Nathan jolted awake, the faint creak of footsteps on the stairs below slicing through the stillness of the church's bell tower. His grip on the sniper rifle tightened instinctively, his body tensed. The moonlight streaming through the shattered window barely illuminated his surroundings, but his ears confirmed what his eyes couldn't see—someone was coming.
Before he could move, a gravelly voice echoed from below.
"I know you're up there, bub. I can smell you."
Nathan exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. "Figures." He pulled himself up from the cold wooden floor, his joints protesting as he moved. His muscles ached from hours of tension, but his mind remained sharp.
He crept toward the window and peered out. The town looked worse than the chaos he'd left behind. Entire buildings had collapsed, their charred remains still smoldering. A dozen cars lay overturned or gutted, strewn across the narrow streets like discarded toys. The bodies of mercenaries and assassins were scattered everywhere, many bearing vicious slashes and gashes—a clear signature of one man's handiwork.
Nathan turned his gaze to the figure below. Wolverine stood in the wreckage, his squat frame taut with restrained energy. His claws were retracted, but his hands rested near his sides, ready to unsheathe the deadly weapons at a moment's notice. His face twisted in a mixture of annoyance and curiosity.
"These men wanted you dead," Wolverine growled, his voice low but carrying easily through the ruins. "Why?"
Nathan gave him a blank look, his expression carefully devoid of emotion. "Because I'm disrupting their plans," he said simply. Then, with a small shrug, he added, "Still, it's you they want dead. I'm just a hindrance."
Wolverine's frown deepened, his brow furrowing as he stepped closer to the base of the tower. "Me? The hell you talkin' about, kid? Do you even know who I am?"
Nathan smirked faintly, his tone dry as he replied, "Give me a minute. I'll make my way down."
He slung the sniper rifle over his shoulder, descending the narrow wooden stairs with practiced ease. The closer he got, the stronger the scent of blood, smoke, and death became. Stepping outside, he finally faced Wolverine directly.
"You're Wolverine," Nathan said casually, leaning against the battered church door. "Of the X-Men. You're here to fetch some mutant kids."
Wolverine's eyes narrowed, his claws extending halfway with a metallic snikt. "How the hell do you know that?"
Nathan shrugged, his tone nonchalant. "Because this whole setup's a trap. It's all been orchestrated by a man called the Foreigner. He's not just some hired gun—he's an international assassin, a very dangerous one. He bought out this entire island, cleared out the locals, and replaced them with his goons and an army of mercenaries."
Wolverine stood silent for a moment, his rugged face etched with contemplation. His eyes flicked between Nathan and the ruined town around them, the distant fires casting shadows that danced across his weathered features. Finally, he broke the silence.
"What about the kids?" Wolverine asked, his voice gravelly but laced with genuine concern. "Are there even any mutants on this island?"
Nathan crossed his arms, his gaze distant as though piecing together a puzzle in his mind. "There were mutant kids here," he replied, his tone clipped. "I'm not sure if the Foreigner kept them around, though."
His expression turned grim, and a cold edge crept into his voice as he added, "But if I had to wager, I'd bet good money he kept one or two of them."
Wolverine's brow furrowed, his sharp senses catching the seriousness in Nathan's tone. "What makes you say that?"
Nathan turned his piercing gaze to Wolverine, his words deliberate. "Because they'd make for good hostages if things went south. It's a logical move."
The response made Wolverine bristle. He narrowed his eyes and gave Nathan a slow once-over, as if trying to size him up all over again. "And I suppose this is the part where you tell me you're here to 'rescue me,' huh? That you're my new best friend?"
A dry chuckle escaped Nathan's lips. The sound was devoid of warmth, more amused than anything else. "Not even close," he said, shaking his head. "You're a big guy. You've got claws, a healing factor, and an attitude to match. You can take care of yourself. I'm here on personal business."
