Chapter 47 – The First Clash
The monster roared, a sound like rockslides grinding against each other, and the forest itself seemed to flinch. Smoke swirled outward, choking the stars, pressing against the lungs of everyone who dared to stand before it.
Scott staggered, lifting his head with sheer will. "X-Men… ENGAGE!"
They moved.
Colossus thundered forward, his body hardening to living steel in a shimmer of silver. His fists crashed into Kierrok's chest like piledrivers, sending shockwaves through the ground. The monster hardly budged. It raised a claw the size of a man and swatted him back, the impact bending trees like grass.
Banshee's mouth opened wide, and a concussive scream ripped through the clearing, air splitting like a bomb. The smoke parted in ripples, and Kierrok actually staggered, clutching at his head. Nightcrawler seized the moment, teleporting in a blur of sulfur and brimstone—bamf, bamf, bamf—appearing and disappearing around the creature like a phantom, slashing at tendons with his blade. Each cut closed too fast, as if the monster's flesh mocked the idea of injury.
Storm rose into the air, her eyes glowing white. Lightning crackled in her hands before arcing downward, a jagged spear of fury that slammed into Kierrok's back. The beast convulsed, black smoke hissing from the wound, but when the light faded it only roared louder, angrier.
Sunfire burst forward, a comet of flame, unleashing a torrent of solar fire that wrapped the creature in searing light. Trees ignited, smoke roiled—and when the blaze cleared, Kierrok still stood, his skin charred but healing, cracks sealing with hateful energy.
Scott forced himself to his feet, ignoring pain, visor sparking. "I'VE HIT HIM TEN TIMES—HE JUST COMES BACK STRONGER!" His voice broke, desperate. "DON'T LET UP!"
Logan, leaning against a tree, arms crossed, watched with narrowed eyes. He didn't move. Not yet. His instinct told him the kids needed to bleed together before he stepped in. The monster wasn't just strength—it was a crucible.
Kierrok lashed out, swinging a limb that crashed into Thunderbird, sending him rolling across the dirt. The Apache warrior spat blood, grinning mad with defiance. "That all you got, ugly?" He charged back, fists hammering against unholy flesh like a man born to brawl with gods.
Colossus returned, standing shoulder to shoulder with him, steel and fury against Kierrok's impossible bulk. Nightcrawler darted between their legs, striking where he could, a devilish fly buzzing around a titan.
Above, Storm screamed defiance into the thunder. Lightning and wind tore through the clearing, while below, Banshee's sonic waves harmonized with the storm, a symphony of chaos battering the beast.
For a moment—just a moment—they almost looked like they could win.
And then Kierrok laughed.
It was low, guttural, a sound that curdled the blood. His wounds sealed faster, his body swelled larger, smoke pouring from his every breath. He lashed out with both arms, a hurricane of claws, tossing Colossus aside, raking deep into Thunderbird's chest, scattering Nightcrawler with a backhand that nearly crushed ribs.
Scott's beam cut across his face, splitting horns from jaw to ear. Kierrok staggered—then healed. Stronger. Always stronger.
Logan's jaw tightened. "That's it. Playtime's over."
He dropped into a crouch, claws unsheathing with a SNIKT that cut through the storm's roar. His eyes gleamed with something primal. He walked past the battered team, past the smoke, straight toward Kierrok.
"Round two's mine."
And with that, Wolverine launched himself into a blood-soaked dance meant for monsters.