EVERYTHING OLD IS NEW AGAIN

Part IV

By Mike Bent

My name’s Logan. But you can call me Wolverine.

Or pissed off. That works too.

Bad thing is, it’s only gonna’ get worse from here.

I’m in a world a’hurt right now. But that ain’t anythin’ compared t’what the guy behind alla’ this will get once I’m through with ‘im. Whoever it is has gone through a lotta’ trouble t’make my life more painful than it needs t’be. It ain’t the physical pain I’m concerned ’bout. Fer me it’s more a’matter of dickin’ with my life. Capturin’ my adoptive daughter, hurtin’ my friends… and me, just now, bein forced t’divorce my wife.

Maybe forced ain’t t’right word for it, not in this situation any way. My hand was played fer me. It had t’go down t’way it did tho’. Otherwise she never woulda’ been free. Suppose I wouldn’t a’been either.

She had another way t’go now, a way without me. I’d held her back enough already, over the past three months. I kept secrets from her. Important ones. Ones like that I was dyin’. Ones like t’fact the triplets she miscarried weren’t her fault. I coulda’ fixed that. Not the events. But t’feelin’s. I coulda’ said sum’thin’. If I hadn’t been so scared.

I may be a warrior, a brawler ‘n a fighter, one who’s thrown down on countless foes in countless fights. I’ve seen things no man should ever have t’see. Had my insides twisted inside out ‘n perverted, had aliens lay eggs in my body, had t’power of a god, and even fought gods. Fer alla’ this I got a tough skin, and a thicker noggin’. I ain’t so dumb as not t’have been scared in there. Problem was, I got too good at hidin’ it.

See, I did that a little too well with Ele. Elektra, my wife. I wanted to tell her. I needed to. I needed her support. All she needed t’hear was a coupla’ simple words. But I couldn’t say anythin’. I just didn’t know how t’ask. How t’ask her t’kindly take on the burden of me, on top of her own pain.

It shoulda’ been easy. But it got real messy. All I can do is hope what I just did was fer t’best. That from here thing’ll get better fer her. Wherever ya’ are, Ele, I wish ya’ t’best a’luck. I’ll miss ya’. I’ll always love ya’.

But fer me, I ain’t sure thing can get any worse.

As soon as they had entered the temple, the Temple of Lord Ogun, the one they had traveled and fought so hard to get to, they were ambushed. Really, they had to have expected this from the start. And they had. But Wolverine, and his companion Yukio, was hoping for this. See, their attackers were the ones responsible for kidnapping the little girl they both cared for. And right now both the Wild One and the Untamable were through with playing games. Now they would get their daughter back.

But, wounded as they both were, there was nothing they could do to stop the overwhelming numbers of The Hand that had descended on them. These ones were better, faster and smarter than the ones the pair had faced before. The were so silent that Logan had failed to hear them within the shadows, the very darkness that they blended with. They were elusive. They were good. They were taught.

Logan had been their target right from the start, and before he could pop his claws or even begin to put up a fight, he had been pinned. But, like a caged animal, that had only fueled his rage, pushing him into a frenzy. Only problem is, when Logan is in a berserker rage he fails to see reason… which is exactly what his foes wanted. What did these Hand care if they died? They were already dead. They wished for their foe to tire himself out. So, as The Hand kept leaping from the shadows, a wounded, exhausted and unthinking Wolverine collapsed to the floor unconscious.

His only saving grace, he thought, was that he didn’t see Yukio in here. Hopefully, she hadn’t been caught, that she had used the opportunity to get away. She’d be out there, somewhere, hurt and by herself. But the important thing is she’d be out there, waiting. She could have been killed… but this was Yukio. Logan knew she was better than to let this goons get her down.

Logan, however, had been downed. And now he found himself inserted, suspended from the ceiling. Bound at the ankles and then at the wrists, his arms were also tied down, anchored to the floor. Hands lightly touched him, hands of The Hand. And they were, of all things, cleansing his wounds. Treating him.

There were three of them, dressed all in white robes, with the darker Black Hand behind them, knives to their throats. And yet, while being forced like this, these white Hand continued about their work. And Logan could feel it, their efforts had actually healed him. Though now he smelled like some kind of herb garden… The sickly thick scent had soaked into him, that combined with his being inverted was making his head feel heavy, and even more confused than it already had been.

But, just as Logan set his mind to try and come up with some answers the person that could reply to them all entered.

The Hand surrounded him retreated, stepping away from him just as another figure stepped forward. A richly robed tall man, with a red demonic mask.

“Og-..!”

