Apparently Sun, the dude/chick ( "Two two two sexes in one! " ), had been part of some burgeoning mutant terrorist group that was completely stillborn, due to a lethal combination of apathy and confusion - they knew they wanted to strike out against the "mundanes", but they weren't sure exactly how. And then suddenly being a terrorist seemed like a bad thing, and all anyone wanted to do was get high and watch cartoons. In the end the group - all four of them - broke up when the quasi - leader, Phil ( what kinda terrorist leader was named Phil?! ) - moved to Sudbury, and they lost the house where they would hang out, smoke blunts, and watch Spongebob Squarepants. Chi then decided to hitchhike to Montreal, and the group was officially Sun - who generally slept in the park, which wasn't a park more than it was a cemetery - and a guy nicknamed "Spud", who lived in his parent's basement and was already a chronic alcoholic at the age of twenty. He kept the weapons hidden in a crawlspace with some empties, but sold what he could for both beer and bail money. As it turned out, Spud got himself hauled in for drunken driving on the weekend, and since he was drunk enough to mouth off to a cop, an extra charge got thrown on, and his parents decided not to bail him out. As a result, he was still in the stir.

Sun had broken into his basement place to steal the shotgun, but didn't stay, as Spud's parents had a "yippie little dog" that hated him/her. It hadn't been too far away - they lived down on Cherry Avenue, just five blocks from the truly piss poor Mission Street. Logan had gone in because he claimed he could do it quietly, and when the little dog started yipping at him through an upstairs door ( and Clia knew by the sound of it it was one of those pampered lap dogs that deserved to be squished like a bug ), he growled. It really was an impressive growl - sounded sort of like a cougar - and the dog shut up instantly. She could imagine its little claws clicking on the linoleum as it ran away and found a good hiding place, as far from the scary creature in the basement as possible. Some "guard" dog.

And to Logan's credit, in spite of his size, disposition, and weight ( he felt as twice as heavy as he looked ), he was amazingly quiet busting into the place, showing a sort of animal grace that seemed wrong on a guy who clearly relished his macho stud status. He missed his calling as a cat burglar.

There wasn't much in Spud's crawlspace, beyond a year's worth of empty malt liquor bottles and a few random sidearms. But under a mildew stained army jacket, Logan found some explosives sealed in watertight plastic, and a pair of infrared binoculars that he said were "Army issue", but Logan didn't explain how he knew that.  They packed it all up in a duffle bag also - to use military parlance - "liberated" from Spud, and while Logan carried it out, somehow she ended up with it. Typical.

She was to take what she needed and leave the bag at the head of Mission Street, so if Logan needed anything he could get it. He didn't designate where to drop the bag, as he'd "find it by smell" - how creepy was that? It was bad enough knowing someone with super smell; she couldn't imagine how bad it must have been actually having it.

Clia glanced at Kevin's sad little rooming house type apartment - indeed, the only building on the entire block with electricity - and looking through the infrared binoculars saw a Human form - had to be his - lurking near the door, holding a small object that registered as cold, probably metal. A gun?

See, she told Logan the bad guys always knew the plans! But did Mr. "Stick up his muscular butt" listen to her? No. Jesus - Humans. Even mutant Humans! No better than the garden variety.

Still, did Fishhead think she was just going to walk in and get blasted? How stupid did he think she was?

She put away the binoculars, checked to make sure the semi - automatic pistol she pulled out of Spud's stash had the safety off, and stalked off down the street to his place.

Clia stayed in the shadows in case he glanced out the door, but Kevin wasn't that smart. There were window insets around the door, but they were those pseudo - stained glass kind that you couldn't look through. You could see light through them though, and she could see the shadow of Kevin loitering on the left side of the door. What a moron. Was he born that stupid, or is that what too much cheap beer and masturbation did to your brain cells?

Humming an old Butthole Surfers tune ( what had ever happened to them? ), she got right up on the sidewalk and took aim at him through the window. She could have shot him in the head, but no, she had some questions to ask him, and she had no interest in setting up a seance. So she took aim at what she assumed to be his side, and fired.

After the pop of the gun and the shattering of the glass, the funniest noise was Kevin's confused, heartfelt, "Ow!"

