The battle vehicle soared over Bruce’s head, slamming into Deathstroke and knocking him away from Bruce’s path. As the car landed, Logan floored the gas pedal.
The Spider-Mobile, with Deathstroke pinned against its hood, roared forward, barreling straight toward Red Skull.
Deathstroke was furious, bewildered by how a simple job could have so many twists. Bracing himself against the car’s impact, he stabbed his twin swords into the ground to stop its forward momentum.
But the blades were too sharp, slicing into the road instead of slowing the car down.
Red Skull, seeing the vehicle charging toward him, instinctively dodged aside.
But Logan hadn’t been aiming at him.
With a sharp turn of the wheel, Logan spun the Spider-Mobile, throwing Deathstroke off and sending him sprawling. Then, leaning out of the vehicle, Logan grabbed the bloodied Hawkeye, hauling him into the back seat.
The Spider-Mobile screeched to a halt beside Bruce.
Logan jumped out, gripping Bruce in one hand and Kathoom in the other, tossing them both into the vehicle.
“Can you drive?” Logan shouted through the pouring rain.
“I can!” Bruce shouted back, adrenaline surging. “I learned in Hawaii!”
“Good. Get Hawkeye out of here—don’t stop for anything or anyone. You have to make it out!”
Logan’s eyes were fierce. “If it comes down to it, ditch Hawkeye. You’re the one who needs to survive!”
“What about you?” Bruce yelled over the storm.
“Don’t worry about me!”
Logan turned, watching as Deathstroke rose to his feet, his promethium armor unscathed.
“I’m not leaving you!” Bruce shouted.
“Enough!” Logan snapped back. “You don’t belong in this world. You don’t need to die with it!”
The words drained all expression from Bruce’s face.
“You know…”
“I’ve known for a while. A kid like you couldn’t have come from a world this rotten!”
Logan’s voice was raw. “Years back, some weirdo in a red suit came to me, and that’s when I learned about other universes.
“Go back to your world, kid. You still want to be a hero, don’t you? Then live—live to make it happen!”
Bruce was speechless, hot tears streaming down his face, mixing with the rain.
Logan’s resolute gaze left no room for argument. He was set on this.
With a heavy heart, Bruce climbed into the driver’s seat, fumbling with the controls. His hand brushed the audio system, and the rock music Hawkeye had been playing resumed, jarringly loud in the tense silence.
Bruce hit the gas, and the Spider-Mobile roared to life.
“Goodbye, kid!” Logan turned away, not watching Bruce’s departure.
Professor X’s parting words echoed in Logan’s mind—”Our world may be doomed, but it will remember us.”
“Remember my story? Well, that’s good enough for me.”
Standing tall in the rain, Logan faced Deathstroke and Red Skull.
“Sorry, but this road’s closed.”
—
Bruce’s mind was blank as he sped through the rain, gripping the wheel with numb fingers.
He and Kathoom were drenched, but he couldn’t stop—not yet. He needed to find a safe place for Hawkeye, who was barely clinging to life in the back seat, his blood mingling with the rainwater.
Bruce wrapped Dumbledore’s cloak around Hawkeye, hoping it would keep him warm enough to hang on.
A cacophony of honking sounded behind him. A line of black sedans was pursuing them—Red Skull’s private security force.
The Spider-Mobile raced through the downpour, branches whipping in the rain.
“Kathoom!” Bruce yelled over the storm. “Give me the Dionesium Factor!”
Hawkeye wouldn’t make it without help. Bruce couldn’t just watch him die.
“It’s pointless, Bruce.”
Kathoom’s voice was low, almost sorrowful. “Even if you save him now, he’ll die when this world ends. The Bacchus Factor won’t change that.”
“I don’t care!” Bruce roared.
One of the sedans drew close, and Bruce swerved, slamming the Spider-Mobile into it and sending it skidding away.
He couldn’t stop thinking about Logan and Hawkeye, both of them on the brink of death.
Just then, the audio system finished Hawkeye’s rock playlist and switched to Logan’s song—a somber, lonely tune. The lyrics pierced the quiet inside the car.
“I hurt myself today,
“To see if I still feel.
“I focus on the pain,
“The only thing that’s real.”
Logan threw himself into the fight against Deathstroke and Red Skull.
His body was riddled with wounds, but each one healed quickly, his determination burning brighter with every step.
Now that he knew what he was fighting for, Logan’s hesitation vanished.
Though old, he would shield the innocent from the world’s deadliest threats with his own body.
“Don’t you dare go after that boy!”
It had been fifty years since Logan last fought.
Against the most powerful mercenary, Deathstroke, he stood little chance.
Again and again, Deathstroke knocked Logan to the ground, and again and again, Logan rose to his feet.
“Why won’t you just die already?!” Deathstroke snarled, exasperated.
He gave up all restraint, determined to kill this stubborn old man once and for all.
Yet somehow, the harder he fought, the faster Logan healed.
Deathstroke, fed up with the delay, tightened his grip on his twin blades and drove them deep into Logan’s torso. With a brutal twist, he almost sliced Logan in half.
With a heavy thud, Logan collapsed, his breathing stopped.
Finally rid of this tenacious pest, Deathstroke sheathed his swords and stepped over Logan, moving to pursue Bruce.
The job had been nearly done, only for this old fool to interfere.
What a waste of time!
But as Deathstroke took his first step, something latched onto his ankle, holding him in place.
Logan, lying in a pool of blood, gripped Deathstroke’s leg with the last of his strength, his voice barely a whisper.
“No… passing through…”
His resolve was unshakable—Deathstroke would not lay a finger on Bruce.
Logan was old, his life flickering to an end.
All he had left was his body—old, but still fierce—to burn as fuel, lighting a spark of hope.
“What are you even fighting for?!” Deathstroke snarled, infuriated.
What was he fighting for? Logan didn’t really know.
But Bruce, that kid… he’d said he wanted to be a hero.
A bitter smile crossed Logan’s face, and he coughed up a mouthful of blood.
“Because… I need to set an example…”
That was the spirit of a hero—a flame passed down from one to the next.
Deathstroke pulled out a gun, aiming at Logan’s head. A flash of fire erupted from the barrel, and the bullet embedded itself in Logan’s brain.
“An example?”
Deathstroke sneered. The age of idealism had long since died, and it wasn’t coming back.
Turning, he resumed his pursuit.
But then a searing pain exploded in his ankle.
Deathstroke looked down and saw a set of metal claws wedged into the gaps of his armor, puncturing his Achilles tendon.
“What the—?”
His eye widened in shock.
“Aaahhh!!!”
A howl—silent for fifty years—echoed through the storm-soaked air.
With a mighty heave, Logan pulled his claws free.
Soaked in blood, a powerful figure rose. His body creaked as he extended his other hand, a set of adamantium claws emerging after fifty long years.
In the Spider-Mobile, Logan’s song played its final verse:
“If I could start again,
“A million miles away,
“I would keep myself,
“I would find a way.”
Logan crossed his claws into an X.
The bullet had taken down a weary old man, but it had awoken the hero slumbering within.
Logan was gone.
Wolverine had returned.
—
T/N: :))))
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