But before Logan could finish the snarl in his throat, the masked man interrupted. <Not him, not our former master. At least, not yet.>

Standing over Logan, the man knelt, squatting to a position that brought that mask closer to the feral man’s face. Logan could smell death on this figure… not the kind of undying stench that The Hand reeked of. This was a lingering taste of iron, the unmistakable sickly sweet luring smell of blood. This man wasn’t killed. He was a killer.

<You know what I find ironic? That your ‘father’, the Lord Ogun, had always planned to use you as a means to return from the dead? Why do you think that he has haunted for you before? Came for that young girl you were so close to? If he had been patient enough, he could have waited for your daughter, just as I have done.>

Logan’s eyes narrowed, as he remembered what the spirit of Ogun had done to Kitty, and the thought of that evil inhabiting Amiko and his being forced to battle her like that…

<No answer, Logan? Somehow, I am disappointed. I expected a growl, at least. But, come dark, you’ll have the fight in you. I guarantee it.>

With that the masked figure stood once more. <Rest Logan, for tonight we do battle. The more fierce, the stronger his return. And at the moment of your death, your mentor shall return to the living. In me.> And with that the masked man left, leaving Logan alone.

Dizzy and disoriented, Logan struggled with his thoughts, to try and place an order to all of this. He could feel his body being stronger, more whole again. His healing factor still wasn’t there, he could still feel that absence. But his wounds were sealed. he could feel his strength returning. Though, in this suspended position, it was getting increasingly difficult to remain conscious, especially with the heady scent to the palms rubbed into him.

But it was starting to become clearer now. Memories of what Ogun had taught him. Lessons Seraph had taught him, in Madripoor, with all those years of battling The Hand. Stuff he had overheard from his ex-wife, about her time among The Hand.

There had always been many sects of The Hand, as many as their digits for real hands, each grouping dedicating themselves to different aspects of their way; the quest for gaining power. But The Hand had always been cursed with poor leadership, if not a complete lack of, and thus why various sects had bounced from ’employer’ to employer. In Ogun they would certainly have that leadership, a powerful fighter, a strong mentor and an entity versed in the darker powers of death and resurrection.

Logan had been Ogun’s pupil, his student. But had there been another after him? His sensei had talked of the way fierce battles drawing out the spirits, imbuing warriors with the spirits of warriors past. Seraph had warned Logan of The Hand’s desire to possess strong material artifacts attached to powerful figures, to draw out that energy to enhance themselves. Elektra had been brought back from the dead, to become their agent. Ogun had turned to the darker ways, looking for a means to cheat death. And perhaps this was now indeed a means for him to achieve that, harnessing the energy of Logan’s death, of the battle, to return and lead these Hand. All of The Hand.

And that is why Elektra had shown, to stop him. To prevent from doing this battle, one he is surely to lose, without his healing factor. She had wanted to save him.

But that would mean he would have to sacrifice his adoptive daughter, to leave her fate in the hands of these things, or not to avenge her death. He couldn’t just walk away from family.

She had remained, watching them tend to Logan, healing him. In truth, it is a process that Yukio wished she was going through herself. She could feel herself on the edge of unconsciousness. At least she wasn’t bleeding again, though she was still terribly weak. Far too weak for something such as this; playing hide and seek in the lair of The Hand. But she wouldn’t be leaving now, not until she had Amiko safe and sound.

This was a change for Yukio, and she was coming to realize it. In all of her life, she had never been so attached to anyone. Not even Logan, who she had loved. Or Ororo Munroe, Storm, her friend. She was willing to risk everything for that little girl’s safety. Anything.

Yukio knew that Logan understood, both why she had left him when they got ambushed, and also why if she did rescue Amiko why she wouldn’t be turning back. but, watching from her hiding place, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for the guy, knowing what he would come to face… he wasn’t the man he was before, she knew this. And I wasn’t just physically. But… his edge, that fire within, Yukio failed to see that spark now. Something had removed the fight from Wolverine, and without that, she was certain that Logan would die.

Going through the motions to help her rescue Amiko was sweet, touching. But the Wild One couldn’t risk herself to save just him. She had someone far more important… to her… to save.

It was then that the dark robed man with the red mask entered, and told Yukio exactly what she expected. All she needed to know. He was the fiend behind all of this. And he was her target. Thus, as he left the room, she managed to get to her feet, summoning her remaining strength to give chase.

With a grin, Logan allowed himself to lapse into a rest. He knew he’d need what strength he could muster for late, when this all went down. But right now he could send out a hopeful wish, thanks to a scent in the air.

