Azabu, Japan

Matsu’o Tsurayaba stood in his bathroom, surveying the damage from his battle with Daken. The mongrel half-breed, son of his greatest enemy. Matsu’o now scolded himself for throwing the warrior through the glass. If he’d had better restraint over his rage, he could have subdued Daken and then prolonged his agony for days.

But it would be, at best, a hollow victory. Nothing but the death of the actual Wolverine at his hands would allow Matsu’o to reclaim the dignity that vicious little mutant had inflicted on him over the years.

He heard a noise and clenched the fist of his cybernetic arm. Three claws emerged from the housings between his fingers and he turned, instantly getting into a fighting stance.

A man stood in the doorway of the bathroom, wearing a dark cloak with a hood over his head, concealing his face in shadow. But his eyes glowed with an unusual, otherworldly energy.

<“My home seems to be quite the popular hotspot tonight,”> said Matsu’o in Japanese.

<“I have need of the Hand,”> said the mysterious figure. Even his voice had a slight echo to it.

Matsu’o moved with lightning speed, grabbing the man by his cloak and slamming him against the wall. He raised his cybernetic arm, claws poised to strike. But the strange man simply laughed at Matsu’o’s display of strength.

<“If you strike me down, Tsurayaba-sama, you will be wasting your time.”>

Matsu’o narrowed his eyes. <“And just who are you?”>

<“As I said, I have need of the Hand. I would like you to acquire someone for me.”>

<“Give me one good reason why I should care.”>

<“Events are transpiring in America. Events that I suspect are related to the attack you experienced tonight. And this is a job you have a very personal, vested interest in.”>

Matsu’o studied the strange man’s face. Up close, he could inspect the man’s features and found he had no idea who he was. But there was something in his voice…a familiarity. He pulled the stranger from the wall and dropped him on the bathroom floor.

<“Very well,”> said Matsu’o. <“I’m listening.”>

AFTER DEATH

Part III

By Dino Pollard

Xavier Institute

Kitty Pryde was crouched on the lawn outside the X-Mansion, doubled over in pain. She looked up through strands of light-brown hair at the imposing figure who stood over her. A man that she never thought she would look on in fear.

The Wolverine stood before her, adamantium claws extended from his hands. His face was fixed in a snarl and his eyes were vacant. Not even a glimmer of recognition in them. She didn’t know how this was possible. Logan was dead and nothing could change that.

The beast’s ears perked up, evidently distracted by something. He sniffed the air and growled. Kitty followed his line of sight and now she could hear it, too. The roar of a motorcycle engine.

The gates to the X-Mansion opened automatically to welcome the rider. The bike charged through the open gates, right at the Wolverine. The rider was dressed in a black trench coat with a hood over his head. But Kitty knew from the single, glowing red light in the darkness of that hood just who her savior was.

He jumped from the bike and it continued on without its driver, barreling right into the beast. He landed on the ground in a crouch, a completely flawless dismount. A burst of concussive, crimson energy launched from that red line, blasting into the Wolverine before he could recover from being hit by the bike.

Cyclops pulled down the hood of his coat and went to Kitty’s side. She allowed him to help her to her feet, but she still clutched her abdomen. Cyclops looked at her posture, and though she couldn’t see his eyes, Kitty could feel his concern.

“Did he hurt you?”

“No…” She grunted in pain.

“Doesn’t look that way from here.”

“I mean, not really.” She removed her hand and Cyclops saw what she meant. Shadowcat didn’t have a mark on her body. “I phased through him when he tried to cut me. And his claws…”

Scott’s visor gave a flash of recognition. As former leader of the X-Men, he had a near-encyclopedic knowledge of all the members and he instinctively knew what Kitty meant. “Adamantium.”

She gave a weak nod. “I don’t know how, but his claws are made of them.”

“Get inside,” said Cyclops, turning to face the Wolverine.

“Scott, you can’t take him on your own.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. But I don’t need to take him out, just need to stall long enough for reinforcements to arrive.”

Kitty nodded in understanding. She activated her mutant power and dropped through the ground, heading back to the sub-levels of the mansion. That left Cyclops alone to face the Wolverine.

The beast approached him now, nothing but pure rage present on his face. It was a look Cyclops had seen before whenever Logan had been trapped in the midst of a berserker rage.

“Our enemies aren’t big on creativity, are they?” he asked with no expectation of a response. “Sending clones of our dead friends after us. So tell me, who sent you? Sinister? Black Womb? Weapon X? Tell me!”

The Wolverine roared and rushed Cyclops. He jumped as soon as he came into range, arms extended to the sides. The X-Man calmly looked up and unleashed an optic blast that sent the Wolverine flying in the opposite direction.

