Chapter 222: Shattered Vows
The hall was still frozen when Logan walked out with Mariko in his arms. A hundred Yashida clan members sat rooted in silence, torn between outrage and fear. Some muttered curses in hushed voices, some reached for blades but didn't dare draw them. The only sound that followed Logan into the corridor was the echo of his own boots and the faint rattle of Mariko's fan slipping from her hand.
He didn't slow. His grip on her was firm, steady — not a lover's cradle, but the way a soldier carries a wounded comrade.
She thrashed weakly. "Put me down. I will not—"
"Save it," Logan growled, his voice more animal than man. "You don't sound like her. Not the woman I know."
Her face hardened, calm where it shouldn't be. "I am Mariko. You are beneath me. You will always be beneath me."
The words scraped at his ears, but the smell gave her away. Sweet rot. Perfume masking decay. His lips peeled back in a snarl. "You ain't Mariko. You're his puppet."
---
The mansion's corridors twisted like a maze, paper walls glowing with lantern light. Logan's senses cut through it. Every sound, every scent, every heartbeat mapped itself in his mind. He carried Mariko straight through like a predator tracking prey, unbothered by the murmurs of guards too scared to block his path.
Behind him, the X-Men scrambled to keep pace. Kitty phased through walls to catch up, panic in her eyes. "Logan! You can't just—"
"Stay back, kid." His voice was steel. "This ain't your fight."
"But—"
"Back!" His roar echoed down the corridor, sharp enough to stop her cold. She bit her lip, eyes wide, but obeyed.
Storm's voice carried softer, steadier. "Logan. Explain yourself."
He didn't look back. "Not here. Not yet. Just trust me."
Trust wasn't something Logan asked for often. The fact that he did made the team exchange wary glances — and fall in behind him anyway.
---
He kicked open a sliding door at the mansion's edge, the night spilling in. The moonlight painted everything silver, the gardens stretching wide with their stone lanterns and koi ponds. He set Mariko on her feet at last, but kept himself close, claws itching to burst free.
She straightened her veil, glaring at him with disdain sharp enough to cut glass. "You shame me before my family. You disgrace our union."
Logan stepped closer, nose inches from hers, growl rumbling low. "Cut the act, Wyngarde. I can smell you under her skin."
Her lips curled — but not Mariko's lips. For the first time, the mask cracked. Her expression twisted, eyes flickering with cruel amusement.
"Ah," she whispered, voice slipping like oil. "You've always been harder to fool than the rest."
The garden shimmered. The moon fractured. Reality itself rippled like heat haze, and in the blink of an eye, the woman before him melted away. Silk and grace dissolved into velvet and arrogance.
Jason Wyngarde stood there, cane in hand, cape flowing, smile carved sharp as a blade.
"Bravo, Wolverine," he purred. "Your senses betray my art. A shame. I do so love playing bride."
Logan's claws snikted out in a flash of steel, gleaming under the false moonlight. "You picked the wrong game, bub."
---
The world warped again. In an instant, the garden became a ballroom, chandeliers blazing overhead, nobles clapping as if they'd witnessed a performance. Then it shifted — a battlefield, corpses littering the ground, smoke choking the air. Then again — a forest on fire, wolves howling in the distance.
Illusions stacked on illusions, each more vivid, more real than the last.
Most men would falter, lose their grip on reality. But Logan had lived through worse. His mind was a graveyard of wars, laboratories, cages, lost faces.
He roared, swinging his claws through a wolf that turned to mist. "I've had nightmares better than your tricks!"
Wyngarde laughed, voice echoing from everywhere and nowhere. "You think your animal senses make you invincible? I can break beasts as easily as men. Ask your dear Jean."
That name hit like a bullet. Jean. Logan's chest tightened, the ache of a wound that never healed. For a split second, the illusion bent toward her face — flame-haired, eyes pleading, lips whispering help me.
His claws shook. Just a fraction.
Then he forced them steady. "Don't you dare use her." His voice was low, guttural. "Don't you dare."
The vision shattered, Wyngarde appearing again in full, smirking, bowing like a stage magician. "Then strike, Wolverine. Prove your worth. Prove you're more than a dog snapping at shadows."
Logan lunged.
Steel met smoke, claws cutting through nothing as Wyngarde vanished again. The world spun — temple steps, battlefield trenches, Tokyo streets — every step designed to disorient, to overwhelm.
But Logan anchored himself the only way he knew how: his senses. The stink of Wyngarde's cologne beneath the perfume of false cherry blossoms. The faint scuff of his boots against a stone floor hidden under the illusion of silk carpet. The hitch in his breath when Logan's claws got too close.
Logan didn't fight the illusions. He hunted through them.
He let his eyes blur, his ears tune out the lies, his nose sharpen. And there — by the koi pond that wasn't really there, where water rippled but smelled of dry stone — Wyngarde's real heartbeat thumped, fast and panicked.
Logan's claws punched forward.
Steel met flesh. Wyngarde screamed, stumbling back, hand clutching his side where blood now seeped. The illusions flickered, collapsing like torn stage curtains. The garden returned, silent and cold, lanterns flickering in the night breeze.
Wyngarde gasped, fury breaking through his mask. "Animal!"
Logan stood over him, claws dripping crimson, chest heaving. His eyes burned like molten gold. "You got that right. And animals don't play games."
He raised his claws again — but Mariko's voice cut through the night.
"Logan!"
He froze. Turned.
Mariko stood in the doorway, veil discarded, her real self at last. Her eyes wide, her breath ragged, but her soul was hers again. No rot, no perfume, just Mariko. Pure.
"Stop," she pleaded. "Don't kill him. Not here. Not like this."
Logan's chest rose and fell, slow, uneven. His claws trembled, dripping blood onto the stone. He wanted nothing more than to finish it — to silence Wyngarde forever, to stop the stink of his lies.
But Mariko's voice was stronger than instinct.
He retracted the claws with a metallic snikt, leaving Wyngarde gasping, broken but alive. Logan leaned close, growling into his ear. "Next time you crawl into her head, bub… I'll gut you before you can blink."
Wyngarde tried to sneer, but it came out as a whimper. He vanished in a shimmer of light, retreating like the coward he was.
---
The garden went quiet. The X-Men rushed out at last, storming into the scene. Kitty's eyes went wide at the blood on Logan's hands. Colossus tensed, ready for a fight that was already over. Storm's gaze softened, sad but proud.
Mariko stepped closer, her eyes never leaving Logan.
"You saved me," she whispered.
Logan shook his head. "Almost lost you. Should've seen it sooner."
"You saw enough." Her voice carried a strength that steadied him. She reached for his hand — stopped just short, hesitant, but close enough that he could feel her warmth.
For the first time that night, Logan let his shoulders drop. The rage drained from him, leaving only exhaustion.
He looked at her, then at the team, then at the blood-streaked stones beneath his boots.
"Wedding's over," he muttered. "Guess it's time to hunt what's next."
The night wind carried the scent of cherry blossoms that weren't really there.