Chapter 246– Shadows in the Mansion
The mansion had never felt this hollow.
Evening sunlight bled through the cracked stained-glass window of the Xavier Institute's main hall, spilling a red-gold haze across the wooden floorboards. Dust floated lazily in the dying light, like the ghosts of voices that once filled the place with laughter. But now… silence ruled. Silence and grief.
Logan sat slouched in an armchair, boots muddy, shirt half-buttoned, a cigar burning low between his fingers. The smoke coiled upward, dancing lazy circles before vanishing in the ceiling shadows. Across from him, Storm sat stiff-backed in a chair, mohawk sharp as a blade but her eyes dim — the proud weather goddess, grounded and powerless. Beside her, Kitty was perched on the arm of a couch, one leg pulled to her chest, Lockheed coiled like a miniature dragon across her shoulders. Rogue stood against the window, arms folded, jaw tight. Psylocke and Rachel sat near the fireplace, the baby — Nathan Summers — asleep in Rachel's lap, his small breaths the only sound of peace in the room.
Colossus leaned against the far wall, massive arms crossed, his expression unreadable steel. Nightcrawler perched on the back of a sofa, tail twitching restlessly.
A family of misfits, broken and bruised.
"Lee Forrester's gone," Storm said quietly. Her voice trembled like distant thunder. "and Cyclops—" Her words faltered.
"—ain't been seen since," Logan finished, gravel low in his throat. "Man goes missin', woman dies savin' our hides, an' now we're stuck babysittin' a kid who's barely a month old." He flicked ash into the tray, the ember glowing like an angry eye. "Hell of a day for heroes."
Kitty frowned. "Logan, don't.She—she didn't deserve that."
He grunted. "No one does, kid. But the world don't play fair."
Rachel looked down at the baby in her arms. The faint light of her telekinetic field shimmered around them — a soft, protective glow. "He doesn't even know he's alone," she murmured. "His father's missing, his mother gone… and the future he's meant to have…" She trailed off, biting her lip.
Psylocke's accent curled through the air, calm but cutting. "Then we'll make sure he still has one, Rachel. That's what we do. Survive. Protect."
Nightcrawler gave a soft bamf of a sigh. "It is getting harder to believe that, liebchen. Every time we think the world cannot hate mutants more, it proves us wrong."
Rogue turned sharply, green eyes flashing. "Ain't just hate, sugah. It's fear. Folks out there got scared stiff seein' what happened in New York. You can't reason with fear. You just… keep breathin' and hope it dies down."
Logan let out a dry laugh. "Fear don't die, darlin'. It just finds a new excuse."
The silence after that was thick, heavy. Even the baby stirred uneasily, as if the mood had weight enough to wake him.
Then — ding-dong.
The doorbell. A sound so ordinary, it almost startled them.
All eyes turned toward the mansion's front door.
Storm rose first, her long coat whispering across the floor. "Perhaps Charles has returned?" she asked, though the question lacked conviction.
"No," Logan said immediately, the cigar forgotten. His head tilted, nostrils flaring. Something pricked at the edge of his senses — a familiar scent, buried beneath another, darker one. "Not Chuck. Not any of ours, either."
Nightcrawler blinked, tail flicking. "You recognize it?"
Logan frowned, a deep crease cutting between his brows. "Yeah. I do. Smells like—" His pupils narrowed to slits. "—Dazzler. But twisted. Like her light's been burned black."
Kitty tilted her head. "What does that even mean?"
"Means," Logan muttered, standing, claws half-sliding from his knuckles with a metallic snikt, "whoever's ringin' that bell ain't comin' for tea."
Storm hesitated. "Logan—don't be rash. We cannot turn away one of our own, especially not now."
"Yeah?" He smirked grimly. "Tell that to my nose."
The door opened with a slow, almost cinematic creak. And there she was — Dazzler, framed by the dying sunlight like a fallen star. Hair shining like silver silk, costume torn, face streaked with dirt and faint bruises. Her eyes — normally bright and human — looked off, too glassy, too still.