“Whoever—whatever you are, you’re not him,” said Cyclops, approaching the fallen foe. “Though Logan and I had our…differences in the past, there was always respect between us. But I’m sure we both wondered—if push came to shove, if no quarter was given—who would come out on top?”

The Wolverine was on his feet again and charging once more. Cyclops fired a blast, but this thing learned fast. It acted on instinct, jumping from the spot the optic blast struck and then coming at Cyclops from the side. The X-Man jumped away, using his optic blasts to escape the Wolverine’s claws and keep him at bay.

“I guess now we can find out,” he said.

The way this creature moved…his mannerisms, his fighting style…it was just what Cyclops would expect from the real Logan. Whoever was behind this, they certainly did their homework. If Cyclops didn’t know any better, he would have sworn he was fighting the real deal.

“Logan always talked about how he was ‘the best there is.’ But when it comes down to it, he’s a close-range fighter.”

Though his optic blasts had been under his control for some time, Cyclops still chose to wear the visor because it gave him a greater deal of control over how he could use them. Something he demonstrated as he raised his hand to the visor, changing the setting so the ruby quartz lens would only allow a thin, concentrated blast through.

The narrow blast struck the Wolverine’s knee and he suddenly collapsed, mobility difficult now that his leg had been dislocated. The Wolverine hobbled on one leg, now more enraged than before. He raised his claws and let out an animalistic roar, which Cyclops responded to by firing another thin blast at his upper arms, dislocating them from the shoulder joints.

“Your bones may be adamantium, but your joints aren’t,” said Cyclops.

Clan Yashida
Japan

Daken woke with a start. He groaned and rubbed his face, looking down at his body. He was dressed in a yukata. The last thing he remembered was fighting Yukio and then the Silver Samurai got the drop on him. And now, he lay on a futon spread out on the tatami-lined floor. Daken removed the comforter from his body and stood.

The room he was in had no windows. He wasn’t sure if he was above or below ground. But there was a set of shoji doors and his senses confirmed no one was standing guard outside.

Daken extended his claws, moving with caution. Since coming to Japan, his throat was slashed, he was thrown out a window, and his back was nearly sliced off. Things weren’t going too well for the son of Wolverine and he wouldn’t allow anyone to get the drop on him again.

He was through playing nice. He would find Izo and if anyone else tried to get in his way, Daken would slaughter them. It’s time he took a page from Romulus’ playbook and started treating this game far more seriously than he had been.

Just as his senses had suggested, the room was unguarded. He stepped out of the open doors and into the narrow corridor. Daken stepped carefully, his ears and nose on alert for the slightest disturbance.

The corridor seemed to lead on forever and after a few turns, Daken finally found it ended at another set of doors. He sniffed and once he was sure he was alone, opened them and stepped inside.

There was an alcove in the wall across from him with a katana placed in a rack above an altar. Daken approached the sword and noted the inscription on the blade.

“Honor sword of the Clan Yashida,” he whispered, translating it to English.

On the opposite wall was a butsudan, a kind of shrine found in many Japanese homes. Daken approached it and opened the doors of the cabinet, looking down at the gold Buddha statue enclosed within.

Two ihai—or memorial tablets—were placed inside the butsudan. Daken examined them both. One was engraved with the kanji for YASHIDA MARIKO and the other had only one name engraved in it, written in the katakana alphabet used for foreign words.

LOGAN.

Daken closed the cabinet doors and examined the shelves on either side of the shrine. There was a photograph of a beautiful young Japanese woman at the side of a westerner with his dark hair styled into wolf-like peaks. Daken recognized the man as the father he’d never really known. The woman, he imagined, was this Mariko Yashida. The photograph looked like the scene of a traditional Shinto wedding. He reached for the framed photograph and held it up, gently laying his fingers on the image of the happy couple.

“You are certainly your father’s son.”

Daken spun at the sound of the voice, his claws extending. Harada stood in the doorway, wearing a kimono and his hands clasped behind his back. He flashed a smile at the mutant.

“You have his temperament. And that same wild look in your eyes.” Harada stepped closer and raised his hands. “Relax, Daken. We simply intended to restrain you, not harm you. Especially after we spoke with Amiko.”

Daken’s posture relaxed and he retracted his claws. He held up the photograph so Harada could see it. “You already know Logan is my father. So tell me, is this his wife? My mother?”

Harada shook his head. “No. That woman is Mariko Yashida. Logan’s true love, his betrothed, and the former oyabun of the Clan Yashida.”

“His betrothed? So they never…” Daken looked back at the shrine. He set the photograph back on the shelf. “What happened?”