She quickly kicked open the door and ran inside the rooming house's tiny foyer, only to find him standing back, hand on his bloody shoulder, his gun temporarily forgotten. He was giving her a look so wounded she almost laughed. "What the fuck did you do that for?" He whined.

She scoffed. "You were gonna shoot me, dickhead!"

"I was not! I was waitin' for some mutant bitch!"

She had no idea he knew any mutants. "Who? And why?"

"I dunno! Just some bitch travelin' with some super mutant asshole who Sygratha thinks is gonna ruin everything."

Well, super mutant asshole certainly described Logan. But he'd been traveling alone since she'd met him. Well, except for ... "I ain't a mutant!" She snapped indignantly.

"Who said you were?" He straightened up as best he could, blood running through his fingers, and his expression was so pained she wondered when he was going to burst into tears.

She shook her head. You couldn't buy this kind of stupidity. "I've been traveling with him, asshole."

Confusion washed over his face, followed by a slow dawning comprehension she could have timed with a watch. "You've been - fuck, was that the jerk off on the phone?!'

She leveled her gun at him, deciding to keep her joke about him knowing everything there was to know about jerking off to herself. "Drop the piece before I take your other arm."He glared at her balefully, but he did drop it on the floor. "Kick it over here," she added. "Gently."

He did, but he kicked like a Catholic school girl, and it barely got half way across the floor."Why the hell are you working against Sy? Yer a demon for Christ's sake!"

"So? What, do you think all demons stick together, like all Humans stick together?"

He grunted an acknowledgment. "Good point."

"Take me to the book, Kevin."

He stared at her with his stupid, bovine like brown eyes, obviously not comprehending any of this. "Huh?"

"The book, the one you used to raise ... Sygratha, is that his name? I want it, Kev."

"What? Why?"

"Because. Now get a move on before you become the armless wonder in the Jim Rose circus sideshow."

He gave her a look that could have blistered paint, but he turned and started leading the way down to his place, figuring she was serious.

Well, you could never trust a demon, could you?

***

It was Northeast of Mission Street, hovering about a foot over the pavement, deep black tendrils swirling around him like a personal tornado as his body began to fill itself in, a background picture coming to the fore, and he was distantly glad. If it had a physical presence, he could hurt it before he killed it.

It turned its three fourths completely head towards him as he started towards it, and seemed to sneer at him, a strange triumph glittering in it onyx eyes. "Not protecting the wifey, mutant? Do you think that's wise? She's only Human."

He let the words wash over him as so much noise; random syllables with no meaning. Logan let his hands fall to his side and popped his claws, the pain of it as distant as everything else. A troubled look came over the demon's face, and its thin, half formed lips twitched. "Are you drugged? I'm not picking up your thoughts."

A lie. He was picking up his thoughts;he just wasn't picking up any thoughts he could use against him. "Ready to die?" He growled, and then lunged at him claws first.

***

"No."

"Sy'll kick your ass for this." He was looking one handed through a drawer in his poor excuse for a kitchenette. He kept the book here?

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, not believing this asshole. "Really? Here's a news flash for you, home slice - the first thing your "Sy" is gonna do once he's fully phased in is kill your scrawny ass."

He glanced up at her peevishly, piggy face crinkling as if she was the stupidest thing he had ever met. "He owes me."

"Bullshit! The more powerful the demon, the less they give a fuck about you. He needed you until he could get a grip on this reality - as soon as he does, you're irrelevant. In fact,  you'll be the first thing he gets rid of 'cause you'll remind him of  when he was weak. I think you're the screwed one here, dude."

"He ain't killin' me," he snapped bitterly, finishing his search. He turned to face her, an old book held in his one good hand, but he was in no hurry to hand it over. He had a plan, did he? She bet it was real funny. "So where's this mutant freak, anyways?"

Was that the plan? Distraction? Or did he honestly think that without her "protector", he could take her? If she was that much of a pussy, he deserved to kick her ass. "Taking out your Sy."

He sneered. "Yeah, right. It's too late; he's too far along. Your mutie boyfriend is about to get himself killed."

She thought about about all those broken monster bodies and Logan standing among them, dripping with their blood, his teeth bared in a leering smile as he held up his huge claws, just waiting for one of them to twitch, move, spasm, anything. Even beneath the gore, he seemed to be flushed with ecstatic victory, almost post orgasmic to be ankle deep in blood. The guy was fearless; but, moreover, he was completely fucking nuts.