Wolverine grunted, his lips curling into a faint smirk despite himself. "Well, this Foreigner character just got my attention. But I fail to see how he plans to kill me, bub. I've been around the block, and it ain't that easy."
Nathan's expression darkened, his voice dropping. "The Muramasa Blade."
The mention of the weapon hit Wolverine like a freight train. His eyes widened, his body tensing as though an old wound had suddenly been reopened. "What?" he said, his voice almost a whisper, disbelief etched into his tone.
Nathan nodded slowly, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. "I don't know how, but he got his hands on it." A flicker of irritation crossed Nathan's face, and he added with a bitter edge, "Which, I'll admit, is a bit frustrating since I've spent years searching for it myself."
Wolverine's jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck visibly tensing as he eyed Nathan with suspicion. His voice was low and gravelly, carrying a weight that made even silence seem oppressive. "So that's your angle…" he said, his words measured, like a predator deciding whether to pounce.
Nathan met his gaze with an unflinching stare, arms crossed over his chest in a posture that was equal parts calm and confident.
Wolverine's narrowed eyes gleamed dangerously in the dim light as he growled, "The Muramasa Blade is bad news, kid. What do you want with it anyway?"
Nathan shrugged, his expression unreadable. "I don't see how that's any of your business."
For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the wind rustling through the wreckage around them. Then Wolverine's claws extended with a metallic snikt, the faint moonlight catching on their razor-sharp edges. His entire frame coiled with restrained violence, a living weapon ready to spring.
Still, Nathan didn't flinch. He barely even blinked as he continued, his voice calm and steady, though his words carried an edge of their own. "The way I see it, you need my help. You've got an island crawling with people hell-bent on killing you, and they've got access to one of the only things that can actually do it." He paused, letting the gravity of his statement settle.
"And that's not all," Nathan added, his tone darkening. "Whoever hired the Foreigner—or maybe the Foreigner himself—has someone on the inside. How else would they know you'd be sent to this island out of all the X-Men? Out of all the places you could've gone, they planned for you to be here. That's not a coincidence."
Wolverine's claws retracted with a soft shing as he exhaled deeply through his nose. The frustration was palpable in the way his shoulders tensed and his hands flexed involuntarily, as though itching to hit something—or someone.
"Yeah," Wolverine said after a long pause, his voice quieter but no less intense. "It's either that…" He rubbed his temple with one hand, his expression grim. "…Or they've been monitoring the X-Mansion closely enough to figure out no one else was available to handle this mission. And somehow, they've been doing it under the radar, avoiding every telepath we've got."
Nathan arched an eyebrow at that, sensing the depth of Wolverine's concern. "You'd think with all the defenses the X-Men have, someone would've noticed."
Wolverine nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line. "Yeah, you'd think." His gaze drifted to the ruins of the town, a flicker of something deeper—doubt, perhaps, or frustration—crossing his face. "Frankly, I can't even decide which is worse, a traitor or an enemy crafty enough to slip past our defenses unnoticed..."
Nathan let out a soft chuckle, devoid of humor. "Sounds like you've got bigger problems than me."
Wolverine shot him a sharp glance, his expression a mixture of irritation and reluctant agreement. "Don't push your luck, bub. You're not exactly off the hook yet."
Nathan opened his mouth to reply, but the distant roar of engines swallowed his words. Both he and Wolverine turned their attention eastward, their gazes sharpening as a convoy of vehicles emerged from the horizon, kicking up a cloud of dust. The headlights cut through the dim light, growing brighter with each second as the cars barreled straight toward the battered remains of the town.
Wolverine's claws extended with their familiar metallic snikt, his narrowed eyes fixed on the oncoming convoy. "Looks like we've got company," he muttered, his voice low and gravelly, tinged with anticipation.
Nathan said nothing, his sharp gaze locking onto the vehicles. Something caught his attention—a flag pinned to the back of one of the lead cars. It wasn't clear from this distance, flapping wildly in the wind, but he could make out the faint outline of a silver circle with two black lines intertwining within it. His eyes widened slightly, and his expression shifted from caution to recognition.
