Chapter 215: Into the Tunnels
Manhattan never slept, but it sure smelled half-dead. Logan padded along the rain-slick sidewalks, trench coat collar up, every nerve in his body tuned to the hunt. Behind him, Storm glided like a shadow, Colossus moved with careful heaviness, Kitty trotted with Lockheed perched smugly on her shoulder, and Kurt darted from shadow to shadow, tail flicking.
The night was alive with neon, car horns, and the pulse of the city—but Logan filtered all that out. He lowered himself to a crouch, one palm brushing the damp pavement. His nostrils flared.
Storm finally asked, quiet but steady, "Do you have him?"
Logan grunted. "He was here. Strong scent—Angel's cologne mixed with sweat, fear." He stood, gaze narrowing down the block. "But it's crossed with somethin' else. Sour. Wrong. Like rot mixed with scales."
Kitty made a face. "Ew. Sounds like something out of a sewer."
Logan gave a half-smile. "Good nose, kid. We're goin' down."
They followed the trail until it seemed to stop at an unremarkable alley wall. Kitty frowned. "That's it? Dead end?"
Storm folded her arms, suspicious. "Perhaps you've mis—"
Snikt!
Logan's claws popped free with that familiar metallic song. He jammed them into the cracked pavement and with a grunt, pried a heavy slab upward. Beneath lay a narrow set of stairs, dark and damp, leading downward. The smell wafting up was unmistakable.
Logan looked over his shoulder, grinning without humor. "Dead end, huh? Give me a little credit, 'Ro. My nose don't lie."
Kurt whistled low. "Mein Gott… hidden beneath the streets."
Storm's silver eyes hardened. "Then below we go. Warren needs us."
Kitty swallowed but squared her shoulders. "Guess it's field trip time. Into the creepy basement dimension."
Lockheed chirped as though in agreement.
---
The stairs opened into a cavernous tunnel, torchlight flickering against stone walls slick with moisture. And sound—cheering, chanting, a wild, celebratory din.
Logan took point, ears sharp, claws half-drawn. "Party down here. Big one."
As they rounded a bend, the tunnel burst open into a vast chamber filled with people—no, mutants. Hundreds of them, bodies twisted, faces scarred, limbs warped. They weren't hiding their deformities; they were reveling in them.
At the center of the mob stood a raised platform. A woman—Callisto, tall, dark-haired, one eye burning with feral intensity—stood proudly beside a crude wooden cross. And nailed to that cross, half-conscious but unmistakable, was Warren Worthington III. Angel. His wings splayed, blood dripping from punctures where iron spikes pinned him.
The crowd roared approval as Callisto stroked his bare chest possessively. "My husband!" she shouted. "The surface world mocks us, hides us away, but tonight I marry the most handsome man alive! He is ours! He is mine!"
Warren stirred, grimacing, but her hand slid across his cheek like she owned him.
Logan felt the hair on his neck rise. He muttered low, just for his team. "And here I thought bein' pretty only got you magazine covers. Guess it gets you crucified and molested too."
Storm's lips tightened, but her eyes shone with both anger and sympathy. Kitty gagged openly. "Gross! She's literally drooling over him!"
Colossus's fists clenched so tight his steel knuckles groaned.
Logan shook his head with mock solemnity. "Guess I oughta thank whatever gods exist that I'm ugly as sin. Saves me a lotta trouble."
Kurt whispered, almost apologetic, "You're not so ugly, mein freund."
"Don't do me favors, elf."
But the levity faded quickly. Because the crowd noticed them.
A ripple of silence spread. Murmurs turned into angry shouts. "Clean! Look at them! Surface dwellers!" "They don't belong!" "Pretty!" "Liars!"
The X-Men stood out starkly, their uniforms neat, their bodies unmarred. To the Morlocks, they were the hated "beautiful."
Logan raised his claws slightly, voice low. "Storm… this is about to blow."
Callisto narrowed her one good eye, lips curling. "You. Who dares intrude on our sacred union?"
Storm stepped forward, cloak flowing like shadow. "We are the X-Men. We come for our friend, Warren Worthington. Release him."
The crowd booed, jeered.
Callisto smirked, resting her hand brazenly on Angel's bloodied chest. "Friend? Husband, you mean. He is mine. He will never leave." She bent close, licking a bead of sweat from his temple. "Isn't that right, angel?"
