CHAPTER 204 – THE BANQUET AMBUSH
The hour of the banquet drew near, and the mansion halls felt strange with the rustle of alien fabrics and borrowed finery. Cyclops adjusted his collar, visor gleaming under the light, while Logan tugged irritably at the sleeves of a formal jacket that looked about as natural on him as a muzzle on a wolf. Storm swept past in white and silver, regal as a queen, Nightcrawler fussed with the cuffs of his tunic until Kitty teased him into smiling, and Kitty herself twirled nervously, still unsure if she looked more like a space princess or a kid playing dress-up. That was when Corsair appeared at the doorway, arms folded, his eyes locked on Cyclops. "I won't attend," he said flatly. "Lilandra deserves her celebration, but I can't break bread with the people who murdered my wife. Shi'ar or not, I can't forgive their emperor's bloodline." Cyclops paused, jaw tightening, then gave a slow, understanding nod. "I get it, sir," he murmured, voice low with both respect and distance. Before the silence could deepen, Colossus stepped in from the hall, shaking his head. "I will stay, too. I cannot leave Illyana alone—not after… everything. She needs me." Logan came up beside him, resting a scarred hand on the Russian's shoulder. "Petey, someone's gotta keep an eye on Chuck too. You stick with your sister. Ain't no shame in that." Kitty, overhearing, bit her lip and fidgeted. Her wide eyes flicked between Peter and the others, guilt pulling at her. "Maybe I should stay too, with Peter and Professor—" But Storm stepped in, her hand warm and steady as she ruffled Kitty's hair. "No, little one. You should see this night. There will be many burdens on your young shoulders in time… but not tonight. Stay child." Kitty blinked up at her, then managed a shy nod. And with the farewells spoken, the chosen X-Men—Cyclops, Logan, Nightcrawler, Storm, and Kitty—were suddenly bathed in a wash of radiant Shi'ar light, their forms dissolving in brilliance as they were whisked away toward the waiting stars.
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The evening air shimmered with anticipation. In the Shi'ar flagship's great hall, alien lights glowed like jeweled stars, casting the chamber in deep gold and violet. Tables stretched long and glittering, set with dishes no Earthman had names for. Music swelled—strange, crystalline notes that made Kitty grin wide-eyed.
"Wow," she whispered, tugging at her dress collar. "This is… this is like prom night on Mars."
Logan grunted beside her, tugging at the formal jacket they'd crammed him into. "Feels more like a turkey shoot waitin' to happen." He sniffed the air, nose twitching. "And don't get me started on the appetizers. Half this stuff smells like it crawled off the plate."
Kitty giggled nervously. "You always know how to ruin the magic, huh?"
"Magic's just what kills you when you ain't lookin'," Logan muttered, scanning the hall again.
Storm swept in with a regal stride, her white gown flowing like a storm cloud about to break. She smirked at Logan's scowl. "Do try to behave, Wolverine. Tonight is a night of peace."
"Yeah, sure," Logan said. "Peace usually comes right before the fight."
Cyclops straightened his uniform cuffs, his ruby visor gleaming in the lights. "Logan, not everything is a fight."
"Tell that to my nose, Summers," Logan growled back. "Something stinks here."
Before anyone could press him, Lilandra rose from her throne-like chair at the head of the banquet. Her presence silenced the music, and all eyes turned.
"My people," she declared, her voice carrying regal strength, "and my honored allies, the X-Men. Tonight, we celebrate not merely survival, but the triumph of unity against those who would divide and destroy." She turned toward her guests, smile radiant. "Charles Xavier, though absent in body, is with us in spirit. To him, and to all who stand for hope—let us drink!"
The hall erupted in applause, goblets lifted high.
But Logan's nose twitched again. Beneath the perfumes, beneath the roasted alien meats and spiced wines—something acrid. Metallic. Ozone-sharp. His eyes narrowed to slits.
"Lilandra," he said, voice rough, loud enough to cut through the cheer. "I don't mean to rain on the party, but you might wanna answer me somethin'."
Her brow furrowed. "What is it, Wolverine?"
He jabbed a clawed finger toward the far wall. "How the hell does a galactic empire THIS big get infiltrated so easy? 'Cause I can smell it. Right. There."
All eyes snapped to the wall he pointed at. A ripple ran through the crowd—confusion, fear.
Then the wall exploded.
A blast of smoke and shrapnel tore through the banquet hall. Screams erupted as rubble rained down. From the haze stepped Deathbird, her wings flared wide, eyes blazing with venomous triumph.
"You should have stayed on your little planet, X-Men," she sneered, voice slicing through the chaos. "The Shi'ar throne belongs to ME."
Behind her surged the Brood, claws clacking, jaws dripping acid. Their screeches rattled the chamber, filling it with the promise of slaughter.
Logan's claws SNIKT'd out in a flash of steel, his lips pulling back in a snarl. "Called it."
Cyclops barked, "X-Men, formation—"
But Deathbird moved first, hurling a canister at the floor. It burst with a hiss, flooding the hall with greenish vapor. The scent hit Logan like a hammer—numbing gas, heavy and fast.
Storm whipped up a sudden gust to clear it, but too late—the fumes clung to their lungs, dragging them down. Kitty clutched her throat, phasing instinctively but staggering all the same.
"No—" Nightcrawler coughed, his voice breaking. "It's… a trap!"
Deathbird's laugh rang sharp. "The Brood hunger, and you are the feast! As agreed!"
Logan's vision blurred. His claws felt heavy as lead. He staggered forward, trying to push through sheer will. "You ain't… takin' us… without—"
The gas thickened, pulled him under. His knees buckled.
The last thing he heard before the black took him was Deathbird's cold command to her Brood:
"The X-Men are yours."