Chapter 121
The ancestral home of the Yashidas was wide as a fortress, with wooden halls and carved screens, gardens still whispering beneath the smoke. The X-Men spread through its rooms, some seeking rest, others information.
Cyclops paced in a study, rotary phone in hand, knuckles white. He dialed Xavier's number again. Only silence and static. Nothing. His visor gleamed in the dim lamplight as he slammed the receiver down. Cut off. Blind and deaf. And the Professor—if he needs us…
Storm entered quietly, her eyes catching his taut posture. "You look ready to split in two, Scott."
He forced a half-smile. "We can handle the earthquakes, Storm. What I can't handle is radio silence from home."
Storm laid a gentle hand on his arm. "Then trust that, for once, fate may guard him. We must guard Japan."
Elsewhere, Misty Knight filled in the blanks, her cybernetic arm catching the glow of paper lanterns. "Reports say the tremors are too patterned. Too neat. Whoever's behind this has more than earthquakes at their command."
Colleen Wing added softly, "The Prime Minister will not say it aloud, but they fear… an engineered disaster."
Banshee shook his head, lips pursed. "Blast it all, if it's man-made, that means there's a hand to stop. And I'll be glad to break it."
---
Logan wasn't listening. He was gone, drawn by the faint music threading through the garden.
A bamboo flute, played gently, a melody almost too delicate to live in a world of steel claws and burning cities. He followed it past stone lanterns and koi ponds, his steps silent, his presence erased by the painful shimmer of his new trick.
The player sat by the pond's edge: a young woman in a pale blue yukata patterned with cranes. Her hair was dark silk, her posture straight, her hands tender on the flute. She seemed made of stillness.
Logan stepped forward without thought. "Good skill," he rumbled.
The woman gasped, nearly dropping the flute. She turned, startled eyes wide. "You—! You walk like a shadow! How did you…?"
Logan raised both hands in mock surrender. "Easy there, darlin'. Didn't mean to spook you. Guess I've got a knack for sneakin' up on people."
Her breath slowed, though suspicion lingered. "You speak Japanese… fluently."
He answered in her tongue, his voice low and steady: "Better than most who were born here. Spent some years in your land. Learned respect for it."
The shock in her eyes softened into curiosity. "You are… unusual, sir."
"Name's Logan," he said simply. "And you?"
She hesitated, then bowed her head. "Yashida Mariko."
The name hung between them like a secret meant to be treasured. Logan felt something stir—odd, unfamiliar, but warm. Hnh. First time in a long while a name feels like it matters.
Before either could say more, the earth heaved. A thunderclap quake split the ground. Lanterns toppled, stones cracked, walls groaned. Mariko gasped, slipping, but Logan was already there, scooping her up as beams crashed around them.
"Stay still, darlin'." He moved with a predator's grace, weaving between falling rubble, his claws sparking as they sliced through a collapsing beam to clear the way. The stealth shiver burned in his gut, but he bore it. Pain's nothin' new. Keep her safe.
---
In the main hall, the quake sent panic ripping through the household. Then came the metallic shriek.
Through the collapsing wall stomped armored giants—Mandroids, gold and green, eyes glowing.
"Target: Prime Minister's envoy. Capture—dead or alive."
Cyclops was already shouting, visor burning red. "X-Men—defensive positions! Don't let them through!"
Storm swept the roof beams clear with a gust, shielding Misty and Colleen. "Their voices… mechanical, cold. Like sentinels in another skin."
Banshee's scream rattled the armor of the lead Mandroid, sparks flying. Colossus met another head-on, steel against alloy. Nightcrawler bamfed in and out, drawing fire from their blasters. Thunderbird tackled one to the ground, fists pounding like drums.
And Logan—Logan was gone.
Or rather, the Mandroids couldn't feel him. He slipped through the rubble like smoke, silent, invisible to their sensors. One paused, confused, until three adamantium claws pierced its circuitry from behind. Another's chestplate was pried open, wires hissing.
Logan melted into the dark, struck again, vanished. Each kill was surgical, brutal, a predator dismantling prey.
Through the chaos, Mariko clung to the shadows, watching him not as monster or ghost, but as savior.
By the time the last Mandroid fell, the floor was a graveyard of smoking armor. The pilots, dragged from their suits, groaned in defeat.
And from the cracked shell of one, a hologram shimmered to life.
A tall figure cloaked in menace, voice booming.
"I am Moses Magnum. Japan kneels—or tomorrow it sinks beneath the waves."
The room froze, every breath stolen by the threat.
And Logan, standing with claws dripping sparks, growled low. "Guess we've got ourselves a real bastard to gut."