s mouth opened wide, and a concussive scream ripped through the clearing, air splitting like a bomb. The smoke parted in ripples, and Kierrok actually staggered, clutching at his head. Nightcrawler seized the moment, teleporting in a blur of sulfur and brimstone—bamf, bamf, bamf—appearing and disappearing around the creature like a phantom, slashing at tendons with his blade. Each cut closed too fast, as if the monster’s flesh mocked the idea of injury.

Storm rose into the air, her eyes glowing white. Lightning crackled in her hands before arcing downward, a jagged spear of fury that slammed into Kierrok’s back. The beast convulsed, black smoke hissing from the wound, but when the light faded it only roared louder, angrier.

Sunfire burst forward, a comet of flame, unleashing a torrent of solar fire that wrapped the creature in searing light. Trees ignited, smoke roiled—and when the blaze cleared, Kierrok still stood, his skin charred but healing, cracks sealing with hateful energy.

Scott forced himself to his feet, ignoring pain, visor sparking. “I’VE HIT HIM TEN TIMES—HE JUST COMES BACK STRONGER!” His voice broke, desperate. “DON’T LET UP!”

Logan, leaning against a tree, arms crossed, watched with narrowed eyes. He didn’t move. Not yet. His instinct told him the kids needed to bleed together before he stepped in. The monster wasn’t just strength—it was a crucible.

Kierrok lashed out, swinging a limb that crashed into Thunderbird, sending him rolling across the dirt. The Apache warrior spat blood, grinning mad with defiance. “That all you got, ugly?” He charged back, fists hammering against unholy flesh like a man born to brawl with gods.

Colossus returned, standing shoulder to shoulder with him, steel and fury against Kierrok’s impossible bulk. Nightcrawler darted between their legs, striking where he could, a devilish fly buzzing around a titan.

Above, Storm screamed defiance into the thunder. Lightning and wind tore through the clearing, while below, Banshee’s sonic waves harmonized with the storm, a symphony of chaos battering the beast.

For a moment—just a moment—they almost looked like they could win.

And then Kierrok laughed.

It was low, guttural, a sound that curdled the blood. His wounds sealed faster, his body swelled larger, smoke pouring from his every breath. He lashed out with both arms, a hurricane of claws, tossing Colossus aside, raking deep into Thunderbird’s chest, scattering Nightcrawler with a backhand that nearly crushed ribs.

Scott’s beam cut across his face, splitting horns from jaw to ear. Kierrok staggered—then healed. Stronger. Always stronger.

Logan’s jaw tightened. “That’s it. Playtime’s over.”

He dropped into a crouch, claws unsheathing with a SNIKT that cut through the storm’s roar. His eyes gleamed with something primal. He walked past the battered team, past the smoke, straight toward Kierrok.

“Round two’s mine.”

And with that, Wolverine launched himself into a blood-soaked dance meant for monsters.

Chapter Text

Chapter 48 – The Berserker’s Baptism

The battlefield was ash and ruin, trees split like kindling, smoke turning the night into a choking shroud. The others staggered back, bruised and bleeding, watching as Logan stepped forward alone.

SNIKT.

The sound cut through everything—storm, fire, screams. The promise of violence made steel.

Kierrok lowered its head, jaws yawning wide, smoke pouring out like furnace breath. Its voice rumbled like stone dragged across stone. “INSIGNIFICANT. YOU BLEED, YOU BREAK.”

Logan spat blood into the dirt. “Yeah, yeah. But I don’t stay down.”

Then he charged.

The monster swung an arm the size of a tree trunk, claws flashing. Logan ducked under, sliding on mud, claws carving deep across Kierrok’s shin. Black ichor spurted, sizzling against the ground. The beast howled and kicked. Logan took the hit—bones cracking, ribs snapping like twigs—as he flew through a tree. He hit, spat, and stood back up, grinning wild.

“Round two.”

He was on it again before Kierrok’s roar faded. Claws tore through muscle, through bone, through alien sinew that healed even as he cut. The monster smashed him down with a fist. Logan’s body crumpled, blood painting the forest floor. He twitched, lay still—then rolled, snarling, driving his claws into Kierrok’s wrist. Flesh ripped open.

“C’MON!” Logan’s voice was hoarse, animal, blood bubbling in his throat. “HIT ME HARDER!”

And it did.

Kierrok smashed him into the dirt, again, again, like pounding a nail. Blood gushed, bones broke, flesh shredded. But Logan wouldn’t die. He couldn’t. Every time he should have stayed down, he dragged himself back up, eyes glowing feral in the stormlight.

The others watched in stunned silence. Cyclops whispered, half in awe, half in horror: “He’s… he’s not fighting to win. He’s fighting to survive long enough to kill it.”

Logan clung to Kierrok’s chest, claws plunging deep, carving straight through ribs. The beast shrieked, backhanding him so hard his jaw nearly tore off. It dangled loose for a heartbeat—then clicked back into place as his healing surged.

“Nice try,” he growled through torn lips.

Then Logan went wild. A flurry of claws, flesh tearing, gore spraying, the forest floor a slaughterhouse. He slashed through tendons, hacked into arteries, ripped into eyes, into throat, into guts. Kierrok screamed and thrashed, but the Wolverine was relentless, a storm of blood and steel.

Finally, with a roar that split the night, Logan buried all six claws straight through the monster’s skull. The beast convulsed, shuddered, and fell silent, its body slumping into the dirt. Black blood fountained around Logan’s arms, coating him head to toe.

He panted, standing atop the corpse, chest heaving, more beast than man. His eyes glowed with that berserker fire that never really went out.

“Stay… DEAD.”

The ground trembled. Smoke began to curl again, wounds stitching, Kierrok’s body twitching back to life.

Logan’s lips peeled back in a snarl. “Figures.”

Behind him, Xavier’s voice rang out, weak but sharp: “ENOUGH. We end this another way.”

And Charles Xavier pressed his mind against the abyss of Kierrok’s thoughts.

Chapter Text

Chapter 49 – The Siege and the Storm

Kierrok’s corpse twitched like a puppet under broken strings, ichor crawling back into its veins, bone knitting, flesh writhing. The thing wasn’t dying—it was rehearsing its next birth.

Charles Xavier’s eyes narrowed. He knew the smell of resurrection, the psychic stink of something eternal. His hands trembled as he gripped the rims of his chair. “I’ll see what it IS.”

“Chuck—” Logan growled, still dripping blood.

“NO TIME.”

And then Charles thrust his mind forward.

It was like plunging his skull into molten glass. Kierrok’s essence roared—a continent of hate, a planet of contempt. He saw visions: endless battles, fires, humanity crawling in the dirt like insects under the hooves of giants. He saw the Cairn, pulsing, alive, a heart in stone feeding Kierrok’s immortality.

Then came the backlash.

Xavier screamed, blood trickling from his nose, his body wracked with spasms. Colossus lunged, steadying him as psychic fire burned behind his eyes. But through the pain, Charles forced the words out, every syllable clawed from his lungs: “Storm… the Cairn… DESTROY IT.”

And Ororo understood.

The battlefield trembled as Kierrok reared back to its full height again. The monster’s voice was a choir of grinding tombstones. “YOU CANNOT ERASE ME. I RETURN STRONGER. ALWAYS.”

“Not if we stall you,” Cyclops barked, raising a bloody hand. “TEAM—FORM UP!”

The X-Men roared and surged forward.

→ Colossus became the wall, standing unyielding, steel flesh taking every strike like a fortress.
→ Thunderbird dove in like a warrior poet, fists like hammers, body reckless, each strike daring death to take him.
→ Nightcrawler darted like a shadow, bamf after bamf, tail striking, fists slashing, vanishing and returning, a swarm of ghosts.
→ Sunfire and Banshee lit up the skies, flames and sound battering Kierrok’s head, hurling him off balance.
→ Cyclops, still battered, unleashed blasts like artillery fire, carving gouges into Kierrok’s regenerating chest.
→ And Wolverine—cockroach, berserker, the eternal pest—slid into BULLET TIME. The world slowed, smoke curling in syrup, Kierrok’s claws inches from tearing Thunderbird apart. Logan moved, claws intercepting, blood flying. He saw every attack before it landed, his hearing sphere mapping heartbeats, footsteps, gasps of his team. He was everywhere at once, intercepting death, throwing himself into claws, into fangs, into fire. Every wound healed, every second bought was another chance for Ororo.

Storm was already gone.

She sprinted through shattered forest, heart slamming harder than any thunder. The air thickened with sulfur, a sickly green glow guiding her to the Cairn.

And it was guarded.

Ngaria’s spawn oozed from the shadows: demon-shapes half bone, half shadow, eyes burning with alien hunger. They closed in with shrieks, blades and talons glinting.

Storm summoned the wind. Lightning crackled across her fingertips, ripping the first demon into ash. But they swarmed her, hundreds, pressing, suffocating. The air grew tight. The walls of trees, the heaving mass of bodies—they closed in, the darkness squeezing her chest. Claustrophobia wrapped its fingers around her throat.

She gasped, dropped to her knees, visions of buried coffins and collapsed walls crushing her mind.

“No… no… I can’t—”

The demons screeched closer.

But then, through the terror, a voice inside her whispered. ‘You are not a prisoner. You are the STORM. You are the SKY.’

Ororo’s eyes snapped open white.

Lightning split the heavens. Wind tore demons apart, ripping them into dust. Her scream became thunder itself, tearing the forest wide open. She rose from the ground like a goddess reborn, the storm wrapping her in glory.

The Cairn pulsed before her, alive, its stones glowing with Kierrok’s immortality.

She raised her arms.

“BEGONE.”

The lightning bolt shattered the sky, tore through her body, and crashed into the Cairn. Stone exploded, fire burst, the forest shook like the end of days. The Cairn cracked, shattered, and collapsed into rubble.

Back at the battlefield, Kierrok froze. His roar turned into a strangled howl. Smoke poured from every wound, body tearing itself apart. He tried to lunge forward, but the strength was gone. His body unraveled into vapor, his voice vanishing into the night.

“NOOOO—”

And then there was nothing. Only silence, and the stench of smoke fading in the wind.

The X-Men collapsed to their knees, panting, bloodied, but alive.

Scott stood, visor cracked, chest heaving. He looked to Charles. “What the hell was that thing?”

Charles wiped the blood from his lips, his voice trembling. “I… I don’t… I don’t know.”

The night held its breath. The team stood among ruin and ashes, knowing this wasn’t an end—only the first shadow of something larger.

Chapter Text

Chapter 50: FAREWELL AT THE GATE

The airport was noisy with the usual flood of travelers, but for the X-Men it felt strangely intimate. Charles Xavier sat in his wheelchair near the gate, his bags already stowed. He looked tired, thinner than usual, but his eyes still carried that same iron conviction. He was about to step away from the Mansion for the first time in years.

Jean Grey stood close, arms folded, voice sharp with concern.

"Charles, promise me you'll take it easy. No straining. No reading minds on strangers just because you can. VACATION means VACATION."

"Jean... I assure you, I am not so fragile as to

"You ARE fragile, don't even argue with me! You always act like you're invincible but look at you. If you so much as lift a finger I'II-"

She kept going, like a dam broken. Her voice carried that fierce warmth, half daughter, half soldier, half... something else. Logan leaned against a pillar just far enough away to make it look casual. His eyes cut toward her every few seconds. 'That fire. Even when she nags, she burns. Dangerous kind of woman.'

Cyclops adjusted his visor, stoic as always, though the way his jaw tightened betrayed how much he hated being sidelined in her presence. Storm stood serene but watchful, Colossus was too polite to intrude, Thunderbird impatient as a storm cloud, and Sunfire tapped his foot like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

Nightcrawler, disguised with Stark's image inducer, looked like an ordinary man for once. He fiddled with his fake human face as if it itched.

Jean finally threw up her hands. "Fine! But if you don't call Moira every single day, I'll come drag you back myself."

Charles chuckled softly. The wheelchair rolled forward. The goodbyes lingered-hugs, handshakes, nods of respect. And then the professor was wheeled up the ramp into the waiting plane.

That was when Logan stiffened. His nostrils flared. The scent slammed into him like thunder-two scents he knew but didn't. Familiar. Family-adjacent. But twisted, poisoned. Havok and Polaris.

He growled low in his throat.

"We got company."

Cyclops blinked.

"Who?"

"Your brother. And his girl. But something's WRONG with them. They smell... bent."

Jean's eyes lit with relief, almost joy. "Alex? Lorna? They're here? Thank God-"

Logan cut her off with a snarl.

"Don't thank anyone yet, Red. They REEK of somebody else's leash."

And as if the words had summoned them, the two appeared from the far end of the terminal. Havok's stance rigid, Polaris's eyes glowing faint green.

Jean stepped forward, hopeful. Cyclops shouted across the floor. "Alex! Lorna! What are you-"

The answer came in the form of a blazing plasma beam tearing across the air.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 51: AMBUSH IN THE SKIES

The blast ripped across the airport terminal

like a miniature sun set loose. Cyclops shoved

Jean aside and dropped into a crouch, visor flaring as he fired back. Havok rolled clear, plasma humming in his chest, eyes burning with something darker than brotherhood.

"Alex! What the hell are you doing?!" Scott's voice cracked like a whip.

But Alex didn't answer. He only raised his hands and fired again, the beam cutting through steel like paper.

Logan snarled, claws flashing out with that familiar SNIKT. He dove sideways, the world slowing into bullet-time as the Equalizer kicked in. His ears mapped the chaos like a sonar dome-every heartbeat, every step. He could feel Jean's pulse quickening, hear the tension in Storm's breath

Polaris lifted her arms and the air screamed.

Melal buckled, luggage carls twisted, seats ripped free and hurled at the X-Men. Colossus turned steel just in time, blocking Storm with his body as a row of chairs exploded against his chest.

Starm's voice cul through the noise. "Lomal This is madness! Whatever controls you-resist It!"

Polaris's eyes glowed cold. 'I don't take orders from you. My target is Xavier"

The team froze for a heartbeat, The professor's plane was still taxiing, engines warming.

Scott's visor flared brighter. 'No. You want me? Fine. But stay the hell away from that plane!"

Alex's laugh was hollow, brittle, 'I don't want YOU, Scott. I want HIM. He pointed straight at the aircraft, plasma gathering like a star collapsing.

"Like hell you do, Thunderbird barked, charging. He closed the gap fast, fists swinging for Alex's jaw-only to be blasted back by a concussive wave that sent him

tumbling into a terminal wall.

"Thunderbird!" Storm shouted, lightning sparking around her.

Sunfire swooped in next, jets of fire roaring from his hands. The flames licked around Polaris, but she bent them aside with a twist of magnetic force, the inferno spiraling harmlessly upward until sprinklers hissed overhead.

Logan was already moving, weaving through

flying metal shards. Sparks lit his claws as he slashed them aside, every strike a metallic scream. 'She's not holding back. Good

Neither am I.

Nightcrawler blinked in and out of existence, teleporting past stray beams, trying to reach Alex. Scott was shouting at his brother again, voice cracking through the din.

"Alex, stop! This isn't you! It's control, it's-

Alex cut him off with another beam, angrier this time. "I don't need excuses. Maybe you're the one who's been CONTROLLED your whole dann lifel

The words hit Scott harder than the blast. He staggered back, jaw clenched, visor trembling with a light that wanted to burn the world

down.

Then the sky tore open.

Erik the Red descended like a scarlet comet, cloak snapping in the wind, helmet gleaming with alien light. His voice boomed across the

tarmac

"Enough of this play. Xavier must fall

The moment of distraction gave Alex his opening. Plasma roared, aimed straight at the professor's plane as it began to roll forward.

Scott screamed, "NO!"

But before the beam could strike, there was a BAMF and a swirl of smoke. Nightcrawler

reappeared clinging to Alex's arm, wrenching

it upward. The plasma tore across the sky and

detonated harmlessly against an empty parked jet. The shockwave rattled windows but spared Xavier's plane, which seized the chance to lift off, wheels tearing from the

ground.

"YES!" Jean cried, tears in her eyes. "Go, Charles, gol"

But the fight wasn't done. Erik landed with a crash, sending Sunfire sprawling. Polaris hurled a car into Colossus, pinning him. Scott blasted it off but Polaris countered with a

shriek of metal.
After some time of fighting,and just as Eric blasted Thunderbird back, Eric saw that they were in a disadvantage,so he planned to flee.
Logan ducked under the wave, the world slowing to syrup. He could hear every rivet strain, every heartbeat around him. Then he

was in front of her. Claws sheared sparks as

he cut through the twisted debris, slipped past her magnetic field, and slammed his fist into

her gut.

Polaris gasped, eyes wide, body folding like paper before she hit the concrete unconscious. Logan didn't hesitate, didn't

apologize. "Don't matter if you're a lady. You come for mine, you get the same steel"

Havok roared. 'LORNA!" He broke free from Nightcrawler's hold, plasma burning out of

control.

Logan smirked, voice low and taunting. 'She's down, Summers. Your woman's in my hands now. Come take her back if you've got the

guts

Alex snapped, shoving Erik the Red aside. The alien snarled, "You FOOL!' and with a blaze of crimson light, Erik shot into the sky, abandoning him.

That left Havok alone, facing a circle of

wolves, Cyclops, visor buming. Colossus, fists

clenched. Storm, lightning wreathing her frame. Sunfire's eyes like fire knives. Thunderbird shaking off rubble. And Logan,

claws ready.

Havok fired wildly, screaming, but the team moved as one. Storm's wind knocked him off balance. Colossus slammed him down. Scott

held his fire until the very end, his voice breaking as he shouted, "STAND DOWN,

ALEX!" before Logan struck the final blow, ramming Havok's head into the pavement with

a brutal thud.

Silence fell. Both captives lay unconscious, bound by Colossus's steel grip

Scott stared down at his brothet, chest heaving, visor dim. "... You didn't give me a

choice.

Logan leaned back, smirk curling across his

face. "Nothin' to thank me for, hoss-eye.! He

reached over, plucked a cigar from Scott's jacket pocket, and bit it clean between his teeth.

SNIKT. The claws lit it with sparks. Smoke curled as Logan exhaled slow.

The fight was over. But the war was just beginning.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 52: SHACKLES AND SHADOWS

The sub-basement of the Mansion was silent except for the metallic clink of chains. Havok and Polaris were lashed down to steel tables, wrists and ankles cuffed, heavy links bolted to anchors in the floor. Syringe marks on their arms glowed faintly where Beast’s prototype X-Gene suppressants had been injected. For now, their powers were muted.

Logan leaned against the wall, arms folded, cigar smoldering. His eyes never left them.
‘Caged animals. But still dangerous. I can smell it on their skin. Rage. Fear. Something else riding their scent like a parasite.’

Cyclops paced in front of Alex’s table, jaw tight, visor glowing faintly in the dim light.
"Wake him up."

Storm touched Alex’s cheek gently, whispering his name. His eyelids twitched, then opened groggily. Confusion filled his face as he tugged against the restraints.
"Scotty…? What… what the hell is this? Where am I?"
"You’re in the Mansion," Scott said, voice controlled but brittle. "You attacked us. You tried to destroy Xavier’s plane. Tell me why."

Alex’s eyes widened in horror. "No. No, that’s not— I don’t… I don’t remember that. Scott, free me, I’m your brother!" He strained against the cuffs, desperation bleeding into every word. "I’d never hurt Charles. I’d never hurt you!"

Scott’s fists clenched. "Don’t lie to me, Alex."

"I’m NOT lying!" Alex shouted, panic flaring.
"Something’s wrong—something in my head—I can’t… it’s like a fog—"

Logan pushed off the wall, stepping closer. He inhaled deep, letting the scents burn through him. Sweat. Terror. No deception.
"He ain’t lying, Summers. But he ain’t clean either. Something’s crawled inside him. Puppeteer’s hand up his spine."

Scott whipped around, visor gleaming. "So what do we do? He tried to KILL Xavier!"

Alex strained again, veins rising in his neck. "I didn’t! I swear to God, Scott, I didn’t—"Logan growled low, cutting him off. "Truth is truth. My nose don’t lie. He believes what he’s sayin’… but belief don’t make it safe."

Scott leaned close, visor inches from his brother’s wild eyes. "If you’re telling the truth, Alex, then who put that fog in your head? Who’s controlling you?"

Alex’s face twisted, pain flashing across it. "I… I don’t know! It’s like shadows when I try to remember. Red. Just red."

Erik. The Red. The words went unsaid, but the team exchanged glances.Scott stood upright, fists trembling. His voice was sharp, military-hard to mask the tremor underneath. "Then until Xavier comes back, you’re staying right here."

Alex’s breathing quickened, eyes darting to the other table. Polaris still lay unconscious, her head tilted to the side, dark hair falling across her face. His voice broke. "Lorna… oh God. What did you do to her?!"

Scott tried to steady him. "She’s restrained. Sedated. For her own good—"
Alex thrashed violently, chains rattling against bolts. "FOR HER OWN GOOD?! She’s not your prisoner, Scott! She’s not your—" His voice cracked. "You’ve turned us into lab rats!"

Logan’s claws twitched, the sound of steel against steel itching to be free. Storm’s hand brushed his arm, calming. The room pulsed with tension, Havok’s panic echoing in the walls.

The interrogation wasn’t over. But the chains were starting to tremble.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 53: FRACTURED LOYALTIES

Alex’s chains rattled louder, each thrash more violent. His eyes locked on Lorna’s motionless body.
"Scott! She’s not moving—what the hell did you DO to her?!"

Scott held his ground, though his voice faltered.
"She’s sedated, Alex. That’s all. It’s temporary—"

"Temporary?!" Alex shouted, his voice raw."She looks DEAD! You’re treating her like some—some weapon you can lock away! She trusted you, Scott! SHE TRUSTED YOU!"

Scott’s hand curled into a fist, shaking. "Don’t put this on me. You and her—you came for Xavier. You nearly killed him. Tell me WHY!"

Alex’s voice cracked. "I told you I DON’T KNOW!" He yanked at the chains until the bolts in the floor groaned. His breath came in ragged bursts, eyes burning with panic. "Get her up—get her out of those restraints—NOW!"

Colossus stepped forward, steel skin glinting."You must calm yourself, comrade, before you hurt—"

"SHUT UP!" Alex roared, plasma flickering faintly around his chest despite the suppressants. His body was fighting the drugs, sheer willpower pushing against the serum.

Logan stepped in, claws unsheathed just enough to catch the light. "Easy, Summers. Keep barkin’ like that, and I’ll put you back to sleep the old-fashioned way."
"Logan!" Scott snapped, but Logan ignored him, moving closer to the table. He sniffed deep, brow furrowing. ‘Fear. Anger. Desperation. But no lies. Damn fool’s tellin’ the truth, and still dangerous as a bomb.’

Alex’s eyes darted back to Lorna. "Lorna… wake up, please…" His voice broke, turning into a scream. "LOOOORNA!"

Her body twitched faintly, head lolling, but she didn’t wake. Alex went berserk, straining until the chains cut into his wrists, blood spotting the cuffs. The suppressors flickered as if they’d short-circuit.Scott barked to the team. "Hold him down!"

Colossus clamped his hands on Alex’s shoulders. Storm moved to Polaris, checking her vitals with calm efficiency. Nightcrawler hovered close, ready to teleport in if needed.

Alex fought like a madman. "Let her go! LET HER GO! You can take me, you can chain me, but NOT HER!"

Scott’s visor glowed hotter, the red beam humming just below eruption. His voice cracked between command and heartbreak. "Alex… stop this. Please. Don’t make me—""YOU’RE NOT MY BROTHER!" Alex screamed, spittle flying. "You’re just Xavier’s SOLDIER!"

The words stabbed deeper than any plasma beam. Scott flinched like he’d been gutted, his jaw locking to hide the hurt.

Logan exhaled smoke from his cigar, stepping between them. "Enough. This ain’t interrogation anymore. It’s torture for both of ‘em." He jabbed a claw toward Beast’s medical kit on the counter. "Knock him out, put ‘em both on ice till Chuck comes back. Only he’s got the keys to untangle this mess."
Scott hesitated, visor dimming. His brother’s voice still rang in his ears like shrapnel. "…He’s right."

Storm returned with the syringe, her voice soft but firm. "Forgive me, Alex."

Alex thrashed, but Colossus held him fast. The needle slid into his arm, the suppressant-heavy sedative burning its way through his veins. His voice slurred, cracking.
"Scott… Scotty… don’t let them… hurt her…"

And then he went limp, head dropping back against the table.Silence filled the chamber, thick as smoke. Polaris remained unconscious beside him, her breathing shallow but steady.

Scott stood rigid, visor hiding his eyes, but his hands trembled. "…He doesn’t even know he’s our enemy."

Logan flicked ash to the floor, voice low and gruff. "That’s the cruel part of war, Summers. Sometimes the folks across the line didn’t choose to be there." He sheathed his claws with a final SNIKT. "Now we wait for Chuck. Till then, they stay under."The chains rattled no more. Only the weight of broken family ties lingered in the air.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 54 – COLD REFLECTIONS

The mansion glowed with Christmas cheer. Lights twinkled across the tree, and Nightcrawler perched upside down on the chandelier, tail swinging as he hung another ornament. Colossus laughed deeply as he lifted Thunderbird with one arm so he could pin a paper star to the wall.

Banshee strummed a few Irish tunes on an old guitar. Moira clapped along, her voice warm in the room filled with firelight. Sunfire lingered by the window, sipping wine with a distant gaze.

Logan leaned against the doorframe, cigar already lit. He watched the others. Jean was radiant, her smile lighting Scott’s face more than the tree lights ever could. Logan felt something twist in his gut.

Banshee strummed one last note and stood. "Well then, it’s Christmas night. Moira and I’ll be headin’ out for a walk into town. Some air will do us good."

Nightcrawler somersaulted down and grinned. "Ja, and I will go exploring the city lights. They say New York is most beautiful at Christmas!"

Thunderbird stretched. "I’ll check out the streets too. Don’t wait up for me."

Colossus spoke softly. "Perhaps I will join you, Kurt. I want to see the decorations."

Jean glanced at Scott. "A quiet dinner, just the two of us?"

Scott nodded. "Sounds perfect."

The group began pulling on coats, laughing, scattering into the cold night.

Logan stayed behind for a moment, then muttered, "Hell with this," and slipped out alone.

Snow crunched under his boots as he walked, cigar glowing faintly in the wind. The city sounds carried from far off, but here the night was quiet.

He reached a bridge, leaned against the railing, and stared into the black river below. His reflection wavered in the water. The lines of his face blurred… and then shifted.

Jean’s face stared back at him. Her eyes glowed, her lips moving in silence.

Logan’s heart kicked in his chest.
'No. Not real. Not her. Get a grip, old man.'

He shook his head hard. The reflection snapped back to his own scarred face. Smoke trailed from his mouth.

"What the hell’s with me?" he growled, gripping the railing until the metal creaked. The water flowed on, indifferent.

---

The restaurant was alive with soft music and crystal light. Waiters glided between tables, carrying trays heavy with champagne and roast duck. Jean sat across from Scott, her hands folded neatly around a glass.

"You’re smiling more tonight," she teased.

Scott adjusted his glasses and let out a low chuckle. "Guess I don’t have to be the leader for a few hours. Just me."

Jean leaned closer, her voice gentle. "That’s the you I like best."

They ate, they laughed quietly, the world outside forgotten. For the first time in weeks, Scott’s posture eased, his guard lowered.

When dessert arrived, Jean tilted her head, her green eyes fixed on him. "You don’t have to overthink this," she whispered.

Scott blinked. "Overthink what?"

She smiled and leaned across the table. Their lips touched.

The kiss lingered—soft, deep, the kind that promised more than words could.

Then the windows EXPLODED.

Glass rained across the tables. Diners screamed. The floor trembled as two massive shadows loomed outside.

Through the wreckage stepped giants of steel—Sentinels.

"TARGETS IDENTIFIED. MUTANTS DETECTED. NEUTRALIZATION SEQUENCE ENGAGED."

Chandeliers shattered as the machines stomped inside, towering over the terrified crowd.

Scott pulled Jean down behind the table. "Stay low!" His voice was sharp, already commander again.

Jean’s eyes burned. "I’m not hiding. I’m with you."

The Sentinels advanced, crushing tables under their weight. One raised a hand, energy gathering in its palm.

Scott and Jean stood together, the room in chaos around them, the shadow of death falling across their bodies.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 55- FIRE AND STEEL

The restaurant was chaos. Screams filled the air as flames licked the shattered walls. Scott ripped off his visor cap, ruby light cutting across the room.

"JEAN, DOWN!"

An optic blast slammed into the chest of the first Sentinel, the giant's body rocking back. The metal titan steadied itself, eyes burning with cold light.

Jean's hands flared with telekinetic power, the room trembling. "You won't take us!"

Silverware, chairs, even tables ripped free and hurled into the machines with bone-crushing force. One Sentinel staggered, Jean's power twisting steel until its head buckled.

Scott roared, visor wide open. A searing beam punched through the second Sentinel's neck. Sparks erupted. Its massive head toppled, crashing into the marble floor.

For a breath, silence. Then the surviving Sentinel's fist slammed down. Jean barely shielded herself before a blast struck. She cried out, collapsing to her knees.

"JEAN!" Scott blasted again, carving deep gouges into the monster's armor. The Sentinel reached with clawed metal fingers, clamping around Jean's body. She gasped once-then blacked out as the grip tightened.

The Sentinel's engines roared, wings unfolding. It smashed through the roof, carrying Jean's limp form into the sky.

'NO!" Scott's blast lanced upward, but the machine soared higher, vanishing into the night.

The ground shook as another hit from the wounded Sentinel caught Scott full in the chest. He flew back through the wreckage, glass and fire swallowing him.

On the bridge, Logan's cigar froze between his lips. His eyes caught the faintest motion above the city. A silhouette. Mechanical wings. Jean's hair trailing in the wind.

Eagle eyes don't lie. They've got her.

He crushed the cigar under his boot and ran. His legs blurred across snow and pavement, claws itching to tear. He leapt rooftops, following the machine, but it was too fast.

Damn it. I can't catch up.'

Elsewhere in the city, Banshee strolled with Moira when a thunderous BOOM ripped the night. He looked up, his face draining of color.

'Moira-back to the mansion. NOW."

His voice shifted, power rising in his throat.

He launched into the air on sonic wings,

streaking toward the fire and chaos.

He reached the restaurant only to be met by TWO MORE SENTINELS crashing down from the sky. Their shadows engulfed the burning

street.

'Mutant detected. Neutralization protocol engaged."

Banshee's scream tore the air apart, the sonic

wave slamming into metal hides, shaking windows for blocks. One Sentinel staggered back. The other swung its arm like a hammer. The blow caught him mid-air, sent him

spinning. His scream faltered.

He tried to rise again, power surging, but the second Sentinel's beam struck him point-blank. His vision blurred, the world tilting.

'Moira..." he whispered before darkness swallowed him.

The Sentinels clamped metal hands around his limp body, hauling him up as if he were weightless.

From the rooftops, Logan froze. One Sentinel carried Jean into the sky, already vanishing. Two more held Banshee below.

Jean too far. These two close. Play it smart, old man.

He growled low, claws unsheathing with a SNIKT. He charged, leaping at the machines. The Sentinels scanned him, light sweeping

across his body.

'Mutant detected. Capture sequence engaged."

Logan bared his teeth. Then he stopped struggling. His arms went slack.

Alright. Take me. Take me where you took her. Then I'll tear you apart from the inside.

The Sentinels seized him, binding him in unbreakable alloy clamps. He sagged in their grip, eyes burning with silent promise.

At the restaurant ruins, the rest of the team arrived one by one. Storm, Nightcrawler, Colossus, Thunderbird, Sunfire. Their faces paled at the sight.

Cyclops lay amid rubble, uniform scorched, visor cracked. He struggled to rise, blood on his lips.

'They... took her,' he rasped. His fists pounded the ground. "Jean-They TOOK HER!"

He collapsed forward, broken, his voice echoing through the ruins.

The team stood in stunned silence as the night sky glowed with fire, the shadows of Sentinels disappearing into the stars.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 56 THE SEA BETRAYAL

The Caribbean Sea was calm, the waves rolling like silver silk under the moon. The yacht cut through the water at an easy pace.

Charles Xavier sat in his chair, sipping brandy, his brow furrowed even in vacation. Across from him, Dr. Peter Corbeau adjusted his glasses, the hum of machinery faint from the cabin below.

"Charles, you look troubled. These dreams of yours again?"

Xavier's voice was low, tight. "Yes, Peter. Dreams of FIRE. A cosmic storm tearing across the heavens. I need your surveillance system trained upward. Scan the skies for any sign of an approaching fleet."

Peter leaned back. "You're certain this isn't just a nightmare?"

Xavier's hands clenched. "I've learned to trust my nightmares."

The yacht's deck trembled. A shadow fell across them. Metal wings blotted out the stars. A Sentinel descended, water churning from the downdraft.

"Target identified. Xavier. Neutralization engaged."

Charles's eyes blazed. "NO!" His mind erupted, a psychic blast striking the machine. The Sentinel reeled back, its sensors sparking.

Xavier gasped, sweat pouring down his face. "Stronger... my power grows with every dream. But at what cost?"

Peter shouted, "Full speed! Get us out of here!" The yacht engines roared, waves splitting as they fled.

The Sentinel raised an arm, energy crackling. The blast struck the yacht broadside. Wood and steel ripped apart. Flames spat into the night as the vessel broke.

Xavier and Peter were hurled into the black sea. Salt water closed over their heads, dragging them down.

Charles thrashed, gasping, but a metal hand pierced the waves, seizing him. His body convulsed as another shock coursed through him. Darkness swallowed his mind.

The Sentinel lifted him, limp and unconscious.

Its mechanical voice boomed across the waters, a message not meant for men.

"Solar flare... APPROACHING LIMIT. Protocol initiation required."

With that, the giant rose into the night sky, Xavier clutched in its fist.

Far away, Logan dangled in the iron grip of another Sentinel. His body was slack, his eyes half-closed. He forced his breathing into a steady rhythm, feigning unconsciousness.

Through narrowed lids, he saw them-the machines gathering together, their numbers swelling. In their midst, Jean and Banshee lay motionless, still bound, still blacked out.

'All here. All prisoners. But I can't tip my hand yet. First time dealing with these tin cans. Need to know what they are. Need to know WHO'S PULLING THE STRINGS.

Logan let his head loll forward, his body a dead weight. The Sentinels carried him toward the unknown.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 57-THE COFFINS OF STEEL

The world went black when the lid slammed shut.

Logan lay still, arms pinned, metal walls pressing like a coffin made for giants. No light - but his new night vision cut through the dark. To him, it was DAY inside the tomb. Every rivet, every seam in the steel skin was laid bare in ghostly clarity.

Then came the motion.

The floor hummed, the walls thrummed, and his stomach dropped like he was in freefall. The box was airborne.

'Flying. They're flying me somewhere.'

His ears sharpened to every shift in the air outside. Engines. Wind. Pressure changing. His whole body was a barometer, screaming altitude. He counted breaths, measured the rhythm. Minutes crawled. Then hours. Still they flew. Still he was a prisoner in his own damn steel coffin.

Time stretched until thought itself blurred. Only the cold metal and the sensation of endless sky kept him company.

Finally, after what felt like forever, the flight ended with a hard jolt. The coffin clanged down, rocking on its base. Bolts snapped. Hydraulic hiss. The lid creaked open with a mechanical shriek.

Light flooded in blinding to anyone else. To Logan it was just another hue, his eyes already slicing through it.

Figures leaned over him. White coats. Human. Scientists, not soldiers. Their hands gloved, faces blank behind glass shields.

"Subject secured. Begin analysis."

They dragged him out, shackled wrists and ankles still glowing faintly with Sentinel circuitry. He let them. No sense showing his claws yet. He needed to SEE. To KNOW.

The room was vast walls covered in alien-looking instruments, Sentinel frames looming like silent judges. And there - laid out across separate tables - Jean. Banshee. Strapped, unconscious. Wires running from skulls and chests into machines that hissed and blinked with green light.

Logan's nose twitched. Salt. Brandy. Burnt wood.

He turned.

Charles Xavier. His body limp, head strapped with a lattice of electrodes. Still unconscious.

'Chuck... they got you too!

For two days the torture of science dragged on.

Needles pierced veins, scanners hummed across bone and muscle, readings flickered across endless monitors. White-coats muttered about genetics, about "resonance spikes" and "weaponizable traits." They measured his healing. His reflexes. His scent response. Every shiver of Equalizer's gift catalogued and stored.

Logan endured in silence. His eyes open even when the others dreamed. Watching. Counting faces. Storing every voice, every smell.

Two days. No chance to strike yet. No opening. Just the cold certainty boiling inside him.

When the moment came, he'd carve this lab into ribbons.

'Patience, old man. Patience. They'll slip. And then you'll show them what happens when you put a wild animal in a cage.'

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 58 - THE BROKEN COMMANDER

The mansion was too quiet. Too heavy.

Storm paced the hallways like a restless stormcloud, her bare feet whispering across the wood. Colossus sat by the window, staring out at the snow, steel fingers tapping against the glass like the slow toll of a bell. Thunderbird shadowboxed in the gym, every strike sharper, angrier. Sunfire smoked alone outside, his heat simmering the snow to steam.

But Cyclops... Cyclops was chained to Cerebro.

The machine's dome pulsed blue, wires glinting in the dark. Scott Summers sat with his visor dimmed, his hands trembling on the controls. Sweat beaded down his forehead. His jaw clenched so tight it looked carved from stone.

"C'mon," he muttered, voice raw. "C'mon, JEAN. Give me SOMETHING."

The screens showed nothing. The world was a blank slate. No Jean. No Logan. No Banshee. No Charles.

Empty silence.

He tried again. And again. Hours bleeding into a full day, his body stiffening, eyes hollowing. The others hovered in the doorway, but none dared step closer.

Finally, the console buzzed flat. No signal. No hope.

Scott ripped the headset off, slammed it against the desk. His visor glowed red in the dim light, just shy of firing.

"They're DEAD," he said. The words cut the air like a blade. "All of them. If Cerebro can't find them, they're not alive anymore."

Storm's lips parted. "Scott... you can't-"

"I CAN." He stood, shaking, fists trembling. "Jean's gone. Charles is gone. You saw those Sentinels! You saw what they did!"

The room went silent.

Then-

BEEP

The alarm klaxon shrieked across the mansion. Intruder detected.

"Positions!" Thunderbird roared, already sprinting.

Nightcrawler's form blurred into blue smoke as he bamfed out, hunting the signal. In less than a minute, the sound of struggling echoed in the hall. A body tumbled through the doorway, coughing, disheveled. Nightcrawler appeared behind him, tail lashing.

Scott's visor snapped to life, ruby glow filling the chamber.

"WHO are you?" he demanded.

The man wheezed, pushing himself up, clutching his glasses. His suit was torn, salt still on the sleeves, as if he'd been dragged from the ocean itself.

"My... name is Dr. Peter Corbeau." His voice rasped, urgent. "And I know where your friends are."

Scott's hand froze.

Corbeau met his gaze, eyes wide with a truth that burned hotter than fear.

"They're NOT dead," he said. "They're just not on Earth anymore."

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 59-LANG'S CAGE

The first thing Logan felt was the stink of antiseptic. Sharp. Bitter. Wrong.

The second thing was pain. Shackles cut into his wrists, Sentinel-forged manacles binding him to a steel chair bolted into the floor. His healing factor gnawed at the wounds, but the metal was too stubborn, too clever.

He opened his eyes slow. No coffin this time. A chamber. Clean, white, humming with machines. Wires ran from his chest, his arms, his skull. The same bindings trapped Jean, Banshee, and Charles nearby.

Banshee stirred, groaning, his voice hoarse. "Wha... where..."

Jean's eyes blinked open next. She sat upright, hair tangled, lips curling into defiance the instant she understood the situation.

Charles... Charles did not wake. Electrodes still clung to his scalp. His face was pale, too pale.

"CHARLES!" Jean pulled at her restraints, teeth bared. "What did you do to him?!"

A door slid open.

And in walked a man who carried himself like he owned the air. Tall, sharp-featured, hair clipped military-short, eyes lit with fanatic fire. A white lab coat hung loose, sleeves rolled. His smile was thin, precise, practiced.

"Stephen Lang," Jean said while gritting her teeth.

The man spread his arms like a preacher greeting his flock.

"At last, you're awake. My honored guests. My prizes. You should feel... privileged. For you are the key to mankind's survival."

Jean spat the words like fire. "You're insane. You're a murderer."

Lang's smile didn't flicker. He paced closer, hands clasped behind his back. "No, child. I am salvation. Do you think I don't know what you are? What your kind represents? A genetic CANCER. A species poised to replace my own. Humanity cannot coexist with predators who wear our faces."

Jean's chin lifted. Her voice was ice. "You're Just another coward hiding behind machines."

The smile faltered. His hand snapped out-too fast, too sharp-and the crack of his palm echoed as it struck her across the face. Jean reeled, head whipping to the side, cheek burning red.

"JEAN!" Banshee shouted, struggling against his bonds.

Logan's heart went feral. His vision narrowed to a pinpoint. Every instinct screamed. His begging to break free. claws shivered beneath the skin of his hands,

Lang leaned in close to her ear, whispering, voice dripping venom. "You won't be smirking when I peel the secrets from your DNA strand by strand."

That was it.

SNIKT.

The sound ripped through the chamber as Logan's claws shot out, slicing his shackles apart in a shower of sparks. His eyes blazed murder.

"LANG!"

He lunged, metal teeth flashing, fury a tidal wave of muscle and rage.

Lang's smirk returned just as fast. He darted back, almost gliding, slipping behind the towering shadow of a waiting Sentinel.

"Contain him," he ordered coolly.

The machine stepped forward, sensors burning red, arms raised like a god of war.

Logan bared his teeth. "Good. Now I don't have to chase you through hallways. I'll carve my way To you."

The Sentinels closed in, and the chamber filled with the promise of blood.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 60-CLAWS AND FIRE

The first Sentinel swung, its fist the size of a wrecking ball. Logan slipped under, claws flashing, carving a three-pronged scar across Its metal gut. Sparks flew. Circuits screamed.

"COME ON!" he roared, driving forward, carving deeper. His claws screeched against alloy, gouging bright trenches into the machine's armor.

Another Sentinel's hand clamped down on his shoulder. The pressure felt like mountains pressing together. Logan snarled, twisted, and severed the hand clean off with a single stroke.

Jean's eyes flared wide as she watched. "Logan!"

"DON'T JUST SIT THERE!" he barked. "MOVE!"

Her restraints buckled under a telekinetic surge, metal snapping apart. Banshee followed, his bonds shattering as he let out a raw scream that blew the debris from his body.

Only Charles remained still, unconscious, head slumped forward.

"Get him loose!" Logan slashed through another shackle, hot oil spraying across his face.

Jean darted to Xavier, fumbling at his bindings. Her skirt tore as she knelt-then ripped further when she yanked too hard.

She cursed under her breath, trying to gather herself. "Damn thing-"

Logan appeared at her side in a blur. His claws extended with surgical precision, circling her like a predator. A hiss of steel, a whisper of fabric tearing, and in seconds her dress-shirt hung in ragged tatters above her legs.

She froze. Eyes wide. Breath caught.

For a heartbeat, the battlefield faded. The only sound was the metallic drip from his claws.

"Better to fight free than trip over lace," Logan growled. Then he turned back to the machines, slashing through another Sentinel's knee with brutal finality.

Jean's pulse hammered in her throat. Fear and fire tangled in her eyes as she rose. Power shimmered around her fists.

"Don't EVER do that again," she hissed.

Logan didn't look back. "Then keep up."

Banshee bent low, wrapping his arms around Xavier's limp body. "Got 'im! He's light as a feather!" His voice cracked into a scream that launched them skyward, sonic wings carrying both toward the ceiling.

"Go!" Logan roared. "I'll clear the way!"

Jean stepped forward beside him, her hands blazing. For once, they fought in sync. Her telekinesis hurled shards of metal into Sentinel joints, slowing them, staggering

them. Logan darted in to finish the job, claws splitting armor, tearing wires, spilling sparks like blood.

Together they ripped through the steel army, carving a path of fire and ruin.

One last Sentinel loomed over them, massive, its head crowned with antennae glowing bright. Jean's power shoved it back, Logan's claws tore through its spine, and with a final scream of grinding metal it collapsed in a heap.

"Wall ahead!" Jean shouted.

"Then we make a DOOR," Logan growled.

They struck together. Jean's power punched holes into the bulkhead. Logan's claws carved through the steel like butter. A last shove tore the barrier apart, exposing the world beyond. And then-silence.

Logan froze. His claws dripped sparks. Jean's eyes widened, her power flickering out.

Because beyond that wall there was no world. Only stars.

A black ocean of endless night. They were in space.

Jean's breath caught, her voice breaking. "My God... we're not even on Earth anymore."

Logan's teeth clenched. His claws trembled with rage.

'You sons of bitches dragged us off the planet. And now I'm gonna find the one steering this ship, and I'm gonna paint the walls with him.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 61 THE WALL OF STARS

The void swallowed Logan's breath. The hole he carved in the wall was no escape, just a window to infinity. Stars burned cold, sharp as knives, scattered across endless black. Jean stood frozen beside him, lips parted, her heartbeat a frantic drum Logan could smell pounding in her chest.

Banshee clutched Xavier tighter, his voice breaking. "Sweet Lord... we're off the bloody planet..."

Logan's claws retracted slow. His growl was low, feral. "Whoever dragged us up here... they're dead men walkin'."

Jean whispered, "Lang..."

But before her thought could finish, the sound of metal on metal echoed through the chamber. Sentinels moving again, deeper in the station. The fight wasn't done. Logan squared his shoulders, nostrils flaring.

'Later. Later I'll rip answers outta Lang's hide. Right now-we stay alive.'

Westchester.

The war room hummed with Cerebro's dim afterglow, Scott still pacing like a caged wolf. His fists were raw from pounding the console. Storm stood close but silent, her eyes dark with a storm brewing.

The door burst open. Peter Corbeau stumbled in, his clothes still wrinkled and damp. Nightcrawler padded behind him, yellow eyes narrowed, tail flicking like a whip.

Scott whirled. "Talk. NOW."

Corbeau adjusted his glasses, his voice tense, rushed. "You're chasing shadows. Cerebro can't find them because they're not on Earth."

Scott's hand slammed down on the table. "Then WHERE?"

Corbeau held up a badge, slick and official, stamped with government clearance. "Your professor left me access. NORAD. Valhalla base. Their archives track every Sentinel project, every scrap of metal they've moved in the last decade. If we can match origins to destinations, we'll know exactly where your people were taken."

Storm's eyes narrowed. "And what of Charles's clearance?"

Corbeau's mouth twisted grim. "Still active. Still powerful enough to open the doors."

Scott grabbed him by the shoulder, dragging him toward the exit. His voice was raw, blazing. "Then we MOVE. Now."

The team followed, boots heavy on the mansion floor. Thunderbird cracked his knuckles, a dark grin playing on his lips.

"About time. I'm tired of sitting."

Corbeau glanced back once as they left, his voice quieter. "You'd better be ready for what we find. The Sentinels weren't built to guard this world... they were built to leave it."

The NORAD Valhalla base was a bunker of steel and silence. Security lights cast everything in cold green. Soldiers eyed the team as they passed, but no one dared stop them. Not with Charles Xavier's clearance code burning like a brand in the computer core.

Scott sat at the console, visor glowing in the dim light. His hands hovered over the keys, stiff with tension. Corbeau leaned beside him, guiding. "Search by material transport. Look for shipments marked Sentinel framework, alloy composites."

Lines of data bled across the screens, endless columns of numbers and locations. Scott scrolled, jaw tight, his breath short. Storm stood behind him, silent, her fingers resting on the back of his chair.

Thunderbird growled. "This is a damn waste of time. We should be smashing their factories, not staring at numbers."

"SHUT UP" Scott snapped, eyes locked on the screen. He froze. "There. Right there. Shipment origin: Bolivar Trask's private foundries. Destination..." His throat caught. "Starcore One."

The name hung in the air like a curse.

Corbeau adjusted his glasses. "Starcore. NASA's orbital research station. If the Sentinels are there, that's where they've taken your people."

Scott's hands curled into fists. His voice was flat, deadly. "Then that's where we're going."

Sunfire crossed his arms, a flicker of firelight in his eyes. "You think NASA will hand you a rocket? Fool."

Corbeau almost smirked. "They'll hand me one. I'm not just some passenger, Sunfire. I built half the systems they fly. They owe me favors."

Storm tilted her head. "And will they overlook a squad of mutants boarding their ship?"

"Not if we're quiet."

Scott stood, shoulders squared. "No more waiting. We suit up. Corbeau, get us a ship."

The team's eyes flickered one by one. Storm's calm intensity. Colossus's quiet unease. Thunderbird's feral smirk. Sunfire's silent fire. Nightcrawler's glowing stare.

The commander was back. Cyclops had fire in his veins again.

Scott turned, visor gleaming. "Jean, Logan, Charles, Banshee. They're alive. We're bringing them home."

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 62 THE GHOST OF MIKHAIL

The launch pad roared with life. Searchlights carved through the night as engineers scurried like ants around the towering white beast of steel and flame. NASA uniforms glared at the strange group in their midst, but none dared question. Peter Corbeau's badge cleared every step.

Inside the prep chamber, the X-Men stood encased in bulky white suits, helmets tucked under their arms. Oxygen tanks hissed, straps cinched. It was a strange sight - warriors of fire and storm now wrapped in NASA's rigid armor.

Thunderbird scowled, tugging at his collar. "Feels like a coffin."

Sunfire sneered. "Everything feels like a coffin to you."

"Boys," Storm said, sharp, cutting through them both. "Focus."

Nightcrawler's tail lashed behind him, jittering with nervous energy. "I've teleported across continents, but... space? It feels different, ja?"

Colossus didn't answer. He sat on a steel bench apart from the others, his massive hands covering his face. His shoulders shook.

Storm noticed. She moved to him, crouching low, voice soft. "Piotr?"

He lifted his head. His eyes glistened, rimmed red. "My brother... Mikhail." His voice cracked, deep as a church bell broken. "He was a cosmonaut. Russia's pride. He went into the sky... and never came back. The stars... they ate him."

He turned away, ashamed of the tears streaking his face. "Now I follow him. Perhaps... perhaps I share his fate."

Storm's hand touched his shoulder, firm and warm. "No, Piotr. You are not following him. You are walking your own path. You fight not for the stars, but for family. For Logan. For Jean. For Charles. For the world that still needs you."

Her eyes burned steady, unyielding. "And I swear to you the stars will not take you. Not while I draw breath."

Colossus shuddered. Then slowly, he nodded. His hands dropped from his face. "Da... for

them. For all of them."

The intercom blared: "Final boarding. Countdown T-minus ten minutes."

Corbeau clapped his helmet on, his voice brisk. "Strap in. No turning back after this."

The X-Men filed into the narrow rocket capsule, strapping into their seats, helmets sealing with a hiss. The chamber rattled, trembled, engines below warming with a roar like the heartbeat of the Earth itself.

Scott's voice came low through the comms. "Eyes forward. Hold steady. Remember what we're here for."

"Launch in five... four... three..."

The roar became thunder. Fire consumed the night.

"Two... one... Ignition."

The rocket tore free of the Earth, fire streaming in its wake. The X-Men were driven back into their seats as gravity screamed to hold them down. Muscles strained, bones groaned.

And then silence.

The blackness of space unfolded outside the portholes. Stars shimmered cold and infinite. The Earth shrank behind them, blue and fragile, a memory.

Hours bled as they floated in silence, tethered to seats, the endless void pressing in. Storm's eyes stayed locked on the stars, her lips whispering prayers no one else could hear.

Until the comm crackled, sharp and metallic. "Starcore One to unidentified vessel. You are denied entry. Vacate the perimeter immediately."

And then another voice, colder, mechanical.

"Alert: Mutant lifeforms detected on vessel. Neutralization protocol initiated."

The hull trembled. The first blast struck.

Sentinels had come hunting in the void.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 63-THE VOID HUNTS

The rocket shuddered like a dying beast. Metal screamed as an energy beam tore across its hull. Lights flickered red, alarms howled. The crew jolted in their seats, oxygen lines rattling loose.

"Contact-SENTINELS!" Scott's voice

thundered over comms.

Through the viewport, hulking silhouettes glided out of the black, wings glowing faint with thruster light. Their eyes blazed red, scanning.

"Mutant signatures confirmed. TERMINATION engaged."

One blast hit dead on. The rocket's skin split, a ragged hole yawning open. Air rushed out in a violent howl.

Storm was closest to the breach. The tether snapped. Her body was wrenched from her seat, spun like a leaf.

"ORORO!" Scott roared.

Her lifeline flailed, then snapped clean. She was gone, tumbling out into the black.

For one heartbeat, panic owned her. The void swallowed every sound. Stars whirled. Her lungs screamed. The cold chewed at her bones.

'I will die as Mikhail did... drifting into nothing...

But then-light.

The Sun. Golden, relentless, infinite. Its fire poured into her. She spread her arms wide, eyes blazing white.

"NO!" Her voice thundered inside her own skull. "I AM THE STORM!"

She drank deep of solar fire, drew the cosmic wind into her veins. Invisible currents surged, unseen rivers of energy flowing between stars. She bent them to her will.

A gale erupted in the void, her body anchoring to nothing but her own conviction. The winds became a storm across nothingness, her cape snapping like a banner.

The Sentinels turned, registering anomaly.

She struck.

Bolts of lightning, pure solar-fed fury, leapt from her fingers. Each crack was brighter than dawn, hotter than fire. The first Sentinel's head burst like a burning bulb. The second spun, wings shredded in a gale that had no air to ride. The third tried to flee, only to be caught in a cyclone born from solar breath, ripped apart in silence.

Storm drifted, panting, tetherless but

triumphant. Her eyes burned like twin stars. "The vold cannot claim me. I am Its master."

Inside the rocket, chaos.

Nightcrawler scrambled to seal the breach with emergency panels, his body bamfing in and out of thin air, smoke tralls filling the chamber. Colossus braced his shoulders against the cracking frame, holding the hull together with sheer steel muscle. Thunderbird and Sunfire lashed down equipment, shouting curses in their own tongues.

Scott strapped himself tighter, eyes narrow, his visor glowing. "Ram it!"

Corbeau's hands shook on the controls. "What

-?"

"RAM THE DAMN STATION!"

The rocket lurched, engines screaming.

Ahead, the Starcore station gleamed cold, its steel arms stretched out like a spider waiting for prey.

Another blast rocked the ship, but it didn't stop. The nose of the rocket carved fire across the void.

And then it hit.

Steel crumpled. The rocket punched into the side of Starcore with a roar that never echoed in space. The station shook, air hissing

through shattered bulkheads.

The X-Men unstrapped, scrambling into the breach. Sentinels surged inside, claws out, eyes burning red.

Scott's visor snapped open, ruby fury cutting the first machine in half. Thunderbird roared, fists smashing into steel jaws. Colossus's

metal skin blazed in the firelight as he

charged. Nightcrawler bamfed from one machine to another, claws tearing circuits. Sunfire's flames turned the corridor into an inferno.

And then through the shattered hull, riding on solar wind - Storm returned. She landed among them, her eyes glowing white, her cape billowing, lightning still dancing from her fingertips.

"We finish this," she said, her voice like thunder.

The Sentinels screamed. The X-Men

screamed louder. And battle raged in the heart of the station.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 64-THE CRASH AND THE REUNION

The Starcore station shook like a beast in its death throes. Sirens wailed, metal groaned, bulkheads split apart. Through the smoke and sparks, Sentinels poured in like ants from a hive.

Cyclops stood at the front, visor burning, his voice a blade cutting through the storm. "HOLD THE LINE! Cut them down before they regroup!"

A blast of ruby fire split a Sentinel's chest. Colossus followed, roaring, his steel fists shattering its head like glass. Nightcrawler bamfed into another's cockpit, claws tearing out wires, vanishing in smoke before its arms could clamp down. Sunfire's flames roared down the corridor, melting circuits, turning steel into slag. Thunderbird laughed, wild and furious, as he tackled one machine from behind, ripping its armored plating with his bare hands.

And then Storm came.

She strode into the corridor wreathed in lightning, eyes glowing white, her cape crackling like the wings of a goddess. A solar-fed gale howled in her wake. Her hand raised and a Sentinel exploded in light, its husk tumbling lifeless in the void beyond the torn walls.

The team pressed forward, carving their way into the belly of Starcore.

And then a sound cut through the chaos.

SNIKT.

Every X-Man froze. That sound was as familiar as thunder in the rain.

From the far side of the corridor, through the smoke, Logan emerged. His claws gleamed in the firelight, dripping with sparks and oil. Behind him staggered Jean, eyes blazing, her hair wild and tangled. Banshee limped in, still clutching Xavier across his shoulders like a wounded brother.

For a breath, silence.

Then Scott gasped. "Jean..." His voice cracked, breaking through the roar of battle.

Jean's lips parted. Her eyes met his. And then, like gravity itself snapped back into place, she was in his arms, tears spilling, his visor pressed against her brow.

Logan watched them, jaw tight, his claws sliding back into his hands. He turned away, his nose flaring, drinking in the reunion but not intruding.

Banshee half-smiled through his split lip. "Told you I wasn't done singin'."

Nightcrawler appeared at his side in a puff of smoke, steadying Xavier's limp form. "Mein Gott, we thought you dead."

"Almost was," Logan growled. "But these

bastards kept us alive. Experimentin'. Watchin'. Waiting." His eyes narrowed. "Lang's in here. Somewhere. And he's got more toys waitin'."

The floor trembled. Lights flickered.

And then, from the shadows at the far end of the chamber, figures emerged. Not Sentinels. Not machines.

Men. Armored. Human but wrong. Their eyes gleamed with fanatic fire, their bodies clad in suits traced with circuitry.

Stephen Lang's voice thundered through the station.

"Welcome, X-Men. You've come so far... only

to meet your end."

The team squared their shoulders, claws and

lightning and fire ready.

And the stars outside burned cold, watching.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 65

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

The chamber still smoked from battle. Sparks fizzled across the shattered walls, Sentinel wreckage lay in heaps, and the air reeked of burnt metal and oil. The X-Men stood catching breath, claws still out, lightning still crackling at their fingertips.

And then the far doors hissed open.

Five figures stepped into the firelight.

Wings spread wide, white feathers brushing the walls. A massive blue-furred shape hunched low, muscles coiled like steel cable. Frost glittered on another's hands, vapor curling into the cold air. And at the center, two familiar silhouettes - Alex Summers, eyes already glowing, and Lorna Dane, magnetic force shimmering faintly around her.

Angel. Beast. Iceman. Havok. Polaris.

The old X-Men.

Storm's lips parted. "By the goddess..."

Scott staggered forward, visor glowing in disbelief. "Alex? Lorna? We LEFT YOU at the mansion... we had you under guard. How the hell are you standing here?"

No answer. Havok's plasma bands flared white-hot. Polaris lifted her hand, steel panels groaning under magnetic pull.

"Why?" Scott shouted, voice cracking. "WHY ARE YOU FIGHTING US?!"

Angel's wings snapped once, a burst of air driving ash across the room. Iceman raised a gleaming shard of ice in silence. Beast's lips peeled back in a wordless snarl.

And then they struck.

Plasma seared across the chamber, Cyclops barely rolling aside as the blast tore a hole in the wall. Magnetic waves ripped machinery free, hurling it like missiles. Ice spread underfoot, freezing steel to glass.

Colossus slammed into Beast, metal fists clashing against furry blue muscle, the two titans grappling, shaking the station with every blow. Thunderbird roared, leaping at Angel, wings slashing across his face as they tumbled in mid-air. Sunfire screamed

defiance, fire crashing against Iceman's cold, the corridor hissing with steam.

Scott staggered back, visor flaring. "Hold BACK! They're our FRIENDS!"

That hesitation poisoned every strike.

Nightcrawler bamfed behind Polaris, but his blade slowed, pulling his hand before it could cut deep. Storm's lightning faltered mid-bolt, searing the ground instead of her target. Even Logan slashed shallow, claws carving steel but stopping short of flesh.

The old X-Men pressed harder, relentless, silent. The new team gave ground. For every strike they landed, guilt shackled them, fear biting their hands.

Logan's lips curled into a snarl. He tasted the air, his nose twitching. He smelled the fight, the heat, the ozone - but something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

No heartbeat. No sweat. No fear. No blood.

Nothing but cold.

He froze, his eyes narrowing to slits. 'These ain't the people I know. These ain't even PEOPLE.'

He leapt, claws flashing, ignoring Scott's shout behind him. He drove both hands straight into Beast's chest.

Metal shrieked. Sparks flew. Wires split like entrails.

The blue fur ripped away to reveal circuits, pistons, glowing cores. Beast staggered back, face twitching, half-jaw torn off to show cold steel beneath.

The chamber went silent. Every X-Man froze in horror.

Logan spat oil from his lips, his claws dripping with sparks. "These ain't our friends. They're MACHINES."

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 66 THE SCENT OF LIES

8

For a heartbeat, no one moved. The "Beast" sputtered where Logan had torn him open, sparks dancing across its ruined jaw. Half human, half machine no blood, no breath. Just wires.

Jean's hand flew to her mouth. Banshee swore under his breath.

Colossus whispered, "Bozhe moy... they are not real."

The fake Beast lunged again, voice crackling like a broken speaker. "DESTROY-MUTANTS

Logan met it with a roar. His claws carved upward in a single arc, splitting the machine from hip to shoulder. It collapsed in a rain of sparks.

The spell broke.

"Hit them HARD!" Scott shouted. "They're not our friends - they're MACHINES!"

The room exploded into chaos.

Thunderbird tackled Angel mid-flight, wings cutting air like knives. This time he didn't hold back. He seized the feathers, wrenched hard, and metal shafts snapped with a shriek. The machine let out a garbled cry before Thunderbird hurled it to the ground, stomping its chest until gears burst out like broken ribs.

Storm's eyes glowed white, her voice booming. "NO MERCY FOR SHADOWS!" Lightning seared down from her hands, striking Iceman full on. The ice shattered away to reveal chrome beneath, steam hissing from its fractured frame. Nightcrawler bamfed onto its shoulders, tearing circuits free with his claws.

Colossus squared against Polaris. She raised a hand, metal shrieking all around, trying to crush him beneath flying wreckage. He roared, planted his feet, and shoved through the magnetic storm. His fist drove straight through her chest - steel shrieking as he ripped out a core the size of a heart. Sparks showered the floor as the robot collapsed.

Havok's plasma beams tore craters into the walls, forcing Cyclops to dive for cover. Scott slid across the floor, visor blazing. The brothers' beams clashed mid-air, ruby red against searing white, shaking the chamber with raw energy.

