Chapter 232: Psi-Fire
Logan woke up at the unholy hour of four in the afternoon, dragging himself out of bed like a man who'd wrestled with ghosts all night. His hair was a disaster, his stubble thicker than it'd been yesterday, and his stomach growled like it wanted payback. He scratched absently at his belly and trudged toward the kitchen.
The mansion was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that made his senses twitch, but all he caught was the faint buzz of electrical wiring and the slow heartbeats of a couple students napping upstairs.
"Beer first," he muttered, yanking the fridge open. He popped a can, tilted it back, and—
The slam of the front doors shook the hall. Wheels squeaked fast over polished floors, and then Charles Xavier shot past the kitchen like a bat outta hell. Except this bat was on his legs, moving faster than Logan had seen him in a long time.
Logan blinked, beer halfway to his mouth. "What's the rush, Chuck?"
Xavier didn't slow down. "Cerebro detected two powerful psi signatures—mutants in conflict. I must intervene before it escalates." His voice was clipped, urgent.
Logan leaned in the doorway, eyeing him. "Where're the other X-Men?"
"They are scattered on missions. And even if they were here, they wouldn't stand a chance in a psi battle." Xavier's eyes were steel. "This is something I must do alone."
Logan drained the rest of his beer in one gulp, crushed the can in his fist, and tossed it into the trash. "The hell you are. No way I'm lettin' you run off solo."
"Logan—"
"Don't 'Logan' me. You're not exactly a sprinter anymore. You go wadin' into some psychic slugfest, who's gonna watch your body while you're off floatin' around?" Logan grabbed his jacket off the hook, slung it over his shoulders. "Face it, Chuck. You need me."
Xavier frowned but didn't argue. Logan smirked. "Thought so. Lead the way."
The residential complex was already a warzone when they arrived. Glass windows spiderwebbed, concrete groaned like a living thing, and the air pulsed with heatless fire—the residue of psychic blows colliding.
Logan stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the fighters.
One was dark, regal, with eyes like pits of shadow. Selene. He didn't know her, but everything about her reeked of hunger, like a predator with no leash. She twisted the very buildings around her, chunks of brick and steel hanging in the air like toys.
The other…
Logan's heart kicked in his chest.
Red hair, green eyes blazing with psychic fire. Jeans and a jacket scorched from the fight. Her face—too damn close to Jean's. The scent hit him harder than the sight. The same notes he'd memorized: wildflowers, clean skin, fire underneath.
But… wrong. Not wrong like fake. Wrong like… sideways. Her soul scent was different. A stranger's.
Logan whispered, almost dazed, "She's… too similar. The look, the smell… Jean."
Beside him, Xavier's face tightened. "It seems her brainwaves also align with Jean Grey's. Very close. Almost identical." His voice lowered. "Like a daughter's."
Logan snapped his head around. "Daughter?! That girl's barely late teens. Jean didn't—she couldn't—" His words tripped over disbelief. His chest ached.
Xavier's eyes stayed locked on the battle. "Logan, not now. Later. I need to intervene."
The clash in front of them reached a fever pitch. Selene lashed out with tendrils of shadow, wrapping around the red-haired girl, choking the light from her aura. The girl screamed, staggered.
Xavier inhaled sharply. "I'll aid her through the astral plane. You protect me."
Before Logan could argue, Xavier's astral form tore loose, his body slumping in place. For a moment, Logan swore he saw a brighter, younger Charles stride into the battlefield—back straight, steps sure—as he joined the girl against Selene.
"Protect him," Logan muttered to himself. "Always the babysitter." He dragged Xavier's limp body back behind cover.
Selene's head turned. Her eyes narrowed. She sniffed the air like a predator, then smiled darkly. "Ah… not the real warrior. Just the shell."
The street came alive. Benches hurled themselves like missiles, cars crumpled and rolled, shards of glass became knives on the wind.
Logan tightened his hold on Xavier's body and bolted, his reflexes shifting into bullet-time clarity. The world slowed. Flying debris cut paths in the air, but Logan slipped through the chaos, Xavier's body in his arms like deadweight.
"Move it, Chuck," Logan snarled between clenched teeth, diving through a rain of shattered masonry. "Before me and you get turned into psychic stew."
A lamppost bent like a snake, striking down. Logan's claws sang free—snikt!—and sliced it in half. Concrete blocks rained; he rolled, shielding Xavier with his own body, snarling as stone cracked against his back. Healing factor or not, it hurt like hell.
Above, the astral fight raged. Xavier and the girl pressed Selene back, their combined force hammering at her defenses. Logan felt the air tremble with the unseen struggle.
Then Xavier did something bold and reckless. His astral form dove straight into Selene, invading her mind. Her body convulsed, her scream splitting the air. The red-haired girl slammed her own psychic pressure into Selene, doubling the agony.
Selene shrieked, clawed at her temples, and finally, with one last piercing cry, tore free of Xavier's hold. Her eyes locked on the girl. "Rachel," she hissed. "I'll return for you. You and I will be one." Then she vanished in a blur of shadow.
The silence after was deafening.
Logan collapsed onto the rubble, panting, Xavier still in his arms. The old man's astral form slipped back into his body with a shudder. His eyes fluttered open, weary but alive.
The girl—Rachel—stumbled toward them, clutching her head, but her eyes brightened as she looked at Xavier. "Thank you. Thank you, Professor."
Xavier frowned, curious. "I don't remember telling you I was a teacher."
Logan's brows knit together. That was a weird thing to focus on. But then Xavier stood—stood—using his own legs, brushing the dust off his jacket.
Rachel's eyes widened in horror. "You… you can walk? That's… impossible. Did I… did I make a mistake?" Her voice shook. "From the moment I arrived, I sensed it—this world isn't right. It's not… my past. I came to the wrong one."
She paced, frantic, clutching her hair. "Everything's different. Wrong. Did I… travel to another timeline entirely?"
Logan stayed silent, but his claws itched to be out. He hated psychic talk—too many what-ifs and maybe-worlds. But the way she smelled, the way she looked—it cut deep. Jean's face, Jean's scent… and not Jean.
Rachel's eyes brimmed with tears. "If this isn't my past… then what happened to my future?"
Xavier raised his hands calmly, voice like steady water. "Rachel, breathe. You are safe here. Whatever has happened, you are not alone."
Rachel clung to his words like a lifeline, though her eyes still darted to Logan, searching. Logan looked away, jaw clenched. He couldn't meet those green eyes.
Jean's daughter. From some nightmare future. And me? I'm stuck watchin' ghosts wear new skins.
He lit a cigar, smoke curling into the cracked sky, and kept his silence.