“Mariko’s father—our father—perverted the Yashida name. Turned us into nothing better than common criminals,” said Harada. “After his death at the hands of Logan, Mariko strived to right that wrong, to legitimize our family once more. She told Logan that she wasn’t worthy enough to be his wife—not until she restored our family’s honor. And she succeeded—but the cost was her life.”

Daken gave a nod of understanding. He turned his back on the butsudan and approached the Silver Samurai. “So what happens now?”

Harada stepped to the side and gestured to the open door. “I thought we might have some breakfast.”

The Silver Samurai led the mutant through the house. Up from the basement and onto the first floor. A room attached to a kitchen had a western-style kitchen table with standing chairs. Amiko and Yukio already sat at the table. Harada gestured to a chair at the head of the table and Daken accepted it. The head of the household took the seat at the other end. Daken began eating the food that had been left there for him.

“So, you’re Logan’s son,” said Amiko. “What brings you here? We were interrupted before we got to that part of the conversation.”

She punctuated the last sentence by shooting a glare at Yukio, but the beautiful ronin just rolled her eyes. “Like I was going to trust someone turning up and claiming to be Logan’s son.”

“I was given a message by a friend of my father’s. I have to find a man named Izo,” said Daken.

“You came a long way for nothing,” said Harada. “It’s like I told you in the hospital, he’s dead.”

Daken shook his head. “I can’t believe that.”

“You don’t mean Master Izo, do you?” asked Yukio, looking between both Harada and Daken. “Founder of the Chaste?”

“You know him?” asked Daken.

Yukio chuckled. “You’d be hard-pressed to find a ninja who doesn’t. But…I don’t think he’s dead.”

“What do you mean?” asked Harada.

“There are rumors that he’s still alive,” said Yukio.

“There’s no proof of that,” said Harada.

“Well, there is one way we could find out for sure,” said Amiko. “I could try a spell.”

Xavier Institute

Despite the pain, the Wolverine fought through it. He growled and screamed as he popped his arms back into place and then did the same for his leg. Cyclops didn’t expect the tactic to slow the beast down for long, but he’d hoped it would have at least lasted a bit longer.

The Wolverine charged him again and Cyclops fired another optic blast. The creature dodged and came within striking range, crying out as his claws cut across the front of Cyclops’ black uniform. At the same moment, Cyclops unleashed the most powerful optic blast he could muster right into the Wolverine’s face, the impact sending them both apart.

Though his suit was a very lightweight armor, the Wolverine’s claws were still adamantium. And Cyclops felt the pain of those blades slicing into his chest. He sat up, reaching for his chest and cringing at the pain. The wounds weren’t life-threatening, at least not if he was able to get medical attention soon. But he was afraid the Wolverine wouldn’t give him that chance.

The beast recovered from Cyclops’ attack even quicker, now leaping at him and ready to deliver the killing blow. But there was a bright flash of light, what looked like fire, and they were separated. The Wolverine hovered in midair, contained in a flaming orb of some kind.

Hovering above the mansion’s grounds was a beautiful redhead dressed in a white and gold uniform, her arms held out to the sides and the avatar of a flaming bird surrounding her body. When her green eyes fell on the Wolverine, she gasped.

“Kitty told me, but the shock is still…”

“Jean!” cried Cyclops, pulling himself to a standing position. “Forget about who he looks like, we have to know who he is.”

Phoenix nodded. “You’re right, of course.” She closed her eyes and used her telepathic abilities to reach inside the intruder’s mind. And almost as soon as she did, she was overcome by what she felt. Jean Grey-Summers cried out and her body went limp and she quickly fell from the sky.

Cyclops tried to move to grab her but he could barely move, let alone get to his wife in time. The now-mobile Wolverine had no such worries. He saw her plummet and instinctively jumped into the air, catching her and landing on the ground.

Jean’s eyes slowly opened and she looked into his face. “L-Logan…?”

He growled and threw her from him, then quickly ran off. He easily scaled the walls around the mansion grounds and retreated off into the distance. Cyclops made it to his wife’s side and she looked up at him.

“Well?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” said Jean. “He’s…there was nothing there. Only pain and rage. It came at me so quick, I wasn’t prepared. But the way he saved me…the way he looked at me…”

At that moment, a bearded man with sunglasses, a fedora, and trench coat appeared out of nowhere. He had his guns at the ready, but a quick scan of the area showed him he was too late. He sighed and looked at the two X-Men.

“John Wraith?” asked Jean.

“Shit.” Wraith holstered the guns beneath his coat.

Scott and Jean stood, both of them staring at the mysterious gunman.

“I’m guessing we have a lot to talk about,” said Jean.

Wraith drew a cigar from his coat and lit it. “Lady, you got no idea how much of an understatement that is.”

To be continued…