Author's note #1: Although SPIRIT QUEST is a sequel to SHADOW MAN in which Logan's trip to Alkali Lake pits him against Magneto, Mystique and Toad, it is an independent story in its own right.
Author's note #2: Hey, if Marvel first says Logan has blue eyes, then in Ultimate X they're black, I can have them green here for the purpose of the story to make them more unusual and distinctive.
It was Mystique who unintentionally gave warning. She drifted backwards just ahead of his helter-skelter descent, watching him, and Logan thought it was his clumsiness which amused her, for her sharp, white teeth shown in silent laughter. Then he realized it was something just behind that held her attention. Risking a fall, he looked over his shoulder even as the miniature landslide swirled around his feet, carrying him farther down.
At first glimpse nothing appeared unusual. Yellow dirt, pebbles, rocks, boulders all littered the inner slope of the crater. A good many of the rocks were rolling and bouncing in his wake but none were of any size to be dangerous. Just as he reassured himself on this score, the widening fan of the landslip undercut a particularly large yellow boulder behind and to his left. Only a small amount of sandy dirt sifted away from its foot, but that was enough to set the thing leaning, then tilting, and then with a dull crash the boulder fell, tumbling end over end directly towards Logan.
He ran with the moving earth, trying to keep his balance and at the same time leap clear of the river of dirt and rock drawing both him and the boulder downhill. A loud whump andspray of pebbles announced the boulder's arrival at his back. One more flip and the huge, yellow rock would crush him. In desperation he leaped to the side, fell, rolled, clawed his way to solid ground. The boulder wobbled to a stop and the loose dirt rushed around its base.
Logan bit back a groan as he stood and a fit of coughing took him. His body felt like it was one big bruise -- where it wasn't one big cut or one big scrape. Intent on not starting another landslide, he studied the ground, took a few careful, hesitant steps on feet that looked like week-old, green hamburger before he noticed Mystique hovering before him. She was staring at his chest and scowling. Over the years a lot of women had gazed at that particular part of Logan's anatomy, though never in quite that way. He glanced down. Amazingly, both medicine bag and snake head had survived his tumble and Mystique was looking rather put out because of it. He gave a wry grin. "Sorry to disappoint ya, darlin'. Guess you're stuck with me a while yet."
"Wouldn't be too sure 'bout that, ass wipe," said someone from behind.
Mystique looked past Logan's shoulder and water chuckled over rocks. "Meet Fred!"
The voice -- rough, gravely. The scent -- brimming dumpster with a dash of Eau de Clogged Toilet. Logan knew who stood there eventhough he knew it was impossible. He whirled around and felt a thrill of terror, because it wasn't the man he had expected. It wasn't anyone at all. Crater, rocks, dirt, him, Kia, Mystique -- Nothing, no one else. Then the yellow boulder which had chased him downhill proceeded to roll uphill, and Logan realized that the heat had finally gotten to him, had frizzled his gray matter into the leathery equivalent of worms on a hot sidewalk.
A guy can't fight hallucinations. Logan stood there drop-jawed and glassy-eyed, claws sheathed, less animated than the lump of rock which came to rest in front of him. Dazed, he watched the boulder unfold into a gray likeness of the bruiser at the Pit Bull. Right voice, right stink, only the round, pocked face was wrong. Yeah! The nose, instead of big and jutting, it was just a flattened blob, a squashed gray mushroom set between tiny, agate-orange eyes and slash of slime-green mouth.
"Time for round two, you little prick!"
The medicine bag suddenly jerked, yanking its wearer to one side with its weight, so the cement block fist didn't land cleanly, instead caught Logan a glancing blow on the left shoulder to send him flying off at a tangent.
Logan skidded through the rubble on his back, at last coming to rest with his head downhill. Hadn't he seen the kid execute this same acrobatic feat at the Pit Bull when he first ran into this jerk? His left shoulder and arm were numb from the punch, preferable by far to the painful drumming in his skull which had plowed a neat little furrow through the rocks. He flopped over, struggled to one hand and knees, shook his head and immediately wished he hadn't chosen that particular method for clearing it.
When his vision settled he found himself looking down in the crater at the pillar of steam and the woman beside it. Kia! She was still alive, but for how long? He was so close he could see the soul dart. In this world it was real, a thick, black thorn as long as his forearm, protruding from her filmy breast. Here, Kia's whole body was transparent and he saw that the dart thrust through her was all but an inch or so from touching the ground she lay upon.
