Chapter 255
Manhattan at dusk was usually loud, impatient, and alive.
Office workers flooded the sidewalks like schools of fish, briefcases swinging, phones glowing in tired hands. Taxi horns blared in overlapping rhythms, engines idled angrily, and neon signs flickered to life as daylight bled away. It was the hour where the city exhaled, where everyone rushed home believing the day was finally done.
Nothing about it felt special.
Except for the tower.
It rose from between familiar buildings like it had always been there—stone-gray, jagged, medieval in design. Its spires cut into the darkening sky like spears, its windows glowing faintly red, as if lit by fire rather than electricity.
A man slowed his walk, squinting.
"Hey," he said, nudging his friend. "Was that tower there before?"
His friend followed his gaze, brow furrowing. "Huh. I… don't know. I take this route every day. I swear I've never noticed it."
They stood there for a second longer than usual, unease prickling at the back of their minds.
Then a car horn blared behind them, someone cursed, and the moment slipped away.
They kept walking.
Atop the tower, the wind howled.
Mister Sinister stood near the edge, his cloak billowing like a living thing. Below him stretched Manhattan—dense, vibrant, oblivious. Beside him stood Madelyne Pryor, no longer dressed as a normal woman. Her goblin queen attire clung to her like a second skin, crimson and black, her fiery hair whipping wildly in the wind.
Sinister glanced at her, red eyes gleaming.
"Now," he said pleasantly, "entertain me properly, daughter."
Madelyne turned toward him, lips curling into a sick, eager smile. "As you wish… father."
Sinister vanished, dissolving into shadow as though he had never existed.
The smile on Madelyne's face faltered.
For just a moment.
Her fingers trembled at her side.
I don't know whether to do this or not, she thought. But there's no time left. The arrow has already left the bowstring.
She raised her hand.
"Awaken," she whispered. Then louder, voice carrying unnaturally far: "Awaken, my children."
The sky answered.
Clouds churned violently, twisting into a deep, hellish red. The ground shuddered as if the city itself were screaming. Streets cracked, sidewalks split, and from the ruptures rose structures that had no place in modern Manhattan—stone keeps, spiked arches, grotesque towers that clawed upward like diseased growths.
They burst from the earth as if Manhattan were nothing more than soft soil.
From their doors and windows poured demons.
Tall ones with elongated limbs. Short, squat ones with wide mouths full of teeth. Horned creatures, winged creatures, things that slithered and things that stomped. Their laughter echoed between buildings as they gazed down at the panicking crowd.
"Look at them," one sneered. "They've never known war."
"Weak," another said, licking its lips. "Like ants."
"Delicious ants."
They descended.
A man barely had time to scream before a demon landed on him, clawing out his eye and devouring it with obscene relish. Blood sprayed across the pavement as people scattered in blind terror.
A woman swung a tennis racket she'd pulled from her bag, hands shaking. "Don't come any closer!" she shouted. "I'll kill you!"
The demon laughed.
"Nice try."
Its whip-like arm lashed out, slicing her diagonally. She collapsed without another sound, blood pooling beneath her as the demon dragged its tongue along the blade of its limb.
"Sweet," it murmured.
Three demons overturned a car, ripping it apart piece by piece. A gunshot rang out from inside, a bullet striking one demon square in the chest, leaving a shallow dent.
The demon stared down at it.
"…It hurts."
Its voice deepened, rage boiling over.
"I said it HURT, low life."
It grabbed the driver by the head and squeezed. The skull burst apart, fragments spraying the inside of the car like shattered fruit.
Across Manhattan, the same scenes unfolded.
Chaos.
Fear.
Blood.
High above, Madelyne watched.
Her face was calm. Detached.
Only the faint tremor in her hands betrayed the storm inside her.
Then—light.
A brilliant portal tore open in the middle of the street, its edges shimmering violently. From it stepped figures cloaked in dark fabric.
Kitty Pryde blinked, eyes wide. "Did we just walk into a fairy tale?"
Storm's gaze hardened. "More precisely… a nightmare."
Colossus frowned, cracking his knuckles. "Are they your family, Kurt?"
Nightcrawler grimaced. "I wish they were, Pete. At least then they wouldn't hurt me."
A demon lunged toward him.
Nightcrawler vanished in a puff of brimstone and reappeared above it mid-air, tail snapping around its neck. He twisted, choking it, and Colossus finished it with a single punch that reduced the creature to a smear against the asphalt.
Wolverine snorted. "What a warm family reunion."
He drove his claws into the ground. Blood erupted beneath him as a demon that had been burrowing underground was torn apart before it could strike.
Storm's voice cut through the chaos. "Disperse! Rescue the people!"