And somebody's killing machine, whether he realized it or not. He was too good at it to be anything but a pro.

She grinned coldly at Kevin, flashing her teeth in a way designed to unnerve him. "Sorry Kev, but I don't think he's the one dyin' right now."

***

But even as the thing made a noise that could have been pain, something shot through him, agony like a knife that came to rest in his brain, flooding his vision with a putrid yellow light.

Logan lost his balance and hit the street hard, scraping his face on the macadam, and as his vision came back he saw the demon seemed to be bleeding black vapor from the massive wound bisecting its mostly formed torso. "It's too late, Human. This world is mine to lose, and you have no place in it. Go back to your woman while you still can."

But half formed face or not, the pain in his expression was clear as ice. Logan gave him a snarl that was mostly teeth and left that as his answer, as he was beyond speech, too lost in his own rage to form anything but inarticulate syllables.

He'd hurt the fucking thing. It had hurt him too, but he knew he'd recover faster.

Growling, Logan jumped to his feet and lunged for him again, aiming for the head.

***

Clia rolled her eyes. Wuss. "Quit stalling."

"You shot me," he whined, glaring balefully at her as he knelt down to grab the book. "It fucking hurts."

"It's only in the shoulder, wimp," she replied, noticing he was reaching under the tiny gap between the floor and the cupboard. Not a lot of room, but some guns were pretty small, weren't they?

"Word of advice, Kev: never try and bullshit a liar demon. You pay for it badly in the end." He looked up at her curiously, guilt flashing through his eyes, and she pulled the trigger.

It was a terrific shot, even if she didn't think so herself. It hit him straight him between the eyes, and the back of his skull blew out, seemingly exploding all over the kitchenette, splattering blood, bone fragments, and brain matter in a wide pattern that was almost pretty. She could have displayed it as a modern art piece.

She went over to his fallen corpse and kicked the book over onto its face. It was an old abridged dictionary - just as she thought. It was probably left by the previous tenant, as she couldn't see Kevin owning a book, nonetheless a dictionary. Fine; she'd find the book herself.

Clia used her shirt to wipe the prints off the gun before putting it on the counter, and went to search the rest of his grotty little apartment. He had to have the book hidden around this shithole somewhere.

***

The noise the demon made was painful, but it was still hovering over the street, swathed in black smoke that writhed around him like a living thing. "Stupid creature, you can't kill me," it snarled, its voice sounding like gravel running through a stump grinder. Logan knew that was true, but he also knew the thing was hurting, and was pretty well pissed off about it; its head still bore the marks of his claws, and the healing seemed to be slower than last time. He was physical now - more or less.

Not that he wasn't aching too, but he was glad about that; pain only infuriated him. In fact, the taste of his own blood in his mouth was about to drive him over the edge, and he couldn't let that happen. He forced himself up to his knees and crawled off, following a familiar scent trail, feeling the burn of  something healing in his gut and his shoulder.

"There's nowhere to go, coward," the demon taunted him. "Reality is mine, pest - you're just a puppet."

On the next block, he was healed enough that he forced himself to stand, using a wall to help him. He knew what he wanted was there, so he focused on that scent trail, blocking everything else out. If the demon tried to read him, he'd see only the raw rage that unsettled him so much.

He was droning on about something, but Logan no longer paid any attention to him. He just went on, zombie like, letting rage and the pain of healing fill his head.It wasn't difficult.

As he passed Mission Street he smelled fresh cordite, blood, but he didn't think about it. Clia was on her own, and Kevin was irrelevant now anyways. ( But it wasn't demon blood he smelled ... )

He picked up the biggest bundle of what he needed, and started back towards the self - impressed demon. He was peripherally aware the sky was changing - dark ribbons of energy pulsed like veins, radiating out towards where the horizon would be - if it existed anymore - but it was another thing he couldn't think about.

He knew from sound that the demon was in the same place, so he pulled out his lighter and lit the fuse.

The fuse didn't hiss, like it usually did in old movies or t.v. shows. It made such a small noise it could have been an insect, or a remarkably persistent snake. The demon didn't notice - he was too enamored by the sound of his own voice - and Logan held it until the last second. He didn't look to see where he was throwing it, just tossed it around the corner, towards the sound of the demon's voice, and ducked behind the wall.

