Chapter 22: Children of Wolverine/ Dogs of Romulus

Chaos was born in the heart of the raining forest like a hurricane come to life over an ocean. It started small. A simple action-- a shift. Like hot winds over cold. And then, the twists-- the turns, the violent churning typhoon of blood and water. Of differing ideologies and goals. Of killing intent. All things opposing clashed instantaneously.

The deadly strong grip on Bronte's neck disappeared and a body seemingly comprised entirely of muscle hit the mushy and muddy ground in front of him, hiding the sight of Laura and the Feral Mutant woman ahead. But he heard them-- boy did he. Even as Daken scolded him and awakened that familiar itch in his spine.

"Move your ass, ragdoll-- and if you freeze again, I'll kill you myself!" Daken said before descending on the giant man in a trenchcoat named Victor. He began repeatedly stabbing him in the head like there was something to be found within the bits of blood, skull and brain tissue beginning to coat his bone claws and stick to the muddy floor.

Bronte's eyes flashed in and out of white as he got to his feet with the help of a nearby tree. A stream of vibration ran down the bark surface and soaked into his hand. In a flash, he looked up to find a pair of glowing yellow eyes in the canopy. The second he found them, the eyes blurred as the figure fell from the trees towards Daken and Victor.

Bronte snarled and lunged at Daken, stuck between pain, rage, fear and a fading sense of reason. He jumped and slammed his feet into Daken, knocking him off Victor and sending the Mutant rolling through the mud towards Laura and the other mutant.

Bronte hit the ground on his back as the attacker landed where Daken once stood. Over Victor. The being rose to it's full height. A male. Around Bronte's height at five foot eight but lighter..... skinny almost. Except he wore tight leather spiked coverings that lined his muscle tightly. He was wiry like a starved wolf and pierced to the point of disgust. As lightning flashed in the distance, it shined pale white glimpses of illumination on the metal hoops, studs and shards running through his nose lips and ears. Due to it all, Bronte almost missed the hideous scarring running through the Mutant's throat.

"HOO--AHAHAHAH!" It hooted and roared at Bronte in a croaky and broken voice.

Bronte popped his claws. No more freezing. Everything he'd trained for. Right now. He bared his teeth and charged.

"RAAGH--"

"HOO---UGH!" The pierced and wiry mutant's battle cry was cut short by Victors massive arm raising up at blinding speeds and swatting him away like a bug.

Bronte listened as the Mutant busted and broke its way through the forest in response to the powerful smack from Victor. In his place, Victor sat up, the massive holes in his giant head already closing and being covered with wild blonde hair that hung down to his shoulders like a lion's mane.

"Damn thing won't ever shut up-- even after I rip out his throat. Anyway, where were we?" He was on his feet in a blur-- at speeds that shouldn't have been achievable at his size. Then he stretched, his muscles bubbled and ripped apart his black trench coat, leaving a skintight black and yellow suit stretched over his frame.

"You made a mistake coming here, Victor." Daken snarled after leaving Laura to deal with the torn and busted remains of the Female Feral Mutant.

"You made a mistake thinkin I give a damn, traitor. Come try to stick those bone-picks in my brain again....heheheh... see how successful you are without your stinking pheromones." Victors claws flexed in and out of his fingertips like rabid dogs on a poorly made leash.

Daken spat on the floor and charged the monstrous mutant. Victor returned laughed as if he were in heaven.

"Bronte!" Laura yelled, "Get Wildchild! We kill these three and we're that much closer to Romulus!.... that much closer to living normal lives!"

No more freezing. Bronte took off in a burst of wind, following the scents of metal, leather blood and piss...

***

Bronte found Wildchild off in the distance, standing on all fours in a pool of his own blood. The sound of his bones cracking and reforming was sickening-- but the thought of weakening Romulus by putting him away outweighed everything. The thought of being able to see his parents again.

"HOO--"

"Shut up!" Bronte shouted and lunged at the Mutant.

