The night sky lit up with a chain of blinding flashes.
The bombs buried around the stronghold went off in unison. They had been waiting for the perfect moment—when the enemy was directly over them—and now that moment had arrived.
A thunderous BOOM! ripped through the forest, a sound so violent it seemed to shatter the air itself.
The Essex soldiers caught in the blast had no time to react. A wall of fire swallowed them whole, their screams ripping through the roar of the explosion. The force of the blast tore through their bodies, scattering limbs into the inferno.
Flames leapt from tree to tree, merging into a massive sea of fire that blazed against the darkness. The heat surged outward in a suffocating wave, slamming into Wolverine and the others. It was like standing in front of an open furnace—the air itself burned in their lungs.
But amidst the destruction, there was no joy.
The fire claimed not just the enemy—it devoured the bodies of their fallen comrades.
The surviving Mutants stood frozen, eyes locked on the inferno, their faces etched with grief. Reflections of the flames flickered in their pupils, but no spark of victory lit their expressions.
Sabretooth's voice broke the silence, low and heavy. "Come on. We need to move. This place isn't safe anymore."
Without another glance at the burning graveyard behind them, he turned and led the way into the deeper forest. The others followed, silent shadows slipping between the trees.
---
They didn't stop until the glow of the fire faded into the distance. There, in the quiet darkness of the woods, they finally tended to their wounds.
Every Mutant knew that injuries weren't just a danger to their lives—they could give away their position.
Sabretooth sat with his back against a tree, a combat knife in his hand. Without hesitation, he jammed the blade into the bullet wound in his shoulder.
Psst!
The steel tore through flesh, and blood streamed down his arm. His jaw tightened, teeth grinding as he worked the knife deeper, searching for the slug lodged inside. With a sharp puff, he pried the flattened bullet free and flicked it onto the ground.
Wolverine worked nearby, his own wounds less severe. "You've changed, Victor," he said quietly, keeping his eyes on the cut he was cleaning. "You never used to throw yourself into the line of fire for people you barely knew."
Sabretooth snorted, wincing as he dug the knife into another wound. "Wasn't exactly a choice. I've got the most combat experience out here. Whether I like it or not, I end up leading the fight. My survival skills make me the first to charge in—and they follow because they know I'll keep moving forward."
He gave a short, humorless laugh. "I don't know if it's because I'm getting old, but I can't stand being alone anymore. I've carried that kind of loneliness for too long. Being with them… it takes the edge off. But when they die, the pain—" He pressed the blade into another gash, his face contorting as the veins stood out on his forehead. "The pain cuts deeper than anything a bullet or claw could do. And it doesn't heal."
Wolverine fell silent. He knew exactly what Victor meant.
Over the years, Sabretooth had stopped being the lone predator, slowly finding a place among others—the X-Men, allies like Jean Grey, Professor X, and Beast. Those bonds had given him something worth holding onto. But one by one, those friends had been taken, leaving him alone again.
The death of a comrade left a scar no healing factor could touch.
Wolverine gave a faint, bitter smile. "The only thing I've learned in this world is that nothing's certain—except death and parting."
For a moment, neither man spoke. Then, two small hands rested on their shoulders.
They looked up into the determined eyes of the Little Wolf Girl.
She hesitated, then said softly, "This war will end one day. When it does, those who stand beside us won't have to die like this. When they go, it'll be… peaceful."
Sabretooth's expression softened. He reached up and ruffled her hair. "Then you'd better find that person you're looking for soon."
"I will," she said firmly. "Even if I have to search the whole world."
Sabretooth's grin turned sharp as he looked at Wolverine. "So don't go dying before then. I'm not about to haul your carcass off the field."
Wolverine smirked. "You know me. I'm hard to kill."
He tied off the last bandage and stood. "Once we've patched up, we're heading out. I'll be saying goodbye here, Victor. Live well."
Sabretooth snorted. "Still strong as ever. Where are you headed?"
"New York," Wolverine replied.
"And you?"
"Our stronghold's gone," Sabretooth said. "We'll head north, find more Mutants, build up numbers. The more sparks we gather, the bigger the fire when we find that savior you're chasing."
Two groups set off—one toward the north, one toward the southeast. One to gather sparks, one to seek the source of the flame. Both were fighters, bound by blood and loss, leaving their mark on history in crimson.
---
Meanwhile, word of the so-called "savior" had reached Essex ears.
The mercenaries laughed.
"A savior? These crippled freaks believe in fairy tales now."
"It's pathetic," one sneered. "If he shows up, I'll put him down myself. Let's see how many bullets this 'chosen one' can take before he's just another corpse."
"Mutants have been dropping at our hands for years. Tens of thousands dead, thousands dissected. Even Wolverine's out here running like a rat."
They boasted about Beast—captured, experimented on, and reduced to just another weapon in Essex's arsenal.
The rumors spread further, even reaching certain high-level officials. Most dismissed it.
"Savior? Sounds like a bedtime story for Mutants on their last legs," one scoffed.
But a few considered the possibility—and dismissed it anyway.
"So what if there is one? We've already crushed any chance of resistance. Once we finish our current hunt, we'll wipe out the rest."
Confidence was high. Too high. They believed their X-Weapon program made them untouchable. An army of engineered soldiers, each carrying stolen Mutant powers. In their minds, Mutants were nothing more than broken remnants—shrimp soldiers and crab generals waiting to be swept aside.
---
Far from the front lines, deep within the hidden base of the Hand Association, an old woman whispered secrets.
"When the Great Old One completes the final ritual and the Black Sky pact is broken," she explained, "we will perform the integration ceremony. The Lord Cthulhu will merge with a new host, granting them a fragment of its power and forbidden knowledge. Among that knowledge is a ritual to avoid the attention—and debt collection—of the Dimension Master."
Her voice dropped lower. "The cooldown is long—years before it can be used again. And the debt must be small, like the cost of ending a pact, or it cannot be hidden."
She paused, eyes gleaming. "But understand this—once bound, the Great Old One's life is tied to the host. If the host dies, Cthulhu sleeps for centuries."
On the far side of the chamber, the Beast was preparing another ritual when a sudden chill crawled over its skin. It froze, muttering, "What the hell? Feels like someone's talking about me…"
It had no idea it had just been sold out by its own people.
Shaking off the unease, it bared its teeth in a grin. "Forget it. I've got a mission to finish—and then I'm getting out of this cursed place for good."
With that, the Beast returned to its work, the gears of fate grinding ever closer.
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