But Logan smelled it no soul, no fear, no hesitation. Just programming. He charged straight through the clash, ignoring the searing burn against his skin. His claws punched through Havok's chest, ripping the machine apart from inside. The android toppled, its lights dying with a hiss.

And then silence.

The last machine collapsed in a heap, smoke rising. The floor was littered with broken wings, twisted claws, frozen shards, and the stink of burnt circuits. The old X-Men were nothing but scrap.

Scott's chest heaved. He looked at the broken face of the Havok machine, then at the real Alex still unconscious back at the mansion. His voice trembled with rage. "Lang... you son of a bitch."

Up above, glass shone. A control booth, lights glowing. And inside it - Stephen Lang, watching with cold, fanatic eyes.

His hand slammed the console. Doors slid open. He ran.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 67-LANG'S FALL

Alarms walled through the station, red lights flashing across shattered steel. The floor was littered with wreckage the broken shells of the false X-Men. The new team stood panting, bruised but unbroken.

And above, in the glass booth, Stephen Lang's face twisted with fury.

"Impossible..." he muttered, fists slamming the console. "My X-Sentinels... perfection Incarnate! DESTROYED by mongrels!"

The door behind him slid open. He bolted into the corridor, white coat flaring as he ran.

"HE'S RUNNING!" Thunderbird bellowed.

Scott's visor snapped toward the retreating figure. "Nightcrawler! CUT HIM OFF!"

BAME

The smell of brimstone filled the hall. In an Instant, Kurt appeared in front of Lang, crouched low, fangs bared. His yellow eyes glowed in the crimson alarms.

Lang skidded to a stop, slamming into the wall. "Y-you-"

Nightcrawler's fist shot out, cracking against Lang's jaw. The man reeled, his glasses snapping off his face. He stumbled, and before he could scream, Logan was on him.

SNIKT

Claws gleamed inches from Lang's throat.

Logan slammed him into the wall, one hand gripping his collar, the other cocked back to strike. His voice was a growl, pure animal fury.

"You think you can dress machines in our friends' skins and make us dance?!" His breath was hot against Lang's ear. "I should gut you right here."

Lang's face blanched. "You... you wouldn't-"

The claws sank just deep enough to pierce fabric, not flesh. Logan's eyes burned. "TRY ME."

"LOGAN!" Scott's voice cut sharp as a blade. He marched forward, visor glowing. "We need answers. Alive."

For a moment, Logan didn't move. His claws quivered. Then, with a snarl, he retracted them, slamming Lang to the ground.

Scott crouched over him, voice cold. "You built them. You built machines wearing our faces. Why?"

Lang spat blood, his lip split. His eyes burned with fanatic fire even through the swelling. "Because mutants are a disease. You're an infestation. And I am the cure."

Scott's fists clenched. "Answer the question."

Lang laughed, teeth red with blood. "X-

Sentinels. The next step in human defense. Stronger. Faster. Smarter than any mutant. They'll hunt your kind to extinction. That's my mission. That's my life's work. To END YOU ALL."

Storm's eyes narrowed, lightning flickering faint across her fingertips. "And you call yourself savior?"

Lang sneered, spitting at her feet. "I call myself HUMAN."

Before Scott could retort, the station shook violently. A new alarm blared, harsher, deeper. A mechanical voice thundered overhead:

"WARNING, SOLAR FLARE APPROACHING. MAXIMUM LEVEL."

Corbeau's voice cracked through comms. "It's the worst in years. You don't understand -this station won't survive it! You need to leave NOW!"

Scott spun to the team. "Move! Get us a ship ANYTHING that still flies!"

They dragged Lang unconscious across the floor, but left him slumped in the control booth, bound. The flare would finish what Logan hadn't.

The team sprinted through the halls, alarms painting the walls red, until they found it -one shuttle, intact, waiting in its dock.

They piled inside, hearts pounding. As the bay doors split open, the black void swallowed them. Behind, Starcore burned. Ahead, the sun flared.

Scott strapped in, his jaw tight. "Everyone secure. Corbeau tell me we've got a plan."

Corbeau's hands shook on the controls. "The autopilot's fried. Radiation shields too. No protective suits. The only chance is the life cell- but someone still needs to fly the ship."

The silence was heavy. The flare's light already glimmered in the distance.

And then Jean's voice broke it. Steady. Fierce.

"I'll do it."

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 68 THE SACRIFICE OF CHOICE

The shuttle groaned as it drifted free of the station, alarms still shrieking. The sun loomed ahead, swollen, its corona spitting flame. The solar flare boiled, a tide of fire swelling to swallow the sky.

Inside, the X-Men huddled around the cockpit. Every face pale. Every breath heavy.

Corbeau's voice trembled, "Someone has to fly... and shield us. But the pilot won't survive the radiation outside the life cell. It's suicide."

Jean stepped forward, her eyes fierce, hair wild in the flickering light. "Then it's my suicide."

Scott spun. "NO!" His visor flared, voice breaking. "Jean, I won't let you-"

"You don't HAVE a choice!" she snapped. Her eyes blazed, power crackling faintly around her hands. "I can absorb your knowledge, Corbeau. Telepathically. Every switch, every button, every trajectory. And I can shield the ship. No one else can."

Scott's voice cracked. "It'll KILL you!"

Jean stepped closer, her eyes soft for a moment. "If I don't, it kills ALL of us."

He shook his head violently, fists trembling. "We'll find another way, there's always another

Her hand touched his cheek, soft. "Scott. My love. There isn't."

Before he could answer, her eyes flared green.

A ripple of psychic force burst from her mind sharp, precise. Scott staggered, his visor dimming, his body collapsing limp into her arms.

"Forgive me." Her voice broke. "But I won't let you stop me."

Colossus stepped forward, torn between rage and grief. Jean looked up, eyes wet. "Piotr... please. Carry him into the life cell. Keep him safe."

The Russian's lip quivered, but he obeyed. He cradled Scott's unconscious body like a child, tears streaking his steel cheeks as he laid him inside the pod.

Storm moved next, her eyes shining like liquid silver. She seized Jean's hands, pulling her close, pressing her forehead against hers. "Sister of my heart... don't do this..."

Jean's smile cracked, trembling. "Someone has to."

Tears streaked Storm's cheeks as she pulled Jean into an embrace. Their bodies shook as one. "Then I will carry your spirit with me. Always."

Jean's voice was barely a whisper. "And I, yours.

They broke apart, hands lingering until the last.

Then Logan's shadow fell over her. His claws were sheathed, but his eyes burned hotter than any flame.

"You're a damn fool, Red," he growled, low and raw. "Always gotta play the hero, huh? You think dyin' makes you stronger? Makes you better?"

Her own temper flared, fire matching his steel. "And what would YOU do, Logan? Hide in the pod while the rest of us burn? If you had the power to save them, would you just SIT there?"

For once, he didn't snap back. He just stared, jaw tight, his breathing rough.

Then he muttered, "No. I wouldn't."

Jean blinked, startled by the softness in his voice. For a flicker, something passed

between them not fire, not claws, but something gentler, buried deep.

She turned away before it could bloom. Her

hands gripped the controls, her mind already reaching into Corbeau's thoughts, drawing every memory, every skill, every map of the stars. Knowledge poured into her veins like lightning.

She slid into the pilot's chair, shoulders squared, eyes blazing.

"Life cell sealed," Storm whispered, her voice breaking.

Jean whispered back, more to herself than anyone. "Alright, girl. Time to fly."

The sun loomed larger. The flare boiled higher. And the shuttle hurtled straight into hell.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 69- FIRE IN HER VEINS, STEEL AT HER BACK

The shuttle screamed through the void, a coffin of steel racing toward the sun. Warning klaxons howled, lights strobed red, and the hull groaned like it was already dying.

Jean's fingers danced across the controls, her eyes closed, her mind ablaze with stolen memory. Corbeau's piloting knowledge pulsed in her head - every sequence, every lever, every nuance of flight. Her telekinetic shield flared around the shuttle, a thin bubble holding back the wrath of the cosmos.

And then the flare came.

The sun erupted. A tidal wave of pure fire, radiation spilling across the void like a god's fist. It struck the shield with a deafening silence, invisible and absolute. The shuttle shuddered. Metal warped. Circuits hissed.

Jean's scream tore through her teeth. Her veins lit up green, her body trembling as she poured everything into the barrier. The flare pressed harder, heavier, until every nerve in her body felt like it was burning.

'Too much... it's too much... I can't-'

Her shield flickered. For a split second, a lick of radiation cut through. The cockpit sizzled, panels blistering. Her knees buckled.

And then a shadow fell over her. Logan.

He stood outside the life cell, where he had refused to hide. His body hunched over hers, arms braced against the console, covering her frame completely.

The radiation bit him instantly. His skin bubbled, peeled, muscle searing red. The smell of scorched flesh filled the cockpit. His teeth clenched, a growl ripping from his throat.

"LOGAN-NO!" Jean sobbed, looking up at him. Her shield trembled as she tried to hold it and push him back at once. "Get inside, PLEASE! You'll die!"

His lips peeled back in a bloody grin. "Already been there, Red. Didn't take."

His flesh cooked, his face blistering until bone glimmered through. His healing factor churned, dragging meat back onto bone even as the flare stripped it away. He was a man dissolving and rebuilding in the same breath, trapped in endless agony.

Jean felt it. Through her telepathy, through her shield, she felt everything. Every nerve ripped raw, every scream he refused to make. His pain poured into her like firewater, flooding her chest until she thought her own heart would break.

"Stop," she begged, tears streaking down her face. "Please, Logan, I can't... I can't watch you burn-"

His hand, raw and half-skeletal, pressed against her cheek. His claws didn't unsheathe. Just his hand.

"You can," he rasped. His voice was smoke and gravel. "You gotta. You think you're alone in this? You ain't. I've been through worse. I'm not lettin' you fall. Not now. Not EVER."

She sobbed, clutching his wrist, her tears sizzling as they hit his ruined skin.

The flare howled. Her shield flickered again -but this time, steadied. With his body over hers, with his stubborn will burning brighter than the sun itself, she found more strength.

She pushed back. Harder. Stronger. The shuttle lurched, carving its way through the firestorm.

Logan collapsed forward, his head against hers, his blood dripping down her face. His voice was barely a whisper.

"Hold on, Red. Just... hold on."

And she did. Because beneath the fire, beneath the pain, something new had taken root in her chest. Small, fragile, but real. A seed.

And it was him.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 70-ASHES AND REBIRTH

Inside the life cell, the air was light, the silence suffocating. Storm clutched the sides

of her seat, her lips moving in silent prayer.

Nightcrawler's tail coiled, flicking in nervous spasms. Banshee muttered curses under his breath, his eyes darting between the others.

And then Scott stirred. His head jerked, his visor flickering back to life. He sat up fast, confusion bleeding into panic.

"Jean?!" He staggered against the reinforced glass, pounding his fists. "Let me out! I have to get to her!"

"Scott" Storm tried, her voice low.

He slammed the glass harder, his visor

Colossus seized him, holding him back with arms of steel. "Nyet. You cannot."

glowing crimson. "She's out there ALONE! Open this damn thing before-"

"LET ME GO!" Scott's voice cracked, torn between rage and terror. "That's JEAN! She'll DIE out there!"

Tears welled in his eyes as he shoved uselessly against Colossus's immovable frame. The others turned away, guilt etching Into every face.

Then Nightcrawler's eyes narrowed. His nostrils flared. "Wait...".

"What?" Scott snapped.

"He's not here." Kurt's voice was grim, low.

"Wolverine. He's not in the cell."

The words hit like a hammer. Scott froze,

"He stayed outside," Storm whispered,

realization dawning in her eyes. "Oh goddess.....

he's with her."

The cockpit was a storm of fire and screams.

Jean clung to the controls, her shield

crackling around the ship. The flare battered her mind, each wave ripping at her skin, her soul.

And beneath her - Logan.

His body was a ruin. Flesh blistered away,

bone glowing raw before knitting back together. Each cycle left him weaker, slower.

His breath rattled, shallow. He held her once, shielded her with steel and flesh, but now even his healing couldn't keep pace.

His head slumped against her shoulder. His eyes fluttered shut. His claws retracted with a hiss.

And then he was still.

Jean's scream echoed in her mind.

'If I were stronger... if I were MORE... he

wouldn't have to suffer for me!'

The thought burned hotter than the sun

outside. Her heart cracked. Her mind shattered. And through the cracks poured fire

endless, eternal.

Her body glowed. Her hair lifted in flames. Her eyes became twin suns.

The flare itself bent around her. She rose from the pilot's chair, her voice layered with echoes,

ancient and vast.

"I AM PHOENIX. And I am reborn."

She spread her arms, and the shuttle obeyed like it was part of her. It plunged through the

firestorm, guided not by thrusters but by will.

The flare bent aside. The void yielded.

The Earth's curve rose below them. The

shuttle streaked downward, fire trailing in its

wake, and smashed into the sea with a

thunderous crash. Waves swallowed it whole.

Jean rose higher, floating above the shattered

ship, blazing like a goddess reborn. Her voice

rang across the sky, a whisper and a

thunderclap at once.

"I AM LIFE. I AM FIRE. I AM... PHOENIX."

But then-

Her eyes caught something below. A body. Bloodied. Broken. Floating.

Logan.

Her cosmic glow faltered. The fire wavered.

She dove. "LOGAN!"

She splashed into the waves, cradling his limp

form against her chest, her tears mingling with saltwater and blood. His chest still rose, barely, his flesh slowly knitting even as it bled

anew.

She sobbed, clinging to him. "You protected

me... you burned for me... and I let you suffer. It should have been me!"

others stumbled out onto the shore, coughing,

The life cell cracked open behind her. The

dragging Scott between them. They froze at the sight: Jean in the surf, cradling Logan, weeping waterfalls.

Storm's hand covered her mouth. "Great goddess..."

Colossus's eyes widened. "He... he lives. Look!"

Even through the blood and ruin, Logan's body Iwitched, the skin crawling as it healed. Slowly. Horribly. But alive.

Scott staggered forward, visor dim, his voice a

hollow rasp. He saw Jean holding Logan. Her

face buried in him. Her tears for him.

Something inside Scott withered.

'She was mine. Always mine. But he... he did what I couldn't. He bled for her. He burned.'

He clenched his fists until they shook, the taste of ash in his throat.

Jean rocked Logan against her chest, whispering like a vow. "Never again... I won't

let you suffer alone again."

And though she didn't see it yet, though she didn't admit it yet in her heart, the seed had

bloomed.

love.

The Phoenix had fire. But Logan had planted

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 71-THE MAN WHO WON'T DIE

The hospital smelled of antiseptic and fear. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting long shadows across the waiting room where the X-Men had made camp. They'd been there since the crash, since the doctors rushed Jean and Logan behind steel doors. Now it was night again. A full day. No answers. No comfort.

Scott hadn't sat once. He paced, back and forth, a caged predator in ruby-tinted glass. His jaw was locked, fists tight enough that his knuckles looked ready to snap. Every nurse who passed felt the heat radiating off him. He only ever stopped when a door opened - eyes snapping up, hope flashing, only to die again when it wasn't her.

Storm sat with her hands folded, lips moving in quiet prayer. Every few minutes her eyes closed and her breath caught, like she was listening for a goddess who wasn't speaking. When Scott passed too close, her voice sharpened. "Summers, sit. You burn a hole in the floor."

He ignored her. "She should've woken up by now."

"Logan too," Banshee muttered, slumped against the wall. His voice was low, stripped of its usual music. "I saw what the sun did to him. If it weren't fer' his healin', he'd be ash."

Nightcrawler's tail flicked restlessly, curling and uncurling around his chair leg. He tried for a smile. "He will live. He always does. He is too stubborn not to." But the joke cracked halfway, voice breaking into a whisper. "Still... I saw his face when they dragged him out of the water. He looked... gone."

Colossus leaned forward, elbows on knees. His massive frame made the plastic chair squeal in protest. "He is strong. But no one can take punishment forever."

The words hung heavy. For a moment, the room felt like a tomb.

Scott stopped pacing. His head turned, visor glowing faint red. "Don't talk about him. This isn't about him. Jean's the one we should be worried about."

Storm's eyes sharpened. "Do not dismiss his sacrifice, Scott. Without him, Jean might not have survived the flare at all."

Scott's mouth twisted. He didn't answer. He turned away, shoulders rigid, the silence screaming louder than words.

Hours dragged. The vending machine ran out of coffee. The night deepened. And still the doors stayed closed.

When finally a doctor stepped through, his scrubs stained and tired eyes set in shadows, the entire team surged to their feet at once.

The man blinked at the wall of bodies. "Easy. Easy. They're stable. Both of them. But-" He lifted a hand. "The woman - Jean - is still unconscious. She needs time. Her body took on stresses I've never seen before. As for the other one..." His brow furrowed. "...the Canadian? His vitals are... remarkable. Healing faster than anything I've seen. If anyone's

waking first, it'll be him."

The team exhaled, relief tangled with dread.

Scott's fists clenched again. He didn't like the sound of that.

The room was quiet, save for the steady rhythm of the heart monitor. A single lamp hummed above the bed, throwing pale light across Logan's battered form. Tubes ran into his arm, bandages wrapped his chest, but beneath it all... the wounds were gone. Skin smooth, muscle full. His body was whole again.

His eyes snapped open.

For a moment he didn't move. Just listened. The hum of electricity in the walls. The scent of antiseptic thick in his nostrils. The faintest heartbeat in the hall beyond the door Storm's steady calm, Scott's restless fury.

Then he growled low in his throat. "Still here, huh? Figures."

The door opened before he could sit up. Storm entered first, her smile small but genuine. Behind her, the rest of the team flooded in Scott, Banshee, Colossus, Nightcrawler, Thunderbird, Sunfire,Moira. Charles was wheeled in last, his expression a measured calm hiding deep relief.

Banshee whistled under his breath. "Bloody hell, lad. We thought ye were a corpse. I swear, when I saw you after the crash, ye looked like death itself."

Logan smirked, sitting up despite the IV tugging at his arm. "Been called worse."

Storm's eyes softened, but her voice carried a scolding edge. "You scared us, Wolverine. You tore yourself apart. No one should do what you did."

Nightcrawler's tail flicked nervously. "Ja... when we pulled you out, I thought you were... broken uncle."

Colossus leaned forward, earnest concern etched on his young face. "Why did you take such risk? You could have died."

Logan snorted, scratching at his jaw. "Somebody had to keep the redhead standing. Ain't like any of you could've done it."

Scott's head snapped up, visor gleaming. His voice came out tight. "Watch it, Logan."

The room tensed. Storm raised a hand, silencing the spark before it could flare. Charles wheeled closer, his gaze steady on Logan.

"You are alive, yes," Xavier said softly, "but reckless. Impulsiveness is your weakness, Logan. Do not risk the team or yourself that way again."

Logan leaned back, arms folded across his chest. "Yeah, yeah. Lesson learned, teach. Won't happen again." His smirk returned. "Til it does."

A ripple of exasperation passed through the room. Banshee shook his head. "Mad bastard. Thought ye were gone fer good."

Storm crossed her arms, eyes narrowing. "Even Jean fainted after it all. Her body could not bear the strain."

Logan's grin faded, just a fraction. His eyes sharpened. "Jean?"

"She is stable," Xavier assured him. "But still unconscious. She needs time to heal."

Logan didn't answer right away. He just stared at the floor, jaw tight, a cigar itch already tugging at his fingers.

The room went quiet. Relief at his survival was real, but the shadow of Jean's silence weighed heavier.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 72- PHOENIX RESTS

The second floor of the hospital was hushed. Machines beeped in measured rhythm, curtains swayed gently in the air conditioning. Jean lay still, pale against the sheets, her hair a spill of flame over the pillow.

Scott sat at her bedside, hand gripping hers like it was the only thing keeping him upright. He hadn't left, not even for food. His eyes burned behind the visor, but this time it wasn't optic energy - it was fear.

Then her fingers twitched.

Scott bolted upright. "Jean-?"

Her eyelids fluttered. Slowly, painfully, her green eyes opened. She blinked against the harsh light. When she saw him, her lips curved into the faintest smile. "Scott..."

Relief broke him. His breath came ragged, his shoulders sagged, and he pressed his forehead against her hand. "Thank God. Jean, I thought-i thought I'd lost you."

The door burst open. The rest of the team crowded in, faces alight with joy. Storm rushed to the bed, tears glimmering. "Sister, you are awake. The Goddess be praised."

Jean tried to sit, but the doctor appeared, shooing everyone back. "Easy. Easy. She's not ready for strain. Her body's been through hell. She needs prolonged recovery. Keep her calm."

Jean gave him a wry look. "Calm isn't really in the X-Men handbook."

The room laughed, the tension breaking at last. Even Colossus grinned through his tears.

But Logan didn't laugh. He leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, his eyes locked on her. Watching. Measuring. He didn't move when the others swarmed, didn't smile when Jean teased. His gaze stayed sharp, a steel wire pulled taut.

Then Scott bent down. His voice was hoarse, but firm. "I don't care what the doctor says. I'm not letting you out of my sight again."

And before anyone could stop him, he kissed her.

It wasn't gentle. It wasn't sweet. It was desperate, hungry, a claim staked in front of the whole team. Jean stiffened at first - then softened, returning the kiss, her hand rising to his cheek.

The others looked away, awkward, some smiling faintly. But Logan didn't. His jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. He turned his head just enough to snatch a cigar from Banshee's pocket, bit off the end, and lit it right there in the hospital room.

Smoke curled into the sterile air.

"Logan!" Storm's voice cracked sharp. "This is a hospital!"

He exhaled a cloud, smirk tugging at his lips. "Yeah. And I just got back from the sun. Think the walls'll forgive me."

The doctor nearly choked on fury. Logan shrugged, puffed again, eyes fixed not on them but on Jean.

She broke the kiss, her cheeks flushed, her breath ragged. She looked across the room, met Logan's stare for a heartbeat, then looked away quickly.

No one spoke.

The smoke hung heavy.

The hospital had gone still. Hours since the team finally collapsed into uneasy sleep, bodies sprawled across waiting room chairs and benches, exhaustion beating out stubbornness.

But not Logan.

He stood in the garden outside, moonlight painting silver across the grass. The cigar's glow burned in the dark, a small defiance against silence. He leaned against the cold stone wall, smoke curling up toward the stars.

The door creaked behind him. Bare feet whispered on tile, then concrete.

Jean stepped into the garden, hospital robe drawn close around her shoulders. Her face was pale, her hair a flame against the night. She stopped when she saw him, the lines of weariness softening into something gentler.

"You should be in bed," Logan muttered, flicking ash.

"So should you," she countered, walking closer. "But I couldn't sleep."

They stood a few feet apart. The night hummed with crickets.

Jean's eyes lingered on him. "I wanted to thank you."

He blew out smoke, voice rough. "For what?"

"For what you did. For me. Out there in the flare."

He shrugged, but there was an edge in it. "Don't flatter yourself. Somebody had to hold the line. You cracked - I just covered the gap."

Her chin lifted, a flash of fire in her voice. "I didn't crack. I held until I couldn't anymore. And you... nearly killed yourself for it."

Logan turned, jaw tight. "Yeah? Then why'd you do what you did, huh? Flyin' that tin can through a damn solar storm. Could've roasted yourself alive."

The words hung sharp between them.

For a long moment, neither spoke. Just their breathing, the faint chirp of the night.

Then, almost at the same time, they laughed. Soft, strained, but real. The kind of laugh that came when the only other choice was to scream.

Jean shook her head. "We're both idiots."

"Yeah," Logan agreed, smirking around the cigar. "World's luckiest idiots."

She stepped closer, her eyes glinting. And before she left, she plucked the cigar from his mouth, snuffed it between her fingers, and held it up.

"Bad for you."

He blinked at her. She smiled faintly, then turned, walking back toward the door. Her robe trailed, her hair catching the moonlight like fire.

Logan stared at her back. Then down at the dead cigar in his hand.

His voice came low, gravel dragged across the night.

"I... am in love."

The garden went still. The moon bore silent witness.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 73 THE CHOICE

The hospital's halls smelled like bleach and quiet. The whole team gathered in Xavier's office, the man himself in his chair at the center, his expression calm but drawn. Logan stood in the back, arms folded, healed enough to pass for untouched.

Xavier's voice carried with its usual steel. "My X-Men. You've endured storms, fire, and near-death. For now, you will have rest. A vacation, if you will. I must remain behind to monitor Jean's recovery. I will not have time to manage you properly. Rest is necessary."

A murmur went through the room. Colossus glanced at his hands, Nightcrawler's tail twitched, Thunderbird crossed his arms.

Scott stepped forward, voice clipped. "Professor, with respect I'm not going anywhere. My place is here. With Jean."

"You should rest, Scott," Storm said gently. "We all should. She is safe now. She will recover."

"I'm not leaving her," Scott snapped, louder this time. "She needs someone by her side. I'll stay."

"Ha," Sunfire muttered, arms folded tight. "The great Cyclops, chained by his heart."

Banshee lifted a hand. "Professor if it's rest you want, I've an idea. I got word from the homeland. A message. Might be nothing, but it'd give us reason to head there. Ireland's got space to breathe."

"Fine with me," Thunderbird grunted. "As long as it ain't another goddamn hospital."

The Professor nodded slowly. "Then it's settled. Sean, you will guide the others to your family estate. Scott if you insist, you may remain here."

Scott's fists clenched, his visor tilted down. "It's not a matter of insistence. It's a matter of love."

Logan tilted his head at that, his nostrils flaring. Soul scent. He caught the burn of Scott's emotions, hot and tangled. Possessiveness. That he understood. Jean had just danced on death's edge a man would want to guard her close. But beneath it, darker, sharper... jealousy. Jealousy of who? Of what? Logan's brow furrowed. He didn't understand.

The meeting broke. The team filed toward the infirmary, one by one to say goodbye.

Jean lay quiet, still pale, but breathing easy now. Scott sat beside her, eyes never leaving her face. The others offered gentle words, Storm pressing Jean's hand, Colossus bowing his head like she was a saint. Nightcrawler whispered a joke meant to lighten the air.

Logan lingered at the back. When it was finally his turn, he stepped forward, rough boots echoing against tile. He didn't speak. Just looked.

And Jean, half-asleep, looked back.

Their eyes met - just a flicker, brief, but enough. Heat under glass.

They both looked away at once.

Logan grunted, turned on his heel, and left with the others
The truck rattled like a bag of bones, coughing smoke with every mile. Its paint was chipped, its seats torn, and every pothole on the Irish road made it lurch like a drunk sailor.

Behind the wheel, Banshee grinned ear to ear. "Ahh, listen to her hum! Nothin' like the roads of me youth, lads and lass."

"Hum?" Thunderbird groaned from the back, clinging to the side as the truck bounced. "This heap's screaming for mercy."

Colossus sat wedged between him and Nightcrawler, knees jammed to his chest. "I think... my spine is folding in ways not meant for man."

Nightcrawler, balanced lightly despite the jolts, grinned wide. "Ah, but Peter, it builds character! You will thank Sean someday when you are as limber as me." He flipped his tail lazily, earning a glare from Thunderbird.

"Limber? He'll be crippled if we survive this road."

Sunfire crossed his arms tight, seething. "This is beneath us. Heroes of the world, saviors of Earth and we ride like peasants in a farm cart?"

"Better'n ridin' your high horse," Logan muttered from the back, cigar clenched between his teeth. He was the only one not visibly rattled, just braced with feral steadiness. "Least this thing's got wheels."

Storm, seated up front beside Banshee, hid a laugh behind her hand. "I cannot believe this is how the mighty X-Men travel. It is... charming."

"Charming?" Sunfire sputtered. "This contraption is insulting."

Thunderbird jabbed a finger at him. "You want to walk, hotshot? Be my guest. We'll pick up your ashes a mile down when you burn yourself out."

The truck hit another hole. Colossus' head smacked the roof. "Oof!"

Nightcrawler laughed so hard he almost fell off the bench.

Banshee only sang louder, some old Gaelic tune that rose above the coughing engine. "Ahh, Cassidy Keep will put all your hearts at ease! A feast, a warm fire, the sea wind-"

Another bump threw everyone skyward before they crashed back down.

"Or," Logan growled, "it'll kill us before we get there."

The road wound on, the bickering, laughter, and groans making the rattling truck feel more alive than it had in years.

At last, through the mist and rolling green hills, stone towers rose in the distance..

Cassidy Keep..

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 74-THE SHADOW OF CASSIDY KEEP

The truck groaned to a halt at the edge of the cliffs. Before them rose Cassidy Keep - a sprawl of grey stone carved against the Atlantic's fury, its towers biting into the mist. Waves hammered the rocks below, the sea's roar constant, ancient.

Colossus tilted his head back, eyes wide. "It looks... like something from an old story. A fortress where kings once lived."

Nightcrawler crossed himself dramatically. "Or villains." His yellow eyes gleamed. "I can almost hear the ghosts whisper."

Thunderbird spat to the side. "Hmph. Ghosts don't scare me. But that drafty pile looks ready to bury us alive."

Storm shivered, though not from cold. "It has presence. The stones remember blood."

Logan sniffed the salt air, his nose twitching. "Stinks of trouble. Mark me, we're not walkin' into a welcome party."

From inside the keep, dim lamplight flickered.

Deep in the monitoring room, Black Tom Cassidy leaned against the console, cane resting across his knees. His smile was sharp as a blade. Beside him, Eamon O'Donnell sat stiff, sweat shining on his brow.

"They're at the door," O'Donnell whispered.

"Aye, and you'll open it, cousin," Tom purred. "Smile nice. Say the right words. If they sniff somethin' wrong, if they smell so much as a hair out of place..." He tapped the cane against the stone. "The hostages die. Screamin'."

O'Donnell swallowed hard. The monitor screens showed the X-Men waiting at the gates.

Tom's grin widened. "Now then. Let them in."

The iron doors groaned open. Eamon stepped forward, bowing low, his voice smooth but shaky. "Welcome, honored guests, welcome to Cassidy Keep. You are most heartily invited. Please come in."

The X-Men exchanged glances. Storm inclined her head, Colossus gave a polite nod. Nightcrawler bowed theatrically.

Logan's eyes narrowed. He smelled fear. Sweat. Lies. But he kept quiet, claws resting beneath his skin.

They followed Eamon through stone corridors lit by torches, walls lined with the faded banners of old Ireland.

"You'll find your rooms prepared," Eamon said, forcing a smile. "And tonight a feast in your honor. Cassidy Keep is most pleased to host the X-Men."

Logan muttered low, just enough for Storm to hear. "Feast, huh? We're the ones on the menu."

Night fell hard over Cassidy Keep. The sea's roar outside was drowned beneath music drifting through stone halls - fiddles, pipes, the clink of goblets.

Storm stepped out of her chamber first. She wore a flowing silver dress that shimmered against her skin, her hair like a white crown. For a moment, she looked less like an X-Man and more like a queen from some forgotten legend.

The door beside hers creaked open. Logan emerged, tugging at the collar of a suit that clearly wasn't made for him. The tie strangled, the jacket clung too tight around his shoulders. He stopped dead when he saw her.

A whistle cut the air. "Well, damn. You're one of the most beautiful women I know, 'Ro. Least far as I can remember."

Storm's cheeks warmed, and she inclined her head with grace. "You flatter me, Logan. But... thank you."

Her eyes traveled down and she burst into laughter, sharp and sudden.

Logan scowled. "What?"

"That suit," she managed between giggles. "It does not... fit you at all!"

He growled, clawed fingers snapping the tie loose and tossing it aside. "Monkeys wear ties. Not me."

Storm pressed a hand to her lips, still laughing softly as they descended together toward the great hall.

The banquet glowed with candles and firelight. Long tables groaned under bread, cheese, and roast meat. Music played as masked servants poured wine.

Nightcrawler and Colossus were already there, awkwardly attempting courtly manners. When Storm entered, their eyes lit up as though the sun itself had stepped into the room.

"Fraulein Ororo," Nightcrawler said, bowing low, his tail curling behind him. "A dance?"

Colossus cleared his throat, standing tall. "If I may... I would also ask for this honor."

Storm blinked, startled then laughed gently.

"Both of you?" She offered a hand to each, and to the delight of the hall, danced between them, graceful and radiant, spinning with both giants of steel and shadow.

Logan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, muttering. "Clowns." But there was no heat in it.

The music swelled. Feet stamped. The stone beneath them shuddered.

Then it gave way.

With a thunderous crack, the floor split beneath the dancers. A hidden platform dropped open like a maw.

"Storm!" Logan roared.

The X-Men screamed as they plunged, firelight and music vanishing above, replaced by the cold darkness of Cassidy Keep's underbelly.

Stone swallowed them whole.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 75 BLACK TOM'S WELCOME AND STORM’S NIGHTMARE

The X-Men landed hard, bodies sprawled across cold stone. Dust hung in the air. From the shadows at the far end of the chamber, a laugh rolled out deep, mocking, rich with venom.

"Well, well, well. Look what the tide washed into me keep."

Torches flared one by one, casting jagged light against the walls.

Black Tom Cassidy stepped forward. Tall, lean, draped in dark green and black, a cruel smile plastered on his scarred face. His cane gleamed in one hand, polished like bone. His eyes found Banshee first, and they burned with old, festering hatred.

"Sean, me dear cousin. You brought friends to the family estate! An honor. Shame you'll all be leavin' in pieces."

Beside him, the ground trembled. Heavy steps shook the cavern as a figure emerged from the darkness - Juggernaut. A mountain of muscle wrapped in crimson armor, his dome-shaped helmet catching the firelight. His fists were the size of anvils. Every step was an earthquake.

"Recognize me, little man?" Juggernaut's voice thundered. He cracked his knuckles, the sound like splitting trees. "I'm Cain Marko and you're about to learn what unstoppable means."

Thunderbird growled. "Big talk. You'll fall like the rest."

Colossus stepped forward, already steel-skinned. "If you wish to harm my comrades, you will face me first."

Nightcrawler's tail lashed nervously, his yellow eyes darting between the two villains. "Ach, wunderbar. A mad cousin and a juggernaut. I vote we retreat now, ja?"

Logan's claws SNIKTed out, gleaming in the firelight. "No retreat. Just a couple more piles of meat to carve through."

Banshee's jaw tightened as he faced his cousin. "Tom. You've gone too far this time."

Tom leaned lazily on his cane, grinning. "Oh, Sean. Too far? Nay. Just far enough. You took what was mine, cousin your voice, your gifts, your oh-so-noble life. I'll be takin' them back. With interest."

Storm shifted uneasily, her hand brushing the wall. The cavern was narrow, the ceiling low, shadows pressing close. Her breath hitched, chest tightening. She tried to push it down, to breathe steady. But the walls felt alive, closing, suffocating.

Her pupils shrank. Her hand trembled. A bead of sweat slid down her temple.

Black Tom's laugh echoed louder. Juggernaut's footsteps shook the ground as he started forward.

And Storm whispered, voice trembling, "No... not again..."

The walls pressed closer. The torches flickered low, their smoke curling like claws. Storm's breath grew short, ragged. Her knees buckled.

"Ororo?" Colossus turned, reaching for her arm.

She gasped, clutching at the stone, eyes wide with panic. "No... not here... not the dark-"

Then she screamed.

The sound tore through the cavern, raw and piercing, not of battle but of a soul cracking open.

And with it came the memories.

Bombs shrieking over Cairo. The thunder of warplanes. A child's voice crying as fire consumed the streets. Ororo's parents pulling her into their arms, shielding her. The ceiling split. Stone and steel rained down. Their bodies crushed. The girl buried beneath the rubble.

Darkness. Suffocation. The weight of the world pinning her chest. No air. No light. A little hand scratching at the dirt until nails split and bled. Her tiny lungs clawing for breath.

She screamed again, the same scream she gave as a child when death pressed in from all sides.

The vision shifted. A hand dragged her from the rubble an old man's hand, rough and greedy. He taught her to beg, to steal, to bow her head in the streets of Cairo. A life of survival, of shame.

Then the deserts of Kenya. Wide skies, endless horizons. The freedom of the wind, the worship of her people a goddess reborn beneath the open sun.

Until Xavier came. The man in the chair. His mind touching hers. His voice offering purpose beyond worship. He gave her a name beyond "goddess." He gave her a family.

Now the walls threatened to steal it all away again.

Storm collapsed to her knees, clutching her head, her white hair falling like a curtain around her face. Tears streaked her cheeks, her chest heaving.

Nightcrawler crouched beside her, worried.

"Ororo-what is it?"

But she could not answer. Her voice was lost in the weight of stone.

Juggernaut's laugh boomed as he charged.

"Perfect," he roared. "One down before I've even touched 'em!"

The cavern shook as the giant thundered forward.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 76-THE CLASH OF GIANTS AND TEACHING STORM TO FIGHT BACK

Juggernaut thundered forward like a living avalanche. His steps cracked stone, his roar rattled teeth.

"MOVE!" Logan barked.

Nightcrawler BAMFed away in a puff of brimstone. Sunfire shot straight into the air, a comet of fire. Thunderbird dove to the side with a curse.

Colossus didn't move. He squared his shoulders, steel form gleaming in the torchlight. "I will stop him."

"Piotr-!" Storm managed to croak, but it was too late.

Juggernaut hit him head-on. The impact echoed like a cannon blast. Colossus was hurled across the cavern, his body smashing into the wall hard enough to crater the stone. He slumped, groaning, but alive.

Juggernaut laughed, turning on the others. "That all you got? I'm just warmin' up!"

Black Tom cracked his cane against the ground, grinning at the chaos. "Break 'em, Cain! Break every last one!"

Banshee lunged at him, fists raised. "I'll break you, cousin!"

Tom swung his cane like a club, and the two crashed together. Sean screamed point-blank, but Tom's mutant resonance absorbed it. Tom struck back, his blow shaking Banshee's jaw. Their powers canceled - so they fought with fists, dirty and desperate, rolling like brawlers in an alley.

Juggernaut swung for Thunderbird. Logan lunged in, taking the blow across his ribs. Bone snapped, blood spraying as he hit the floor. He staggered up, claws flashing.

Nightcrawler BAMFed onto Juggernaut's back, claws raking at armor. "You vill fall, giant!" Juggernaut shrugged, and the elf went flying.

Sunfire blasted fire at his face. The flames curled harmlessly off the crimson helmet. Juggernaut stomped forward, swatting him from the sky.

Logan was everywhere - his hearing sphere alive, heartbeats ringing in his skull, every movement slowed by his bullet-time reflexes. A fist aimed at Nightcrawler - Logan dove in its path, catching the hit with his chest. A backhand meant to pulp Thunderbird

Logan's claws blocked, bones breaking again. He bled freely, staggering, but never letting the others take the full brunt.

Juggernaut sneered down at him. "You can't stop me, runt. Nothing stops me."

Logan spat blood, grinning through split lips. "Ain't tryin' to stop ya. Just keepin' my family standin'."

The others regrouped, panting, desperate. Their attacks bounced off Juggernaut like pebbles on a tank.

"Nothing works!" Sunfire shouted, his flames guttering in the stale air.

Logan's one good eye locked on Storm, still curled in fear against the wall. He growled.

"Buy me a minute. All of ya. Just one damn minute."
The cavern shook with every step Juggernaut took. The others scrambled, harrying him, clawing seconds out of nothing. Sunfire circled, blasting his back. Nightcrawler BAMFed in and out, taunting with quick jabs. Thunderbird hurled rocks. Colossus, groaning from his crater, forced himself upright, steel hands clenched.

And Logan? Logan stalked toward the wall where Storm cowered.

Her hands clawed at her hair, her eyes wide, unseeing. She was still in Cairo, still buried beneath rubble, still a child gasping for air.

Logan knelt, seized her by the collar, dragged her face up to his. His eyes burned like coals.

"Listen, darlin'." His claws SNIKTed out, gleaming. He turned and drove them into the wall. Stone cracked, chunks fell away, the hole widening with every strike. He roared with the effort.

"You feel the walls closin' in on ya? Then TEAR 'EM DOWN."

Another slash the cavern shook.

"That fear - it ain't the boss, YOU ARE."

Storm's tears streaked her cheeks. She shook her head, trembling. "I... I can't-"

Logan slammed his claws again, widening the breach. "Look! These walls? They're NOTHING to us. They don't own you." He shook her, hard, his voice a snarl and a plea all at once.

"NOW, 'RO! SHOW ME! SHOW THEM WHAT YOU ARE!"

Her breath caught. Her eyes blazed. White light swallowed her pupils.

The air shifted. A breeze at first. Then a gale. Dust and stone whipped through the chamber. Lightning split the ceiling, thunder crashed in the dungeon's belly.

Juggernaut staggered back, shielding his face. "What the hell-?"

Storm rose to her feet, her dress snapping in the wind like a battle standard. Her hair lifted, her skin glowing in the torchlight.

"I... AM NOT... A PRISONER!"

The wall exploded outward as her storm burst free, rain and wind screaming into the night sky beyond.

The X-Men stared, shielding their eyes from the gale but they smiled. Their goddess was back.

And Logan, bloodied and grinning through it, whispered low so only she might hear:

"Atta girl."

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 77- THE INVISIBILITY RUSE AND BANSHEE’S PAYBACK

The cavern walls shook as Juggernaut roared back to his feet. Lightning scars still burned across his chest where Storm had struck him, smoke curling from the cracks in his armor. His eyes glowed red through the slits of his helmet.

"You Xavier brats think you've won? I'll CRUSH every last one of you. I'll make him feel the pain through YOU!"

He charged. The ground split beneath each stomp.

Thunderbird threw himself forward, arms wide. The impact blasted him backward like a ragdoll into the wall. He crumpled, coughing blood, but forced himself upright with a grin. "That all you got, big man?"

Juggernaut didn't even answer-his fist swung toward Nightcrawler. Kurt BAMFed aside, but too late; the shockwave caught him mid-leap. He landed hard, dazed, shadows wrapping his broken stance.

Thunderbird squinted. Something strange... Kurt's leg half-faded into the darkness, vanishing into black like it wasn't there.

"Kurt-look at yourself!"

Nightcrawler blinked, startled, and stepped deeper into the shadowed corner. His body disappeared completely, only his yellow eyes gleaming like ghost-lanterns. He gasped. "Mein Gott... I vanish!" He squeezed his eyes shut-now even those lights winked out.

The two locked eyes, their minds snapping to the same idea.

Thunderbird grabbed the image inducer off Kurt's belt, thumbed the switch. His form rippled-suddenly Professor Charles Xavier sat in the cavern, hands folded, eyes hard.

"Cain Marko." Thunderbird's voice rumbled with scorn. "You've always been a coward. Still hiding behind your strength."

Juggernaut's head snapped around.

"CHARLES!" Spittle flew from his lips. "You think you can lecture me? I'll tear you in half!"

He charged, blind with rage, fists up for the kill.

Out of the shadows, Nightcrawler leapt, claws scraping the slits of Juggernaut's eyes. The giant roared, stumbling back, hands clawing at his helmet. Kurt BAMFed away just as Juggernaut's fingers clutched air.

And Thunderbird was waiting. His fist connected with Juggernaut's jaw with a crack like a cannon. The giant reeled upward, off his feet.

"NOW!"

Sunfire blasted from above, white-hot fire punching Juggernaut down.

Colossus was there, his steel arms like pistons. He slammed Juggernaut across the chamber with a blow that made the floor quake.

Logan caught him as he staggered, crouched low, fists clenched. He smirked, teeth flashing. "My turn."

The punch landed flush, his knuckles splitting on Juggernaut's steel jaw. The monster staggered, spinning toward Storm.

Logan's growl cut through the cavern. "Get your revenge, 'Ro."

Storm stepped forward, her eyes white as lightning, hair whipping in the rising wind. The cavern filled with the howl of a hurricane. Debris flew. The storm slammed into

Juggernaut, lifting the unstoppable giant screaming into the air.

"Begone from this land!" she thundered.

The hurricane tore him from the keep and hurled him into the Atlantic. His bellow faded until only the storm remained.

The cavern fell silent but for the rasp of the X-Men catching their breath.
The storm's echo still rattled the stones when a slow clap cut through the silence.

"Well done, cousins. Quite the show."

Black Tom stood at the far end of the chamber, leaning lazy on his shillelagh, smirk curling under the torchlight. His coat was torn, his lip bleeding, but his eyes burned sharp as ever.

Banshee stepped forward, chest heaving, fists balled tight. "TOM. I should've finished this years ago."

Tom's laugh was dry, bitter. "Years ago, Sean? You never had the guts. Always the good lad, the dutiful one. But me? I never needed Xavier whisperin' in me head to know what I wanted."

Banshee's fists shook. "You betrayed family. You brought monsters into Cassidy Keep. For what? Gold? Power?"

"For the chance to see you broken." Tom tapped his chest with the shillelagh. "And I'll tell you, cousin-it's been a sweet sight."

Sean's face hardened. His voice cut low, dangerous. "Then take this sight with you."

His fist lashed out, cracking across Tom's jaw.

Tom staggered, spat blood-and laughed. "Ah, there's the spirit. At last."

Another punch. Sean's knuckles split, blood spattering. "That one's for team's blood." A third. Tom reeled back, eyes glazed. "That one's for the castle."

A fourth sent him to one knee. Sean loomed over him, breath ragged. "And this one's for me."

The final blow snapped Tom's head to the side. He hit the stone, coughing, still smiling through the pain.

"Good fight, cousin," he rasped, half-chuckling. "But you don't see the bigger game, do you?"

Sean froze. The others leaned closer. Tom wiped his mouth, smearing the blood.

"Eric the Red. He's the one who set me on this path. He's the one you should be fearing. Not me. Not Cain."

Banshee's eyes narrowed. "You're lyin'."

Tom laughed harder, hollow and mean.

"Believe what you like. You'll learn soon enough."

His hand slipped behind him, pressing against the wall. A faint click.

"Slán leat, Sean."

The floor beneath him shuddered, a trapdoor snapping open. Before anyone could move, Tom dropped backward into the abyss, his laugh echoing as the stone slammed shut.

Banshee lunged, palms smacking against the stone. Too late. His voice broke in the chamber. "TOM!"

Logan lit a cigar with bloodied fingers, smoke curling from his lips. "He'll keep. But this Eric..." His eyes narrowed. "That's the snake we need to cut down."

The team stood silent, the torches flickering

over bruised faces. Tom was gone. Juggernaut gone. But a darker shadow lingered over them now.
The stone chamber smelled of ozone and sweat, smoke drifting in the aftermath of battle. Juggernaut was gone, Tom vanished, but the air still buzzed with tension.

Storm lowered herself slowly, her chest rising and falling like a tide after the hurricane. Logan glanced her way-she wasn't trembling anymore. The claustrophobic panic had burned off, replaced by that storm goddess steel.

Nightcrawler crawled along the wall, sniffing at seams until his sharp eyes found the outline of a hidden door. "Over here," he called, tail twitching.

Colossus strode forward, his massive hands finding the handle. One yank and the iron groaned free. The door opened with a sigh of damp air, revealing a narrow corridor lined with lanterns. Faint voices carried from the other side-trembling, desperate voices.

"Help us... please, someone help..."

They rushed down the corridor.

At the end was another chamber, cages stacked against the wall. Eamon O'Donnell's kin, pale and frightened, huddled together. Small shapes scurried at their feet-the little people, the leprechauns who had risked their lives to warn Banshee before. Their wide eyes lit up at the sight of the X-Men.

"Sean!" Eamon's voice cracked with relief as he pulled himself forward against the bars.

Banshee tore them open with raw strength, his sonic power rattling the locks until they split. He caught Eamon in his arms, the two men gripping each other hard.

"I thought... I thought he'd kill ye all," Eamon whispered.

"Not today, cousin. Not today."

The leprechauns poured out, cheering in high-pitched voices, tugging at the X-Men's boots, thanking them over and over. Colossus knelt, smiling softly as one climbed up his arm, stroking the gleaming steel with awe.

Storm bent low to reassure the children, her voice soft thunder: "You are safe now. No harm will touch you here."

Logan leaned against the doorway, one claw extended just enough to slice the end off his cigar. He took a long drag, eyes half-lidded but sharp. "Safe for now. But you heard what Tom said. Eric the Red. That name ain't goin' away."

Banshee's fists clenched, his face shadowed with anger and sorrow. "Tom's too deep in the dark to be saved. But Eric... he's the one pullin' the strings. He's the one I'll have me reckoning with."

The team gathered close, bruised, battered, but united.

Above them, Cassidy Keep stood scarred by battle, wind whistling through the broken stone. The war here was done. But the words Black Tom left behind hung like a curse.

Eric the Red.

The true game was only beginning.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 78- MIRROR OF NIGHTMARES

The waiting room was silent, too silent. A clock ticked in the corner, each sound like a nail against Charles Xavier's skull. He sat in his chair, hands folded on his lap, eyes closed. Outwardly calm. Inwardly bracing against the tide.

Through the thin silver thread of rapport, he touched Ororo. Storm's fear hit him like a hammer - suffocating, black, clawing at the edges of reason. Claustrophobia. He knew it well. He had felt it from her before, but never this raw, never this deep.

He let his mind brush against hers, trying to soothe, to anchor. For a moment, he was back inside her memory - rubble crushing down, the cold stink of dust and death in Cairo, her child's body pinned and helpless, her parents' final screams echoing in the dark.

"Easy, Ororo," he whispered aloud, his voice trembling in the empty room. "Breathe. Find the sky within you."

And then - it happened.

The mirror across from his chair rippled, silver glass boiling with color. He wasn't seeing his own reflection. He was staring into the hell of another world. Alien steel. A chamber lit by sickly red glow. Rows of towering figures with blank eyes staring back. His mind reeled, his heart raced. The nightmare wasn't Ororo's. It was his. His own power dragged something from the depths of memory or prophecy.

"No..." His fingers gripped the armrests hard enough to blanch the knuckles. Sweat slicked his brow. "Not again. Not them."

The vision shattered. The mirror showed only Charles Xavier once more: pale, panting, trembling in his chair like a man aged a decade in seconds.

And then-calm.

The link steadied. Storm's panic receded, her heartbeat slowing, her courage finding its footing again. Charles sagged with relief. He drew in a ragged breath, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

"Curse that vision," he hissed. "Curse whatever specter dogs me."

For a long time, he sat in silence, staring at the ordinary mirror, his reflection staring grimly back.

Hours later, across the sea, the X-Men gathered after the chaos of Cassidy Keep. The night air was cold on their battered bodies as they descended the craggy coast, where the waters churned black against the cliffs.

"Ye'll be wantin' a lift," Banshee muttered, leading them toward the hovercraft waiting below. "Moira said it herself. Cassidy Keep's no longer safe ground."

Logan grunted, cigar stub clenched in his teeth. "Figures. Trouble follows us like fleas on a dog."

Storm said nothing. She only tightened her cloak against the wind, eyes forward, the weight of her trial still clinging to her shoulders.

Together, the weary team stepped onto the hovercraft, its engines humming alive, carrying them toward Moira MacTaggert's call.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 79-THE DROWNED ARRIVAL

The hovercraft cut across black water, its engines humming like a tired insect. Night air rolled sharp and salty over the X-Men, clinging to their bruises from Cassidy Keep.

Colossus leaned against the railing, arms crossed. 'Feels strange, he rumbled. "Like storm before storm."

"Bad luck's all it is," Sunfire snapped, arms folded, chin tilted high. "Machines fail. That's the way of things."

The machine answered him with a scream.

Metal shrieked like a dying beast, a tearing sound that froze every head. The deck pitched hard. Sparks shot from the consoles.

Nightcrawler clutched the ralling, eyes wide. "Mein Gott-the hull, it-"

Logan crouched low, nostriis flaring. The stench of hot metal, twisted by intent. Not accident. Not wear, "This ain't bad luck. Someone's hand is in this."

Steel ripped down the middle like paper. The hovercraft groaned once more, then died beneath them.

"Into the water!" Banshee roared.

The sea swallowed them whole.

Cold knifed their bones as they kicked for the surface. Storm's cloak dragged at her shoulders, Colossus rose like a gleaming buoy, Sunfire cursed in Japanese through the spray. Logan hit the surface snarling, cigar stub gone, his claws twitching to be unsheathed though useless in the sea.

Minutes later, drenched and half-drowned, the leam clawed their way up the island rocks. Every breath was ragged. Nightcrawler shook himself like a dog, tail whipping water.

"Next time," Thunderbird spat, "I fly the damn boat."

That cracked enough tension for a few laughs, but only just. They stood in dripping silence until Storm pointed ahead.

A silhouette rose on the island's spine angular, towering, cold as the moon. A lab. A fortress.

Banshee squinted, wiping water from his eyes. "Saints preserve us.. Moira? My Moira runs this place? PhD, head of a bloody research complex?" His voice caught between pride and disbelief.

"She never told you?" Logan muttered, water dripping from his sideburns. "Guess secrets run deep.'

They climbed toward the cliffs, boots crunching against wet stone. But the path ended abruptly.

Thunderbird scowled and moved first, slamming shoulder-first into open air. The invisible wall sent him reeling. He cursed and punched it again, useless.

Nightcrawler pressed a hand against the shimmer. "A force field... Gott, yes. It is like glass without glass.

The ground shivered. The island itself answered.

With a roar of stone and iron, the cliff beneath them heaved upward, carrying them like ants

on a rising slab. The field pressed closer,

closer, forcing them toward the lab wall as though to smear them flat.

Storm cried out, wind tearing around her cloak. "It will crush us!"

"Only way's THROUGH!" Logan snarled.

"All together, now!" Banshee bellowed. "Or we're dead men!"

They struck as one. Lightning, fire, fists, claws,

sonic scream-all slammed against the shimmering barrier. Cracks spidered, light

burst outward. With a final detonation, the

wall of the lab shattered inward.

The slab of land hurled them forward. They

smashed across cold flooring, coughing, sprawled in the wreckage. Alive only by seconds.

Banshee staggered upright, chest heaving. His eyes darted around the ruined lab, horror rising in his throat.

"Sweet Mother of God... these tricks... these powers.... only one man in the world commands such things."

He shook his head, refusing to believe. "But it can't be... he was a child, no older than a babe...'

A hiss cut through the silence. The steel door at the far end began to glow. Orange heat bled across it. Metal bubbled, warped, screamed.

"Move!" Logan barked.

The X-Men scattered as the door exploded inward. Shards of molten steel tore the air.

Through the smoke, a shadow stepped. Cloak billowing. Eyes cold as the abyss.

Magneto.

His voice thundered like a verdict. 'I AM EARTH'S RIGHTFUL LORD. AND THE AGE OF MAN IS AT AN END.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 80-THE MASTER OF MAGNETISM

The smoke curled like snakes around the lab.

Magneto stood tall in the wreckage, cloak spread wide as though the explosion had birthed him.

Logan's nostrils flared. The scent hit him like a blade across the soul. Not just sweat or iron or smoke. It was deeper. Arrogance, sharp as steel. Desire to dominate, thick and choking. A soul dripping with superiority.

'This one don't just think he's above us... he knows it, down to his bones.

Logan didn't wait for orders. He leapt, claws out, a roar tearing from his chest.

Magneto lifted a single hand.

Logan froze midair, his body yanked like a puppet. His claws screamed against themselves, metal twisting, bending toward his own throat. Pain lanced up his arms. He hit the ground hard and rolled back, shaking, teeth bared.

Thunderbird's eyes blazed. "Coward! Try that on a man with flesh and blood!" He charged.

But Magneto had already turned. Colossus came thundering in beside Thunderbird, steel skin gleaming in the broken light. For one heartbeat, hope flickered-two titans against опе.

Then Magneto's power wrapped around them.

Colossus staggered, clutching his own body as though strangled by unseen chains. His armored limbs jerked and twisted against his will. He looked at his hands-his weapons-turned against him.

"..... I cannot..." His voice cracked with despair. "I cannot even stand without harming you all..."

Thunderbird tried to grab him, steady him, but Magneto flicked a wrist. Both men flew backward into the wall with bone-rattling force. Colossus' frame dented steel before he slid to the ground, eyes burning with shame.

Logan growled, claws shaking, desperate to move.

"Pathetic," Magneto intoned, his voice calm as a god's judgment. "You bring children and savages to war. You dare raise them against me?"

Sunfire erupted in flame, hurling a firestorm.

Magneto's shield drank it whole, flames wrapping around his figure like worship before vanishing.

Storm lifted her hands, calling wind and lightning. For a moment the room roared with power, walls trembling. Magneto's eyes narrowed. With a gesture, iron dust swirled from the air, knitting itself into a coffin of red metal that clamped over her form.

She screamed, muffled, body thrashing as the iron shell sealed tight.

Nightcrawler tried to teleport to her side. He vanished in smoke-only to reappear mid-leap, crushed against Magneto's field and flung like a doll into rubble.

Storm's cries dimmed. She couldn't breathe..

Logan's heart pounded. 'She's dying. If I don't

With a snarl, he slammed his claws against the iron shell. Sparks flew, metal screamed, and at last a seam split open. Storm burst out, gasping air, her eyes wide with terror.

Magneto turned toward them, lips curling into disdain, "You dare touch my creations?"

Banshee let loose a scream that shook the entire lab, the sound splitting ears and shattering instruments. For a flicker, Magneto staggered-then his shield hardened, the sound bending around him.

One by one, they faltered. Thunderbird battered. Colossus pinned by his own body. Storm half-conscious. Sunfire drained. Banshee's voice breaking.

Logan snarled, crouched low, claws aching to strike but bound by invisible chains.

Magneto's voice cut through the chaos like a blade. "You are nothing. I am EVOLUTION'S END. THE TRUE LORD OF THIS EARTH."

And then-

A red bearn sliced the room, hissing across Magneto's shield. The master of magnetism staggered a half-step, cloak snapping.

Cyclops stepped from the smoke, visor burning.

"You'll find I don't kneel so easy, Magneto."

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 81-SECRETS IN THE BLACKBIRD

The Blackbird's engines purred steady, slicing through the dark above the sea. Inside, the cabin was quiet but tense.

Scott Summers sat rigid in the copilot's seat, arms crossed, visor glowing faintly in the dim light. His jaw worked like granite. He wasn't speaking to Moira. He hadn't spoken since they'd lifted off.

Moira MacTaggert broke the silence. "Ye've the look of a man chewing glass, Scott. Out with it."

His voice was low, tight. "You didn't think to tell us? That this island-your island-houses a mutant prison?"

Moira flinched but held her ground. 'Not a prison. A facility. Somewhere to study the ones we catch. Try and turn them away from violence."

"You mean lock them up." His visor caught the cabin lights, a crimson gleam across the black glass. "Experiment on them. And you thought that was your choice to make?"

Moira's eyes flashed, her accent thickening. "What would ye have me do? Let them roam free? Tear apart villages? Spill blood in the streets? No. If I can find a way to change them, I'll bloody well try."

Scott didn't answer. His hands clenched tighter.

The ship dipped lower, the coastline rising in the windshield. The lab complex loomed ahead-dark, cold, faceless.

They set down on a landing strip carved into the cliff. The hatch hissed open. Inside the corridors, fluorescent lights buzzed weak and pale. The smell of sterilized metal hung heavy.

A sound drew Moira's attention. She darted ahead, heels clicking across the floor, and found a figure sprawled in the corridor. Green suit, yellow piping, breathing ragged but alive.

"Jamie!" she gasped, kneeling. "Jamie Madrox!"

Scott came up behind her, tensing. "Who is he?"

"A mutant," Moira said quickly, checking his pulse. "He can split himself, replicate... he's one of the first I tried to help. God help me, what's he doing here-"

Jamie stirred, groaned, and his eyes fluttered open. He looked around in panic before clutching Moira's arm.

"You... shouldn't have come..." His voice was hoarse, every word scraped raw.

Moira leaned closer. "Jamie, tell me. What happened?"

He swallowed, coughed, fought for words. "Magneto... he's back. Stronger. Erik the Red... he used some device. Restored him. Took me down... like a child's toy."

Scott froze in place. His fists tightened until his gloves creaked. "That's impossible. He was reduced to an infant. He wasn't a threat anymore."

Jamie's face twisted in fear. "He is now. And you're walking into his trap."

The floor trembled beneath them. Distant, muffled-but unmistakable-the sound of battle. Explosions, shouts, the roar of unleashed power.

Scott shot to his feet. "The team."

Moira grabbed his arm. "Scott, don't! You'll only-"

He tore free, visor glowing like a furnace. "Get Jamie to the Blackbird. Keep him safe. If Magneto's back, he won't stop until Xavier's in the ground. And I won't let him stall us here while he takes the Professor."

He sprinted down the corridor, every footstep echoing, the sounds of war growing louder with each stride.

Moira knelt by Jamie, trembling, watching Scott vanish into the smoke.

"God help him," she whispered.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 82 - BROKEN AGAINST THE MASTER

The lab was a furnace of sparks and screaming steel. Magneto stood at the center, cloak billowing as though the air Itself bent to his will.

Colossus staggered, still fighting his own body. His metal frame jerked like a puppet pulled by cruel strings. "Please... comrades... stay clear! I am... no better than a weapon in his hands!" His voice cracked with shame.

Thunderbird bellowed and hurled a steel beam like a javelin. Magneto caught it mid-flight, spun it in the air, and lashed it across Thunderbird's chest. The Apache crashed into a wall hard enough to crack concrete, blood on his lips.

Sunfire screamed in fury, flames searing hotter, hotter, until the air itself warped. The inferno struck Magneto's shield-and vanished like a candle snuffed in a hurricane. Magneto didn't even blink.

Banshee tried again, his sonic wail ripping through the chamber, rattling the bones of every man present. Magneto raised one hand. The sound bent around him, twisted, hurled back. Banshee staggered, clutching his ears, blood trickling from his nose.

Nightcrawler blinked into smoke, teleporting behind Magneto, claws ready. But Magneto's power felt him. Iron particles in the air drew together, and Kurt reappeared inside a crushing field that hurled him sideways. He slammed into the ceiling, crumpled, and dropped like a ragdoll.

Storm gasped for breath, eyes wide with panic. Iron dust swirled again, knitting itself into a lattice around her face, pressing close, sealing her lungs. She clawed at the metal cage, every breath thinner, thinner-until her knees buckled.

Logan's chest went cold. 'She's done. If I don't

He lunged. His claws shrieked against the iron shell, sparks painting his face. He slashed again, harder, every muscle burning. With a roar he split the cage. The shards fell away and Storm collapsed into his arms, gulping air.

Magneto's gaze locked on him. "You persist, beast. But you cannot prevail."

Logan snarled, setting Storm gently aside. His claws trembled, every nerve screaming to strike. But Magneto's pull was there, invisible, relentless. The bastard had him by the bones.

"You smell it, don't you?" Logan growled through clenched teeth. "Your own stink.

ARROGANCE. DESIRE TO RULE. Superiority dripping like sweat. His claws twitched uselessly. "That's your soul, Magneto. And it REEKS.

Magneto's eyes narrowed, insult flickering across his proud face. "You dare presume to judge me, animal? I am the next step. You are nothing.