Wildchild rolled out of the way and swiped at his ankles. The smell of blood hung on the air as Bronte fell to his knees. Immediately, a pair of fatless arms wrapped around his neck and began choking the life out of him. In those moments, a memory of one of Daken's many lessons hit him.

"Folks that can regenerate like us-- we're a pain in the ass for anyone. We can get up and keep fighting from the worst of attacks. But sometimes the simplest is what gets us. We may be able to heal from a million cuts and breaks, but nobody can heal from lost oxygen. You want to kill someone that can regenerate like us, you take its breath away. Shit like that equalizes a lot of us, ragdoll."

Bronte came back to his senses, realizing, despite hearing of how much Romulus wanted him captured, Wildchild wanted to kill him. He shook and bucked in the Mutant's grip before playing on his own strengths and stabbing his claws into Wildchild's arms.

With a wet and bloody rip, his claws tore through the Mutant's thin arms and plunged into his own throat. His own blood spurted through his gritted teeth. Wildchild howled in pain before trying to bite Bronte's face from above.

"HUGH!" The Mutant's attack was cut short as Bronte removed his claws from Wildchilds arms and stuck them into his face, puncturing an eye in the process.

Breaking free afterward was effortless.

The two collected themselves. Bronte bleeding from the throat and forehead while Wildchild hooted and snapped at him from one eye and bloodied arms. Bronte didn't wait to finish healing and went on the offensive.

Each hit delivered by both would've been a killing blow to most anyone else. Throats were ripped, guts torn, faces slashed. After a few minutes of close combat, the mud around them ran as red as the blood within them.

"HAHAH!" Wildchild cut open Bronte's face with his claws another time and kicked him into a tree.

Bronte yelled, anger enflamed by the pain, as Wildchild descended on him and wrapped his hands around his throat, slamming his head into the bark hard enough to split it.

His vision spun in response and the sounds of combat around him warped as if he were under water.

He was losing. He was losing to an underfed mindless pawn of Romulus.

Another blast of lightning hit in the distance, lighting a tree on fire.

To think the storm was him..... at least to some extent.

Wildchild stopped slamming Bronte's skull into the tree suddenly, leaving the bloodied crater behind him to fester momentarily. In the psuedo-silence, the Mutant listened with curiosity as Bronte made faint sounds in between angered growls.

He was humming. And as he grew louder, his hair glowed brighter, and the storm reignited like an old flame.

Wildchild giggled nervously and threw Bronte off into the distance. Bronte flew and hit the ground with a roll. Once he was back on his feet, he charged Wildchild, running past the clutter of trees in a blur before sinking his claws into the unsuspecting mutant's chest. Wildchild moved to grab his throat again, but Bronte dodged the attempt before slashing at the Mutants stomach.

Wildchild dodged the initial strike only to be hit with a gust of wind so strong it lifted him off his feet and sent him flying into a tree. The sound of his spine breaking was satisfying in a very primal way.

Bronte descended on the Mutant, a song of memory hard in his mind. He held Wildchild by the throat and raised his metal claws up to strike. The shower of rainwater hovered around the claws sharpening and combining into to liquid spikes that mocked the shape of his claws.

All the Mutant saw was a flash of white light as lightning fell from the sky and blew a hole in his chest that split him into pieces.

Bronte stood up from the bloodied remains. Lightning danced on his exposed brown skin, burning and bubbling the aura of harsh winds and rainwater circling around him. The torn remains of his clothes were left as burning embers to hang around his waist.

His mock silence was interrupted by Daken's roar of pain followed by a familiar somber howl in the distance.

"Rahne...." He realized almost instantly.

Then Victor spoke.

"OH! I think the help is arriving.... I suppose I should welcome them-- maybe that'll bring out the runt that wanted to run off-- what was his name? Bronte? Yes..... hehehe..... let's see if the kiddo's as heroic as his dead daddy....."