Just as he clambered to his feet to go to the woman, good, old Fred lumbered up. Communication between brain and left arm was still temporarily severed and the appendage exhibited all the vigor and animation of an overcooked noodle, so Logan lunged with the right, claws slashing. But before he could do any damage one of the steel clamps seized his wrist. Snarling with rage and frustration, Logan turned on his captor, kicked, bit, butted his head in a surprisingly solid beer belly -- none of his attack pretty, all of it useless. The next instant he was dangling in mid-air like a fish from a hook, claws threatening the metallic sky.
A hand that looked like the side of a packing crate came out of nowhere and slowly, methodically, repeatedly slapped his face. Logan grunted and felt a sinking in his stomach. Payback time. He'd just have to eat it until he could dish it out. He screeched and squawked for a half-a-dozen blows because that was what the bastard wanted and expected. Then locking his jaw against anymore such noise, he went limp, feigning unconsciousness in order to focus all his strength and energy into activating his left arm.
Unfortunately, his passivity didn't put an end to the beating. The jerk was thorough -- something to keep in mind. With each strike Logan swung and twirled as if he were a strung-up rag doll being attacked by a maniacal revolving door. Soon his eyes were swollen shut and his ears were ringing, but he refused to acknowledge the torment, instead endeavored to keep his concentration centered on his arm. Nevertheless, on the periphery of his mind he was vaguely aware of blood leaking from his nose, dribbling down his chin from split lips, trickling from torn skin over his cheek bones. He must look a mess. However, despite the fire and throbbing in his face nothing was seriously injured as far as he could tell, but he wasn't healing quickly either. His metabolism had a backlog of repairs and was probably still recovering from having dealt with the snake venom.
It was a minute or two before he realized that the punishment had stopped and that the ringing in his ears had become a roaring boom which eventually broke into words. Even as the sounds penetrated the joggled glob of jello that normally functioned as a brain, he was at last rewarded by a tentative, tingling prickle in his left hand as the claws struggled to emerge. A damn good thing too, because the bruiser's steel grip on the right wrist had rendered that whole limb bloodless and numb, as well as all but wrenching the arm out of its socket.
"Wha -- ?" Logan found it wasn't hard to sound punchy. He could scarcely move his lips and his voice came out thick and mucky from the blood he'd swallowed. Attempting to open an eye, he was pleased to see a sliver of light.
"I said tell me you're an asshole!"
A guttural noise burbled from Logan's throat.
"Stop mumbling, you little prick!"
Again an incomprehensible gurgle.
Fred hauled his victim up to ear level. "There. Nice and clear say you're an asshole."
Helpless, what could Logan do but obey? Clearing his throat, working mouth and lips, with all his lung power he yelled distinctly, "You're an asshole!" Then he bit the hairy ear.
Logan dropped to the ground accompanied by the delightful sound of a dickwad's shriek, having improved the bastard's looks not only by piercing his ear but also by leaving an artistic trail of three red pinstripes running from collarbone to shin. Unfortunately, pinstripes were the extent of the damage because the claws were still hampered by recovering muscles and try as he might he couldn't force the blades out more than a quarter of an inch.
This time he didn't bother getting up, simply pulled himself into a fetal position and rolled down the slope, bent arms and legs protecting his face and body against the rocks while his back took the brunt. Painful, but quick. Just before dropping off into the shallow basin where Kia lay, Logan uncurled, spread out his limbs and effectively, jarringly halted his descent. He lay so a moment or two, panting, stuffing in a back corner of his mind the accumulating damage reports from various parts of his person.
With a muttered curse he dragged himself to his feet. At least the swelling of his eyes had gone down somewhat so he could see again. And what he saw was Mystique sitting hunched a couple of inches above a rock on the edge of the slope, staring gloomily at the still form of the woman lying in the crater. Logan chuckled. "Why so blue, darlin'?"
Mystique's scales spiked in irritation and with a scowl she flitted back up the hill to Fred who was hunched on the ground rocking back and forth, hands clapped over his ears.
Logan grinned at the sight and coughing took Mystique's place by the rock. On closer examination he saw that the crater floor was not quite as smooth and uniform as it had appeared from above. Once, of course, lava had spewed forth here. Now irregular, tilting plates of baked, yellow mud tiled the bottom of the crater. The fumarole that plumed upwards from the center was the largest of the steam vents, but not the only one by any means. Tiny jets of scalding air marked the nearly invisible cracks separating one plate from another and Logan wondered just how thick were those hardened slabs of mud and would they bear his weight. Only one way to find out.
