Chapter 184— Claws in the Dining Hall
The team padded down the stone corridor, air thick with old dust and Doom's machinery humming deep below. Angel's wings rustled restlessly, feathers dragging against the walls.
Logan slowed. His nose twitched, claws halfway out on instinct. He raised a hand, halting the others.
"Three scents." His voice was low, gravel. "Storm… faint. Real faint. Like she's slippin' away. Then Arcade—smells like cheap cologne and circus peanuts. And the last one? Don't know him. Which means it's Doom."
Colossus clenched a fist, face grim. "Then we do not waste time. We go now."
Thunderbird smirked. "About damn time."
Logan gave him a sideways glance. "Not 'bout time. 'Bout how. Stick behind me. Doom's got tricks you can't muscle through."
Nightcrawler tilted his head, tail curling. "Zat is the first time I have heard you speak of caution, mein freund."
Logan snorted. "Don't get used to it."
They blew the door in.
Immediately, the world blazed silver. Doom raised a gauntleted hand, releasing a wide, sweeping arc of green-white energy. Colossus, Thunderbird, Angel, and Nightcrawler froze mid-motion, skin rippling, hardening, becoming statues of steel,except colusses who's originally an organic metal but before he did anything the battle is already over.
Logan moved like lightning. Bullet time reflexes kicked in—he dove, rolled, and slid across the marble floor. The blast seared past his back, leaving his jacket smoking. He hit the dinner table, claws sparking as he dug in, then flipped it up and ducked behind.
'Can't outrun that beam. Can't take it head-on. Gotta get sneaky.'
His new thermal vision lit up the world in heat-shadows. He could see through the thick table—the glowing outline of Doom, regal even with the weapon raised, and the weaker flicker of Arcade shifting nervously at his side.
"Think a table's gonna save you, Wolverine?" Doom's voice boomed metallic, calm as thunder rolling. "Doom has slain gods. You are but—"
SNIKT!
Logan's claws punched straight through the table, extending, cutting the distance like knives of lightning. They burst through Doom's shoulder—metal shrieked, sparks flew, and Doom staggered back with a roar.
Logan snarled. "Shut up."
He pulled back, shifted, and stabbed again—through Doom's other shoulder, pinning him like a bug to a board.
"GYAAHH!" Doom's cry echoed in the vaulted chamber.
Two more strikes—Logan drove his claws into Doom's thighs. The tyrant fell to one knee, cloak pooling, his mask twitching in rage and disbelief.
Logan rose from behind the table, smoke curling from his cigar. "Guess that armor ain't as invincible as you like tellin' folks."
Arcade squeaked, taking a step back. Logan turned on him, eyes like burning coals.
"This round two, bub. Round one wasn't enough to teach you?" Logan's fist cracked against Arcade's jaw. Teeth rattled, blood splattered. Another punch turned his eye black, swelling fast.
"Call. 'Em. Off." Logan shoved a communicator into his hands. "Now."
Arcade's hands shook, voice trembling as he made the call. "S-s-stand down! Release the hostages! Do it!"
Logan's comm buzzed immediately after. Havok's voice came through, tense but relieved.
"Logan. It's Alex. We just hit Murderworld. The hostages—they handed them over without a fight. It seems there was no need for us, All safe."
Logan's shoulders eased, just barely. "Good. Sit tight. We'll mop up here." He clicked the comm off.
Then he stalked back toward Doom. The monarch bled, pinned but still defiant, eyes blazing behind the mask.
"How do I bring 'em back?" Logan asked, voice low, claws still dripping.
Doom's breathing rattled, metal mask shifting with each pained growl. Finally, he produced a small orb, faintly glowing blue. His voice was iron even through agony: "Press it. They will return."
Logan did. One by one, the steel husks of his teammates cracked, peeled away, until flesh and breath returned. Storm gasped, clutching her chest as if waking from a nightmare.
Logan exhaled smoke, finally letting the tension bleed out. He crouched by Doom, close enough that his claws gleamed inches from the man's throat.
"You're damn lucky," Logan growled, "you didn't try to kill us. If I'd smelled any real intent behind this circus, you'd be prayin' for death right now."
Storm, pale and trembling, bowed her head. "I… failed you. All of you. I should have known better. As leader, I brought us into a trap. I am—"
"Stop."
Logan's hand rested heavy on her head, rough but steady. His voice softened—still gravel, but gentler now.
"That ain't stupidity, 'Ro. That's innocence. You still believe in people. That's somethin' I lost a long time ago. You hold onto it. Don't let it blacken just 'cause the world's ugly. You got me watchin' your back. So you just keep bein' you."
Storm's throat tightened. Tears threatened, but she blinked them away. "…Logan."
Thunderbird flexed, shaking life back into his arms. "Well. Guess we missed the party."
Nightcrawler chuckled, tail flicking. "Ja, all I saw was Logan stab Doom like a kebab."
Colossus clapped Logan's shoulder, weighty and warm. "You saved us, tovarisch. Again."
Logan lit his cigar with a flick. "Yeah, well. Don't get used to it."
Doom, bleeding but unbroken, hissed through his mask. "This… is not over."
Logan leaned down, cigar smoke curling against the steel faceplate. "It never is."
The team turned, battered but alive, heading for the exit. Behind them, Arcade whimpered in a heap, Doom seething in silence, and the castle walls seemed to tremble with the weight of grudges yet to come.
The night air hit their lungs like freedom.
For now.