Chapter 247 – The Light That Burns
Smoke crawled along the ceiling like a living thing.
The mansion creaked, wounded. Sparks popped from broken wiring. Somewhere a child cried — baby Nathan, wailing as Rachel rocked him, her telekinetic aura trembling with exhaustion.
"Easy, kiddo," she whispered, though her voice shook. "You're safe… you're safe…"
The lie tasted bitter.
Logan was already on his feet, the burnt scent of ozone and brimstone filling his lungs. "Everyone on alert," he barked. "Elf's possessed."
He spat a fleck of blood onto the floor, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "That ghost-thing called itself Malice. Rings any bells?"
Psylocke pressed a hand to her temple, eyes violet and distant. "A psionic parasite — one of Mr. Sinister's tools. She feeds on emotion, amplifies hatred until the host burns out."
"Great," Kitty muttered, brushing glass off her sweater. "So basically a demon with Wi-Fi access to your worst moods."
Lockheed gave a sympathetic chirp.
Storm knelt beside Dazzler, whose light had faded to a dull shimmer. "Alison, do you recall anything?"
Dazzler shook her head weakly. "Only flashes. Voices telling me to kill you. I tried to fight it but… it felt good, Storm. That's the worst part. It felt good to let go."
Her voice cracked.
Storm put a steady hand on her shoulder. "You are not to blame. The fault lies with the creature that used you."
Logan sniffed the air — sulfur, singed fabric, the tang of Kurt's teleportation residue. His soul-scent ability kicked in like an instinctive radar, reading emotions through their scent-notes: Dazzler's guilt was iron and ash, Storm's calm smelled like rain over old marble, and somewhere upstairs… sulfur twisted with hatred.
"Got him," Logan growled. "Upstairs hall. Smells like someone fried a nightclub in hell."
Rogue cracked her knuckles. "Then what're we waitin' for, sugar? Let's bag us a ghost."
They moved out — Logan leading, Storm and Psylocke flanking, Rogue and Colossus covering the rear while Kitty phased through the walls for recon. The mansion's lights flickered with each bamf echo, like a haunted heartbeat.
---
Upstairs Hallway
A corridor once lined with student portraits was now a battlefield of flickering shadows. Nightcrawler's laughter — not the warm, mischievous tone they knew, but sharp and mocking — bounced between the walls.
"Playing hide-and-seek, mein Freunde?" the voice sang. "Such faith in your teamwork. Shall we test it?"
A bamf! — and suddenly Colossus staggered back, chest smoking from a point-blank plasma strike.
"Piotr!" Kitty cried, diving to phase him through the floor before the next attack landed. They re-emerged a few meters away, both panting.
"I am… fine," he rumbled, though the burn marks said otherwise. "But I think Kurt's no longer taking prisoners."
Rogue shot upward, trying to catch Nightcrawler mid-teleport, but another bamf sent her crashing into the ceiling beam. She cursed. "Dang it, he's hoppin' like popcorn!"
"Keep him talkin'," Psylocke ordered, stepping forward, eyes flaring with psychic fire.
"Oh, I intend to," Logan said, voice low. He closed his eyes — not to see, but to smell. The world shifted into a storm of scent trails, thermal ghosts, and heartbeats. His soul-scent mapped emotion like a radar. Rage — crimson. Malice — a cold blue flame twisting inside Kurt's aura.
"There," Logan muttered, then burst forward, claws gleaming. He slashed through a shadow just as Nightcrawler appeared, steel scraping flesh. A shallow cut, but it drew blood.
Kurt hissed — or Malice did — and retaliated with a kick that cracked Logan's jaw. "You dare harm a friend, beast?"
Logan spat a tooth. "You ain't my friend, bub."
Another bamf. The smell of sulfur and blood intertwined, dizzying. Logan pivoted, senses overloading — his world half-light, half-instinct. He could smell Kurt's soul, pure and terrified, buried under Malice's suffocating presence. The bastard was still fighting from the inside.
Storm raised her hands — powerless still, but reflexive. "Kurt! Listen to me! You are stronger than—"
"Than what?" Malice's voice purred from the shadows. "Than me?"
Lightning-blue eyes flashed from behind Storm — too late. A teleport bamf and she was hurled against the wall. Rogue swooped in, catching her before impact.
"Dang it, Kurt, you better wake up!" Rogue shouted.
"Aw, the Southern belle thinks yelling fixes possession. Cute." Another bamf, another scar of smoke on the ceiling.
Psylocke exhaled sharply, sweat running down her temple. "We can't outpace him. His teleportation's erratic — she's overclocking his powers."
Rachel, still downstairs with Nathan, broke into the telepathic link. Betsy, his vitals are spiking! If Malice keeps using him like that, he'll burn out!