"Alison," Storm breathed, moving forward. "What happened?"
Dazzler's voice quivered, just enough to sound human. "I—I came to find shelter. The anti-mutant riots… they're everywhere. I didn't know where else to go. Please…"
Her voice cracked. The kind of tremble that screamed rehearsed.
Rogue glanced at Logan. "She looks beat up, Logan. Ya sure your nose ain't playin' tricks?"
Logan didn't answer. His stance shifted, claws fully unsheathed now. The air tensed, the faint scent of ozone curling off his skin. "Who are you?" he growled.
Everyone froze.
Dazzler blinked, confused. "Logan, what are you—?"
He stepped closer, nostrils flaring again. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "You smell familiar, sweetheart. But there's rot under the sugar. That ain't Alison Blaire."
The room's tension snapped taut. Psylocke rose slowly, "Logan, explain yourself."
He didn't get the chance.
Dazzler's lips twisted into something cruel, something wrong. Her voice deepened, distorting like static in a radio.
"I am Dazzler," she hissed — and then the world erupted in light.
A shockwave of blinding color blasted across the room. Glass shattered, furniture splintered, and the walls screamed under the force.
Logan tackled Storm down just in time, claws dug into the floorboards as plasma fire scorched the air above them. Psylocke threw up a psychic barrier around Rachel and the baby, sparks rippling like neon lightning. Colossus charged forward, metallic hide glinting, his roar echoing.
"Dazzler! Stop! It's us!" he shouted, but his voice was drowned out by another flare of light that sent him sprawling.
Nightcrawler bamfed behind her, trying to grab her from behind — but she spun, releasing another pulse of radiance that singed his tail. "Ach! That is most unpleasant!"
Rogue flew low, tackling her midair. "Wake up, sugar! You ain't yourself!"
Dazzler's eyes burned white, her smile cruel. "No," she said coldly, "I'm better."
Logan lunged in, claws slashing through a wall of hard light, sparks flying. He caught her shoulder — and in that instant, his soul-scent screamed at him. It wasn't Alison. It was something ancient, alien, hungry. He saw flashes in his mind — faces twisted in rage, a thousand emotions not her own. Possession.
He was right. Damn it, he was right.
Rachel cried out, voice breaking through the chaos: "Something's inside her! I can feel it! It's like psychic static!"
"Then yank it out!" Rogue yelled, ducking another blast.
"I can't—it's not psionic, it's parasitic!"
Psylocke clenched her fists, eyes glowing. "Then we'll cage it."
With coordinated fury, the X-Men closed ranks — Colossus anchoring the front, Rogue flanking, Nightcrawler darting in and out like a phantom. Psylocke and Rachel linked minds to weave barriers, confining the wild light storm around Dazzler until it fizzled out into exhaustion.
When the glow finally dimmed, Alison collapsed to the floor, gasping — sweat, tears, and confusion streaking her face.
Logan crouched beside her, claws still out, every instinct screaming. Then — movement.
A faint shimmer lifted from Dazzler's body. A ghostly, translucent shape — feminine, wraithlike — smiling.
Before anyone could react, the thing lunged.
Straight into Nightcrawler.
He gasped — once, twice — then straightened. His glowing yellow eyes flickered crimson.
"Well," he said with a grin that wasn't his own, voice slithering, "guess you can call me Malice."
And then he vanished with a bamf.
"Aw, hell," Logan muttered.
The room was in ruins. Dazzler sobbing, baby crying, and the smell of ozone thick in the air. Storm, clutching her powerless hands, looked at Logan. "What was that creature?"
He stood, jaw tight. "Trouble," he said. "The kind that don't stay gone long."
And somewhere in the mansion's darkened halls — a faint bamf echoed again, followed by laughter that wasn't Kurt's.
The hunt had begun.