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.
Logan abandoned his tussle with the soul dart, dragged himself away from Kia, both to give himself more space to fight and to keep her from further harm. Putting a bit of distance between them he struggled to turn over. On his back, his throat would be vulnerable to the cougar's formidable armament, but at least he could use his claws. At his stubborn insistence the upper half of his body reluctantly twisted around, but his legs remained tangled and inert on the ground. The sight of those crushed limbs didn't inspire confidence.
The cougar halted just beyond Logan's reach, and if an animal could be said to laugh this one certainly did, emitting a foul, rancid breath as it looked upon its prey.
"Come on, you damn fleabag! Whatcha waiting for?" Logan knew his bravado was empty of any real threat, but if all he had for weapons were claws and curses then, hell, he'd just have to make do.
"Hey, you shit-faced, scaredy cat, come a little closer! I got something for ya!"
Logan's teeth clashed together as the cougar began sniffing the raw flesh that used to be his legs, unfurling a huge green tongue to lick at the blood. The animal could pick him clean right up to the belly before it came in range of Logan's claws. However, the meat supply wasn't about to tamely accept the fact that he was lunch.
"Up here, you purple prick! Whatsa matter, fraidy cat?"
But the cougar ignored his noise, its only reaction an irritated flick of tail. The beast took a last, long lick and settled on the ground to dine at leisure. One broad paw lifted, came to rest on a leg, holding it steady for the creature to feed.
That part of himself Logan could control thrashed about in the dirt, but his best efforts to move, dislodge the paw were pitiful. His hands searched for rocks to throw, however, the baked clay floor of the crater offered only pebbles for weapons. He scooped up a handful, threw, threw another and another, his attack eliciting only an annoyed growl and a fanged snarl.
Twisting back around on his stomach he shoved the claws into the dirt. Arm and shoulder muscles burned as he attempted to pull himself free, and -- suddenly, he was! He gained a good six inches. Not waiting to see what the cougar was doing -- not wanting to see if the truth be told -- Logan again thrust the claws deep in the earth and realized his exultation was premature. A large boot planted itself on top of each outstretched arm, effectively rendering the buried claws as useless as the dead half of his body.
"Goin' somewhere, runt?"
Prone, Logan contemplated the ribbon of yellow dirt between his arms, closed his eyes a moment, finally looked up. He might have known who would have a cougar as a spirit beast. A purple-haired Sabertooth leered down at him, grinned. At the sight of those sharp, black teeth all the remaining, tiny hoard of Logan's strength evaporated and his head fell back in the dirt sending up a puff of dust. His eyes stung with unshed tears of frustration as he stared blindly at the lump looming large beside him -- the medicine bag. He recalled the numerous times he had bragged about being the best at what he did. Damned if he hadn't come out ahead again! If anybody in history could top this colossal failure then let the bastard step forward and take a bow.
Of a sudden a hand grabbed Logan's hair and yanked his head up at an impossible angle. With his arms still pinned down, Logan was certain his neck would have snapped if it hadn't been for the adamantium.
"Look what the cat drug in!"
Ears scalded by Sabertooth's 'haw-haw-haw,' a white-hot hatred flared in Logan's gut, shot like a lightning bolt into his brain, pulsed in the spot just between his eyes in joyous, excruciating agony. Logan glared at the enemy, bared his teeth in a ferocious grin as the familiar, feverish, wild-mad fury of the berserker raced through his veins. Yes, sink his claws there and there! Face and throat shredded! Eventhough his mind knew he was powerless, his muscles bunched under him of themselves, preparing for the leap he could not make. The torment between his eyes throbbed, swelled, but with his body rendered immobile the burning rage had no outlet. The pressure grew greater and greater, suddenly exploded, catching him up in a fiery tidal wave, consuming him, twisting, turning, tearing at him to release . . .
