The bullet wasn't supposed to feel cold. That was the last thing Johan Liebert thought before everything went black. One second he was staring down the barrel of Doctor Tenma's gun, feeling the weight of all his sins pressing down like a heavy blanket. The next... nothing. Just darkness. The void he'd always talked about. The place where monsters go to die.
He'd wanted it. Earned it, really. After everything he'd done, after all the lives he'd broken and the chaos he'd sewn across Europe, death was the only logical ending. Doctor Tenma had finally done what he should have done years ago, back when they were both just names in a hospital file.
Then... awareness.
It hit him all at once. Not a slow waking up, not like swimming to the surface of a lake. More like someone flipped a switch. One moment, nothing. The next—sensation. Smells. Sounds. The feel of small limbs that didn't belong to him. The sound of breathing that wasn't his own.
Johan opened his eyes.
A wooden ceiling stared back at him, dark beams crossing overhead. There was a mobile hanging above the bed—little wooden horses spinning slowly in a draft he couldn't feel. The sheets were soft under his hands. Hands that were way too small. A child's hands.
He turned his head. A woman stood by the door, her face full of worry. Deep lines around her eyes, mouth turned down in that particular way mothers get when their kid is sick. The name came to him from somewhere deep in his head, from a place that wasn't his memory but felt like it was.
Elizabeth Howlett.
Mother.
And next to her, a man with a face like stone. John Howlett Sr. Father. Stiff posture, arms crossed, that look of disapproval only rich fathers could perfect. Behind them, two more figures hovered in the hallway.
Thomas Logan. The groundskeeper. Johan could smell the whiskey on him from across the room. And Victor Logan, fourteen years old, already tall with eyes that watched too much and said too little. The illegitimate son. The problem.
Pain shot through his knuckles.
Johan didn't flinch. He never flinched. But inside, his mind was racing. Three sharp points in each hand, pushing against the skin from the inside. Bone. They felt like bone, sharp and angry, wanting to break free. The body he was in wanted to scream. Wanted to lash out. It was pure instinct, animal and raw.
He wouldn't let it.
Johan clenched his small fists, digging his nails into his palms. The pain helped him focus. He hadn't controlled armies and manipulated serial killers by giving in to instinct. He'd done it by being cold. Calculated. By suppressing the monster inside himself.
The claws went back down. Sullen, like a dog that had been kicked, but they obeyed. The pain faded to a dull throb.
"James?" Elizabeth rushed to the bed, her voice shaking. "Oh, my boy. How are you feeling?"
James. That was his name now. James Howlett.
Johan reached into the memories this body gave him. Fever. Nightmares. Screaming that had the servants whispering about devils and curses. Perfect. A built-in excuse for any strangeness.
He blinked up at her, letting the confusion of a sick child show on his face. "Mother? I... I'm tired. Just really tired."
"Should we call the doctor again?" Elizabeth asked, smoothing his hair back.
John Sr. grunted from the doorway. "The boy just needs rest, Elizabeth. Not more leeches bleeding him."
"He was screaming, John. For three nights."
"And now he's quiet. Let him sleep."
Johan watched them from under half-closed eyelids. He'd played roles before. Many times. A lost child. A victim. A friend. This was just another mask. Easier, even. The body gave him all the right memories. How James talked. How he moved. The little habits and tics.
"I'm okay, Mother," he whispered, making his voice small and weak. "Just need some rest. Really."
Elizabeth looked like she wanted to argue, but John Sr. put a hand on her shoulder. "Come, wife. Let the boy be."
They left. Thomas Logan gave him a hard look before turning away, and Victor... Victor's eyes stayed on him a moment too long. Like he'd seen something that didn't fit. Johan memorized that look. Stored it away for later.
The door closed.
Johan waited. He counted his new heartbeat—faster than his old one, but steady. He listened to footsteps fade down the hallway. Elizabeth's light steps. John's heavy tread. The Logans' work boots scuffing against the wooden floor.
When the house went quiet, he let go.
Three bone claws shot out from each hand with a wet, meaty sound. They tore through his skin like paper, blood dripping down onto the white sheets. Johan stared at them, fascinated. They were beautiful in their own way. Pure violence. Simple. Honest, even.
He flexed his hands, watching the claws move. No pain. Well, there was pain, but it was already fading. The holes in his skin where the claws had burst through were closing up right before his eyes. Pink skin knitting itself back together in seconds.
He pulled the claws back in. They slid back into his forearms with a sound that made his stomach turn, but he didn't look away. The wounds healed completely. No scars. Nothing.
"Interesting," he whispered, his child's voice sounding wrong with that word.
He could feel it now, now that he wasn't suppressing it. This body had power. Not just the claws. He felt strong. Really strong. Like he could run for miles without getting tired. Like he could heal from anything.
Johan held his hand up to the light from the window. Small fingers. Soft skin. But underneath, bones that could become weapons. A healing factor that worked so fast you couldn't even see it happen.
The door opened again.
Elizabeth Howlett peeked in, a bowl of water and a cloth in her hands. "James? I thought I heard something. Are you sure you're alright?"
Johan let his face go blank, then soft. Childlike. Innocent. "I had a bad dream, Mother. That's all."
"Oh, my sweet boy." She came to the bed, setting the bowl on the nightstand. She wiped his forehead with the cool cloth. "Your father thinks I'm being silly, but I know when my baby is hurting."
Johan let her fuss. It was useful. Mothers who felt guilty were mothers who didn't ask hard questions. He made his eyes go big and watery, just a little. "I'm sorry I scared you."
"Never be sorry for being sick, James." She kissed his forehead. "You just rest. Tomorrow will be better."
She left the cloth and took the bowl with her. The door clicked shut.
Alone again, Johan stared at his small hands. At the spots where the claws had been. He could feel them in there, waiting. Three in each hand, tucked into his forearms like knives in sheathes.
James Howlett. Wolverine. That was who this body would become. A man who lived for a hundred and fifty years. A killer. A hero, if you believed the stories.
But Johan Liebert was already in the driver's seat.
And he had his own plans.
Unknown pov,
He'd died as a monster in a world of ordinary people. Now he was alive in a world of gods and mutants. A world where being different wasn't just accepted—it was power.[unknown pov end]
The claws were just the beginning.
Johan smiled. It wasn't a child's smile. It was the smile of a man who'd looked into the abyss, become the abyss, and now got a second chance to see what else he could break.
Tomorrow, he would start learning this new world. Tomorrow, he would figure out the rules.
But tonight... tonight he would sleep. And let the little boy's body rest while the monster inside planned.
The experiment was just beginning.
And this time, the whole world was his sandbox.
[give me stone ]