He raised his arms, the whole lab trembling as pipes, beams, and shattered consoles lifted into the air. The X-Men were being crushed piece by piece, their strength stripped away.

And then-

A searing red beam cut through the chaos, smashing into Magneto's shield. He staggered back, cloak snapping in the magnetic storm.

Cyclops stormed into the chamber, visor blazing. 'You'll find, Magneto," he said, voice low and steady, "that we're not so easy to break."

The X-Men rallied faintly, hope flickering like dying embers. But Scott's mind was already racing.

'Erik the Red. Restored Magneto. This whole fight-just a stall. His real target's not us. It's Xavier. If we stay, he wins."

Magneto braced, pouring power into his shield, teeth bared.

Scott turned, shouting above the roar. "Everyone FALL BACK! Get to the Blackbird! NOW!"

Logan's head whipped toward him, fury in his eyes. "What the hell are you SAYIN', Slim? You want us to run like COWARDS?"

But Cyclops didn't look back. His beam burned hotter, buying seconds. "Go! That's an order!"

The team hesitated, battered and broken. One by one, they dragged each other toward the wrecked wall, stumbling through smoke and rubble.

Magneto's voice thundered behind them, equal parts fury and triumph. "YOU ESCAPE BECAUSE I ALLOW IT. YOU LIVE ONLY BECAUSE I AM MERCIFUL. REMEMBER IT!"

They spilled out into the night, the lab behind them collapsing in showers of sparks.

Inside, Magneto straightened, cloak swirling, eyes blazing with fire and pride. They flee because of my POWER. And the world itself will follow."

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 83 - THE SHADOW OVER GREY HOUSE

The Blackbird screamed through the night, engines pulsing like a heart under strain. Inside the cabin, silence weighed heavier than steel.

Logan broke it first.

"You call that a fight, Slim?" His voice was low, dangerous. 'We had him on the ropes. Another minute and I'd have carved that smug grin off his face."

Cyclops didn't turn from the cockpit. His hands clenched the controls, knuckles white through his gloves. "You'd have died. All of you would've died."

"Better that than running like whipped dogs," Logan snapped. His claws sild out with a slow, deliberate SNIKT, gleaming in the dim cabin light. "We're supposed to be protectors. And you left him gloating over us like he's king of the world."

Colossus shifted in his seat, still pale, still shaken. "Da, Logan is right. I felt... useless. Weak. I was his puppet.' His huge hands curled into fists. 'If we flee every time, we prove him right."

Cyclops spun In his chair, visor glowing hot. "LISTEN TO ME. This wasn't about pride. It wasn't about proving who's stronger. He wants Xavier. Every second we waste here, we risk losing him. We had no choice.

Logan leaned forward, close enough to feel the heat from Scott's visor. "You always got a choice, bub. You chose to run. And I don't follow cowards."

For a breath, the whole cabin held its air.

Banshee tensed, ready to pull them apart. Thunderbird's fists tightened, aching for a swing. Nightcrawler's tail lashed nervously against the seat. Storm just closed her eyes, her body still trembling from the memory of suffocation.

Cyclops' voice cut sharp. "Say It again. Call me a coward again, and you'll regret it."

Logan bared his teeth, claws glinting. "Gladly."

SNAP. The Blackbird lurched in turbulence, shaking them back into their seats. Engines roared, storm winds battering the wings. The fight froze there, hanging like lightning that hadn't struck yet.

Scott faced forward again, his voice a rasp. "Strap in. We'll reach Westchester in minutes."

Logan retracted his claws, the sound like grinding teeth. "This ain't over, Slim. Not by a long shot."

The scene shifted to a quiet house in

GreenWitch Village, where warmth glowed

in the windows. The Grey home.

Jean Grey hugged her mother at the door, tears and laughter mingling. 'Oh, Mom... it feels like years."

Her father shook hands firmly with Charles Xavier, who sat in his wheelchair, suit immaculate, smile gentle but tired. "Professor Xavier. You've given our Jean a purpose. For that, I thank you."

Xavier inclined his head. "Your daughter has given me purpose, Mr. Grey. More than she realizes."

From the hallway came the sound of quick steps and an eager laugh. Jean turned, her face lighting. "Misty! You made it!"

Her friend hurried in tall, graceful, skin deep

brown, eyes sharp with warmth. She caught Jean in a hug that nearly lifted her off the ground. "Of course I did. What kind of best friend would I be otherwise?"

Jean pulled her forward, smiling through tears. "Mom, Dad... this is Misty Knight. You've heard me talk about her a thousand times.

She's family to me."

Mrs. Grey smiled, embracing her. "Any friend of Jean's is welcome here."

The room buzzed with warmth - laughter, embraces, the smell of home-cooked dinner from the kitchen. For a moment, the world outside seemed distant. Jean's smile softened, her hand lingering on her mother's.

But Xavier's eyes lingered on the mirror across the hall. His own reflection stared back at him, and behind it he thought-just for an instant-he saw rippling shadows.

He blinked. The mirror showed only himself again. Still, his hand twitched against the armrest of his chair.

Far away, in a chamber humming with allen light, Erik the Red watched the Grey home

from a great viewing screen. His armor gleamed crimson, his eyes sharp with hunger.

He leaned forward, studying Jean's laughter, Xavier's calm presence, the easy warmth of the family. His voice rolled low and venomous.

"The time has come. Xavier's death is at

hand... and the princess..."
'The princess will be mine."

The screen bathed his mask in blood-red glow as he threw back his head and laughed, the sound like iron grinding against bone.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 84 - FIRELORD

The Blackbird groaned as it kissed the tarmac, engines cooling with a low whine. One by one the X-Men disembarked, battered but unbowed, stepping into the cold night air. And there he was.

Erik the Red. Armor gleaming crimson under the floodlights, cape flaring like a bloody banner. His helm caught the glow, eyes hidden, mouth curled in a mocking grin. He stood in their path as if he'd been waiting hours.

Thunderbird's fists tightened. "There he is! Let's tear him apart!"

They didn't wait for strategy, didn't pause to circle. Instinct and rage carried them forward. Sunfire's flames blazed, Banshee's scream cut the air, Colossus charged like a steel avalanche.

Logan hung back a half step, nostrils flaring. The scent slammed into him like cold iron. Not fear. Not anger. But joy. Hidden beneath Erik's posturing, he reeked of secret glee, smug anticipation.

'He's happy... why the hell would he be happy we're here?'

The thought gnawed at him, but there was no time.

Erik spun with an elegance that mocked their fury. His hands blazed with alien energy, crimson beams slicing through the air. Colossus staggered, armor denting under the force. Nightcrawler blinked in with a flying kick-caught mid-air and hurled across the lot like a toy.

Banshee's sonic scream ricocheted harmlessly from Erik's shield. Storm called lightning, the crackling bolt sizzling across the villain's armor only to fizzle in a shower of sparks.

"FOOLS," Erik roared. "YOU THINK TO OPPOSE THE WILL OF THE RED? YOU THINK TO BREAK THE HAND THAT SHAPES YOUR FATE?"

Thunderbird slammed into him shoulder-first, driving him backward. For a breath the fight looked even. Erik snarled, energy surging, blasting the warrior point-blank. Thunderbird hit the ground with a grunt, rolled, and staggered up again, eyes blazing.

Logan finally leapt in, claws flashing silver in the floodlights. He slashed, sparks flying as steel kissed alien alloy. Erik twisted, countered, his gauntlet firing raw energy into Logan's chest. The Canadian hit the tarmac hard, rolled to his knees, spitting blood and fury.

'He's still happy. Taking hits, giving hits, doesn't matter-he's waiting on somethin'...'

The battle raged, the X-Men hammering him with every gift they had. For a moment it seemed they'd cornered him, Erik staggering, his armor smoking from Sunfire's flames, his cape in tatters from Banshee's scream.

And yet... beneath it all, Logan scented the grin. The expectation. Erik the Red wasn't losing. He was buying time.

Logan growled, claws twitching. 'Something's comin'... and I don't like the smell of it.'

Above them, the night sky glowed with sudden fire.
The night split open. A burning streak cut across the sky, brighter than any meteor, brighter than lightning. It seared the clouds to ash as it descended.

The X-Men froze, heads tilting skyward.

The fireball slowed, shape forming inside the light. A man. No, something more than a man. He hovered above the tarmac, his skin blazing gold, hair a crown of living flame. A staff gleamed in his hand, tipped with cosmic fire, each flicker of it enough to melt steel. His eyes burned with the Power Cosmic itself, vast and merciless.

He descended with the calm authority of a god.

"I AM FIRELORD," his voice boomed, carried by power rather than breath. "HERALD OF GALACTUS. SWORN TO THE COSMIC BALANCE"

The air shivered with the weight of his presence.

Erik the Red, armor scorched and dented, fell to one knee as if in reverence. "Mighty Firelord! These mutants-criminals-hunt me without mercy. I beg your justice!"

The X-Men barely had time to react before Firelord struck.

A sweep of his staff unleashed a firestorm that knocked Colossus end over end, his steel skin glowing red as though he'd been cast into a forge. Banshee cried out, his scream drowned as he was hurled backward into the Blackbird's landing gear.

Storm raised a wall of wind. Firelord's flame parted it as though it were mist. The blast engulfed her cloak, sending her spinning helplessly through the air.

Nightcrawler blinked in and out of sight, teleporting in desperation, but the herald's cosmic senses caught him each time. A single backhand from the flaming staff sent him sprawling across the ground.

Thunderbird charged with a roar. Firelord barely looked at him, staff twirling, striking him down like a child swatting a fly.

Logan launched himself forward, claws bared, throat raw with fury. He landed on Firelord's chest, raking steel across the cosmic being's skin. Sparks flew-but the skin did not break. Firelord seized him by the scruff, flames searing his costume, and flung him twenty yards into the dirt.

Logan gasped, choking on smoke, his senses writhing. He sniffed through the firestorm-what he caught made him pause.

'This one... he don't stink of arrogance. Don't stink of cruelty. He smells... honest. Straight as a blade. He believes what he's doin'.'

The thought shook him more than the fire.

Cyclops stood his ground last, visor blazing, beam carving against the herald's aura. Firelord let him strike-then brought the staff down. The explosion lit the night like dawn. When the fire cleared, Scott lay unmoving with the others, smoke curling from his suit.

Silence fell. The X-Men were broken, unconscious, scattered across the ruined tarmac.

Erik the Red stepped forward, armor battered but spirit intact. He inclined his head toward the Herald. "I thank you, Firelord. The galaxy

owes you."

Firelord said nothing. His eyes still burned, but his honor was unclouded. He had done what he believed was justice.

Erik's mind, however, coiled like a serpent.

'Perfect. Just as I planned. Find the Herald.

Whisper in his ear of mutant tyrants. Lure the X-Men to strike me at the airport. Predictable as children. And now Firelord will finish the task-strike Xavier himself. Then the chessboard will be mine.'

The Herald lifted his staff, flames wreathing him as he rose again into the night sky. His gaze turned. Toward Xavier.

Logan stirred, coughing, every muscle screaming. His head pounded, his claws sunk half into the ground. He lifted his nose, smelling again. Firelord's scent. Pure. Noble. Not a villain,

'So why the hell's he doin' this? And why the hell can't I stop him?'

Darkness took him again.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 85- THE STARFALL

Space burned with pursuit.

A small vessel, silver hull scarred with plasma wounds, wove through the void. Its engines flared blue, sputtering, desperate. Behind it came the predator a warship vast as a city block, armored in black and gold, bristling with weapons.

On its bridge, the captain stood tall, arms folded behind his back, his crested helm casting shadows across his face. His eyes locked on the fleeing ship.

"Report," he growled.

At the console, his aide's hands danced over alien keys. Symbols cascaded across the screen. His voice cracked as he read. "Captain... the small craft is heading for a system labeled Sol... the third planet... Earth."

The captain's jaw tightened. "Earth. Hnh. A primitive rock."

The aide scrolled further, stopped, and paled. His mandibles quivered as he shouted. "CAPTAIN! EARTH IS LISTED... AS THE WORLD THAT TURNED BACK GALACTUS. FOUR TIMES!"

Silence drowned the bridge. Every officer froze, their eyes snapping to their leader.

The captain's face hardened, pride draining to cold fear. "Retreat. Now. Full defensive posture. We do not provoke such a world."

The helmsman stammered. "But, Captain, the quarry-"

"RETREAT!" The order boomed, final. "Cloak the fleet. Hide in this system's shadow. We will not join Galactus among the defeated."

The warship shuddered, banking hard, engines roaring as it fell away from the chase.

But not before it struck.

"Fire," the captain hissed.

Missiles streaked through the void, trailing fire like comets. They slammed into the fleeing vessel. The small ship blossomed into flame, metal splitting, hull dissolving into stardust.

On the bridge, the aide exhaled. "Target destroyed."

The captain said nothing, his eyes fixed on the growing blue marble in the distance. Earth. A world now avoided like a plague.

Inside the doomed vessel, alarms screamed. Fire tore through the cabin. A single figure ran through the smoke, her cloak snapping behind her, her crown glinting in the firelight.

The princess.

Her hands flew over a console, activating a slim circlet device on her wrist. The chamber filled with light. Her body blurred, scattering into motes of gold.

She vanished.

Moments later, the wreckage of her ship burned out to silence. Nothing remained but debris and ash.

Far away, in a quiet house in GrenWich Village, reality rippled. A shimmer of golden light tore across the Grey family's living room, scattering books from a table, rattling the framed pictures on the wall.

When it cleared, the princess stood where there had been nothing, breathing hard, eyes wide, her cloak charred from battle.

Jean Grey's home had just gained an uninvited guest.

The Blackbird cut through the clouds like a wounded hawk, her hull still scorched from battle. Inside, the team stirred back to life.

Banshee rubbed at his temples. "Sweet saints... my head feels like the devil himself screamin' in it."

Colossus flexed his bruised arms, metal creaking. "He tossed me like a child's toy. Erik... Firelord... both of them..." His fists trembled. "It burns."

Logan lit a fresh cigar with shaking hands, the smoke hiding his shame. "Those two bastards -when I get another crack, I'm tearin' 'em both down to the bones. He blew a bitter cloud.

Cyclops leaned forward in his seat, visor burning with grim focus. "Enough. We can curse later. Think, people. Erik the Red's goal isn't us-it's Xavier. If he wanted us gone, Firelord would've finished the job. That was stalling. A distraction. Which means-"

*-the professor's in danger," Storm whispered, clutching her cloak tight.

Cyclops nodded once, "Exactly. We head to Greenwich. Jean's apartment. If Erik's making his move, It'll be there."

The team fell silent, battered but resolute. The Blackbird dipped lower, engines roaring toward the city.

Inside the Grey family apartment, warmth still lingered. Jean's parents laughed softly, relieved to have their daughter close again. Misty Knight leaned against the wall, arms folded, sharp eyes scanning the room.

Then the air ripped open. A shimmer of golden light tore the living room apart, rattling every picture frame, sending books toppling from shelves.

Jean's mother screamed. Her father staggered back.

A figure collapsed onto the carpet. A woman in a battered spacesuit, smoke rising from its scorched plates, cloak charred black. She lay gasping, one hand clawing at the helmet.

Charles Xavier wheeled forward, his face ashen. His hands trembled against the armrests. His voice was a whisper, then a cry.

"No... no... the nightmare made flesh... Lilandra..."

At the sound of her name, the woman twisted weakly, helmet clicking loose. A face was revealed-proud features lined with

exhaustion, eyes wide with desperation. Then her lids fluttered closed, and she fell into unconsciousness.

"JEAN!" Xavier's voice cracked the air. "Help her! Now!"

Jean dropped to her knees beside the stranger, her hands glowing faintly with Phoenix fire as she tried to steady her breathing.

Minutes stretched like hours. Then the woman stirred, lips moving, words spilling out in a language none of them knew-alien syllables sharp as knives.

"I don't understand..." Jean whispered.

Xavier's eyes hardened. He pressed two fingers to his temple. "No... but I can make her understand. His psychic power poured out, bridging minds, pulling her across the gulf of language.

She gasped, eyes focusing as if the room had suddenly come into shape.

And then-

The wall exploded inward. Fire and plaster blasted across the room.

Firelord stepped through the smoke, staff blazing, cosmic flame wreathing his form. His voice was thunder. "MY TARGETS ARE HERE. THE MUTANT LEADER. AND THE WOMAN WHO FLED THE STARS."

Jean rose, fire sparking around her. Her eyes blazed with power, her body humming with something vast and new. She stepped between Firelord and Xavier, between Firelord and Lilandra.

"You'll have to go through me," she said, voice resonant with cosmic fire. 'Because you won't find Xavier. You won't touch her. Not while PHOENIX IS HERE.'

Green flame burst across her form, gold flashing like a crown. Her costume flared into being - emerald and gold, wings of fire

unfurling. The living room drowned in light. The Phoenix had risen.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 86 - FLAME AGAINST FIRE

The apartment was already half-ruin, walls smoking, plaster raining down. Jean stood blazing in emerald fire, wings of light spreading behind her. Firelord loomed opposite, his staff spinning like a comet's tail.

"HERALD OF GALACTUS," he thundered, "BRINGER OF STARS. DO YOU THINK YOUR FLAME CAN CHALLENGE MINE?"

Jean lifted her chin, fire licking from her eyes. "I don't think, Herald. I know."

Their clash shattered the night.

Firelord's first strike split the building in two, a column of cosmic fire searing upward. Jean rose with it, wings of green flame flaring wide, catching the blast and hurling it skyward. The shockwave bent rooftops for blocks.

They broke through the ceiling, their fight spilling into the sky above Greenwich Village. Flames turned midnight into dawn.

Firelord struck like a storm, staff whirling, each blow a sunburst. Jean met him with fire-talon claws, parrying, countering, driving him back. With each strike her confidence grew, power rushing through her veins.

'This power-it's limitless. I see his moves before he makes them. I feel the currents of his flame, and I bend them like rivers. God help me... it's intoxicating. I've never felt so alive.

She unleashed a cry, wings of Phoenix fire stretching across the heavens. The blast hurled Firelord into a radio tower, steel twisting and melting around him. He rose again, smoke curling from his golden skin, his eyes grim.

"You wield... more than mortal flame," he admitted. "But the Power Cosmic is eternal. You will FALL."

Jean's smile was fire itself. "Not tonight."

They slammed together, green fire and gold colliding, the shockwaves rattling the city below. Windows shattered for blocks, alarms wailed, the sky itself seemed to catch.

Back in the Grey apartment, the world shook with their duel above. Charles Xavier hunched in his chair, shielding Jean's parents and Misty with a psychic bubble. The building groaned as if ready to collapse.

And Erik the Red smiled.

"Perfect," he whispered. "The Phoenix keeps the Herald busy. The board is mine to play."

He raised his hands. Crimson light flared, and with a single blast he dropped every conscious soul in the room. Misty crumpled, the Greys slumped, Xavier's head lolled as the psychic bubble flickered and died. Only Lilandra stirred faintly, groaning in her battered suit.

Erik stepped forward, seized them both in a grip of scarlet energy, and turned toward the roof.

"Now... the gate."

Above, the sky burned with Phoenix fire. Neither Jean nor Firelord spared a glance for the world below. Their battle raged unchecked, while Erik began to carve open the stars.
The rooftop shook as Erik the Red carved his circle of power, crimson symbols etching themselves into the night. The Stargate flared, its surface swirling with alien stars. At his side hovered Xavier's chair and Lilandra's battered form, both caught in his grip of scarlet energy.

Engines thundered. The Blackbird roared into view, sweeping low over the rooftop.

"ERIK!" Cyclops' volce cut the night as the belly doors opened. "LET THEM GO!

Erik turned, hands blazing. "Too late!"

The blast struck the jet full on. Fire ripped across its hull, the shockwave threatening to tear it apart. Inside, alarms shrieked, the cabin tilting sideways.

'OUT!" Cyclops barked. 'JUMP NOW!"

One by one the X-Men hurled themselves into the night air, diving clear as the Blackbird shuddered under Erik's fury. Colossus landed heavy, Logan rolled low, Banshee spread his scream to slow his fall, Nightcrawler blinked from smoke to stone. They hit the rooftop in chaos, battered but alive.

But already, Erik dragged his captives toward the gate. His laughter cut through the night.

"Your arrival is meaningless. The princess is mine!"

The X-Men surged forward-only to be struck down by a sweeping wave of crimson power. They crashed to the roof, teeth rattling, vision swimming.

Lilandra stirred in his grasp, eyes fluttering. Erik's cloak snapped in the wind as he stepped through the circle.

And then-darkness. The Stargate collapsed In on itself, the light gone, only smoke and scorch marks left behind.

Cyclops pushed himself to his knees, visor glowing. "NO!"

Xavier's voice trembled as he forced words past his grief. "Her name... is Lilandra. She

commanded a revolt against her brother-the mad emperor of the Shl'ar. He seeks the unthinkable... the end of all existence. She failed... and fled to us for help. Erik the Red-Shakari, his hound-was sent to take her, or

destroy you in the attempt."

Below, the door burst open. Jean's parents stumbled out, Misty Knight steadying them. Their eyes darted to the team in tatters, then

to Xavier.

Mrs. Grey's voice cracked. "Charles... how? How did Jean fly? How did she fight that... that creature of fire? Who are these people?'

Before Xavier could answer, a glow bloomed. Jean stepped forward, fire licking around her, her eyes burning white.

'It isn't too late, Professor," she said. Her voice wasn't Jean's anymore-it was Phoenix.

She lifted her hands. Emerald fire twisted, caught the air, and from nothing a new circle

began to spin. The Stargate burned open again, green fire roaring where crimson had

been.

Her parents staggered back in horror as she hovered above the roof, her cloak of flame snapping in the wind.

'Jean..." her father whispered. "My God..."

'There's no time, Jean said, her voice both hers and not. She turned to Cyclops.

'Is it necessary, Professor?" Scott asked, visor gleaming red.

Xavier's face hardened, his voice firm. "Of course. If we do not go... the universe itself will die."

The team steeled themselves. One by one they leapt through the blazing circle.

Cyclops went first, visor burning. Storm followed, her cloak whipping in the fire. Colossus strode in like iron. Nightcrawler

blinked into the gate itself. Thunderbird and Sunfire dove as brothers of war, Banshee screaming defiance into the fire. Logan

glanced back once, growled, and disappeared into the green light.

Jean lingered, her arms spread, holding the

gate steady with her fire. Her parents watched, tears in their eyes, questions

breaking their lips-but she didn't answer. She only gave them one last look before she, too, huried herself into the blaze.

The Stargate snapped shut behind her.

And in the silence that followed, the fire

returned.

Firelord descended, staff blazing, eyes burning like stars. His voice shook the rooftop. "MUTANT OR NO, WOMAN OR NO-EARTH WILL PAY THE PRICE!"

Xavier's head rose. His voice was iron, cold and unshaken.

"Then burn it," he said. "Better one world fall... than the universe itself.'

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 87 – THE GLADIATOR’S ARENA

The Stargate spat them out in a blaze of green fire. Logan hit the ground first, claws out, senses screaming. Around him the others tumbled from the circle—Jean blazing faintly with leftover fire, Cyclops snapping to his feet visor glowing, Storm catching herself on a burst of wind, Colossus landing with the weight of a tank, Sunfire streaking flame, Thunderbird rolling with a warrior’s grin, Nightcrawler blinking to ground, Banshee screaming defiance into the open air.

The planet stretched before them, but it wasn’t the barren rock it should have been. The horizon boiled with life. An army.

Towers of bone-white stone lined the valley. Between them, ranks of alien soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder. Some were insectoid, mandibles clacking. Others reptilian, with armored hides glinting in the light of the alien suns. Winged giants loomed above, beating the air. And at the front stood the Imperial Guard—the chosen champions, their armor shining, their eyes cold.

Behind the X-Men, the Stargate’s glow snapped closed. Erik the Red stood tall, Lilandra bound in scarlet energy at his side. And behind him, a throne of living flame unfolded. A figure appeared, cloaked in purple, eyes wild with madness. Emperor D’Ken.

The army’s voice rolled across the plain.
“WHO ARE YOU THAT TRESPASS ON THE SACRED WORLD?”

Cyclops stepped forward, visor gleaming. “We are human. And we came for Erik—and the woman he’s holding.”

A guard stepped out, towering over them, skin like living crystal, voice cold as iron. “She is a TRAITOR. And if you came for her… then you are OUR ENEMY.”

The army roared.

“X-MEN!” Cyclops shouted. “DEFENSIVE LINE!”

They surged forward.

Logan met the first wave head-on, claws flashing, carving through insectoid armor. Green ichor sprayed the ground, but more poured in behind. One leapt onto his back, mandibles snapping at his throat. Logan roared, rolling, slamming it into the dirt, stabbing backward until the ground shook with its death.

Storm rose above the melee, eyes white, winds screaming. Lightning carved down, splitting a reptilian giant in half. For a moment the army faltered—until winged soldiers rose to meet her, their own bodies radiating heat, spears crackling with energy. She fought them like a storm goddess, but there were too many, darting in from every side.

Colossus bellowed, charging forward, steel fists smashing alien skulls. Each blow shook the earth. He plowed through a squad, scattering them like dolls. Then a crystal-skinned gladiator met him, shrugging off every strike, punching him back with diamond fists that cracked his armored chest.

Banshee screamed into the ranks, his voice tearing the ground apart, bodies scattering like leaves. But even as he staggered them, energy-net throwers dropped from the skies, tangling him in bands of burning light. His scream choked as they dragged him down.

Thunderbird laughed as he slammed into foes twice his size, tearing spears from their hands and breaking them across his knees. But for each enemy he dropped, two more crashed against him, driving him back with sheer numbers.

Nightcrawler blurred through the chaos, teleporting from foe to foe, blades flashing in his hands. He appeared, struck, vanished again in a puff of brimstone. But even his speed faltered against their endless ranks, the smoke of his teleports swallowed in the dust of war.

Sunfire soared overhead, blazing like a comet, fire sweeping wide. Alien wings burned, insectoid bodies charred. But the Imperial Guard’s own fire-wielder rose to meet him, flames clashing midair, each strike a thunderclap across the battlefield.

And Jean—Jean was feeling weak as she exhausted herself opening the Stargate.
The X-Men fought like gods. But the army was endless. Every victory vanished in the tide of bodies pressing closer, spears striking, claws raking, energy beams tearing the air.

Cyclops stood in the middle of it all, visor blazing, cutting lines through the swarm. “WE CAN’T HOLD THIS LINE FOREVER!” he roared.

And above them, on his throne of fire, Emperor D’Ken laughed.

“FIGHT, LITTLE HUMANS. BLEED, AND FALL. FOR THE CRYSTAL WAKES, AND THE UNIVERSE WILL BURN.”

The X-Men pushed forward, but the weight of the army crushed them back. The battlefield shook, the air filled with screams, fire, steel, and blood.

And from the Emperor’s hand, a shadow took shape—a creature made of smoke and teeth, its eyes pits of nothing. The SOUL DRINKER, slithering forward toward Lilandra.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 88 – THE MAD EMPEROR

The battlefield shook with every strike. Steel against claw, fire against flame, lightning ripping the skies. The X-Men were gods in motion—but the tide of aliens was endless. For every enemy they cut down, ten more pressed forward, the valley screaming with the clash of war.

Above it all, Emperor D’Ken stood on his throne of fire, eyes burning with madness. He raised one hand, and the shadows thickened. From the black poured a creature that made even Logan’s blood run cold.

It had no true shape—just coils of smoke, mouths opening where no mouths should be, teeth gnashing, each bite hungering for more. Its eyes were pits, swallowing light. When it opened its jaws, a wail cut the air like ice water down the spine.

“The SOUL DRINKER,” D’Ken hissed, his voice trembling with delight. “A gift for my dear sister. Her body may resist me, but her SOUL will not.”

Lilandra struggled in Erik’s crimson bonds, eyes wide. “No! You cannot—”

Scarlet light gagged her. Erik smiled beneath his helmet, voice cold. “You are already lost, princess.”

The Soul Drinker slid toward her, hunger dripping from every tooth.

On the battlefield, Cyclops saw it, felt the panic rise. He fired into the swarm, clearing a path, his voice booming over the chaos. “X-MEN! WE’RE AT A DISADVANTAGE! WE CAN’T REACH HER IN TIME!”

Storm soared above the melee, lightning exploding from her hands. “SCOTT—WE WILL FAIL!”

Logan tore another alien apart, snarling. ‘Too damn far… can’t cut my way through in time…’ His eyes burned as he saw the shadow closing on her.

And then—

BAMF!

Nightcrawler appeared on the throne’s steps, smoke curling around him. His golden eyes locked on Lilandra.

“Not… while I breathe.”

The Soul Drinker turned, its mouths opening, wailing in hunger. Kurt’s hand trembled as he reached for her. He had never done this before. Never dared.

He gritted his teeth. “‘Gott hilf mir…’”

He grabbed Lilandra by the arm.

BAMF!

The explosion of brimstone nearly tore him apart. His body screamed, every cell splitting, burning. Teleporting himself was agony enough. But carrying another? His vision blurred, his veins felt like fire, his heart staggered in his chest.

They reappeared on the battlefield, both tumbling into the dust. Kurt collapsed to one knee, chest heaving, sweat pouring down his face.

Jean was there in an instant, Phoenix fire wrapping them both, holding the swarm back. “Kurt! What have you—”

He coughed, forcing words out through the pain. “She… she is safe.”

Lilandra clutched her chest, staring at him with wild eyes. “You… you risked your life—”

Nightcrawler smiled faintly, his skin pale, his tail twitching weakly. “That is what X-Men do.”

Cyclops barked for cover fire. “KEEP THEM OFF HIM!” The team tightened, forming a ring of fire and steel around Kurt and Lilandra.

And through the chaos, Lilandra spoke, her voice carrying above the roar of battle.

“I must tell you… what you face.” Her voice cracked, but she forced it on, her eyes locked on the Emperor high above. “I was ADMIRAL of the Imperial Guard. I led armies across stars. But I learned my brother’s secret. The M’KRAAN CRYSTAL—he means to unlock it. He seeks not just power, but the END OF ALL THAT IS.”

She trembled, gripping Jean’s arm. “I opposed him. For that, he branded me a TRAITOR. The Guard split in half—brother against brother, sister against sister. I was taken for execution… but I escaped, fled across the stars. And in my flight, I FELT HIM. A mind like my own. A soul that answered mine.” Her eyes burned with desperate hope. “CHARLES.”

“The dreams… the visions… it was me.”

“Yes!” Lilandra cried. “I reached for his mind across the void. I saw his world through his eyes. And I begged for hope.”

The battlefield shook again as D’Ken’s laughter rolled across the valley.

“HOPE IS A LIE!” the Emperor roared. “THE NINE STARS ALIGN. THE CRYSTAL AWAKES. AND ALL CREATION WILL BLEED!”

The heavens trembled.

And on the horizon, nine suns flared, their light burning as one.

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CHAPTER 89 – THE TRAITOR’S TRUTH

The nine suns burned brighter, flares tearing across the alien sky. The battlefield froze for a heartbeat, every soldier glancing upward as the heavens roared. The universe itself seemed to draw a breath.

Cyclops didn’t waste the pause. His visor cut red across the field, slamming a line of foes back. “FORM UP! PROTECT KURT AND LILANDRA!”

Logan planted his claws in the dirt, body steaming with blood and fury. “We ain’t makin’ it out of this one if we don’t get a break…”

That break came with thunder.

Engines roared above, loud and raw, shaking the valley. Shadows streaked across the sky. A ship tore from the clouds, scarred hull gleaming, wings bristling with weapons. Its cannons fired, beams of white ripping trenches through the alien army.

The ground shook.

“The STARJAMMER,” Lilandra whispered, tears in her eyes.

The vessel screamed overhead, dropping fire and steel. Alien ranks broke apart as figures leapt from the ship into the melee.

At their front: a man with a cutlass, hair long and wild, one eye glinting like fire. Corsair. His blade crackled with energy as he carved into the Guard. Behind him followed Hepzibah, white-furred and snarling, her claws drenched in blood before she even landed. Raza dropped with metallic arms whirring, blades flashing. Ch’od roared, green-skinned bulk smashing into lines like a living tank.

The Starjammers tore into the Guard like wolves among sheep. The tide shifted in an instant.

Colossus surged to his feet, meeting Ch’od shoulder to shoulder. “A comrade of steel!” he boomed, fists smashing.

Storm rose above, lightning joining Hepzibah’s claws, raining chaos down. Sunfire streaked with Raza, flame and blade carving their way through.

The Imperial Guard faltered. For the first time, their sheer numbers didn’t matter. Their army cracked, split, soldiers retreating under the dual fury of X-Men and Starjammers.

Corsair shouted across the battlefield, voice hard as steel. “Lilandra! We’ve come for you!”

She staggered forward, clutching Kurt’s arm, her eyes blazing. “You risked everything—”

“Better we fall than let HIM win,” Corsair snapped, blade rising again. “We’ll buy you the time you need.”

The X-Men pressed the assault, cutting through the Guard with fresh fury. For a moment, victory seemed possible.

But then the heavens screamed.

The nine suns reached alignment. Their light lanced down as one, spearing the horizon.

The ground shook. The air tore apart.

And far beyond the battlefield, far past the valley’s edge, the beam struck the M’Kraan Crystal.

It blazed with impossible light, facets burning brighter than any star. For a heartbeat—every heartbeat in the universe—stopped.

And then—

Darkness.

The entire battlefield blinked out. Every soldier froze mid-strike. Flames paused in midair. Blood droplets hung motionless. The universe itself… skipped.

Logan staggered, claws trembling. ‘What the hell—did the world just… die?’

Jean screamed, Phoenix fire lashing wide. “NO!”

The M’Kraan Crystal pulsed again, a heartbeat of light that threatened to tear all existence apart.

And above it all, Emperor D’Ken threw back his head and laughed, madness echoing across frozen stars.

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CHAPTER 90 – THE FIRST GUARDIAN

The universe still felt wrong. A blink too long, a silence too deep, as if existence itself was holding its breath. The X-Men staggered on the broken plain, catching their balance, looking at one another with eyes wide and hollow.

Then—light.

It flared a few feet away. A shape rose from the dust. Not a titan, not a monster—just a small figure, scarcely taller than a child. Round head, impish face, eyes glowing white. He bowed with stiff precision, his voice mechanical and cheerful.

“I am JAHF. Guardian of the Crystal.”

Logan spat blood. “Tch. Figures the big bad protector looks like a toy.”

Storm raised her staff, lightning crawling around her. “Do not underestimate him, Wolverine.”

Jahf straightened, his smile frozen. “No intruder may pass. HONEST or not, it is forbidden. Thus, you must be—” His voice rose like a bell. “—DESTROYED.”

He moved before anyone could breathe.

Colossus took the hit first, the imp’s small fist punching into his steel chest. Piotr flew across the plain, smashing through a stone pillar like glass.

“PIOTR!” Storm cried.

Logan leapt, claws flashing, but Jahf caught his wrist mid-swing and slammed him face-first into the ground. Dust shot up in a ring. Logan groaned, bones creaking. “‘Little bastard’s STRONG—”

Cyclops fired full-beam, visor blasting wide. Jahf cartwheeled aside, the blast carving a canyon in the rock, and popped up right in front of Scott. “UNIMPRESSIVE.” His tiny hands grabbed Scott’s visor, ripping the ruby-quartz lens free. A surge of optic fire exploded into the sky uncontrolled before Jean pulled him back, reconstructing the visor with telekinesis in panic.

Nightcrawler blinked around him in a flurry of smoke. Jahf tracked every move, pivoting, then caught Kurt mid-teleport, hurling him into Thunderbird’s chest like ragdolls.

“Scheisse!” Kurt wheezed.

Thunderbird shoved him off, snarl curling. “You wanna fight, imp? TRY ME!” He charged. Jahf side-stepped, one punch to John’s ribs folding him to the ground.

The team was collapsing. Even Sunfire’s blazing inferno did nothing—Jahf simply ducked into the fire, walked out unscathed, and hurled a stone that clipped Shiro midair, sending him spiraling down.

Jean stood back, Phoenix fire sputtering as if her own strength was waning. She gritted her teeth, raised her hands, and summoned the sky itself.

A meteor tore from orbit, a blazing chunk of stone screaming down like judgment. It hit Jahf’s spot in a cataclysmic explosion, light burning the valley clean.

The shockwave slammed everyone flat. Silence followed, smoke curling from the crater.

Jean staggered. “Did I…?”

The smoke parted. Jahf hopped lightly onto a rock, dusting himself off, eyes still glowing bright.

“My circuits anticipated your strike.” His smile never faltered. “COMBAT CONTINUES.”

Banshee’s eyes widened. “‘Circuits… circuits…” He swallowed, pushing himself up, jaw tight. “Then maybe… maybe I’ve got a way.”

He launched himself skyward with a scream, cutting through the dust, landing hard right in front of Jahf.

The imp tilted its head. “FOOLISH.” His arms snapped around Sean, hugging him tight, bones creaking. Sean’s face contorted in agony as Jahf squeezed.

“AHHHHH!”

His spine bent, lungs crushed.

But Sean clamped his hands around Jahf’s head, pulling his mouth close. His voice cracked, raw with desperation. “Eat THIS, ye wee devil—!”

The scream detonated point-blank. A sonic blast at full force, tearing the air apart, ripping straight into Jahf’s circuits.

Light burst from the Guardian’s eyes, his smile flickering. “UNACCEPTABLE—ERROR—”

The blast ripped through him. Jahf’s body convulsed, sparks spraying, until his head snapped back and his body fell limp, tumbling into the dust.

Banshee collapsed on top of him, coughing blood, his voice gone raw. Logan dragged himself upright, claws out, eyes wide. “Sean… you did it.”

The team staggered closer. Jean knelt by him, fire dim, placing a hand on his chest. “He’s alive. Barely.”

Storm exhaled, relief in her trembling voice. “Then… the guardian is defeated.”

The ground shook.

From the shadows of the valley, a second figure rose. Taller, broader, skin dark as obsidian, eyes burning blue. Its presence weighed on them like a mountain.

It spoke in a voice like thunder. “I AM MODT. SECOND GUARDIAN.”

Logan spat, claws snapping out again. “‘Course there’s another one.”

The new guardian took a step forward. The ground cracked under its weight.

“INTRUDERS. YOU SHALL FALL.”

And the nightmare began again.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 91 – THE BLACK AND WHITE CITY

The second guardian strode forward, every footfall a quake. MODT—towering, obsidian-skinned, arms thick as mountains. His voice was no cheer like Jahf’s. It was doom given sound.

“NO PASSAGE. NO MERCY. ONLY OBLIVION.”

The X-Men closed ranks. Cyclops shouted above the rumble. “DON’T LET HIM THROUGH!”

Colossus charged first, steel body slamming into the giant. The ground split beneath the impact. For a heartbeat Piotr pushed him back—then Modt’s hand swung down, swatting him into the dirt like a fly.

“PETER!” Storm cried. Lightning flashed from her hands, bolts ripping across Modt’s chest. The guardian didn’t even flinch. He turned his head slowly toward her. His mouth opened, and a roar of energy blasted her from the sky.

Logan tore across the battlefield, claws flashing. He leapt, slashing across Modt’s face. Sparks flew. But the guardian’s arm lashed out, catching Logan midair, hurling him through a wall of stone.

“Can’t… can’t stop him…” Jean gasped, fire dimming around her.

Banshee staggered upright, still broken from Jahf. He tried to scream, but the sound faltered—his throat shredded, voice cracked to silence.

Thunderbird and Sunfire attacked together, warrior fury and searing flame. Thunderbird hammered at Modt’s knee while Sunfire poured plasma into his back. Modt turned, caught Thunderbird in one hand, and slammed him into the ground. His other hand swept up, backhanding Sunfire into the air like a spark.

The Starjammers surged in. Hepzibah leapt onto his shoulder, claws carving furrows in black stone. Raza’s blade flashed, sparks flying as he hacked at Modt’s joints. Ch’od roared, slamming his bulk into the titan’s legs.

Still, Modt moved forward. Unstoppable.

“CYCLOPS!” Corsair shouted. “You’ll never bring him down like this!”

Scott gritted his teeth, visor blazing. “WE KEEP TRYING!”

But then Raza froze. His eyes fell on D’Ken—standing smug behind the ranks, laughing, untouched. The sight twisted his face with fury. His voice ripped raw.

“ALL OF THIS—BECAUSE OF HIM!”

Raza lunged. He seized the Emperor in a rage, lifting him bodily by the throat. D’Ken’s eyes went wide, his hands sparking in panic.

“YOU’LL DIE FOR THIS!” he shrieked.

Raza snarled. “NO. YOU WILL ANSWER TO THE CRYSTAL YOU WORSHIP.”

And with a howl, he hurled D’Ken straight into the blazing facets of the M’Kraan.

Light swallowed him.

The universe screamed.

The battlefield cracked open, air twisting into white fire. Every soldier, every X-Man, every Starjammer was wrenched upward, pulled toward the Crystal. The Guardian Modt roared, his voice shaking like thunder, and even he was dragged in.

And then—silence.

The world shifted.

The X-Men staggered to their feet in a place that wasn’t a battlefield. No alien sky, no army, no valley. Just endless streets, stretching in every direction. Streets of stone, buildings without doors, walls without windows. All painted in shades of black and white, as if color itself had been drained from the air.

Storm whispered, her voice trembling. “This… city… what IS this place?”

Nightcrawler looked around with wide eyes. “It feels… empty. Like a stage waiting for actors.”

Behind them, Modt rose again, black and immense, his eyes blazing. “I FAILED MY MISSION. THUS I AM BOUND HERE. YOU WILL NOT ESCAPE.”

Jean’s fire flickered faintly around her shoulders as she helped Scott to his feet. “Wherever this is… it’s tied to the Crystal. I can feel it. We’re inside it now.”

They walked forward through the hollow city. Every footstep echoed. No life, no wind, no sound but their breathing. Until, at last, the streets opened into a vast square.

And at its center stood the sphere.

A perfect golden orb, floating above a pedestal. Its surface pulsed with light like a heartbeat. It was beautiful. Too beautiful.

Logan squinted at it, claws twitching. “‘Pretty. Which means it’s about to bite us in the ass.”

He was right.

The orb flared. From its heart, lances of red light burst forth, each one striking an X-Man, a Starjammer, pinning them in place.

Jean screamed as the beam hit her, dragging her down—only for it to break instantly. She staggered free, chest heaving. “No… NO. I won’t fall again. I’ve already died once. You can’t trap me like this.”

She lifted her head. All around her, her teammates writhed in invisible bonds. Their faces twisted, each caught in their own nightmare.

Cyclops’ visor glowed wildly. His head snapped side to side, eyes blazing red. His nightmares boiled so deep he fired without control, optic beams cutting into walls, splitting the square apart.

Jean’s heart froze. “SCOTT!”

She lunged forward, wrapped her mind around him, and pressed him down into darkness. His body went limp. His blasts stopped.

The golden sphere shimmered. A crack split across its perfect surface. Light poured out, bleeding across the city like veins.

Jean felt it in her bones. “Oh God… it’s dangerous.”

And the Phoenix fire rose in her eyes.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 92 – NIGHTMARES OF THE HEART

The golden sphere pulsed, its light bleeding through the cracks like veins of fire. Around it the X-Men writhed, each caught in its psychic snare. The air thrummed with screams, though none of their mouths opened.

Jean staggered to her feet, fire flickering around her. She was free. Somehow.

‘I’ve already died once,’ she thought, fists trembling. ‘Whatever this thing is showing them, it can’t break me. I’ve seen the other side.’

She looked around the square.

Storm was curled on the ground, face wet with tears, her hands clawing at invisible stone. She muttered between sobs: “The rubble… the darkness… I cannot breathe—” Her nightmare of being buried alive in Cairo still had her by the throat.

Nightcrawler was on his knees, whispering prayers in German, begging forgiveness. His yellow eyes stared into a phantom crowd that spat and cursed, pitchforks raised against his “demon” face.

Colossus thrashed in silence, his hands dripping red in his mind, unable to save his sister Illyana from shadows that pulled her down.

Banshee reached for a phantom Maeve, his lost love, only for her to vanish again and again with every grasp, his voice broken to a whisper.

Thunderbird roared, swinging at air, reliving a thousand defeats, every strike reminding him he’d never match his warrior ancestors.

Sunfire screamed as fire consumed Tokyo, his nightmare of failing to protect his homeland made flesh.

Even the Starjammers weren’t spared. Hepzibah fought shadows that stole her freedom. Raza screamed as machines disassembled him piece by piece. Ch’od wailed in an empty ocean, his people gone.

And Corsair—Corsair saw a cockpit aflame, two boys screaming in the back. His hands were on the controls, powerless to save them.

Jean’s breath caught. She could see it, as though the Phoenix had peeled back the veil. A plane. Two children. One of them a boy with brown hair, a strange energy sparking in his eyes.

“Scott…” she whispered.

Her eyes went wide. Corsair was the father. Cyclops was his son. The Phoenix had shown her the truth.

But no time for shock.

Cyclops himself was the worst. His visor cracked under the strain of the nightmare, optic beams erupting without aim, tearing the white-and-black city apart. He screamed, unconscious, lost in visions of failure and helplessness.

The beams carved a fresh crack across the sphere. Golden light spilled out. The city shook.

Jean’s instincts screamed: if the orb shattered, it wasn’t just the city—it was EVERYTHING.

She wrapped her mind around Scott, pinning his mind into sleep, cutting off the blasts. He slumped to the stone. The air went still, but the sphere groaned like a wounded god.

Jean turned to it, fire blazing in her eyes. “If this thing breaks, it’s the end.”

The Phoenix flared around her, wings blazing across the empty city. She rose into the air, pulled by instinct, by destiny.

“I have to go inside.”

Her teammates writhed, still bound in nightmares. She saw their pain, their loss, their scars laid bare. And in that moment, she knew them all deeper than ever before.

She clenched her fists, fire searing. “Hold on, all of you. I’ll finish this.”

She flung herself into the crack.

The sphere swallowed her.

Darkness.

Total.

No color, no sound, no air. Only the pulse of something immense, something too big for thought. The Phoenix fire flared brighter, guiding her through.

‘This is it,’ Jean thought, drifting in void. ‘The heart of the Crystal. The neutron galaxy. If it ruptures… the pull will drag in every star, every planet, until the universe collapses into one final explosion.’

And ahead of her, she saw it: the lattice.

A web of crystalline light, strands stretching across infinity, cracked and broken, holding back the swirling core of the neutron galaxy. Energy pulsed against it, straining for release.

Jean reached for it, Phoenix fire wrapping her arms. She touched the lattice—and screamed. The cracks burned through her, the pain of a universe trying to tear itself apart.

She forced her power into it, mending, weaving, repairing strand by strand. But the gaps were too vast. Her fire flickered.

“It’s not enough…” she whispered. “I can’t do this alone.”

Behind her, she felt a hand.

“Then don’t.”

Storm was there, her hand trembling on Jean’s shoulder. Her eyes glowed white. “Take my strength. Take my life, if need be. The world must endure.”

Jean felt the transfer. Storm’s very life force, flowing into her. It nearly broke her heart.

“No,” Jean gasped. “If I drain you, you’ll die.”

But Storm only smiled through the pain. “Then let me die for the sky I love.”

Jean shook her head. She could feel it. This couldn’t be one person’s burden. It had to be all of them.

She turned, her voice booming across the void. “X-MEN! STARJAMMERS! LEND ME YOUR STRENGTH!”

One by one, they appeared in the darkness, pulled from their nightmares by her will. Their hands reached, their power flowed.

And Corsair, clutching the unconscious Scott, stumbled forward. His eyes burned as Jean’s voice rang in his mind.

“Take care of him. He is your son.”

Corsair froze. His heart cracked wide open. “What—? Scott…? MY SCOTT?!”

But Jean was already gone, diving deeper, blazing like a sun.

Phoenix fire swallowed her, and she plunged into the heart of the lattice.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 93 – THE LATTICE OF WORLDS

Jean dove headfirst into infinity.

The lattice stretched before her—an endless web of glowing lines holding back a storm of energy so vast it made galaxies look like dust. Cracks ran through it everywhere, pulsing red, every one of them widening with each heartbeat. The neutron galaxy pressed against the barrier, hungry to escape.

Her Phoenix fire blazed around her, wings burning wide. She threw herself into the cracks, weaving, patching, forcing her will into the broken strands. Light fused where she touched—but the gaps were endless. For every strand she mended, three more splintered.

“It’s too much,” she whispered, her voice raw. “Even for me.”

And then—Storm’s hand again, firm and steady. Her eyes glowed like dawn breaking through endless night.

“You are not alone, Jean. TAKE MY STRENGTH!”

Life-force poured from Ororo like a flood. Jean gasped, her fire surging, cracks sealing faster, brighter. But she felt the cost—Storm’s body weakening, her heartbeat fading.

“No!” Jean cried. “Not like this!”

Storm smiled through the pain. “If my death saves the sky, then let it come.”

Jean trembled. ‘I can’t do this at the cost of my friends… I need ALL of them.’

She opened her mind wide, voice booming across the void. “X-MEN! STARJAMMERS! IF THE UNIVERSE DIES, WE ALL DIE. LEND ME YOUR POWER!”

One by one, they appeared in the dark, pulled into her fire.

Colossus, steel fists clenched, his strength pouring into her hands.
Nightcrawler, faith steady even as his body trembled, his courage flowing like light.
Banshee, his throat raw but his spirit unbroken, giving her his last voice.
Thunderbird, pride and fury blazing, offering his warrior fire.
Sunfire, his plasma heart burning, his rage turned into fuel.
Storm, still holding on, giving even more of herself.
Hepzibah, snarling, her claws digging into Jean’s arm as if to anchor her.
Raza, rage against machines transmuted into resolve.
Ch’od, steady as a mountain, his alien strength becoming part of the weave.

Even Corsair. He clutched the unconscious Scott to his chest, shaking. His voice cracked. “If she’s right… if this boy is mine—then take what’s left of me. Save him. Save them all.”

The fire surged.

Jean cried out, her voice splitting stars. “TOGETHER!”

The Phoenix wings flared, pulling all their power into one blazing whole. She thrust it into the lattice, pouring out life, soul, fury, love, every shred of who they were.

The cracks mended faster now, strands sealing with light. The neutron galaxy screamed against its prison, but the web held. Jean’s body shook, her fire eating itself alive.

Still she pushed. Still she burned.

“NOT ENOUGH!” she roared. “I NEED—EVERYTHING!”

Her mind reached deeper, into the very bonds that tied them together. She pulled Cyclops’ strength even from his unconscious body. She pulled Xavier’s love through Lilandra’s mind-link. She pulled every heartbeat from every ally, weaving them into one.

And then—she surrendered herself completely.

Her body vanished. Only fire remained.

A bird of flame, vast as the cosmos, wings outstretched across infinity.

The Phoenix screamed.

And the lattice healed. Every crack sealed in white fire, every strand reforged, brighter, stronger. The neutron galaxy thrashed—but it was bound.

The universe shuddered once, then steadied. Time itself breathed again.

And the Phoenix burned, its cry echoing through eternity.

Then—silence.

The fire collapsed inward. The X-Men and Starjammers were flung back, tumbling through void, through light, through nothing—

And they crashed back onto the barren world outside the Crystal.

Dust stung their lungs, blood burned in their veins, but they were alive.

Logan coughed, dragging himself up, claws trembling. “She… she did it.”

Storm knelt, tears streaking her face, whispering to the sky. “Jean…”

A figure staggered nearby. Emperor D’Ken. His eyes rolled, mouth foaming, his laughter now babble, his mind shredded by the visions inside the Crystal. He collapsed, giggling like a child.

The X-Men gathered in a ring, broken, battered, but standing. The Crystal pulsed behind them, quiet now.

The fight for the universe was done.

For now.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 94 – THE PHOENIX ASCENDANT

The barren world lay silent, the M’Kraan Crystal glowing softly behind them like a slumbering god. Dust drifted in the air, broken stone all around. The X-Men and Starjammers stood in a circle, barely able to breathe, staring at each other with wide eyes.

They had done it. The lattice was whole. The universe still lived.

But Jean was gone.

For a heartbeat, panic ripped through them. Then—fire.

A pillar of emerald flame erupted from the Crystal, wings blazing across the black sky. Out of it stepped Jean Grey, her eyes burning white, her body wrapped in the Phoenix fire. She hovered above the stone, untouched, unbowed, radiant like a new sun.

Logan’s lips parted. “‘Holy hell… Jeannie…”

Storm fell to her knees, tears streaming. “The Phoenix… risen.”

Jean touched down, the fire receding into her skin, leaving only a glow behind her eyes. She smiled weakly. “It’s done. The lattice will hold. The universe is safe.”

Behind them, Emperor D’Ken lay in the dust, babbling, clawing at phantoms only he could see. His mind was shattered, trapped in nightmares with no end. His empire had lost its master.

Corsair knelt by Cyclops’ unconscious form, trembling. His hand brushed Scott’s hair, his voice low. “My son…” He choked back tears, gripping him tighter. “Jean… was it true?”

Jean met his eyes. She didn’t speak—she didn’t need to. The Phoenix fire in her gaze told him all.

Corsair bowed his head, clutching Scott like he’d never let go again.

The Starjammers gathered, Raza wiping his blade, Hepzibah licking her claws clean, Ch’od grunting in satisfaction. But even they were silent before what they had just witnessed.

Lilandra staggered to her feet, chains of Erik’s energy gone. She raised her head to the stars, her voice trembling. “It is finished. My brother is broken. The throne… will be mine.”

The Stargate flared. Green fire opened above the barren plain, the pull of Earth calling them back.

One by one they stepped through. The world dissolved—

And they stumbled back onto the rooftop of Greenwich Village.

The building was half-ruin, smoke still curling from its broken walls. Jean’s parents stood below, clinging to Misty Knight, eyes wide as their daughter returned wrapped in fire.

And on the roof stood Firelord. Staff blazing, eyes like twin suns. He turned as they appeared, his power burning the night.

Cyclops, just conscious again, staggered to his feet, visor glowing. “We’re not done—”

But Firelord lowered his weapon.

“Your professor spoke to me,” he said, voice low and heavy. “I saw the truth. You did not fight for conquest. You fought for life itself. I will not strike again.”

Scott froze. Logan lowered his claws. Even Storm’s winds fell still.

Firelord looked at Jean, the Phoenix aura still dancing faintly around her shoulders. His eyes narrowed. “You… are dangerous. But you are also necessary. Do not squander what you’ve been given.” He rose into the sky, his staff blazing, and vanished into the stars.

Silence fell.

The Stargate flared one final time. Lilandra stepped through, her armor torn, her face lit with tears. She ran across the broken rooftop and fell to her knees beside Xavier.

“Charles…” she whispered, voice breaking. “My soul-love. I will not be parted from you again. Not until the Council itself crowns me.”

She threw her arms around him, pressing her face into his chest. Xavier closed his eyes, hands trembling as he held her close.

The X-Men stood around them, battered, bloodied, broken—but alive.

The Crystal was safe. The Emperor was lost. The Phoenix was born.

And for one fleeting moment, beneath a ruined New York sky, they let themselves breathe.

And Logan after taking a buff from his cigar mumbled to himself "That was one hell of a day,bub"

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 95-SHADOWS AND SORROWS

The stars were still burning in Logan's eyes

when the Stargate closed. The X-Men stood battered on the rooftop, the scent of fire still clinging to their skin. Lilandra leaned into Xavier's arms, whispering soft words in a language none of them knew. Jean's parents clung to each other, unable to comprehend what they'd just seen. And off to the side,

bound in shimmering restraints forged by Shi'ar tech, Erik the Red spat curses until Raza backhanded him silent.

The Starjammers took him without ceremony.

Corsair gave Scott a long, haunted look before ordering the ship skyward. No explanations.

No words. Just a promise hanging heavy

between them: they would deal with Erik. And then he was gone.

The night fell still again, broken city lights

winking like wounded stars. Misty Knight herded the Greys away, muttering something about whisky. The X-Men-half-dead, souls scorched, but alive-returned home.

The next moming, the X-Mansion was quiet.

Too quiet. For once, there were no alarms, no screaming jets, no apocalyptic voices clawing into Xavier's head.

The nightmares were gone.

He sat in his chair outside the lower dungeon, eyes closed, listening to the silence. It was

intoxicating. Lilandra's presence in his mind, steady and sure, kept the shadows at bay. For the first time in months he could reach into his full power without pain.

"Charles?" Jean's voice. She stood at his side, still wrapped in faint green light. "Are you sure you're ready?"

"I should have done this sooner," he admitted. His voice was soft, but iron. "But the nightmares... every time I touched the thread of their minds, it was like drowning. I could not risk losing myself. Not then."

Storm rested a hand on his shoulder. "And now?"

"Now," he said, eyes hardening, "the Phoenix has cleared the way. It is time."

The dungeon smelled of iron and dust. Heavy doors opened with a groan, revealing the two captives chained within. Havok sat slumped, his head low, circles of light faintly glowing beneath his skin. Polaris lay against the wall, hair tangled, green eyes dulled.

Xavier wheeled in, the X-Men fanning out behind him. For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Havok's head snapped up, eyes blazing. "Charles! Let me out of this! You don't know what you're doing!"

"Quiet," Logan growled, claws flexing.

Xavier raised a hand. "It isn't him speaking. Not truly. Watch."

He closed his eyes. His brow furrowed. The air grew heavy, like a storm pressing down. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Shakari's chains run deep. But not unbreakable"

Green light snapped across Polaris' wrists. She screamed, thrashing, voice warped by someone else's commands. Havok bucked against his restraints, arcs of plasma flaring around his body

The X-Men tensed, ready to strike.

But Xavier's eyes flared open, glowing white. His voice rang in their skulls.

"BE STILL"

A shockwave of psychic force rippled through the chamber. The chains of Erik's control-red, Jagged, foul-snapped like glass. Havok gasped as if surfacing from deep water.

Polaris collapsed to her knees, sobbing, the madness draining from her eyes. And then it was over.

They blinked, dazed, looking around the room like survivors of a wreck.

"Charles..." Hayok's voice was raw. His hands trembled. "I... I remember it all. Every second. He used me-used us-like puppets."

Polaris staggered forward, eyes wel. "We fought you. Hurt you. We... oh God, we almost

killed you." She dropped to her knees, pressing her hands to her face. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

The X-Men stood in silence. For once, no one had the heart to speak.

Cyclops stepped forward. His jaw was

clenched, visor glowing faintly. He looked at his brother, then at Polaris, then back at the floor. His voice was flat. "You weren't

yourselves. We know that. But it doesn't erase what happened."

Havok reached for him, hesitant. "Scott..."

Xavier broke the silence. "You owe no penance here. What was done to you was not

But Scott didn't move. His face was stone.

your choice. The guilt belongs to Shakari." His voice softened. "But you must live with the memory. And choose how to carry it."

Polaris looked up at him, voice shaking. "And If we can't?"

Xavier's eyes closed. "Then you must leave. The mansion cannot heal you. Only time will."

The words hit like a verdict.

Havok bowed his head. Polaris stood shakily, wiping her tears. They turned toward the exit. Neither looked back.

The heavy doors shut behind them. The X-Men stood in silence.

Logan lit a cigar, the flame trembling against his claws. "They'll be back," he muttered. "One way or another. Can't bury ghosts forever."

Jean touched Xavier's shoulder. "Why now, Charles? Why not before?"

He looked up at her, his eyes weary but clear.

"Because, my dear... last night, for the first time in months, I slept. And when I woke, the nightmares were gone."

Lilandra's shadow crossed the doorway, her

eyes soft, her presence steady as a hand against his back.

The professor's voice dropped to a whisper, almost to himself.

"And with her here... I am not afraid anymore."

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 96 – WHISPERS IN THE ATTIC

The morning sun pushed through the trees around the mansion, painting gold across the long stone walls. The place was too quiet—too clean—like the house itself was holding its breath after everything that had gone down in the stars.

Logan stepped out of his room, tugging his shirt into place, cigar already pinched between his teeth. His boots hit the hallway floor heavy as ever. The quiet was wrong, too wrong. His ears twitched.

Voices.

No—not voices. Just one voice.

He cocked his head, sniffed the air. The sound was soft, lilting, almost musical. And it was coming from the attic.

Storm.

Logan squinted, muttering under his breath. “Now what’s the weather witch doin’ up there?”

He padded up the narrow stairs, each creak of the wood like a gunshot to his sharpened hearing. He pressed open the attic door—

—and found her kneeling in a halo of sunlight, surrounded by green. Plants everywhere. Pots, vines, herbs, flowers—like a whole damn jungle tucked under the roof.

And Storm was talking to them. Not chanting. Not praying. Talking.

Logan blinked. “...Darlin’, did you lose your brains in the last fight, or am I seein’ this right? You havin’ a chat with the begonias?”

Storm didn’t even flinch. She stroked a leaf between her fingers and smiled faintly. “It is none of your concern, brute. These are my children. They have missed my voice.”

Logan snorted smoke through his nose. “Hate to break it to ya, Ro, but if they start talkin’ back, I’m torchin’ this whole attic.”

He bit down on the cigar, flicking open his lighter.

A sudden gale whooshed through the room, nearly knocking him flat. The lighter flew out of his hand, clattering against the far wall.

Storm rose to her full height, eyes flashing white for a heartbeat. “NOT in here. I will not have my plants poisoned by your filthy smoke!”

Logan staggered back, hands up. “Alright, alright! Don’t fry me, I was just lookin’ for a quiet puff!”

Storm swept past him, her cloak brushing his shoulder. She shoved him through the doorway with one finger. “Go stink up the yard, Wolverine. Leave the attic to the green and the light.”

Logan grumbled, picking his cigar off the floor. “Talkin’ to weeds. Whole damn world’s gone nuts.”

Storm knelt back down among her plants, brushing soil from her hands, her voice low again, tender. “Do not mind him, little ones. He knows nothing of life.”

The door creaked shut.

---

Down the hall, another door clicked.

Nightcrawler leaned back in his chair, tail flicking lazily, phone cradled between shoulder and ear. His fangs gleamed in the light from the window, a grin stretching wide as he purred into the receiver.

“Ja, Amanda… tonight, yes? At the theater, perhaps? A comedy, something light… wunderbar!”

He chuckled, voice dropping to a whisper. “Then it is a date, mein engel. I will be there before you even miss me.”

The phone clicked as he hung up. He twirled it in his fingers, eyes sparkling. “Ach, love is in the air!”

He vanished in a puff of brimstone—reappearing in Colossus’ room.

The big Russian sat at his desk, bent over a piece of paper. His brow furrowed, pencil gripped like a weapon. Crumpled pages lay in a pile at his feet.

Nightcrawler peeked over his shoulder. “A letter? To your family?”

Colossus jolted, blushing. He tried to shield the page with one massive hand. “Da. To my sister, Illyana. It is… difficult, finding the words.”