Then we end this now, Psylocke thought grimly.
---
Logan wiped blood from his mouth and muttered to himself, "Time to even the odds." He crouched low, closing his eyes fully this time.
He drew in a breath so deep it sounded like thunder in his ribs. Every scent painted a story — metal dust, baby powder, rain, fear… and there: sulfur-hate-corruption.
He lunged. Not with speed — with certainty.
When Nightcrawler bamfed again, Logan was already there, clawed hand snapping around his neck mid-teleport. They slammed into the far wall in a storm of smoke and debris.
Logan growled inches from his face. "You picked the wrong body, lady. The Elf's off-limits."
Malice smiled through Kurt's fanged grin. "Then perhaps you'll do better."
She grabbed Logan's head, and his world exploded.
---
Inside the Mindscape
He fell into a maelstrom — flashes of memory, color, scent, rage. A psychic battlefield made of every life he'd lived and forgotten. He saw the Weapon X labs, the snow-covered woods, Jean's face flickering between love and flame.
And above it all, Malice — a spectral woman, beautiful and cruel, wearing Kurt's shadow like a cloak.
"You think your healing will save you?" she purred. "I've worn stronger minds than yours, animal."
"Yeah?" Logan cracked his neck. "None o' them had me on the menu."
He charged, claws gleaming even in thought. Their collision sent psychic ripples through the real world — windows shattering, lights flaring. Psylocke staggered, clutching her temple.
"He's doing it," she gasped. "He's pulling her out!"
Storm gripped her shoulder. "Can you assist him?"
"I can… but if I blast now, his mind could tear apart!"
Rogue grimaced. "Hate to break it to ya, sugar, but it's already torn plenty."
---
Mindscape
Logan's psychic claws sliced through illusions — faces of everyone he'd failed. Jean. Mariko. Scott. Xavier. Even the kid in Rachel's arms. Each image twisted by Malice into mockery.
"See how they fear you?" she hissed. "You are a beast, and beasts deserve cages."
He grinned, feral and tired. "Yeah, but I break every cage they give me."
He lunged one last time, wrapping his arms around her incorporeal form the same way he'd grabbed Kurt earlier. "Come on then. Try me."
"Fool!"
Her essence poured into him — light to darkness, venom to blood.
---
The Hall
Kurt collapsed, free at last. Storm caught him, whispering, "You are safe now, my friend."
But Logan — he screamed. A raw, primal roar that shook the hall. His eyes burned with Malice's blue fire, smoke curling from his nostrils.
"Betsy!" Storm shouted. "Now!"
She hesitated for a heartbeat — then struck.
The psychic blast lit the mansion like a supernova. The force hurled Rogue and Colossus back, shattered every bulb in the corridor. Malice's shriek split the air, merging with Logan's roar until both became one deafening note of pain.
Then — silence.
Logan hit the floor smoking, claws retracted, body still twitching. Steam rose from his head as his healing factor fought to knit fried synapses.
Psylocke dropped to her knees beside him. "Please, don't let me have killed him…"
Storm, trembling, brushed a hand over his brow. "He lives. His pulse… strong, impossibly strong."
Rogue exhaled. "Told y'all the runt's too stubborn to die."
Nightcrawler stirred, weak but conscious. "I… hate rollercoasters,"
Dazzler entered, leaning on the wall, eyes wet. "Then maybe it's time I start earning that mercy."
The baby whimpered somewhere below, as if echoing the mansion's weary breath.
---
Later that night, the X-Men gathered in the med-bay. Logan lay unconscious, bandaged but breathing, his heartbeat steady on the monitor. Psylocke sat nearby, silent. Storm stood at the window, the moonlight tracing her mohawk.
"We keep fighting," she said softly. "Even when the world hates us, even when our own shadows rise against us."
Rogue smiled faintly. "Ain't that what family does?"
Kitty chuckled through a yawn. "Family that occasionally punches each other through walls, sure."
Colossus gave a small smile. "Da. But always rebuilds together."
Rachel, rocking the sleeping baby, whispered, "He'll grow up knowing that."
Storm nodded. "He must."
Logan stirred, groaning. "Someone shut the Hallmark channel," he rasped without opening his eyes. "My brain's still on fire."
The team laughed — tired, grateful laughter.
Storm allowed herself a smile. "Welcome back, Logan."
He cracked one eye open. "Did we win?"
Rogue smirked. "If by 'win' you mean survivin', then yeah. You even got yourself exorcised for free."
Logan sighed. "Good. Add it to my tab."
He closed his eyes again, the faintest smirk curling his lips. Malice was gone — but her echo lingered, a reminder that peace for mutants was always temporary.
And outside, the wind picked up, carrying the scent of rain.