Warren's jaw clenched, eyes blazing with humiliation and fury, but his voice was too hoarse to answer.
Logan's skin crawled. He muttered to himself, "Always envied the pretty boys. Guess I'll pass."
Colossus rumbled, "Let him go. He does not belong here."
Callisto's grin sharpened. "He belongs to whoever has the strength to claim him. Do you have the strength, steel man?"
Logan snarled, claws fully extending with a metallic scream. "Lady, I don't need strength. I've got six reasons to make you let him go."
The crowd roared back in outrage. Mutants surged forward—grotesque, twisted, monstrous in form and power. The Morlocks attacked.
---
Chaos erupted.
Colossus slammed his steel fists down, sending a shockwave that scattered a cluster of clawed Morlocks. Kitty phased through a charging brute, sending him crashing headlong into a wall. Lockheed spat fire, scorching another's ragged coat.
Nightcrawler bamfed across the room in a blur of sulfur, appearing beside Angel. With a growl, he sliced through the ropes and nails with his saber, catching Warren's collapsing body in his arms. "I have him!"
Angel staggered upright, wings trembling, then spread them with a furious cry. "No one—no one—owns me!" He lashed out, his wings striking attackers aside with surprising force.
Storm summoned wind into the chamber, sweeping Morlocks off their feet, her eyes glowing. Yet even as she fought, her heart ached—because she saw their pain, their suffering, their exile reflected in their faces. This could have been me. This was me once.
Logan tore into the melee, his claws flashing. A crocodile-headed Morlock lunged at him, teeth gnashing. Logan slashed—but the moment their bodies clashed, something hit him.
A shiver. An electric rush through his nerves.
Not pain. Not fear. Something primal, hot, too close to pleasure. Like his body recognizing something alien but familiar. His claws faltered for half a breath.
"What the hell—What is similar with me and a lizard ?" His teeth ground together. "Not now." He shoved the creature back, rage powering his swing. "Later, I'll get answers outta Charley. Right now, it's blood time."
The Morlocks pressed hard, sheer numbers overwhelming. But one by one, the X-Men carved space.
And still, the mob wouldn't stop. Until a voice rang out: "Enough!"
A scarred man shouted above the fray. "We answer only to Callisto! If you want our obedience—you must take her place! Trial by combat! To the death!"
Logan's claws dripped, his chest heaving. His first thought was: Of course. Dirty work always falls on me. He stepped forward, growling, "Fine. Let's get it over with—"
But a hand brushed his arm.
Storm. Calm, poised, yet steel in her gaze. "No, Logan. I am leader. This fight is mine."
His eyes narrowed. "No. My hands are already filthy. Don't stain yours."
She smiled faintly, serene. "I promised you, remember? I will never again ask you to kill for me. This is my choice."
Something in him sagged. He searched her face, found only resolve, and nodded grudgingly. "Fine. But don't expect me to sit quiet if she cuts you down."
Storm stepped onto the platform. Callisto smirked, tossing her a knife.
The duel began.
Callisto was fast, ruthless. Her blade carved Storm's side, sliced her shoulder, drew crimson. The Morlocks cheered every drop of blood spilled.
But Storm endured. Every cut only sharpened her focus, every wound a promise. Then—opening. Callisto lunged too wild, and Storm twisted, driving her knife deep into Callisto's chest.
Gasps echoed. Callisto staggered, eyes wide, then collapsed.
The Morlocks froze. Silence fell heavy.
Logan tensed—until a healer rushed forward, placing glowing hands over Callisto's wound. "She will not die!"
Relief rippled, though unease remained.
A shy, hulking figure shuffled toward Kitty—Caliban. He held out a handful of wilted flowers, his eyes wide, hopeful. "Pretty… for pretty Kitty."
Kitty blinked, cheeks pink. She accepted the flowers with a smile. "Thank you, Caliban. They're lovely."
Behind her, Colossus muttered, low and tense, "The flowers are pretty, yes." His tone was tight with jealousy.
Kitty just giggled softly, stroking Lockheed's head to hide her blush.
And in the shadows, Logan wiped blood from his claws, watching Storm claim her new authority.
The Morlocks knelt.
Storm had won.