He stepped into the depression, gave a cry and leaped back onto the slope. If the dirt and rocks in this place were scorching, the crater floor was incendiary. Impossible to walk out on that to Kia! If he had boots, but . . . Yeah, right! Might as well wish he could fly.
Logan chewed his lip, paced back and forth on what he'd come to think of as the 'shore' as opposed to the lake of fire where Kia lay. At last, from the muddled hodgepodge that was his memory, he drew forth a film clip: Holy men in India walking on a bed of live coals, little flames rising around their bare feet as they progress along its length. Yet when they emerge from that ordeal instead of legs ending in blackened stumps, their feet are unharmed. Okay, he told himself, it can be done. Somehow. The trick was to not think of what he's doing but to imagine something else. Something cold. Something . . .
Cold. So cold it bites with sharp, little teeth into his cheek, his chest, his loins. Hands and feet are already frozen numb. Danger in that. He rouses, finds he is face down in a snow drift. Naked. Awkward, clumsy, he stands, faintly feels ice blocks of feet stub through the drifts. He is a bit warmer when he moves. This is good, for all else is raw, bleak, bitter. A snowbank lies in his path. An icicle protrudes from it. It is important that he remove this spear of ice. He grips it. The thing is so cold it burns his hands, but he pulls despite the pain. It is obstinate, the icy shaft, but so is he. He jerks harder and almost --
Something crashed down on Logan with such force that his scream was still in his lungs when he blacked out. Smothering, stifling, scorching agony finally spurred him to consciousness. He writhed to escape the fire eating into him only to discover that he could move nothing but head and arms. The rest of him lay crushed between a huge boulder and the burning earth. His adamantium skeleton had saved him from the fate of a totally squashed bug, but everything below his shoulder blades was ominously numb. Was he paralyzed? Best not think of that.
"Fred?" He gasped, unable to catch his breath. The weight on his back was slowly squeezing the air out of his lungs.
"You goddam little ass wipe!" The boulder's gravely voice sounded like a cement mixer in overdrive as it rumbled in complaint. "Why the hell did you have to shout like that? I got delicate ears. Damn near split my skull! And because of what you did to my nose people have started calling me Blob!"
Logan gave a faint laugh. "Blob, eh? Could be worse. Could be Credible Hulk." He took in more air but it wasn't enough. "Okay, I give up. You win. Now get off."
"Not on your life, prick! I'm gonna mash you so flat your own worst enemy won't be able to mop you up with a fine tooth comb!"
Logan replayed that last statement in his mind. The imagery didn't work but the intention was clear. For a brief moment he wondered how a rock could talk and, presumably, hear. Decided he didn't really care. Boulder Blob was some kind of spirit entity, he supposed. Just another screwy thing in this screwed up world.
Straining his neck, Logan looked around so he could see Kia. She was just beyond his reach no matter how he stretched. He'd managed to pull the soul dart out a little way, but not completely. Even as he watched, the thing twitched as if it were alive and burrowed deeper. It was just a matter of time as to which one would die first, her by the thorn, him by the rock.
A pale blue foot floated into view. Logan fumbled with the medicine bundle lying by his chin. "Hey, darlin' . . . Last question, and it's yours . . . " He clutched the snake head.
"What?" came her suspicious growl.
"Come here. Can't talk . . . real loud."
She bent over, flexible as a -- a serpent, glared at him upside down so that all the scowling ridges of scales looked like little, twisted smiles.
He essayed a smile in return, indicated the boulder on his back with a jerk of thumb. "How do I get rid of this?"
Mystique whipped up but didn't drift away; her feet remained in view. However, her lengthy silence convinced Logan that he'd better resign himself to a slow death by suffocation while he was being roasted on the fiery crater floor.
"Water." Her face hung down before his.
"Huh? Whaddaya mean . . . water?"
"You asked your last question!"
"Yeah, thanks . . . " What the hell, he was done for anyway -- well-done it felt like. He opened his fingers and the head rolled onto the ground. From nowhere the snake body wriggled up and the two parts joined with a sucking sound. The next second the snake blinked out and a glittering gold foot planted itself before him.
He twisted his head to peer up at her and grinned. "Looking good, darlin' . . . any angle, any color."
She grinned back. "Water." The word reverberated in deep organ tones. "Think about it." And she blinked out.
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