"Roger," several voices answered.
The X-Men moved.
Rogue and Colossus charged forward like living battering rams, plowing through demons with raw momentum. Kitty was ambushed from behind, a clawed fist swinging toward her head.
"Got you!"
The blow passed straight through her skull.
Kitty phased solid just enough to plunge her hand into the demon's chest, fingers closing around its heart.
"No," she said calmly, "it's me who got you, ugly."
She crushed it.
The demon screamed until it couldn't.
Dazzler stared for half a second. "What are you, a devil?"
"That's harsh to say to a cute girl," Kitty replied.
Dazzler grinned, absorbing the roar of panic around her. Light gathered around her like orbiting stars. She raised her hand, finger shaped like a gun, and fired.
Three demons fell in a line, light piercing straight through their brains.
Psylocke closed her eyes briefly, scanning. She located a building still free of demonic presence and projected her voice into the minds of the fleeing civilians.
This way. Shelter here.
The X-Men adjusted instantly, her silent command understood.
Havok unleashed a massive energy beam, carving a path through a charging horde. Nightcrawler appeared beside a blue-skinned demon, resting a hand on its shoulder.
"I say, brother," Kurt said politely, "how is your father doing these days?"
The demon swung wildly. Kurt vanished, reappearing behind it.
"Ah. Short fuse. Family trait."
He knocked it out cold.
Above them, Storm hovered, eyes glowing. Lightning rained down, turning demons to charred husks.
Logan ran.
Blood. Ash. Fear. Sulfur.
Just like a battlefield, he thought.
He leapt over cars, slashing anything that crossed his path. A massive demon blocked his way, lifting a car overhead.
"This is as far as you go, shortstuff."
Logan grinned savagely. "Bub… don't you know I hate comments about my height?"
The car flew.
Logan sliced it in half midair, passing through the wreckage and landing on the demon's shoulder.
"In the afterlife," he said softly, "learn how to greet people."
His claws came down.
The demon collapsed, its brain split open, blood soaking Logan as he stood over the corpse—breathing, alive, unbroken.
High above, Madelyne watched Manhattan burn.
And did not look away.
----
A sudden breeze cut across Wolverine's face.
It shouldn't have mattered. Wind meant nothing in the middle of hell breaking loose—but this one carried something else. A scent.
His eyes widened.
"…What's she doing here?"
Sulfur.
Not the crude, overwhelming stench of the demons rampaging through Manhattan, but something sharper. Familiar. Layered beneath the chaos like a hidden signature.
Why does her scent carry sulfur… like the demons?
Logan turned his head slowly, nostrils flaring. The smell led him forward, threading through smoke and blood, cutting a straight line through the carnage.
At the edge of his vision, rising above the city like a wound in reality itself, stood the medieval tower.
"Damn it," he muttered.
He took off.
Rogue came down like a meteor.
She had her arms locked around a flying demon—something twisted between a bat and an owl, its wings leathery and massive, screeching as it clawed at her back. She tightened her grip and let gravity take over.
They plummeted.
The demon screamed.
They hit the street with an impact that shattered asphalt and created a crater several meters wide. The bat-owl thing absorbed most of the force—its body bursting apart in a spray of blood and bone. The demons beneath them didn't fare any better.
When the dust settled, only Rogue stood at the center.
She clapped her hands together, brushing off gore.
Behind her, a bus shuddered.
Its metal warped. Headlights stretched into eyes. The grill split open, forming a massive mouth lined with jagged teeth.
The bus lunged.
Before Rogue could even swear, she was swallowed whole.
The bus chewed.
Then—crack.
Its teeth snapped like cheap plastic.
Rogue punched her way out through the side, stepping free as the possessed vehicle collapsed in on itself.
"…Didn't expect my charm to work on vehicles now," she muttered.
She glanced at the ruined bus, eyebrow twitching.
"And honestly—since when do buses eat?"
Storm didn't see it coming.
The electric pole behind her blinked.
Eyes opened along its length. Its metal twisted and bent, stretching into something grotesquely animated, like a nightmare cartoon pulled straight from hell. Live wires lashed outward, wrapping around her midair.
Electricity surged.
Storm cried out as the shock tore through her, muscles locking up. She dropped from the sky.
Nightcrawler appeared beside her in a flash of blue smoke, catching her before she hit the ground. Another teleport, and they landed hard but safe.
"Are you okay, boss?" he asked urgently.
Storm grimaced, forcing herself upright. "Yes… but what hit me?"
Kurt pointed upward. "…That pole thing."
Storm followed his gaze—and froze.
All around them, reality was melting.
