Post by Rift on Mar 4, 2023 16:45:55 GMT -7
The night began as they so often did for Logan: with a nightmare.
It was not unusual for him to dream of war. The Lord knew he had fought in enough of them. An eternal soldier, always a weapon, forever a killer he had battled in countless conflicts over the ages. The America Civil War, both World Wars, and even a couple only select few individuals knew of on other planets and even realities. It was no wonder than a man as old as he was that had seen and dealt out more than his fair share of violence would have restless nights and dreams haunted by countless ghosts. In fact, for as long as he could remember Logan had been fighting nightmares, reliving acts of savagery he'd either seen or performed. It had only been the last few years that the dreams had faded. A new purpose, a new path, and the family he'd always longed for had allowed him to shove them into the darkest recesses of his mind. But that was then and anything he'd achieved, any semblance of peace he'd found was shattered when Apocalypse took him.
This time there were no phantoms of the dead, be they victims or fallen allies. Instead, the ghosts that observed him in wordless unwavering judgment were those of the living. Those he had failed and betrayed, his found family, The X-Men watched in silence more condemning than any accusation or insult. No vehicles smoldered in foreign fields, no fires raged in burnt out buildings. How could they when everything stood in an ocean of blood. As for enemies there was but one and it didn't wear a uniform, didn't come with a squadron of goons, and there was no way for Logan to defend himself or anyone else from it. The lone enemy that lingered in his nightmares and haunted his waking hours alike was not a war it was THE War.
Much as he wanted to attack, to pop his claws and yell curses as he tore him limb from limb as he had so many other countless foes, he could not. For War was him and yet he was an outside observer, unable to seize control of his own form. He screamed but to no avail as sound refused to come out. Logan tried to shut his eyes, but they too refused to obey. He knew what was coming, what always came, the same thing every single time he dozed off.
In the center of the blood ocean stood a woman. Against the nightmarish scene she was the lone bright spot, literally glowing, her aura vibrant and pure. Had he any control of his body he may have wept at the sight of her angelic-like beauty, the way her perfect face was framed by her cascading red hair. Knowing what was going to happen he begged the X-Men to do something, silently imploring them to intervene, to repel War. Like any other attempts to speak it failed, his pleas for them to kill him going unheard.
He watched helplessly as War lunged forward, unbothered by the knee-high ocean of blood. He snarled and laughed in equal measure as the claws tore open the angel's throat. War paused only long enough to lick a droplet of blood from his claw. Then without a word he plunged both claws into the angel's chest, driving the blades so deep they emerged from her back, staining the wings in crimson gore. Logan stared in wide-eyed horror as the blades came out, her heart dangling from the middle claw. The angel gasped, clutching the hole in her chest as she looked at War, through War, staring into the soul that was Logan trapped inside. She mouthed something unintelligible before collapsing.
"There we go again bub, always breaking Red's heart," War snarked in his voice...
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"Nooooooooooo!" Logan shouted as he awoke, his clenched fist punching the windshield of the truck and sending a number of cracks cascading across the surface. The damage matched the shattered driver's side window.
Sweat poured down his face and his breathing was ragged as his heart raced. For a long moment he couldn't remember where he was at or differentiate between the nightmare and the waking world. When he finally calmed his nerves and forced himself to look around, it all came back to him in a flash. The dream wasn't accurate, but it was close enough. Jean was dead, by his hand, because he had for just a moment forgot the truth. He was a monster, a weapon, an animal.
The rest of what he'd done as War, as Apocalypse's puppet, was a hazy blur. He vaguely remembered a massive fight and seeing another Horseman, Blob be downed by the leader of the X-Men. Another flash he remembered the pain, the searing heat that shredded skin, the force that made his adamantium laced bones rattle and ache, his brain to rock against the side of his metal skull once the soft tissues were torn away.
Easy to forget why Summers is the boss man until he really let's loose, Logan thought.
It was good that he was and that he had. The Optic Blast not only took War out of commission and rocketed Logan away from the battle where he could do no further harm, but it seemingly shattered Apocalypse's control over him. All the changes and additions that made him the Horseman of War had been stripped away. Unfortunately, the guilt and the consequences remained. That was why when his healing factor kicked in and restored him to fighting shape, he didn't return. There was no way make better what had happened, there was no chance he'd return the conquering hero that saved the day. He had betrayed his friends and family and he had no idea how many others than Jean had been victims.
The truth stared him in the face. All those years ago when he knew he was a malfunctioning weapon, a rabid beast needing to be put down, he was right. He was an animal play acting at being a man and the only thing he could do since he was seemingly unable to die properly, was to leave. To go where he could do no harm. Once, long ago he'd done just that and vanished into the woods to live among the wolves. Now, it was time to return to the wilds, for good this time. Thus he found himself sleeping in a stolen truck on the side of a snow packed road, somewhere in Alberta. If he was going to vanish he was going to do so in a place not terribly far from where his life of murder and pain began.
