Chapter 211: Scars That Don't Heal
The med-bay of the Starjammer pulsed with low light, the kind meant to soothe patients who'd crawled back from the edge of death. For the X-Men, it was more than soothing—it was salvation. One by one, Cyclops, Storm, Nightcrawler, and Kitty Pryde staggered out of Sikorsky's healing cells, pale but whole.
Kitty pressed her palms to her chest, gasping at the absence of the parasite that had clung there. "It's… gone." Her voice cracked, a mix of disbelief and raw relief.
Nightcrawler dropped to his knees, crossing himself three times, tail coiling nervously. "Mein Gott… I thought we were doomed."
Storm, regal even with her hair plastered to her face, raised her chin and whispered, "The sky answers prayers, even in the void of space."
Scott pulled his visor down tight, his usual calm cracking into something boyish and unguarded. "We made it."
They laughed—exhausted, shaky laughter. Kitty hugged Nightcrawler; Storm clutched Scott's arm. For a brief moment, they were not prisoners, not hosts, not mutants caught in a cosmic war. They were simply alive.
From the corner, Logan leaned against the bulkhead, arms crossed, cigar clenched between his teeth. His gaze softened, but only for a breath. The sight of them laughing lit something warm in his chest, but the warmth turned quickly to ache. He turned away, padding silently to the viewport.
The galaxy sprawled before him—ribbons of purple nebula, pinpricks of stars, the cold fire of eternity. Logan lit his cigar off one claw, drew in a lungful of smoke, and let it drift toward infinity. His reflection in the glass looked older than it had any right to.
Why is it always me, the last man standin', the one holdin' the blade over the people I love?
He exhaled sharply through his nose, like a growl bottled behind clenched teeth.
"Logan?"
He stiffened at the soft voice. Storm approached, hesitation in her every step. She looked as if she were walking into the lair of a wounded beast.
"What?" he rasped, eyes never leaving the stars.
"I wanted…" She swallowed, her composure wobbling. "I wanted to say I'm sorry."
His jaw tightened. He took the cigar out of his mouth, rolling it between thumb and forefinger. "Sorry for what? That you almost died? That you asked me to put you down like a dog?"
Her eyes glistened, but her spine stayed straight. "Both."
Logan finally turned to look at her. His stare was sharp, amber glinting under his heavy brow. "Don't ever do that again, 'Ro. Don't ever ask me that."
She blinked. "Why?"
"Because I'll do it." His voice was low, steady, carved out of stone. "You ask me to kill you, I'll kill you. I'll do it quick and clean, but it'll carve me up inside worse than any blade. Don't put that weight on me unless it's the only damn road left. You hear me?"
For a long beat, silence stretched. Then, slowly, Storm's lips curved into the faintest of smiles. Relief washed over her features like sunrise after storm clouds. "Then I promise. Never again."
Logan grunted, shoved his cigar back in his mouth, and looked back out into space. "Good."
Behind them, Corsair's voice broke the quiet. "Alright, team, gather up. We've got news."
The X-Men drifted closer, clustering near the Starjammer's captain's chair. Corsair leaned against the console, rakish grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Lilandra herself called," he said, tossing a glance at Scott. "Seems she won. The Shi'ar fleet crushed Deathbird's rebellion and burned out the Brood nests hangin' over their empire."
Kitty let out a relieved squeak. "So it's… over?"
Corsair's grin faltered. "Not over. The Brood never die easy. But for now, Lilandra's got the upper hand. And she wanted to know if her favorite mutants were still breathing."
Kurt clapped his hands. "Then we have hope again."
Logan muttered around his cigar, "Hope's fine, elf. But hope don't stop the next wave."
The ship rocked gently as it shifted into warp. The stars streaked into lines, then into a blur of light. Their course bent back toward Earth.
---
When the Starjammer settled into orbit above the blue marble of Earth, Logan's gut was already twisting. He could smell it—wrongness carried even through the ship's seals. His nostrils flared, the stink crawling up his sinuses like rot. Brood.
And underneath it, faint but undeniable, Xavier.
His stomach sank like a stone. "No good." He pushed past the others, voice a gravel growl. "We got trouble."
The X-Men exchanged worried looks but followed as Logan barreled down the ramp, nose to the ground like a hound on blood trail.
They found Colossus and Illyana sitting on the floor outside a locked door in the mansion's lower wing. Piotr looked up, and for the first time in days, his face lit with joy. "My friends! You are alive!" He rose, embracing Storm, clasping Kurt's hand, even resting his massive palm on Kitty's shoulder.
But Logan didn't return the warmth. His nostrils flared again, his gaze locked on the steel door behind Piotr. "What's in that room?"
The joy drained from Colossus's features, replaced by torment. His shoulders sagged, his eyes darkened. "Professor… Xavier."
Scott's visor tilted sharply. "He's here?"
"Alive… but not." Piotr's voice trembled. He clenched his fists, knuckles whitening. "He began to… change. The Brood infection took him. But before it finished, he spoke to me, here—" he tapped his temple, tears brimming. "He begged me to chain him, to leave him locked away. And when the change completed, he wanted me… to kill him."
Kitty gasped, covering her mouth. Illyana turned away, hugging her knees to her chest, face pale as chalk.
Scott staggered a step. "No…"
Storm's hands shook as she whispered, "The Professor…"
Colossus's voice cracked. "I could not. I am strong, yes, but not in that way. So I left him bound, praying for a miracle. But then you were taken, and the Shi'ar at war—I did not know what to do!"
The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating.
Logan finally spoke, voice like gravel dragged across steel. "Then there's only one road left. Open the door."
Scott whipped around, furious. "No! We can't just—"
"—Kill him?" Logan cut in, eyes narrowing. "Better dead than a Brood puppet."
"Not yet." Corsair stepped forward, arms folded. His voice carried authority born from a thousand wars. "Bring him aboard the Starjammer. Let Sikorsky examine him. If there's a way to pull him back, we'll find it."
Logan growled low but didn't argue. He wanted to. God, he wanted to end it here, to spare everyone the false hope. But Corsair's tone brokered no defiance.
Colossus nodded quickly, grateful tears streaking down his face. "Yes. Yes, we must try."
The steel door groaned as Piotr unlocked it. The hinges shrieked, echoing through the corridor.
Inside the cell, chained to the wall, was no longer Charles Xavier. His body had twisted—flesh hardened into carapace, fingers curled into clawed talons. His eyes glowed, alien and hungry, yet behind the hunger flickered something—someone—recognizable.
The X-Men froze, horror pinning them to the floor.
Xavier raised his head, the chains rattling. His voice was a guttural growl, yet laced with unmistakable telepathic clarity.
"My X-Men… forgive me."
The chains snapped taut as the monster lunged forward, jaws snapping.
The team recoiled. Logan's claws snikted out with lethal intent.