Kurt clapped him on the back, tail curling around his chair. “Then let me distract you! A double date—me and Amanda, you and… any girl of your choosing! The night is young, mein freund, and the city waits!”

Colossus sighed, shaking his head. “I am sorry, Kurt. I have already promised Banshee and Moira to go with them for picnic. Perhaps another time.”

Nightcrawler threw his arms wide, melodramatic. “A picnic? Bah! You choose potato salad over romance?”

Colossus chuckled quietly, turning back to his paper. “Some of us write with hearts, some with hands. Go enjoy your date, Kurt. I will enjoy the sun.”

Nightcrawler huffed, tail flicking, then vanished in another puff of brimstone, muttering about “hopeless romantics with too much bread.”

---

And somewhere else in the mansion, the Phoenix stirred.

Jean Grey sat at her parents’ side, the weight of their questions pressing harder than any alien crystal. Scott Summers watched from across the hall, visor glowing faintly, wondering how he’d ever find the right words for her.

The mansion breathed. For one day, no battles. Just voices. Just lives.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 97 – FAMILY TIES

The mansion’s parlor was alive with chatter, dishes clinking, voices overlapping. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, glinting off polished wood floors that still bore the scuffs of battles long past. It was almost domestic. Almost.

But upstairs, Jean’s parents sat stiffly on the edge of a couch, hands clasped tight. Their eyes kept darting to her—like she was familiar, and yet a stranger.

Jean smoothed her dress, though the fire inside her burned too bright for any fabric to hide. She forced a smile. “Mom, Dad… you wanted to talk?”

Her mother’s voice cracked. “Jean… what are you?”

The words sliced deeper than any blade. Jean felt the Phoenix stir, restless. She closed her eyes.

“I’m still your daughter,” she whispered. “But I carry something now. Something bigger than me. A force of life, of fire. It saved me… but it also changed me.”

Her father leaned forward, fists white. “We saw you. Flying. Burning. Fighting… creatures! That wasn’t our Jean. That was—” He faltered, unable to finish.

Jean’s eyes burned faintly green. “It was both. Jean Grey and the Phoenix. I’m still me… just more.”

Silence stretched. Her mother’s hands trembled. Finally, she reached out, fingertips brushing Jean’s. “You sound the same. You sound like my Jean. I want to believe.”

Jean smiled faintly, though it felt brittle. “Then believe. Please.”

Across the hall, Cyclops leaned against the wall, arms crossed, visor humming with a low glow. He watched her through the doorframe, thoughts grinding.

She’s changed. She’s not just Jean anymore. She’s brighter, stronger… but further away. Can I even reach her now? Can I hold on, when she’s burning like a star?

His hand clenched to a fist.

---

Downstairs, the living room buzzed with lighter air.

Banshee sprawled across a couch, whistling an old Irish tune as Moira swept past him with a picnic basket. Colossus loomed nearby, holding a blanket the size of a ship sail, folding it carefully. Storm gathered fruit in a basket, the morning light haloing her white hair.

The door creaked. Logan stepped in, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, cigar clenched tight.

“I hear there’s a picnic. Count me in.”

Three heads swiveled his way. Banshee raised an eyebrow. “You? The social type? Thought ye’d rather chew glass than sit on a blanket.”

Logan grunted. “Don’t get used to it. I just need a lift across the river. Better hunting grounds.”

Storm’s eyes narrowed, her voice sharp. “Hunting? More killing, more blood? Have you learned nothing, Wolverine?”

Logan smirked around his cigar. “Relax, Ro. Don’t mean killing. Just tracking, sneakin’ up close enough to touch ‘em without them knowin’. Predator’s game. No corpses. Promise.”

The room held still for a heartbeat. Storm’s shoulders eased, her expression softening. “Then… I misjudged you. I apologize.”

Logan tipped two fingers to his brow. “No harm done. Let’s get movin’ before Banshee eats all the sandwiches.”

Banshee barked a laugh, clapping him on the back.

Storm shook her head, a rare smile tugging at her lips.

---

Elsewhere, Sunfire and Thunderbird stomped down the mansion steps together, muttering about “civilized nonsense.”

“Picnics, flowers, talking to plants,” Sunfire scoffed. “Bah. I need something stronger.”

Thunderbird cracked his knuckles. “Bar with real drinks. Real men.”

They strode off toward town, already planning to leave a trail of empty bottles behind them.

---

In the hall above, Jean stood at the window, staring at her reflection. Her parents’ voices still echoed inside her. Scott appeared behind her, visor gleaming faintly in the glass.

“Jean,” he said quietly. “We need to talk.”

Her reflection smiled, but her eyes blazed. “Later, Scott. Not yet.”

And then she walked past him, fire trailing faint in her wake.

Scott remained, silent, watching her go.

---

The mansion hummed with ordinary life. For once, no cosmic storms. Just people. Lovers. Friends. Family.

And one man sharpening his claws for the hunt.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 98 – THE HUNT

The forest wrapped around Logan like an old friend. Damp earth, pine needles underfoot, the slow heartbeat of the land. Every breath filled him with scents layered thick—sap, wet moss, deer tracks hours old, a hawk nesting in the far treeline.

He crouched low, fingertips brushing the dirt.

“Tracks,” he muttered. “Buck. Two days past his prime. Movin’ east.”

The others had long since veered off with their picnic baskets and laughter. Logan didn’t need laughter. He needed silence. The silence of a world that never lied.

He padded deeper, boots barely stirring leaves. His body melted into the undergrowth, each motion deliberate, controlled. Not a hunter killing. A predator proving.

He slipped close enough to a doe grazing at the edge of the river. She lifted her head once, ears flicking. Logan froze. The wind shifted. She never saw him.

A ghost. A shadow.

He smiled faintly, letting her go. “Gotcha, darlin’. Game’s yours.”

He straightened, rolling the tension from his shoulders. The hunt was done. But his senses—the feral tangle of nose and ear and instinct—flared sudden, sharp.

The wind carried something else. Metal. Ozone. A heartbeat too steady to be human.

Logan’s eyes narrowed.

He turned his head slowly. Across the clearing, past the trunks and shadows, stood a man. Not just a man—armored, gleaming, visor shining red across his faceplate. The white and orange of his suit caught the light, bright against the forest gloom.

Weapon Alpha.

The Canadian flag gleamed bold across his chest.

Logan’s claws itched in their sheaths, his lip curling back from his teeth.

“Well, hell,” he growled. “Guess the past found me.”

Weapon Alpha raised a hand, energy flaring in his gauntlet. His voice cut through the trees like a blade.

“Logan. You’re coming back with me. One way or another.”

The forest held its breath.

Logan popped his claws, the sound sharp, final. Sparks of sunlight danced across the steel.

“Try me, Alpha. Let’s see who bleeds first.”

The birds scattered from the trees as the clearing snapped taut, predator against hunter, past against present—

—and the fight was about to begin.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 99 – THE PAST COMES HUNTING

Logan smirked, claws still gleaming, the scent of ozone sharp in his nose. He tilted his head, letting the forest breeze carry every twitch of Weapon Alpha’s suit to his ears.

“Didn’t expect you’d still be sniffin’ after me,” Logan drawled, voice low and rough. “Not after I turned the whole damn H-Department into scrap.”

Weapon Alpha’s visor glowed, and his voice came cold, mechanical. “You’re property of Canada, Logan. You don’t get to walk away.”

The suit hummed, plates shifting, servos locking into place. Energy coursed across the gauntlets, the air sizzling as circuits lit like veins of fire.

“You see this suit?” Alpha spread his arms, the forest reflecting off polished alloy. “Flight. Impact dampeners. Energy projection. It’s designed for one purpose: bringing you back. Dead or alive.”

Logan chuckled, baring teeth. “Lot of bells and whistles, Alpha. But under all that chrome—you’re just a man. And I tear men apart.”

Alpha didn’t waste another word. His jets roared, and he lunged, fist glowing bright.

Logan met him head-on, steel screaming free from his fists. The clash cracked the clearing like thunder, claws raking sparks across Alpha’s gauntlet. The ground buckled beneath their weight.

The noise rolled through the forest, over the trees, across the lake where Colossus and Storm were spreading the blanket while Banshee splashed Moira in the water.

Storm’s head snapped up. “Do you hear that?”

Banshee paused mid-splash, frowning. “Sounds like a bloody bomb went off.”

Moira’s face drained of color. “It came from the woods. Where Logan went.”

Colossus clenched his fists, already turning metal as he charged forward. “Then we go!”

But Storm’s hand shot out, lightning crackling in her eyes. She saw the red and white flag emblazoned across the chest of the armored figure.

“No,” she said sharply. “Do not interfere. This is Logan’s fight.”

Colossus frowned, confused. “You would have us stand and watch?”

Storm’s voice dropped, firm as steel. “Look closer, Piotr. That suit bears the Canadian mark. And Logan… Logan is Canadian too. This battle is not ours to steal.”

They froze at the treeline, hidden, the lake water dripping from Banshee’s hair.

In the clearing, predator and soldier tore into each other, past and present colliding.

And the forest roared with their war.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 100 – WOUND FOR WOUND

The clearing was fire and thunder.

Weapon Alpha dove low, his gauntlets blazing white. Each swing cracked trees in half, sending splinters flying. Logan slipped between the blows like water, body humming with feral precision. His hearing sphere lit the fight in ways no eye could see—every servo whine, every twitch of Alpha’s armored joints, the rhythm of his breath beneath the mask.

He twitches right—

Logan ducked, claws flashing upward, carving three bright scars across Alpha’s chestplate. Sparks spat. The armor screamed.

Alpha snarled. “You think claws will save you?”

His jets kicked, hurling him forward in a blur. The gauntlet slammed into Logan’s ribs. Bone snapped. Logan grunted, skidding back, spitting blood into the dirt.

Then he grinned, feral. “That all you got?”

He surged back, shoulder-first, claws raking. This time Alpha raised an arm—too slow. Steel cut through alloy, peeling the gauntlet open. Circuits fizzled, the glow sputtering.

Alpha staggered, but struck again, fist glowing with raw energy. Logan didn’t dodge. He chose not to. The blast caved his chest, hurling him through a tree. Bark rained down, smoke curling from his torn shirt.

He stood up, ribs knitting back together even as he growled. “Wound for wound, Alpha. Difference is—I heal.”

He blurred forward, faster than he’d ever moved. Bullet time. The world slowed to syrup in his mind. Every strike Alpha threw, Logan was already inside it. Every blast of power bent around empty air. Claws cut through shoulder plating, shredded thigh armor, tore the flight stabilizers from his back.

Alpha staggered, sparks vomiting from the suit, his breaths ragged in the helmet.

The hidden X-Men at the treeline watched in awe. Colossus clenched his fists, Storm held her breath, Banshee muttered a prayer.

Alpha fell to one knee, chestplate torn wide, circuits hanging like entrails. Logan loomed above him, claws dripping sparks, eyes burning feral.

“End of the line, bub.”

Alpha’s jets sputtered, then roared to life, blasting dirt in Logan’s face. He shot skyward, smoke trailing from his ruined armor. His voice echoed across the forest:

“I’LL BE BACK!”

And then he was gone, a streak of fire dwindling to nothing in the clouds.

Logan stood there, chest heaving, claws still wet with the taste of metal. He retracted them slow, each snikt sharp in the silence.

The others rushed into the clearing, Storm’s cloak whipping in the wind, Colossus ready to catch him if he fell.

“Logan!” Storm called. “Are you hurt?”

He wiped the blood from his mouth, looking up at the sky where Alpha had vanished. His voice was low, gravel thick in his throat.

“My past don’t stay buried. It keeps diggin’ me up.”

He lit his cigar with shaking hands, the flame trembling against the wind.

“And now it’s huntin’ me again.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 101 – THE LAST GAME

The afternoon sun spilled gold across Xavier’s lawn, warm enough to make even the mansion look friendly. Moira set down her tea with a sigh.

“It’s my last day here, lads. Tomorrow I’m back to Muir Island.”

The words dropped like a stone.

Banshee almost choked on his drink. “What? Yer leavin’ already? Och, no, Moira, that won’t do. Not without a proper sendoff.”

Storm arched a brow. “And what do you suggest, Sean? A serenade?”

“Better,” Banshee said, grinning. “Baseball.”

Minutes later the X-Men were on the field, makeshift bases staked down, bats in hand. Cyclops adjusted his visor like he was calculating ballistics. Colossus loomed at the plate, bat like a toothpick in his hands. Nightcrawler crouched behind him as catcher, tail flicking.

Logan cracked his knuckles, stepping to the mound. “Alright, tin man. Let’s see if ya can swing that farmboy strength or just look pretty.”

Storm floated in the outfield, cloak fluttering like wings. Sunfire crossed his arms, already muttering about “this ridiculous American pastime.”

“PLAY BALL!” Banshee shouted, his voice carrying farther than the bat ever would.

The game was chaos from the start. Colossus swung — the bat splintered in half. The ball trickled two feet.

“Safe!” Nightcrawler yelled anyway, teleporting him to first base.

“Unfair!” cried Sunfire.

“Creative interpretation!” Kurt countered with a grin.

Jean batted next, smacking the ball skyward with a telekinetic nudge no one quite caught. Logan went for the catch, leaping higher than humanly possible — and landed flat on his back as Storm sent a gust to push the ball just out of reach.

“Cheap shot, Ro!” Logan barked, brushing grass off his hair.

“It is called strategy,” she teased.

By the fifth inning Logan’s cigar had gone out twice, his team was down by five, and his mood was fouler than a swamp rat. Colossus hit a home run that actually set off car alarms across the street.

“Game!” Banshee shouted, hands raised.

Logan tossed his glove to the dirt. “Bah. Rigged game anyway.”

Jean walked past him, smiling gently. “It’s just for fun, Logan.” She squeezed his arm once, then drifted to Scott’s side. He slid his hand into hers, their fingers lacing easy.

Logan lit a fresh cigar, eyes narrowing as smoke curled. Sooner or later, Jeanie… sooner or later you’ll see me. Not him.

The team flopped into the grass for a breather, laughter dying into lazy chatter. That’s when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” Moira said, dusting off her hands. “It must be the phone repairer.”

“Yeah? Let’s all roll out the red carpet,” Logan muttered, rising with her. He sniffed the air — and froze.

That smell. Hostility sharp as blood in water.

Banshee noticed the sudden stillness. “What’s wrong, Logan?”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “I smell somethin’ bad waitin’ behind that door. Don’t spook the others. Let’s check it quiet.”

They reached the hall. Moira gave Logan a side glance. “Didn’t expect you to be such a gentleman, Wolverine.”

He smirked. “Don’t get used to it, darlin’.”

Banshee kept his hand near his belt, tense. “I’ll trust your nose, Logan.”

Moira swung the door open. A pistol gleamed in the visitor’s hand.

Before the shot cracked, Logan moved. Reflexes snapping like a whip, he yanked Moira aside, claws bursting free with a snikt. In two strides he was on the gunman, metal against metal, knocking the weapon wide.

It was no ordinary thug. The intruder’s skin shone with plated metal, half-human, half-machine. Warhawk.

Logan slammed him into the wall, claws pricking the wiring under his skin. “Bad call comin’ here, tin man.”

Warhawk raised a fist to fire — but Logan’s strike was faster. The claws tore through circuits, and the cyborg went limp, crashing unconscious to the floor.

---

By the time the others gathered, Warhawk was shackled in the mansion’s sub-level.

Xavier pressed his fingers to his temples, scanning the fractured mind. His brow furrowed.

“He is brainwashed. Not by mutant telepathy, but by machinery. Crude, invasive. This man is only a pawn.”

Cyclops clenched a fist. “Can you free him, Professor?”

“It will not be easy,” Xavier said, sweat already shining on his bald head. “But I can try.”

The room went silent as his mind pressed deeper. Circuits screamed in resistance. Xavier pushed harder, untangling knots of code and memory until at last the barriers crumbled.

Warhawk gasped awake, eyes clear for the first time in years. Tears welled. “I… I’m free?” He looked at Xavier like a child. “You… saved me.”

Xavier smiled gently. “Only after you register with the police, my friend.”

Warhawk nodded, trembling, but relief broke across his face.

The X-Men watched in silence as Moira called the authorities.

When the door closed behind the freed man, Storm’s voice was hushed. “If he was only a pawn… who commands the board?”

The question lingered heavy. No answer came.

Only silence — and the scent of an enemy still out there.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 102 – DREAMS OF ASH AND THE GREEN-EYED STRANGER

The fire was gone.
Jean Grey stood in the middle of nothing—black sky, black earth, her hands empty. She reached for the Phoenix, reached for the heat that had filled her veins, but when she called it nothing answered. Her voice cracked in the void.

A shadow stepped out, faceless, weapon raised. She screamed, flame refusing to spark, and the blow tore through her chest. Jean felt her knees hit the dirt, felt her body unravel in silence. And then—

She woke.
Sweat drenched her skin, hair stuck to her face. Her chest rose and fell in wild gasps.

'The power failed me. Just... gone. And yet I crave it. It came without asking, but using it—God, it feels like breathing. Addicting.'

She pressed her palms against her eyes, forcing the nightmare away, and dressed before she thought twice. By the time she stepped into the hall, her face was stone.

The X-Men were gathered, scattered across the room in half-conversations, half-laughter. Xavier sat with Lilandra close by, Storm and Colossus sharing tea, Logan flipping a cigar between his fingers. They turned as Jean entered.

She didn’t hesitate. "Professor. Everyone. I’ve decided. I’m rejoining the team."

There was a beat of silence—then smiles, claps on shoulders, relief spilling out. Storm hugged her fiercely, Colossus beamed with shy joy, Banshee let out a cheer.

Logan leaned back, smirk curling under his stubble. 'You’re back, Jeanie. Knew you couldn’t stay away.' His chest tightened, though he’d never admit it. 'Sooner or later, I’ll make you fall for me.'

Scott said nothing, only nodded. His eyes lingered too long, his thoughts sharper than his words. 'That decision didn’t come easy. Something’s behind it. Something she won’t say.'

The warmth of reunion filled the mansion’s walls, laughter echoing again. But Jean’s hands still trembled faintly when no one was looking.

And outside, down in the streets of New York, a figure in green waited in the shadows, eyes glowing with power, lips twisting in a hungry smile.

The city night breathed in neon and rain. Jean walked alone, coat wrapped tight, her mind still heavy with the nightmare she hadn’t shared. Every flicker of a streetlight reminded her of fire.

She passed the mouth of an alley. A man stepped forward—tall, lean, green coat flowing like shadows. His eyes burned like lanterns.

“Good evening… Jean Grey.”

Her breath caught. “Who—”

And then she looked into his eyes.

A ripple slammed through her skull. Her body stiffened, her thoughts drowned. The Phoenix fire guttered out. Her mind wasn’t her own anymore.

“Come,” Mesmero purred. “Take me to your Professor.”

Her feet moved without will.

---

Back at the mansion, laughter spilled from the rec room. Storm was teasing Colossus for blushing too much when Banshee mentioned Moira. Thunderbird and Sunfire argued about baseball scores. Logan sat near the door, cigar between his teeth.

And then it hit him.

A scent, sharp as poison. HOSTILITY. MALICE. The air soured like burning iron. His eyes narrowed.

He stood, growling low. “Something’s wrong.”

The others looked at him. Before anyone could ask, the front door creaked open.

Jean stepped inside. Behind her—Mesmero.

His voice sliced the air. “Your wills… are MINE.”

Logan’s claws flashed out, his body moving before thought. 'TOO BAD—'

And then the world blurred. A green wave washed over him. His muscles seized. His mind cracked, pulled into a fog so thick even his hunter’s senses couldn’t pierce it. He fell to his knees, teeth gritted, eyes burning with resistance.

But resistance wasn’t enough.

The X-Men one by one went silent, their eyes glassy, their minds stolen. Mesmero smiled wide, like a puppeteer holding new strings.

---

Weeks later.

A grey road under a grey sky. A single car stopped in front of a circus poster plastered to a telephone pole. Hank McCoy—Beast—stepped out, coat flapping in the wind. He squinted at the bright, gaudy letters.

CIRCUS MAXIMUS! SEE THE STRONGEST! THE STRANGEST! THE MOST MARVELOUS WONDERS OF EARTH!

He held a phone to his ear. Polaris’ voice crackled faintly through the line: “I tried calling them for days. No answer. Something’s wrong, Hank. Please.”

The mansion had been empty when he checked. Empty for weeks, by the look of the dust. But then he’d found the poster lying on the floor, as though someone had dropped it in haste.

Beast adjusted his glasses, frowning. “If this is my only lead… then so be it.”

He turned toward the circus gates.

And from inside, the sound of carnival music drifted out. Laughter, applause… and something else, faint but unmistakable.

The voice of Sean Cassidy, Banshee himself, echoing across the tents.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! WELCOME TO THE GREATEST SHOW YOU’LL EVER SEE!”

Beast froze, his chest tightening.

“God help me,” he muttered. “What in the world have you fallen into, old friends?”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 103 – CARNIVAL OF SHADOWS

The circus lights stabbed through the night like a wound. Red and gold banners flapped in the wind, the smell of fried sugar and sweat heavy in the air.

Beast tugged his hat lower, coat collar up, trying to blend into the crowd. Didn’t matter—he still looked like a blue-furred giant stuffed into a trench coat.

On the stage, a spotlight snapped on. Banshee, dressed in a glittering tuxedo, voice booming like thunder.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! GATHER ROUND, FOR MARVELS BEYOND YOUR WILDEST DREAMS!”

The crowd cheered. Beast froze. He knew that voice.

Banshee swept an arm toward the curtain. “BEHOLD… THE WEATHER WITCH!”

The curtain whipped aside. Storm stepped forward in shimmering silks, eyes glowing as she summoned a swirl of mist and wind. Children gasped as droplets of rain danced midair like jewels. Storm bowed gracefully, her face serene, as if this was her life.

Beast’s heart sank.

One by one, they appeared.

Colossus, the STRONGMAN, hoisting anvils like toys.
Nightcrawler, the DEMON FREAK, somersaulting through rings of fire with a painted grin.
Thunderbird, the SAVAGE, chains rattling as he flexed and roared.
Sunfire, THE HUMAN TORCH, spitting flames into the air to wild applause.
And then—

Jean.

She walked a tightrope strung across the tent, sequins glittering under the spotlights. Halfway across, she stumbled. Gasps from the crowd. She fell—

—only to float gently down, landing in a graceful bow.

Beast’s hands clenched. 'Jean… you just proved it. Telekinesis. It IS you.'

He followed her into the back tents, weaving through the crowd. He found her at last in a canvas dressing room, wiping makeup from her face.

“Jean,” he said softly.

She turned, startled. “Who—who are you? You shouldn’t be back here!”

“It’s me, Hank. Hank McCoy. Don’t you remember?”

Her eyes darted, confusion twisting into fear. She backed away and shouted. “SLIM!”

Footsteps thundered. A tall man in a cheap cowboy costume shoved in, eyes hidden by a mask. Cyclops—though here he was “Slim Summers.”

“Get away from her!” Slim barked.

“Scott, it’s me! Look at me!” Beast ripped off his hat. His fur glistened under the lamplight.

Jean gasped. Slim’s face twisted.

“Monster!” Jean cried.

The tent flaps flew open. A pack of burly bodyguards rushed in, clubs swinging. Beast fended them off with heavy fists, roaring, “Listen to me! You’re X-MEN!”

The crowd’s noise outside drowned him out. More guards poured in. He fought, leaping, tossing them aside, but there were too many.

He bolted, smashing through the canvas wall, dashing between tents. His heart thundered. He needed proof. He needed to wake them.

And then he stumbled into another tent.

Chains rattled.

Logan.

Hanging from manacles, shirt torn, blood dried on his skin. His head hung low, but his chest rose steady. Beast’s breath caught.

“Logan,” he whispered. “Good God… what have they done to you?”

He reached for the chains—

—but a shadow loomed behind him.

A fist the size of a cinder block cracked against the back of his skull. Colossus.

Beast hit the ground hard, vision swimming. Guards swarmed over him, dragging his limp body across the dirt. His last sight before blackness was Logan’s face twitching—eyes opening, a low growl rattling in his chest.

And then nothing.

When Beast woke again, he was on his knees inside a lavish tent. The smell of incense and velvet curtains all around.

A man sat at a desk, green cloak draped over his shoulders, eyes glowing faintly.

“Welcome, Beast,” Mesmero said with a smile. “The circus has been waiting for you.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 104 – THE CHAINS REMEMBER

The iron bit into Logan’s wrists. Every breath rattled against the cold stink of rust and hay. He opened his eyes slow, head pounding from Mesmero’s spell. His muscles wouldn’t answer him, not fully.

But the chains. The weight of them. The way they cut into flesh.

Something ugly stirred in his chest. A memory, half-shattered, half-buried. Cold steel. Restraints. Screams muffled by water. Hands cutting into him, wiring his bones with fire.

His claws itched. His breath quickened.

‘Not again. Not EVER again.’

With a roar, his arms flexed. Muscles bunched like coiled steel. The chains groaned, cracked, then SNAPPED apart in showers of sparks.

Logan dropped to the dirt floor, panting, sweat dripping. His claws SNIKT’d out on their own, gleaming under the torchlight.

The tent flap rustled. Two bodyguards stumbled in, laughing.

“Hey, freak’s awake—”

Logan was on them before the second word left their lips. Claws stopped an inch from a throat, the tip scratching skin.

“Talk,” Logan growled. “Where’s Mesmero?”

The guard’s eyes bulged. “H-his tent! By the main ring!”

Logan let him go with a shove, the man crashing into the hay.

Outside, the circus was roaring with cheers. Performances in full swing. Logan slipped between shadows, following the stink of Mesmero’s power.

He ducked into a familiar tent. Jean’s.

She was seated before a mirror, brushing her hair in silence, her eyes hollow. She looked up as he entered—and panic surged across her face.

“HELP! SLIM—!”

Logan clamped a hand over her mouth, pinning her to the chair. “Jeanie, it’s me. WAKE UP.”

She thrashed, eyes wild. Cyclops burst into the doorway in that ridiculous cowboy garb.

“Get away from her!”

Logan didn’t hesitate. His fist cracked across Scott’s jaw. Slim dropped like a sack of bricks.

Jean screamed. Logan shook her shoulders. “Listen to me! You’re not a damn circus doll, you’re an X-MAN!”

Her eyes darted, her breath short. No flicker of recognition.

Logan’s teeth clenched. 'The chains broke me because they cut deep. I need to cut her pride. Something she can’t ignore.'

He slapped her. Once. Twice.

Jean’s face twisted in fury, eyes blazing.

The tent EXPLODED with telekinetic force. Logan flew backward, slammed against the canvas wall, the air punched from his lungs.

Jean stood trembling, fire in her gaze. “How DARE you—”

And then her words broke. Her eyes widened. Memory slammed back into place.

“Logan…?”

She dropped to her knees beside him. “God—are you hurt?”

He groaned, grinning through blood. “You just broke my back, Red. But hey… you’re awake.”

Jean pressed her hand to her temple, tears threatening. “The others—we have to free them.”

“Then use that big fiery brain of yours,” Logan said, hauling himself upright. “Light the spark.”

Outside, the carnival music stumbled into chaos. Storm, Sunfire, Banshee, Colossus, Nightcrawler, Thunderbird—their eyes clearing as Jean’s power spread through their minds. Shackles dropped. Illusions cracked.

The guards rushed the midway, only to meet the fists, flames, and fury of the awakened X-Men.

Inside Mesmero’s tent, Beast staggered, sweat dripping as green energy coiled around his skull. Mesmero leaned over him, gloating. “Soon, blue devil, you’ll dance to my strings.”

Beast clenched his teeth. “Not… a chance…”

Suddenly a bodyguard burst in, panicked. “Boss! The X-Men— they’re loose!”

Mesmero’s eyes went wide. “No… impossible!”

Beast snarled, breaking free of the glow with one last surge, and swung a haymaker—

Only to be blindsided. A heavy blow smashed him from behind. He crashed to the floor, vision blurring.

Mesmero stumbled back—then froze.

His face twisted in terror.
Then the tent flap tore open.

The X-Men stormed in—Jean blazing, Logan with claws bared, Cyclops visor humming red, Storm’s eyes crackling with stormlight. Colossus, Nightcrawler, Thunderbird, Sunfire, Banshee, all ready for war.

They froze at the sight: Beast unconscious on the floor. Mesmero standing over him.

Logan growled. “Figures it’d be you.”

Cyclops lifted his hand. “Mesmero—you’re finished.”

Mesmero opened his mouth. No words came. His eyes bulged wide. Then, as if strings had been cut, his whole body jerked—and he collapsed, face-first, unconscious beside Beast.

Silence dropped heavy.

The X-Men glanced at each other. Storm whispered, “What… what happened?”

A slow sound creaked through the tent. The desk—massive, metal, carved—turned with deliberate weight.

From the high-backed chair, a figure swiveled into view.

Scarlet helm. Cold eyes. Cloak like spilled blood.

Magneto.

His voice filled the tent like iron dragged across stone.

“Mesmero was but a puppet. And you—X-Men—are flies caught in my web.”

The air vibrated. Nails and iron pins ripped themselves from the ground, hovering, trembling in his magnetic grip.

Logan’s claws slid out with a SNIKT. His lip curled. “Aw, hell.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 105 - THE CIRCUS THAT FLEW

The chair spun. Magneto sat there like a king of steel, helm gleaming, cloak draped heavy. His voice cracked like a whip.

"You thought to escape Mesmero's petty games? Pathetic. The true master has returned."

Cyclops' visor lit, red glow cutting through the gloom. "X-Men-RETREAT!"

Logan snarled, claws twitching at his fists. "The hell we will! I'll gut him now-"

Jean's voice cut sharp. "Logan-listen. If we fight him here-" She gestured to the walls trembling with power. "-we all die."

Her fire burned in her eyes, pleading. Logan froze, teeth grinding. He let the claws slide back in with a growl. "Fine. But sooner or later, Jeanie... sooner or later."

Cyclops barked quick. "Nightcrawler-scout outside. Colossus, with him."

Kurt nodded, vanishing in a puff of brimstone. A heartbeat later-

"AAAAHH!"

His voice shrieked. When Colossus yanked the tent flap open, Nightcrawler clung to the fabric, body dangling into the void. Nothing outside but open sky and endless wind.

Colossus grabbed him, hauling him back in. The two tumbled onto the floor, Kurt's face pale as chalk.

"The circus... it's gone!" he gasped. "We're flying! The tent-it floats!"

The X-Men stared at the flap. Outside was nothing but air. Miles of it. Clouds below them like waves.

Logan's claws SNIKT out. He lunged forward. "You sick son of a-"

The whole tent lurched. A violent sway. Magneto raised a single finger.

"One step closer, Wolverine, and I loose my hold. This carnival falls. ALL of you-torn apart in the air."

The X-Men froze, balancing as the floor shuddered.

Magneto's voice softened-mocking, cruel. "Yes. Much better. Now, hear the truth. I went to your mansion, expecting battle. But the halls were silent. Empty. Then... fortune smiled. A beast arrived. A literal Beast."

Hank's name struck their hearts like a whip.

"He too searched for you. I followed him, quietly, until he led me here. And when he

danced into Mesmero's web-so did you."

With contempt, Magneto flicked his hand. Mesmero's limp body rose like a doll, wrapped in magnetic force. He dangled, squirming weakly.

Storm's eyes widened. "Magneto-don't! You'll kill him!"

Magneto's lips curled. "Oh no, goddess. Death is too sweet for his offense. This machine dared think himself my rival? No. He will live-broken."

He snapped his hand. Mesmero shot out through the tent flap, screaming. His body vanished into the stormclouds below.

Storm's voice broke. "By the goddess-you murdered him!"

Magneto sneered. "Calm yourself. My control is precise. He will not die... only shatter upon the Andes like the hollow toy he is."

The tent shuddered again, climbing higher into the winds. The team braced themselves. Magneto leaned back in his chair, eyes gleaming.

"Your stage is set. Next stop... destiny."

The tent soared into the clouds, vanishing eastward.
The circus tent groaned like a ship at sea, canvas walls snapping in hurricane winds. The X-Men huddled together, the floor tilting under their boots.

Cyclops kept his stance solid, visor burning faint red. "Everyone-hold tight. Don't give him the satisfaction."

Banshee growled, voice taut. "This is madness-ye canna fly a blasted tent across the world!"

Logan spat, the wind tossing his hair. "Tell that to the psycho in the chair." His claws slid free with a SNIKT, gleaming in the half-light. "One slip of his hand and we're red mist."

Storm's face was pale, her hands trembling against her will. She had flown through hurricanes, commanded the skies themselves, but this this was wrong. "The winds... the air currents-he is bending them with metal. A floating coffin."

Jean's voice echoed inside her skull. The Phoenix... it stirs. I could burn him now. Tear this cage apart. But no... if I slip, even for a second, the fire could consume us all.'

The tent jolted again, sending Nightcrawler sprawling into Thunderbird's arms.

"Where the devil are we going?" Thunderbird barked.

Magneto's helm gleamed under the flickering lantern light. His voice was silk over steel. "To a place untouched by your kind. To a fortress fit for gods. My fortress."

Hours bled into hours. The tent soared across oceans, the sun dying behind them, then rising again. Exhaustion gnawed at the team, their nerves frayed raw. And then-

Heat.

The air inside the tent grew thick, sweltering. Sweat beaded down Colossus' brow even in armored form. The floor shook, a low rumble like a sleeping beast.

Logan sniffed the air, his eyes narrowing. "Sulfur. Lava. He's draggin' us to a furnace."

Storm's eyes went wide. "No... not just a furnace. A volcano."

The tent dipped, the flap snapping open to a sight that froze them all. Below, a mountain of fire split the Antarctic ice, rivers of molten rock cutting across the white. A storm of ash and flame blotted the sky.

Magneto smiled, a cruel father leading children to their fate. "Behold. Your new home."

The tent plunged straight into the crater.

Flames licked at the walls, but the fabric did not burn. Instead, a sphere of magnetic force encased them, carrying the entire structure down through fire and brimstone.

Banshee clutched the wall, voice hoarse. "We're goin' into the bloody lava-!"

The descent lasted forever. Red light painted their faces, molten rivers boiling below. The roar of the volcano drowned every heartbeat.

And then-sudden silence.

The tent pierced through into a cavern vast as a city. Towers of steel and glass jutted from the rock, glowing with alien lights. Machines thrummed. Metal bridges spanned rivers of fire.

Magneto rose from his chair, cloak sweeping like a king entering his palace.

"Welcome, X-Men," he said, his arms wide. "To the citadel of the future. The womb of mutantkind reborn. Welcome... to my fortress."

The tent lowered, touching down upon a platform of metal. The forcefield dissolved. The X-Men staggered to their feet, eyes wide.

Cyclops' jaw clenched. "You won't keep us here."

Magneto's laughter echoed like thunder in the cavern. "On the contrary, Scott Summers. Here, you will never leave."

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 106-THE MASTER OF

MAGNETISM

Cyclops' visor flared crimson. A beam lanced across the chamber, striking Magneto square in the chest.

The beam splintered. A sphere of magnetic force shimmered around Magneto's body, scattering the optic blast into sparks that burned the cavern floor.

"You dare," Magneto said coldly.

"X-MEN-HIT HIM TOGETHER!" Scott barked.

Logan snarled, claws already bared, leaping forward with Colossus at his side. Steel and adamantium crashed toward Magneto in perfect sync.

A flick of his fingers.

Both men twisted mid air, wrenched like ragdolls. They slammed against the wall with bone-shaking force, melal screaming against stone. Colossus groaned, Logan's skull cracked hard against steel. Both slumped, unconscious.

Magneto's voice was iron. "One down... two down."

Storm whipped her hands high, lightning flashing from her fingers. The bolts struck his shield, bent, and snapped back like whips. She screamed as her own lightning carved across her body, dropping her limp.

"Three down."

Banshee's cry cut through the chamber, a sonic scream that could shatter mountains. Magneto's shield rippled, then bent the sound wave in half, hurling it back amplified tenfold. Banshee clutched his ears, blood trickling, and

collapsed.

"Four."

Sunfire erupted into flame, a blinding comel streaking across the room. Magneto caught him mid-flight, twisting the very iron in his blood, then slammed him into the ground with a crushing wave of force.

"Five."

Thunderbird charged with a warrior's roar, fists raised. Steel tendrils erupted from the floor, binding his arms and crushing him flal against the wall. His rage went silent as darkness claimed him.

"Six"

Nightcrawler blinked-BAMF-across the room, tail whipping for Magneto's throat. He appeared too close-only to be caught by the magnetic field, body frozen mid-air like an insect in amber. Magneto flicked his wrist and flung him into a steel beam. Kurt dropped, unmoving.

"Seven."

From the shadows, Beast lunged, fur bristling, muscles coiled. He swung down with all his strength-only to be blasted across the cavern by a magnetic pulse that crushed the air from his lungs. He hit stone, rolled, and lay still.

"Eight."

Only Jean remained.

Her eyes blazed white, emerald fire erupting around her. Phoenix wings unfurled, burning against Magneto's shield. She stepped

forward, the ground cracking with each step, her voice layered with power.

"You will not break us."

The flames struck like a storm, tearing through his barrier. For the first time, Magneto

staggered, cloak whipping.

Jean's thoughts raced. 'It's working. I can feel it-I'm stronger stronger than him. This power-it's limitless-I could bum him out of

existence-

Magneto gritted his teeth, pushing back. His field swelled, the very walls groaning. The Phoenix fire sputtered, cracked against the rising tide of magnetism.

Jean gasped, her body shaking. She reached deeper-deeper still-but nothing came. The

well of power was there, endless, but her mind couldn't draw more. It was as if something chained her, mocking her.

'Why? Why can't I-

The strain crushed her, darkness sweeping her vision. She collapsed, the Phoenix fire

snuffed to embers.

Magneto straightened, triumphant. And then-

SNIKT.

Logan rose from the rubble, staggering but alive, eyes wild. His claws gleamed as he

crept low, slipping through Magneto's blind

spot

With a feral roar, he slashed-

Only Magneto spun at the last instant. His cape ripped, sparks flying. Logan's strike missed the helm by an inch.

Magneto's gaze hardened. He seized

Wolverine in mid-swing, twisting his body against itself. The claws shuddered, turned Inward, angling for his face.

Logan's eyes widened. He fought, every

muscle straining, veins bulging-

The claws touched skin-then retracted with a SNAP

Instead, Logan's own fist slammed into his jaw, knocking him cold.

Magneto smirked. "Unfortunately for you, Wolverine, I require you alive"

He turned, surveying the battlefield. The X-Men-broken, unconscious, strewn across the chamber.

A deep, rolling laugh echoed, filling the citadel with his triumph.

When the X-Men woke, they were bound. Each one strapped to a high-backed chair of cold steel. Strange restraints bristled with wires, embedding into their spines, their temples.

Magneto stood before them, arms wide. "Behold-your prison. These chairs override

the very nerves in your bodies. Try to fire your

optic blasts, Summers, and instead you will

close your eyes. Summon the storm, Ororo, and you will silence your own lungs. Even thought betrays you here."

A machine rolled forward, squat and insect-like. Its single lens glowed red.

"This is Nanny," Magneto announced. "Your caretaker. Your jailer. She will feed you, monitor you, ensure you remain alive... but helpless."

He leaned close, vaice dripping with venom.

"Killing you would be merciful. Instead, you will learn as I once did to feel power coursing through your veins and be unable to use it. To choke on your own potential. To suffer."

He turned away, cape sweeping as his laughter thundered once more

The X-Men were broken, chained in the heart of a volcano.

And Magneto had only just begun.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 107-THE CROWN FALLS

The chamber was quiet but for the hum of machines and the faint whir of Nanny's wheels. Weeks. That's how long it had been. Weeks of being washed, fed, tended like children. Weeks of humiliation. Weeks of helplessness.

Storm sat shackled in the steel chair, breath slow, eyes closed. Her every nerve screamed false signals - when she tried to flex a finger, her jaw clenched instead; when she tried to blink, her foot twitched. Magneto's prison had turned her own body into a liar.

But she had learned patience long ago. Patience... and cunning.

'Calm yourself, Ororo. The bars of the world are many, but all bars can be broken.

She tilted her head, slowly, testing. Once. Twice. Again. She had been practicing in secret, when Nanny was gone. Fighting her nervous system's betrayal inch by inch. Tonight she moved enough a twitch, a bend, a deliberate roll of her neck and the metal crown at her temple slipped, rattled, and dropped to the platform with a hollow clink.

Logan's eyes narrowed across the chamber. "What're you playin' at, Ro?" he muttered.

Storm answered with only a faint nod, sweat glistening down her cheek. Her heart hammered as she leaned forward, lips reaching, teeth scraping the crown. Inside it was her secret - a hollow compartment, her old Cairo tricks, holding slivers of metal no one else would notice. Lockpicks.

The taste of grease and steel filled her mouth as she clamped one between her teeth. A slow exhale. Then she bent forward, guiding the pick to the restraint's lock at her wrist.

Every slip sent sparks of frustration through her. Every scrape felt like a drumbeat in her ears.

'Breathe. Focus. The tumblers are only tumblers. You opened harder locks when you were ten years old. If you fail, your family dies here. You will not fail.

Cyclops' voice came low from his chair. "You can do this, Storm. One click is all we need."

The lock resisted, snarling metal against her efforts. Her jaw ached from gripping the tool. Her eyes watered. For one furious moment she thought it was hopeless-

Click.

The sound was thunder.

Her hand fell free. Her fingers trembled as sensation returned, false signals scrambling, but she willed them into steadiness. The second restraint came easier. Then the third. Within minutes, she stood tall for the first time in weeks, shoulders rolling, back straight.

She turned to the team, fire burning in her eyes.

"Now," she said softly, "we are no one's captives."

The others stiffened, hope igniting in their chests. Logan gave a sharp grin. "Knew ya had it in ya, darlin'. Now get me loose before I go nuts in this chair."

Storm knelt beside him, picks flashing between her fingers, the old thief's dance returning. One by one the shackles began to yield.

And somewhere far above, in the cold dark of space, an alert chimed on Asteroid M.

Magneto's eyes narrowed as the console flashed red. He rose from his throne, cape whispering in the silence.

"...Impossible."

But still, he turned his ship toward Earth.

The storm had begun.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 108 - THE CHAINS BREAK

Storm's hands were a blur now, every lockpick strike guided by memory and sheer will. One by one, the restraints clicked open - Logan first, because his growl was getting on her nerves.

The second the shackles fell, Logan flexed his hands, claws SNIKT popping free with a savage grin. "Never thought I'd say it, but I missed ya, bub."

"Shh!" Storm hissed. "If Nanny returns-"

Too late. The door whined open, the stubby robot gliding in with its mechanical chirp. "Time for feeding. Nutrient slurry intake scheduled."

Banshee groaned. "God save me, not the slurry again."

Logan smirked. "No worries, I got somethin' better in mind."

He lunged, pinning the robot to the floor before it could react. Metal shrieked under his claws. Sparks flew.

"Hold it!" Hank barked. Still half-bound, he twisted in his chair. "Don't shred it I can reprogram!"

Storm tossed him the lockpick, freeing his hands with a deft flick. Hank crouched over Nanny, fingers dancing over exposed circuits. "Aha! Disable primary subroutines... flip the polarity here... there." The robot froze, then began to spin lazily in place, wheels squealing as it circled like a confused puppy.

Logan folded his arms. "Cute. Let's keep it as a pet."

"Focus," Cyclops snapped. His visor glowed faintly, restrained rage in his voice. "We need a plan."

Jean's eyes went distant, burning faintly with green fire. "A plan... yes. We link."

Her power stretched outward, a warm pulse brushing every mind in the room. One by one, the X-Men felt it a thread connecting them, weaving thought into thought.

<

> Jean's voice wasn't sound now, but a whisper in their skulls.

<

> Logan answered, smirking.

<

> Banshee muttered.

Cyclops' thoughts were calm but clipped.

<<

>

A chill silence fell.

Because far above them, streaking through orbit in a sheath of magnetic force, Magneto's craft screamed through the void. His eyes blazed, jaw set like iron.

"They dare," he murmured, voice rich with fury. "They DARE."

Back in the Antarctic base, the X-Men readied themselves, standing free at last. Storm's chest rose and fell, pride glowing in her eyes.

"We are whole again," she said. "And when Magneto returns we will show him we are not children to be caged."

Logan cracked his knuckles. "Damn right. This time, ol' tin-head's gonna learn what happens when ya box in a Wolverine."

The chamber lights flickered red. Sirens wailed.

He was already on his way.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 109 AMBUSH IN THE DARK

The base was drowned in silence. Only the hiss of molten rock veins pulsing beneath the floor broke it. The lights had been cut, every panel dead. Nanny spun in useless circles, her servos whining.

Magneto strode in like he owned the place, cape trailing, boots clicking sharp against the steel. His eyes narrowed at the shadows.

"So. You've slipped your bonds. Perhaps I did underestimate you."

He lifted a hand, feeling the magnetic resonance hum around him, waiting for the first strike.

He didn't wait long.

Cyclops' visor blazed, ruby beams slamming across the chamber. Sunfire's flames licked the dark, boiling the very air. Banshee's scream howled, shattering consoles. Jean thrust out both hands and Phoenix fire cut across the chamber, wrapping Magneto in green fury.

The master of magnetism staggered, his shield flaring under the sheer combined force. He snarled, cape snapping in the winds of their onslaught.

From the shadows came the real strike-Logan. He burst from the black, claws out, bullet-time reflexes turning the chaos into his playground. He slid low under the magnetic field's flicker and slashed across Magneto's back. Sparks, blood, and a scream of rage tore through the chamber.

"Gotcha, tin god," Logan growled.

Magneto whirled, power flaring, but Nightcrawler was already there. In a burst of brimstone, Kurt appeared at his side, ripped the helmet free with a grunt, and vanished again. The great metal crown spun through the dark-

-and Thunderbird snatched it from the air, holding it high.

For one breath, one heartbeat, the X-Men had him.

Magneto crashed to one knee, his power stuttering, his face twisted in hate.

Then the earth itself answered.

A rumble, a roar-molten rock burst from the ceiling, glowing red streams splattering across consoles. Fiery stone crashed to the ground, spraying lava in all directions. The whole base shook, groaning like a beast on its deathbed.

Nightcrawler clung to the wall, eyes wide. Storm cried out, "The volcano-its containment field is failing!"

Magneto's laugh was bitter, triumphant even as blood ran down his back.

"FOOLS! Your battle damaged the systems. The shielding is gone. This fortress cannot be saved. Stay here... and die."

Lava dripped from the ceiling like burning rain. The floor cracked, molten light spilling from below.

The X-Men tightened ranks, flames dancing in Jean's eyes, fear flashing across every face.

And Magneto rose, bleeding but unbowed. His hand stretched out-not in desperation, but in command.

This fight wasn't over.
The chamber roared alive, an oven of death. Lava sheets poured through ruptured cracks, firelight painting the X-Men in shades of red and orange. The heat clawed at their lungs, every breath like swallowing flame.

Cyclops fired upward, beams trying to cut a path through falling stone. Storm whipped winds in frantic bursts to slow the molten rain. Banshee's scream rattled the chamber, but the volcano drowned even his voice.

"We need a way out!" Beast shouted, his fur slick with sweat, eyes darting for any breach.

"Magneto-" Jean gasped, the Phoenix flame sparking around her hands. "He brought us here. He can get us out!"

Her plea was answered with a sneer. Magneto stood tall, his back bleeding where Logan's claws had cut, but his eyes burned with triumph.

"You still don't understand. This is the end you've earned. You will share the fate I once suffered-powerless, helpless, watching as the world closes in around you."

Thunderbird snarled, clutching the stolen helmet tighter. "You'll get us out, Magneto, or I'll-"

He never finished.

A flicker of motion, a sharp tug in the air-Thunderbird's body jerked, the helmet ripped from his grip. It flew straight into Magneto's bloody hand.

"NO!" Logan roared, leaping forward. Too late.

Magneto slammed the helmet back onto his head. His aura flared with renewed force. Не looked down on them with contempt, lifted by magnetic waves.

"You think yourselves saviors. But you're children. And children BURN."

He shot skyward, smashing through the roof in a storm of rock and molten fire. The last thing they heard was his voice, echoing as he fled into the Antarctic night.

"Only I escape. YOU DIE."

The ceiling split wide. Lava cascaded in great glowing rivers, swallowing consoles, devouring steel. The floor cracked open beneath their feet.

"Move!" Cyclops shouted, trying to guide them through collapsing platforms. Storm's winds pushed falling debris aside, but her strength faltered. Sunfire's flames lashed at the oncoming torrents, only to be drowned in the greater fire.

Logan fought to keep them together, slashing rock, dragging Banshee to his feet. "On your toes! Don't quit on me now!"

But the volcano cared nothing for courage.

One by one, they were swallowed by flame.

Jean screamed, Phoenix power bursting uncontrolled, wrapping Beast beside her. She reached for the others, tried to hold them all-but the fire was too vast, too merciless.

She cried out again, her voice both hers and not: "I WON'T LET GO!"

Green fire erupted like a second sun. For a heartbeat, the inferno itself bent to her will.

Then came silence.

On the Antarctic surface, the ice cracked, split by an explosion of emerald light. A fiery bird blazed into the sky, wings of Phoenix fire stretching wide before folding back into nothing.

Snow and smoke settled.

In the ruins lay two figures-Jean Grey and Beast, burned, broken, barely alive.

Hank staggered to his knees, gasping, clutching Jean's limp form. Her breath rattled shallow, her skin pale, fire gone.

"Jean... no, no, stay with me," he begged, voice raw. "Where in God's name do I find a doctor here?"

He tried to stand, tried to carry her, but exhaustion crushed him. His arms faltered. His vision blurred.

The two collapsed together on the frozen ice, unconscious.

Only the Antarctic winds bore witness.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 110 - THE LAST EMBER

The cold was endless. A wall of white gnawing teeth, biting through fur, muscle, bone. Hank's eyelids felt like stone, his breath like glass breaking in his lungs. He forced them open anyway.

"No... no sleep," he muttered, voice hoarse, nearly frozen in his throat. "Not yet. Not while she-"

Jean lay limp in his arms, her breath shallow, skin pale as the snow itself. Her fiery hair whipped in the storm, the only defiance left in this wasteland.

'Every instinct says lie down. Rest. Just for a minute. But a minute's a coffin out here.'

Hank gritted his teeth and pushed forward, muscles screaming, each step an act of violence against his own body. His legs were made to leap across rooftops, wrestle Sentinels, not wade knee-deep in Antarctic snow. But he carried her all the same.

Then-light. A flash above the storm. For a moment he thought his brain was shutting down, painting false suns in his dying vision. But no-it moved. Rotors.

A helicopter.

"HEY! Down here!" Hank bellowed, his voice cracking apart. He waved one arm, nearly dropping Jean. "DOWN-"

The chopper didn't turn. It banked away, lost in the clouds.

"No... NO!" Hank staggered, dropped to one knee, snow burning against his skin. He shook Jean's shoulder. "Jean! Wake up! You have to wake up-show them-flare, fire, anything!"

Her eyes snapped open-wild, glowing with panic. "SCOTT!"

The snow erupted. Chunks of frozen earth tore upward as Jean's mind lashed out, trying to dig through a mile of ice and fire back to where she believed the others were buried. The ground shook under Hank's feet.

"Jean-stop!" He caught her wrists, shaking her. "They're gone. Do you hear me? GONE. If you keep this up, you'll bury us too!"

She gasped, chest heaving, and the storm around them stilled. She collapsed against him, trembling, tears freezing on her cheeks.

Above, the helicopter banked back, this time sweeping low. The pilot must have seen the disturbance. A light stabbed through the snow, locking onto them.

Hank roared with what strength he had left, waving both arms. "HERE! HERE, DAMN YOU!"

The craft descended, the downdraft tearing snow into whirlwinds. A door opened, hands reached.

Hank pushed Jean upward first, shouting, "Take her! She's freezing!" Then he hauled himself in after her, collapsing against the metal floor, his chest heaving like a broken bellows.

Jean stirred weakly in the pilot's arms, eyes glassy. "Scott... I couldn't save them, Scott..."

Hank pulled her close, whispering through numb lips. "Rest now, Jean. Just rest. If there's one thing I can promise... it's that the X-Men aren't that easy to bury."

The helicopter rose, swallowed by the storm.

And far below, the earth groaned, as if something ancient shifted in its sleep.
The earth split with a groan like a dying god. The lava hissed, slowed, froze in jagged rivers of black as Storm's arms lifted high, her body trembling with the strain. White hair whipped across her face, her eyes blazing silver as she forced the sky itself to answer.

"WIND-FREEZE! HOLD IT BACK!"

She was shaking, her voice ragged. Frost spilled from her lips, and for a moment the molten tide slowed enough to give them hope.

"Move!" Cyclops barked, visor blazing. He and Sunfire blasted side by side, raw power carving open stone, cutting tunnels where none should exist. Each blast echoed like cannon fire. Beside them, Colossus hammered through weakened walls, fists breaking paths in the bedrock. Banshee's scream tore new cracks where fists couldn't reach.

Thunderbird shoved through debris with sheer fury, muscles straining, sweat rolling despite the ice around them. "Keep moving! Ororo can't hold it forever!"

Nightcrawler blinked ahead, scouting, reappearing with frantic shouts. "This way! Rock is thinner here!"

The ground thundered behind them as the lava pressed closer. Storm dropped to one knee, nearly spent. Cyclops wheeled around, blasting open a last barrier. "Push! Everyone push through!"

The wall exploded outward, and morning light stabbed into their eyes.

They stumbled out onto snow and rock, gasping like men reborn.

"Air!" Banshee collapsed to his knees, arms wide. "Sweet blessed air!"

Storm collapsed too, panting, her power drained to embers. Thunderbird steadied her, grim-faced. "You nearly killed yourself in there."

"I would have... if it meant saving you." She smiled weakly.

Then-shadows swept across them.

A piercing screech split the sky.

Cyclops' head snapped upward, visor gleaming. "What the hell now-"

Pterosaurs. Dozens. Their wings blotted the morning sun, their claws sharp as scythes. One dove, shrieking, its talons raking the air.

It hit Banshee. Its claws clamped around his torso, crushing his scream before he could unleash it. He flailed, voice strangled, carried skyward.

Storm and Sunfire tried to take off, but their power was running on fumes. They barely kept aloft.

Logan's lips peeled back in a feral grin. "Fastball Special, tin man!"

Colossus didn't hesitate. He grabbed Wolverine by the scruff, spun, and hurled him skyward with all his iron might.

Logan soared, claws bared, straight into the gut of the pterosaur holding Banshee. His blades ripped through its hide, hot blood spraying across the wind. The beast screeched, flailed, and collapsed in midair.

Logan and the corpse plummeted.

"Gotcha!" Storm gasped, straining her last power to slow the fall with a cushion of wind. Logan and Banshee hit the ground hard but alive, the pterosaur carcass crashing beside them.

Logan rolled to his feet, blood on his claws, his grin sharp and savage. "That's how we do it in the wild."

Cyclops stormed toward him, visor flaring red. "You could've killed him, Logan!"

"Could've. Didn't," Logan snapped back. "You're welcome."

Before Cyclops could retort, Storm lifted her head weakly and pointed. "Look. There."

On the horizon, nestled between jagged cliffs, smoke rose. A village. Civilization.

Relief spread through the team like wildfire.

"Move out," Cyclops said, his voice iron again. "We've lost too much time already."

The X-Men trudged toward the smoke, shadows of winged predators circling high above them still.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 111 – SHADOWS OF RETURN

The rotor blades beat the night as the helicopter touched down on the Xavier mansion lawn. Snow still clung to Hank’s fur, the Antarctic chill buried in his bones. He stepped out first, gently carrying Jean in his arms. Her hair, once flame-bright, lay limp against her pale face.

The doors of the mansion burst open. Xavier wheeled out in a rush, Lilandra close behind him. Her alien robes shimmered in the dim light, strange and regal against the familiar grounds.

Hank’s voice cracked as he spoke. “Charles… she saved me, but it nearly killed her. She hasn’t woken since.”

Jean stirred faintly, a moan escaping her lips. Charles reached forward, trembling hands brushing her temple. His eyes closed.

For a moment, silence. Then tears welled and fell freely. “Jean… my child. I thought I had lost you. I thought I had lost all of them.”

Her lashes fluttered, barely open. “Professor… I tried… I couldn’t…” Her voice broke, and before she could continue, Charles leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers.

“Shhh,” he whispered. “No more guilt. You are here. That is enough.” His body shook with quiet sobs, rare cracks in a man usually carved from iron resolve.

Hank glanced sideways. His keen mind took in Lilandra—the way she knelt beside Xavier, her touch on his shoulder, grounding him. Hank had heard whispers from the others, but seeing it now—the bond between the alien empress and the professor—was something else entirely. Not scandal, not weakness. Something pure, fragile, and desperately human.

Hank lowered Jean gently onto the couch in the study. “Charles, she’s hanging by threads. Her power kept us alive, but… if she doesn’t rest—”

“I will not let her burn herself out,” Xavier said firmly, though his tear-streaked face betrayed how much he feared that very outcome.

Jean’s eyes fluttered closed again, and for the first time since Antarctica, she looked almost peaceful.

The fire crackled in the hearth. Outside, the helicopter lifted off, vanishing into the cold night sky.

Inside the mansion, the survivors held one another, surrounded by warmth—but haunted by the shadows of those who hadn’t come home.

The Savage Land sun hung fat and golden over the village. It had been a week since they’d clawed their way out of the volcano’s deathtrap. A week of uneasy peace, of healing wounds with strange herbs and roasted beasts that didn’t exist anywhere else on Earth.

But grief was a stubborn guest. It sat with them at every fire, whispered at every silent moment.

At the edge of a lake, Scott Summers knelt, his reflection trembling in the ripples. He had whittled a crude razor from jungle wood, its edge sharp enough thanks to careful, obsessive hours. He dragged it slowly across his jaw, scraping away the thick beard that had grown wild in the chaos.

The water threw back his image, but something in the reflection startled him. The lines of his face. The slope of his chin. A memory tugged—hazy, jagged.

‘I look like him… Corsair.’

The name echoed in his mind, raw and half-buried. He squeezed his eyes shut. He saw fire. Metal. His younger brother Alex clutched in his arms. A helicopter. A woman screaming. A man—tall, strong, desperate. And then the memory ripped apart, gone as quickly as it came. He cursed under his breath, the water rippling again.

He thought of Hank. His absence gnawed. And Jean… why didn’t her absence cut the same way? Perhaps because she had changed. The Phoenix had changed her. And deep down, Scott feared he was losing her to something far greater than him.

Not far away, Logan sat with his back against a tree. A cigarette burned down between his fingers, untouched. In his other hand was a small, battered photo. Jean, laughing. Before the firebird, before the battles that tore the sky open.

“She was my first love,” he muttered under his breath, voice gravel-rough. “The first one who made me think I could be more than claws and rage.”

He looked at the sky, eyes burning in the corners. “And I let her die. Useless.”

The photo crumpled slightly as he closed his hand around it, but he didn’t let go. Couldn’t.

At the river, Ororo swam through the crystal waters, her body moving with a grace born of freedom. She rose from the river like a goddess of storms, droplets glittering on her skin. She inhaled deeply, the jungle air filling her lungs.

‘This… this is what life should feel like. The clean breath of the world, not the poisoned air of New York. Here, I am myself.’

She stepped onto the riverbank, closing her eyes, arms lifted to the sky as though embracing her true home.

That’s when the shadow fell across her.

A shriek split the air, sharp and alien. Talons clamped around her shoulders. Fangs glistened, and leathery wings beat the sky.

Sauron.

He sank his teeth in, draining her life-force with greedy abandon. Ororo screamed as her energy bled out, her body trembling under his grip.

But something was wrong. Sauron’s eyes went wide—he couldn’t stop. The power surged too fast, too much. His own body convulsed, wings thrashing wildly.

“NO… CAN’T… CONTROL IT!” he roared, his voice twisted with pain.

Storm and Sauron screamed together, agony tearing from both throats. Their pain lit the heavens.

A bolt of lightning split the clouds, white and furious, exploding down into the jungle.

The other X-Men snapped their heads toward the sky.

Cyclops dropped his razor. Logan crushed the photo in his fist. The ground trembled as the storm screamed overhead.

Something terrible had begun.

Chapter Text

Chapter 112-VENTING

The jungle air was thick, humid, crawling in every pore like sweat that wouldn’t quit. The scream had cut through it like a knife, and the X-Men pounded through the green—Cyclops at point, visor gleaming, Logan close behind with his hackles already raised.

When they burst through the tree line, the sight froze them cold.

Storm was crumpled against the roots of an ancient tree, her white hair fanned in the dirt, chest rising shallow, her skin drained pale. Looming over her was Sauron, leathery wings stretching wide like a curse written in flesh. His eyes glowed an ugly, hungry green.

“You’re next,” Sauron hissed, his voice a growl layered with too much hunger. “I’ll drain you all, as I drained her. Every last drop of—”

Logan didn’t wait for the speech to finish. The world narrowed, instincts lit up like a fire alarm.

“Not if I get my claws in ya first, bub!”

He charged, claws unsheathed, the scrape of adamantium against bone ringing out.

“Logan! HOLD POSITION!” Cyclops barked, visor humming as he held back the optic blast. “We do this together—”

Logan’s reply was nothing but a sharp snarl. ‘Orders can shove it. That’s Ro lying there, half-dead. Ain’t letting this lizard freak breathe another second.’

Sauron smirked, eyes glowing hotter, pupils narrowing like a predator about to spring his trap. Logan felt it—smelled it even—something sour, sharp in the bastard’s scent. Not rage. Not hunger. Smug relief.

‘He thinks he’s got me… why the hell’s he so happy?’

The glow flared, hypnotic beams snapping across the clearing.

But Logan was already moving. The world slowed. Bullet-time wrapped around him like a second skin, instincts pulling his body sideways before his brain even finished the thought. The green rays slashed past, burning into the jungle bark where his head had been.

Sauron’s eyes widened, panic flashing sharp and salty in Logan’s nose.

“Missed me,” Logan growled with a grin, “now it’s my turn.”

He leapt, claws first, raking across leathery wings. Flesh tore, blood sprayed, and Sauron shrieked, wings buckling under the sudden ruin. Logan didn’t stop. Slash after slash, holes opened across his wings, his back, his shoulders. Each strike was accompanied by the guttural growl of a man releasing something buried too long.

Sauron twisted in the air, flailing, the shriek turning into a choking cry as he spiraled down. He smashed into the trees, branches snapping, leaves erupting into a green storm. By the time Logan landed, crouched low and ready, Sauron was sprawled in the underbrush, his monstrous form shuddering… shrinking.

