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."