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."