Cars bent inward, growing limbs. Chairs crawled out of shattered buildings, skittering like insects. Tables sprouted teeth. Street signs twisted into mockeries of faces, screaming soundlessly as they writhed.
Havok stared at the ground as something pink crawled past him.
It was… underwear.
Animated.
A pair of pink panties dragged itself across the asphalt, bumping into demons and possessed objects alike, moving with no purpose or direction.
Havok blinked.
"…Okay," he said slowly. "Who's moving around without their panties now?"
No one laughed.
Wolverine reached the base of the tower.
Up close, it felt worse.
The stone radiated heat and old malice. No doors. No cracks. No obvious entrance.
Logan tilted his head back, squinting upward.
"Long way, then."
He drove his claws into the wall.
One step. Then another. Then another.
Stone screeched as adamantium bit deep. He climbed steadily, muscles burning, senses screaming. Halfway up, he reached a window and slashed instinctively.
CLANG.
His claws rebounded.
He stared at them.
"…Even the windows?"
Annoyed, he resumed climbing.
That's when the flying demons came.
Three of them—sleek, vicious things with hooked talons and feathered wings—swooped in from above. One raked his back, claws tearing flesh. Another fired razor-sharp feathers that embedded themselves into his shoulders and spine.
Blood streamed down the tower wall.
Logan growled but didn't stop.
Not now.
They clawed. They shrieked. They harassed him relentlessly.
He ignored them.
Near the top, Logan paused and looked at them.
The three demons hovered instinctively, lining up in front of him.
Logan pulled one hand free from the wall.
"Go to hell, bastards."
His claws extended.
Not just out—
They kept going.
Five meters. Then more.
The elongated adamantium blades sliced through all three demons in a single horizontal sweep, bisecting their bodies midair. Their halves fell screaming into the abyss below.
Logan retracted his claws, smoke rising from his wounds as flesh knit back together, pushing feathers out of his back like splinters being rejected.
He climbed the final stretch.
The rooftop was quiet.
Too quiet.
Madelyne Pryor stood there, her back to him, hair flowing unnaturally in the wind.
Logan stepped onto the stone.
"Maddie," he said, voice low. "What are you doing up here?"
She didn't answer.
Her shadow moved.
It rose.
A massive demon emerged from it—four-armed, towering, its body thick and dense like living iron. Its eyes burned with dull confidence.
"Leave your life behind," it rumbled, "if you wish to speak to my milady."
It attacked.
"Big talk, bub."
Logan dodged the first punch and slashed across the demon's chest.
No resistance.
The claws passed through flesh easily—but Logan felt nothing. No bite. No resistance feedback.
The demon looked down at the slash mark, unimpressed.
"Give up," it said. "Nothing can hurt me."
Logan attacked again. And again.
Using his bullet-time perception, the world slowed. He watched all four arms move simultaneously, each strike precise, overwhelming. He dodged, countered, slashed—decapitating arms, ripping chunks free.
The demon healed instantly.
Healing factor too, Logan realized grimly.
"Alright," he snarled. "Let's see whose body gives up first."
He stopped dodging.
He went on the offensive.
They traded blows.
Logan's bones cracked. Flesh tore. Pain screamed through him as his healing factor struggled to keep pace. The demon regenerated effortlessly, unbothered by damage, unfeeling.
Two arms weren't enough against four.
A massive fist connected with Logan's face.
Bone shattered.
Teeth exploded from his mouth as he was hurled backward into the edge of the tower.
The stone cracked.
Logan went over.
Falling.
---
Just before gravity could claim him, Logan acted.
His claws shot out and bit into the edge of the tower.
The impact was brutal.
Metal screeched against stone as his body slid several meters downward, sparks and blood spraying together. The force ripped skin and muscle where adamantium met flesh, shredding the section where claws connected to his hands. Pain exploded up his arms, white-hot and grinding.
Logan gritted his teeth so hard his jaw creaked.
"…Tch."
He stopped.
Hanging there, body trembling, blood dripping down the ancient stone, he dragged in a rough breath. His healing factor immediately went to work, but this time it was slower—angry, strained, as if even it was tired of today.
He looked up.
The tower loomed above him, indifferent and ancient.
Fear didn't touch him.
Boredom didn't either.
If anything, the fire inside his chest burned hotter.
I'm not leaving without answers.
With a growl, he climbed again.
As he ascended, his mind replayed the fight.
That demon…
Every slash. Every strike.
No resistance.
It hadn't felt like flesh. Or bone. Or even energy.
It felt like cutting water. Or thick mud.
No matter where he cut—head, heart, limbs—the body restored itself instantly. Not regeneration.
Something else.
