Wolverine's class he aptly named, The Art of Fighting With and Without Fighting was located in the Danger Room. It was familiar territory after yesterday's classroom environment.
"Alright kiddos, today we're keeping it simple." Wolverine crossed his arms, surveying the three of us. "Combat assessment. Show me what you can do when you're not executing facility guards."
Laura looked excited or maybe relieved. Combat was something she understood.
Spice stood on my other side, five personalities cycling through micro-expressions. Sophie's confidence. Celeste's hesitation. Esme's calculation.
"You." Logan pointed at Spice. "Diamond form only. No telepathy, no psychic cheating."
"We're not—" Phoebe started, aggressive.
"—trying to cheat," Irma finished, softer.
"Emma can turn herself into walking jewelry. You share her DNA." Logan's tone left no room for argument. "Show me how your diamond form stacks up against hers."
Spice's skin transformed instantly. Crystalline structures spread across her body, refracting the training room's harsh lighting into fractured rainbows. The five personalities went quiet—probably adjusting to the sensory deprivation that came with suppressing telepathy.
Laura moved first.
She didn't telegraph, didn't hesitate. One moment standing still, the next driving a clawed fist toward Spice's solar plexus with enough force to puncture kevlar.
Clang.
Laura's adamantium claws skated off diamond skin, failing to penetrate. Spice staggered backward from the impact but didn't crack.
"Interesting," Logan muttered.
I tracked the causal threads. Laura wasn't capable of putting enough strength that would be required into her claws to do any damage. It was an issue of physics, not biology.
Laura attacked again—testing, probing. High kick to the temple. Elbow to the ribs. Claw swipe across the throat.
Each strike produced metallic percussion. Spice defended awkwardly, unused to fighting without reading her opponent's thoughts. She blocked instinctively but couldn't predict Laura's next move.
"Enough." Logan stepped forward. "Diamond form's solid defensive option. But you fight like someone who's never been blind before."
Spice transformed back, breathing hard. "It's... disorienting. We can't hear anyone's thoughts."
"Good." Logan's grin showed too many teeth. "Now you know what the rest of us deal with every damn day."
The Danger Room hummed to life around us, holographic projectors shifting the sterile chamber into something else entirely. Bamboo forest materialized, dense stalks creating narrow corridors of green shadow. Water dripped somewhere, echoing off manufactured stone.
"Combat ain't always about hitting harder," Logan said from the observation deck. "It's about reading your opponent, adapting, finding openings."
Laura rolled her shoulders beside me, settling into a familiar stance. On my other side, Spice stood still, Sophie's calculated poise evident in the way she held herself.
"Three on one," Logan continued. "Me versus you three. Work together or fall separately."
The simulation shifted. Logan appeared thirty meters away through the bamboo, cigar smoke curling through holographic air.
"Begin."
I activated my causal perception. red threads bloomed into existence, movement vectors, decision points, cause and effect chains connecting Logan to his environment. He'd move there in 2.3 seconds, exploit that gap in our formation.
"Laura, left flank. Spice, center defensive."
Laura moved without question, claws sliding free. Spice's skin shimmered, her flesh transforming into crystalline diamond that caught the filtered light. Sophie's precision in choosing that exact moment to shift.
Logan came at us like a freight train.
I sent strings whipping forward, twenty razor-thin lines meant to create barriers, slow his advance. He twisted through them reading their trajectories from years of fighting. But that was the point.
Laura struck from his blind spot, adamantium claws shrieking against his. The impact sent shockwaves through the bamboo simulation. She pressed the attack with controlled fury, each strike calculated to force him backward.
Toward Spice.
The diamond-form psychic didn't telegraph her punch. One moment she stood defensive, the next her crystalline fist was rocketing toward Logan's ribs. Phoebe's aggression in the execution, less controlled than Sophie, more raw power.
Logan blocked, but the force made him grunt. "Better. But—"
He spun, claws catching Laura's next strike and using her momentum against her. She flew backward into manufactured stone, holographic debris erupting around the impact.
I was already moving, strings attaching to bamboo stalks and pulling myself through the forest in controlled arcs. Logan tracked my movement, using the threads I couldn't hide.
But the invisible ones were already wrapping around his ankles.
He noticed half a second before I pulled. Too late to fully compensate. His stance shifted, balance disrupted just enough.
Spice capitalized immediately. Another punch, this one aimed at his center mass. The personality controlling her shifted mid-strike, I caught the micro-expression change, the slight adjustment in fighting style. Celeste now, more defensive but reading Logan's counter before he made it.
She pivoted instead of committing, turning the punch into a deflection that sent Logan's counter-claw strike wide.
Laura was back. Blood matted her hair but she moved like it meant nothing. Her healing factor worked while she fought, injuries closing as she created new ones on Logan.
The three of us settled into rhythm.
I manipulated the battlefield, my strings creating trip lines, pulling bamboo stalks to block sight lines, forcing Logan into specific movement patterns. My causal perception fed me the threads of his potential actions, and I adjusted our strategy each time the future shifted.
Laura became our spear point, aggressive and relentless. Each strike coordinated with my string placement, herding Logan where we needed him.
And Spice...
Her personality shifted every thirty to forty seconds. Sophie's calculated diamond-form blocks. Phoebe's aggressive rushes. Irma's more fluid dodges, almost dance-like. Celeste's defensive counters. Esme's cunning feints that sold false openings.
Logan couldn't pattern-match her. Every time he thought he'd figured out her rhythm, the rhythm changed.
"You're gettin' it," he growled, blocking Laura's claws with his own. "But you're still thinking like three separate fighters."
He proved his point by exploiting the half-second gap when Laura retracted for another strike. His boot caught her sternum, sending her skidding backward.
Spice shifted immediately to cover—Phoebe's aggression driving her forward in diamond form. But Logan was already inside her guard, one hand catching her crystalline wrist and using her own momentum to flip her.
Which left me exposed.
I saw the causal thread—Logan's next action branching toward me. I could dodge. Probably. But that wasn't the lesson.