The leathery hide sagged, bones cracked, the wings collapsed inward. In moments, what lay in the dirt was no beast—just a man. Karl Lykos. Broken, bleeding, weak.

Logan froze, claws still gleaming. ‘The hell…? Was this freak hiding a man in there all along?’

Before he could finish the thought, the underbrush rustled again—and out strode a broad-shouldered man clad in furs, a massive sabretooth tiger padding silent at his heel. Ka-Zar.

“Step away, outsider,” Ka-Zar snapped, muscles taut, eyes narrowing on Logan. The tiger growled, a deep chest-rumble promising violence.

Logan’s lip curled. “Unless you plan on finishin’ this lizard yourself, Tarzan, back off. He drained one o’ mine. That don’t sit right.”

Claws twitched, ready.

But Cyclops’ voice cut sharp across the clearing. “Logan! Stand down!”

Cyclops stepped between them, visor aimed at Logan, not Sauron. “Ka-Zar—wait. We’re allies. Don’t you remember? The X-Men. We’ve fought beside you before.”

The words hung in the humid air, charged. Logan’s claws stayed out, his chest heaving, the tiger’s growl vibrating the earth. Sauron groaned weakly in the dirt.

And then Ka-Zar’s expression shifted, tension slipping as memory surfaced.

“You,” he muttered, recognition dawning. “Yes. I remember. X-Men.”

Logan still didn’t sheathe the claws. His eyes stayed locked on the half-conscious man at his feet. ‘A monster one minute, a man the next. My nose says he’s trouble either way. And if Cyke wasn’t here—I’d finish it.’

The scene ended on that knife’s edge, storm clouds boiling above, the jungle alive with the echo of Storm’s scream still clinging to the trees.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 113 – THE FALLEN AND THE FALSE GOD

The jungle smelled like damp earth, blood, and storm ozone. Logan’s claws slid back into his hands with a reluctant snikt as Ka-Zar raised both palms.

"Enough! No more fighting. If you are truly Xavier’s people… then the Savage Land needs you."

Cyclops frowned, visor glowing faintly red. "Needs us? For what?"

Sauron, still in his pale, hollow-eyed human form, stepped forward. He looked wrung-out, like a man who’d been living half as himself for too long.

"It began… when I fell," he rasped. His voice carried both shame and dread.

Logan folded his arms. 'Here it comes. Excuses.'

But Sauron’s story clawed into the air like a nightmare given shape. He told of plummeting from the Antarctic peaks, bones breaking, blood freezing, only to find a ledge that spared his death. He crawled downward, farther, farther, until he stumbled into the green hell of the Savage Land.

"There… I thought I was free," Sauron whispered. "If I fed only on small creatures — rabbits, birds — I could keep… him… at bay. The demon inside me."

Storm, pale but listening, shook her head gently. "A parasite is still a parasite."

Logan caught her tone — tired, but not venomous. 'She’s still hurt from what he did. She’s not over it. And maybe… she shouldn’t be.'

Sauron’s gaze lowered. "I lived quietly. Until I saw her."

The X-Men leaned forward as he spoke of Zaladane: tall, dark-eyed, clad in ceremonial feathers and sun-baked jewels. She led a procession of chanting priests into a cavern. They carried torches, and in the center was a slab of stone where a man thrashed, bound tight.

Garokk. The “Petrified Man.”

"He begged for his life," Sauron muttered, sweat beading his brow at the memory. "He swore he was no god. But she… she drew fire on his chest. Liquid fire, poured from a brazier… patterns… runes…"

Cyclops clenched a fist. "Branding him alive."

"No," Sauron hissed. "Binding him."

He described the glow, the slab splitting, the cavern shaking as the mortal became stone and fire. Garokk — the Sun God — stood reborn, skin like granite shot through with magma veins. Zaladane and her priests knelt, proclaiming salvation for the Savage Land.

"He asked to see their ‘enemy,’" Sauron said, voice breaking. "They showed him a city. Outsiders… traders… men and women building walls of steel. And he—"

Sauron swallowed.

"He made it vanish. A wave of heat. A light… and it was gone. All of it."

Silence fell. Even Logan’s gut turned cold. 'Damn. That ain’t no parlor trick. That’s god-level firepower.'

Ka-Zar stepped in, his tiger Zabu padding low beside him. "He means to gather us all beneath him. In his city. To serve his will, or die for refusing. I roused our tribes to fight. We failed. We are broken."

The jungle air seemed heavier with every word.

---

Cyclops turned, visor reflecting the dim campfire glow. "So you’re asking us to go up against a god."

Ka-Zar’s jaw tightened. "I ask you to go up against a tyrant."

Logan’s claws slid halfway free. The sound was sharp, final. "Before we play heroes— we deal with somethin’ else first." His eyes cut to Sauron.

Sauron tensed.

"You drained Ororo," Logan growled, voice low and dangerous. "Left her crumpled in the dirt like she was nothing. I don’t lift a damn finger for you until you fix that. You apologize. Now."

Storm blinked at him, surprised, her lips parting.

Sauron froze under the weight of Logan’s glare. His shoulders sagged, shame dripping from him like sweat. Slowly, he bowed his head toward Storm.

"I am… sorry," he whispered. His voice cracked, but it was steady enough to be real. "I never meant to… not like that. I could not stop myself."

Storm studied him for a long, painful silence. The jungle sang with insects, the crackle of firewood. Then she gave the smallest nod.

"Your hunger does not erase my pain. But acknowledgment… is a start."

Logan smirked faintly. "Good enough for me, darlin’."

Storm blinked again, softer this time, and whispered so only he caught it: "Thank you, Logan."

He gave her a half-smile. "Nothin’, sweetheart. Just cleanin’ up the mess."

Then, turning back to Ka-Zar, Logan bared his teeth in a grin that wasn’t friendly at all. "Alright then. Enough talk. Point me at this stone freak, and let’s crack him wide open."

Cyclops exhaled, shaking his head. "Logan… you’d rush into hell itself if it meant a fight."

Logan lit a cigar off the fire, smoke curling in the humid night. "Damn right. Question is, Summers… you comin’ with?"

And so the pact was sealed. The X-Men would march against a god.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 114 – THE STONE CITY AND THE SUN GOD FALLS

The X-Men crouched low on a ridge, jungle heat steaming off their bodies as they stared down at the impossible city. It rose like a jagged crown in the middle of the green, spires of stone gleaming lifelessly in the sun.

Logan’s ear twitched. His whole body stiffened.

"Hold," he growled, nostrils flaring. "Somethin’s comin’."

The team froze. Storm tilted her head. "I hear nothing."

"That’s ‘cause you don’t got radar in your ears, darlin’," Logan muttered. He pointed upward. "Flappin’. Big wings. East quadrant, high."

He narrowed his eyes, zooming in with unnatural precision — and saw them. Riders on leathery pterosaurs, spears gleaming, circling in for an ambush.

"Company’s droppin’ in," he said with a feral grin. "Hope you brought your Sunday punch."

The pterosaurs screeched, diving. Cyclops barked the order: "X-Men — fan out!"

Energy erupted skyward. Sunfire’s flames seared the air, forcing one rider to spiral out of control. Banshee screamed a sonic wave that shattered another’s mount mid-dive. Logan lunged, claws flashing, carving through a pterosaur’s wing so both rider and beast tumbled into the jungle below.

Nightcrawler bamfed into the saddle of another, grabbed the screaming rider by the tunic, and vanished in a puff of brimstone — reappearing ten feet above the ground so the poor fool crashed into the dirt.

Within minutes, the ambush was rubble and silence. The survivors fled shrieking into the horizon.

Logan sheathed his claws with a snikt, his ears still twitching. "They’ll warn the city. We gotta move quick. Quiet."

Cyclops nodded. "We’ll take the tunnels. Everyone stay sharp."

The stone sewers smelled of mold and damp rot, their walls slick. Logan led the way, crouched, ears swiveling at every drip and shuffle, nose twitching.

"Clear. Clear. Left fork’s a dead end — smells like it ain’t been touched in years. Keep right."

His voice was curt, steady, every sense stretched to breaking. Not once did the team trip an alarm.

Hours later, they climbed through the last grate and emerged at the base of the great dome. Through slits in the stone, they saw him: Garokk. The Sun God sat on his throne of granite, veins glowing faintly orange, Zaladane and her priests chanting at his feet.

Logan spat into the dirt. "Big ugly rock freak sittin’ like he owns the world. I say we cut him down to size."

"On my mark," Cyclops whispered, visor glowing.

The fight began in fire and thunder.

---

The dome erupted into chaos.

Cyclops’s optic blasts lanced across the chamber, smashing soldiers back. Sunfire rained fire from above, his flame cutting through the priest ranks. Nightcrawler bamfed between columns, striking fast and vanishing before counterattacks landed.

Logan tore straight down the middle, snarling, claws slashing through stone shields and spears alike. Every movement was guided by instinct, soul-scent showing him where fear lived in the soldiers’ chests, bullet-time reflexes letting him dodge strikes that would’ve skewered anyone else.

"Outta my way, tin men!" he roared, carving through three at once.

Thunderbird and Colossus slammed side by side into a phalanx, fists and steel muscles scattering foes like twigs. Banshee screamed a shockwave overhead, collapsing balconies and cutting off reinforcements.

But Garokk rose, magma veins pulsing brighter. He raised a hand — and a wall of stone spears jutted from the floor, skewering the air in a deadly forest. The X-Men scattered, barely escaping impalement.

"X-MEN!" Cyclops shouted, visor blazing wide. "On me!"

He charged, beam roaring full-power, colliding with Garokk’s sunfire glare. The two beams met midair, shaking the chamber, molten cracks splitting through the stone floor.

"Fall, mortal!" Garokk’s voice shook the walls.

"Not… today!" Cyclops strained, sweat running down his face, visor trembling with overload.

The clash rumbled through the city. The dome above cracked, groaning. Dust rained down.

Then — collapse. Both beams shattered, exploding the dais. Cyclops and Garokk plunged into the black shaft beneath.

Sunfire dove like a comet, snatching Cyclops by the arm and blasting upward, teeth gritted. He barely cleared the shaft before stone sealed behind him.

Storm darted forward, lightning crackling from her hands, eyes blazing white. "GAROKK!"

She dove into the shaft, winds screaming around her, following the glow of the falling god. She caught him, her hand grasping his granite wrist. The instant they touched—

A scream.

Storm’s vision filled with Garokk’s nightmare: buried alive, endless stone, dying alone in eternal dark. It resonated with her deepest wound — the tomb, the darkness, the fear of being buried alive that haunted her since childhood.

Her body convulsed. She felt his terror as her own. Her grip slipped.

"No… no, not like this—"

Her last glimpse was Garokk’s stone face vanishing into the abyss, eyes wide, swallowed by the dark.

Storm clawed her way upward, gasping, pale. She staggered out of the shaft, clutching her chest, her back turned to the team. Her hands trembled.

"Ororo—" Cyclops moved toward her.

Logan’s arm shot out, blocking him. His face was grim.

"Don’t," he said. "I can smell it. She ain’t hurt outside… she’s hurt in here." He tapped his chest.

The others stared, confusion and worry etched on their faces.

Logan’s voice dropped. "She was supposed to save him. But he’s gone. And now she’s stuck with it. Let her breathe. Let her bleed it out on her own."

Storm didn’t turn, didn’t speak. She only stared into the distance, silent, her sorrow and fear hanging like stormclouds.

The dome cracked louder overhead. The city itself was crumbling.

Logan lit a cigar with shaking hands, blew smoke, and muttered, "Gods fall the same as anyone else. And it always leaves a mess."

The city groaned, ready to bury them next.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 115 – FAREWELLS IN THE GREEN

The Savage Land stretched wild and endless around them. Smoke from the campfires curled up into the canopy, the scent of roasting meat mixing with damp leaves. The X-Men stood gathered at the edge of Ka-Zar’s village, where paths split — one leading back into the jungle, the other downriver to the makeshift raft that would carry them out.

Zabu, Ka-Zar’s great sabretooth tiger, padded forward. Logan crouched low to meet him, cigar tucked in the corner of his mouth. He ran a calloused hand through the beast’s thick fur.

"Gonna miss ya, furball," Logan muttered. Zabu rumbled, almost a purr, and headbutted his shoulder hard enough to nearly topple him. Logan chuckled. "Yeah, yeah. Don’t get soft on me. You keep Ka-Zar outta trouble, huh?"

Ka-Zar smirked nearby, arms folded across his chest. "He’s the one keeping me out of trouble, Wolverine. Not the other way around."

"That tracks," Logan said with a grin. He gave Zabu one last scratch behind the ear. "Smell ya later, big guy."

---

Cyclops shook Ka-Zar’s hand firmly. "We owe you more than we can say. Without your help, we’d never have survived this land."

"You owe me nothing," Ka-Zar said. His blond hair shimmered in the sun, his tiger-skin cloak billowing lightly. "You stood against Garokk when no one else could. That is debt enough."

Banshee, leaning on a staff carved by one of the villagers, gave Ka-Zar a roguish grin. "Aye, but if ye ever get tired of jungle livin’, we’ll find ye a pint in Dublin. First round’s on me."

Ka-Zar laughed, clasping his forearm. "I’ll hold you to that."

---

Storm stood among a circle of Savage Land women, their arms draped in woven vines and beads. They pressed small gifts into her hands — feathers, shells, a carved charm.

"You brought us the sky," one whispered. "May the winds always carry you safely."

Storm’s eyes softened. "And may your skies stay clear. You’ve shown me beauty here I had nearly forgotten. A people at one with their land. I carry that with me."

She bowed her head, regal as ever. For once, her smile wasn’t distant. It was warm, even fragile.

---

Thunderbird slapped forearms with a group of warriors, their grips iron-strong.

"You fight like men," one said.

"Damn right I do," Thunderbird barked with a grin. "Next time I’m back here, we’ll hunt something bigger."

"Like what?" Sunfire muttered dryly beside him.

Thunderbird smirked. "Eh. Maybe a volcano. You can handle the fire, right, hotshot?"

Sunfire rolled his eyes. "That joke is beneath even you, Thunderbird." But there was a faint curl of amusement at the corner of his lips.

---

Nightcrawler stood flanked by giggling Savage Land girls. His tail swished nervously, his yellow eyes glowing as they offered him garlands of flowers.

"Mein Gott, I do not deserve such attention," he stammered, bowing dramatically. "But if I must accept your affection, I will do so with grace!"

They giggled louder as he bamfed behind one, tapped her shoulder, and bamfed back before she even turned. The laughter rang through the trees.

Colossus approached, cheeks reddening as some of the same girls pressed blossoms into his hands. "I… I will treasure these," he said earnestly, clutching them as though they were sacred relics.

Nightcrawler leaned over with a sly grin. "Careful, Piotr. If you keep that up, you will have a wife in every jungle tribe."

Colossus blushed deeper. "I… that is not…!"

The girls laughed again, delighted.

---

Finally, all the goodbyes were said. The villagers watched from the clearing as the X-Men gathered. Jean was gone, Hank was gone — ghosts lingered in their absence. The team stood heavier, older.

Cyclops adjusted his visor, his voice clipped but steady. "Alright. Time to move. We’ve taken enough of their kindness."

Logan glanced back one last time at Zabu and Ka-Zar. He muttered under his breath, so quiet only he could hear it: "Try not to die, friends."

Then he shouldered his pack, stepped onto the jungle path, and led the way toward the river.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 116 – THE RIVER AND THE STORM

The raft was a patchwork of logs lashed with vine, half-sinking even in calm water. Now it bobbed downstream under a swollen red sky, the jungle vanishing behind them in shadows.

Night fell quick and thick. The air grew heavy, damp with the weight of a storm not yet born.

Logan sniffed the air, lips curling. "Trouble brewin’."

Cyclops didn’t look back, hands steady on the crude tiller. "How bad?"

"Bad enough I’d rather be drunk," Logan muttered.

The first gust came like a slap. The river rippled with whitecaps. Then the rain, sudden, violent, hammering the raft like fists.

"Hold tight!" Cyclops barked. "Colossus— keep that side steady!"

Colossus braced his metal form against the lash of the current. Logs groaned but held. "Da! But I cannot hold the river back forever!"

Banshee let out a long, controlled cry — not enough to wreck the raft, but enough to push against the tilting waves. "She’ll sink us yet, lads, if Storm doesn’t—"

"I know," Storm snapped, her voice already trembling with strain. She rose at the center of the raft, cloak whipping, eyes glowing. Her hands spread wide, and the winds shifted, just barely carving a bubble of calm air around them.

The rain hissed against it, the storm shrieking like a beast denied its prey.

Sweat ran down Storm’s temples. "I can… hold it… but only so long."

Nightcrawler crouched beside her, tail curled tight. "Do not push too far, Ororo! You nearly drowned saving Garokk—"

Her jaw clenched. "I will not let the storm claim us!"

Logan lit a cigar under the shelter of his hand, the rain snuffed it instantly. He growled, flicking the soggy stump into the river. "Figures. Always when I need a smoke."

Sunfire scowled. "You think this is funny?"

Logan smirked through the downpour. "What else am I gonna do, bub? Cry about it? Leave that to Summers."

Cyclops spun on him, visor glowing red through the rain. "Keep your mouth shut, Wolverine, and row!"

Logan’s claws snikted out. He slammed them into the log beside him, dragging like an oar, cutting the current with steel. "There. Happy?"

The raft bucked. A log snapped loose, tearing half-free. Thunderbird dove on it, muscles straining, holding it in place with a grunt.

"Get me rope!" he bellowed.

Banshee slid beside him, hands fumbling with the soaked vines. "Here, lad—"

The log lurched, nearly pulling Thunderbird overboard. For a heartbeat his hands slipped. Nightcrawler bamfed — smoke, sulfur, then reappeared with Thunderbird by the collar, back on the raft.

Thunderbird swore, slamming his fist into the wood. "Damn it— I had it!"

Nightcrawler grinned, panting. "You are welcome, ja?"

The thunder cracked overhead, drowning them all out.

Storm screamed, lightning flashing from her hands to split a wave in half. For a moment the river calmed, their bubble of safety widening. Her knees shook.

"I… cannot…"

Logan’s soul-scent caught it — the fear rolling off her, not of failure but of burial, the darkness rising. He clenched his jaw. 'She’s at her limit. Same as when she let go of Garokk. Not again. Not now.'

"Hold on, Ro!" he shouted. "We’re not lettin’ this river take us!"

The raft tilted. Banshee howled against the wind, his sonic cry countering the push, steering them just enough to keep afloat.

Colossus roared in Russian, his steel arms holding logs together through sheer force.

Cyclops barked orders until his voice broke.

The storm raged, clawing and screaming for them.

Then—

A light.

Distant. Flickering on the horizon.

Cyclops blinked through the rain. "Do you see that?"

Sunfire narrowed his eyes. "Not lightning. Too steady."

Nightcrawler’s tail lashed. "Mein Gott… a ship. A real ship!"

Logan’s grin was feral, rain plastering his hair to his face. "Told ya, Summers. We ain’t dyin’ out here. Not tonight."

The X-Men raised their voices, screaming over the storm. They beat the water, banged the logs, Banshee’s cry sharpened into a desperate beacon.

The ship drew nearer. Lights spread across its deck. A horn bellowed back through the storm.

And for the first time in hours, hope punched through the rain.

The X-Men clung to the wreck of their raft, battered and soaked to the bone, but alive. And in the distance — salvation.

The storm howled one last time, but it had lost.

Chapter Text

Chapter 117 - THE SHIVER RETURNED

The X-Men stepped onto the deck, sea wind whipping their hair and uniforms. The ship was sturdy, humming with the sound of Japanese sailors moving about, ropes creaking, orders shouted in clipped syllables.

The captain bowed politely to Cyclops and spoke English in a stiff accent. “This ship sails for Japan. You are welcome aboard.”

Cyclops nodded his thanks, but before he could say more, Sunfire nearly burst with energy. His whole face lit up, more alive than any of them had ever seen.

“Japan,” Sunfire whispered, like the word itself was sacred. Then he broke into rapid-fire Japanese, greeting the sailors. The crew blinked in surprise before breaking into wide smiles, laughing, replying back.

Colossus smiled, arms crossed. “I have not seen him so happy before.”

“Yeah,” Logan muttered, lighting a cigar, watching Sunfire’s face as he shook hands with the sailors, slipping into a tongue he’d almost forgotten. “Kid looks like he just found his long-lost heartbeat.”

Storm walked past, a fond smile tugging her lips. “Homesickness is a heavy weight. Perhaps he has carried it longer than he knew.”

Logan grunted. Maybe so.

He drifted across the deck, smoke curling from his cigar. His ears picked up the rhythm of sailors pulling lines, the creak of the ship’s belly, the gulls above. But then, out of the corner of his senses—something else. A shiver crawled down his spine. The same electric shiver he’d felt before. Stronger than whiskey, sharper than steel.

‘Almost forgot you’re still there, bub.’

He turned, eyes narrowing. One of the sailors had stopped to rest, leaning on the railing. Broad-shouldered, with a stillness in his bones that reminded Logan of something wild. His scent was different. Wilder.

Logan flicked the cigar to the sea and stepped up beside him. “Hey, bub. You’re a mutant, ain’t ya?”

The sailor didn’t flinch. He just gave a faint smile, almost tiger-like in its calm. “You’ve got a nose sharper than most.”

Logan smirked. “You reek of somethin’ familiar. Not sweat. Not sea. Somethin’ else.”

After some talk, the man admitted it. His voice was low, like confessing a secret to the ocean. “I can become a tiger. My body—flesh, bone, muscle—shifts. Stronger. Faster. Harder to kill. And there is one more thing… stealth.”

Logan leaned closer, eyes narrowing. “Stealth?”

The sailor nodded. “A tiger must vanish before it pounces. My body… hides its presence. Heat, scent, even the smallest vibrations. I can stand in a room, and no one will feel me there. It’s not invisibility, Wolverine. It’s erasure.”

Logan’s smirk widened, but his eyes hardened. “Sounds like my kinda trick.”

The sailor studied him. “But it’s not a gift without price. To hold everything inward… the body pays. Pain in the guts. Pressure in the blood. You cannot cheat nature for long.”

Logan exhaled smoke through his nose, thinking, ‘Pain? That’s my daily bread.’

---

Later that night, the ship was quiet except for the waves. Logan sat alone in his cabin, the door shut tight. He stripped off his shirt, sat cross-legged on the bunk, and closed his eyes.

“Alright. Let’s see what you’ve got for me.”

He concentrated, dragging at that strange memory inside him, pulling it into his own body. It hit like a knife in the belly. His insides screamed, twisted, like fire and ice poured straight into his gut.

He growled low, teeth bared. “Painful as hell…”

But then—he sniffed. His nose, sharp enough to pick a man from a crowd by the dirt under his nails… couldn’t smell himself.

His eyes opened, gleaming in the dim light. “Even my smell’s gone. Heh. Guess this toy’s worth keepin’.”

The pain chewed through his guts, but he forced himself to stand, chest heaving. “I’ve survived worse. This won’t kill me.”

He staggered out to the deck, the moon shining silver over the water. Nightcrawler leaned on the railing, staring into the waves. His tail swayed lazily, lost in thought.

Logan walked right up behind him. “What’re you doin’, kid?”

“Mein Gott!” Kurt yelped, his whole body jolting. He vanished in a flash of brimstone, reappearing several feet away on the mast. His yellow eyes were wide, chest heaving. “A ghost! You are a ghost!”

Logan smirked, arms folded. “Relax, elf. Ghosts don’t smoke cigars.”

Kurt blinked, then scowled. “Uncle Logan, do not sneak up on a man like that! You almost gave me a heart attack.”

Logan chuckled. “Didn’t sneak. Just walked.”

Kurt narrowed his eyes, tail flicking. “You walked like… nothing. Like I couldn’t feel you there.”

“Good,” Logan muttered, half to himself, half with satisfaction. Then he thought, ‘More useful than I thought. This stays. Pain or no pain. I’ll keep it alive. I’ve survived worse than this.’

He pulled out another cigar, lit it with a steady hand, and blew smoke into the sea breeze.

Chapter Text

Chapter 118

Jean stood in the front hall with her small bag of clothes. The house was too quiet, too heavy. Every corner carried the ghosts of voices she couldn’t bear to hear again. She hugged Lilandra tightly, clinging for a moment longer than either expected.

“Please,” Lilandra whispered, her voice trembling, “stay here, Jean. This house… it is your family’s. And Xavier’s. Mine, too. We can mourn together.”

Jean pulled back, eyes red but resolute. “No, Lilandra. I can’t. Every wall here… it’s Scott’s voice. Logan’s laugh. The team’s footsteps. It keeps replaying in my head, like they’re still alive. And when I remember they’re not…” Her throat closed, and she forced herself to straighten. “I’ll find another place. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere I can breathe.”

Lilandra’s hand hovered, wanting to pull her back but knowing it was futile. “Then take my blessing, soul-sister. May your path bring you peace.”

Jean managed a broken smile, squeezed her hand once more, and slipped out the door. The echo of it closing lingered like a wound.

Lilandra lingered in the silence. She found Charles in his study, staring at the fire that had long since gone out. His face was pale in the dimness, more shadow than flesh. She crossed to him quietly.

“You’re carrying too much, beloved,” she said softly. “Even I can feel the grief radiating from you. You’ve given so much of yourself to this dream—don’t let it break you.”

Charles’ lips twitched as if forming a smile, but it never reached his eyes. He turned his chair toward her, his hands folded tightly in his lap. “Grief… it has been my closest companion, Lilandra. Longer than I ever admit to the students. Longer than you realize.”

Lilandra reached to touch his hand, gently uncurling his knuckles. “Then let me share it. Tell me, Charles. Show me the man behind the dream.”

For a long moment he resisted. But her eyes were steady, unafraid of the weight he carried. He exhaled slowly, and the words began to spill.

“Long ago, before any thought of the X-Men, before I was even half the man you know… I had another life. I met a woman. Moira MacTaggert.” His mouth softened at the name, and a shadow of warmth crossed his face. “She was brilliant. Brave. We… loved each other at first sight. Spoke of marriage. I thought at last I had found an anchor.”

“What happened?” Lilandra asked gently.

“The war happened,” Charles said bitterly. “I was conscripted. Torn away. She promised to wait. And I believed her. I clung to that promise in the blood and the dirt.” His voice lowered. “Until I was wounded in battle. I was left in a hospital bed for months.”

He paused. His eyes had gone glassy. “And then… the letter. From Moira. Breaking our engagement. No explanation. No farewell. Only an end.”

Lilandra’s hand tightened around his. “Charles…”

“I lay there,” he said, almost to himself, “Broken, abandoned. That was the day I swore never again to bind my happiness to another. That love was a chain. A weakness. I told myself that.” He laughed, hollow. “But of course, life has a way of proving me a fool.”

Lilandra leaned closer, her forehead nearly touching his. “You are no fool. You are a man who has lived, and bled, and still dares to hope. That is why I love you.”

Charles closed his eyes, the tremor in his breath betraying how much her words struck him. But when he opened them again, his gaze drifted beyond her, lost in memory.

“After Moira… after the war… I wandered. The Mediterranean, mostly. I wanted peace, but all I found was a restless spirit in me. And then… Cairo. A city of thieves, and shadows, and a darkness I had never imagined.”

His voice lowered, rough with old ghosts. “It was there I first faced the truth of what mutants could become. It was there… I met Amahl Farouk.”

Lilandra said nothing, letting him sink fully into the memory, as if she knew the next words were not for her, but for the man who had kept them buried too long.

He stared at the cold fire, and his eyes seemed to burn from within.

Chapter Text

Chapter 119

Cairo, years ago. The air was thick with dust and smoke, and the streets hummed with life—the clatter of carts, the cries of merchants, the laughter of children weaving through the crowds. Charles Xavier strolled through it all with his walking stick, his posture still proud, his eyes always searching.

He paused near a marketplace, watching a young girl darting between legs and stalls, her eyes quick as a hawk’s. She was a slip of a thing, barefoot, with hair like white silk catching the sun. A flash of movement—his pocket tugged, his wallet gone.

Charles’ lips curved faintly. “Not so fast.”

He stretched out with his mind, a gentle nudge meant to slow her. She stumbled, just enough for him to catch up, and he retrieved the wallet from her small hand. He looked into her wide blue eyes and felt it—power, vast and untamed, coiled beneath her skin. A mutant. Even here.

But before he could reach further, a searing bolt lanced through his mind. Psychic fire exploded behind his eyes. He staggered, gripping his temple, following the trail of malice that accompanied the strike. His gaze lifted across the street—to a dim bar, heavy with incense and shadow.

He stepped inside. The air was oppressive, thick with smoke and whispers. At a corner table sat a man like a mountain draped in silks, his bulk filling the chair as if the wood might break beneath him. His skin was dark, his head shaved, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

Charles felt the psychic weight of him even before the man spoke.

“You are bold,” the stranger said, his voice smooth and deep, “to enter my den so easily after tasting my warning. Tell me, foreigner—do you always chase children in the streets?”

Charles straightened, his jaw tight. “That child is no ordinary thief. She is one of us. A mutant.”

The man’s smile widened. “Indeed she is. And in Cairo, all mutants fall under my protection. My name is Amahl Farouk. To the world, a king among beggars.”

The name slithered through Charles’ thoughts like oil. He kept his voice calm. “Protection is not what I saw. You use them. Twist them to your will.”

Farouk leaned back, his laughter rolling like thunder. “And why not? Power exists to be used. To rule. Do you not feel it, Foreigner? The truth that humanity is weak, begging for chains? Mutants will rule them… as gods among cattle.”

Charles’ hand tightened on his cane. “Or we can rise above them without destroying them. Mutants and humans can live together, in peace.”

Farouk’s smile curdled. The smoke in the bar seemed to thicken, the air itself bending to his will. “Peace is the dream of children. Dominion is the reality of men.” His eyes glowed. “If you believe otherwise, prove it. In the astral realm.”

The world around Charles dissolved in a blink. The bar, the smoke, the clamor of Cairo—all gone. He stood now in an endless desert of shifting dunes beneath a violet sky. And across from him, Farouk loomed even larger, his astral form a grotesque giant with eyes like burning coals.

Charles formed his own astral body—a lean figure wrapped in light, his cane now a blade of pure thought. He leveled it at Farouk. “Very well. Let us see whose dream endures.”

Farouk’s laughter shook the sands. “So be it, little dreamer.”

The desert shattered, reshaped into a battlefield of Farouk’s making—jagged rocks, molten rivers, storms of knives raining from the sky. Charles fought through them all, every strike fueled not by rage, but by will.

Still, Farouk pressed him, heavier, stronger, his imagination conjuring horrors—chains of fire binding Charles, phantom armies swarming him, illusions of his own failure. Charles staggered under the weight, his defenses crumbling.

“Yield, Foreigner!” Farouk’s voice boomed. “You are nothing but a lamb lost in the dark!”

Charles shut his eyes. He slowed his breath. He remembered the child’s eyes, filled with fear and hope. He remembered Moira’s letter, the promise broken, the vow he had made never to waste his pain. He gathered his mind into a single point, condensing every ounce of his power into a beam of light.

When he opened his eyes, the astral blade shone like a star. “No. I am not your lamb.”

He struck. The beam pierced Farouk’s chest, burning through the monstrous astral form. Farouk roared, clawing at the wound, his body unraveling into smoke and ash.

In the physical world, Farouk’s body slumped over the table in the bar, lifeless. The Farouk’s reign of shadows ended in an instant.

Charles stood, shaken, his body trembling from the effort. He looked down at the corpse, his heart heavy. He had peered into Farouk’s mind as he died, glimpsed the hunger, the empire of cruelty he had built. The truth struck him with finality: mutants could become monsters, gods of fear and domination.

And if such a fate was possible, then others like Farouk would follow.

As Charles walked back into the Cairo sunlight, cane tapping steadily on the stones, he made a silent vow. There must be another path. A dream stronger than their fear. A school… a family. A team. I will build it. For mutants. For humanity. For us all.

He did not look back at the bar.

Chapter Text

Chapter 120

The Jinguchi Maru creaked under the weight of the storm it carried in its belly—hundreds of weary passengers, the X-Men among them. Days at sea had dulled even Logan’s edge. The air was sharp with salt, and for once the team felt almost like tourists… until the Japanese coastline rose through the mist.

And the coastline was burning.

“Good Lord…” Banshee leaned hard against the railing, his brogue thick with disbelief. “It’s like the whole bloody shore’s gone up.”

Storm’s eyes widened. Children clustered on the deck, pointing at the orange sky, their voices shrill with terror. She whispered, almost to herself, “Fire and smoke, and yet it is the ocean’s edge… not a desert battlefield. How cruelly familiar it feels.”

Sunfire stood apart, fists clenched. His voice trembled with both rage and longing. “My homeland. My city. Ablaze like tinder.” He turned on his heel. “We waste no more time. Captain, the port is useless. There is no docking in that inferno.”

The captain, an old salt with trembling hands, shook his head. “We’d rip the hull to shreds if we tried.”

“Then we fly,” Cyclops said firmly, cutting through the panic. “Storm, Banshee—carry Thunderbird and Colossus,Me. Nightcrawler can teleport down in one hop. Sunfire, you take Logan.”

Logan cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders. He’d been leaning invisible against the shadows of the rail, barely felt by anyone around him. He stepped forward and muttered, “Sure, bub. Just don’t drop me in the drink.”

Sunfire gave him a sideways glare but said nothing, his pride too full to argue.

One by one, the X-Men leapt skyward or blinked from smoke to stone, descending into the chaos of Japan’s coast.

---

They landed amidst refugees stumbling away from collapsing homes. Fire brigades fought losing battles against walls of flame.

Colossus bent immediately to help a group straining against a fallen beam. “Together, friends—quickly!” He lifted the timber as though it weighed nothing.

Storm swept forward, her arms spread. “Children, this way! Follow me!” Her white cloak billowed as she shepherded a family through the smoke. In the tear-streaked faces of the little ones, she saw herself: the frightened street child clutching to life in Cairo’s alleys. Her heart ached. I will not fail them as the world once failed me.

Thunderbird cursed under his breath, pulling a man from the wreckage of a half-crushed cart. “Hell of a homecoming, Sunfire.”

Sunfire’s jaw was stone. “Every moment wasted here is another wound for my country.” He waved off the insult but carried the sting.

The X-Men regrouped on a less crowded street. Cyclops scanned the chaos. “We can’t stay here. We need information, allies, and a safe place to plan.”

Sunfire’s voice was tight but steady. “My ancestral home lies north. If it still stands, it will serve.”

They agreed quickly. Xavier was unreachable, their funds nonexistent, and they had nowhere else to turn.

As they marched, Logan trailed near the rear, his nostrils twitching. Something nagged at him—no, not scent this time, but the feel of absence. He couldn’t even sense himself. He smirked inwardly. This stealth trick’s the real deal. I could walk through a crowd and no one’d feel the air stir.

A child tugged at Storm’s cloak, eyes wide. “Why… why were there so few people in the harbor? We saw ships, but…”

Logan stooped, plucking a crumpled newspaper from the gutter. His eyes scanned the characters fluidly.

“Because they were warned, kid,” he growled, straightening. “Whole city told to clear out before the quake hit.”

Cyclops blinked. “Wait—you read Japanese?”

Logan didn’t look up. He just let a grin curl under his stubble. “You never asked, boss-eye.”

Nightcrawler chuckled, his tail flicking. “Mein Gott, Logan, what else do you hide from us? Next you’ll be playing Bach on the violin.”

Logan gave him a long look. “Don’t tempt me, elf.”

The road carried them onward until, through the smoke, Sunfire’s ancestral gates came into view—looming, scarred but standing. Guards bristled as the ragtag team approached, but Sunfire’s command swept them aside.

Inside the courtyard, two women awaited them. One with an iron arm gleaming like a pistol under the sun—Misty Knight. The other carried herself with a warrior’s calm grace—Colleen Wing.

“X-Men,” Misty said, voice clipped, “Japan is trembling. Earthquakes tearing through its bones. Fires spreading faster than they can be contained. The Prime Minister sent word—this is no natural disaster.”

Colleen’s dark eyes met Cyclops’. “You’ve come at the right time. But this storm is only beginning.”

The team shared grim looks. Logan’s head tilted, ears twitching as if to catch something no one else could hear—a flute, distant, sweet, floating from a garden beyond. His instincts pulled him there.

He muttered under his breath. “Well now… that’s a tune worth chasing.”

And he slipped away, vanishing like a ghost in his own skin.

Chapter Text

Chapter 121

The ancestral home of the Yashidas was wide as a fortress, with wooden halls and carved screens, gardens still whispering beneath the smoke. The X-Men spread through its rooms, some seeking rest, others information.

Cyclops paced in a study, rotary phone in hand, knuckles white. He dialed Xavier’s number again. Only silence and static. Nothing. His visor gleamed in the dim lamplight as he slammed the receiver down. Cut off. Blind and deaf. And the Professor—if he needs us…

Storm entered quietly, her eyes catching his taut posture. “You look ready to split in two, Scott.”

He forced a half-smile. “We can handle the earthquakes, Storm. What I can’t handle is radio silence from home.”

Storm laid a gentle hand on his arm. “Then trust that, for once, fate may guard him. We must guard Japan.”

Elsewhere, Misty Knight filled in the blanks, her cybernetic arm catching the glow of paper lanterns. “Reports say the tremors are too patterned. Too neat. Whoever’s behind this has more than earthquakes at their command.”

Colleen Wing added softly, “The Prime Minister will not say it aloud, but they fear… an engineered disaster.”

Banshee shook his head, lips pursed. “Blast it all, if it’s man-made, that means there’s a hand to stop. And I’ll be glad to break it.”

---

Logan wasn’t listening. He was gone, drawn by the faint music threading through the garden.

A bamboo flute, played gently, a melody almost too delicate to live in a world of steel claws and burning cities. He followed it past stone lanterns and koi ponds, his steps silent, his presence erased by the painful shimmer of his new trick.

The player sat by the pond’s edge: a young woman in a pale blue yukata patterned with cranes. Her hair was dark silk, her posture straight, her hands tender on the flute. She seemed made of stillness.

Logan stepped forward without thought. “Good skill,” he rumbled.

The woman gasped, nearly dropping the flute. She turned, startled eyes wide. “You—! You walk like a shadow! How did you…?”

Logan raised both hands in mock surrender. “Easy there, darlin’. Didn’t mean to spook you. Guess I’ve got a knack for sneakin’ up on people.”

Her breath slowed, though suspicion lingered. “You speak Japanese… fluently.”

He answered in her tongue, his voice low and steady: “Better than most who were born here. Spent some years in your land. Learned respect for it.”

The shock in her eyes softened into curiosity. “You are… unusual, sir.”

“Name’s Logan,” he said simply. “And you?”

She hesitated, then bowed her head. “Yashida Mariko.”

The name hung between them like a secret meant to be treasured. Logan felt something stir—odd, unfamiliar, but warm. Hnh. First time in a long while a name feels like it matters.

Before either could say more, the earth heaved. A thunderclap quake split the ground. Lanterns toppled, stones cracked, walls groaned. Mariko gasped, slipping, but Logan was already there, scooping her up as beams crashed around them.

“Stay still, darlin’.” He moved with a predator’s grace, weaving between falling rubble, his claws sparking as they sliced through a collapsing beam to clear the way. The stealth shiver burned in his gut, but he bore it. Pain’s nothin’ new. Keep her safe.

---

In the main hall, the quake sent panic ripping through the household. Then came the metallic shriek.

Through the collapsing wall stomped armored giants—Mandroids, gold and green, eyes glowing.

“Target: Prime Minister’s envoy. Capture—dead or alive.”

Cyclops was already shouting, visor burning red. “X-Men—defensive positions! Don’t let them through!”

Storm swept the roof beams clear with a gust, shielding Misty and Colleen. “Their voices… mechanical, cold. Like sentinels in another skin.”

Banshee’s scream rattled the armor of the lead Mandroid, sparks flying. Colossus met another head-on, steel against alloy. Nightcrawler bamfed in and out, drawing fire from their blasters. Thunderbird tackled one to the ground, fists pounding like drums.

And Logan—Logan was gone.

Or rather, the Mandroids couldn’t feel him. He slipped through the rubble like smoke, silent, invisible to their sensors. One paused, confused, until three adamantium claws pierced its circuitry from behind. Another’s chestplate was pried open, wires hissing.

Logan melted into the dark, struck again, vanished. Each kill was surgical, brutal, a predator dismantling prey.

Through the chaos, Mariko clung to the shadows, watching him not as monster or ghost, but as savior.

By the time the last Mandroid fell, the floor was a graveyard of smoking armor. The pilots, dragged from their suits, groaned in defeat.

And from the cracked shell of one, a hologram shimmered to life.

A tall figure cloaked in menace, voice booming.

“I am Moses Magnum. Japan kneels—or tomorrow it sinks beneath the waves.”

The room froze, every breath stolen by the threat.

And Logan, standing with claws dripping sparks, growled low. “Guess we’ve got ourselves a real bastard to gut.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 122

The Kurin Chain smoldered like a dragon’s jaw rising from the sea. Volcanic smoke poured from the black teeth of its rocks, and Moses Magnum’s fortress squatted at the chain’s heart, ugly steel against ancient fire.

On the outer rim of the island, Storm and Banshee hovered in the winds like twin guardians.

“Keep their eyes on us,” Storm called, her hair whipping like a silver banner. “Make the sky itself our ally.”

Banshee grinned, then unleashed a scream that split the heavens. Searchlights snapped upward, alarms wailed, and stormclouds rolled in at Ororo’s command. Together they became thunder and terror, bait for the fortress guns.

“Come on, ye bastards,” Banshee muttered between cries. “Give the others a clean run.”

---

Beneath the sea, five shadows pressed through the dark. Cyclops led, visor faintly glowing like a coal. Colossus dug ahead, his metal fists tearing the seabed apart as easily as paper. Thunderbird steadied the rear, his breath hard but eager.

Sunfire hovered just above the water in a shimmering bubble of heat, seething. “Digging tunnels like moles. This is dishonor.”

Cyclops shot him a sharp look. “It’s survival. You want honor, Shiro? Live to see Japan tomorrow.”

Sunfire scowled but fell silent, his pride burning louder than his words.

Logan brought up the middle, crouched low, one hand on the mud wall, listening. He’d been quiet for most of the crawl, the stealth burn in his gut simmering. Every vibration, every shift in the earth’s skin sang to him. Something’s off… can almost hear the bastard breathing through the ground.

Nightcrawler’s signal should’ve come by now. But instead of the three-ping rhythm he expected, Logan caught a different sound—low voices, muffled through rock, one of them calm, assured, and far too close.

His lips curled back. “Hold it.”

The others froze.

Logan pressed his ear against the soil, claws itching to break free. “That ain’t our elf talkin’ up there. Somebody else sniffed us out. Somebody who belongs here.”

Thunderbird growled. “You sure?”

Logan’s eyes gleamed in the dark. “Bub, I can hear his heartbeat. Slow as a goddamn drum. Whoever he is, he’s waitin’.”

Colossus cracked his knuckles. “Then we will give him more than he waits for.”

Cyclops’ visor glowed hotter. “Punch through. Now.”

Colossus drove upward, stone exploding in a shower of mud and water. The tunnel burst into a steel chamber, and a figure staggered back, cloak whipping.

Moses Magnum himself slammed into a wall, eyes flashing with fury.

“You dare tunnel beneath my kingdom?” His voice boomed like shifting tectonic plates.

The five X-Men surged upward through the breach, dripping seawater, faces grim. Cyclops leveled his visor. “Moses Magnum. We’ve been looking for you.”

Magnum straightened, dust rolling from his shoulders. He spread his arms wide, the ground trembling beneath their feet. “And I… have been listening for you.”

The chamber shook. Steel groaned. Rock cracked.

Logan slid his claws free with a snikt, stepping forward. “Careful, bub. You just woke somethin’ you can’t put back to sleep.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 123

The chamber groaned around them as Moses Magnum spread his arms. His voice rolled like an earthquake.

“You think me a man in armor? A tyrant with machines? I am the earth’s wrath made flesh!”

The floor buckled, sending cracks racing like lightning. Colossus barely had time to throw himself wide, shielding Cyclops from a collapsing beam.

Cyclops gritted his teeth. “He’s stronger than intel suggested. Keep moving—don’t give him a chance to bury us alive!” His visor flared, red beam lancing toward Magnum.

Magnum raised a hand. The ground itself heaved upward, a wall of rock absorbing the blast. He smiled. “Optic fury against the bones of the world? Futile.”

Sunfire snarled, flames igniting across his body. “Then burn!” He streaked forward, a comet of fire slamming into Magnum’s shield. The steel chamber lit white-hot, the air itself screaming. Magnum staggered back, his teeth bared against the heat.

Thunderbird roared, charging in behind Sunfire. His fists cracked against the makeshift stone barrier, chips flying. “Let’s see how you like it when a man hits you straight!”

The wall split—just enough for Logan to slip through. Claws out, he darted in from the side, feral grin wide. He slashed across Magnum’s shoulder. Sparks and blood flew.

Magnum howled, swiping at him with a fist that carried the weight of mountains. Logan ducked, rolled, vanished into the steam and rubble.

“Where did he—?” Magnum spun, eyes narrowing. His feet stomped, and the ground rippled, seeking. “I feel you in the stone. The tremors do not lie!”

But when his quake-sense reached out, it met emptiness. Logan’s stealth trick gnawed inward, pain grinding his ribs, but it left him invisible to Magnum’s touch.

That’s right, bub, Logan thought, crouched in the dark. I ain’t here. Not till I cut you again.

---

Meanwhile, Nightcrawler blinked into the chamber mid-chaos, smoke clinging to his fur. “Mein Gott! You start the party without me?” He bamfed away before Magnum’s fist could crush him, reappearing beside Thunderbird.

“About time, elf!” Thunderbird barked, shoving a crumbling wall aside.

“I was rather occupied,” Kurt shot back, tail whipping. “With not being pulverized!”

They traded a grin even as the chamber shook again.

---

From above, the ceiling tore open, and a squad of Mandroids dropped in—golden hulks bristling with blasters.

Cyclops cursed. “Figures.” His visor cut a swath through two of them, molten armor raining sparks. “Team—split focus! Keep Magnum pinned, but don’t let the Mandroids flank us!”

Banshee’s scream echoed from outside, rattling the chamber walls as he dove through the gap. His sonic wail scattered half the Mandroids. “Ye asked for reinforcements, lads?”

“Cutting it close, Sean!” Cyclops barked, already blasting another.

Colossus tackled one of the armored giants, metal fists denting alloy with every strike. Nightcrawler darted between legs, tripping one into Thunderbird’s waiting uppercut. Sunfire scorched another until its circuits melted, the smell of ozone filling the air.

Storm swept in behind Banshee, rain spilling from her hands to quench burning debris. Her voice carried calm authority even through the chaos. “Steady yourselves, my friends! This storm will not be our grave.”

Magnum roared above the din, blasting the ground again. “I will sink your nation, Sunfire! I will drown your people, Storm! You X-Men are gnats against my dominion!”

And still, through it all, he bled—from slashes across his back, his arm, his ribs. Invisible wounds that came from nowhere, striking with surgical precision.

He spun, furious. “Show yourself, coward!”

But Logan was already gone, crouched in shadow, guts burning from the stealth drain. His claws dripped with fresh sparks.

“Coward?” Logan growled under his breath. “Nah, bub. Just patient.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 124

The chamber burned with light, flame and thunder colliding in the belly of the volcano. The X-Men drove the Mandroids back step by step, but Moses Magnum stood tall in the wreckage, his eyes glowing like molten ore.

“Your struggles are noise,” he thundered. “The world bends to me!”

He slammed his fists into the ground. The entire chamber buckled. Storm lost her footing, Colossus barely kept the ceiling from collapsing outright.

Cyclops wiped blood from his cheek, visor flickering. “We can’t keep trading blows with him. We need an opening—now!”

Nightcrawler bamfed behind a Mandroid, kicking it into Thunderbird’s waiting punch. “Logan!” he called through smoke, “where are you?!”

Thunderbird barked, “Probably off sulking again.”

But Logan was already there, crouched behind Magnum, body screaming with pain from the stealth trick. His claws gleamed faintly in the red light.

Feels like swallowing fire every second I use this… but it’s worth it, bub.

Magnum’s tremor-sense stretched, searching. He scowled. “You’re not here. You can’t be here.”

Logan smirked from the dark. “Oh, I’m here. Just not where you want me.”

He lunged. Adamantium sliced across Magnum’s back, deep enough to stagger him. Magnum howled, throwing up a quake-wave that sent Sunfire and Banshee tumbling.

“Damn it—keep him busy!” Cyclops yelled. His optic beam flared again, forcing Magnum to block.

Colossus charged, smashing through debris to grab Magnum by the waist, straining to hold him. “Strike, tovarisch! Now!”

Logan didn’t need the invitation. He came from the side, claws raking across Magnum’s ribs. Sparks, blood, and a scream tore through the air. Magnum’s quake faltered.

“Enough!” Magnum bellowed, veins pulsing with raw seismic power. “If I die, I take Japan with me!”

He raised both arms, and the chamber screamed in protest, lava bubbling closer.

Logan gritted his teeth. Only one shot. He sprinted, ignoring the agony boiling his insides. The stealth wrapped around him like poison smoke. Magnum turned, too slow.

Logan leapt, claws out, and buried them deep in Magnum’s back. The villain shrieked, stumbling to his knees, power breaking like glass.

Storm swept her arms wide, winds quenching the falling lava, pushing back the suffocating heat. Banshee’s scream tore through the last of the Mandroids. Sunfire burned the wreckage to slag.

Magnum collapsed, bound by Colossus’s grip and Nightcrawler’s quick ropes. His chest heaved, eyes wild with fury and fear.

“You… you cannot cage an earthquake,” he rasped.

Logan yanked his claws free and leaned close, voice low, feral. “Guess we just did, bub.”

---

The ceiling above ripped open, floodlights cutting through the smoke. A sleek hoverjet hovered down, engines whining. Misty Knight’s voice rang out over the roar.

“Need a lift, X-Men?”

Colleen Wing leaned from the hatch, katana strapped at her side. “Or at least a ride home before this volcano cooks you alive.”

Cyclops exhaled, visor dimming. “Perfect timing. We’ve got a prisoner for you.”

As the team carried the bound Moses Magnum toward the jet, Logan lagged behind a moment, wiping blood from his claws, chest heaving. The stealth trick still burned inside him, like acid chewing bone.

He looked at the others climbing aboard—their laughter, their relief, their exhaustion.

Then at Magnum, snarling in chains.

Logan smirked, muttering to himself. “Blind spots save lives, bub. And end a few too.”

The jet engines roared, lifting them into the sky. The base crumbled below, swallowed by fire.

The X-Men were already on to the next fight.

Chapter Text

Chapter 125

Snow sifted softly through the air, faint against the lanterns strung up in Sunfire’s ancestral estate. For one night, war and worry were put aside. The X-Men laughed around the long lacquered table, plates stacked with food that seemed endless.

Banshee raised a glass, cheeks flushed. “To survival, lads and lasses. And to friends—old and new!”

Nightcrawler perched upside down from a wooden beam, tail curling as he clinked his glass against Thunderbird’s from above. “And to Christmas cheer, ja? Even halfway around the world!”

Thunderbird grunted, smirking. “Didn’t think I’d spend Christmas with blue devils and iron men. But hell, I’ll take it.”

Colossus sat quieter, staring into his cup of warm sake. His voice rumbled low. “Christmas… in my home, my little sister would decorate tree. Katya would always make sure my hands were sticky with sap before gifts. I… miss them.”

Storm leaned closer, her hand brushing his arm gently. “You carry them with you, Piotr. Tonight, when you smile, when you laugh… they are here too.”

Colossus’s stern face softened. He raised his glass. “To family. Near… and far.”

The clinking was loud and warm. Cyclops even cracked a faint smile as he leaned back.

Meanwhile, Logan slipped away from the circle of light, coat pulled over his shoulders. The cold air bit, but he welcomed it. He followed the faint sound of a flute, knowing exactly where it would lead.

Mariko Yashida sat in the garden pavilion, snow catching on her hair like silver dust. She looked up, startled when his boots crunched on the gravel.

“You move like a ghost,” she said, a hint of a smile.

Logan chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry, darlin’. Old habits. Hard to turn ‘em off.”

He pulled something from his pocket—awkward, like it weighed more than adamantium. A single chrysanthemum, its petals still fresh despite the winter air. He held it out, clumsy but sincere.

“Merry Christmas, Mariko. Don’t got much to give. But figured this… fit.”

Her eyes widened, softening. She took the flower, bowing slightly. “It is beautiful. And unexpected… from such a fierce warrior.”

Logan shrugged, gaze dropping. “Got claws, yeah. But doesn’t mean I can’t try bein’ gentle once in a while.”

For a long moment, they stood in silence, the snow falling between them. Logan’s rough hand brushed hers briefly as he turned back toward the laughter inside.

Don’t get used to this side of me, darlin’. It don’t last.

---

Morning came sharp and cold. The X-Men bustled through the estate, packing their meager belongings, bantering through fatigue.

Banshee folded a scarf. “Never thought I’d get used to tatami mats. My back’ll miss ‘em, sure as hell.”

Nightcrawler perched on a suitcase, tail flicking. “Ja, but your snoring? No one will miss that.”

“Snoring?!” Banshee squawked, indignant.

The laughter was cut by the sliding door opening. Sunfire stepped in, formal, his face carved from stone.

“I will not go with you.”

The room stilled. Cyclops lowered his visor-clad eyes. “What are you talking about?”

Sunfire’s voice carried the weight of decision. “Japan is my home. My land needs me. Moses Magnum showed us how fragile peace is. I will not abandon it again. Not while it can suffer.”

Silence stretched. Storm finally nodded, voice soft. “Then you have chosen the harder path. And for that, I honor you.”

One by one, the team approached. Colossus clasped his hand firmly. Nightcrawler hugged him quick and fierce. Banshee clapped his shoulder. Thunderbird grunted approval.

Logan sat against the wall, bottle in hand. He tipped it Sunfire’s way. “See you later, fire chicken.”

Sunfire’s eyes narrowed, but he smirked. He snatched the bottle, downed the rest in a single gulp, then slammed it back into Logan’s hand. “I don’t want to see you again, hairy monkey.”

For a moment, both men stared—and then the corner of Logan’s mouth curled. Sunfire mirrored it. A warrior’s farewell.

The car rumbled at the gate. The X-Men climbed aboard, waving. Mariko stood at a distance, silent in her garden, eyes following Logan until the car vanished down the road.

Sunfire remained on the steps, arms folded, the snow falling around him. Alone now, but unshaken.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 126 – THE SKY TURNS AGAINST US

The jet hummed steady above the clouds, a silver bird cutting through the blue. Inside, the X-Men sat scattered in their seats. Cyclops was up front, visor glinting, studying the map with the intensity of a man who never truly rested. Logan leaned back, boots up on the seat in front of him, cigar clamped between his teeth, smoke curling lazy. Banshee was half-dozing, muttering something in Gaelic, while Nightcrawler perched upside down from the luggage rack like a gargoyle, tail twitching with amusement.

Then it hit.

The plane lurched hard enough to rattle teeth. Alarms shrieked. The sky outside went from bright to blind white in seconds.

“Mein Gott!” Nightcrawler yelped, flipping down to his seat. “That was no pocket of turbulence!”

Storm’s eyes narrowed. She could feel it—feel the pull of the wind, the unnatural twist in the clouds. Her voice was tight. “This storm… it is no accident. Someone bends the skies against us.”

Cyclops snapped, calm but clipped. “If you can stop it—”

“I cannot!” Ororo’s hands dug into the armrests, frustration boiling. “The fuselage is weak. If I unleash my full strength, this fragile craft will tear itself apart!”

The jet shook again, dropping hard enough that Banshee grabbed the arm of his chair. “Jaysus, it’s like ridin’ a buckin’ horse! Can’t you sing this thing steady, Scott?!”

Logan snorted smoke through his nose. “If he starts singin’, Irish, we’ll all be prayin’ for a quick death.”

Thunderbird growled from the back, bracing himself against the wall. “Enough jokes. Something’s driving us off course.”

And he was right. Each time they tried to change heading, the storm bent with them, herding them like cattle.

Minutes dragged into hours. Finally, the tower in their ear: “This flight, divert immediately. Land at Calgary, runway seven.”

Cyclops didn’t like it. His jaw clenched. “Runway seven it is. Everyone brace.”

The landing gear kissed the tarmac rough, skidding through sleet. Relief was short-lived.

A shadow loomed.

With a roar, something massive ripped from the snowstorm—fur, fangs, muscles like mountains. A hand the size of a small car clamped under the plane’s belly.

Sasquatch.

The beast laughed, deep and wild, and heaved. Metal screamed. The entire jet was torn off its wheels and flung like a child’s toy into a warehouse.

“OUT! NOW!” Cyclops barked. The X-Men were already moving, instincts sharp. Colossus rolled with Misty Knight and Colleen Wing under each arm like they weighed nothing. Nightcrawler blinked in and out, grabbing pilots one at a time. Banshee screamed holes in the fuselage so they could dive through.

They hit the icy ground, hearts pounding, just as the smoke cleared.

Six figures stood in formation. A man in red-and-white armor at the center, visor gleaming with authority. To his left, Sasquatch cracked his knuckles, grin wide. To his right, a tall, lean figure with a staff—Shaman, robes whipping in the gale. Behind them, twins glimmering with light and speed—Aurora and Northstar. Snowbird hovered above, her white wings catching the blizzard she herself had called.

The armored man stepped forward, voice carrying in the storm.

“Logan. You should’ve stayed where you belonged. With us. Surrender now… or your team suffers.”

Logan stepped out of the wreckage, cigar still in his mouth, claws whispering snikt into the air. His lip curled in that feral grin.

“Vindicator. Should’ve guessed you’d still be sniffin’ after me. Hate to break it to ya—but I ain’t in the mood to be anyone’s dog.”

The storm raged, the two teams squared off, and Cyclops raised his hand.

“X-Men. Hold formation. This just became a war.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 127 – THE WHITE NORTH OPENS ITS JAWS

The blizzard howled like a living beast. The snow swirled thick enough to choke sight, but through it, two lines of warriors faced off, ice crackling beneath their boots.

Cyclops raised a hand, visor gleaming red in the storm-light. “X-Men—formation.”

The team shifted in a practiced instant. Colossus stood tall, armor already gleaming steel. Storm hovered a step behind Cyclops, her white cloak whipping like a banner. Banshee tightened his fists, jaw set, though his lips twitched with a wry grin even in the tension. Thunderbird braced low, ready to spring, while Nightcrawler flickered from shadow to shadow, tail swaying like a cat’s. Logan stayed out front, claws bare, smoke curling from his cigar into the frozen gale.

Vindicator planted himself firm in the snow, armor flaring with power. His voice boomed. “Last warning, Logan. You walk back into custody, or Alpha Flight puts you down.”

“Custody?” Logan let the word drip with contempt, spitting ash into the snow. “That’s your polite way of sayin’ COLLAR, Hudson. Sorry. I’m done wearin’ leashes.”

Sasquatch threw back his massive head and laughed, voice rolling like thunder. “Then we do this the hard way!”

“ALPHA FLIGHT!” Vindicator’s gauntlet flared. “ENGAGE!”

“X-MEN!” Cyclops barked, hand dropping. “DEFENSIVE LINE—NOW!”

The world exploded.

Snowbird dove from the storm above, white wings unfurling as she shifted mid-air into a giant snowy owl, talons raking for Storm. Ororo’s eyes flashed white, and a sharp gust countered, whipping her cloak out like a shield. “You think to MASTER the storm? Child, you are but a ripple in my ocean!”

Northstar and Aurora streaked like twin comets, their speed leaving trails of silver in the blizzard. Nightcrawler grinned, tail flicking. “Ach, endlich! A chase worth running!” He bamfed, vanishing into a puff of brimstone, reappearing right in Aurora’s path with a cheeky wave. She gasped, twisted, but he was gone again before her hand connected. “Catch me if you can, liebes!”

Banshee let out a piercing cry, a rolling wave of sound that cracked the ice under Sasquatch’s feet. “Ah, ye big hairy brute, bet ye don’t much like music lessons!”

“HA!” Sasquatch roared, shaking off the tremor. “I’ll make a harp of your ribs, little man!” He lunged forward, but Colossus barreled into him, steel shoulder smashing fur into the blizzard. The two giants slammed into each other, snow erupting in waves.

Thunderbird dashed for Shaman, who stood calm amidst the chaos, his medicine bag glowing faintly. Thunderbird snarled. “You hide behind tricks, old man? Face me straight!”

Shaman simply lifted a hand, scattering mystic powder that twisted into spectral wolves snapping at Thunderbird’s heels. “The spirits are my fists. Face them first.”

“Spirits, huh?” Thunderbird snarled, leaping through the phantoms, swiping them aside with sheer brute will. “Let’s see if they bleed when I tear you down!”

Logan ignored them all. His eyes locked on Hudson—on Vindicator. “You picked the wrong blizzard to corner me in, Jimmy boy.”

“Wrong blizzard?” Vindicator’s armor glowed, power humming at his fingertips. “No, Logan. The PERFECT one.”

“Yeah?” Logan’s grin was feral, claws gleaming under the storm-light. “Then let’s cut it to ribbons.”

SNIKT.

And the first slash carved sparks against Vindicator’s shield.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 128 – BROTHERS OF FANG AND CLAW

The storm spun mad around them, but for Logan and Sasquatch, the world shrank to claws and fists, fang and muscle.

The beast came barreling out of the smoke like a freight train covered in orange fur. Logan met him head-on, claws out, eyes narrowed, a growl rolling low in his chest.

“Come on, furball,” Logan muttered around the stump of his cigar. “Let’s see who’s the real damn animal here.”

Sasquatch swung. His fist was the size of Logan’s chest, and it caught him square, sending him tumbling across the snow. Logan dug claws into the ice, ripping long trenches until he stopped. He shook his head, spat blood, and grinned.

“Nice right hook.” He rolled his shoulders, bones already knitting under torn flesh. “Lemme show ya mine.”

He blurred forward, Predator’s Senses screaming alive, the world slowing to bullet-time in his mind. Every twitch of muscle in Sasquatch’s body lit up like a beacon. Logan weaved under a haymaker, raked claws across the giant’s ribs, sparks flying as steel kissed bone.

Sasquatch bellowed, but instead of retreating, he laughed. “YES! Finally, someone who doesn’t break like glass!” He scooped Logan up and hurled him skyward.

Logan twisted mid-air, vision zooming with Eagle Eyes—he could see Aurora darting around Nightcrawler a mile out, could smell Banshee’s sweat-sharp adrenaline. Then gravity reclaimed him, and Logan landed square on Sasquatch’s shoulders.

“Ride’s over, bub.”