My senses didn't lie, he thought grimly. There was nothing there to hurt.
He pulled himself up and crested the rooftop once more.
Madelyne Pryor still stood at the edge, staring down at Manhattan as it burned and screamed. Her hair flowed unnaturally in the wind, unmoving despite the chaos.
The four-armed demon turned toward him, its expression unreadable.
"I told you to give up, human," it rumbled. "You have no chance."
Logan didn't answer.
Instead, his eyes narrowed.
Something deep inside him—older than training, older than thought—itched. His instincts screamed at him to look closer.
Deeper.
Logan activated his thermal vision.
And froze.
There was nothing.
No heat signature.
No mass.
Where the demon stood… was emptiness.
Like staring at open air.
"What the—"
He squinted harder, forcing his senses to focus beyond what felt natural.
Then he saw it.
A dot.
Tiny. Barely there.
A minuscule bead of heat, spinning rapidly in place—no bigger than a firefly. A single point of existence sustaining the illusion of mass around it.
A core.
Logan's eyes widened.
No wonder I felt like I was hitting nothing.
The demon moved.
"It's pointless—"
Logan lunged.
He ignored the demon's form entirely, tracking only the bead—watching its erratic, high-speed movement, predicting its path with bullet-time clarity.
The demon raised its arms.
Logan was faster.
His claws pierced forward—not at the demon's chest, but through it—aimed precisely at the bead.
Crack.
The sound was sharp. Final.
The bead fractured.
Then shattered.
The demon staggered.
Its massive form began to dissolve, edges flickering like smoke in a dying flame. It looked down at its fading hands, then back at Logan.
"…Name's L'um," it said calmly. "Yours?"
"Logan."
L'um smiled.
Then vanished.
Silence fell over the rooftop.
Logan wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his hand.
He straightened slightly, as if trying—stupidly—to look more presentable.
Then he turned.
"Maddie."
This time, she faced him.
Her eyes were red—but not from crying. Something else burned behind them.
"Where were you?" she asked softly.
"That's not what matters," Logan said. "Tell me what this is. These demons. This tower. Are you their leader?"
She laughed.
It wasn't amused.
"Were you with her?"
Logan frowned. "With who?"
Her gaze hardened.
"Don't play dumb."
Before he could react, invisible force seized his body.
Logan was yanked into the air and smashed downward.
The stone cracked.
Then he was hurled sideways. Then upward. Then slammed again.
"No calls answered!" she screamed.
Another impact.
"Me being a clone!"
Another.
"Me with no past!"
Another.
"Me never being able to be complete!"
Each word came with pain.
Bones snapped. Organs ruptured. Blood sprayed across ancient stone.
When she finally stopped, Logan lay broken at her feet, barely breathing.
She stared down at him.
"…Jean Grey."
The name escaped him like a dying breath.
Something clicked.
Calls.
Similar scents.
Clone.
Jean Grey.
Logan remembered.
Before the fake deaths. Before Inferno.
That scent.
Jean Grey's scent.
He coughed blood and forced the words out.
"Use… your power… on me."
She blinked. "What?"
"If you can use her telekinesis," he rasped, "you can use her telepathy. See my memories."
She hesitated.
Then she knelt.
Her hand pressed gently against his blood-soaked head.
She closed her eyes.
She saw everything.
Logan—joining the X-Men.
Logan—meeting Jean for the first time.
The spaceship. Radiation tearing through his body as Logan protected her.
His love—never returned.
His jealousy.
Jean's descent.
Her sacrifice.
Her death.
Then—Madelyne.
Logan approaching her because she looked like Jean.
And stopping.
Because she didn't feel like her.
Different scent.
Different soul.
She saw his confusion turn into genuine affection.
She saw him let go of Jean.
She saw his love for her.
She saw why the calls went unanswered.
The fake deaths.
The abandonment—not by choice, but by necessity.
Madelyne pulled back.
Regret flooded her.
Helplessness followed.
Nothing can be undone now.
Logan looked at her weakly.
"Don't."
She shook her head. "I have no other choice. You already know."
He wheezed. "Not… by my hands. I'll be scarred forever."
She smiled sadly. "I'm sorry. But I want it to be you."
She leaned down and kissed his bloody lips.
Her face paled.
Blood trickled from her mouth.
She whispered, "You're the only one who'll remember me as me. Not as a clone."
She collapsed onto him.
Only then did Logan realize—
All along, she had planned to die.
Using her telekinesis, she had guided his claws into her own body.
As her life faded, he remembered what she shared with him—
Her contract with the demons.
Sinister.
And the truth:
As long as she lived, the demons would continue to exist in this world—fed by her power.
Her death would end it.