“Happy huntin’, Yuk’. Jus’ don’t get yerself killed…”

<That’s far enough.>

Yukio dropped in front of the red-masked man, having circled around before him, the katana she had ‘acquired’ held out before her. Catching this man in this location was ideal. Having left Logan, the masked man was surely on his way back to check on his captive, Amiko, meaning that with the fiend out of the way Yukio would have a clean grab for her. But also, here on this outer garden, Yukio also had isolation to battle this foe without drawing interference.

With the mask in place, the ‘demonic’ figure failed to look threatened or interested in Yukio’s intrusion, and after a brief pause he took another step forward. But Yukio stepped forward as well, raising the blade in her hands, pointing it at the man’s neck. <One more step and I cut your head from your shoulders. But then, I ask of you to take that step. I am quite eager to kill you, afterall.>

At this, however, the masked man remained back, his hand dropping to the sword at his own waist. <You have no idea who you are dealing with, Wild One, or the forces you are attempting to tamper with.>

<Don’t know and I don’t care. I’ve fooled with worse, and obviously, I have lived to speak of it. The get-up and the parlor tricks don’t impress me. I don’t care who you are, or what you want. I want my da-… I want the little girl you stole. And if I get to kill you in the process, then that’s fine by me.>

<Your daughter? Is that what you were about to say? And here, I thought she was Logan’s child, not your own.>

But the only reply this gained was Yukio’s silence, and a narrowing of her eyes.

<Ah, but you should care who I am, Wild One. I am the man that is going to rule your world, the living and the dead. I am Shogun, the man who will become Ogun, The Everliving!> With that Shogun blurred into action, drawing his sword, and swiping to knock Yukio’s aside. But, with a grunt she recovered and managed to block Shogun’s following move. She didn’t have the strength for this, especially considering Shogun’s surprising strength. She should have finished him off from behind, without hesitation. And her foe knew it.

<You believed that you could come in here, demand what you wished, and have those desires fulfilled? I have labored for far too long, been far too patient for this moment! Tonight is the anniversary of Logan’s defeat of his former mentor, or my former sensei. Tonight I channel the spirits, become the Living and the Dead. And to me, you are nothing but a nuisance. One I wish to be done with.>

With that Shogun spun and kicked low with a roundhouse, something that Yukio was just barely able to leap over. She was dizzy, weak, being as low on blood as she was. Vulnerable in the air, she moved her sword in retaliation, instead of a block, attempting to strike Shogun down now.

But that was to be her mistake. Shogun hadn’t swooped back, but rather had moved up and in on her, dodging her blow. Yukio’s face was clearly focused on that mask facing her, now staring right at her, and she was sure that the face behind it was grinning at her.

“Aaaaargh!”

<And that, Wild One, is you price for interfering with The Hand.>

Yukio could barely land properly from her leap, lapsing into shock before her feet even touched the ground. Landing, she staggered as she watched, not far off, her left hand hit the ground, still holding her stolen katana. Her hand that was no longer attached to her body.

Clutching at her wound, Yukio felt more than just her life-force leaving her body, but also her hopes. Looking up, she saw Shogun’s blade come for her a second time, swiping across her chest.

<Better luck next time, Wild One.>

Recostumed, Wolverine calmly followed his guides to the center on the temple, where the secluded inner dojo was. There was no use in fighting these Hand. There would be more of them. And then more. And that would be to jeopardize. No, it was better to just do this. To face that masked man and end all of this.

Entering the training ground, Wolverine’s eyes instantly went to Amiko, catching sight and scent of his adoptive little girl, being held on the far side. Strapped to a pole she was bound and gagged, her eyes red from crying, and her wrists red and soar from struggling. She may not have been his blood, but she was his little girl, and she had been trying to get escape. But the fact that she was still here meant that Yukio had been unsuccessful.

<Come now, Logan. If you are going to help me bring back Sensei Ogun, you had best get a little more into this a little bit more. You wouldn’t want to disappoint the spirits, now would you?>

“You and these damned spirits, flamin’ fu-…”

<Tsk, tsk, Logan. There are children present.> With that Shogun stepped forward from the shadows, his blade drawn and… red? Wolverine narrowed his eyes, but opened his nostril’s instinctively and tasted in the air the distinct flavor of… Yukio? <The spirits should have been lured by that one so freshly joining them. Shall we begin?>

Hesitating, Logan looked from Shogun to Amiko, her eyes locked firmly on his own. While he stalled, uncertain, she was not. Amiko knew her ‘father’ would save her, do what was best for her, just as Logan had promised he would. She watched her father, not hoping he would save her, but rather, waiting for the moment when he would make that happen. But as her eyes went wide, he reacted, dodging to the side in just at the last second as Shogun’s blade came down for him.

