Wolverine was pinned, a relentless jackhammer of bullets tearing his body apart and knitting it back together in a gruesome, unending cycle. He was an immovable object caught in an unstoppable force, and for a split second, all he could feel was a white-hot, animalistic rage. It was in that moment of fury and futility that a voice, clear and powerful, cut through the din from behind him.
"Ka… me… ha… me… HAAAA!"
A colossal beam of brilliant azure energy erupted from behind Logan, a roaring torrent of pure power that grazed his smoking jacket and beard with its intense heat. It crossed the length of the corridor in an instant and slammed into the combat helicopter. There was no explosion, not at first. The helicopter's metal skin simply glowed white-hot, warped, and then silently, completely, vaporized into nothingness, its destruction so absolute it didn't even leave a wreckage to fall.
The corridor fell into a sudden, ringing silence, broken only by the tinkling of hot shrapnel on the floor. Logan, his body already healed, turned slowly, his eyes wide with disbelief.
Ethan stood there, his hands still cupped from the blast, smoke wafting from his palms. He lowered them slowly and met Wolverine's stare. "No need to wait for the future," Ethan said, his voice steady despite his heaving chest. "I am a qualified warrior now."
In the secret passage, Colossus and the other students who had witnessed the display could only stare, their minds struggling to comprehend what they had just seen. The raw, focused power was reminiscent of Cyclops's optic blasts, but this… this felt different. Wilder. More primal.
At that same moment, on the top floor of the school, the great dome of the brainwave enhancement room lay shattered, open to the night sky. Colonel William Stryker, his face illuminated by the cold blue light of plasma cutters, picked up the iconic helmet of Cerebro, cradling it like a trophy.
"Sergeant, report," he commanded, his voice a low, clinical rasp.
The sergeant's face was grim. "Status is negative, sir. We have captured zero targets. Two hostiles, extremely powerful, have intervened and freed all captured assets. We have also lost an aerial unit."
Stryker's jaw tightened, a flicker of cold fury in his eyes. He had timed his assault perfectly, striking while Xavier and his senior staff were away. He'd expected to take the school and its primary weapon, Cerebro, with minimal resistance. This was an unacceptable complication.
"This changes things," Stryker decided, his mind a cold calculator. "Dismantle the primary components of the amplification device. I want them on the transport, now. The rest of you will remain. Capture who you can. I want to test the effectiveness of our new anti-mutant weaponry." He would cut his losses, secure the prize, and leave his men to collect combat data. With Cerebro in his possession, he could find every mutant on the planet. This night was still a victory.
"Yes, Colonel!"
The soldiers moved with chilling efficiency, their plasma cutters carving up the delicate machinery while others escorted Stryker and his precious cargo to the waiting transport plane. The remaining sergeant took command, his face set in a grim mask, unaware that all he was about to harvest was the screams of his own men.
In a second-floor lobby, Bobby Drake, John Allerdyce, and Kitty Pryde—Iceman, Pyro, and Shadowcat—scrambled away from a patrol, only to run headlong into a dozen more soldiers who blocked their escape. The metallic click-clack of a dozen submachine guns being armed echoed in the grand hall. The three teenagers froze, a visceral, primal fear of firearms overriding any thought of using their powers.
Just as the soldiers advanced, tranquilizer rifles raised, two voices roared from the floor above.
"Time to die, bub!"
"My turn! My turn!"
Wolverine dropped from the third-floor balustrade like a cannonball, landing in a crouch. Ethan, influenced by the pure joy of battle that was Goku's personality, simply leaped, landing lightly on his feet beside him. What followed was a symphony of brutal chaos. SNIKT. Logan was a whirlwind of claws and fury, a dervish of leather and adamantium. A slash to the throat, a blade through the heart, using one soldier's body as a shield to block fire from another. Six men fell in as many seconds.
When Logan spun around to engage the seventh, he found himself alone. The remaining eleven soldiers were already on the ground, scattered like bowling pins, moaning in pain around a smirking boy holding a simple red staff.
"Nice work, little monkey," Logan grunted, shaking the blood from his claws and nudging a corpse off them with his boot. He was genuinely impressed. The kid had power, speed, and a warrior's heart, all wrapped up in the package of a twelve-year-old.
"I told you, Logan," Ethan said, resting the Power Pole on his shoulder with a sigh. "Don't call me 'little monkey'."
He knew it wasn't malicious. A twelve-year-old with a tail? The name fit. But he pictured the future introductions. This is Wolverine. This is Storm. This is… Little Monkey? The thought made him cringe. The codename had zero intimidation factor.
Fighting alongside Wolverine, however, was an education. The man's strength wasn't just his claws or his healing. It was the two centuries of pure, unfiltered combat experience packed into his brain. He could turn any environment into a weapon, a master of chaotic improvisation who could use every angle, every piece of furniture, every mistake an opponent made to his advantage.
"What should I call you then, runt? King Kong?" Wolverine shot back, a rare, teasing smirk on his face. The kid's little-adult seriousness was starting to grow on him.
"Fine. Whatever," Ethan grumbled, knowing it was a losing battle. One day, he thought, I'll show you the Great Ape form. Then we'll see who's a little monkey.
"Logan!" Kitty cried, rushing forward and hugging the gruff mutant's leg. He was her friend, the one who had always been there for her when she felt most alone.
"Alright, alright, Elf," Logan grunted, patting her head. "It ain't safe yet. Stick with me and the monkey, we'll get you to the…"
CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!
The massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the lobby exploded inwards as three more combat helicopters swiveled into position, their searchlights pinning the group in a crossfire of blinding white light.
Logan immediately looked at Ethan. "Monkey, do your thing!"
But Ethan shook his head. The Kamehameha, while devastating, had drained nearly a third of his energy. He couldn't afford to be reckless. He gripped the Power Pole in his hands.
"Grow, Power Pole!" he roared.
The red staff shot forward, extending with a sound like tearing metal, and punched clean through the cockpit of the central helicopter. The pilot screamed. Before the other two gunships could react, Ethan planted his feet, his muscles bulging with explosive power.
"HAAAA!"
With a tremendous cry of effort, he began to swing the impaled helicopter. The multi-ton machine groaned, its rotors struggling against the immense force as he used it like a colossal, unwieldy club. He swung it hard to the left, smashing it into its wingman. Then he swung it back to the right, crashing it into the third.
BOOM! KRA-KOOM!
The mid-air collision was a cataclysm of grinding metal, shattered glass, and three massive, blooming fireballs that lit up the night sky. The flaming wreckage rained down onto the school's manicured lawn.
On the ground below, the sergeant stared up in horror, his jaw slack. He'd lost more than a dozen elite soldiers and now four helicopters to two individuals. His mission was no longer a raid; it was a slaughter.
"Retreat!" he screamed into his radio, his voice cracking with panic. "All units, retreat now!"
Upstairs, Ethan and Logan herded the three shaken teenagers toward the secret passage. They looked back, ready for the next wave, but saw only soldiers scrambling back towards their transports. The last two remaining helicopters were already lifting off, fleeing into the night.
Wolverine lit a cigar, the tip glowing in the dark hallway. He took a long, slow puff and let the smoke out in a bitter stream. "Damn it," he growled. "Let the slimy bastards get away."
THROW POWERSTONES .