He drove claws down into the beast’s collar, metal shrieking as they sank deep. Sasquatch howled and thrashed, but Logan hung on like a tick, teeth bared.

“Get OFF!” The monster slammed himself into a warehouse wall, crushing Logan between fur and concrete. The impact knocked the cigar out of his mouth, but when the dust cleared, Logan was still there, grinning, claws deeper.

“You’re tough,” Logan rasped. “But I’m TOUGHER.”

For a moment, predator met predator. Sasquatch’s wild amber eyes locked with Logan’s feral blue. In another world, they might’ve been allies—two beasts fighting beside each other instead of against.

But tonight, in the blizzard’s roar, they were brothers of claw, proving who deserved the crown.

Sasquatch panted, chest heaving. “You’re… different, Logan. Stronger than I remember. What did you DO to yourself?”

Logan only growled, tightening his grip. “Got tired of bein’ the prey.”

The fight raged on, claws and fists tearing the night apart, every blow a challenge, every wound a promise of more.

Snow sprayed in waves with every impact. Logan and Sasquatch were locked in a storm within the storm, two predators testing where the other broke.

Sasquatch slammed both fists down, earth shaking under the blow. Logan darted aside, Bullet-Time reflexes slowing the swing to a lazy arc in his mind. He could smell the beast’s rising rage, sharp and acrid like burnt copper. He lunged, claws flashing, carving deep furrows across the monster’s arm. Blood steamed as it hit the snow.

Sasquatch roared, voice a mountain splitting. “You think you can CUT ME DOWN, LITTLE MAN?”

Logan spat a wad of blood onto the ice. “Ain’t thinkin’, bub. Just provin’ it.”

The beast’s fist came crashing again. This time Logan didn’t dodge. He planted his claws into the ground, anchoring himself, and let the punch connect. Ribs cracked like dry twigs. Pain flared white, but his healing flared brighter. Sasquatch leaned in close, grinning through his fangs.

“You don’t stay down. I like that.”

Logan’s lip curled. “Yeah, well… you’re about to like this a helluva lot less.”

SNIKT—his claws elongated in a sudden whip, shooting out like silver lances. They stabbed through Sasquatch’s side, punching out the other end with a spray of blood and sparks.

The giant staggered, stunned by the reach. Logan snarled, twisting the claws as he dragged himself up the beast’s chest like climbing a tree. He buried his head close, voice low and guttural.

“Listen close. I ain’t the runt you remember. I’ve changed. Smell it, don’t ya? I ain’t prey anymore—I’m the hunter.”

Sasquatch gasped, knees buckling. For the first time, the laughter in his voice faded. He shoved Logan back with both hands, sending him skidding across the snow. The wounds in his side closed slow, sluggish compared to Logan’s instant stitch. His breath came hard, chest heaving.

“You… damn… animal.” His eyes narrowed. “You’ve become something worse.”

Logan rose to his feet, claws dripping, chest still knitting bone. He rolled his shoulders like it was nothing. “Worse?” He smirked, baring fangs. “Nah. Just equalized.”

The air shifted. Vindicator’s visor gleamed as he caught the scene. His jaw tightened. He saw it plain—Sasquatch, Alpha Flight’s hammer, faltering. Logan was grinning bloody in the snow. If it kept like this, momentum would snowball, and his team would fall.

Vindicator raised his hand, armor pulsing. “ALPHA FLIGHT—PULL BACK!”

“What?” Aurora shouted mid-dash. “We have them on the run!”

“No,” Hudson barked, voice sharp as the wind. “We’ve underestimated him. FALL BACK. NOW!”

One by one, the Canadians disengaged—Snowbird wheeling skyward, Aurora dragging Northstar with her, Shaman vanishing into smoke, Sasquatch lumbering back with a glare at Logan that promised more.

Logan stood in the snow, chest rising slow, cigar gone but the grin still carved deep on his face. His claws slid back with a metallic sigh.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Cyclops strode to his side, visor steaming faint red in the cold. His voice was low, edged with suspicion. “Logan… what the hell did they want with you? TWICE now.”

For once, Logan didn’t smirk. He looked at the retreating shadows of Alpha Flight, and something heavy flickered behind his eyes.

“Hudson ain’t some stranger,” he muttered. “Once… I was his. Government leash, Canadian agent. But I cut loose.”

Cyclops frowned. “Why?”

Logan’s gaze drifted to the snow, his voice rasping like gravel.

“Because I ain’t a weapon, Summers. I’m a free man.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 129 – THE HUDSON QUESTION

The snow had quieted, but it wasn’t peace. It was the silence of an audience holding its breath after a fight, waiting for the next bell.

The X-Men regrouped near the wreck of the jet. Misty Knight and Colleen Wing ushered the shaken pilots into a warehouse, their voices firm but soft enough to calm nerves. Banshee paced nearby, rubbing his throat. “Sweet saints, I’ll be needin’ a pint and a half just to oil me pipes again.”

Nightcrawler appeared beside him in a puff of brimstone, tail flicking. “I thought you sounded wunderbar, mein freund. Perhaps not a pint, but a recording contract?”

Banshee gave him a sidelong look. “You’re lucky ye can vanish, elf, or I’d throttle ye for that one.”

Kurt’s grin only widened.

Thunderbird stalked around the perimeter, restless energy still in his steps. He kept throwing glances at the snowy horizon, fists clenching and unclenching. “They’ll be back. You don’t call off an attack like that unless you’re planning something bigger.”

Colossus placed a hand on his shoulder, solid and calming. “Perhaps. But we survived this battle, John. That is what matters.”

Thunderbird shrugged him off with a grunt. “Surviving isn’t winning.”

Storm, standing tall with cloak wrapped close, interjected. Her voice was calm, but her eyes still burned with the storm’s fury. “Winning will not come from chasing phantoms in the snow. We must understand why our foes pursue us… why they pursue Logan.”

At that, every eye turned to Wolverine.

Logan had his back to them, crouched low in the snow, dragging the remains of his cigar into the slush. He didn’t speak at first. He just breathed, steady and deep, shoulders moving like a man wrestling something heavier than the world.

Cyclops broke the silence. His tone was clipped, commanding, but not unkind. “Logan. You’ve fought beside us long enough to know how this works. If you’ve got history with these people, we need to know. You put this team in the crosshairs—twice. Talk.”

Logan didn’t turn. Just muttered, low. “You ever wear a collar, Summers?”

Cyclops stiffened. “No.”

“Then count yourself lucky.” Logan stood, slow, and faced them. His eyes were shadowed under his brow, but they burned fierce. “Hudson—Vindicator—whatever he’s callin’ himself these days… he used to be my handler. Canadian government. I was their dog. Ran their missions. Spilled blood they didn’t wanna dirty their hands with.”

Nightcrawler tilted his head, curious but careful. “Und you left them… why?”

Logan’s lip curled into something half snarl, half bitter smile. “Because I got sick of fetchin’ sticks for men who thought they owned me. Sick of bein’ a weapon they could aim at their enemies. I wanted somethin’ they couldn’t give me.”

Cyclops’ voice was steady. “Freedom.”

“Damn right.” Logan lit another cigar with a snap of his claws, smoke curling between them. “And now Hudson’s still out here, tryin’ to drag me back to the kennel.”

Thunderbird crossed his arms, unimpressed. “So they think they own you. Fine. But now they’re gunning for all of us. That’s the part that don’t sit right with me.”

Banshee chimed in, voice softer. “He’s right, lad. Whatever leash they had on ye, it’s cut—but the ghosts of it are sniffin’ at our door.”

Storm stepped closer, her hand brushing Logan’s arm. “You are not their dog, Logan. You are an X-Man. Whatever chains they forged, they cannot bind you here.”

Logan looked at her hand, then at her face. Something softened, just a flicker. “‘Preciate that, darlin’. But don’t mistake me. They ain’t done. Not by a long shot.”

From the shadows, Colleen Wing’s voice cut in, sharp and practical. “Then the question is—what do they want with you now?”

Logan blew smoke into the cold. His eyes narrowed at the white horizon where Alpha Flight had vanished.

“They don’t want me, sweetheart.” He tapped ash from his cigar. “They NEED me.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 130– BETWEEN BATTLES

The snow had melted into slush by the time the X-Men made it into the city proper. Calgary’s streets glistened under the weak sun, the air sharp with cold but not biting. For once, no alarms blared, no claws were bared. Just people, shops, neon signs, and the peculiar quiet that came when warriors were asked to act like tourists.

Misty Knight led the charge, metallic arm glinting as she tugged Colleen along. “Come on, you heroes. Boutiques this way. I’m not freezing my ass off in an airport lounge for six hours if I can be trying on boots.”

Colleen laughed, her long coat swaying as she fell into step. “You’re only saying that because you’ve already got a closet full of boots. Some of us actually need new clothes.”

Logan grunted, cigar stub tucked in the corner of his mouth. “Some of us don’t see the point of playin’ dress-up. Clothes are clothes. As long as they don’t rip when you fight in ’em, you’re good.”

Storm arched a brow, regal even in streetlight. “Spoken like a man who has never truly appreciated the power of presentation. Clothes are more than fabric, Logan. They are how the world first reads us.”

Logan smirked. “‘World reads me just fine without a wardrobe change, darlin’. Usually says ‘danger, keep back.’”

Nightcrawler chuckled, teleporting up to perch on a lamppost, tail curling lazily. “Ah, but imagine, Logan… you, in silk. In velvet. In colors other than brown, black, and more brown.”

“Elf, the day you get me in velvet is the day I let Chuck shave my head.”

Banshee barked out a laugh. “Now that’s a sight I’d pay to see.”

Cyclops cut in, tone dry but not without warmth. “We’re not here for fantasies about Wolverine’s wardrobe. Stay sharp. We don’t know if Alpha Flight’s still watching.”

Colossus, towering and gentle, spoke softly. “Perhaps a little normalcy is good, comrade. Even soldiers must breathe between battles.”

Thunderbird gave a low snort. “Normalcy. Right. Because the world’s just dying to forget who we are.” He still followed them in anyway, broad shoulders tense as if expecting another ambush in the middle of a clothing store.

The boutique’s bell jingled as they stepped inside. Warm air, faint perfume, racks of coats and dresses. Storm moved like she belonged there—graceful, elegant, already lifting a white silk scarf with a smile. “This… yes, this is worthy of the wind.”

Misty winked at her. “Now that’s how you shop.”

Logan scowled at the rows of fabrics but sniffed the air, nose twitching. “Hmph. Too much perfume. Smells like a flower shop got into a fistfight with a candy store.”

Colleen shook her head, amused. “Logan, do you ever not complain?”

“Sure. When there’s beer.”

Banshee, meanwhile, had tried on a bomber jacket, puffing his chest. “Well now, what d’ye think? Makes me look younger, eh?”

Nightcrawler teleported beside him, tilting his head with mock seriousness. “Younger, ja. Like a schoolboy raiding his father’s closet.”

Banshee waved him off with a grin. “You’re just jealous ye can’t wear one without yer tail tearin’ a hole.”

Colossus, who had been carefully inspecting gloves, finally picked a pair that fit his enormous hands. “These will keep me from crushing doorknobs so easily.” He smiled sheepishly. “It is embarrassing.”

Thunderbird rolled his eyes. “You’re built like a tank, Pete. No glove’s gonna change that.”

For an hour, they lingered. Storm dazzled; Colleen and Misty teased each other over coats; Banshee and Nightcrawler bantered like vaudeville partners; Colossus tried to be practical. Even Thunderbird, grudgingly, tried on a jacket when Misty shoved it at him with a smirk. Logan mostly leaned against walls, sniffing perfumes, grumbling—though more than once, he quietly paid for something another had admired and left it on the counter with a shrug.

Later, at a restaurant thick with the smell of grilled beef, they crowded into two tables pushed together.

“Steaks,” Logan said, as if it were law. “Rare. Still mooing.”

Cyclops sighed. “Logan—”

“Summers, trust me. This place? You don’t order salad.”

Banshee raised a glass once theirs arrived. “To the fact we’re still breathin’. And to a night without fightin’.”

“Speak for yourself,” Thunderbird muttered. “Every time we let our guard down, someone comes gunning for us.”

Storm met his gaze, voice calm but firm. “And yet if we never pause, never savor life, what are we fighting for?”

Nightcrawler lifted his fork, eyes gleaming. “She is right. Life must be tasted! Even if it is only steak, ja?”

Colossus cut carefully into his plate, nodding. “It is good to eat as friends. In my village, we say—‘shared bread is the strongest bond.’”

Misty chuckled, sipping her drink. “You X-Men… for people always saving the world, you sure argue like a family.”

Colleen grinned. “That’s because they are.”

The laughter that followed was warm, carrying over the clink of plates and the soft hum of the restaurant. For a moment, they were not soldiers, not mutants, not targets. Just people, alive, together.

Hours later, boarding their flight, the quiet settled back in. Logan sat near the window, smoke curling from his lips as he stared into the dark sky. His senses stretched, listening, tasting the air for trouble. Nothing came. For now.

As the engines roared and the plane lifted, the chapter closed with a cut—miles away, on the damp Scottish airfield where Jean Grey stepped from her flight, red hair catching the wind, unaware of how the world was about to change again.

---

Across the sea, in Scotland, another plane touched down. The wind off the tarmac was damp and salt-tinged, carrying the sharp bite of the northern coast. Jean Grey stepped out, her red hair catching the misty breeze like a flame refusing to die.

Moira McTaggart was waiting, wrapped in her long coat, smile warm but eyes sharp as always. Beside her stood Alex Summers with his arms crossed, looking restless, and Lorna Dane leaning against him with a soft wave. At the edge of the group was Jamie Madrox, hands in his pockets, green coat buttoned up to his chin, always half-smiling like he was in on a joke only he knew.

“Jean!” Moira’s voice cut through the din of the airport. They met in a quick embrace, and then the others circled in.

“Good to see you, Jean,” Alex said, his voice careful. “How was Greece?”

“Sunny,” Jean answered, forcing a small smile. “Almost too much so.”

Lorna squeezed her hand. “You look good. Rested.”

“Looks can lie,” Jean murmured, but softly, not wanting to dampen the greeting.

As they gathered her bags and started for the car, her thoughts spun inward.

‘They don’t know. None of them know. The X-Men are gone. My family. My friends. Scott.’

Her chest tightened at his name, and she almost faltered on the steps. She could still see him—jaw set, visor gleaming, that endless sense of responsibility burning him alive from the inside out. And now… nothing. Just silence.

‘I should have been there. Should have fought harder. Should have—’

She cut the thought before it could break her. Smiled instead, answered Lorna’s question about Greek food, nodded along to Jamie’s quip about airports. The mask held.

But inside, her heart whispered the same truth with every beat:

‘They’re dead. All of them. And I don’t know how to live without them.’

Moira walked just ahead, glancing back once with eyes that caught more than Jean wanted. She said nothing, though. Not yet.

And as they stepped into the gray Scottish air, Jean lifted her chin, red hair whipping in the wind. The world went on, indifferent. And she went with it, carrying ghosts no one else could see.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 131 – BETWEEN THE WALLS

The Danger Room hissed and roared like a mechanical beast, gears grinding, steel walls shifting with murderous intent. Colossus stood at the center, his armored skin gleaming under the harsh lights. The two vice-walls pressed inward, slow but merciless, a trap meant to crush mountains.

His shoulders strained, arms braced, metal muscles flexing, but his breath came ragged. He planted his feet, teeth clenched, yet the walls edged closer.

“Cyclops!” His voice boomed with effort, echoing in the chamber. “Enough! I… I cannot continue!”

From the control booth above, Cyclops stood rigid, arms folded, visor glinting red under the lights of the console. His voice cut sharp over the intercom.

“You’re fine, Colossus. Sensors show no serious strain. You can stop those walls if you dig deep enough. So why aren’t you?”

Beside him, Logan leaned against the console, arms crossed, a cigar hanging from his mouth. He squinted at Piotr’s struggle with something colder than pity. Then he let out a low grunt.

“Physically fine, yeah. But you’re missin’ the point, Summers. Kid ain’t pushin’ ‘cause somethin’s eatin’ him inside.”

Cyclops didn’t turn. “You’re saying he’s holding back? Then tell me why, Logan. Because right now all I see is hesitation that could get us killed in the field.”

Logan answered with steel instead of words. SNIKT. His claws slid free and dug into the console’s panel with a hiss of sparks. Circuits screamed, screens flickered, and Cyclops’ control of the room shorted out in a shower of light.

“Logan!” Scott barked, snapping toward him.

But the Canadian was already gone, stalking out of the booth with smoke trailing in his wake.

Down below, the walls creaked tighter. Piotr’s knees bent. His breath rattled, his hands straining against steel that didn’t care. He flinched when he heard the heavy clang of boots stepping into the chamber.

Logan walked right into the shrinking space, unfazed by the groan of metal. He dropped between the two walls, sat down cross-legged as if on a park bench, and lit his cigar with casual indifference.

“Logan!” Piotr’s voice cracked with panic. “Get out! You’ll be crushed!”

Logan exhaled a lazy ribbon of smoke, eyes half-lidded.

“Don’t think so, bub. Not ‘til you stop lyin’ to yourself. You’re stronger than these walls. We both know it. But you ain’t fightin’ ‘em ‘cause your head’s somewhere else.”

The Russian’s wide eyes darted between the inching steel and the stubborn man puffing smoke. His chest heaved.

“You don’t understand—”

“I understand just fine.” Logan blew another plume. “‘Cause unlike me, unlike Summers, unlike most of this sorry lot—you actually got family. Blood. People waitin’ back home. You got two families now, bub. That’s what’s twistin’ you up inside. You don’t know which one to fight for.”

The walls groaned louder. Sparks danced at their edges. Logan stayed put, arms draped on his knees like he was meditating.

“Logan, please! Move!” Piotr’s voice rose in desperation.

“Not movin’.” Logan’s grin was thin, sharp. He tapped ash onto the floor. “If you give up now, we both get flattened. You wanna live with that?”

Piotr’s heart thundered. His hands shook against the steel. He thought of his sister’s laughter in the fields. He thought of the X-Men’s voices at his side. The pressure inside him tore in two directions.

Above, Cyclops’ voice crackled through the half-dead comm. “Logan destroyed the controls. I can’t shut it down. It’s on you, Colossus. Push past it or you both die.”

The Russian’s eyes locked on Logan, who only sat there calmly smoking, daring him to decide.

A roar tore from Piotr’s throat. His armor gleamed brighter as he surged with power, veins of strength he had buried under guilt and doubt. He braced, shoved, and the air shook with the metallic scream of walls giving way.

With a final bellow, Colossus forced the steel apart, bending the vice like clay in the hands of a sculptor. The room trembled as the mechanism snapped and gave, the trap broken.

Breathless, sweat on his brow despite his armored hide, Piotr staggered. His voice cracked with shame. “I… I was tired of thinking. Of struggling inside. I just wanted… to give up.”

Logan stood, brushing ash from his chest. He clapped a hand against Piotr’s armored shoulder.

“Then stop thinkin’, bub. Start livin’. You fight for both families. That’s the trick. Don’t choose. Just keep swingin’ ‘til there’s nothin’ left standin’ in your way.”

The Danger Room hissed as the program shut down completely, lights dimming. From the balcony, Cyclops stepped in, arms folded tight. His visor glinted at Logan first, then at Colossus.

“Good work, Colossus.” His tone softened a fraction. Then, with a sideways glance, “And Logan… thanks for the assist. Now go fix the panel you shredded.”

Logan smirked, flicked the last of his cigar onto the floor, and muttered under his breath as he walked past.

“Always with the naggin’, Summers. One day you’re gonna thank me for breakin’ somethin’.”

Colossus, chest still heaving, managed a faint smile despite himself. For the first time in days, he felt lighter.

And as the sun fell, the chapter moved to night.

Logan at the wheel of Xavier’s car, headlights cutting through the dark streets. Storm sat in the back, silent, regal even in her brooding. Logan’s eyes caught her in the rearview mirror, sensing that same quiet storm he’d seen in Colossus earlier.

He didn’t say a word. Just drove.

The road led them to where her past waited.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 132 – STREETS OF HARLEM

The car purred low against the night, headlights sliding across cracked sidewalks and shuttered storefronts. Logan drove one hand on the wheel, the other flicking ash out the window, cigar glowing red against the dark. His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror where Ororo sat. Back straight, chin high, but her silence said more than words ever could.

He finally broke it. “You’re wound tighter than Summers’ tie, darlin’. Mind tellin’ me why I’m drivin’ you through these parts?”

Storm’s eyes stayed on the streets rolling past. Old brownstones, corner shops, alleys where shadows ran deeper. “Because this is where my story began, Logan. My first home. Before Africa. Before the skies ever answered my call.”

Logan grunted. He could tell by the tone in her voice she didn’t want company. He also knew better than to leave her alone in a place that stank of ghosts.

The car stopped at a block whose bricks seemed older than the century. Storm stepped out without another word. The night air clung damp to her skin. She looked back once, her white hair shimmering under the streetlight.

“Do not follow me,” she said softly.

Logan leaned against the car door, smirking through the smoke. “Sure thing, darlin’. Scout’s honor.”

He waited until she disappeared up the path, then muttered to himself, “Never was a scout.” He flicked the cigar and started after her, quiet as shadow.

Storm moved through the block as if tracing old scars. Every step was a memory, though warped by time. She had expected warmth in the air, laughter in the windows, the familiar rhythm of life. Instead she found litter, boarded glass, walls painted with graffiti instead of history.

“This is not the Harlem I remember,” she whispered to herself. Her heart sank, heavy with guilt for ever leaving.

At last she found it. The building. Her building. The steps creaked under her weight as she climbed, her hand trembling just slightly against the railing. She reached the flat that had once been hers, breath caught in her throat, and pushed the door open.

Voices.

Children. Teenagers, not more than sixteen, scattered across the room. Smoke in the air, bottles on the floor. The moment she stepped through the doorway, all eyes turned. One boy, wiry and mean-eyed, grinned with a knife flashing in his palm.

“Well, well. Lookit this, boys. Lady in white just walked into the wrong house.”

Storm’s voice was calm, but her heart ached. “This was my house once. My home. You should not be here.”

Laughter. A girl with a cigarette dangling from her lips blew smoke at her. “That so? Then you oughta pay rent.”

Another boy rose, eyes glinting with hunger. “Empty your purse, lady. Pretty clothes like that don’t come cheap.”

Ororo raised her hands, palms outward, voice firm but gentle. “You are children. You should not choose this path. There is still time to turn back.”

“Lady, shut up.” The wiry one lunged, knife flashing.

Storm’s eyes narrowed. Wind stirred from nowhere, her hair whipping around her face. She whispered a word to the storm inside her, and a sudden gust slammed the boy against the wall, the knife clattering away. The others staggered, clutching their heads as oxygen thinned and static crawled across their skin. She was careful—gentle, for her—but their eyes rolled back as they crumpled, one by one, unconscious.

Her chest heaved with the effort of restraint. “Children…” she whispered, sorrow heavy in her voice.

But she didn’t see the last one. A boy creeping behind her with a short blade, eyes wide with panic and desperation. He raised the knife high—

—and a fist came from the dark, smashing him square in the jaw. The boy crumpled, knife skittering across the floor.

Logan stood in the doorway, shaking out his knuckles, cigar now clamped back between his teeth. “Thought I told myself I wouldn’t follow. Guess I lied.”

Ororo spun, startled. “Logan! I told you—”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t follow. Good thing I don’t take orders well.” He looked down at the unconscious teens, then back at her. His voice dropped low, serious. “You alright, ‘Ro?”

Storm’s eyes burned, not with fury but sorrow. “How can children… children… fall to this? My Harlem was not like this. This city was alive. These streets once sang. And now…” Her hands trembled, clenching at her sides. “Now the children carry knives instead of dreams.”

Logan drew in smoke, let it out slow. His gaze was steady, no illusions in his eyes. “World don’t care about dreams, darlin’. Life forces some kids to grow teeth before they’ve even lost the last of their baby ones. That’s just the way it is.”

Ororo’s eyes glistened, but her voice was steady. “Then what hope do we fight for, Logan? If this is the world?”

He stepped closer, resting a heavy hand on her shoulder. His claws slid back with a soft snikt, almost like a promise.

“We fight ‘cause maybe—just maybe—we’re the only second chance these kids are ever gonna get.”

The room was silent but for the hum of the city outside, distant and uncaring. Storm closed her eyes, shoulders rising and falling. For a moment, she leaned into the weight of his hand.

Then she opened them again, steel in her gaze.

“You are right,” she said. “We must be their second chance.”

Logan gave a half-smile, sharp and weary. “Glad we agree. Now let’s get outta here before they wake up wantin’ round two.”

Together they stepped back into the night, the city air cold on their skin, the weight of the world heavy but carried side by side.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 133 – DATES AND GHOSTS

The restaurant lights were low, the kind of soft glow meant to make everything look warmer than it was. Scott Summers sat stiff-backed across from Colleen Wing, hands folded, glasses reflecting the candle flame so his eyes were just two red embers in the dark. Colleen had leaned forward, chin resting in her hand, the picture of calm amusement.

"You’re doing it again," she teased.

Scott blinked. "Doing what?"

"Brooding. You’ve been staring through your dinner like it’s going to sprout claws and attack. And you’ve barely touched your wine."

He sighed, voice low, clipped. "It’s Xavier. He hasn’t been home for days. Lilandra’s with him, the Shi’ar—whatever business that is. And all the systems at the mansion… dark. Communications cut. Even the phone service terminated. That’s not a coincidence."

"Maybe he forgot to pay the bill," she joked, sipping her drink with a sly smile.

Scott didn’t even twitch. "Jean. Hank. I don’t even know how to—how to say it when he comes back. That they’re gone. That I couldn’t—"

Colleen reached across the table, her hand on his wrist. "Scott Summers, can you ever let yourself breathe? Just one night. Pretend the world isn’t collapsing for once."

His jaw tightened. Behind the glasses, his eyes burned hotter. He wanted to argue, but the weight pressed down again. 'She doesn’t get it. She can’t. Family is the mission. And the mission is dead weight without them.'

The sound came first: a low rumble from behind. Scott frowned, turning his head. Colleen followed his gaze. A garbage truck, lumbering too close, too slow. Its headlights washed over the street, drowning the restaurant’s cozy glow in stark white.

Then—HISS. A fine spray from the truck’s side vents. The air soured instantly, sweet and cloying like rotten fruit. Colleen gagged, hand clapping to her mouth. Scott surged to his feet, pulling at her arm.

"Colleen—cover your face, don’t breathe it in!"

Too late. The gas slid down his throat like syrup, heavy, choking. His limbs turned to stone. Colleen collapsed against his chest, out cold. Scott fought, teeth gritted, one last burst of stubborn will. But his knees buckled. Darkness swept in.

He fell with her in his arms as the truck’s rear doors yawned open like a coffin.

---

Elsewhere in the city, laughter rang out against brick walls and neon. Kurt Wagner adjusted his tie with a flourish, tail flicking behind him.

"Meine Damen, tonight we dine not merely as mortals, but as royalty!" He swung open the door to the restaurant’s private room, bowing dramatically for Amanda Sefton and Betty.

Piotr Rasputin trailed behind, trying to hide his broad shoulders in a borrowed jacket. "Kurt, maybe tone down the performance, da? We do not want to draw attention."

Amanda rolled her eyes, though the corners of her mouth betrayed a smile. "He always draws attention."

Kurt winked, fangs glinting. "Would you rather me hide in the shadows, fraulein? Nein, life is short, and romance shorter!"

Betty giggled, tugging Piotr’s arm. "At least your friend has flair. You just look like you’d rather be hauling tractors in Siberia."

Piotr flushed, ducking his head. "Maybe I would. At least tractors do not stare."

They all laughed as the four stepped inside, door closing with a soft metallic thud. Kurt reached for the lightswitch—

—only for the entire room to vibrate, a low groan of machinery beneath their feet.

Amanda frowned. "Kurt? That’s… not right."

The walls shifted. Seamless steel plating slammed into place where the door had been. Windows vanished under grinding panels. The room shrank by a hair.

Piotr’s hand snapped into a fist. "This is not restaurant."

Kurt’s smile faltered, sharp eyes darting. "Nein. It is a trap."

The floor jolted. Amanda stumbled, clutching Kurt’s arm. He steadied her, heart pounding. Outside, faint rotor blades echoed. The whole box shuddered as it lifted.

Amanda screamed. "What’s happening?!"

Kurt bared his teeth, pressing her close. "Calm. Hold still." His mind raced. 'Teleport out? Nein—the walls are too close, I can’t see. Blind jumps mean death. They’ve thought this through.'

Piotr slammed a fist against the steel, sparks flying. "Let me out! Now!" His voice was a roar, but the walls held.

The box rose higher, swallowed by the night sky.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 134 – DATES AND GHOSTS (CONTINUED)

Westchester was quiet that night. Too quiet.

The mansion loomed against the treeline, its windows glowing faintly, but the grounds themselves were silent. Storm had been pacing the hall, robes flowing behind her like a shadow of white. Banshee was sunk deep into the armchair, pipe in hand, half-reading a newspaper. Thunderbird sat by the window, arms crossed, looking like a storm about to break.

Sean puffed smoke, voice rolling easy. "Y’know, lass, we should take advantage of th’ quiet. Been a hell of a stretch. Maybe a game o’ cards? Ororo, ye ever play poker?"

Storm gave him a sideways glance, lips curved. "A goddess does not gamble, Sean Cassidy."

Thunderbird snorted. "You’re no goddess. You’re one of us. And poker’s about guts. You got guts?"

Ororo’s smile vanished. Her eyes cooled like steel. "I have survived the Sahara sun and the endless sky, John Proudstar. Do not question what I possess."

Sean raised his hands quick, pipe dangling. "Easy now, easy! Didn’t mean to poke th’ hornet’s nest. Jaysus, Proudstar, you’ve a way o’ rattlin’ folks."

John leaned back, gaze on the window glass. "If I rattle, it’s because I see the cracks. Quiet like this? It stinks of setup."

And right then, the setup sprung.

A shadow slipped through the door like smoke. The faint hiss of compressed air. Banshee barely had time to turn before the dart thudded into his shoulder. His paper dropped, his body sagging.

"Sean!" Storm cried out, whipping around. But another hiss—another dart. She twisted, winds rising, curtains snapping against the walls. The dart bit into her side. Ororo staggered, eyes rolling. The gale collapsed into silence as she fell against the bannister.

Thunderbird roared, diving for the intruder. "Coward! Face me!"

The attacker was lean, masked, clad in black gear meant for shadows. He moved quick, sidestepping John’s lunge. Another hiss—the dart aimed for Proudstar’s neck. John slapped it aside, fury boiling. He grabbed the man by the throat and slammed him against the wall so hard the plaster cracked.

"Who sent you?!" John’s voice was a growl.

The man didn’t answer—just swung a short baton, crackling with electricity. It caught John across the ribs. Pain lanced through him. He gasped, grip loosening. The second dart hit clean.

His vision blurred, muscles locking. He dropped to his knees. The last thing he saw was Ororo’s pale hair sprawled across the floor and Sean’s pipe still smoldering by the armchair.

Then darkness.

---

Across the city, Logan was dressed sharp for once, a cowboy suit cut against his broad shoulders. He sat across from Mariko in a quiet little Japanese restaurant. She was poised, elegant, every move measured grace.

"You look uncomfortable, Logan-san," she said softly.

He shrugged, chewing slow. "Ain’t used to wearin’ somethin’ this clean. Usually I’m more denim and leather than silk tie and shine."

She smiled politely. "But you wear it well."

Logan gave her a half-smirk, tipping his glass. "Don’t let my rough edges fool ya, darlin’. I can play gentleman when I gotta."

For once, the meal was calm. No alarms, no claws, no fights. Just quiet talk of her family business in America, the embassy, the little bits of home she missed. Logan even laughed once, deep and rare.

But peace never lasts.

Outside, the night air was sharp. Logan lit a cigar, cowboy hat pulled low, ready to head his own way as Mariko joined the ambassador’s car. He exhaled smoke into the streetlight glow—then froze.

'Scent.'

His nostrils flared. Wrong. Sweet and sour, oily with menace. His muscles coiled on instinct, world slowing down to a crawl. Bullet time.

Down the street, a garbage truck barreled toward him, too fast, too deliberate.

Logan’s lips peeled back in a grin. "Cute."

He dove, rolling just as the truck howled past, metal screaming inches from his skin. Claws SNIKT out, gleaming silver in the night. He slashed—not at the driver, not yet—but at the rear doors, carving deep gouges that bit metal like butter. He pulled back, claws retracting, and the force yanked him up and onto the back of the speeding beast.

Wind whipped. Logan gritted his teeth, stabbing his claws into the steel to climb. Hand over hand, gouging rungs into the truck. Sparks flew.

He hauled himself onto the passenger side, smashed the glass with an elbow, and crawled inside like a demon breaking into hell.

The driver yelped, eyes wide. "What the—"

Logan slammed a boot on his ankle, crushing foot into brake. The truck screeched, tires screaming smoke across asphalt.

"Bad idea, bub," Logan growled, cigar clenched between his teeth. He grabbed the man by the collar and bashed his head against the wheel. "Real bad idea."

The man whimpered, dazed. Logan’s claws sang out, tips hovering inches from his throat.
"Why did you ambush me?'
"I i wanted to capture you ,We already captured the rest of your team."
"Talk. Where’s the rest o’ my team?"

The driver shuddered, words tumbling. "Arcade! It’s Arcade! He took them—all of them—he’s working with Black Tom and the Juggernaut, they—they paid him to—"

Logan’s eyes narrowed, red glow from the dashboard painting his face feral. "Arcade. "

He shoved the driver back, knocking him out cold with a single punch. Then he slid out of the cab, claws retracting. The city lights burned on the horizon.

His teammates were gone. And only one man was still standing to get them back.

Logan flicked the cigar butt into the street. It sparked out against the pavement as he muttered, voice low, final.

"Guess it’s huntin’ season."

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 135 – MURDERWORLD

The X-Men awoke not in chains, not in cells, but inside prison shells that mocked them with color and shine. Each of them was curled into a cramped ball of clear plastic, slick and suffocating, like toys packed too tight. They could see each other, distorted through the curvature, the world bending around them like a fish-eye lens.

Colossus blinked, pressed palms against the sphere. "What… what is this place?" His voice echoed strangely within the bubble, vibrating back at him.

Nightcrawler bared his teeth, tail whipping uselessly against the slick surface. "Mein Gott… we are inside… inside a pinball machine?"

A high laugh echoed, bouncing from hidden speakers. A laugh too sharp, too theatrical, too delighted with itself.

Arcade.

"Correct-a-mundo, elf!" His voice rang sing-song, cheerful in a way that made bile rise. "Welcome, mutants, to my pride and joy—MURDERWORLD! Where the games are deadly, and the stakes are your very lives!"

Panels slid back. Lights blazed neon. Before their eyes stretched the impossible: a colossal pinball machine, tilted on insane angles, bumpers sparking with electricity, ramps gleaming, every surface humming. And perched above, inside a control booth of glass and chrome, Arcade himself in his green suit and bow tie, grinning ear to ear.

Behind him, bound to chairs, were the bystanders: Colleen Wing, Amanda Sefton, and Betsy Wilford. Their mouths were gagged, wrists tied, eyes wide with fury and terror. Arcade patted Amanda’s head like she was a pet, then leaned over the panel.

"Don’t worry, ladies. You’ll get front-row seats to the most electrifying show on Earth! And when the curtain falls, it’ll fall on your friends’ graves! Ha!"

Colleen strained against the ropes, muffled words spilling. Nightcrawler’s heart jolted, seeing Amanda’s fear. He slammed fists against his bubble. "Arcade! Let her go! She has nothing to do with this!"

Arcade clicked his tongue. "Ohhh, wrong again, fuzzy. Everyone’s part of the fun. That’s the RULES! And speaking of rules…"

His manicured finger hovered over a comically oversized red button. His grin widened.

"Let the FUN begin!"

The button slammed down.

With a violent jerk, the pinball spheres shot forward, fired like bullets through gleaming steel tunnels. They clattered down ramps, ricocheted off bumpers. Sparks flew each time plastic slammed into electrified metal, jolts snapping into the mutants’ bodies.

Banshee howled as volts coursed through him. His scream echoed within the sphere, shaking it, rattling his teeth. "AHHH! Jaysus, this is no game!"

Colossus gritted teeth, muscle instinctively straining, but even steel flesh sizzled when current danced across him. "It burns… like fire!"

Kurt thudded against his shell, tail twitching, teleport instincts itching—but the moment he tried, agony spiked. Some coating in the ball stung his nerves, disrupted the bamf before it began. He collapsed, panting. "Nein… they thought of everything."

Arcade’s laughter rose over the blaring pinball sounds, the chimes and bells. "Bumpers! Flippers! Ramp multipliers! And ohhh, my personal favorite—THE DEAD ZONES!"

The spheres rattled one by one into openings, gravity pulling them into separate tunnels. Each tunnel sealed shut, lights shifting, machinery grinding.

Arcade spread his arms like a conductor before an orchestra. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, our headliners will be treated to the star attractions—personalized traps, curated with love, courtesy of Arcade Entertainment Inc.! Let’s see who breaks first!"

---

The traps unfolded as promised.

Cyclops slammed onto a steel floor, the sphere splitting open and sealing behind him. Walls rose—mirrors angled everywhere, reflections of his visor staring back. Suddenly beams of energy fired at him—not his own, but duplicates, deadly and wild. He dodged, realizing: every optic blast ricocheted infinitely, every move threatened to blind him by his own power.

Storm found herself in a greenhouse—a false paradise. Sunlamps blazed, vines slithered like snakes. She raised her hands to summon wind—but the air was poisoned, laced with chemicals that made her head spin. The plants hissed, thorns dripping acid. "No… these are mockeries of nature!" she gasped, swatting back strangling creepers.

Banshee dropped into a chamber of giant speakers. The walls vibrated. Sound cannons blared at him, shrieking waves that rattled bone and blood. He tried to counter, screaming back—but each note rebounded, twisting his own power against him. "Bloody hell, it’s— it’s usin’ my voice against me!"

Nightcrawler stumbled into a chamber that spun on an axis. Platforms flipped, swung, floors became ceilings. It was like being trapped inside a kaleidoscope gone mad. Each bamf threatened to drop him into spikes or into endless voids. His laughter came strained, desperate. "Arcade, you madman… this is no game, this is chaos!"

Colossus stood in a room where hydraulic hammers smashed rhythmically, steel crashing steel. "You test me with machines?!" he roared, arms bulking into organic armor. But each blow made the floor crack, threatening to drop him into a pit of molten slag. He braced, caught the hammer’s head—screamed at the strain.

Thunderbird awoke in a desert dome, sun lamps scorching. Holographic warriors rose from the sand—Apache foes, twisted mockeries of his own ancestors. He growled, fists ready. "You dare dishonor my people this way?!" He lunged, but each strike passed through light, then seared back with burning energy.

All of them, trapped. All of them, pushed to the brink.

---

And above it all, Arcade leaned back, laughing, sipping soda through a straw. "Oh, it’s glorious! They’re dancing, they’re screaming, they’re flailing like rag dolls! Nothing makes me happier than heroes in pain!"

Colleen spat her gag loose enough to speak. "You lunatic! They’ll stop you!"

Arcade winked. "Oh, honey. The only thing that’ll stop me… is running out of quarters."

---

Outside, the night was still.

Logan stood before the gaudy building, neon lights blinking, a circus of death dressed up like a carnival. His nostrils flared. He could smell the ozone, the metal, the sweat of his teammates inside.

He flicked ash off his cigar, claws sliding out with a cold SNIKT. His jaw clenched.

'They’re hurt. I can smell it. Arcade… you’ve just made the last mistake of your life.'

He stepped forward, boots crunching on the pavement. Murderworld’s gates loomed tall, painted with cartoon devils and laughing clowns.

Logan muttered low, voice gravel, smoke curling from his teeth.

"Time to ruin your party."

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 136 – BREAKING THE MAZE

The world was a blur of neon and steel, every wall humming with mechanical malice. Murderworld.

Cyclops staggered to his feet inside a mirrored chamber, chest rising and falling as the glass walls threw back endless reflections of himself. Not just reflections—doppelgängers stepped forward, each one raising a glowing visor.

“Cute,” Scott muttered, sweat streaking down his face. His eyes darted, mind racing. “He wants me to fight myself? Fine. I’ve been doing that all my life.”

The clones moved in unison, beams slicing out in perfect synch. Scott dove, rolled, visor flaring wide open as he fired back. The room lit like a warzone, red energy ricocheting from mirror to mirror.

Scott’s thoughts burned fast and sharp. ‘Too many. Can’t blast forever. Think. Control, not chaos.’

He found it. One mirror angled just right. He grit his teeth, aimed, and fired a concentrated shot. The beam ricocheted clean, cracked through glass, and tore a hole straight through the wall.

The clones paused, tilting their heads like broken marionettes. They didn’t follow. Couldn’t. Confined here.

Scott sprinted through the opening, lungs tight.

“Please let someone be on the other side—”

Colossus. Bound in coils of metallic serpents, the Russian’s armor straining as the machine constricted tighter. Piotr’s face glistened with effort, eyes shut, lips whispering in Russian as though praying.

“Hang on, big man!” Cyclops shouted.

He unleashed a blast at the constrictors. Sparks flew, the coils shattered. Colossus dropped to his knees, groaning but alive.

Scott reached down, pulling him up by the arm. “On your feet. We’ve got no time.”

Colossus’s eyes opened, heavy with shame. “I… I nearly gave up.”

“Then don’t,” Scott snapped. “Not when the rest of us are counting on you. Now move.”

The two charged together, back into the mirrored maze. Scott stopped, glanced at another wall, and his brain clicked again. He adjusted his visor, sent another blast angled sharp—mirror to mirror—until it burned a hole into yet another chamber.

Storm lay there, lightning sparking helplessly around her wrists as restraints absorbed every jolt. Her eyes glowed white with fury, hair plastered to her face with sweat.

“Ororo!” Colossus boomed, tearing the clamps free like paper. She collapsed forward, gasping, then rose with her queenly posture snapping back into place.

“Thank you,” she breathed. Her eyes narrowed. “Arcade will regret this insult.”

Scott didn’t let them pause. “Stay sharp. This place is a rat’s maze—we keep moving.”

Another mirror, another blast. Banshee spilled out of a soundproof coffin, throat raw from screaming against silence. He coughed, voice ragged. “Begorra, I thought I’d suffocate in there—”

“You’re fine,” Scott cut in, but with the ghost of a smile. “Save the lungs. We’ll need them.”

Together, they freed Nightcrawler—dangling above a pit of flame, bamfing in panic but always reappearing right where he started. Colossus caught him as he dropped, Kurt’s heart hammering like a frightened bird.

Finally Thunderbird, bruised and bloodied from a gauntlet of steel gauntlets slamming him back and forth, still raging against the machine even half-broken. “Took your damn time!” he snarled, spitting blood as they dragged him out.

“Glad to see you too,” Banshee muttered with a dry chuckle.

Now they stood together, battered but united. The maze still shifted around them, lights flaring, alarms howling—but the X-Men had momentum.

Cyclops’s visor glowed as he looked at them, his voice iron. “He wanted us scattered. Broken. Instead we’re together. And that means he’s losing.”

Thunderbird cracked his knuckles. “So let’s show this Arcade clown what happens when you try to play games with us.”

Storm raised her hand, lightning crawling along her fingers. Nightcrawler twirled his tail with a grin, despite his scorched fur.

And Scott, lips tight, pointed down the next mirrored corridor. “Forward. One room at a time. Until we tear this whole damn carnival down.”

The X-Men moved as one, their footsteps echoing through the mechanical labyrinth.

Meanwhile, far above them in the steel vents, another predator hunted. Logan. Silent. Stealthy. Watching. Waiting for his strike.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 137 – THE HUNTER IN THE WALLS

The vents of Murderworld were cramped, but Logan moved like smoke through them. Every muscle relaxed, every step calculated. His breath was shallow, nearly nonexistent. The trick wasn’t just silence—it was absence.

His borrowed stealth presence ability dulled the telltale signs. No heat signature, no scent trail, nothing for Arcade’s toys to register. For the cameras, Logan relied on the old-fashioned way—moving through blind spots, crouching in shadows, waiting for mechanical eyes to swivel away before shifting forward.

The X-Men’s struggle below vibrated faint through the metal. He caught snippets of shouts—Scott barking orders, Colossus groaning under strain, Storm’s furious cry. Logan’s lip curled in pride. “Good. They’re fightin’ their way out. Now it’s my turn.”

His nose twitched. A bouquet of scents flooded him—sweat, oil, ozone. Beneath it all, one sharp and acrid, tinged with fear masked by cologne and expensive wine. Arcade.

Logan followed it like a bloodhound. He stopped at a vent above the control room and peered through the grate.

Arcade sat in a throne-like chair before a wall of screens. Fingers danced on levers, eyes wild, teeth gnashing. He slammed his fist down hard enough to make his champagne glass rattle.

“Impossible! They were supposed to die! The math was perfect! The physics immaculate! My traps are ART!” His voice cracked, half child, half mad genius.

Logan’s claws slid out with a whisper. He stayed still, watching.

Arcade’s tirade continued. “Cyclops should’ve burned out by now, Colossus crushed, Nightcrawler flambéed, Storm drained like a battery—AND YET they rise! Always they rise! Stupid, stubborn mutants, refusing to play properly!”

Logan’s grin spread slow, feral. “Guess you never factored me into your math, bub.”

He dropped.

The grate crashed open and Logan landed catlike on the console, claws flashing. Arcade squealed, scrambling back as Logan swung. Sparks flew as metal carved through steel.

Arcade tripped, slammed against the wall. Logan stalked forward, cigar clenched between his teeth, smoke curling through the red glow.

“You got one helluva twisted idea of fun,” Logan growled. “Lemme show ya mine.”

He slashed—not to kill, but to terrify. The armrest split in two. Arcade yelped, fumbling for a hidden button, only for Logan’s boot to pin his wrist to the floor.

Logan leaned down, eyes blazing yellow under the shadows. “You’re cornered. No toys. No machines. Just you an’ me. Not so funny now, huh?”

Arcade swallowed, then—smiled. Too wide. Too smug.

“You X-Men,” he whispered. “You always think when you corner me, it’s the end. But in Murderworld… the game never ends.”

His free hand slammed a panel on the wall. With a whirr-click, a hatch in the ceiling snapped open. A launch platform shoved upward beneath his feet.

“No—” Logan slashed, just missing him. Arcade shot skyward through the hatch, vanishing into the night. His laughter echoed, high and mad.

“Hah! Round one to you, Wolverine! But remember—games are best two out of three!”

Logan snarled, claws retracting with a metallic sigh. “Coward.”

He turned to the side consoles, sniffing. The scents of fear and perfume hit him. Colleen. Amanda. Betsy.

A quick slash. Sparks. Metal doors clattered open, and the women stumbled out, bound and gagged. Logan cut their restraints, slow and careful, making sure no stray blade drew blood.

Amanda hugged him first, face streaked with tears. “Mein Gott… Logan, you found us.”

“Course I did.” His tone softened, rough but steady. “Ain’t no way I was lettin’ Arcade keep any of you.”

Colleen rubbed her wrists, giving him a wry smile. “I see subtlety isn’t your thing.”

Logan smirked, lighting another cigar with casual defiance. “Subtle enough to get the job done.”

He looked back at the monitors, where the rest of the X-Men now stood together, triumphant amid broken traps and shattered illusions.

“Time to finish this,” Logan muttered, jerking his head toward the door. “C’mon. Let’s get the family back together.”

The captives followed, relief in their steps. And Logan, the last smoke of his cigar curling into the cold steel air, walked ahead—predator satisfied, but never done.

The X-Men were whole again. For now.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 138 – PHOENIX IN THE LABYRINTH

The sea beat hard against the cliffs of Muir Island, a ceaseless rhythm that seeped through stone and steel. In the laboratory, its pulse was echoed by the steady hum of monitors, the flicker of readouts, the sharp scratch of Moira MacTaggert’s pen as she made her notes.

Jean sat on the diagnostic table, shoulders square, eyes forward. Her hair was flame in the sterile light, and her gaze seemed almost to glow with an inner sun. She submitted to the tests with a quiet grace that was half patience, half challenge.

Moira lifted her eyes from the charts. “Jean, ye ken what ye did—holdin’ a star in yer hands, stitchin’ back the broken seams of the universe. That… that power is godly. But even so, you lost tae Magneto. Which means this power, for all its infinity, is limitin’ itself tae what ye can wield. It’s the only reason you’re sittin’ here alive.”

Her words were clinical, detached, but her mind was not. Fear licked at the edges of her thoughts. This power… it changes her. It’ll tempt her tae flaunt it more and more, until the girl is gone and only the fire remains.

Jean heard it all. The whispered thought. The private fear. It pricked her pride, but she forced a smile and brushed it aside. What’s wrong with flaunting? With showing my family, my friends? As long as I never turn it loose in front of the world, it harms no one.

The door hissed open, and Moira excused herself, her heels clicking brisk down the corridor.

Elsewhere in the lab, Havok shuffled the cards with careless flair, Polaris resting her chin on her hand as she watched. Jamie Madrox sat opposite, every flick of the deck echoed by a dupe that appeared beside him and grinned.

“You always cheat, Jamie,” Havok said flatly.

“Not cheating,” one dupe protested. “Merely optimizing.”

“Call it what ye like,” Polaris said with a sly smile, “I’ll still clean the table with you both.”

Their laughter echoed warm, unaware of the storm creeping closer.

Moira’s rounds took her deeper into the warren of Muir’s research wings. She paused outside a chamber, frowned, and stepped inside. For a heartbeat her face froze, then—shifted. Features rippled as if she’d pulled on a mask. Something else looked back from the mirror.

Jean, in her quarters, jolted upright. Panic lanced across her mind—not hers, but Moira’s. She felt the thrum of terror like a blow to the chest. Her power surged in answer.

Flame danced across her skin, her eyes molten. She rose without thinking, and the Phoenix within rose with her.

The walls melted away. She was no longer in her room but in a royal palace of gilded marble. Her clothes were gone, replaced by silks that shimmered with impossible light. Courtiers bowed as she passed. The air itself seemed to sing her name.

Her senses screamed confusion. Sight, sound, smell, touch, all told her this was real. Her psi probes confirmed it.

Then came the ambush.

Figures leapt from the colonnades, armored and armed. She raised her hands, power flaring, and the palace shivered—then cracked.

“No!” Her voice was a roar of fire. The illusions fell away like torn paper. The marble became steel, the silk became cotton, the courtiers shadows that fled into nothingness. Only the echo of her own scream remained.

It carried through the halls.

Polaris dropped her cards at the sound. Havok was on his feet in an instant, energy flickering across his hands. Madrox and his dupes tumbled up in a rush of limbs and curses.

“That was Jean!” Polaris gasped.

They sprinted, tearing down the corridors, flinging open doors, finding nothing. Labs, storage rooms, empty chambers. The scream still rattled in their bones, but Jean was gone.

“Not possible,” Havok muttered, wild-eyed. “She can’t just vanish!”

Polaris’s hands trembled. “Tell that to the girl who rose from the dead and caught the sun in her fist.”

The halls of Muir Island felt suddenly colder, the sea’s pounding now a dirge. Somewhere in the dark, the Phoenix had been swallowed by a maze not of her own making.

And no one knew how to bring her back.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 139 – GHOSTS IN THE HALL

Midnight at the Xavier mansion.

The Danger Room’s roar shook the foundation as Cyclops barked orders, optic blasts cutting precision lines through holographic foes. Colossus strained under steel weights that twisted midair into angular monsters. Storm floated above, winds coiling like living ropes.

But Kurt was not in the room.

He padded through the halls instead, tail swaying, steps as quiet as a cat’s. He liked the solitude, the mansion’s silence after midnight. The walls whispered with history, with laughter and tears, with echoes of Xavier’s dream.

Then the whisper changed.

The air thickened. His ears twitched. His eyes narrowed as a shadow moved at the far end of the corridor.

Intruder.

Kurt dropped low, muscles coiling. He teleported in a puff of brimstone, reappearing directly in the path of the figure. “Stop right there, mein freund—”

The man lunged. Kurt met him with a roundhouse, tail whipping to snag an arm. A counterpunch caught Kurt’s ribs. He teleported again, sparks trailing, and reappeared clinging to the ceiling.

“Whoever you are, you picked the wrong night—”

Lightning split the sky outside, flooding the hall with white fire.

Kurt froze. His jaw slackened. His golden eyes went wide, all fight gone from him.

He vanished with a bamf and reappeared inside the Danger Room mid-battle, eyes wild. “A ghost!” he stammered. “I—I saw a ghost!”

The simulation paused with a screech of grinding gears. Cyclops lowered his visor guard. “Kurt, pull yourself together. What ghost?”

Kurt swallowed hard, pointing toward the hall. “Beast. Hank McCoy. I saw him. Clear as day. He’s supposed to be—” His voice broke. “—he’s supposed to be dead.”

Logan snorted. “Dead men don’t smell, elf. And I don’t smell a ghost.” But his claws slid halfway out all the same.

The team rushed from the chamber, following Kurt’s trembling lead.

And there he was.

Hank McCoy, blue fur and all, standing in the hall with wide eyes of his own, staring at them like they were the ghosts.

The silence broke first with a laugh—half disbelieving, half joyous. Cyclops rushed forward and threw his arms around Hank, the embrace fierce, brotherly. “Hank! God, you—you’re alive.”

Hank clapped him on the back, his grin wide but misted with tears. “So are you, Scott. And Jean—Jean will be overjoyed when she learns of this reunion.”

Cyclops froze mid-breath, pulling back to search Hank’s face. “Jean? You mean—she’s alive?”

“Yes,” Hank said simply, with the weight of truth. “Alive. On Muir Island, with Moira MacTaggert. She’s been… undergoing evaluations. As for Charles, he and Lilandra have gone to her empire. She must ascend her throne, and he is at her side. That’s why the mansion was shut down. That’s why you were left adrift.”

The words hit like thunder. Scott’s heart pounded against his ribs, hope and guilt twisting in equal measure. Jean—alive. His Jean.

“Then we waste no time,” Cyclops said, jaw tightening. He strode to the phone, hands shaking as he dialed the lab.

The line crackled. Polaris’s voice came through, sharp and strained. “Scott—it’s chaos here. Jean—she’s—she’s gone. She screamed and vanished. We can’t find her!”

The room tensed, the team exchanging horrified looks.

“We’re coming,” Scott said firmly. “Hold on. We’ll find her.”

But before he could say more, Polaris gasped. A shriek tore through the line, raw and panicked, and then silence.

The connection cut.

Scott stood frozen, the dead receiver in his hand.

The others waited, their breath held, their eyes on him.

Logan stepped closer, voice low. “Say the word, Cyke.”

Scott turned, visor glowing faintly red. “Gear up. We leave for Muir Island now.”

And above them, lightning split the sky again—though none of them noticed.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 140 — THE LANDING AT MUIR

The Blackbird sliced through the Scottish clouds like a blade. Storm sat at the controls, steady hands guiding the jet down through the fog. Rain hammered the wings, the horizon smudged grey against darker grey.

“Ye gods, I never thought I’d see this place again,” Banshee muttered, leaning forward in his seat. His eyes were fixed on the shadowy outline of Muir Island. “Looks like it hasn’t changed a bit. Miserable weather an’ all.”

“Focus, Banshee,” Cyclops said, voice flat but tight. “We’re not here sightseeing.”

Thunderbird snorted, arms folded across his chest. “Urgent or not, it’s just another job. If this island’s crawling with trouble, all the better.”

“You’ll get your fight, John,” Logan growled, popping a cigar stub from his jacket and rolling it between his teeth unlit. “Don’t rush it. Place reeks already.”

Nightcrawler tilted his head, tail curling idly. “Reeks? We’re still sealed in the jet, mein freund.”

“Don’t need the window open to smell rot.” Logan’s nostrils flared, pupils narrowing to slits. “Salt, metal, blood. Something’s off.”

Colossus said nothing, hands folded politely on his lap, his quiet bulk taking up half the row. His gaze drifted to Storm as she brought the Blackbird down onto the makeshift runway, wind howling against her command.

“Touching down,” she said. Her voice was calm, musical—but her brow was drawn. The weather outside mirrored her unease.

The Blackbird landed with a shudder. Hydraulic hiss, steel creak, then stillness. The X-Men unbuckled in silence, each moving with the instinct of soldiers who had done this dance too many times.

The hatch lowered. Cold sea wind rushed in, biting and wet. Mist clung to their uniforms, and the cry of distant gulls broke the silence.

Logan stepped out first, claws unsheathed with a snikt just to test the air. He crouched, sniffed. “Yeah. Death’s been here.”

“Wonderful,” Banshee muttered, pulling his collar tighter.

Cyclops emerged last, visor gleaming red in the gloom. “All right. Eyes sharp. Stay close.” His voice carried command, but even he felt the weight of the place.

The group crossed the damp stone yard to the lab entrance. The doors hung slightly ajar, a sickly fluorescent light flickering inside.

“Not exactly a warm welcome,” Nightcrawler said, forcing a smile as his yellow eyes darted around. “Do you think they left the lights on for us, or—”

“Quiet,” Logan cut in. His claws retracted with a soft click. He pushed the door open. The smell hit him harder now. Copper. Burnt ozone. Decay masked with antiseptic. His lip curled.

They stepped into the lab. The air was colder inside, the hum of machinery low, oppressive. A monitor buzzed faintly, left running. Papers scattered across the floor, a chair overturned.

Then Colossus froze. “Bozhe moi…”

Against the wall, beneath a half-broken lamp, Polaris lay unconscious on the tiles. Her hair spilled green across the floor like ivy. Her chest rose faintly. Alive. But next to her—

A corpse. Withered, desiccated, skin pulled tight against bone like parchment. Eyes sunken to black pits, mouth stretched in a silent scream.

Storm’s hand flew to her mouth. “By the Goddess…”

Banshee swore under his breath, crossing himself before kneeling beside Polaris. He checked her pulse. “Alive. Weak, but alive. Poor lass.”

“Forget the pleasantries.” Logan crouched over the corpse, sniffing. He grimaced. “Not natural. This body ain’t just dead—it’s been drained. Hollowed. Whatever did this… it’s still around.”

Nightcrawler’s usual humor slipped. “Mein Gott. It is like something sucked the very life from him.”

“Enough gawking.” Cyclops’s voice cracked like a whip. “Fan out. Search every corridor, every lab. We find survivors, we find answers.”

Thunderbird cracked his knuckles, eager. “Finally.”

Colossus gave a grave nod. “Da. Let us find who is responsible.”

Logan lingered a moment by the corpse, eyes narrowing. ‘Smells like fear and ash. Whoever did this… they didn’t just kill. They feasted.’

He stood, flexed his claws with a snikt, and followed the others deeper into the shadowed halls of Muir.

The hunt had begun.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 141 — SCATTERED THROUGH SHADOWS

The halls of Muir were narrow, cold stone lined with sterile lights. Too clean. Too empty. Every footstep echoed like they were walking inside a tomb.

“Fan out,” Cyclops said, visor gleaming as he scanned the corridor ahead. “Pairs. We cover more ground that way.”

Thunderbird grinned, cracking his knuckles. “About time we got to work.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Keep barkin’, rookie. Walls don’t care how loud you are.”

Nightcrawler let out a low chuckle. “I would go with you, Logan. Perhaps I can balance that charm of yours.”

Logan gave him a sideways look. “Great. A clown and a grump. Real subtle pair.”

They split. Storm and Colossus down one hall. Banshee and Thunderbird another. Cyclops stalking alone, visor glowing faintly like a predator’s eye in the dark. Logan and Kurt down the last.

The silence pressed heavy. Machines hummed in the walls, distant, too quiet to be normal.

Storm walked beside Colossus, her eyes tracing every flickering light. “This place… it feels wrong. Like the very air is heavy with dread.”

Colossus kept his massive hands ready. “Da. My skin itches for steel. But we must keep calm. Moira would not abandon her home lightly.”

Back in another wing, Banshee and Thunderbird moved briskly, tension hanging between them.

“Lad, ye might want to rein it in a bit,” Banshee said. “Charge in blind, and ye’ll be on the floor before ye can shout.”

Thunderbird shot him a glare. “Don’t treat me like a kid. I don’t need babysitting.”

“Suit yerself. But I’ll not be carryin’ ye out if ye get knocked on yer arse,” Banshee muttered, though his eyes softened. He remembered his own rashness when he was younger.

Meanwhile, Cyclops pushed into the lab wing alone. His boots rang against tile, echo bouncing. A bed, a desk overturned, monitors humming faint. And there—Jean.

She lay against the sheets, skin pale, lips parted as though whispering in sleep. Scott’s chest tightened. He stepped closer, careful, afraid to wake a dream.

“Jean…” His voice was low, almost gentle. He reached to touch her shoulder.

Her eyes fluttered open. Green light glimmered, but when she looked at him—she smiled.

“Jason,” she breathed, relief flooding her features. “I knew you’d come.”

Scott froze. Every nerve in his body locked. “What?”

Her gaze softened, lids heavy, and she slumped back into unconsciousness. Leaving him staring, hollow.

“Jason…” he whispered, the name tasting bitter. ‘Who the hell is Jason?’

Elsewhere—

A metallic clang echoed as Logan pushed open a steel door. The stench inside made him gag. “Damn.”

Nightcrawler blinked into the room with a BAMF, tail flicking nervously. “What is it?”

On the floor, Havok stirred, rubbing his temple. Beside him, another man groaned—Jamie Madrox, the Multiple Man.

“Alex?!” Logan barked, crossing fast. He sniffed, claws twitching. “You’re alive.”

Havok blinked, disoriented. Then his eyes widened. “Logan? You’re—alive?!”

Jamie sat up, grimacing, clutching his chest. “It’s true… they said you were gone. All of you. But you’re here…” He shook his head in disbelief. “What the hell is going on?”

Logan smirked. “That’s what we’re here to find out, kid.”

Havok staggered to his feet. “We thought—no, we were told you were all—” He stopped himself, still stunned, relief washing over him.

Nightcrawler tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “Looks like the rumors of our deaths were greatly exaggerated.” He gave a little bow. “It is good to see you again, my friends.”

The tension eased just a notch in the room. Just a notch.

And down another corridor, Storm and Colossus opened a door to find Moira McTaggart slumped at her desk, face pale, eyes bloodshot. She jerked awake as they entered, and her first words were a whisper.

“You… you shouldn’t have come.”

Colossus stepped forward, concern etched across his features. “Doctor McTaggart, what has happened here?”

She pressed a hand to her face, shaking her head. “You don’t understand. You’ve walked into something none of you can fight.”

Storm’s voice was firm but gentle. “Tell us. What threatens this island?”

Moira’s eyes glistened. “My son.”