As Wolverine took a step forward, clearly ready to charge out and meet the new arrivals head-on, Nathan moved swiftly to intercept him. He placed a firm hand on Wolverine's shoulder. "Wait," he said, his voice calm but firm. "Those are friends."
Wolverine shot him a skeptical look, his claws still extended, glinting in the fading light. "Friends?" he growled, his tone making it clear how much he doubted the claim.
Nathan nodded, exhaling through his nose as if trying to hold back his frustration. "Did you really think I'd be stupid enough to infiltrate an island fortress like this alone?"
Wolverine's claws retracted with a soft shing, though his posture remained tense, his stance ready for action. "Could've fooled me," he muttered, stepping back but keeping a wary eye on the convoy. After a beat, he turned to Nathan with a frown. "Who are you anyway?"
Nathan's lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. "Name's Nathan Cross," he said simply, as if that explained everything. "Don't bother racking your brain. You've never heard of me."
Wolverine raised an eyebrow, his sharp gaze assessing Nathan with renewed curiosity. "You like to keep a low profile, huh?"
Nathan shrugged, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Something like that."
Wolverine's attention returned to the convoy, the lead vehicles slowing as they approached the outskirts of the town. "So," he said, his tone carrying a gruff edge, "why don't you tell me about these so-called friends of yours?"
Nathan gave Wolverine a thin, knowing smile, the kind that hinted at secrets he wasn't ready to share. "Them," he said, gesturing toward the convoy as it came to a halt, "you've probably heard of. They call themselves the Wildpack, a mercenary group out of Symkaria."
Wolverine's brow furrowed in thought, the name tickling the edge of his memory. "Wildpack…" he muttered. Then, with a grunt of recognition, he added, "They work for some woman. Silver… something."
Nathan nodded, his expression confirming Wolverine's guess. "Silver Sable," he replied, just as the Wildpack mercenaries began to disembark from their vehicles. They moved with a practiced efficiency, their weapons at the ready as they swept the area, their sharp gazes cataloging every detail of the ruined town.
From the leading car, the passenger door swung open, and Silvija Sablinova—Silver Sable herself—stepped out. Her presence was commanding, her sharp silver hair catching the light as she strode toward Nathan with purpose.
The faint scrape of her combat boots on the cracked pavement was the only sound as she closed the distance, her piercing eyes scanning Nathan up and down.
"You're alive. Good," she said, her tone clipped but carrying an undertone of relief. She turned her gaze to the decimated town, taking in the destruction with a quick, practiced glance. "And I see you've done a decent job as a distraction." Her words were as pointed as her gaze when she turned back to Nathan.
Nathan scoffed lightly, shaking his head. "You and your boys wouldn't be here otherwise." His smirk deepened as he shifted his gaze toward Wolverine, adding with a faintly amused tone, "Though I can't take all the credit. I only made a nuisance of myself for a couple of hours before he showed up."
Wolverine crossed his arms, one brow arching as he watched the exchange.
"The next three hours?" Nathan continued, his tone lighter, almost teasing, "I slept like a baby while he tore the Foreigner's goons to shreds. Literally."
A murmur ran through the Wildpack at that, some of them glancing toward Wolverine with newfound wariness or shock. Silvija's lips twitched, but she quickly masked the hint of a smile.
"Efficient as always," she said dryly, her attention momentarily flicking to Wolverine as she extended her hand toward him. "Silvija Sablinova. Head of the Wildpack and Silver Sable International."
Wolverine shook her hand and offered a nod. "I know who you are."
Silvija nodded at him. "Then there's no need to waste any more time on formalities. The Foreigner wants you dead, and I want the Foreigner dead," she declared, letting go of Wolverine's hand. "Now we just need to find the son of a bitch and kill him."
...
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