Wolverine launched himself upwards, claws extended from all four paws. The prey, unprepared, stumbled back, shock, surprise making raccoon rings of eyes and mouth. A swipe of arm, clumsy but forceful, knocked Logan's spirit animal off target. However, a swing of Wolverine's long, bushy tail rectified his trajectory so that he landed cleanly on the run, prepared to attack again.
But man prey now shifted into Cougar, a far more wily adversary. Without hesitation Wolverine adjusted his approach to this deadlier foe, feinted, dodged a paw half the size of his body. The madness boiled behind his eyes and he leaped just as Cougar charged, landing behind the lowered head on the bunched shoulders. Quick, he whipped around, hindclaws digging into thick neck muscles to secure his hold as foreclaws raked the throat and fangs bit deep to sever the spinal cord.
Cougar bucked like a wild pony, yowled in pain and fear. Wolverine laughed to himself, raked harder, his white fur splattered with Cougar's green blood. Cougar rose on hind legs to shake off his tormentor, overbalanced, crashed to the earth on his back. Wolverine jumped clear just before the fall, turned in mid-air, touched ground only to spring on stunned Cougar's inviting, unprotected throat. His claws ripped through thick, purple fur, releasing a fount of green. Cougar howled, choked, his thrashing stilled.
Wolverine backed away, warned by the sudden stink of rotten meat. Formidable, fearsome Cougar shimmered, stretched, and the man prey lay there, green oozing from his neck. But his stench was such Wolverine no longer wished to drink. Moreover, the battle, brief as it was, had wearied him. Wolverine curled into a circle, his brush of tail wrapped snug around, and sank inside himself.
It was the smell which alerted Logan, drew him out of his stupor. Sabertooth! The enemy lay a few feet distant, out of commission by the looks of him, and Logan wondered why he was not especially surprised. Nevertheless, in case the man was shamming his helplessness, Logan prepared for attack, struggled to hands and knees before he was aware of the impossibility of that act. He wavered to his feet, gazed down with disbelief. Gray skin, intact and green-free met his eyes. He'd never seen anything more beautiful in his life.
His hand automatically went to the medicine bag. The dog tags -- Had he really . . .? Or was that dim, dream-like assault of wolverine against cougar only hallucination? He felt a metal plate through the leather. Taking on Sabertooth as a spirit animal had given his body a chance to heal. Not that he felt a hundred percent. A tenth of that was more accurate. He could function, barely, but the heat and most of all thirst were destroying him just as surely as Boulder Blob, though more slowly.
Letting the bag fall back against his chest, he stumbled over to Kia, choked back a cry of protest when he saw her. She was no longer filmy, but gray like him, with only a faint, whitish haze blurring her features. He straddled her, a foot on either side, as he grabbed the soul dart, pulled with all his might. His muscles strained, quivered, but despite his efforts the black, thorn-like shaft did not move as before. It was as if the thing had nailed the woman to the spirit world.
Logan fell to his knees, trembling, gasping, exhausted. The noxious steam of the fumarole burned the back of his throat as if he'd inhaled a handful of chili pepper. He doubled over coughing and green blood streaked the back of his shaking hand when he dragged it across his mouth. His playful encounters with Mystique, Blob, and Sabertooth had drained his strength and he felt like he was running on empty. He figured he had two choices. Lie down and die, or stand up and die. He was so tired that cuddling Kia sounded like an excellent idea. But he wasn't about to let some goddam, puny stick get the better of him!
Growling, he clambered to his feet, once more seized the soul dart and felt rage sweep over him as he furiously wrestled with the shaft like the enemy it was. His attempt wasn't good enough. He spurred himself to greater exertion even as he felt his stamina slip away like sand between fingers. His vision blurred and there was a thundering in his head -- his heart pounding a rapid-fire beat behind his eyes. He gritted his teeth. Strength gone, he called on mule-headed stubbornness to give a final, forceful jerk. Get the damn thing OUT! All at once, with a liquid, glutinous sound the soul dart came free.
No sooner was the long, black shaft in Logan's hands than it turned limp, writhed, questing blindly with a tiny, gaping, fanged mouth towards his chest. With a curse, Logan flung the thing from him using the last dregs of his energy. The dart, now leech more than thorn, squirmed and sizzled on the crater floor. With a nauseous stink it bubbled, finally shriveled into a sticky, tar-like blotch on the baked clay.
Logan sank down beside Kia, holding his throbbing head with palsied hands that twitched and jerked without his volition. He took a deep breath, coughed, glanced over at the woman. "Nooooo -- "
She lay before him, impossibly solid and real, but even as he stared in disbelief the outlines of her body began disintegrating, falling in a fine sift of black sand. Now shadows flowed over the yellow earth to converge around her, shadows of the same black sand with no people to cast them. Kia was dying. What the hell? He'd taken out the soul dart, but . . . Right -- For her to live, Death demanded a replacement.
"Hey, it's me you want . . . " The words came out faint and hoarse, scraping the length of his dry throat to set him coughing once more. Logan flapped a hand on his chest to show the print, squinted down. The handprint was gone. Boulder Blob had scoured him clean and the healed skin showed no trace of Grandfather's paint.
Okay -- Claws would take care of that little problem. Wheezing, he brought an unsteady right fist that refused to properly close against the artery in his left arm. And there it remained, lifeless, cradled in the crook of the arm no matter how he tried to force out the claws.
In a wild panic, Logan cast around him. Green caught his eye. The enemy lay supine, a trickle of blood still leaking from the wounds Wolverine had given him.
"You want gore, you damned bloodsuckers?" Logan crawled over to Sabertooth, smeared the man's right hand in his own blood, clapped it on the enemy's chest.
"Here's your sacrifice, dammit!"
As if the green handprint beckoned, the gathering shadows immediately abandoned Kia to cluster around Sabertooth.
Logan recoiled in disgust, looked back at the woman. Now she was as translucent and pale as the plume of steam beside her. Her cloudy form drifted off the ground and began to ascend with that plume. He felt a tug on his neck -- the medicine bag. From it emerged the ghostly spirit animals of the kids. They too joined the rising plume.
"Dad. Come on, Dad." It was Connor's voice, faint but distinct. "Come with us!"
With Sabertooth taking Kia's place Logan could return. He wobbled to a stand, took a step, two, three, collapsed, looked up the length of the fumarole. The cloud of steam appeared to flow through a crack in the metallic sky, as if the hole was the reverse, the underside of the fire pit he had jumped into eons ago. Above, he saw Grandfather reach down through the opening, helping up first Kia, then the kids, last he cupped the little round cloud that was Kevin.
"Come, Wolverine Trickster." Grandfather smiled, held out a hand.
Again, Logan struggled to his feet, reached overhead, clasped a strong, bony hand. But his legs refused to support him and he helplessly felt his fingers slip limp through Grandfather's hold as he crumpled to his knees. The little bag around Logan's neck suddenly wrenched free and rose. As it lifted something fell to the earth with a tiny, death-like rattle -- the wolverine tags. The medicine bag disappeared through the crack, the split closed, the fumarole ceased and dissipated -- even the vent from which it had risen was no longer visible.
Still kneeling, Logan stared up at the hard and solid sky, blinked sandpaper lids against eyes spotted over with black dots. His body suddenly jerked, convulsed, as a spasm of coughing seized him, fiery claws digging deep into his chest. After a long while, when his breathing was its usual throat-scouring wheeze, he roused, with great effort raised his head to look over at Sabertooth. But the enemy and the shadows were gone. Gone also was the crater. All was as flat and featureless as when he had first awakened alone in the spirit world.
Logan's cracked lips parted in an ironic smile. With clumsy fingers he scrabbled up the tags, dragged the chain over his head. He'd come into this lousy world with the damn thing hanging around his neck. He'd go out the same way. With a sigh of relief, Logan sprawled boneless on the burning earth and closed his eyes.
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