When the Pack Comes Hunting

The city's streets were painted in the dim hues of the setting sun, stretching shadows long across the pavement. The hum of traffic in the distance blended with the occasional murmur of pedestrians heading home, their minds occupied with the mundane concerns of the evening. But for Logan, the only sound that mattered was the rhythmic crunch of footsteps behind him—deliberate, measured, and matching his pace exactly.

Victor was following him.

Logan didn't turn.

Didn't glance over his shoulder.

That would be seen as a challenge, and Logan knew that if he made the mistake of acknowledging Victor too soon, the fight would start right then and there. Logan wasn't worried about himself. He wasn't worried about the damage Victor could do to him. No, his concern lay with the people still wandering the streets. If this got messy now, innocent bystanders would be caught in the crossfire.

So he kept walking. Casual. Relaxed. Like he hadn't noticed a thing.

But he had.

Every fiber of his being was tuned in to Victor's movements—the way his breath deepened, the almost imperceptible shift in his steps. Logan could hear Victor's heartbeat, steady and unhurried, like a predator toying with its prey. But Logan wasn't prey, and he knew damn well Victor wasn't playing a game.

He was here to send a message.

Logan was about to send one right back.

He kept his pace steady, eyes subtly scanning his surroundings for the perfect location. Somewhere isolated. Somewhere out of the way. Somewhere that wouldn't have cops swarming them within minutes. He spotted it up ahead—an old, abandoned construction site, the kind of place that had been in development for years but never quite finished. Faded tarps flapped listlessly against skeletal steel beams, and deep pits of unfinished groundwork left gaping wounds in the earth.

Perfect.

Logan turned, heading toward the site's entrance, stepping past the rusted fence that had long since been torn open by vandals or squatters. He heard Victor's steps behind him, still matching his own. But then they shifted—accelerating.

Logan tensed.

The next moment, Victor lunged.

The air shifted as Victor leapt through it, an animalistic blur of raw power and honed savagery. Logan waited until the last possible second, then pivoted sharply, dropping low. His claws sliced upward in a brutal arc, catching Victor across the ribs. The cut was deep—flesh tearing apart as dark crimson spattered onto the pavement.

Victor grunted but didn't slow.

A clawed hand snatched Logan's wrist, gripping it like a vice before driving a knee straight into his face. Logan barely had time to register the impact before Victor followed up, planting a boot into his chest and kicking him back.

Logan hit the ground hard, rolling instinctively to avoid being left vulnerable. He came up fast, one knee bent, claws at the ready, spitting blood onto the pavement.

Victor landed a few feet away, crouched and grinning as his wound already began closing. "Heh," Victor chuckled, voice a gravelly purr. "Got some bite to you still, huh?"

Logan's lip curled in a half-snarl, wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. "Gotta try harder than that, bub."

Victor cracked his neck. "Oh, don't worry. I plan to."

Then he moved.

Victor was fast—faster than most people would ever believe something that big could be. He closed the distance between them in a blink, claws flashing in a deadly flurry of slashes. Logan stepped back, weaving just enough to avoid getting gutted, but Victor relentlessly pressed forward.

Logan saw the next attack coming—a wide, sweeping claw strike meant to tear his throat out. He twisted his body, letting it graze past before countering with a swift, brutal swipe straight into Victor's chest. His claws sank deep, piercing flesh, but Victor only grinned through the pain as he swung.

A punch—a brutal, sledgehammer-like blow that connected squarely with Logan's jaw. The impact sent a jolt of pain rattling through his skull, his vision momentarily blurring. But even as he stumbled, Logan lashed out with his own claws, carving a fresh gash down Victor's bicep.

Victor barely reacted.

Instead, he lunged again, shoulder-checking Logan with monstrous force. The hit sent Logan skidding backward, boots scraping against concrete. He barely had time to plant his footing before Victor was already on him again.

This time, Logan didn't dodge.

He met Victor head-on.

Their claws tore into each other at the same time, both men ignoring the pain as muscle and skin were ripped apart. Victor's fist cracked into Logan's ribs, but Logan's claws dug deep into Victor's gut.

A savage grin stretched across Victor's face, blood dripping from his teeth. "Missed this," he rasped.

Logan spat blood onto the ground. "Yeah? Let's see if you still feel that way when I'm done with ya."

Victor laughed and swung again.

The second Victor swung, Logan ducked low, rolling beneath the vicious swipe and coming up inside Victor's guard. His claws lashed out in a tight, precise motion, aiming to slice along Victor's exposed ribcage, but Victor twisted at the last moment, catching Logan's wrist mid-swipe.

With a snarl, Victor wrenched Logan forward and slammed a knee into his gut. Logan grunted, feeling the impact shake through his bones, but gritted his teeth and retaliated by driving his own forehead straight into Victor's nose.

The sickening crack of cartilage breaking echoed in the alley.

Victor staggered back, sneering as blood dripped from his nostrils— but the wound was already healing, his nose snapping back into place with a grotesque crunch. "That all you got, Jimmy?" Victor goaded, his yellowed fangs glinting in the dim light.