---

The walls of Muir swallowed the team, each in their own corner of dread. Some found friends. Some found truths. And Cyclops—Cyclops found only questions gnawing like fire in his chest.

‘Jason… who the hell is Jason?’

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 142 — GATHERING STORMS

The living room at Muir Island was dim, only a few lamps still working. Rain battered the windows, thunder rolling across the sea. The air smelled of damp stone, antiseptic, and fear.

Polaris lay curled on a couch, covered in blankets. Her green hair clung damp to her forehead, her chest rising shallow but steady. Banshee kept watch at her side, arms folded, eyes hard.

Jamie Madrox sat hunched in a chair, face pale, sweat beading at his brow. His hands wouldn’t stay still, clenching and unclenching as if trying to hold something that kept slipping away.

Across the room, Havok leaned against the wall, arms crossed, still shaking off his disorientation. His gaze darted often toward Cyclops, tension humming unsaid.

Logan paced near the door, claws half-extended, a restless predator penned in by too much talk and not enough action. Nightcrawler perched on the mantel, yellow eyes glowing softly in the half-dark. Storm stood near the window, her silhouette framed by lightning flashes, silent and troubled. Colossus sat by Moira, who hadn’t said a word since they dragged her here.

Cyclops stood at the center, visor gleaming like a furnace. He’d barely spoken since finding Jean. But now his voice cut through the storm outside.

“Alright. Enough silence. We found one corpse already, and we don’t know if there’ll be more. Moira—” He turned to her, sharp, unyielding. “—tell us what we’re up against.”

Moira flinched like the words struck her. She held her head in her hands, breath shaking. “You don’t know what you’re asking…”

“Then make us understand,” Storm said softly, stepping forward. “You owe us that.”

Jamie suddenly lurched forward, voice cracking. “It wasn’t even me who saw him. It was—one of me.” He clutched his chest. “I sent a dupe when Polaris screamed. He reached her first. He saw him. And then—” Jamie’s face twisted, haunted. “—he was gone. Snuffed out. Like a candle.”

Everyone froze.

Jamie’s voice trembled. “I felt it. Like my soul split in half and one half was… erased. Not just killed. Erased. Like he’d never been born.”

Colossus’s fists clenched, metal scraping against itself. “That is monstrous.”

“Yeah,” Logan growled. He crouched low, eyes narrowing on Jamie. “What did he look like? Smell like? Anything.”

Jamie shook his head, anguish spilling across his features. “I don’t know. The dupe saw him. I only… felt it. Felt it go.” He looked down, ashamed, tears threatening. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Banshee placed a hand on his shoulder. “Ye did what ye could, lad. Don’t carry the blame alone.”

Cyclops turned sharply to Moira. “You know what this is. You said as much. Who—what—is he?”

Moira’s breath caught. She looked at each of them, her face lined with guilt, with fear. Finally, her voice broke.

“He is my son.”

The room went dead still.

Havok straightened, stunned. “Your—son?”

Storm’s eyes widened, hand rising to her lips.

Colossus whispered, “Bozhe moi…”

Moira forced herself to meet their eyes. “Kevin. My boy. He was born… different. His father knew before I did. And when his powers manifested…” Her voice cracked. “He could not touch this world without breaking it. His body… it couldn’t contain his gift.”

Cyclops’s tone was like steel. “What kind of gift?”

Moira’s hands trembled as she clutched herself. “Possession. He can burn through flesh like paper and take it for his own. And worse—he bends reality itself. Warps it, reshapes it, until nothing and no one is safe. He is… Proteus. Mutant X.”

Lightning flashed, throwing the room into stark relief.

“Mutant X,” Nightcrawler repeated softly, tail curling tight. “A demon wearing human skin.”

“Don’t give him poetry,” Logan snapped. He slammed his claws out, the sound sharp and final. “Call him what he is. A killer.”

Moira’s eyes filled with tears. “He’s my son!”

“Not anymore,” Logan spat. “Not after what I smelled in that lab.”

“Logan.” Cyclops’s voice cut through like a whip, harsh. “Enough.”

The two locked eyes, tension burning. Then Logan sheathed his claws with a click, pacing back to the shadows of the room.

Storm’s voice was low, almost trembling. “If he needs hosts… then this will not end with one or two bodies.”

“Right,” Cyclops said. He looked around the room, eyes hard beneath the visor. “Which means if we don’t stop him here, he’ll move on. Bigger cities. More people. And none of us will be able to hide.”

The team absorbed it in silence. Every face carried the weight of the storm.

Outside, the sea roared against the cliffs. Inside, every heartbeat pounded like war drums.

And Logan, crouched in the corner, thought to himself: ‘Smells like the hunt’s already started. Only question now… is who’s hunting who.’

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 143— THE TRAIL BEGINS

The rain hadn’t let up. By morning, the sea was raging white against the cliffs, and the X-Men gathered outside Muir Island’s lab in the storm. Wind whipped capes and coats, the kind of weather that made everything feel more dangerous.

Cyclops gave the order like he was born for it. “We check the nearby village first. If Kevin’s moving between hosts, we’ll find a trail.”

“Proteus,” Moira whispered, standing with her coat pulled tight. Her face was pale, haunted. “His name is Proteus.”

Logan lit his cigar against the wind, shielding the flame with his palm. He took a drag, eyes narrowing. “Don’t matter what name you give him, lady. He’s leaving corpses.”

Banshee muttered under his breath, crossing himself again before blowing into his hands for warmth. “Bloody cheery way to start the day.”

The team piled into vehicles and the Blackbird. Cars were faster for the narrow island roads, the plane quicker for distance. Logan took the wheel of one car—because nobody argued with him when he growled “I drive.” Nightcrawler rode shotgun, tail flicking restlessly. Colossus and Thunderbird loaded into the second. The flyers—Storm, Jean, Banshee—took to the skies, cutting through the stormclouds like black arrows.

The village was quiet, almost too quiet. Stone cottages hunched against the rain, smoke curling weakly from chimneys. A police cordon ringed one of the back alleys, and the X-Men walked straight past the officers’ protests.

What they found inside turned every stomach.

Another husk. Another body shriveled like dry paper, limbs twisted, skin sucked tight to the bone. A man this time—middle-aged, still in his work clothes, his face frozen in terror.

Storm closed her eyes, breathing hard. “This is no death by natural cause. This is desecration.”

“Agreed,” Colossus rumbled, crossing himself in quiet steel.

One of the policemen—an older sergeant with tired eyes—stepped forward. “We’ve never seen the like. Found him just after dawn. No sign o’ struggle, no witnesses. Like he just—dried up on the spot.”

“Not dried,” Logan said, crouching over the corpse, inhaling deep. He grimaced, ash and copper hitting the back of his throat. “Drained. Like a leech with legs.”

Cyclops knelt, visor glowing faintly as he studied the alley. “If he needs hosts, he won’t stop. This village won’t be enough.”

“Big city,” Jean said softly. Her eyes were distant, voice almost not her own. “So many lives. So many bodies to burn through.” She shivered, hugging herself.

Banshee glanced at her sharply. “Jean? Ye alright, lass?”

“I—” She blinked, shook her head. “Yes. Just… thinking too far ahead.”

But Logan watched her, eyes narrowing. Her heartbeat skipped in a way that didn’t sit right.

Cyclops stood. His voice was iron, cutting through the drizzle. “We don’t wait for him to make the next move. We split. Cover more ground.”

Logan bristled instantly. “Splitting up is a good way to get picked off, Summers.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Scott shot back. “One team won’t be enough to cover the roads out of here, or the air. He could already be gone.”

Thunderbird cracked his knuckles, grinning. “Fine by me. The sooner I get my hands on this bastard, the better.”

“Always so eager,” Banshee muttered.

Cyclops started laying out assignments. “Logan and Nightcrawler in one car. Colossus and Thunderbird in the other. The flyers—Storm, Jean, Banshee—take the skies. Sweep the countryside, check the roads, check the villages.”

“Divide and conquer,” Storm said, her voice calm but heavy with doubt.

“Divide and find,” Scott corrected. “We regroup at sundown. No exceptions.”

Moira grabbed his arm, desperation flashing in her eyes. “Scott, you don’t understand—Kevin’s power isn’t just possession. He twists reality. Nothing is safe near him. He’ll tear you apart without even meaning to.”

Scott’s jaw set like stone. “Then we stop him before he gets the chance.”

Lightning split the sky behind them, thunder cracking like a war drum. Each team turned to their assignments. Engines roared to life. Wings spread against the storm.

Logan flicked his cigar into the rain, muttering under his breath as he pulled onto the road. “Hell of a day for a hunt.”

Nightcrawler smirked despite himself, tail swaying. “At least we are the hunters, ja?”

Logan didn’t answer. His claws tapped the wheel in rhythm with his heartbeat.

‘Hunt’s only fair when the prey can’t turn the world upside-down.’

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 144— THE HUNTRESS AND THE ILLUSION

The Blackbird carved through the storm like a blade, thunder rolling on its tail. Storm, Jean, and Banshee sat in silence for most of the flight. The rain hammered the glass, lightning strobed over their faces.

Jean sat by the window, staring down at the Scottish highlands below. Grey mist. Green earth. The world looked fragile from here, like it could be swallowed whole.

Storm’s voice broke the silence. Calm. Centered. “I can feel the air pressure shifting. The land is uneasy.”

“Ororo, the land doesn’t get uneasy,” Banshee muttered, arms folded. “It’s us that’s uneasy.”

Storm turned her head, one white brow lifting. “Then perhaps you should listen to the land more, Sean.”

Jean almost smiled at their bickering, but it slipped too easily into the ache in her chest. Scott’s face lingered in her mind. Except it wasn’t always Scott’s face anymore.

‘Jason. Why do I keep seeing you?’

The thought came unbidden, like a thorn snagging her.

Then the world shifted.

One blink, and the rain was gone. The storm sky turned gold and blue, endless and warm. Her seat was no longer leather, but saddle. Her hands gripped reins, not harness. She gasped as a horse thundered beneath her.

Around her, others rode—hunters in medieval garb, lances gleaming, horns blowing. And beside her, smiling, steady, Jason Wyngarde. His eyes warm. His voice smooth as silk.

“There you are, my dear,” he said, like he’d always been there. “Riding at my side, where you belong.”

Jean’s breath caught. Her heart stumbled in her chest. She knew this was wrong. She knew. But her body leaned toward him like it had been waiting years.

“I—Jason?”

His smile widened. “Who else, my love?”

The hunt pressed on. Hounds barked. The ground shook. Ahead, a deer bounded through the woods, eyes wide with fear. Jason leaned forward, urging his horse faster. “The kill is yours, Jean. Take it!”

Something in her rebelled. Her fingers trembled around the reins. “I… don’t…”

Jason looked back at her, laughing. “Don’t tell me you’ve grown soft? It was your idea, after all—putting horns on men to make the hunt more thrilling.”

Her stomach lurched. The deer ahead faltered—and in a blink, it wasn’t a deer. It was a man, staggering, antlers strapped to his skull, eyes wide with horror.

“No—!”

Her scream tore the illusion apart. The golden sky shattered, the thunder roared back in. She was in the Blackbird again, breath ragged, hands clutching at nothing.

“Jean!” Storm’s hand gripped her shoulder. Concern deep and steady. “What happened?”

Jean’s face was pale. Her hands shook. She forced herself to speak, but her voice was brittle. “I… saw him. Jason. And I almost—”

Her words cut off as her eyes dropped to the land below. Another body lay sprawled at the edge of a field, shriveled, mummified. A farmer, dead mid-step, tools still clutched in his hands.

Jean pressed a fist to her mouth, sick rising in her throat.

‘God, what’s happening to me? I was ready to kill. I wanted to.’

Banshee leaned forward, squinting through the window. “Storm, bring us down. Now.”

Storm’s jaw set as she angled the Blackbird toward the ground. But her eyes never left Jean’s pale, trembling face.

And Jean… Jean couldn’t shake the warmth in her chest when she thought of Jason’s smile.

‘Why does it feel more real than Scott’s touch?’

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 145 — THE TRAP ON THE ROAD

Rain sheeted down in silver curtains across the narrow road. The car’s wipers squeaked in rhythm, struggling to keep the windshield clear. Logan hunched over the wheel, cigar clamped in his teeth, smoke curling despite the cracked window and the storm’s wet breath.

Beside him, Nightcrawler lounged in the passenger seat, tail twitching lazily, yellow eyes scanning the shadows. He’d been quiet a while—too quiet for Logan’s liking.

“You’re thinkin’ loud, elf,” Logan muttered, eyes on the road.

Kurt chuckled softly. “Ach, you can hear my thoughts now? I should charge rent, ja?”

Logan snorted. “Don’t need telepathy. You wriggle your tail like that, means somethin’s eatin’ ya.”

Nightcrawler’s smile dimmed. He leaned back, arms crossed. “It is just… Moira’s words. Reality twisting. Possession. I cannot fight what I cannot see.”

Logan puffed out smoke, eyes narrowing through the rain. “You fight with what you got. Not with what you don’t. Trick is not lettin’ the other guy know what you got.”

Kurt tilted his head, studying him. “And what do you have, mein freund?”

Logan’s lips twitched into a grin, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Claws. And a nose that don’t lie.”

The words weren’t out two heartbeats before the flash of blue and red lit up the rain. A police car. Siren wailing.

Logan slowed, rolling the car to a stop. The cruiser pulled up alongside, and a burly officer stepped out. Hat pulled low, rain dripping off the brim.

Nightcrawler leaned forward, blinking. “Strange. Police, here? I thought Moira said—”

But Logan’s nostrils flared.

The smell hit him like a hammer. Ozone. Rot. That coppery tang of the corpses. He felt his claws twitch in their housings. His whole body tensed.

‘Gotcha, bub.’

The cop stepped closer, flashlight cutting through the rain. “License and registration.”

Logan’s lip curled. He flicked ash into the wet road. “Sure thing, officer.”

And then he lunged.

SNIKT.

The claws sang out, steel flashing under the stormlight. The officer staggered back, eyes wide—not with fear, but with something deeper. A warped shimmer rippled over his face, skin bending like water.

Nightcrawler shouted, “Mein Gott—Logan!”

The cop screamed—a sound like glass shattering and metal grinding at once. His eyes blazed white. “You—YOU BURN!”

It hit Logan instantly. A pressure. Something invasive, like claws digging into his skull from the inside. A hand trying to grab his mind, rip it open, crawl inside.

Logan roared, slamming his fists to his temples. But then—nothing.

The invader’s scream doubled, twisted into agony. The “cop” staggered back, clutching his head. “Metal—your bones—they’re poison to me!”

Logan bared his teeth, crouching low. “Should’ve picked another ride, bub.”

Reality rippled. The road bent sideways. Rain froze in midair. The police car twisted like a toy, shrinking, stretching, then exploding into a storm of butterflies that evaporated in the wind.

“Logan!” Nightcrawler teleported with a BAMF, reappearing behind him. His tail lashed, his stance ready. “He’s warping everything!”

Proteus—no longer masked—straightened, his form half-solid, half-light. His voice was a hiss and a scream in one. “You cannot fight what I am!”

Logan’s claws gleamed as he stepped forward. “Funny. Folks been sayin’ that to me my whole damn life.”

The ground beneath them cracked open, the road becoming a writhing pit. Nightcrawler leapt, teleporting midair, reappearing on a warped lamppost that had bent into a spiral. Logan held his ground, claws digging into the asphalt to anchor himself.

For every strike, Proteus twisted the world. A tree became a writhing snake. A puddle became fire. Logan swung at shadows that were solid, dodged solid things that dissolved like smoke.

Nightcrawler darted in and out, teleporting behind Proteus, kicking, striking, but the blows landed like fists on fog.

Then Proteus snarled, his eyes locking on Kurt. “You—pretty demon. You’ll wear well.”

A wave of force slammed Nightcrawler into the air, spinning him toward the pit below.

Logan didn’t think. He dove, caught Kurt midair, the momentum nearly dragging them both down. He snarled, stabbing his claws into the road, anchoring them as the warped pit yawned beneath.

Nightcrawler’s chest heaved, eyes wide. “You… saved me?”

“Don’t go spreadin’ it around,” Logan growled, hauling them both back onto solid ground.

Before they could regroup, a roar of wind split the storm. Lightning slashed the sky.

Storm descended, her cape snapping like a banner, eyes white with fury. “Proteus!” she cried, her voice a thunderclap.

She unleashed a gale so strong the rain blasted sideways, trees uprooted, the world itself bowing to her wrath. Proteus staggered, form flickering—but still he walked forward, one step at a time, against the hurricane.

Storm hovered, arms spread, wind howling. “You will not touch my friends!”

Proteus only smiled, his warped grin cutting across the storm. “Wind breaks, lightning fades. But I—I do not.”

Nightcrawler tried to rise, but Logan shoved him down, crouching low, claws digging into the earth. “Stay down, elf. You’ll get torn apart.”

The gale screamed louder, Logan shielding them both with his body, claws stabbing deep to hold them fast. The world around them blurred into chaos—wind, rain, light, shadow—Proteus still advancing through it all.

And Storm, straining with all her power, realized he wasn’t slowing.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 146 — BULLETS IN THE STORM

The gale shrieked over the cliffs, rain turning sideways, tearing at stone and earth. Storm hovered in the eye of her own hurricane, hair wild, cloak snapping like a banner of war. Her arms were spread wide, every breath a command to the storm.

And still—Proteus walked forward.

He moved through the gale as if each step rewrote the world around him. The road bent under his feet, puddles rippled into fire then froze to glass, and his eyes gleamed like twin suns. Every lash of lightning struck close but never touched him, reality itself warping to shield him.

Storm’s voice rose above the storm, iron and thunder wrapped together. “You will not take me, Proteus! You will not take ANY of us!”

Proteus tilted his head, that warped grin cutting across his face. “You think the wind can hide you? Can save you? I see you. I will WEAR you.”

He lifted his hand, light warping, space bending as he closed the distance step by step. Storm’s breath hitched—she could feel his presence sliding toward her, a hand ready to rip her soul from her bones.

Then—

BANG!

The bullet whistled through the storm, cracking the air between them.

Proteus stopped, startled, his head whipping toward the sound. His face twisted—not fear exactly, but something close. A tremor.

“Metal,” he hissed.

Another shot rang out. He stumbled back, his warped skin shivering at the impact. The storm made it impossible to trace the angle, the sound carried everywhere.

Proteus snarled, eyes darting wildly. “WHO—DARES?!”

BANG! Another bullet drove him back further. He twisted the ground beneath him into jagged spikes, but the metal lodged into his reality, breaking through the illusions.

Storm’s eyes widened, recognition dawning. “Moira—”

Proteus’s fury boiled over, his face breaking into fractured distortions. He raised his hands to rend the wind itself—

BANG!

The shot screamed for his skull. He jerked aside at the last instant, the bullet shaving past his ear with a hiss of metal and flesh. For the first time, he faltered. His form flickered, and fear gripped him.

Proteus roared, a sound like shattering mirrors, and bolted. His body warped into light and shadow as he hurled himself into a parked car. The vehicle groaned, warped, then roared to life under his control. Tires screamed on wet pavement as he vanished down the road.

The storm eased, Storm dropping to her knees, breath ragged.

And there, on the cliffs above, Moira MacTaggart lowered her smoking rifle.

Her hands trembled, her face hollow. Rain streaked her cheeks but could not hide the tears.

Her son. Her Kevin. She had pulled the trigger. Again and again.

Her heart screamed at her. Her hands had acted anyway.

Footsteps splashed behind her. She turned—and Cyclops was there, visor glowing faint through the rain, his face drawn tight.

He saw the rifle in her hands. Saw the smoke curling. Saw the war inside her eyes.

“You—” he began.

Moira’s voice cracked, fury and despair tangled. “I had him, Scott. I HAD HIM! Why did you stop me?!”

She swung the rifle back up, aiming down at the road where Proteus had fled, but Cyclops’s hand shot out, pushing the barrel skyward. “Because we don’t kill! The X-Men don’t kill!”

Moira’s whole body shook, her finger twitching against the trigger. Her eyes locked on his visor, pleading and broken. “He’s not just my son—he’s a MONSTER! Every minute you hesitate, another life ends. You don’t understand—I can’t let him live!”

Scott’s jaw clenched, rain dripping from his visor. His voice was steady but heavy as stone. “We capture him. We find a way. But we DON’T become murderers. Not even for this.”

For one long, bitter second, Moira stared into his visor—saw her reflection, small, trembling, desperate.

Then she snarled through her tears and slammed the butt of the rifle into his gut.

Cyclops grunted, staggered, air leaving his lungs. He dropped to one knee, clutching his stomach.

Moira’s lips trembled. “I’m sorry, Scott.”

He heard it, faint, as the blackness pressed in. “I can’t let him kill anymore.”

Cyclops collapsed, unconscious on the cliffside.

Moira stood over him, hands shaking so violently she nearly dropped the rifle. She looked once more down the storm-wracked road where Proteus had fled.

And she knew. She could see the pattern, the direction.

Her son was heading for one place.

Joseph.

Her steps broke into a run, rifle clutched tight, the storm still raging behind her.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 147 — A MOTHER’S PATH

The storm had broken into scattered rain by the time the X-Men gathered again inside the battered farmhouse that served as their makeshift base. The roof dripped. The floor smelled of wet boots and gun oil. Tension, thicker than the humidity, pressed in on all of them.

Colossus leaned heavy against a wooden beam that groaned under his weight, his armored hands clasped in frustration. “He is… like smoke. We cannot hold him, cannot strike him. Even I—” He flexed his steel fingers, the metal squealing softly, “—I feel useless.”

Nightcrawler, perched awkwardly on the back of a chair, his tail twitching with agitation, gave a sharp-toothed grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Mein freund, if it helps, you look very impressive while feeling useless.”

“Not the time, elf,” Logan muttered from where he crouched by the window, a cigar stub wet between his teeth. He sniffed, wrinkled his nose at the damp air. “Still got his stink out there. Like burnt copper and bile. But he’s slippery. Ain’t lingerin’ long enough for me to pin it.”

Banshee paced with restless energy, running a hand through his wet hair. “We’re chasin’ shadows. Proteus keeps runnin’, bendin’ the world, and we’re always two steps behind. We can’t keep this up.”

Cyclops staggered back into the room then, one hand pressed against his stomach where Moira’s rifle butt had found him. His face was pale, jaw set hard. The others turned at once.

“Scott?” Storm stepped forward, concern cutting through her usual regal composure.

“I’m fine,” he lied, his voice sharp as he straightened. “Moira’s gone after him. Alone.”

A silence dropped like a weight.

“Alone?!” Havok shot up from the sofa, fists already crackling with plasma. “She knows what he is! She knows what he can do!”

“She also knows him better than anyone,” Jean said quietly. She had been silent until now, her green eyes closed as if straining against something. Her voice trembled. “I can… feel her. The fear. The anger. It’s pulling her somewhere.”

Logan’s head snapped toward her. “You can track her?”

Jean nodded slowly, fingertips brushing her temple. “Not her exactly. But the emotion—raw, jagged. It’s… maternal, desperate. She’s heading for him, but not to stop him. To warn someone.”

Storm’s brow furrowed. “Who?”

Jean’s eyes opened, troubled. “Her husband.”

Nightcrawler blinked, cocking his head. “Husband? She has a—”

“Joseph McTaggart,” Cyclops cut in, bitterness in his tone. “A politician. Cold as stone. The man who—” He stopped himself, eyes narrowing behind his visor. “That’s where she’s going.”

---

Moira’s car screeched to a halt in front of the stone-faced mansion that squatted on the cliff’s edge. She sat behind the wheel, knuckles white on the rifle. Her stomach was a fist of dread. She had left this place long ago. Left him. But she hadn’t left alone.

The door creaked as she stepped inside. The air was thick with expensive whiskey and the faint stench of old rage.

Joseph McTaggart looked older, broader around the waist, but his eyes were the same. Cold, entitled, sharp enough to cut. He turned when he heard her steps, disbelief cracking across his face.

“Moira,” he spat, as if the name itself was poison. “After all these years, you think you can just—” His gaze dropped to the rifle in her hands. “What in God’s name are you playing at?”

She lifted her chin, voice raw but firm. “Joseph. You need to listen. He’s coming here.”

Joseph laughed, a bitter bark. “Who? Your mutant friends? Did they finally tire of your little charity case?”

Her throat clenched, but she forced the words out. “I didn’t leave here alone. The day I left you, I carried more than my suitcase. I carried your child.”

The words hit him like a blow. His face went red, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping on the pier. “My—what?” His voice broke into a roar. “You hid this from me for twenty bloody years?!”

Moira’s voice shook, but her grip on the rifle stayed firm. “I hid him from you because you’re cruel. Because you’d have broken him before he even learned to walk. Because he deserved better than to be raised under your roof.”

Joseph surged forward, rage blotting out reason. “You lying witch—” He raised a hand, the old instinct to strike flaring up—

But Moira raised the rifle in one smooth motion, eyes burning with something harder than fear.

Joseph froze, staring at the barrel inches from his chest.

“You’ll not lay a hand on me ever again,” she whispered.

For a moment, only the sound of their ragged breathing filled the room.

Then she lowered the rifle and turned, her shoulders trembling as she forced herself toward the door.

Behind her, Joseph’s voice thundered with wounded pride. “You can’t keep him from me! He’s my son! Do you hear me, Moira?! He’s MINE!”

She didn’t look back.

---

Outside, rain still fell in silver sheets. Moira climbed back into her car, chest heaving, tears mixing with the rain on her cheeks. She gripped the steering wheel, staring into the night.

She never noticed the shadow seeping through the cracks of Joseph’s mansion.

Inside, Proteus smiled as he slid into his father’s body. The man’s fury, his arrogance, his rotten core—it was like sinking into warm water.

Joseph McTaggart ceased to be.

Proteus stepped outside, wearing his father’s flesh like a crown. Reality bent around him, the street twisting like taffy, the car warping as Moira’s eyes widened in horror.

And at that same moment, far down the road, Jean gasped, clutching her head. “Oh God. He’s there. With her.”

The X-Men sprang to their feet, resolve hardening.

Cyclops raised his hand, his voice steady even through the weight of dread. “Let’s move. Now.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 148 — THE FATHER’S BODY

The night air was heavy with rain and dread. The Blackbird touched down half a mile from the McTaggart estate, its turbines still whining as the team sprinted across wet grass and broken stone walls. No one spoke—no one needed to. They all felt it, the way reality shivered ahead of them like a fever dream.

Logan was first to slow, nose wrinkling. “He’s here,” he growled. His claws snikted out, glinting even under the storm-dark sky. “Smells like rot wrapped in rage.”

Cyclops held up a fist, signaling them to fan out. Storm floated a few feet above the ground, lightning flickering in her eyes. Colossus clanked beside Banshee, while Nightcrawler crouched low, tail coiling and uncoiling like a whip.

Havok muttered, “This feels wrong. Everything feels… tilted.”

He wasn’t wrong. The closer they drew, the worse it became. Trees bent in impossible arcs, their branches folding like paper cranes. The cobblestone road rippled as if it were liquid. The McTaggart house itself swayed and groaned, windows sliding like eyes in a skull.

Then they heard it—Moira’s voice, choked with terror.

“KEVIN—NO!”

They rounded the bend, and the sight froze even Logan in his tracks.

Joseph McTaggart—and yet not Joseph anymore—stood in the middle of the street, his features twisting and stretching like hot wax. One moment he was tall, another squat, another warped so badly it hurt to look. Around him, cars melted into puddles of chrome. Lamp posts curled like snakes.

Moira stumbled backward, rifle raised, her face pale.

Proteus’s voice came out layered, half Joseph’s bellow, half something alien. “Mother. You should be proud. Father and I… we are one now.”

Colossus rumbled, his steel skin glinting under warped streetlights. “He defiles his own father’s body.”

“Not defiles,” Proteus sneered, his voice echoing. “Perfects.”

Cyclops snapped his visor into place, stance rigid. “X-Men—contain him. No killing blow. We drain him out.”

“Easier said than done, Summers,” Logan growled, crouching low. “This bastard bends the world like wet clay.”

Proteus flicked a hand. Reality screamed. The road buckled, swallowing Colossus up to his knees. Banshee opened his mouth, let out a sonic blast that shattered the warped cobblestones—but Proteus waved again, and the sound bent sideways, slamming into Nightcrawler and sending him sprawling.

“Mein Gott!” Kurt gasped, rolling, tail lashing. “He twisted the very air! How do we fight this?”

“Same way we fight everything,” Logan snarled, launching himself forward. “Up close an’ ugly.”

He swung, claws gleaming—but Proteus recoiled, a genuine shriek bursting from him as the adamantium neared. The warped Joseph-face split into a scream. “METAL—NO!”

“Thought so,” Logan grinned savagely. “Ain’t a fan of the hardware, eh?”

Proteus hurled him back with a swipe, the world itself cracking and hurling Logan into a streetlamp that bent like rubber around him. Logan spat blood, rolled, already pushing up again. His healing burned, stitching ribs.

Storm lifted both arms, voice carrying like thunder. “X-Men—strike together! We are more than his illusions!” Lightning split the sky, slamming into Proteus’s warped form. For a heartbeat, his outline jittered, the stolen body flickering like a bad film reel.

“Ahh… mother’s friends think themselves strong,” Proteus hissed. “But I can taste you all. Your fears. Your loves. Your doubts.” His warped eyes locked on Moira, narrowing. “And I know where to break you.”

Logan staggered back into formation beside her, claws still dripping. He smelled it—the predator’s intent. Proteus wasn’t just lashing out. He was hunting.

He muttered low so only she heard. “He’s lookin’ at you like prey. Stick close.”

Moira’s hands trembled on the rifle. “He’s… my boy. My Kevin.”

Logan’s eyes were hard. “Not anymore, darlin’. That thing wearin’ your son’s skin ain’t leavin’ you alive if you don’t let me stand in front.”

Proteus raised both arms. The street around them began to melt, cars twisting into skeletal beasts of chrome and glass. The X-Men braced as the world itself lunged for them.

And through it all, Proteus advanced, every step aimed straight at Moira.

Cyclops barked, “Hold formation! Don’t let him—”

But Logan had already stepped out ahead, claws crossed before him, his body low and ready.

“Bub,” he growled, eyes locked on the warped mockery of Joseph, “if you want her, you gotta get through me first.”

The night screamed as reality shattered again.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 149 — CITY OF GLASS

The scream of twisting steel drowned the night. Buildings leaned like drunks, windows liquefying into molten mirrors. Streets rippled like water, cobblestones splitting, reforming, slithering. Cars folded into origami beasts, chrome jaws snapping at nothing.

Proteus stood at the epicenter, Joseph’s borrowed face half-melted, half-maddened, eyes blazing with warped light. His voice tore through the chaos, not merely sound but a distortion that cracked the air.

“YOU WILL NOT KEEP HER FROM ME!”

Logan crouched low, claws already bared, Moira pressed tight against his side. His nose stung with ozone, copper, and something rotten beneath. “City’s gone funhouse,” he muttered, spitting grit from his teeth. “Ain’t smellin’ straight. He’s everywhere.”

Cyclops snapped orders sharp and fast, visor gleaming red in fractured streetlight. “Storm, Banshee—crowd control! Clear civilians out of here now! Colossus, Havok, with me—we hold Proteus at bay. Nightcrawler, split yourself between rescue and reinforcement. Jean—” He faltered, looking at her. She stood pale, her eyes lit with psychic fire. “…Back us up as best you can.”

Storm rose into the sky, rain whipping around her like a cloak. “People scatter like leaves,” she said, her voice thunderous. “I will herd them from the storm!”

Banshee gave a sharp grin despite the tension. “Nothin’ like a night stroll in the park, eh?” Then he unleashed a banshee-wail that shattered a warped wall collapsing toward fleeing civilians, buying them precious seconds to escape.

Nightcrawler bamfed into the mess of screams and rubble, snatching a child from a sinking street that tried to swallow her whole. “Do not fear, kleine!” he called, reappearing atop a warped lamppost with her clutched tight. “Your guardian angel is blue tonight!”

Meanwhile, Proteus turned his gaze on Cyclops and Havok, a smile curdling across his not-quite-human mouth. “Brothers of light. Burn each other for me.” His fingers twitched, and the very air refracted like glass.

“On me!” Cyclops shouted, unleashing a precision optic blast. Havok’s plasma flared beside it. Both beams bent midair, ricocheting toward each other. The brothers cursed, ducking aside as their own firepower nearly carved them down.

“Scott—watch it!” Havok barked, rolling behind a warped car that oozed metal like wax.

“I’m watching!” Cyclops shot back, sweat beading beneath his visor. “Focus—we’re keeping him busy!”

Colossus charged, his steel boots pounding against ground that flexed like rubber. He swung a mighty fist—only for Proteus to make his arm stretch like putty, the punch warping wide. Colossus staggered, jaw tightening. “He… mocks our strength!”

Logan’s eyes flicked around the kaleidoscope world. Too much distortion, too many traps. He shoved Moira into the shadow of a collapsed wall. “Stay low. Don’t care if it’s your boy wearin’ that skin—if he gets near, I gut him.”

Moira’s eyes glistened with tears she refused to shed. “Logan… he’s still Kevin. He was my baby once.”

Logan gritted his teeth, nostrils flaring. “Maybe. But right now he’s a rabid dog. An’ rabid dogs don’t get mercy.”

Proteus roared, flinging his arms wide. Entire buildings leaned in, as if the city itself were collapsing toward the X-Men. Screams echoed as Storm and Banshee guided the last of the civilians to safety, their powers stretched to breaking.

Storm’s voice crackled over comms, strained but resolute. “The people are clear. The city is dying, but they are safe.”

“Then it’s just us,” Cyclops said, raising his head toward the chaos. “X-Men—prepare for the real fight.”

Logan spat the cigar stub he’d been chewing into the warped dirt and rolled his shoulders, claws gleaming. “Finally.”

The team closed ranks, Proteus towering before them, his body splitting and reforming like a film reel stuck between frames. He grinned wide, teeth too many, eyes too bright.

“You can save them,” he hissed, voice splitting the night, “but you can’t save yourselves.”

The X-Men stood their ground as the city melted around them.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 150 — THE FRACTURE

The air itself screamed.

Proteus, no longer content with bending buildings, reached deeper—into the marrow of reality. Roads curled like scrolls, sky flickered between night and day in pulses. The world buckled, threatening to fold the X-Men into paper dolls.

Jean floated into the chaos, fire in her eyes. “Kevin—STOP!” Her voice quavered, but her mind struck with all the steel she had left. She hurled a psychic blast like a spear into Proteus’s warped skull.

His shriek split glass and bone alike. “AGHHHH—MOTHER’S PET WITCH!” The Joseph-shell convulsed, its face melting into a thousand masks—father, child, stranger, corpse.

Jean pressed harder, sweat pouring, every nerve alight. Hold him. Just hold him—

But the backlash hit like a hammer. Proteus lashed out, his mind boiling over hers. Jean’s scream cut short as invisible fingers ripped her balance away, sending her plummeting.

“JEAN!” Cyclops shouted, tearing his visor open in a crimson blast to catch her fall. The beam missed—Proteus twisted it into the ground, splitting the earth. Jean spiraled helplessly.

Logan’s body moved before thought. He launched, claws slicing reality itself, and raked Proteus across the back. Black ichor spilled, Joseph’s body howling.

“Didn’t like that, huh?” Logan snarled, teeth bared. “You bleed, you can die.”

Proteus whipped around, warping the ground beneath him. Logan staggered as the street turned to tar, dragging at his boots, clutching his legs like hungry hands.

“Little beast,” Proteus hissed, teeth warping, voice doubled. “I’ll fold you until you scream.”

Logan strained, claws thrashing, tar climbing to his waist. “Already screamin’ inside, bub.” His grin was feral even as the muck swallowed him.

High above, Jean tumbled, arms flailing. Storm dove, wind roaring, catching her sister-in-arms just before impact. Jean gasped against her chest, pale but alive.

“Easy, child,” Storm murmured, cradling her. “You fought bravely. Rest now.”

Proteus reeled, but the onslaught was far from over.

Cyclops, Havok, and Banshee regrouped, circling like wolves around a bear.

“On three!” Cyclops barked. “One—two—THREE!”

His optic beam cut red. Havok’s plasma burst gold. Banshee’s wail split the night.

The three-pronged assault hit Proteus from different sides, staggering him, tearing chunks from his collapsing host. For the first time, doubt flickered in his warped eyes.

But Proteus laughed. A sound like knives on glass. He twisted his fingers, and the beams bent back, ricocheting wild.

“BROTHER, LOOK OUT!” Havok shouted as Cyclops’ blast swerved toward him. He dropped, plasma exploding sideways instead—nearly catching Banshee mid-scream.

The three staggered apart, their own fire snapping at them.

Proteus sneered, Joseph’s face stretching like clay. “Fight yourselves for me. Dance.”

Before he could press the advantage, a shadow plummeted from the sky.

Thunderbird.

He slammed into Proteus with the force of a meteor, fists like piledrivers. The impact cracked the street in a shockwave. Proteus screamed, Joseph’s body ripping apart under the strain.

“Got you, freak!” Thunderbird bellowed, fists hammering. “You’re not taking my people, not today!”

The Joseph-shell quivered, split down the middle. Proteus burst free, the flesh husk collapsing like a shed skin.

Now he was energy—raw, burning, formless. His body blazed like living aurora, a kaleidoscope of hunger.

Thunderbird staggered back, chest heaving. “What in—”

Proteus struck, blasting him with pure distortion, sending him sprawling into wreckage. The light-creature advanced, tendrils reaching.

“This shell burns out,” Proteus hissed, his voice now layered with a dozen tones. “Yours will do nicely.”

Thunderbird groaned, struggling to rise. Proteus loomed, radiant jaws yawning wide.

And then—bamf.

Sulfur and smoke.

Nightcrawler appeared at Thunderbird’s side, grabbed him tight, and vanished again in another burst of brimstone. Proteus lashed, chasing, but found only empty space.

From the warped skyline, a new shadow fell—Polaris, emerald aura glowing, Moira clutched against her.

Behind them, Colossus plummeted like a falling star, steel body glinting. He landed in a quake, standing tall in front of the blazing Proteus.

The energy-thing flickered, uncertain.

Colossus clenched his fist, voice steady. “You are no longer man, Kevin. You are hunger only. I cannot let you feed.”

And with a roar, he drove his steel fist into Proteus’s chest.

The world went white.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 151— STEEL AND SHATTERED LOVE

Colossus’s fist met living energy.

For one frozen instant, the city was silent—no screams, no warped bending of glass and stone, just the soundless collision of steel and nightmare. Then Proteus howled, a shriek of torn atoms, his body fracturing in a storm of color.

The kaleidoscope tore skyward, shards of impossible light scattering like stained glass in a hurricane. The air burned cold and hot all at once. Proteus’s form collapsed inward, collapsing, collapsing—until he detonated in a shockwave of shattered reality.

The street buckled, cars flipped, windows imploded. Then, silence again.

Colossus staggered, steam rising from his armored frame. He looked at his glowing fist in disbelief. “I… I did not know.” His Russian accent cracked. “I did not know he would—”

Polaris lowered with Moira clutched in her magnetic field. Moira’s eyes were wide, her face pale as paper. The moment her feet touched the ground, she dropped to her knees.

“No,” she whispered, voice breaking. “No, Kevin—my boy…” Her body convulsed with sobs, a mother torn between relief and ruin.

Polaris bent, steadying her. “You did what you had to,” she said softly, though her own lips trembled.

Moira shook her head violently. “Don’t tell me that. Don’t—” She buried her face in her hands. “I thought I wanted him dead, I thought I hated Joseph, I thought—but God help me, I loved them both. And now—”

She could not finish. The sobs tore her raw.

A hand touched her shoulder.

“Moira.” The voice was warm, laced with ache. Banshee knelt beside her, his ginger hair wild, his blue eyes misted. He gathered her against him with a tenderness that cut through the wreckage.

“Cry if ye must, lass,” Sean whispered, holding her steady. “Cry until the fire leaves ye. No mother should face what ye faced. But hear me now—none o’ this blood is on your hands. Kevin was lost long before tonight. Ye loved him. That love’s the only thing that kept him human at all.”

Moira clutched him, shaking. “Sean…”

He pulled her close, her sobs muffled against his chest. For a moment, Banshee’s usual mirth was gone; only the man remained, steady as stone in a world still trembling.

Nearby, the X-Men gathered slowly from the wreckage.

Jean, leaning on Storm, eyes hollow but resolute. Cyclops standing tall but with guilt carving his face. Havok silent, staring at his brother, wishing there was something to fix. Thunderbird pacing like a caged lion, fists still clenching from the fight. Nightcrawler appearing in soft bamfs, checking for survivors. Logan crouched on a broken curb, cigar between bloodied teeth, watching Moira’s grief with an unreadable face.

‘This ain’t victory,’ he thought. ‘This is just survivin’. Big damn difference.’

Storm lifted her gaze to the sky, voice quiet but carrying. “We fought a god tonight and won. Yet our triumph is ash in the mouth.”

Colossus, his steel skin finally rippling back to flesh, hung his head. “I did not mean to destroy him,” he said, guilt etched deep. “I thought only to stop him, not—”

Logan spat smoke. “Kid, don’t twist yourself in knots. He was already gone.” He flicked ash to the ground. “Sometimes the kindest thing you can do is end the pain. Don’t mean it don’t cut deep. Just means it’s done.”

Moira’s sobs softened, her strength finally breaking into exhaustion. Banshee rocked her gently, murmuring quiet Irish words no one else understood. Polaris hovered nearby, torn between comforting and grieving herself.

The team stood amidst the wreckage of a city bent and broken, the silence heavy as a tomb.

Cyclops drew a long breath. “X-Men,” he said, his voice grim but steady. “We came here to save lives. We did. But the cost—” He stopped, words faltering.

Jean took his hand quietly. “We’ll carry it together.”

And in that moment, amidst ash and fractured reality, the X-Men stood not as warriors but as family, holding the weight of loss in their hearts.

Above them, the aurora remnants of Proteus’s passing flickered once, then faded into the night sky.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 152— FAREWELL ON THE LANDING PAD

The morning mist clung low over Muir Island, rolling in soft waves off the sea. The Blackbird rested on the pad like some sleek predator bird that had finally come home to roost. Around it, the X-Men gathered—scarred, tired, but together.

Logan lit up, the match flare cutting through the fog. He exhaled smoke and leaned against the plane’s landing gear, watching the others with half-lidded eyes.

Cyclops stood near the ramp, arms crossed, his visor reflecting the gray sky. Colossus stretched stiff shoulders, metal skin gleaming in the damp air before he let it roll back to flesh. Nightcrawler crouched atop a railing, tail swaying as he hummed some German tune, quiet but steady. Thunderbird paced like a caged tiger, restless energy bouncing from step to step.

Jean and Storm stood together, their voices low, faces pale but composed. Havok leaned against a crate, Polaris hovering near him with eyes that never quite settled. Moira was there too, her hair a windblown mess, exhaustion etched into every line of her face. Jamie sat nearby, pale and wrapped in bandages, still trying to smile through the pain.

It should’ve been a normal farewell. It wasn’t. Too much had been burned away in the fight with Proteus.

And then Banshee broke the silence.

“I won’t be boardin’,” he said suddenly. His brogue was firm, carrying over the hum of the Blackbird.

Heads turned.

“What do you mean?” Storm asked gently, her voice full of calm but edged with worry.

Sean Cassidy gave a small smile, though it was sad around the eyes. “I’m stayin’, lass. I’ve done me fair share with the X-Men. Truth be told, I’m no spring chicken anymore. The bones ache worse after every scrap.”

“Sean…” Jean whispered, disbelief in her tone.

Nightcrawler swung down lightly from his perch. “But—you cannot mean this is goodbye?”

Banshee looked at Moira. His hand reached up, brushing her cheek with a tenderness that made the whole team fall silent. “I can’t leave her like this,” he said, softer now. “After all she’s endured… after losin’ her boy… she needs someone here. Someone steady. And—” He smiled a little wider, a touch of boyish charm beneath the lines of age. “When she’s had her time to grieve proper, I aim to propose marriage to Moira.”

Moira’s lips parted, shock and grief and something else flickering through her eyes. She said nothing, only let him cup her face, tears threatening but held back.

The silence that fell was heavy.

Logan broke it with a low chuckle. He moved quick, snatching the pack of cigars out of Sean’s breast pocket. “Well hell,” he said, striking another match. “Guess you won’t be needin’ these, old man. Women don’t like kissin’ a mouth that reeks o’ smoke.” He shoved the cigars into his own jacket. “So these are mine now.”

The team laughed—relief, awkwardness, affection.

Colossus stepped forward, offering his massive hand. “If this is your choice, comrade, then I am happy for you.”

Storm inclined her head gracefully. “Love is the greatest strength of all. You honor it, Sean.”

Nightcrawler clasped his hands dramatically. “Ah, mon ami, a proposal! I expect an invitation to the wedding, ja?”

Even Thunderbird cracked a grin. “About time someone around here thought about livin’ instead of fightin’.”

Cyclops’s stern mask softened for once. “You’ll always be one of us, Sean. But… I think you’re making the right call.”

Jean stepped forward, laying her hand gently on Moira’s. “You deserve happiness,” she said quietly.

Moira blinked back the tears. “I don’t know what to say…”

“You don’t need t’ say a damn thing, darlin’,” Sean said softly, still brushing her cheek.

Logan gave his shoulder a hard pat. “Don’t screw it up, Cassidy. Woman’s been through hell. She don’t need you actin’ like a fool.”

Banshee laughed, genuine and warm, the first true laugh in days. “Don’t worry, Logan. I’ll be on me best behavior.”

One by one, the X-Men filed up the ramp into the Blackbird. Banshee stayed behind, his arm around Moira, Polaris hovering close, Jamie giving a weak wave.

Engines roared. The Blackbird lifted into the mist, banking north. On the pad, Moira leaned into Sean, letting herself rest for the first time since her world had shattered.

And in the Blackbird, Logan leaned back in his seat, puffing a stolen cigar, eyes drifting to the woman across the aisle.

‘Finally,’ he thought, ‘some damn quiet. Jean’s alive. Still breathin’. Still fightin’.’

But then the thought twisted sharp.

‘Mariko. She’s the one. My true love. Then why the hell can’t I shake Jeannie outta my head? First love, true love—aw, hell…’

He growled softly, chewing the cigar.

And then—he smelled it. Soul scent. Faint, wrong, like Jean was there and not there, her essence fraying like smoke in the wind.

His eyes narrowed.

Across the cabin, Jean sat with her eyes closed, lashes brushing her cheeks. Inside her mind, she wasn’t on the Blackbird.

She was on a ship. A medieval deck, sails full of wind, Jason Wyngarde beside her, handsome in his hunting leathers. “We’ll marry soon, my love,” he whispered. She smiled, radiant, her heart full.

They leaned close, lips brushing—

“Jean.”

Logan’s hand shook her shoulder. She gasped, eyes snapping open. The ship vanished. Only the Blackbird remained.

“What’s the matter, Jeannie?” Logan asked, voice low, rough.

“Nothing,” she said quickly, forcing a smile.

But inside, her thoughts were tangled and hot. The illusions are coming more often… but I can’t forget the feelings. The happiness I felt. Even if it’s not real.

Logan’s nostrils flared. He caught the lie, clear as blood in water. Soul scent told him everything—her fear, her longing, the secret she hid.

He said nothing. Just sat back, smoke curling from his lips.

‘Alright, Jeannie. Keep your secrets. But I’m watchin’.’

The Blackbird cut through the clouds, carrying them home.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 153: THE RETURN

The Blackbird cut low through the clouds, wings slicing the night. Its engines roared like some caged beast desperate to touch dirt again. Inside, the team was quiet. Too quiet.

Colossus had his hands folded, staring at nothing. His knuckles flexed as though he wanted steel skin without calling it up.
Nightcrawler dangled from the ceiling straps, tail curling lazily, eyes glowing faint gold in the dark.
Thunderbird sat stiff, arms crossed, every muscle tight as if the plane had insulted him personally.
Storm looked serene, but her white eyes kept drifting to Scott at the front, like she was measuring his mood.

Logan leaned back, boots kicked out, cigar stub between his teeth. Smoke coiled up, caught in the vents. His nose twitched.

‘Almost home. Smells like oak, polished wood… and—’ He smirked. ‘—damn. Chuck’s already here.’

The Blackbird touched down, hissing as the landing gear locked. The ramp lowered, and cool night air swept in. They filed out — boots crunching gravel, shoulders sagging with the weight of the trip that almost buried them.

There he was. Charles Xavier, in his chair, waiting at the mansion steps. Calm as ever, but his eyes… they lit up like a kid seeing the sun again.

“Welcome home, my X-Men.”

Colossus broke first, a grin spreading as he strode forward. “Professor! I feared we may never—”
“—never see your smiling face again,” Kurt finished with a theatrical bow, tail curling like punctuation.

Storm placed a hand over her heart. “It is good to see you, Charles. Truly.”

Thunderbird grunted. “Hmph. About time somebody looks happy around here.”

Logan hung back, arms folded. He’d already smelled him. No surprise for him. Still, seeing Chuck alive and smiling twisted something warm in his chest. He didn’t let it show.

“You knew,” Xavier said softly, catching Logan’s eye.

“Sniffed you out halfway through landing,” Logan muttered. “Didn’t spoil it for the others.”

Xavier’s lips twitched. Not a smile, not quite. Just gratitude.

They went inside. The mansion smelled the same — books, dust, polished wood, faint detergent. Familiar. Safe. For now.

---

A week later, the safety cracked.

The war room hummed with the low, constant thrum of Cerebro. The helmet rested in Charles’ lap as he turned his chair toward the team.

“I have located two new mutants,” Xavier said, voice grave but carrying that undercurrent of excitement. “One in Chicago. One in New York.”

“Then we move,” Scott said immediately, sharp, decisive. “Split the team.”

Jean leaned against the table, red hair falling across her shoulder. “I’ll go with Scott.”

Logan snorted smoke. “Of course you will.”

Jean glanced at him. “Problem, Logan?”

“Not unless you’re countin’ déjà vu as a problem.” He tapped ash into a nearby tray. “Slim leads, Red follows. Same ol’ dance.”

Scott bristled but bit down on it. “We don’t have time for games. We need teams.”

Storm’s voice cut in, calm but firm. “Then let us not waste time. Who goes where?”

Xavier raised a hand. “Cyclops, Jean, Nightcrawler— you will head to New York. Colossus, Thunderbird, Logan, and Ororo, you will accompany me to Chicago.”

Thunderbird smirked, finally uncrossing his arms. “Good. I’ll take the Windy City any day over that rat nest they call New York.”

“Better watch your words, John,” Kurt said, upside down in his chair now, tail flicking. “New York has its charms.”

“Like what?” Thunderbird shot back.

“Me,” Kurt grinned, sharp teeth flashing.

Even Colossus chuckled at that, deep and warm.

Logan just muttered, “Keep it down, elf. Chuck’s got that look — means we’re in for somethin’ nasty.”

And he wasn’t wrong. Because as Charles turned back toward Cerebro’s readings, his face tightened.

“These mutants are… young. Vulnerable. And I fear we are not the only ones seeking them.”

The room went silent.

Logan’s claws itched in his knuckles. His nose twitched, remembering scents he didn’t even know yet.

‘Something’s comin’. Smells like trouble.’

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 154: THE GIRL AND THE WHITE QUEEN

Chicago evening. The air heavy with city grit, gasoline and fried food from the corner stand. A streetlamp buzzed above a small girl walking home, clutching her schoolbag. Kitty Pryde. Thirteen. Too small for the weight pressing against her skull.

Her head pounded. Not like a normal headache. This was sharper, a drill boring behind her eyes.

‘What’s wrong with me? Just… just get home.’

She stumbled up the steps of her house, key fumbling in the lock. Inside, warm lights, the murmur of voices. Relief — until she caught sight of the woman sitting prim on the couch.

Tall. Perfect posture. White hair sharp as frost. Eyes that slid over Kitty like she was a piece of property already bought.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Mrs. Pryde called warmly. “This is Ms. Frost. She’s… she’s from a school. A wonderful school.”

Ms. Frost smiled with that kind of politeness that cut like a knife. “It’s a place for special young people, Katherine. A place where you would be… understood.”

The pain behind Kitty’s eyes flared. She staggered, clutching her forehead. “I—I just need to lie down,” she stammered, darting past them. She didn’t see Frost’s lips twitch in amusement.

Upstairs, she threw herself on the bed, shoes still on. The pain became unbearable. She curled tight, teeth grit.

And then—
The world lurched.
Her stomach dropped like she’d fallen. The bed disappeared from under her.

She hit the floor. No—under the floor. She blinked, panicked, heart hammering as she stared up at the underside of her own mattress.

‘WHAT—what just happened? Oh God, oh God—’

Her breath came sharp and ragged, but her body buzzed with something new. Something terrifying.

---

Meanwhile, the Xavier group pulled up outside. Blackbird hidden, they approached on foot. Charles led, Logan flanking him, shoulders tense.

The door opened just as Ms. Frost stepped out. She wore her smile like armor.
Logan stepped forward, nostrils flaring. He caught it instantly — beneath the expensive perfume, beneath the powder and clean fabric. Something sour. Something coiled. Hidden agenda, like rotting fruit wrapped in sugar.

He bared his teeth. “She stinks of lies.”

And then she was gone, heels clicking as her car pulled away. Logan watched until the taillights vanished. His fists tightened.

Inside, Kitty’s parents beamed. “Charles! What an unexpected surprise. And these are your… students?”

“Yes,” Xavier said kindly. “This is Piotr, Ororo, John, and Logan.”

Kitty stood awkwardly in the doorway, eyes darting between them.

Colossus gave a small bow. “It is pleasure to meet you, Katya.”
Storm stepped in, calming. Her smile was warm, like sunlight after rain. “Do not fear. We are friends.”

Kitty hesitated… then smiled back. Something about Storm’s voice was like a hand steadying her.

Her parents beamed. “Why don’t you go out with the students? Get to know them. A little fresh air, hmm?”

---

The café smelled of coffee, grease, and sugar. Neon lights hummed in the window. Kitty sat across from Storm, sipping a soda, nerves unwinding.

“You’re really… like me?” she asked softly.

Storm’s eyes softened. “Yes. We are all like you, child. Different, but together. That is what makes us strong.”

Kitty smiled. For the first time in weeks, the headache dulled.

At another table, Colossus tried to fold his giant frame into a too-small chair. “These chairs, they are made for children,” he muttered.

“Or tiny circus elves,” Thunderbird said with a smirk.

Logan sat by the window, chewing on a toothpick, eyes on the street. The city stank of oil and hot dogs — but beneath it, faint, sour threads of something else.

His muscles coiled. Nose twitched.
‘Hostile. Four of ‘em. And they’re close.’

He growled. “Heads up.”

The wall exploded inward. Four men in suits came crashing through like wrecking balls in human skin.

Kitty screamed, soda spilling. Storm pulled her close, eyes already flashing white.

“Showtime,” Logan snarled, claws SNIKTing out in a gleam of steel.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 155: THE AMBUSH

The café went from laughter to chaos in a heartbeat. Brick dust, shattering glass, people screaming as four men in black suits stormed through the wreckage like they owned the place.

Kitty froze. Her soda spilled across the table, fizzing over her hands.

Storm’s voice cut through the panic, calm but fierce. “Stay behind me, child.”

Logan was already on his feet, claws bared, nostrils flaring. The stink hit him hard — sweat, metal, cold machine oil threaded through their flesh. Not just men. Weapons.

“Goons with upgrades,” he muttered. “My favorite.”

The first one lunged at Colossus, fist slamming into Piotr’s chest with a dull thud. Sparks crackled. Piotr reeled back, eyes wide as his skin steeled over.

“Bozhe moi… he strikes through armor.”

Thunderbird charged the second with a roar, muscles straining as he grappled — but the man didn’t budge. His strength met equal force. Their boots cracked tile beneath them.

Storm raised her hand, lightning sparking at her fingertips — but the third threw up a gauntlet, energy flaring, swallowing her thunder with a hiss. “What sorcery—?”

Logan laughed, low and mean. “You jokers picked the wrong bar.” He slashed at the nearest suit, metal screaming on metal as his claws skidded across reinforced plating beneath the man’s jacket. Sparks flew.

The goon snarled, eyes blank. No fear. Just programming.

Logan grinned sharp. “Yeah, that’s cute. Let’s see what bleeds.”

---

Kitty stumbled back against the counter, watching her would-be protectors struggle. Her breath came ragged. The pounding in her head surged again.

‘Too much. Too fast. Can’t breathe—’

She gasped—then her hand slipped straight through the counter. Her body followed, tumbling through solid wood into the alley behind the café.

She landed hard on her knees, gasping. “What’s happening to me?”

Inside, the X-Men fought like trapped animals.

Colossus grappled his foe, realizing brute force wasn’t enough. He shifted tactics, feinting left, then slamming his metal forehead into the man’s nose. Bone cracked. The goon stumbled.
Thunderbird’s arms bulged with strain, veins standing out as he wrestled his opponent. “Come on, you bastard!” he spat.

Storm hurled winds that tore tables loose, but each burst fizzled against the gauntlet’s energy field. She hissed, hair whipping around her face. “This is no ordinary technology!”

Logan darted between them, claws flashing. He caught a goon’s arm, slicing tendon. The man didn’t scream. Just swung his other fist into Logan’s ribs.

Pain burst white-hot. Logan snarled, spitting blood. His healing kicked, knitting bruised muscle.

‘They don’t feel fear. Don’t smell it, don’t taste it. Just blank. Damn machines in meat suits.’

“Switch!” Logan barked, ducking another blow. “You’re fightin’ the wrong dance partners!”

They caught on fast. Colossus shoved his opponent toward Thunderbird. Storm sent a gust hurling hers at colusses. The rhythm shifted.

Suddenly Colossus’ steel fists connected clean, sending a man sprawling. Thunderbird roared, slamming his opponent through a table.

For a moment, it looked like the tide was turning.

And then—

White fire tore through their skulls.

Logan dropped to his knees, claws scraping tile. His brain felt like it was boiling. He bit back a scream, eyes bloodshot.
Storm clutched her head, lightning scattering uncontrolled. Colossus staggered, armor flickering off. Thunderbird hit the ground, teeth grit in agony.

Kitty, peering from the alley crack, froze. She couldn’t see the source—only the way her heroes buckled.

The café door swung wide.

Emma Frost stepped in, heels clicking on shattered tile. Immaculate. Untouched.

“Pathetic,” she murmured. Her eyes glowed faint blue as she raised a hand. “Children playing dress-up in their father’s war.”

She looked to her men. “Take them to the hovercraft. Now.”

The suits obeyed, dragging limp bodies through broken glass.

Logan’s head throbbed, his body heavy, but he caught her scent again through the haze — that sour, rotting sweetness. His lip curled.

‘You snake.’

Emma turned away, utterly certain of victory.

She never noticed the small figure pressed against the hovercraft’s wall outside, breath shallow, heart racing. Kitty Pryde, trembling but resolute, slid through cold steel like it was paper.

She huddled in the dark corner of the hold, hugging her knees.

‘I’m scared. So scared. But… I can’t leave them.’

The hatch sealed with a hiss. The hovercraft rose into the night.

And the girl nobody saw rode into the storm.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 156: CAGES AND A LITTLE GHOST

Hellfire base, Chicago. Cold air that smelled like bleach, hot metal, and money. Lights humming steady, like they were proud to be expensive.

The X-Men were hung like trophies.

Storm, Colossus, Thunderbird, and Logan sat inside shimmering cages of blue-white light that hummed against skin and bone. Every time Colossus even thought about steel, the field spat sparks at him like a jealous god. Storm lifted a hand and the field prickled her palm, punishing even the sensation of wind. Thunderbird tested a bar once with his shoulder and got a jolt that made his jaw lock and his eyes water. He didn’t try again.

On the far table lay Charles Xavier, strapped down with thick restraints, a web of wires feeding a steady electric sedation that kept his mind drifting just above darkness. His face twitched now and then, tiny storms crossing a sleeping sky.

White heels clicked and echoed. The White Queen inspected her catch as if she were shopping. Emotionless. Efficient. She paused at Logan’s cage and tilted her head.

“Such a noisy mind.” Emma said, voice cool as ice in a glass. “Even when your powers are stifled, you rage.”

Logan’s head was bowed, shoulders loose, breathing slow. He looked like a man who’d fallen asleep at a bus stop. His nose twitched.

‘Perfume: white flowers, musk. Under it, the same rot. Threat wrapped in ribbon. Field’s choking the healing back a notch, but the bones are still there. Smell’s still mine. Hearing’s still a blade.’

He raised his eyes, lazy. “Lady, if you can hear my thoughts, you already know I’m thinkin’ mostly about how much I hate your shoes.”

Emma’s mouth curved. “You’ll learn to appreciate taste.” She turned away, bored already.

A ripple against the far wall. Not air. Not sound. A girl coming through stone like it was fog.

Kitty Pryde appeared inside a pocket of shadow, hands clenched, breathing shallow. She stared, huge-eyed, at the cages and the table and the woman in white, and swallowed.

‘I should run. I should go home. I should get Mom. Dad. Someone. But they’re… they tried to help me. Storm—Storm was kind. Logan was mean but funny. The blue guy was… he was nice. Don’t cry. Don’t be a baby.’

She slid along the wall, boots making no sound. The world felt strange around her, like she was not quite here. Her heart wanted to pound loud enough to bring every guard running; her body refused, sinking her step by step through panic.

She reached Storm’s cage.

“Ms. Storm,” Kitty whispered, words almost invisible. “It’s me. It’s—Kitty. I—”

Storm turned, eyes softening so fast you could see the relief hit her. “Child. Brave girl.”

“I can get you out,” Kitty hissed. “I can—maybe I can pull you through the wall, or the bars, or—”

“No,” Storm said, the word a breeze gentling a flame. “Listen to me. You must leave. Go to a telephone. Call the X-Men. Tell them we are captured.” She slipped a thin metal tag from her belt pouch and pressed it to the field. It sparked and slid down to the floor inside the cage. “Take that number. Memorize it.”

Logan watched, still and quiet, head turned just enough to see without drawing eyes. He let his nose paint the picture he couldn’t look at: the girl’s adrenaline sharp. Storm’s calm lavender. Emma’s perfume fading down the corridor. Two guards at the door, cheap cologne and gun oil. Air vents pulsing warm. A hum through the floor like a heartbeat.

‘Kid’s got steel. Smells like fear and a little cinnamon. She runs now, she lives. She stays…’

“Go,” Storm said. “You’re not a soldier. Not yet.”

Kitty swallowed. “I’ll call. I promise. I’ll come back. I’ll—”

A barked shout from the corridor. Boots. The door slammed open. Three Hellfire goons in suits, guns up.