At least that had been the plan. Like so many things in his existence, that particular goal was going to have to take a slight detour. Several towns back down the road he'd stopped at a gas station to fuel up. After paying he'd intended to get back on the highway, but another patron had caught his attention. After being around death for as long as he had, the smell of it was unmistakable and the customer reeked of it. Or rather, his truck did. A large 18-wheeler it tore out of the station in a hurry, but not before Logan had smelled the decay and heard whimpers of what sounded like several people that were likely still young enough to be considered children.
As the semi vanished Logan had considered calling the cops, giving them a description, and going on his way. It wasn't his business. He told himself it was asking for trouble, that he was in no condition to try playing at being a hero. Not now, not ever again. That argument lasted for a grand total of three minutes until he was able to get the hijacked piece of ancient junk he was driving started. For the last several hours he had followed, tracking more by scent than sight thanks to the blizzard that had popped up. Eventually he caught up, but somebody had noticed him following. The semi had come to an abrupt stop and Logan hadn't reacted fast enough when a passenger ended up at his door and fired a shotgun point black into his face.
Getting sloppy old man. Creed would be eating your intestines for supper by now, he thought, reconfirming that he had no place getting involved in anything combat related.
That could only have been not five minutes prior. His unintentional nap while he healed hadn't been too terribly long meaning if he could get going again, he could find the truck.
Glancing at a bloodstained picture of Jean pinned to the sun visor, Logan sighed, her eyes accusing.
"Dammit. Fine darlin' one more time. For you," he muttered as he coaxed the old pickup to life again.
Convincing himself he could do one last act of good before vanishing forever, he drove on, catching the scent once more despite the whipping winds. Slowing down only when he saw the trailer of the semi, he glanced around the area it was parked. An old hole in the wall bar that was a home away from home for many a trucker and occasional biker. He'd been there once, years ago, but the place had seen better days even back then. Leaving his pickup parked away from any of the lights in the parking lot he exited and approached the trailer, a quick swipe of his claws tearing the lock away. Opening it he found a nightmare withing. Bodies crumpled in corners, dried blood throughout. Still whimpering were a trio of young girls, one elementary school age, the other two barely teens.
Logan knew about these kinds of operations, human traffickers. If he had to hazard a guess he would have bet they were smuggled in from the states, maybe somewhere like Montana or Wyoming. Maybe elsewhere. They'd be taken up north, up to some far-flung towns where untold horrors awaited them.
"C'mere. I want you girls to listen to me. Take these keys, go to that pickup over there, get inside and you stay there 'til I get back. Go. Now!"
As the trio followed orders, Logan turned to the bar. Inside he heard music and laughter, including the voice of the man who had tried taking him out on the road. a savage, toothy snarl spread across his lips as he walked towards the entrance...
It was not unusual for him to dream of war. The Lord knew he had fought in enough of them. An eternal soldier, always a weapon, forever a killer he had battled in countless conflicts over the ages. The America Civil War, both World Wars, and even a couple only select few individuals knew of on other planets and even realities. It was no wonder than a man as old as he was that had seen and dealt out more than his fair share of violence would have restless nights and dreams haunted by countless ghosts. In fact, for as long as he could remember Logan had been fighting nightmares, reliving acts of savagery he'd either seen or performed. It had only been the last few years that the dreams had faded. A new purpose, a new path, and the family he'd always longed for had allowed him to shove them into the darkest recesses of his mind. But that was then and anything he'd achieved, any semblance of peace he'd found was shattered when Apocalypse took him.
This time there were no phantoms of the dead, be they victims or fallen allies. Instead, the ghosts that observed him in wordless unwavering judgment were those of the living. Those he had failed and betrayed, his found family, The X-Men watched in silence more condemning than any accusation or insult. No vehicles smoldered in foreign fields, no fires raged in burnt out buildings. How could they when everything stood in an ocean of blood. As for enemies there was but one and it didn't wear a uniform, didn't come with a squadron of goons, and there was no way for Logan to defend himself or anyone else from it. The lone enemy that lingered in his nightmares and haunted his waking hours alike was not a war it was THE War.
Much as he wanted to attack, to pop his claws and yell curses as he tore him limb from limb as he had so many other countless foes, he could not. For War was him and yet he was an outside observer, unable to seize control of his own form. He screamed but to no avail as sound refused to come out. Logan tried to shut his eyes, but they too refused to obey. He knew what was coming, what always came, the same thing every single time he dozed off.
In the center of the blood ocean stood a woman. Against the nightmarish scene she was the lone bright spot, literally glowing, her aura vibrant and pure. Had he any control of his body he may have wept at the sight of her angelic-like beauty, the way her perfect face was framed by her cascading red hair. Knowing what was going to happen he begged the X-Men to do something, silently imploring them to intervene, to repel War. Like any other attempts to speak it failed, his pleas for them to kill him going unheard.
He watched helplessly as War lunged forward, unbothered by the knee-high ocean of blood. He snarled and laughed in equal measure as the claws tore open the angel's throat. War paused only long enough to lick a droplet of blood from his claw. Then without a word he plunged both claws into the angel's chest, driving the blades so deep they emerged from her back, staining the wings in crimson gore. Logan stared in wide-eyed horror as the blades came out, her heart dangling from the middle claw. The angel gasped, clutching the hole in her chest as she looked at War, through War, staring into the soul that was Logan trapped inside. She mouthed something unintelligible before collapsing.
