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.