“Marie!” He took the stairs with two steps in one stride, all the while calling her name, even though he knew he was late. Trail was warm, but he couldn’t detect her presence anywhere near anymore. Other scent wafted from her room instead. He barged in and grabbed Scott who lay panting on the floor, barely conscious.
“What the fuck did you do to her?” He pulled Scott up from the lapels of his bathrobe, scanning his face. In serious need of shaving and a bath. Hair tousled. And wearing only a flimsy bathrobe. Same attire he had worn the night before.
“Scott? Where is she?” He asked with a gentler tone, helping him to sit on her bed. Scott leaned forward, hands grasping his wrists.
“I think I’m going to be sick…” was his only warning before fearless leader turned green from his face and threw up on him.
“Christ!” Acrid stench of it made bile rise to his throat. He dragged Scott to the bathroom and plunked him on the floor in front of the toilet seat.
“If you have to do it again, do it in there,” he instructed and tore off his soiled clothes. Rinsed his chest and legs quickly.
He was pulling on fresh pair of jeans when Scott crawled from the bathroom on his hands and knees.
“She took it from me… She took it out… It’s inside of her now…”
“What is it?” Logan asked. Scott grinned. Twisted smile of a lunatic.
“A dragon. A fucking dragon!” Right. Logan patted him on the shoulder reassuringly. Even professor’s idea of Jean rising from the grave sounded more believable.
“She called it and it came. At first it thought it could get her through me. Then it got impatient and chose more direct approach. Made me attack her so she would absorb it.”
“Okay, Scott… That’s nice to hear. Come on get up… Get up now. We’ll go and see if the Professor is awake already. Maybe he can shed some light in to this.” He helped Scott up and threw on a shirt.
“Where’s the belt?” Bathrobe hung open. Scott was practically flashing for him.
“Oh, there it is…” It had fallen off when Scott was crouching in front of the toilet seat. Logan retrieved it and gave it to Scott. Man just stared at it perplexed. Logan sighed and took it from him, rearranging the robe to more appropriate manner and tied it.
Xavier was waking up when they walked down the stairs. His gaze clouded over briefly when he saw Scott.
“A dragon? But that’s… That’s impossible. There are no such creatures…” Logan crouched and lifted him up, carrying him to his chair that had miraculously gone through whole ordeal unscathed.
“That’s what he told me. That Marie called it and it came. And now it’s inside of her. Even a ghost of Jean would be more believable than this.”
“It is a dragon. At first I thought it was Jean. That’s how it got in to me. One night I was sitting in the kitchen when I heard her voice. She was calling me. Asking for help. I took her in. Only much later it revealed its true nature. And then it was already too late. It was controlling me,” Scott said.
“Let’s assume you’re telling the truth. There’s a dragon, and it’s chosen Marie. What does it want from her?” Logan asked.
“It needs a host. Without a body it can’t stay out here for long. In our world its just a figment of imagination,” Scott explained.
“In our world? What do you mean? Where did it come from?” Scott shrugged his shoulders, but Professor cleared his throat.
“Most likely from her dreams. She has been projecting quite loudly for the past year, and I have seen some of her dreams. For some reason she has been dreaming about princes and princesses.” Logan huffed and kicked a piece of charred wood.
“How do we get that thing out of her?” He asked.
“First we have to find her.”
“I’m not going through that hide and seek –crap again! That’s what got us in to this mess in the first place! Can’t you do something? Use that hocus pocus of yours and force that lizard out of her?” Logan was pacing back and forth restless.
“I could try something… I have never done it before, and I’m not sure if it will work, but…”
Logan lay on a gurney, his comatose body hooked to machines that monitored his vital signs. Professor Xavier leaned back and let out a relieved sigh.
“I think it worked. He should be on his way.” He turned to look at Scott, who hovered next to the gurney, lost look on his face.
“And we have a job to do, too. We have to find our staff and students. Come on, you can help me.”
He rode over barren, scorched landscape. He could see ramshackle huts in the distance, and something that reminded distantly a castle looming behind them on a steep hill. He shivered. Not exactly a fairytale. He knew what he would find when he got there.
“Beowulf. Fucking Beowulf. If we get out of this, she won’t be seeing any movies rated above PG…” Horse under him was protesting loudly when he spurred it on, adjusting weaponry strapped on him. Two crossbows and a selection of bolts to them, small knives and heavy nasty looking sword that hung on his back in its sheath. He checked quickly if he still had his more personal weapons. Claws slid from his knuckles and he let out a relieved sigh. They hurt like a bitch, but right now that feeling was reassuring.
Horse was practically foaming, sweating and panting harshly when they arrived to the village. In the middle of the town square stood a guillotine. A woman was strapped on to it. She was writhing and screaming when a man wearing a skull mask was preparing to release rusty cleaver that hung above her stomach. Logan grimaced and turned his back. He knew what was going to happen. He knew what he was supposed to do. But did he have the time? Again woman screamed.
“Fuck her. I have more important things to do than get beaten by a bunch of leather clad yahoos,” he grunted and steered his horse to a road that led away from the village.
He could smell foul stench of decay and betrayal when he approached the outpost. It was nearly strong enough to mask the scent of burning gasoline. Flare after flare burst from complex looking machinery mounted on top of a tower on the left side of the outpost.
Gaining an entry to the heavily guarded outpost was relatively easy. He was an armed man, and judging from the shape of the occupants they really could use all the help they got.
Now he was pacing restlessly back and forth in a room they had given to him. He had expected something along the lines of the movie since Marie had an excellent memory. So far almost everything had gone exactly as he expected, but he had noticed several small things that were amiss. In the movie the leader of the outpost had been hardened old man, tired, but willing to fight. In here he was crippled, much like Xavier. His second in command had been almost exact replica of Scott. From the outside the outpost looked like the one in the movie, but interior was more like Xavier’s. Sure, halls and corridors were darkened and place looked a little worse to wear, but he was pretty sure it hadn’t been this neatly organized when he saw the film.
Now only question that remained was that which part had Marie cast herself. In the movie there had been only three women. One had been brutally slaughtered during the first ten minutes. One was the daughter of Hrothgar, leader of the outpost. Third one was the mother of the monster called Grendel that terrorized these people at night. He could only hope Marie had made the right decision. He already knew she hadn’t been in the village outside, so that left only two options.
“Fuck. What the hell am I going to do if…” Door to his room opened abruptly, woman walked in, and Logan nearly wept. She wasn’t Marie.
“I know why you are here,” busty brunette with facial features much like Jean’s said. He didn’t answer. His mind was still occupied with a thought of Marie being the Grendel’s mother.
“Nivri’s family sent you. How much they are paying for you?” Woman asked. Logan sighed.
“I didn’t come because you killed your no-good bastard of a husband. I didn’t come to slay the monster that haunts this place. I came for a girl.” It was risky, but maybe he could speed up things if he was honest. Marie had already changed things. Maybe he could change them some more.
“What girl?” Woman asked, tilting her head. Her hand went to a dagger that was strapped on her hip.
“Not one of yours. The one that gave birth to the monster.”
“Gave birth to it? Does that thing have a mother?” Woman asked surprised.
“Yes. And she is important to me. I came to take her home.” Woman seemed to think about it for a moment. Then she nodded.
“Come on. We’ll go and talk to my father.”
“No!” He exclaimed hastily. If basic plot in here were borrowed from the movie, Hrothgar wouldn’t be pleased to hear that somebody else knew about the lady that haunted his dreams.
They were sitting in front of the fireplace. Woman had introduced herself, he had told her his “real” name. Not Beowulf, but Wolverine. She was quite open-minded when it came to supernatural things. Didn’t even bat an eyelash when he told her the whole story. Of course he had skirted past the fact that all this around them was fiction.
“In our world she isn’t evil. She’s just a girl. I don’t know what she’s like in here. I know Grendel is inherently evil, and that he got that trait from his mother, but… Rogue can’t be evil!” He huffed.
“If she’s the mother, who is the father? Who sired that beast?” Kyra asked.
“That’s the tricky part. In our world she’s the mother, and the father. Grendel is something she created in her mind, a dragon. In here… I have no idea how things started.” It was a lie, but he wasn’t going to alienate his only ally by telling her that his girl was a hoe that slept with his father every night.
“It’s getting dark. It’ll come out soon…” She shivered and leaned little closer to the fireplace. Grendel. Logan knew that back home there were not many things that could resist him, but he didn’t have any experience about Nordic half-gods.
“All I have to do is to hurt him, and she will come after me,” he said, hoping that Marie would be as protective over the creature as the woman in the movie had been.
“How do you know so much about these things?” Kyra asked.
“In our world there are no such things as dragons or monsters. But we have stories about them. All I know I have learned from those stories. I just hope things work in here like in those stories.”
“Stories? Make-belief?” Kyra asked.
“Yeah. Some of them are for children and we call them fairytales. Some of them are for adults, and they have many different names. Folklore, poems, scripts…” And he really wasn’t the right person to explain these concepts to her. Xavier was more knowledgeable in that area.
“In here we don’t need those,” Kyra muttered adjusting her dagger.
“No. You’ve got the real thing…” Logan hissed and bolted up when horrified scream echoed from somewhere close.
It was carnage. Five guards and Hrothgar’s Weapons Master lay on a shredded heap of dismembered limbs and organs on plain sight, in the middle of the courtyard. Something hazy and dark was sitting atop of that pile, chewing through warm, still steaming chunks of flesh. Hrothgar himself was hovering next to it, brandishing a sword that would have made even He-Man green from envy. He tried to slice and poke the monster, but sword couldn’t penetrate bony skin. Grendel just swatted the sword away and continued its horrendous meal.
“Fight me!” Hrothgar was shouting. Grendel turned its back on him.
“What are you doing?” Kyra asked when Logan started putting down his weapons.
“I don’t need these. I have a plan…” He said, cracking his neck. As soon as he got rid of the restrictive leather straps that held weapons on him he felt better. Grendel was still sitting there, back turned.
“Wait! You can’t…” Kyra tried to grab his hand but he was already running towards the monster. It was tensing. Fucker knew he was coming. He let his claws slide out and took a swipe towards Grendel’s head. He missed by mere inches when it crouched and turned to face him.
“Whoa, ugly!”
This close the shadowy cloud didn’t shield it from his gaze. Black, glistening, leathery skin that was striped with purplish blotches and gauges. Purple eyes staring from a face that held entirely too wide jaws with entirely too many sharp and pointy teeth. It growled and sunk those teeth to his throat, cutting his airway efficiently. Its front paws clawed deep furrows to his shoulders and chest. He tried to stab it, but bone scales and spikes on its skin deflected his claws.
Victurus te saluto. Old and dry voice echoed inside of his head. He wasn’t so fluent in Latin, but he got the message. Then Grendel was gone, he was on the ground on his hands and knees, trying to suck in air, force it through his swollen throat. Wounds on his chest and throat were still bleeding freely. He could smell acrid stench coming from them. Some kind of poison, fighting his mutation. He fell face down to the cold cobblestones when Kyra’s hand landed on his shoulder, cursing his own stupidity. Xavier had warned him about this. There was no telling if he could get seriously hurt in here.
“What are you?” She was asking it over and over again while changing the bandages covering his chest and hands. He couldn’t tell. Couldn’t make his body obey long enough to form a coherent sentence. All that came out were pitiful whimpers and groans. He could feel toxins working inside of him, eating his flesh. Everything felt swollen. Soiled. Contaminated. Green, black and brown. Something was gathering, pooling behind his eyes. It felt sticky, greenish yellow, filling his nostrils with a stench of rot. He wanted to puncture something to get rid of it. Flesh on top of his bones was itching and burning.
“What are you?” He couldn’t answer. And all the while Grendel was there with him.
Causa mortis, it hissed. He was gagging, nearly choking to his own bile.
Corpus vile. Evil snicker beside his ear.
Caro putridas es. Yes. Definitely. He was wracking his feverish brain to come up something to throw back.
“Ascendo tuum! Resurgam!” He managed to croak. He could taste blood in his mouth when his lips split under pressure.
Tanta stultitia mortalium est… Aut vincere, aut mori. For that he couldn’t find any suitable remark.
“Just go… Leave her alone…”
Quis separabit?
“I will fucking separabit your head from your shoulders once I get back on my feet again…” speaking started to really hurt. He could feel blood and puss dribbling from the corners of his mouth. Last amused snicker and Grendel was gone. He opened his burning eyes. He was alone in the room. Kyra had been with him earlier, but she was gone now. He let his eyes close again. He should sleep. Sleeping was good.
When he woke up next time he was feeling relatively better. He was shivering and sweating as a racehorse, but at least his body didn’t feel and smell as a piece of meat left to the sun for too long. Kyra was sitting on a windowsill, wrapped up to a quilt, and she appeared to be sleeping. He could smell fresh water in the room. There was a washing basin on top of a dresser on the opposite wall of his bed. He stood up slowly, knees still little wobbly and went to clean off blood and puke he was covered with. Short search yielded him his clothes, now washed and sewn back together. He had to sit down to get his pants on. He was buttoning up his shirt when he heard Kyra waking up.
“What are you?” She asked again. He wasn’t sure how to answer.
“I’m a… I’m a mutant.” She scrunched her forehead and walked to him, parting the lapels of his shirt. There was not a mark on his skin, and just twenty-four hours ago she had seen Grendel practically tearing his intestines out.
“What is a mutant?”
“More evolved human. I’m like you for the most parts, but I heal very fast, and I have enhanced senses.” She took his hand and brushed her fingers over his knuckles, flicking a questioning glance to his eyes.
“Yeah. Those too. They were put in to me. But I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I guess we all have our little secrets,” Kyra whispered, letting his hand fall. Knock on the door made her jump.
“Kyra, I just came to see if…” Hrothgar’s voice faded away when his eyes took in the scene in front of him. Man he thought was already dead, stood there, little worse to wear, but very much alive.
“His wounds were not as bad as they seemed to be. I stitched them up,” Kyra lied and stepped in front of Logan before Hrothgar could notice there really were no wounds left. Logan buttoned up his shirt and took his coat, feigning to be in some amount of pain.
“Well… That’s good to hear… I guess. I came to ask if you were hungry. Dinner is served down the hall.”
“I could eat,” Logan said, draping his arm over Kyra’s shoulders.
“Help me up a bit?”
He didn’t have to pretend the weakness on their way to the dining hall. He was still slowly recovering, and fever was riding in his veins, making his head dizzy and knees buckle.
“I have to apologize poor quality of our servings. We have some stockpiles still left, but it’s hard to get fresh food through the siege,” Hrothgar said when they sat down among other defenders of the outpost.
“Seen worse. Eaten worse,” Logan said, taking a mouthful of warm, clear broth.
“I’m sure you have…” Hrothgar said, eyes narrowing, but to Logan’s great relief he turned his attention to the tall man sitting on his right side and started hushed conversation with him. Roland. Man had been casting him dirty glances from the moment he had limped in with Kyra and Hrothgar.
He was outside, smoking a cigar when Roland came to him. He sat next to Logan, lighting a cigar of his own.
“Leave her alone.”
“Kyra? I have no interest in her,” Logan said truthfully. Sure, she was a good-looking woman, but he had completely another kind of lady in his mind.
“Good. Wouldn’t want to kill you,” Roland said. There was not a hint of playfulness or bragging in his tone. He was stating a fact.
“I might need her help, but I have no intentions to take her away from you.” Roland snorted.
“Take her away from me? You can’t take something I don’t have. She’s not mine.” Logan resisted the urge to pat his back.
“I know how you feel. It’s the same with me and this girl I know. No matter what I do, I seem to fuck up every time.” Roland nodded, and they sat again in silence, watching the cigar smoke forming patterns in the air.
Sudden movement in the darkness alerted them. Roland sprung to his feet, drawing his sword. Logan stayed behind him.
Primus inter pares… Whisper floated from everywhere around them. Voice saturated the air.
“What the hell is this?” Roland asked, twirling around, trying to find the whisperer.
“Don’t bother. You won’t find it. It’ll find you when it’s the right time,” Logan said, threw away the cigar and left. He could hear Roland following him. Man was scared to shitless.
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