Logan flexed his claws and rolled his shoulders. "Keep talkin'. Only thing I hear is your jaw beggin' to be broken."

Victor laughed, low and guttural, before pouncing forward again.

This time, Logan stood his ground.

Victor's claws raked forward—a brutal diagonal slash aimed to gut Logan from shoulder to hip. Logan turned his body at the last second, avoiding the full brunt, but still felt the sting of razor-sharp talons tearing through the side of his ribs.

Ignoring the pain, Logan planted his feet and surged forward, shoulder-checking Victor hard enough to send the bigger man stumbling backward. Before Victor could recover, Logan pressed the attack as he slashed upward with his left claw—a feint. Victor instinctively moved to block, his reflexes sharp as ever.

But that was exactly what Logan wanted.

Instead of fully committing to the upward slash, Logan used the momentum to spin on his heel, twisting his torso before following through with his right claw. The strike ripped across Victor's exposed midsection.

Victor snarled as blood splattered against the cracked pavement, his shredded skin already trying to knit itself back together.

Logan didn't let up.

With a feral growl, he dropped low, sweeping Victor's legs out from under him.

Victor hit the ground with a heavy thud, but before Logan could capitalize, Victor twisted mid-fall, planting one massive boot into Logan's chest and kicking him backward. Logan skidded across the pavement but caught himself, boots scraping against the asphalt.

Victor rose to his feet, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the pain. His lip curled, his predatory gaze narrowing. "You've some extra bite to you today, Jimmy," Victor mused, wiping blood from his chin with the back of his clawed hand. "Used to be you'd on the back foot by now."

Logan wiped his mouth, rolling his neck with a pop. "Used to be you weren't such a chatty bitch in a fight."

Victor grinned.

Then they were on each other again.

Victor came in hard, swinging wild but calculated, his claws carving through the air in vicious arcs. Logan, knowing better than to trade raw strength for strength, bobbed and weaved, evading the worst of the strikes, parrying what he could.

A clawed hand came for his throat—Logan barely sidestepped.

Another slash toward his ribs—Logan twisted, letting it graze his side rather than fully connect.

But Victor was relentless.

Seeing an opening, Logan lunged forward, sinking his claws deep into Victor's shoulder, pushing them all the way to the hilt. Victor hissed but retaliated instantly as rather than back away, he lunged in closer, bringing their bodies nearly chest to chest, then drove his forehead into Logan's skull with enough force to rattle his vision.

Logan gritted his teeth, refusing to let go.

But Victor wasn't done.

Still impaled, Victor lifted his knee into Logan's gut, once, twice, three times, each blow landing with brutal force. Logan gasped as pain bloomed through his ribs, but refused to buckle. Instead, with a snarl, he twisted his claws inside Victor's shoulder, ripping them free in a brutal motion.

Victor howled, staggering backward, blood oozing from the fresh wound.

For a split second, the two men stood there, breathing heavy, bodies bleeding, eyes locked.

Then, without warning, Victor charged again.

Logan braced himself, claws ready—

But this time, Victor didn't go for the kill.

Instead, he dropped low at the last moment, ramming his shoulder into Logan's gut, lifting him off the ground. Then, with sheer brute force, Victor spun and hurled Logan through the air.

Logan barely had time to register what was happening before he crashed straight through a rusted chain-link fence, tumbling through the wreckage of old construction materials. Dust and debris kicked up around him as Logan hit the ground hard, rolling to a stop near a stack of abandoned cement blocks.

He groaned, wiping blood from his brow as he sat up.

Victor stalked forward, stepping through the destroyed fence, rolling his neck. His wounds were already healing at an unnerving rate. ""Y'know, I was just plannin' to keep you busy, Jimmy," Victor taunted, cracking his knuckles. "But I might just rip you apart for the fun of it."

Logan spat blood onto the ground, pushing himself to his feet. He popped his neck, stretching his arms as if loosening up.

Then, with a sharp smirk, he cracked his knuckles. "Try it, bub."

Victor's grin widened—then he lunged again, and the battle continued.

-X-

The dim glow of the study lamp cast a warm light over the wooden desk where Alex sat, scrawling furiously into his notebook. His brow was furrowed in frustration, his grip on the pen tight as he tried to rush through the last of his assignments. Across from him, Charles sat calmly, hands folded in his lap, watching his younger brother with an amused but patient gaze.

"Rushing through it won't make the work any better, Alex," Charles pointed out, his voice carrying the same calm authority he always had when speaking to his students. "If anything, you'll just make mistakes that'll take twice as long to correct later."

Alex let out an exaggerated sigh, tossing his pen onto the table as he leaned back in his chair. "I know, I know, but I just wanna get it done already. I should be out training—not stuck in here doing math problems."

Charles arched a brow. "Neglecting your education for the sake of training won't prove your capability. Quite the opposite, actually."

Alex scowled, arms crossed. "Yeah, well, Logan said I should prove myself if I want to join the team, and I can't do that if I'm wasting time in here."

Charles gave a small chuckle, shaking his head. "Logan meant proving yourself through discipline and responsibility, not avoiding your obligations. You are still a student, