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.