SCHLUCT!

“That’s it, bub, the mitts are off. I’m tired of people jackin’ with my life, walkin’ all over those I love ‘n care ’bout, fer no other purpose than gettin’ at me! You wanted me, now yer gonna’ have more a’me than ya’ can handle!”

With that Logan launched himself at Shogun, his bone claws extended, aimed for the heart. But Shogun was prepared for this, and with a step back, he raised his sword to swat those claws aside. But, as Wolverine landed he kicked out, snarling savagely as he crumpled his foe backwards a step or two.

But Wolverine didn’t follow through with a second assult, as he had to stall himself. he could feel it rising, his rage. That blinding lust for anything unthinking, the sheer thrill of violence that he had to contain day-in and day-out. But, he had to do so especially now. To lose to it now, to just snap and become some kind of beast would mean his foes would pick him off easily. He could hear them, in the surrounding shadows, sense their eyes on him. On Amiko. No, he had to keep his head about, or it would be over before it would begin.

<Good, but you need to do better than that, Logan!>

As the sword sliced across his chest, Wolverine took his turn to stagger back several paces. He had to think… but not think _too_ much, as he had just proven. Where normally he would just leap and not consider his wound, allowing his healing factor to seal it, now Logan had to act knowing that his body would not be fixing this one. Or any wound. And yet, still he leapt.

“I get yer better right here!”

Surprising his foe, Logan managed to slice into his foe’s leg, drawing blood in return. And now Wolverine knew that his foe was human, flesh, unlike The Hand he commanded. Killing this foe wouldn’t return him to dust. <Better, indeed, Logan. But, I want you to show me what you’re really made of!> And with that Shogun launched his attack, swinging his blade once more.

From here the intensity of the battle only became more fierce, trading blow for blow, matching skill and patience with determination and frustration. The air had become thick, matted with a layer of raised fog, an ethereal mist that only worked against Logan’s senses, dulling them, while heightening Shogun’s. Yet, outclassed and outfought, with each glance in Amiko’s direction, Wolverine raised his head and leap anew. The contest raged for time uncounted, metal striking bone, bone striking flesh, flesh giving way to metal. The powdered texture of steel had struck the air, as well as the added weight or iron, blood flowing from both combatants. But, with each passing blow, every block and every successful attack, Shogun only increased his vigor. The more difficult the fight became, the more he pushed himself. The further this went, the more Logan labored, the more he glanced in Amiko’s direction.

Panting, Wolverine fell back several steps, dropping to one knee and sinking his right-hand claws into the ground to keep his balance. He had lost count of how many times his costume, and his body, had felt Shogun’s blade. His satisfaction, however, was knowing he had scrapped, scratched and punctured his foe just as much. Shogun stood facing him, those robes bloodied and in tatters, shredded as much as Logan’s costume had become. But Shogun too took pause, but not to catch his breath, but rather to raise his arms, spreading them to the skies.

<Can’t you feel it! The spirits, they rise in honor of us! Ogun, he is here, with us! He wishes to thank you Logan, for making this possible, for sending him to the other side, to learn all that he has… only to return, and conquer here! You not only will be allowed to witness the beginning of his reign, of my transformation, but you will also be the cause of it!>

Pushing himself to his feet, Wolverine narrowed his eyes, wiping at his jaw with one hand, only to notice that he was missing a couple of claws. Oh well, at least one left, and that was more than he needed to finish this. he could use his bare hands if he had to. “If yer done yakkin’ to yer imaginary friends now, let’s get on with this show…” But there was mistaking it. Logan could feel it, that uncanny unnerving sense of … something… being here. Something he didn’t like. but then, he didn’t like any of this.

<Our battle, it has been more fierce than my master thought it would be… I am so close now! I am alive with it, their energy! You have no hope of defeating me, and now, I shall fulfill my destiny.>

With that Shogun leapt at Wolverine again, katana held high. But as Shogun moved, Logan caught sight of Amiko in the distance. He was tired. Soar. Exhausted. And he hurt beyond all pain. He was sure he has several broken bones, and who knows how many cuts. Internal bleeding? He wasn’t sure. But, despite all of that hurt, all of that pain, he couldn’t give in. Not now, not ever.

He could well die here, in this place, and give birth to a reign of terror, destruction and pain. He wouldn’t have gone down without a fight. But not until he saved his little girl.