The explosion was loud, violent, and finally shut the demon the fuck up.

Sun's "terrorist group" wannabe was pathetic - Magneto would have laughed his helmet off - and they didn't even have proper explosives, just dynamite that "Spud" ( he had wracked his brain to figure out how that nickname related to a mutant ability - multiple eyes? The ability to become a potato at a moment's notice? Oh sure, he called Srina Spud, but that was a joke ... ) was able to nick from his brother's workplace ( his brother was a demolitionist ). It was dynamite set to work with fire as opposed to the more common electrical current, because apparently wasn't sure he could work the other kind. It was so sad it was funny.

Logan glanced around the corner to see a huge crater in the road where the demon had been hovering a minute before, and while there was black smoke swirling around like disturbed snakes, he didn't see his body or parts of it. So he just decided to blast the whole area.

Logan tossed one stick of dynamite in after the other, nearly deafening himself with the blasts, causing little fragments of the concrete facade of the building he was hiding behind to rain down on him, opening up little cuts on his scalp and arms that healed the split second they were made, almost creating a paradox.

He wanted to hurt it first, but hey, if it was physical, only blowing it the fuck up was gonna kill it, right?

The sky started to change by the time he lobbed in the sixth stick of dynamite. It seemed to crack like an eggshell, then pieces of it seemed to melt, revealing the real sky beyond. It was the color of blood oranges, suggesting the sun was just now setting somewhere still out of his view.

Logan finally stopped when he ran out of sticks of dynamite, and the road was pretty much destroyed, along with all the windows on the block. But he couldn't even smell the demon anymore, and the only black smoke around was the result of detonation.

He looked down at the crater that had split the road in half ( it looked as if an Air Force fighter dropped a two ton bomb on Saint Michel ), the explosions still resonating in his eardrums, and he said to the air, "I bet that stung like fuck." He coughed, as the air was still thick with pulverized concrete, pavement, dirt, and demon, and then started back the way he had come. He had no desire to check in on Clia - she could take care of herself - he just wanted to see how much reality had been altered ... or not.

It wasn't hard for Logan to find the apartment, as the paint smell was still quite pungent, in spite of the odor of blasting powder still stinging his nose. He couldn't believe; he couldn't set himself up for a fall like that. But ...

"Riko?" he said, coming to the door. It was still slightly ajar, as he had left it, so he nudged it open with his boot and glanced inside.

The orange light of day made the white walls look flesh colored, and the tarp on the floor looked as if it had been splattered with demon blood, but no, it was just paint. There was something huddled in the corner of the empty living room, but it was just his coat, dropped there as if abandoned.

He had been expecting this; he told himself that. He told himself this was no surprise at all, that he knew this would happen as soon as he traded unreality for reality, because his reality hadn't changed. He knew that; this was no shock. And yet somehow it still was.

Logan picked up his coat and could smell her on it, her scent dissipating quickly in the rank air of paint fumes, as that was reality and she hadn't been. He sank down to the floor, holding the jacket to him like a lover, breathing in the rest of her scent until it faded away completely, existing only in his poor, shattered excuse for a memory.

"I'm sorry," he said to no one in particular, swallowing back the sudden lump in his throat.

The funny thing was, if the demon had wanted his soul for her, he'd have gladly sold it. But that wasn't the price he was asking, and he knew, in the end, he'd have been cheated anyways.

But it might have been worth it.

***

Logan shook his head, and frowned at the smell. "Been book burnin'?"

She studied him curiously. He looked strangely somber, sane, but like he'd just lost his best friend ( assuming he had friends ). "Yeah, the book he used to raise the demon. I thought I'd better destroy it in case some other loser got a dumb ass idea in his head."

He nodded, and she realized he was actually depressed. Post battle let down? That worked out for her, because he didn't care about the book, and wouldn't check to see if she was lying or not. "well, now that I can, I'm leavin'. I mean - "

She nodded in understanding - she'd actually been hoping he would say that. "It's cool, man. I'm blowin' this shithole myself, heading to Toronto," Vancouver actually, but hey, she was a liar demon. "It's been real and all, but - no offense - I hope I never see your hairy ass again."

He smirked, and said, "Yeah, I understand. Take care of yourself."

"You too."

He gave her a final nod and walked away, and she was so glad he was not one of those sappy type of Humans who thought some world class fucking meant anything more than that. She waited until he was out of sight before she walked back to the alley closest to Kevin's hovel, and retrieved the book of Sygratha.

She had burnt his abridged dictionary, on the off chance Logan wanted to destroy the book. How in the hell could she have destroyed it? She bet it was worth a fortune on the demon antiquities market.

Well, there was only one way to find out, wasn't there?

Clia walked off down the street, humming happily to herself, her million dollar book tucked under her arm.

22

He parked the bike in front of the place as Sun said, "Wow. When you said it was a mansion, I thought you were kidding. This place is fucking huge!"

Bringing Sun along was a last minute decision. He was just driving out when he passed by the last place they'd dropped off Sun, and she - then morphed back into a he - was out on the sidewalk, checking out the returned sky. He stopped, asked if she ( he ) wanted a place to crash among other mutants, since he knew damn well she ( he ) had no other place to go. He hadn't found out the whole story about the parents, but honestly he didn't care. Sun certainly had nothing else going on ( and wanted to get out of Saint Michel before it "closed up" again ), so he ( she ) instantly jumped at the chance.

"Remember, best behavior," he told her ( she was now a female again ), feeling a bit  like a hypocrite. Oh well. "No more terrorist groups." Although he hesitated to say what she ( he ) had going on was ever even within a light year of terrorist group - it was closer to simple drunken boredom.

"Got it."

The door opened, and Jean was standing there, staring at him with wide eyes. "Logan," she gasped, like he had just returned from the dead. "I thought I sensed you." She came forward, and he thought she might try and hug him, but she stopped when she saw Sun behind him.

"Jean, this is Sun Novotny, a gender metamorph with nowhere else to go. Sun, this is Doctor Jean Grey, a teacher and a telepathic telekinetic who'll kick your ass if you step out of line. Got it?"

"Got it," Sun agreed, still looking around the grounds in wide eyed fascination.

"A gender metamorph?" From her tone of voice and the way her eyebrows raised, that was new to her too. "Well, welcome to the Xavier Institute, Sun."

Sun finally looked at her, and said, "Cool. I can stay here?"

"All mutants are welcome here," she then grimaced, her brow creasing as she got a good look at Sun's face. "What happened to you? Do you need medical attention?"

Jean noticed the bruises. They were slightly less prominent on her female face, maybe because she took the beating as a male. "Oh, no - Logan took me to a hospital, even though I told him not to."

"I don't take orders from people with concussions," he told her, not for the first time.

Jean raised an eyebrow at him, giving him an openly questioning look. "Is that where you've been?"

As Sun squeezed past Jean into the mansion, she added, "He saved my butt. The guy kicks ass."

Jean glanced at him, and gave him a warm smile. "Oh, I know."

He supposed if he was in the mood for it, this would have been premium flirting time, but he was in no mood at all. He'd driven all night with a slightly whiney Sun, and he couldn't quite shake the thought that he might have been better off taking his chances in unreality with Mariko. Logically, he knew the demon never would have allowed it to go on for long, but maybe he could have thought of something ...

"Oh cool, is Spongebob on?"Sun said, disappearing into the front room.

Once Logan was inside the hall, Jean closed the door behind him, and said, "When the Professor couldn't find you with Cerebro, we were worried."

He instantly thought "No, you were worried - who else could give a fuck?", but he didn't say it. "I was okay, I was just in unreality for a bit."

"Unreality?"

"Long story. I can't really explain it - ask Bob. I think he has to explain it to me anyways." He then looked at her curiously. "Why were you lookin' for me?"

And that's when Jean told him about the battle with Fenrir as she led him down to the basement, and to the special medical unit.

It was hard to believe they fought an angry god, but with Bob anything was possible. He was surprised they survived, although he had a feeling, since she was leading him to the i.c.u. , someone got hurt pretty bad. "Who's down?" He wondered. He also wondered what the hell "Balder's gate" was, but he assumed that explanation would be forthcoming.

She grimaced, glancing down at the floor to avoid his eyes, and he got a sick feeling in his gut. "Rogue?"

She shook her head. "Bob."

"Bob?" He couldn't believe it, not even when the doors to the unit slid open, and he saw Bob laying on a hospital bed.

Jean winced, as they were immediately assailed with loud music, and Helga, who was loitering by his bedside, turned to face them. "Logan, where the fuck have you been?" She said, even as she came over and enfolded him in a huge bear hug, threatening to crush his ribs.

He gave her an awkward hug back, glancing over at Bob. He expected him to sit up and say, "Had you fooled, didn't I?" But he didn't, and he looked somehow diminished under the white sheet, more bluish than was healthy, his hair a complete molten gold, like frozen sunlight. What had happened to the brown? Although he had an oxygen mask on his nose and mouth, there were no machines attached to him, save for a single i.v. that smelled like it contained a saline mixture. "How is he?" He wondered.

"Comatose," Helga said, as she slipped out of his arms. She then hit him hard on the shoulder, avoiding bone and going straight for muscle.

"Hey!" He snapped irately, grabbing his shoulder. "What the fuck was that for?!'

"That was for not being here, you jerk! I count on you to look after Bob when he's being a stupid asshole!"

"Yeah well, sorry, but I was off bein' a stupid asshole myself!" He replied indignantly, rubbing his arm. What a pair he and Bob were - Helga had bad taste in men.

"Maybe you should turn the music down,"Jean suggested, wincing at it.

"Why? He loves At The Drive In. I thought it was good for coma patients to have something they like playing."

Logan considered that, realizing the words the singer was screeching were words Bob had sung before. So he really didn't make up all those lyrics up. He wasn't sure if he should be frightened or not. "Did I miss Soul Coughing and Mr. Bungle?"

"Yeah." Helga walked back over to Bob's bedside, tail twitching restlessly, and sat down in a chair beside it. She looked tired, and as if to prove that, she rested her head on Bob's chest. It looked so fucking sad he couldn't bear to see it.

"Has there been any change?" he whispered to Jean.

She looked sad as well - the scene had gotten to her too. She came up very close to him to whisper, "No, none. he barely registers as a background psionic hum to the Professor and myself, and we know that's a bad sign."

He had a suddenly sick gut feeling about it "Did you put that i.v. in by hand?" If Jean had touched him and wasn't hurt, Bob was brain dead.

She shook her head, and he was quietly relieved. "I did it telekinetically. I didn't want to risk touching him, and I couldn't see talking Scott through such a procedure. He's not a medic."

"Why no machines? Ya know, monitorin' him and stuff."

"Oh, I tried, but he still has enough residual energy to make them catch fire. So after the sprinkler system went off, I thought it was best to give up on machines."

She had a point. And if the sudden shower didn't wake him up, there was no point in getting him damp.

"Hey, Red," Helga said loudly, looking over at the both of them. "Can you piss off for now? I gottta talk with the hairy guy."

Jean scowled at her, something like annoyance ( jealousy? ) flashing in her eyes. "The name is Jean," she replied icily.

Helga waived her tail dismissively. "Yeah, whatever. Can we have some privacy now?"

Jean frowned at him, obviously wanting an answer for Helga's obnoxious behavior, but he only shrugged as he turned away. Jean and Helga just seemed to hate each other; call it fire and water, oil and vinegar, or uptight telekinetic and freewheeling demon, the chemistry between them  was just all wrong.

As soon as Jean was gone, he asked, "What is it?"

He assumed she had something to tell him that Jean couldn't - or wouldn't - understand. She looked at him with pained jade eyes, and admitted miserably, "This is all my fault, Logan."

Helga never struck him as the guilty type, so this surprised him. "How in the hell is this your fault? You didn't sic Fenrir on him, did you?"

"No, but I might as well have." She looked at Bob's remarkably slack face, as if he might wake up and argue with her, but he continued to lay there as still as a corpse, his chest barely rising with each shallow breath. "It was the T'Karii. They wanted me."

Now he was really confused. "Wait, I thought it was Fenrir."

"It was Fenrir who did the damage, but somehow the T'Karii let him out."

It took him a moment to place the name - the crime family demons Helga used to be associated with, right? "How could they do that? And I thought they were all dead anyways."

"Not all - the Watchers couldn't have cleared out every single branch. And those that survived must have known about my association with Bob, so they brought out the biggest gun they could manage: Fenrir."