Chapter 206 – The Thing in His Heart
Logan sat hunched in the alcove, sweat dripping down his temples, claws tapping restlessly against the floor. Every beat of his heart made the thing inside twitch, a parasite feeding, gripping tighter. He could feel it moving, squirming like it wanted to crawl out and replace him.
His reflection in the wall's slick surface gave him no mercy. His chest rose and fell, and there—just under his skin—something pulsed. A bulge pressed, then slid away, like a heartbeat that didn't belong to him.
His lip curled. "You ugly little freeloader. You picked the wrong barstool to sit on."
Pain flared sharp again, nearly dropping him. He hissed, grabbed at his chest. The thought slammed into him: If it's in me, it's in them. Storm. Cyke. 'Crawler. Kitty. Every one of 'em.
A growl bubbled up from deep in his gut. If I can't find a way to cut it out of me… how the hell am I supposed to save them?
He pushed himself upright, claws extending with a harsh snikt. His voice rasped out, low and bitter. "All right, bub. Let's see how bad this gets."
He dug the claws into his own chest.
The first cut was fire. His body screamed in protest, nerves lighting up like every wire had been stripped raw. Logan bit down hard on his teeth, holding in a roar. His claws slid through skin, muscle, ribs. Blood poured hot over his hands, steaming as it hit the hive's air.
The walls seemed to lean closer, the whole corridor listening. His breath came ragged. His claws clicked against his sternum—then he forced them apart, cracking his chest open with the sound of breaking branches.
He could see it now.
A twisted little monster, clinging to his heart like a leech. Pale, slimy, with tiny limbs twitching and a maw latched onto him, drinking greedily. Its eyes—black, bead-like—snapped to his reflection in the wall. And it sucked harder.
Logan snarled through his teeth. "Do you think I'm your mother, bub? You think I'm breastfeedin' you?"
He shifted his claws with brutal precision. One slip and he'd slice his own heart. His hand trembled. His whole body shook with pain. But rage steadied him. He angled, then struck—slicing the parasite in half with surgical savagery.
It shrieked, a sound he felt more than heard, vibrating in his bones. Half of it slid down his ribs, twitching. The other half writhed still clamped on his heart, jaws refusing to let go.
"Persistent little bastard," Logan gritted out. He jammed two claws in and pried it loose, carving it off like rotten fruit.
He yanked it out. The thing dangled, hissing, in the grip of his claw. Logan's vision swam, black around the edges, his chest wide open, heart pounding raw and wet in his chest cavity. He spat blood, then crushed the larva into paste with a savage twist.
His healing factor screamed to life. Smoke hissed off his body, his chest sizzling as tissue knit, ribs reformed, muscle pulled together. The stench of burnt flesh and blood filled the corridor.
Logan leaned back against the wall, chest heaving, covered in gore. He let the claws retract with a slow shkkt, every nerve vibrating.
"Those sleazoids," he panted, "thought they could turn me into one of 'em." His lips pulled into a grim grin, feral and dark. "They don't know Wolverine."
But the grin faded quick.
The others.
His head dropped forward. His mind swirled with their faces—Storm's quiet strength, Cyke's rigid focus, Kitty's wide-eyed bravery, 'Crawler's laugh.
He muttered, almost a prayer: "What if they can't cut it out? What if they've already turned?"
He could almost see them—Storm's regal face twisted into insect chitin, Scott's visor glowing from a Brood skull. Kitty's small body crawling on too many legs.
His hands clenched.
"Do I kill 'em… or is there some other way?"
The silence gave no answer. Only the faint drip of ichor from the dead Brood patrols.
Logan stood, swaying for a second before his healing finished sealing the worst of it. He wiped blood from his chest with the back of his hand, leaving crimson streaks. His claws slid out again, gleaming.
"Either way," he growled, "I'm gonna find 'em. And I'll be the one decidin' what happens next. Not these bugs."
He started walking again, every step heavier than the last. The walls seemed to shiver with life, the hive aware now of his defiance. He welcomed it. Let them know. Let them come.
He'd cut through every last one of them. He'd find his team. And if fate had already stolen them from him, if they were gone, replaced by monsters…
His jaw set like stone.
"…then I'll be the one to put 'em down."