As Shogun came down, Wolverine moved forward, swiping with his claws hands. It has come down to this, this one moment. A moment of determination verses desire. And determination won.

Catching the blade between the two remaining claws on his right hand, Wolverine flipped the sword away, while with his left, with the one remaining claw there, he cut across the side of Shogun’s neck.

Turning to face his downed foe now, Logan once more dropped to one knee. It was over.

Gasping, Shogun clutched at his throat, literally holding himself together. Chocking through the mask, he continued an attempt to summon himself the power he was so close to claiming. <… so close… their energy fills me… just need one death to achieve…>

“Ain’t happening bub, ‘less it’s yer own.”

<… can’t end like… just one death… you cannot be defeated…. must have…> With that Shogun’s hand left his neck, reaching into his robes in a surprising fast motion, drawing forth a short knife. But, as Logan prepared to defend himself, he aw where Shogun was not looking. <… death energy… of a young child should do…>

The Hand, who had watched for so long, waiting for their long-awaited master to show, finally leapt into action. But, just as the darkness around the small square extended into their forms… they stopped. That thrown knife would never reach its target. Just as suddenly as they had appeared, the retreated back into the darkness from which they were born, gone. Because Shogun fell to the ground, dead.

Logan too fell to the ground, his hands clutched at his stomach, where he tightly held the blade embedded there. With a leap he had put himself in the path of that thrown weapon, saving Amiko. There had been no hesitation, no effort to consider this action. He had lost three children, before he even had the chance to get to know them. He wasn’t going to lose Amiko.

Laying on the ground, Wolverine looked over to his foe, seeing the forehead of that red mask split in the middle of the forehead, a blade driven straight through, from behind.

<How about a hand up?>

Offering him her only hand, her right, Yukio stood over Logan. She looked remarkably well, thought she stunk of herbs and ointment. She was as good as new, almost. She was missing her left hand.

<Trust me, it’s not half as bad as you look.>

And Logan knew it, as he could feel the darkness slipping in around the corner of his eyes. He was dwindling. He was… not going to make it back from this one?

Holding onto the blade in his belly with one hand, he reached up to accept Yukio’s hand, but not to be raised up. Instead, with what strength he could summon, he tugged her downwards, towards him.

<…not this time, Yukio…>

<Come on, Logan. This is no time for dramatics. He’s dead. The Hand, they’re gone.> At least for now, she thought. <We can go home, get you patched up. You’ll be up and running in no time.>

<… not this time, I…>

<Logan, stop this. We’re going to get Amiko, go home and-…>

<No, listen, Yukio. You’re going to take Amiko… We both know that… well, she wouldn’t be safe, even if I do pull through. They’ll just come for her… again, Yukio. You’ve got to do this. She’s much more your daughter than she was ever… my kid anyway…>

Furrowing her brow, Yukio looked down to Logan, showing her displeasure at this. This, to her, was not acceptable.

<…look, Yukio, with all she’s been through…. she doesn’t need to lose me too. Not now. She needs stability… she needs you. She’s your daughter…>

With that Logan smirked, tasting a nasty iron texture in his mouth, <Always thought I’d make a great unc…>

<Don’t even say it.>

<Fair enough… but, you have to do this. She’s waiting. She’s been tortured long enough.> Wincing, Logan looked over to his adoptive daughter. Despite being bound to that pole still, she was peaceful. Understanding. Did she know what was going on? That in looking to her now, he was saying goodbye? But then he looked back to Yukio and motioned for her to help him to sit up now. Not a pain-free thing, considering the weapon lodged in his gut. <… take her to Madripoor, to the Princess… you deserve that too… mention the name Seraph, that I sent you… you should be protected…> And then, with effort and much grunting he was helped to his feet, keeping his back to Amiko. <… I never was good at goodbyes…>

Yukio just watched Logan now, a man that could barely stand, a man that was barely holding onto life. And, a man that was right. In that, she hated him. And she hated him for giving her what she wanted. Amiko.

<… go, Yukio… she needs you…>

<I’ll make sure to tell her that you love her.> And with a bow of her head, Yukio turned, fleeting it over to her daughter.

Without hesitation, and with a grunt to his step, Logan turned to leave. He didn’t look back, but he heard it. The weeping. He could taste her wet tears in the air. He could also sense her comfort, that in the end, everything worked out for the best.

“Good luck…” he muttered, seemingly to himself, but also back to an old friend, a new mother, and her new daughter. And to the white-garbed figure that now leapt away to her own ways.

With that, Logan saw his way out. He knew the way.