"There we go again bub, always breaking Red's heart," War snarked in his voice...
--------------------------------------------------------
"Nooooooooooo!" Logan shouted as he awoke, his clenched fist punching the windshield of the truck and sending a number of cracks cascading across the surface. The damage matched the shattered driver's side window.
Sweat poured down his face and his breathing was ragged as his heart raced. For a long moment he couldn't remember where he was at or differentiate between the nightmare and the waking world. When he finally calmed his nerves and forced himself to look around, it all came back to him in a flash. The dream wasn't accurate, but it was close enough. Jean was dead, by his hand, because he had for just a moment forgot the truth. He was a monster, a weapon, an animal.
The rest of what he'd done as War, as Apocalypse's puppet, was a hazy blur. He vaguely remembered a massive fight and seeing another Horseman, Blob be downed by the leader of the X-Men. Another flash he remembered the pain, the searing heat that shredded skin, the force that made his adamantium laced bones rattle and ache, his brain to rock against the side of his metal skull once the soft tissues were torn away.
Easy to forget why Summers is the boss man until he really let's loose, Logan thought.
It was good that he was and that he had. The Optic Blast not only took War out of commission and rocketed Logan away from the battle where he could do no further harm, but it seemingly shattered Apocalypse's control over him. All the changes and additions that made him the Horseman of War had been stripped away. Unfortunately, the guilt and the consequences remained. That was why when his healing factor kicked in and restored him to fighting shape, he didn't return. There was no way make better what had happened, there was no chance he'd return the conquering hero that saved the day. He had betrayed his friends and family and he had no idea how many others than Jean had been victims.
The truth stared him in the face. All those years ago when he knew he was a malfunctioning weapon, a rabid beast needing to be put down, he was right. He was an animal play acting at being a man and the only thing he could do since he was seemingly unable to die properly, was to leave. To go where he could do no harm. Once, long ago he'd done just that and vanished into the woods to live among the wolves. Now, it was time to return to the wilds, for good this time. Thus he found himself sleeping in a stolen truck on the side of a snow packed road, somewhere in Alberta. If he was going to vanish he was going to do so in a place not terribly far from where his life of murder and pain began.
At least that had been the plan. Like so many things in his existence, that particular goal was going to have to take a slight detour. Several towns back down the road he'd stopped at a gas station to fuel up. After paying he'd intended to get back on the highway, but another patron had caught his attention. After being around death for as long as he had, the smell of it was unmistakable and the customer reeked of it. Or rather, his truck did. A large 18-wheeler it tore out of the station in a hurry, but not before Logan had smelled the decay and heard whimpers of what sounded like several people that were likely still young enough to be considered children.
As the semi vanished Logan had considered calling the cops, giving them a description, and going on his way. It wasn't his business. He told himself it was asking for trouble, that he was in no condition to try playing at being a hero. Not now, not ever again. That argument lasted for a grand total of three minutes until he was able to get the hijacked piece of ancient junk he was driving started. For the last several hours he had followed, tracking more by scent than sight thanks to the blizzard that had popped up. Eventually he caught up, but somebody had noticed him following. The semi had come to an abrupt stop and Logan hadn't reacted fast enough when a passenger ended up at his door and fired a shotgun point black into his face.
Getting sloppy old man. Creed would be eating your intestines for supper by now, he thought, reconfirming that he had no place getting involved in anything combat related.
That could only have been not five minutes prior. His unintentional nap while he healed hadn't been too terribly long meaning if he could get going again, he could find the truck.
Glancing at a bloodstained picture of Jean pinned to the sun visor, Logan sighed, her eyes accusing.
"Dammit. Fine darlin' one more time. For you," he muttered as he coaxed the old pickup to life again.
Convincing himself he could do one last act of good before vanishing forever, he drove on, catching the scent once more despite the whipping winds. Slowing down only when he saw the trailer of the semi, he glanced around the area it was parked. An old hole in the wall bar that was a home away from home for many a trucker and occasional biker. He'd been there once, years ago, but the place had seen better days even back then. Leaving his pickup parked away from any of the lights in the parking lot he exited and approached the trailer, a quick swipe of his claws tearing the lock away. Opening it he found a nightmare withing. Bodies crumpled in corners, dried blood throughout. Still whimpering were a trio of young girls, one elementary school age, the other two barely teens.
Logan knew about these kinds of operations, human traffickers. If he had to hazard a guess he would have bet they were smuggled in from the states, maybe somewhere like Montana or Wyoming. Maybe elsewhere. They'd be taken up north, up to some far-flung towns where untold horrors awaited them.
"C'mere. I want you girls to listen to me. Take these keys, go to that pickup over there, get inside and you stay there 'til I get back. Go. Now!"
As the trio followed orders, Logan turned to the bar. Inside he heard music and laughter, including the voice of the man who had tried taking him out on the road. a savage, toothy snarl spread across his lips as he walked towards the entrance...