Chapter 212: Hope in the Husk
The cell reeked of metal, sweat, and something fouler—the acrid stench of the Brood. The figure chained to the wall writhed, body caught between man and monster. Carapace ridged across shoulders that once bore the calm presence of a teacher. Hands, once gentle, had sprouted talons that scraped sparks against the restraints.
But it was the eyes that cut deepest. They glowed with alien hunger, yes—but beneath, deep, buried like a dying flame, was Charles Xavier.
"My X-Men… forgive me."
The words weren't spoken with his mouth. They reverberated inside their skulls, clear as a shout.
Cyclops staggered back, one hand clapping against his visor as if the pressure might crush his brain. "Professor—no, it can't be you—"
Storm's voice trembled. "Charles… what have they done to you?"
Kitty buried her face in Kurt's shoulder, muffling a sob. Nightcrawler wrapped his tail protectively around her, though his golden eyes brimmed with tears of their own.
Colossus stepped forward, voice raw with guilt. "Professor, I could not… I could not kill you." His fists clenched so tight they trembled. "I was too weak."
The creature on the wall snarled, thrashing, the chains biting deep into its twisted flesh. Then the telepathic voice came again, weaker, like a whisper carried through static.
"You were merciful, my boy. But mercy will cost you dearly. The Brood… I am… slipping…"
Logan had heard enough. He stepped into the cell, claws sliding free with the scrape of steel on steel. "Then we end it here. Now."
Scott's head snapped around, his visor glowing faint red. "Don't you dare, Wolverine."
Logan growled low, eyes never leaving Xavier. "Open your eyes, Cyke. He's gone. All that's left is a parasite wearin' his skin. The man we knew? He asked to be put down."
"I won't accept that!" Scott snapped, fists trembling at his sides. His voice cracked—not the commander's bark, but the voice of a boy who'd already lost too much. "Not him. Not the Professor."
Corsair, who had been standing back with arms crossed, finally strode forward. His face was grim, the usual roguish smirk nowhere to be found. "Logan's not wrong. But there's another path. We've done it before, with others the Brood infected. We can't save the body, but maybe—just maybe—we can save what's left of the man."
Storm's eyes widened. "How?"
Corsair turned toward the corridor, barking over his shoulder. "Sikorsky! Med-bay, now!"
The buzzing little med-drone zipped into the room like a silver streak, lenses whirring, appendages flexing. "Patient Charles Xavier—status: irreversible tissue assimilation. Recommendation: termination."
Scott's chest heaved, fists curling. "No. There's got to be another way."
"Correction," Sikorsky droned, tilting as though in thought. "Possible alternative. Neural activity indicates mind remains intact. Extraction and transfer into cloned biological host: 13.6% probability of success."
Kitty's head snapped up. "That's it? That's all we've got?"
Nightcrawler's voice was soft, reverent. "A chance is a chance, mein kleines Mädchen. For the Professor, we must try."
Logan spat his cigar stub on the floor and ground it under his boot. "Thirteen percent ain't much of a bet. That's damn near suicide."
Storm's white hair gleamed as she straightened, her voice regaining steel. "But it is hope."
Corsair put a heavy hand on Scott's shoulder. "It's more than most people get, son. The question is—do you take it?"
Scott looked at the figure chained to the wall—this grotesque hybrid that had once been his mentor, his father in every way that mattered. His voice broke as he whispered, "Yes. Whatever it takes. We try."
The Brood-Xavier let out a guttural snarl, its head snapping up. For a moment, it looked like it would lunge again. But then the eyes softened, dim flame flickering. The voice echoed once more.
"Do it… my X-Men. Free me."
---
The Starjammer's med-bay became a warzone of technology and tension. Xavier's monstrous body was secured in a containment field, glowing lines binding him in midair. Sikorsky hovered, spitting data in rapid-fire bursts as cloning vats hissed to life.
Corsair paced like a caged lion. Scott stood rigid at the foot of the chamber, visor locked on his father but silent, jaw set. Storm held Kitty close, whispering words of comfort even as her own hands trembled. Nightcrawler knelt, rosary clutched in his hands, murmuring prayers in German. Colossus stood statue-still, guilt radiating off him like heat.
And Logan… Logan stood apart. Arms crossed, smoke curling from his cigar, eyes fixed on Xavier. His claws were sheathed, but they ached to be used. His instincts screamed that this was folly—that dragging out the inevitable was cruelty, not mercy. But a smaller voice, one he didn't often listen to, whispered something else.
They need this. Even if it's false hope, they need to believe in it.
Sikorsky's voice cut through the tension. "Neural scan complete. Mind intact, though unstable. Commencing transfer."
The machine whirred, light lancing from the containment field into the cloning tank. Within the glass cylinder, a shape began to form—flesh knitting over bone, muscle weaving from strands of light. It was slow, agonizingly slow.
Scott whispered, almost to himself, "Please… hold on."
The Brood-Xavier convulsed, snarling, body thrashing against its restraints. The voice screamed into all their minds—raw, guttural, yet still undeniably Charles.
"Hurry! I cannot… hold… much longer!"
The lights flickered. The containment field groaned. For a heartbeat, it seemed everything would collapse.
Then the vat hissed open.
Steam poured out.
And there he was.
Charles Xavier—human again, whole, clad in a simple medical gown. His eyes opened, blue and clear, free of the alien gleam. His hands trembled as he gripped the edges of the vat and pulled himself forward. His legs—legs that had once betrayed him—shifted, strong and steady.
The X-Men gasped. Kitty clapped her hands over her mouth. Storm's tears spilled freely. Colossus fell to his knees.
Xavier stepped out, one foot, then another. He stood tall—taller than they had ever seen him.
"I… I can walk," he whispered, wonder in every syllable. He looked down at his hands, flexing them like a newborn discovering life. Then he lifted his gaze to them all, to Lilandra who had entered silently and now rushed to his side, tears streaming down her face.
"My X-Men," Charles said, voice warm, steady, alive. "I am… whole again."
Scott was the first to move. He tore off his visor—eyes still glowing faint red—and stumbled forward. He embraced Xavier, clinging to him like a drowning man to a lifeline. "Professor… God, Professor…"
One by one, the others followed. Kitty threw her arms around him, sobbing. Nightcrawler kissed his hand. Colossus bowed his head against Xavier's shoulder. Storm wrapped him in her embrace, voice trembling, "Welcome back, my friend."
Lilandra kissed him, long and fierce, as though she would never let go.
Logan stood back in the corner, cigar smoke curling lazily. He didn't move. Didn't join the huddle. Just watched. His jaw worked, his eyes shadowed.
Finally, he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for himself.
"Guess you made it back, Chuck. Good for you. Real good."
But deep inside, beneath the gravel and the smoke, something twisted. Because Logan knew—miracle or not—some scars don't heal. Not his.