“There!” one yelled. “The little—”

Kitty bolted. Not at the door. Not toward them. She ran the opposite way, right to a blank stretch of wall.

Kitty hit the dead-end and didn’t stop. Her body went cold-hollow, a ripple like stepping into a deep pool. She passed through the wall and dropped to the floor of the corridor beyond, rolling hard on her shoulder. She gasped, scrambled up—

Goon hands pounded that same wall a heartbeat later, groping for a door that didn’t exist.

“Where’d she—?”

“She—she went through it!”

“No door,” another snarled. “Back around, NOW!” They thundered off the long way.

Kitty sprinted the other direction, tag clenched in her fist like a prayer.

Logan exhaled slow. He let his eyes close and angles sharpened in his mind—the base layout pulled from echoes, airflows, the echo of their footsteps.

‘Run, kid. Find the phone. I’ll be here when you get back. Won’t be pretty. But I’ll be here.’

He glanced at Emma’s retreating shape and let a fraction of his presence fold inward, the way the tiger-boy’s stealth trick learned to make heat and scent turn back into the body. The field punished anything “unnatural,” but this was just… quiet. A stillness so deep it changed how the air touched him. Not invisible. Just not there.

Emma turned once, eyes skating over the room. For a heartbeat they slid past Logan like he was furniture.

Then she was gone.

“Hold on,” Thunderbird muttered through his teeth. “We’re getting out, even if I have to chew these bars.”

“Please do not,” Colossus said hoarsely. “You will lose teeth.”

Logan’s mouth curved. “I like the spirit.” He let his head drop again, sensor-net of hearing and scent stretched thin, waiting for the kid’s return and the cavalry’s wheels.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 157: NEON MIRAGE

New York City. Outside a crumbling disco with a name that used to mean something. Neon buzzed like a nest of angry bees; a line of club kids in shiny shirts snaked past a bored bouncer.

Scott parked the car with a sigh that might once have been a laugh. “We’re recruiting at a disco,” he muttered. “This is my life.”

Jean smiled sidelong, the kind that warmed you and burned you. “Could be worse. Could be a mime convention.”

“Don’t joke,” Scott said deadpan. “Not even you could save me from that.”

Nightcrawler stretched in the backseat, tail lazily sketching a treble clef in the air. “I vill guard the car, ja? Someone must keep our chariot safe from… disco fever.” He flicked on the radio. Funk spilled out, bassline warm as velvet.

Scott popped his door. “Good. If anything—”

“—happens, I call, I bamf, I save your lives. Is tradition,” Kurt said, tipping an imaginary hat.

Inside, the disco was a living aquarium of light. Mirrors multiplied everything. Bodies moved like schools of glitter fish. The speakers hit you in the chest.

“Split up?” Jean asked, voice pitched just for Scott.

“Split up,” he said. He tapped his watch, the rim unfurling into a tiny screen pulsing with Cerebro mini-readings. “I’ll sweep the perimeter with this. You… do your thing.”

“Always do,” she said, eyes momentarily gold with a power most people would mistake for stage lights.

Jean stepped into the current of the dancefloor, letting crowd-sound wash through her mind. Thoughts thrummed by—thirsty, bored, horny, high, this beat slaps—she skimmed across them like a dragonfly, searching for the bright edge that meant mutation.

She felt it, like a bell.

Then a hand brushed her arm.

Jason Wyngarde.

Brown eyes. Courtly smile. A man who smelled like sandalwood and secrets. His presence hit her like a remembered life.

“Jean,” he said softly. “My love.”

The club dissolved. Sunlight poured through stained glass. An old church, candelight trembling. A dress of cream silk brushed her ankles. The air was clean and old and holy.

‘Oh,’ Jean thought, tears sudden and ridiculous. ‘Oh, I remember this. I—how could I forget—’

Jason took her hands. “At last.”

The priest spoke words she couldn’t quite hear; happiness roared too loud. She said “I do,” and it felt like truth cut from stone.

They kissed.

Somewhere outside the dream, a man in a visor looked up across a dancefloor and saw his girlfriend kissing a stranger in the middle of a disco like the world wasn’t burning.

Scott didn’t move for a heartbeat. Something in his chest tore neat and quiet.

‘Not now. Not here. Mission first. Feel later.’

He pushed through the crowd.

Jean blinked, the church tearing like paper around the edges. The kiss was a kiss and not a sacrament. She pulled back, breathless, eyes clearing. “Scott—Scott, I can explain—”

“You will,” he said, voice controlled like a pianist holding a note too long. “Later. Our target’s here.”

Onstage, a spotlight hit a woman with a microphone and a grin built for crowds. Blonde hair. Sequins. Boots that promised trouble. She opened her mouth, and the sound the band made became a lightshow that danced around her like it had been waiting its whole life to be born.

“Alison Blaire,” Jean murmured. “DAZZLER.”

Scott’s watch pinged hard enough to tickle his skin. “Found her.”

“Let her finish,” Jean said, already feeling a flicker of protectiveness toward this human disco ball. “She deserves her stage.”

Back at the car, Kurt had the seat reclined, radio low. He drummed a rhythm on the dash with two fingers.

The car phone rang. He blinked. “We have a phone? Of course ve have a phone.” He snatched it up. “Hallo?”

“Is this—are you the X-Men?” a small voice said, breathless. “Please, please, I—this is Kitty, Kitty Pryde, and the others, they’re—Ms. Frost took them—there were cages—”

“Kitty!” Kurt sat up, tail lashing. “Slow, slow, mein kind—tell me vhere—”

The passenger window exploded inward. A man in a suit reached through the glass and hauled Kurt out by the collar like a fisherman landing a blue devil.

Kurt dropped the phone, squirmed, and bamfed—

—and reappeared behind the man just in time to catch a fist that moved like it had been waiting for him. Pain sizzled up his arm.

“Ah. You know my trick,” he hissed.

The man didn’t answer. His fist did. Kurt flew, skidding across asphalt, world blinking black-white-black with each bamf as he tried to outpace pain and failed.

Inside the club, Dazzler hit her chorus and the floor went wild. Jean caught the first ripple a heartbeat too late.

Attackers—three men in suits, boring as tax season until you noticed the tech. One raised a shoulder-mounted rig that hummed wrong. The other flicked his wrist and a capsule popped, blooming midair like a ruby flower before snapping shut around Scott’s head.

Cyclops’ world went red. He grabbed the sphere, too smooth to grip. “They put a quartz hood on me,” he said, voice flat with disbelief and fury.

The third leveled a device that whined; a beam lanced invisible into Jean’s skull. Her powers guttered like a candle in a wind tunnel.

She staggered. “Psi—cut—off—”

The crowd screamed, then cheered, because from thirty feet away, danger looks like just another part of the show.

Scott braced, calculating angles he couldn’t see through the red tomb around his head. “Stay behind me, Jean—”

“Behind you where?” she snapped, and even through pain there was a laugh tucked into it.

Onstage, Alison faltered. The light tried to dance without her. She saw the beam guy, the woman in the red bubble, the man with nothing but fists trying to be a wall, and made a choice she’d never made before.

“Hey,” she said into the mic, voice shaking just a hair. “Pick on someone with better lighting.”

She turned the song into a scream of sound and fed it to the place in her bones that had always known it was a transformer. Light erupted from her like a star learned how to sing.

It hit the brainwave gunner square in the chest. He shrieked, the device spasming, the beam cutting off. Jean’s mind gulped air.

Dazzler stared down at her own hands, terrified and thrilled. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “I just—I hurt him.”

Jean wiped her mouth and grinned feral. “Thank you, Alison.” One thought, one twist, and the ruby shell around Scott’s head phased apart at the edges under a telekinetic nudge, then shattered like sugar glass.

Scott inhaled like a drowning man finding shore. “On three,” he said.

“Always,” Jean said.

“One,” Scott murmured, stepping left, presenting a clean line.

“Two,” Jean breathed, already lifting debris into a storm with a flick of thought.

“Three,” Scott snapped, visor slitting open in a tight beam that took the first attacker off his feet, sent him cartwheeling into a mirror that exploded into a thousand stunned faces. Jean hurled tables into the second, then pinned him there, pressure precise and ugly. The third reached for his gun and Dazzler slammed him with a strobe so vicious he vomited light and bile on the spot.

The club shut up real quick.

The far wall ruptured and Nightcrawler shot through it like a blue cannonball, skipping once on the dancefloor and colliding with Scott’s legs. He lay there panting, a dark bruise blooming along his jaw.

“Hi,” he said weakly. “Bad news.”

Scott caught him and hauled him upright. “What happened?”

Kurt winced. “Phone. Girl. Kitty. The others—captured. Chicago. Hellfire Club. I vas—how do you say—punched a lot.”

Jean’s face changed the way weather changes: the warmth went out of it; the air pressure dropped.
Dazzler looked between them, breath rushing. “Is this—did I just—am I in a superhero thing right now?”

Scott snapped the cuffs on the least concussed attacker and tossed Jean a look. It said everything: Kitty’s voice. Logan in a cage. Charles on a cold table. Choices. Time burning.

He turned to Alison. “Alison Blaire. You’re a mutant. You can help us save friends who will die if we don’t move.”

Alison stared at her glitter-slick reflection in a cracked mirror, then back at the strangers who somehow felt more real than the crowd that had chanted her name ten minutes ago.

She swallowed. Lifted her chin. “I don’t know how to fight,” she said, honest as a bassline. “But I can light the way.”

Kurt leaned heavier on Scott’s shoulder and managed a crooked smile. “Welcome to the X-Men, fraulein.”

Jean squeezed Alison’s hand and didn’t pretend she wasn’t shaking. “You did good. You did brave.”

The club’s lights flickered, suddenly cheap compared to the woman who had just turned a song into a weapon.

Scott looked at the three of them—Jean with anger bright behind her eyes, Kurt bleeding but grinning, Alison standing on trembling legs—and made the call.

“We move now,” he said. “Chicago. Hellfire. We get our family back.”

“Family,” Jean echoed, and felt the word settle like armor over the raw places.

Kurt wiped blood from his lip with the back of his hand. “Someone is going to have to drive. The car is… less window than it used to be.”

Alison laughed once, shaky. “I know a shortcut,” she lied, and grinned when they looked at her like they believed she really did.

Jean thought, and beneath the thought something vast and hungry purred. ‘Hold on, Charles. I’m coming.’

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 158: SHADOWS IN CHICAGO

The Blackbird skimmed low over the city, but by the time they were on the ground Jean was already stiff in her seat, her head tilted like she was listening to a frequency no one else could hear.

“I feel her,” Jean said quietly. Her voice had that Phoenix undercurrent — low, resonant, like fire barely leashed. “She’s terrified. It’s Kitty… she’s running.”

Scott adjusted his visor, tension tightening his jaw. “Where?”

Jean’s eyes snapped open, glowing faintly. “That way.” She didn’t wait — she rose into the night sky, cloak of telekinesis carrying her toward the heartbeat of fear.

Nightcrawler muttered, “Ach, I do not envy the poor girl — having her mind found by Jean right now. She must feel like a candle in a hurricane.”

Dazzler gave him a sideways look as she hopped out of the car. “We’re seriously about to go after a teenager being hunted by thugs with guns?”

“Welcome to the X-Men,” Scott muttered.

---

Kitty ran. Shoes slapping asphalt, lungs burning, her breath short and ragged. Behind her, headlights swerved, a car barreling too close, too fast. Two men in suits inside, one leaning out the window with something heavy in his hands. Not a pistol — a rifle.

Her chest tightened. She stumbled. “God, no—no no no—”

The car roared closer.

And then the sky fell.

A red-haired woman descended in a blaze of telekinetic force, her boots hitting pavement between Kitty and the car. The sedan screeched to a halt an inch from her outstretched hand. Metal groaned as the entire vehicle lifted off the ground, wheels spinning uselessly.

The two men inside screamed. One pulled the trigger. The bullet flattened against an invisible wall.

Jean’s eyes glowed as she flicked her hand. The men slumped unconscious like puppets with their strings cut.

Kitty dropped to her knees, staring. “You—you stopped a car with your mind—”

Cyclops was there in seconds, his voice firm but calm. “Easy, Kitty. You called us. We’re the X-Men. We’re here.”

That broke something in her. The tears came hot and sudden. She clutched her arms tight, sobbing. “They—they took them! They took Storm and the others and I—I tried to help but I couldn’t, I was so scared and—”

Dazzler crouched beside her, surprisingly gentle. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay. You did more than anyone expected. You’re still breathing, aren’t you? That counts.”

Kitty sniffed, wiping her sleeve across her eyes. “You’re real? You’re all real?”

Nightcrawler popped into view in a puff of brimstone, making her yelp. He gave a little bow. “Real as nightmares and just as stylish.”

Scott cut in, keeping things focused. “Where?”

Kitty pointed weakly back toward the south. “A big building… white-haired woman… cages. They hurt Professor Xavier. They… they hurt him.”

Jean’s gaze turned to the unconscious men in the levitating car. Her voice was ice. “They’ll tell us everything.”

---

The team was silent as Jean pressed her fingers to the goons’ temples. Their heads lolled, faces twisted in silent screams. Scott’s hand twitched toward her shoulder, then hesitated.

‘She’s pushing too hard. Dammit, Jean…’

Finally she exhaled, opening her eyes. “I have it. Their base. The defenses. Every corridor, every guard. All of it.” She didn’t sound winded — she sounded thrilled.

Dazzler muttered, “Kinda scary, actually.”

Jean ignored her. With a flick of her wrist, the two men’s bodies straightened, stiff and unnatural. Like dolls on strings. They shuffled toward the car.

Kitty whispered, horrified, “You’re… you’re making them move?”

“Yes,” Jean said simply.

Scott stepped in, trying to soften the edges. “We’re going to use them to walk us in. Kitty, stay close.”

So they did. The four of them — Scott, Jean, Kurt, and Dazzler — climbed into the back, feigning unconsciousness as Jean’s puppets drove. Kitty huddled between them, shaking.

The car approached the Hellfire facility. Guards stepped forward. “Authorization?”

Jean’s puppets froze. One stammered, “They… they are mutants… captured.”

“No entry without White Queen’s approval,” the guard snapped.

Scott cracked his eye open just enough. “So much for the subtle approach.” He tapped his visor, releasing a thin, precise optic blast that sliced through the car roof like paper.

Light exploded as Dazzler thrust her hand up. A blinding pulse of strobe and color slammed into the guards, making them howl, clutching their eyes.

The X-Men burst from the car.

“Subtlety’s overrated,” Logan would’ve said. But he wasn’t here yet.

Now it was Cyclops, barking orders. “Hit hard, hit fast! Jean, Dazzler — with me! Kurt, keep Kitty safe!”

The Hellfire base loomed, alarms already screaming.

Inside those walls — cages, pain, and the rest of the family waiting.

And Kitty, trembling but lifting her chin, whispered: “I can do this. I can save them.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 159: BREAK THE CHAINS

The Hellfire base was a fortress dressed in steel and arrogance. Wide halls, marble floors, the scent of money and gun oil. The alarms echoed, red lights painting the corridors bloody.

Jean led the strike team like a queen on a warpath. Cyclops flanked her, visor humming with suppressed fire. Dazzler brought up the rear, nerves showing in the stiff way she held her shoulders. Nightcrawler clutched Kitty’s arm and teleported her into the shadows of a side corridor.

“Remember,” Cyclops ordered, voice sharp over the chaos, “we’re here to free our people, not level the place.”

Jean smirked faintly, her eyes still glowing. “Speak for yourself.”

Scott frowned but didn’t bite. Not now.

---
The air in the sublevel was thick with electricity — literally. Cages hummed, glowing faintly with mutant power inhibitors. Inside, Colossus knelt in human form, fists bloody from punching the unbreakable barrier. Thunderbird leaned back against the wall, scowling at nothing. And Logan sat on his haunches, like a wolf in a too-small trap, staring with those yellow eyes that never stopped calculating.

Chains, collars, inhibitors — didn’t matter. He was waiting.

And then she came. A girl barely thirteen, trembling but determined, slipping straight through the wall like a ghost.

Kitty’s heart thudded in her ears. ‘They’re looking at me. Oh God, they’re all looking at me.’

Thunderbird barked, “Kid? Who the hell—”

“Quiet,” Logan snapped, eyes narrowing. His nose twitched. “It’s the Pryde kid. I caught your scent earlier.” His lip curled in what almost passed for a grin. “Took you long enough, half-pint.”

Kitty blurted, “I—I didn’t know which cage to open, Storm’s not here and—”

“Forget ‘Ro. Start with mine.” Logan stood, claws twitching beneath his skin. “Quickly.”

Kitty pressed her hands against the bars. Her atoms slipped through, tingling, a shiver of nausea running down her spine as she phased past the inhibitor field. She reached the lock from inside. The mechanism fell apart like mist under her touch.

Logan shoved the door open and stepped out, rolling his shoulders. The collar sparked, biting his neck, but his healing factor chewed through the damage faster than the inhibitor could bite. He growled low in his throat.

Then two guards came barreling in with stun rifles raised.

Kitty froze, paralyzed.

“Down, kid.”

Logan moved like lightning. Three claws snikt out, glinting silver. He slashed one rifle in half, spun, and drove his shoulder into the second man, sending him crashing into the bars. Electricity flared — the poor bastard convulsed and went limp.

Logan sheathed one claw, leaving two extended. He turned to Kitty. “You did good. Now keep movin’.”

Kitty swallowed hard. “I thought… I thought you were gonna kill them.”

Logan’s eyes softened for just a moment. “‘F I wanted ‘em dead, they’d be dead. But you don’t need that in your head, kid. Not tonight.”

Behind them, Colossus bellowed, “Free us!” Kitty nodded and turned to his cage.

---
Elsewhere, Storm sat bound in a chair of psychic light, sweat beading on her brow. Emma Frost lounged across from her, all poise and diamond-hard smirk.

“You could make this easier,” Emma purred. “One whisper, one secret, and I’ll end this little interrogation.”

Storm spat on the floor. “Do what you will. I will not betray my family.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed. Her hand pressed to her temple. The psychic pressure spiked — Storm’s mind was a thunderstorm under siege.

“You’ll break,” Emma said coolly. “They all break.”

The doors blew inward. Metal shrieked as telekinetic force ripped it off the hinges.

Jean Grey stood framed in the debris, hair fanning out in unseen winds, eyes burning gold.

“Try me,” she said.

Emma’s smirk faltered.

The two women locked gazes. The air between them crackled with invisible fire.

Storm’s lips curled upward in the faintest smile. ‘At last.’

---

Back in the sublevel…

Kitty freed Colossus. The Russian exploded into steel form, towering over her like a silver giant. “You are brave little one,” he rumbled, clapping her shoulder so hard she almost fell over.

Thunderbird cracked his knuckles. “About time. Let’s smash our way out.”

Logan sniffed the air, every muscle coiled. “Not yet. Emma’s upstairs. Jean’s with her.”

Colossus frowned. “And that means?”

Logan’s eyes gleamed. “That means this place is about to become rubble.”

---

And upstairs, Emma and Jean were circling, like two predators in silk and fire, each waiting for the other to make the first lethal strike.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 160: PHOENIX RISING

The interrogation chamber had gone silent, save for the slow hum of raw psychic energy.

Jean stepped forward, fire flickering faint around her hair like a halo. Emma rose from her chair, spine straight, diamond-hard will behind the smile on her lips.

“Still hiding behind Charles’ dream, Jean?” Emma sneered. “You were born to be more.”

Jean’s voice was velvet wrapped around steel. “And you were born to be less.”

Then they collided.

No fists. No claws. The air itself split under their wills. Invisible daggers raked across the walls. The floor cracked under the pressure of their psychic duel. Emma’s power lashed like ice, sharp and invasive. Jean countered with burning fire, her presence flooding the room.

Storm, forgotten in her chair, strained against her bonds. By the Goddess… this is not a battle, it is an apocalypse in miniature.

Emma struck first, driving into Jean’s mind, trying to peel back layers, searching for weakness. Jean laughed. Laughed. Her voice echoed in Emma’s skull.

“You think you know power? You think you can cage me?”

Jean shoved back. Hard. Emma’s shields cracked like glass struck with a hammer.

Emma screamed and fell to one knee, but clawed back up, teeth bared. Her last reserve poured into one desperate strike — a mind blast so raw it bypassed finesse.

The world went white.

---

Below, in the sublevels

Kitty, Colossus, Thunderbird, and Logan were halfway through a hall when the shockwave hit. The walls buckled, alarms died, every light flickered.

Colossus wrapped Kitty in his arms as debris rained down. “Stay close!”

Thunderbird shouted, “The whole damn place is coming down!”

Logan didn’t flinch. He sniffed, then growled low. “Storm. Jean. This way!” He bolted ahead, claws out, trusting his nose in the dark.

Dazzler stumbled into the group, face pale. “What was that?”

“Two telepaths,” Logan barked over his shoulder. “Neither of ‘em play nice.”

---

The blast site

The chamber was gone. A crater of rubble and dust yawned where it had stood. Smoke coiled upward. Then — a shape burned into the air.

A bird of fire, wings stretching wide, talons raking sky. The Phoenix.

It shrieked, a sound no human throat could make, and then faded like smoke in the wind.

When the glow dimmed, Storm staggered from the rubble, blood on her temple but eyes fierce. Jean floated behind her, landing softly, fire still licking around her form before guttering out.

Storm whispered, voice raw, “She… she nearly shattered me, but Jean—”

Jean cut her off, smiling faintly. “She was never a match.”

Her tone was too calm. Too pleased.

Logan arrived first, Kitty at his heels. He sniffed Jean, then Storm, then spat. “You reek of smoke and pride, Red.”

Jean’s smirk twitched, but she didn’t answer.

Cyclops came last, visor still glowing faintly. Relief washed across his face when he saw her standing. “Jean… I thought—”

“You doubt me?” she asked, tilting her head.

Scott’s throat went dry. “No. I—” But inside, his heart sank. That fire in her eyes wasn’t his Jean anymore.

---

And then… wheels on stone.

A familiar voice broke the stunned silence.

“I must say,” Charles Xavier spoke, rolling into view, “I wanted to see you all in action. And thankfully… you did not disappoint me.”

The team turned.

Storm stiffened. “Professor… you were here?”

Xavier’s smile was faint, unreadable. “I needed to see with my own eyes if you were ready.” His gaze lingered on Jean, long and heavy. “Some of you… more than ready.”

Logan’s nostrils flared. “You been sittin’ back, watchin’ while we were fightin’ for our hides?”

Xavier didn’t flinch. “Every trial has its purpose, Logan.”

Logan growled low in his throat but said nothing.

Jean’s hand slid into Scott’s, though her eyes never left Xavier’s. They burned. And Scott, gripping her fingers, felt her pulse — wild, relentless, like fire eating everything it touched.

She’s slipping, he thought, dread pooling in his stomach. And I don’t know how to bring her back.

The mansion was far away, but for the first time, it felt like home was behind them, not ahead.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 161: MASKS AT MIDNIGHT

Kitty Pryde’s front yard was quiet, too quiet for how many battles had just been fought. The Blackbird crouched on the street like some alien bird, its engines cooling with a hiss.

Charles wheeled forward, smile soft. “We are grateful for your courage tonight, Katherine. You saved us all.”

Kitty, clutching her backpack to her chest, managed a nod. “I… I didn’t even think. I just… did it.”

Logan crouched beside her, eye-level, his rough face unexpectedly gentle. “That’s the way it works, kid. You think too long, you end up dead. You did good.”

Her lips trembled, and then — the tears she’d been holding back spilled. She buried her face in his shoulder. Logan let her. He didn’t hug her back, not exactly, but he stayed there steady as steel.

Colossus smiled, boyish and soft in the porchlight. “You are already one of us, Katya. Whether you know it or not.”

“Da,” Thunderbird muttered, crossing his arms. “But she should have a chance to grow up first.”

Jean brushed Kitty’s hair with a motherly hand. “You’ll have that choice when you’re ready, sweetheart. Tonight, go inside. Be safe.”

Kitty sniffled, nodded, and ran to the door. Her parents appeared, worried but relieved. They waved thanks as the X-Men climbed back into the jet.

---

Back aboard, Storm leaned toward Alison Blaire. “So, Dazzler — perhaps you will join us? You saw tonight the kind of battles we fight. Your gifts would be invaluable.”

Alison shook her head, glitter still caught in her lashes. “Look, you’re all… incredible. But I’m not a soldier. I’m a singer. The stage is where I belong, not a battlefield.”

Nightcrawler twirled his tail lazily, perched on a seatback. “Zat is understandable, ja. But if you ever change your mind…” He bowed with a grin. “Ze X-Men are a family.”

Alison smiled faintly. “And I already have one — it’s just dressed in sequins.”

The Blackbird roared into the night sky, leaving Kitty and Dazzler behind.

---

New Mexico

The desert baked under the sun. A mansion of pale stone rose out of the sand like some mirage — the home of Warren Worthington III. Angel.

He greeted them on the landing pad, wings spread wide, golden in the sun. “Welcome to my little hideaway, friends! Always a pleasure.”

Inside, the house was cool, rich with art and light. But Cyclops was restless, visor tilted down, jaw set.

“Warren,” he said, “I need a word. In private.”

Angel arched a brow but nodded. “Of course.” He swept Scott up in his arms with ease, wings catching the wind, and carried them into the barren mountains.

Below, Xavier watched them depart, eyes narrowing. Why here, Scott? Why so far from home?

---

They landed on a rocky cliff, wind tearing at their jackets. Scott adjusted his visor, staring into the endless desert.

“It’s the Hellfire Club,” he said.

Warren frowned. “What about them?”

“Everything we’ve faced lately — Emma Frost, the ambushes — it’s them. Someone on the inside knows everything about us. Our powers, our weaknesses. Even the mansion isn’t safe. I needed distance.”

Warren exhaled. “Hellfire Club… Scott, I’m a member. Social only. I’ve never seen or heard anything like this.”

“Then they’re hiding it even from you,” Scott said, grim.

Warren paced, feathers ruffling. “There’s a gala in New York next week. Black tie. If you’re willing to dress the part, I can get you in. Maybe you’ll find the proof you’re looking for.”

Scott nodded. “We’ll be ready.”

---

One week later.

New York City burned with light. Limousines crowded outside the Hellfire Club’s brownstone mansion, tuxedos and gowns glittering under chandeliers.

A sleek car pulled up, and the X-Men stepped out transformed. Cyclops in a sharp tuxedo, Jean in a scarlet gown that shimmered like fire. Colossus in a tailored suit, Thunderbird glowering in his crisp black tie. Storm radiant in white silk, her cape flowing like liquid light.

They entered in pairs: Scott and Jean arm-in-arm, Ororo with Colossus, Thunderbird walking alone with a scowl.

Inside, the Club glittered — chandeliers, violins, masks hiding smiles too sharp to be friendly. What the X-Men didn’t know was that cameras already tracked their every move.

Beneath, in the sewers, Nightcrawler splashed through the dark with Logan at his side.

“Smells like Satan’s latrine down here,” Logan muttered. He sniffed, claws sliding out with a soft snikt. “But these cables — they’re live. Insulators only. We cut the sleeves, wires’ll fry the whole place when we want.”

“Clever,” Kurt said. “Remind me never to play cards with you. You cheat dirty.”

“Only way to win, elf.” Logan slashed, sparks lighting the dark for a moment. “Now let’s move.”

They crept beneath the club, silent predators. But as soon as Kurt climbed through a grate, a hand like steel clamped his throat. Donald Pierce, half-man half-machine, sneered down.

“Caught a rat,” he growled.

Kurt choked, tail lashing.

Logan lunged up behind, claws flashing, slicing through the cyborg’s arm with a spray of sparks.

But another shadow loomed — Harry Leland, smug in a waistcoat, power rolling off him. “Down, beast.”

Logan’s body turned to lead. His muscles screamed as his weight doubled, tripled. He snarled, straining, but the floor cracked first.

CRASH!

The tiles gave way, and Logan plunged back into the sewer storm waters, swallowed by darkness.

Above, violins swelled, and on the dance floor Jean Grey spun in Scott's arms, smiling like a queen.

Chapter Text

Chapter 162: Rust and Blood

The sub-basement stank of oil, piss, and metal polish. Dim yellow bulbs buzzed overhead, swaying on chains. Boots splashed in shallow water as a squad of Hellfire guards fanned out, rifles ready.

“Spread out! Find the body. Black King said the mutie drowned.”

Logan was there. Not on the ground where they thought, but clinging to a ceiling pipe, claws half-unsheathed, muscles tight as coiled wire. His breath slow. His heartbeat quiet. The predator waiting.

One guard stopped beneath him, helmeted head craning side to side. “You smell that?”

Logan dropped.

Steel flashed. The man didn’t even scream — claws punched clean through the chest plate, ribs snapping like twigs. Blood sprayed hot. Logan’s boots splashed as he landed, rolling the corpse off his claws with a grunt.

“Yeah, bub. That smell’s me.”

Shouts erupted. Rifles came up. Too slow.

Bullets ripped the air. Logan saw them crawl in slow arcs, thanks to the dual reflex surge. He slipped between them, water exploding around him. He was already on the next man, claws swiping in a horizontal flash, helmet and head parting company in a wet, ugly noise.

The others panicked. Heartbeats quickened — Logan heard every thrum. Smelled the acid bite of terror in their sweat.

‘Been too long. I let myself rust. Playing hero with the X-Men. Forgot what it feels like to hunt.’

A guard tried to flank him, blade attached under the rifle barrel. Logan turned with a snarl, elongated claws snapping out, five meters of gleaming adamantium whipping forward like a spear. It punched through the guard’s armor, skewering him to a wall. The man gurgled, sagging like a bug pinned to glass.

Two more fired wild. Logan vanished — not invisible, but gone from their senses. The tiger’s stealth pulsed through him, every trace pulled inward, every emission folded into his own body. To their tech and their instincts, he wasn’t there. Just a chair in a room they forgot existed.

They froze. “Where’d he go?!”

Logan’s whisper came from behind them. “Right here.”

Claws burst out their backs, hot blood misting the ceiling. Both dropped, rifles clattering useless.

Logan stood alone now, chest heaving, sewer water and gore dripping off his arms. His claws retracted slow, metal singing as it slid home. He glanced at the carnage.

“X-Men fight not to kill. But you boys… you’re killers. That means I don’t gotta hold back.”

He cracked his neck, sniffed the air — more guards above, more hearts thundering, more prey.

“Now…” his lips pulled back in a wolf’s grin, “…the hunt begins.”

The light overhead flickered, sputtered. Silence swallowed the sub-basement, except for the drip of blood into dirty water.

Chapter Text

Chapter 163: Shackles and Queens

The ballroom of the Hellfire Club gleamed with polished marble and velvet curtains. Crystal chandeliers dripped golden light onto the stage where the captured X-Men stood in a cruel display — bound, collared, shackled by inhibitor fields that cut them off from their gifts.

Colossus strained against his chains, steel muscles bulging, but they glowed with power-suppressing fire. He growled, low and furious, but the restraints held.
Thunderbird bared his teeth. “Cowards. Let me loose and I’ll snap all your necks.”
Storm lifted her chin despite the iron collar digging into her skin. Dignity, pride — the storm goddess even in chains.
Nightcrawler muttered softly, head bowed. “Gott, give us strength…” His tail twitched, nervous.

And Cyclops stood tall, face covered by a ruby-quartz alloy cage, sealing his optic beams behind red glow. He looked immovable, even in shackles. His silence was his rebellion.

Sebastian Shaw stood at the front, arms behind his back, chest puffed in tailored black. The Black King smirked like a man who thought himself invincible.
Donald Pierce polished his cybernetic hand with a rag, bored, waiting for violence.
Harry Leland puffed a cigar, his belly quivering with laughter as he exhaled smoke in Storm’s face.

And then she entered.

Jean Grey — but not Jean. Black corset, high leather boots, lace gloves, a whip coiled at her hip. Black Queen. Her steps echoed sharp as gunfire as she crossed the floor, eyes burning with cruel satisfaction.

Storm spoke first, voice raw but steady. “Jean… no. This is not you. Fight it. Whatever illusion binds you—”

The whip cracked across Storm’s face.

“Silence, slave,” Jean hissed. She grabbed Storm’s jaw, nails digging into her skin. “You betrayed your Lady’s trust. For that, you suffer.”

Storm’s head snapped sideways from the slap. Blood on her lip. She closed her eyes, but she didn’t look away.

“Jean… I will not stop believing in you.”

Jean’s smile faltered, just a flicker — then Jason Wyngarde’s illusion pressed tighter, and her smirk returned, cruel and cold. In her mind’s eye, she stood in a medieval hall, torches burning. Storm knelt before her, chains heavy on her wrists. Wyngarde — Mastermind — at her side, crown gleaming, hand resting on her shoulder like a lover’s claim.

Thunderbird roared. “You witch! I’ll—”

Pierce slammed his cybernetic fist into Thunderbird’s gut, shutting him up with a howl of pain. Leland chuckled. “Dogs bark, but they don’t bite when the leash is strong.”

Colossus’ eyes burned. “You dishonor her, Jean. You dishonor yourself.”

The Black Queen’s whip lashed again, across his chest. “You are mine to dishonor, metal man.”

Nightcrawler’s voice trembled, but his words cut true. “Jean, listen to your heart. You know this is wrong.”

Her hand twitched, hesitation showing for just a second. Shaw barked out a laugh. “Don’t waste breath on her. She’s one of us now.”

Through it all, Cyclops stayed silent. His heart thundered in his chest, but his voice was steady when he finally spoke.

“Jean. Hear me.”

His words didn’t come from his mouth. They came from inside her mind.

She gasped. Her eyes darted, confusion cracking the mask.

‘I’m here,’ Scott’s thought whispered. ‘I’ll always be here. Follow the link. Come find me.’

Jason’s smile thinned. He saw her hesitate. He leaned close, whispering honey into her ear. “Ignore him, my Dark Queen. He is nothing. Only I am real.”

But the thread was already pulling her — a silver link of thought and love. Scott felt it. He closed his eyes, focused. He let himself fall inward, into the astral plane.

White light swallowed him whole.

Chapter Text

Chapter 164: Duel in the Astral Plane

White. Endless, blinding white.

Cyclops blinked as he stood in the void, boots crunching on nothing. It wasn’t emptiness. It was potential. The astral plane had no walls until a mind decided to shape it.

His hand brushed his visor, but it was gone. His uniform shimmered, threads twisting and changing — blue spandex warping into black leather, then into something older, rougher. A long coat. A sword hung at his hip. Medieval garb. He frowned. “Jean…”

A door appeared ahead of him, tall, arched, carved oak. Torchlight bled through the cracks. He swallowed, squared his shoulders, and pushed.

The door groaned open into a stone hall. Fire roared in iron braziers, casting shadows across banners that bore a sigil he didn’t know. At the far end, she stood.

Jean Grey — no, the Black Queen — in velvet and lace, a crown glittering on her brow. She turned, her voice echoing in the vast chamber.

“Who are you, intruder, to enter my Lord’s hall?”

“Jean. It’s me.” His voice cracked, just a little. “Scott. You know me. You know me.”

Her brow furrowed, but before he could take another step, another figure strode from the shadows.

Jason Wyngarde. Cloak flowing, blade gleaming, smirk sharp as a dagger. His medieval costume shimmered between reality and illusion, knight and king. He moved with the swagger of a man who owned the world.

“My Queen, step back. This thief dares to profane your court. I will deal with him.”

Cyclops drew his sword, steel ringing in his grip. He set his stance, mind racing. ‘If I can break through here, I can break through to her. I just have to hold.’

Wyngarde’s grin widened. He lunged. Steel met steel in a shower of sparks. The clash thundered through the hall.

Cyclops gritted his teeth, straining. “Jean! Don’t you see what he’s doing? This is a prison. He’s chaining you!”

Jean’s lips parted — a flicker of doubt. Wyngarde snarled and shoved Cyclops back.

“You think your petty link could hide from me? Fool. I saw it the moment it was forged. I waited. I wanted you to come here. Do you not understand? This is MY battlefield.”

Cyclops stumbled but steadied, blade raised again. His jaw clenched. “Then let’s see if you can take me, bastard.”

The duel grew faster. Sword ringing against sword, sparks flying. Wyngarde pressed the attack with impossible precision, his blade slashing in ways that bent the rules of the fight. Cyclops fought back with grit, with desperation, but every strike felt heavier, slower.

Jean gasped. “Jason… you promised…”

Wyngarde smirked, forcing Cyclops to one knee. “Promised you freedom, my Queen. And he is the last chain. Watch, and be free.”

He twisted his wrist. Cyclops’ sword flew from his hands, clattering across the stone.

“No—!” Scott’s heart thundered. His chest was bare. Wyngarde’s blade pierced through. Pain exploded white-hot as steel drove into his chest.

He gasped, blood in his throat. “Jean… fight him—”

His body dissolved into light, shattering into sparks.

---

In the real world, Cyclops’ head snapped back. His body jerked against the restraints, breath coming shallow, broken. His face drained of color beneath the ruby cage.

“SCOTT!” Storm screamed, fighting against her collar until it burned.

Colossus roared. “You demons! You’ve killed him!”

Nightcrawler’s golden eyes went wide with horror. “Nein… nein… his heart… it is stopping…”

Jean blinked — the illusion wavered. A tear rolled down her cheek even as Wyngarde whispered, “Don’t look at him. Look at me. He is gone.”

Cyclops’ body slumped. His chest rose once, weakly. Then stilled.

Chapter Text

Chapter 165: Broken Chains

The chamber stank of sweat, iron, and fear. The X-Men stood shackled, power inhibitor cuffs digging into their skin, faces bruised, but eyes sharp. Before them, the Inner Circle loomed smug and self-sure. Shaw. Pierce. Leland. Mastermind, with his hand on Jean’s shoulder, the Black Queen draped in shadow and lace. Cyclops lay on the floor, chest heaving, his breath weak, ruby quartz mask sealing his face.

Storm whispered, “Scott… no…” Her voice broke like glass. Colossus strained against his bonds. Thunderbird cursed under his breath.

Then—

The ceiling above cracked. Plaster rained down. A shadow dropped, claws flashing.

Logan hit the floor like thunder, driving his blades through the nearest guard’s chest. Blood sprayed. The man screamed once and was gone. Logan straightened, lips curling in a snarl.

"Miss me, bub?"

The room froze. Even the Inner Circle stiffened.

Jason’s smile sharpened. “My Queen… destroy him.”

Jean turned, eyes burning gold. Her hand lifted. Logan’s body jolted upward, caught in invisible force. He twisted, snarling, claws slashing at empty air.

‘Damn it. She’s fightin’ me. But… wait. No. She ain’t fightin’. She’s… hidin’ somethin’.’

Cyclops stirred. His head lifted. His body screamed with pain, but Jean’s power flickered—subtle, secret. A crack appeared in his ruby quartz mask. A sliver of vision opened.

Cyclops roared and let go. Red light exploded. Pierce was caught full in the chest, thrown across the chamber into the wall. His bionic limbs sparked and whined.

"X-Men—move!" Scott shouted.

The beam cut wide, snapping the shackles off Colossus and Thunderbird. Metal groaned, chains falling in shards. Another blast tore Storm’s restraints apart.

Storm inhaled sharply, power rushing back. “At last!” Lightning danced across her skin.

Leland stepped forward, fury on his face. He reached out with his hands, pulling at the field around Colossus. “You’ll sink to the earth, tin man!”

Scott turned the beam on him. Leland screamed as the optic blast hurled him backwards, through a wall. He tumbled to the floor below, crashing into the midst of Hellfire’s guests. Women screamed, champagne glasses shattered.

Logan dropped, freed from Jean’s grip. His eyes locked onto Leland below. A grin split his face. “Round two, bub.”

He leapt after him.

The world tilted as Logan came down like a meteor. Leland, panicking, flung his power out, increasing Logan’s mass. A mistake. A fatal one.

Logan’s descent became a hammer. He landed with a roar, claws forward, fist driving through Leland’s skull. The man’s head split, blood and bone scattering across the marble floor. Guests shrieked and ran.

Logan rose, dripping red, chest heaving. ‘Rusty, huh? Not anymore. These ain’t soldiers. Ain’t rivals. They’re killers. That makes it open season.’

Back upstairs—

Shaw was already retreating, cloak swirling. Nightcrawler blinked into existence before him, rapier in hand. “Nein, mein Herr. The back door is closed.”

Shaw sneered. “Do you know what I am, creature? Every strike makes me stronger.”

Nightcrawler gave a sharp-toothed grin. “Then I won’t strike. I’ll stall.” He vanished, reappearing a step ahead each time Shaw lunged, driving him in circles.

Storm hovered above, eyes white, wind howling. “You cannot absorb what is not physical, Sebastian Shaw. Feel the ice of the heavens.”

The temperature plummeted. Freezing wind whipped Shaw’s body, chilling his flesh. He staggered, shivering, movements slow.

“Enough!” Shaw roared, desperate. He grabbed Nightcrawler by the neck, slammed him into a wall, and bolted through the smoke, leaving storm clouds in his wake.

Elsewhere—

Pierce staggered upright, sparking and half-fried. Colossus and Thunderbird advanced.

Pierce snarled, ripping his ruined bionic arm free. “I’ll take you both!”

Thunderbird cracked his knuckles. “Try it, tin boy.”

The fight was savage. Pierce’s mechanical strength against Colossus’ steel skin, Thunderbird’s fists raining blows. But Pierce fought dirty. His detached arm crackled with energy. He jammed it into both men at once. Electricity surged, arcs of blue crawling over their bodies.

Colossus groaned, falling to one knee. Thunderbird screamed, body writhing.

Pierce kicked them aside, chest heaving. He fled into the shadows, leaving the two warriors smoking on the floor.

And then—

The rain outside finally breached the sewers. Water surged through the Hellfire’s underbelly, touching the cables Logan had stripped. Sparks flared. The lights across the club died, plunging the mansion into black.

The X-Men, battered, bloodied, stood on the first floor, the night alive with thunder and panic. They had won—but at what cost?

Above, Jean’s heels clicked against the marble. She faced Mastermind, her face calm.

“Jason. You thought killing Scott in front of me would bind me to you. You thought wrong.”

Mastermind’s smug mask wavered. “My illusions are perfection, Jean. You are mine.”

Her lips curled. “Your power cannot touch my mind directly. How, then, did you do it?”

His voice broke. “A device. White Queen’s invention. It projected my thoughts into your mind… gave me access to your every secret. Your every doubt.”

Jean stepped closer. The shadows around her thickened. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “A telepath knows how to break a telepath, Jason. You gave me the key.”

Power flared. Mastermind screamed.

She opened his mind, flooding it with infinity. Stars exploded behind his eyes. Galaxies whirled. The weight of eternity pressed down. He screamed again, clutching his skull. His knees hit the marble, eyes rolling back.

He was gone. A vegetable, body alive but mind destroyed.

Jean turned from him, face unreadable.

Downstairs, the X-Men regrouped, slipping into the darkness as police sirens wailed in the distance. The Blackbird waited, hidden in the lake.

They fled.

But Logan sat in the back, claws sheathed, arms folded. His nose twitched. His eyes narrowed.

‘Somethin’s wrong with Jeannie. Somethin’ deep. Smells like fire. Like somethin’ burnin’ inside her, waitin’ to blow.’

He said nothing. Not yet.

Chapter Text

Chapter 166: Fire and Life Incarnate

The Blackbird hummed low, engines steady as the team sat in silence. Everyone bruised, drained, but alive. Logan leaned forward in his seat, eyes never leaving Jean. Her hands trembled in her lap, her eyes darting between them like she was listening to voices none of them could hear.

Logan finally broke it.
“Jeannie… talk t’me. Somethin’s gnawin’ at ya. Don’t go lockin’ us out.”

He reached, heavy hand on her shoulder. A touch meant to anchor.

Jean’s head snapped up. Eyes burning. She slapped his hand away, voice like venom.
“DON’T. Touch me, human.”

For a second, nobody breathed.

Then her body ignited — black corset peeling into crimson and gold fire, hair whipping as if a storm lived inside her skull. The Phoenix emblem seared across her chest.

Logan staggered back, growling.
“Oh hell…”

The world went white.

The Blackbird exploded in a flower of fire, molten wings scattering into the clouds. The X-Men were torn loose, tossed screaming into the open sky.

---

Nightcrawler’s instincts hit first. He grabbed Thunderbird mid-fall, body vanishing in a puff of brimstone. They reappeared groundside, both sprawling into the dirt.

“Mein Gott, that was too close!” Kurt gasped, chest heaving. Thunderbird rolled to his feet, cursing.
“You call that close? I call that a free fall into a meat grinder!”

Colossus tucked tight, steel skin gleaming as he plummeted like a boulder. He hit the earth with a crater-cracking slam, standing after with soil and rock raining down his shoulders. “I am… still here.”

Storm soared, wind carrying her like a hawk. She snatched Cyclops in one hand, Logan in the other. Logan twisted, claws half-bared in reflex.
“Careful, darlin’, I ain’t exactly light.”

“You will not fall, Wolverine!” she shot back, sweat beading her temples as she fought to hold them both.

They landed rough, Logan rolling free, boots crunching the ground. Cyclops tore his visor straight, already barking.
“Report! Everyone sound off!”

Shouts came back one by one. Bruised, rattled, but alive.

Then their eyes all lifted skyward.

---

She hovered there, framed by fire, silhouette terrible against the clouds. The Phoenix raptor spread its wings wide behind her, flames curling into the shape of a cosmic bird. Jean’s voice thundered, not just into their ears but into their very skulls.

“I AM FIRE! AND LIFE INCARNATE! NOW AND FOREVER… I AM PHOENIX!”

Thunderbird muttered low, eyes wide.
“Yeah, we’re screwed.”

Logan bared his teeth. The scents pouring off her made no sense — ozone, ash, raw power, something alien. And under it all, the faint sweetness of Jean, drowning. His stomach twisted.
“Jeannie… what the hell’ve they done to ya?”

---

The X-Men spread, Cyclops taking point.
“Jean—listen! You’re stronger than this thing. Fight it. We can help you!”

Phoenix looked down at him, and for a heartbeat there was recognition. Then her hand raised, and the air warped.

The ground erupted in a chain of fire. Cyclops dove, visor flashing wide — ruby beams carving the blaze apart before it swallowed the team.

Storm whipped torrents of rain, wind clawing at the inferno.
“Jean! You are not this monster! You are my sister of the skies!”

The Phoenix sneered, flames snuffing Storm’s rain like candles.
“Your skies are mine now.”

With a gesture, she hurled Ororo aside. The goddess of weather struck the ground, breath torn from her chest.

Nightcrawler tried bamfing behind her, but she didn’t even turn. A wave of telekinetic fire knocked him back mid-teleport, slamming him into Thunderbird. Both rolled out groaning.

Colossus braced, steel fists raised.
“For Mother Russia—”

He never finished. She crushed him flat with invisible gravity, forcing him to his knees. Metal groaned as his body sank into the dirt.

Logan roared, claws flaring as he charged, instincts shrieking to tear through.
“JEAN!”

She flicked her gaze, and Logan was thrown like a ragdoll, tumbling through trees until bark and stone stopped him. He clawed up from the crater, coughing blood, body already knitting.
“Alright… so that’s how it’s gonna be.”

---

It wasn’t a fight. It was slaughter.

One by one, the X-Men fell. Jean—Phoenix—left them scattered and unconscious in the dirt, their leader groaning, their bonds with her shattered.

She hovered above them, flames whispering. Then she turned her face to the heavens, eyes no longer human.

Without a word, she streaked upward, a burning lance tearing through the clouds. The sky split with her passage, leaving the team broken in her wake.

Cyclops tried to rise, reaching after her.
“Jean—!” His voice cracked, hollow.

Logan staggered forward, claws retracting, chest heaving. He sniffed the scorched air, her fading scent pulling at every feral nerve in him.
“She ain’t Jean no more…”

Above, the stars burned. And something far worse stirred.

Chapter Text

Chapter 167: Hunger of the Stars

The sky tore open. Phoenix cut through atmosphere like a blade, trailing fire that painted the heavens crimson. Within seconds she was gone, beyond Earth’s air, nothing but a streak of golden flame arcing into the void.

Down below, the X-Men lay scattered like broken toys. Storm staggered to her feet first, hair matted to her brow with rain and sweat.
“By the Goddess… she is gone.”

Colossus dragged himself upright, steel chest dented where Phoenix had forced him into the ground. His deep voice cracked, half despair, half fury.
“She… she was sister to us. And now she has become… this.”

Nightcrawler bamfed closer, smoke curling around his trembling frame. His yellow eyes dimmed with grief.
“Nein, mein freund. She has not become. She has been taken.”

Cyclops forced himself to stand, hand trembling on his visor. His ribs screamed, his head still pounding from psychic backlash, but his voice cut sharp.
“No. Jean’s still in there. She has to be.” He glanced at Logan. “Tell me I’m right.”

Logan’s silence weighed heavier than any blow. His nostrils flared, trying to catch that last, faint whiff of Jean beneath the firestorm scent. He found nothing. His jaw locked.
“…She’s in there. Somewhere. But the thing ridin’ her? Ain’t lettin’ go easy.”

Thunderbird spat blood and staggered over.
“Then we go after her. We don’t just sit around waitin’ for round two.”

Before Cyclops could answer, the air throbbed with engines. A Quinjet roared overhead, descending fast, thrusters kicking dirt into their faces. The ramp hissed open and a familiar blue-furred figure bounded down.

“Great galloping galaxies—what in blazes happened to you all?” Hank McCoy adjusted his glasses, eyes wide at the sight of his team strewn across the field. “The reports spoke of an assault on the Hellfire Club, but this—this looks like Ragnarok on a budget.”

Logan grunted, brushing dust off his shredded uniform.
“Don’t sugarcoat it, Hank. We got our tails handed to us by our own teammate.”

Storm’s voice dropped low, haunted.
“Not Jean. Phoenix.”

Beast froze, lips curling around the name.
“…Good Lord.”

---

Above them, in the cold vacuum of space, Jean Grey was no longer Jean.

The Phoenix flared brighter than Earth’s moon, wings of fire stretching across the void as she ripped a stargate open with a casual sweep of her hand. The tear yawned wide, space folding and screaming as she stepped through.

On the other side, an alien sun burned golden-red. A system thriving with planets, trade routes glittering like spider webs across its sky. The Phoenix hung there, suspended before the star like a moth before flame.

Her voice purred, low and hungry.
“So bright… so alive… so mine.”

She plunged into the star.

The sun shrieked. Its surface rippled, convulsing as Phoenix drank it dry. Solar flares lashed outward, uncontrolled. A nearby planet—a thriving green world with oceans and cities glittering beneath its atmosphere—caught the blast full force.

Its crust peeled away like paper. Oceans boiled. Towers of light crumbled. Within moments, billions screamed their last breath, their home world consumed in a supernova’s fury.

Phoenix emerged wreathed in stellar fire, eyes ablaze, lips curled in ecstasy.
“More…”

---

Not far away, aboard a Shi’ar cruiser, alarms wailed. Officers scrambled at their stations, feathers bristling, faces drained of color. The captain clutched the rail, staring out at the dying planet.
“By the stars—an entire world—gone!”

A comms officer turned, voice trembling.
“Captain, the energy signature… it matches ancient records. It matches the Phoenix.”

The captain’s eyes widened in horror.
“Transmit to the Empress. Now! Before this monster reaches us.”

The ship wheeled, weapons locking onto the figure still drinking the sun. A volley of plasma spears streaked through the void.

Phoenix tilted her head lazily. With a single thought, the spears froze mid-flight, then detonated, shredding the cruiser’s own shields in the backlash.

Her gaze sharpened.
“You dare bite the fire?”

She raised her hand. The cruiser twisted, groaned, then imploded like a tin can crushed in a giant’s fist. Thousands of Shi’ar perished in a heartbeat, their last scream lost to the vacuum.

But before the core went dark, before the fire swallowed everything, a signal escaped—beamed faster-than-light into the Shi’ar throneworld.

Empress Lilandra sat rigid in her chamber when the hologram unfolded before her: a raptor of fire, wings unfurled across the cosmos, its heart the shape of Jean Grey.

Her face drained of all color.
“No… not her. Not Jean.”

The chamber fell silent. Advisors shifted nervously.

Lilandra’s voice was soft, but it shook with iron.
“Summon the Council. This… Phoenix… threatens the universe itself.”

---

Back on Earth, Beast finished bandaging Thunderbird’s arm, his usually jovial tone absent.
“My friends… I fear we are no longer dealing with a crisis of Earthly scale. What Jean has become—it may bring galactic consequence.”

Logan lit a cigar with shaking hands, smoke curling around his face. His voice was gravel.
“Consequences don’t matter. I’m goin’ after her.”

Cyclops straightened, visor catching the sun. His voice was steel.
“No. We are going after her. Together. She’s one of us. And I’ll die before I let her slip away without a fight.”

The team exchanged looks—fear, resolve, grief. But one by one, they nodded.

Above, unseen, the stars themselves seemed to shudder.

Chapter Text

Chapter 168: The House at Midnight

The mansion was quiet, except for the steady click, clack, click of Beast’s tools. Hank hunched over a small metallic rig, eyes narrowed through his glasses as the smell of solder filled the sub-basement. Wires glowed faintly with power, humming like a caged beast waiting to bite.

"This little beauty," Hank said, tapping the device, "is a neural scrambler calibrated to short-circuit psionic pathways. In plain English—it’ll give Jean a splitting headache big enough to keep her from frying us."

Thunderbird crossed his arms. "That sounds like a torture toy, McCoy."

Hank didn’t look up. "It’s a tourniquet, John. Crude, yes. But would you rather let the wound bleed out and drown the world in fire?"

Storm paced slowly, eyes shadowed. "If this fails, there will be no world left to save."

Cyclops stood apart, visor gleaming. His fists clenched. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t trust his voice not to crack.

Logan leaned in the corner, arms folded, smoke curling from his cigar. "Build faster, furball. Jeannie ain’t waitin’ on ya."

---

In the dead of night, Jean Grey stood before the familiar suburban house. The white siding gleamed under the streetlights, every window dark. She didn’t even remember walking here. Didn’t know why her feet brought her. But here she was, Dark Phoenix cloaked inside her chest, restless and prowling.

She pushed open the door. The faint smell of coffee, dust, and lavender rushed her nose. For one trembling second, she wasn’t a god. She was a girl.

"Jean?" her father’s voice, groggy but hopeful. He stumbled from the hallway in his robe, eyes widening. "Jean! My God, it’s you!"

Her mother and little sister Sarah followed, voices trembling, wrapping her in warmth, concern, love. For a heartbeat, she wanted to sink into it. To stay.

But their thoughts weren’t whispers—no, they were shouts in her skull. We love her. We’re afraid. What has she become? She’s not ours anymore.

The fear buried too deep for them to know… but Phoenix saw. Phoenix tasted it. And Phoenix snarled.

Her hand twitched. A tree outside the window shuddered—and in an instant, crystallized into glittering diamond. The family gasped.

Her father backed away, eyes hard. "Who are you? My daughter would never—NEVER—do this!"

Jean’s lips trembled. Phoenix’s flame flickered in her eyes.

Then came the fog. Thick, rolling, unnatural. Smothering the house in a blanket of gray. Her psychic senses hit a wall—blinded.

"What—?!" she growled, stepping outside.

A shimmer above. Then BAMF—sulfur and smoke. Nightcrawler appeared midair, desperation on his face. In his hand: the scrambler. He slammed it onto her head before she could react.

The scream tore the night apart.

Jean staggered, flames sputtering. Phoenix roared inside her skull, but the device clawed at her mind, scrambling every thought into static.

The X-Men struck.

Thunderbird lunged, fists hammering like pistons. Colossus swung heavy metal arms. Storm summoned lightning from the clouds. Cyclops held back, just a thin beam, trembling with restraint. Hank leapt, claws outstretched, precise and calculating.

"Don’t hurt her!" Cyclops barked. "Just contain her!"

But Phoenix wasn’t containable. Even hobbled, even writhing under the scrambler’s bite, she lashed out—bolts of fire, shockwaves of thought. Thunderbird was hurled into the trees. Colossus staggered, metal chest scorched. Storm screamed as her own wind betrayed her, reversed, slammed her against the ground.

Nightcrawler clung to her arm desperately, tail wrapped around her wrist like a chain. "Jean, fight it!"

"She ain’t listenin’!" Logan growled, stalking closer. His claws snikted out in three lethal notes.

The others froze.

Logan didn’t. He pounced, both of them crashing into the nearby lake. Water hissed to steam as fire met cold. Bubbles exploded up as they thrashed beneath the surface.

Jean’s face broke through the water, gasping, flames flickering… and then she wasn’t Phoenix anymore. Just Jean. Just a broken girl. Tears mingled with lake water.

"Kill me," she whispered. "Please, Logan. Do it."

The claws hovered at her chest. The world froze.

Logan’s face twisted, torn. He bent close, voice low, meant only for her. "I love you, Jeannie. Always did. Always will. Don’t matter if you’re the girl I knew… or somethin’ else. You’re still you to me."

The claws retracted with a hiss. He held her instead. Tight.

Above the lake, the others stared. Breathless.

And then came the sound of wheels on gravel. A voice, calm, sharp, commanding.

"Enough," Xavier said, rolling forward, eyes blazing with psychic fire. "It ends now."

Chapter Text

Chapter 169: Web of Lace

Jean writhed in Logan’s arms, half-submerged in the steaming lake, her voice a broken whisper.
“Kill me… Logan, please… before she comes back.”

His jaw clenched, claws twitching at his side, itching to strike and hating himself for it. “Ain’t gonna happen, Jeannie. Not like this.”

Then Xavier’s presence hit them all — a silent storm in their heads, cold and overwhelming.
“Logan. Hold her steady.”

Logan growled under his breath. Easy for you to say, Chuck. Ain’t you the one safe in that chair while I’m sittin’ on the nuke? But he obeyed, tightening his grip.

Jean’s eyes flared gold, then red, then human again. “Charles—” she sobbed, “I can’t—”

Xavier’s voice was steel. “You will.”

The Astral Plane cracked open around them, unseen by the rest but felt in the marrow of every bone. Logan’s hackles rose though he couldn’t see it; he smelled it, like ozone and burning paper.

Inside Jean’s mind, Xavier wove — a fragile lattice of thought and will, threads like spider-silk spun across a chasm of fire. It looked delicate, but each strand carried his full force. A web of lace, stretching across the abyss where Phoenix clawed to be free.

Phoenix screamed. Not Jean — Phoenix. A raw, cosmic howl that made the trees shudder, made Cyclops drop to his knees clutching his visor. Storm gasped, wind dying in her throat. Colossus crossed himself quietly in Russian.

Logan muttered, “Hell, she’s fightin’ him tooth and nail.” His claws clicked once, almost involuntarily.

Inside, Xavier strained, sweat dripping in the real world though his body sat motionless. You are power unchained, Jean… but you are not alone. You are mine to guide.

“YOURS?” Phoenix hissed, appearing as a woman made of flame, talons out, eyes blazing. She swiped — the web tore, frayed, burned at the edges. Xavier roared in silence, forced more of himself into the lattice.

Jean, listen to me!

For a flicker, Jean’s human form appeared within, small, shaking, barefoot in the white void. She looked at Logan — or rather, at the memory of his words still echoing in her mind.

"You’re still you to me."

Her tears fell, each drop quenching a thread of Phoenix’s fire. She reached for Xavier’s hand. “I want… to stay me.”

Together, teacher and student pulled the net tight. The Phoenix form shrieked, wrapped, bound, forced into a cocoon of light. The void sealed. The screaming ceased.

Back in the lake, Jean collapsed, unconscious, body limp against Logan’s chest.

Cyclops stumbled forward, ripping the visor-lock from his face, catching her just as Logan passed her over. His voice cracked. “Jean… no, stay with me. Please, stay.”

Her lashes fluttered. She smiled faintly, weakly. “Scott… I heard you. Your thoughts. Your ring. Yes.”

He froze. “Y-You mean—”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I’ll marry you.” Then her eyes rolled shut again.

Scott cradled her like glass. His whole body shook, relief and terror mixing.

And then — wings. A shadow across the moon. Angel descended, landing lightly beside the group, his feathers ruffling in the night breeze.

“What the hell happened here?” Warren demanded, eyes darting between the battered team and Jean’s unconscious form. “I leave you people alone for five minutes and this is what goes down?”

Logan spat lake water and a curse. “She went nuclear, featherbrain. You’re late to the party.”

Before Warren could retort, voices rang out behind them — Jean’s parents, Sarah, stumbling forward onto the lawn, staring at the strange assembly of costumed warriors. Their eyes locked on Jean, pale in Scott’s arms.

“Explain,” her father demanded, fists clenched, voice cracking. “Explain what you’ve done to my daughter!”

Every X-Man looked at Xavier. Even Logan, still dripping wet, crossed his arms and waited.

Charles opened his mouth—

But before a word escaped, the world dissolved into light.

A blinding, searing flash. Gravity gone. Air stolen. A sense of being plucked clean off the Earth itself.

The X-Men vanished.

Only the faint ripple of displaced grass remained where they had stood.

Chapter Text

Chapter 170– The Judgment of Stars

The X-Men stood frozen, blades and rifles of the Shi’ar soldiers glinting in the artificial starlight of the cruiser’s docking bay. Alien voices barked orders they couldn’t understand, but the intent was clear: resist, and die.

Storm’s hand twitched near her temple, ready to summon lightning even in this cold steel chamber. Nightcrawler’s tail flicked nervously, every nerve screaming for a teleport escape. Colossus subtly shifted, metal skin whispering into place beneath his clothes.

And then—

“Enough,” a commanding voice echoed, firm but measured.

The guards parted, and Lilandra stepped forward. Regal, armored in white and gold, her eyes heavy with sorrow and iron at once.

“You will surrender Jean Grey,” she declared. “For the crimes of the Phoenix. An entire solar system—five billion lives—extinguished in an instant.”

The words landed like stones. The X-Men stared, disbelief clawing at them.

Cyclops’ throat tightened. “That wasn’t her. You don’t understand, it was the Phoenix—”

“Do not play games with me, Earthman,” Lilandra snapped. “The power lives within her flesh. Sealed, perhaps. But what happens when the seal breaks?”

Jean, trembling at the center of it all, whispered, “Five billion lives…? My God.” Her knees nearly buckled.

Beast, unusually grim, adjusted his glasses. “It would appear the Shi’ar intelligence is… thorough.”

Logan growled low, body tense. “I can smell it. She’s blamin’ Jeannie for somethin’ that ain’t her fault. Phoenix wasn’t her.”

Lilandra’s gaze cut to Xavier. “You know the truth, Charles. You spent your short exile among us learning. You know our law.”

Charles lifted his head, weary but resolute. “Yes. And I also know of the ancient rites of the Shi’ar. Trial by combat. A duel of champions, sanctioned by your code of honor.”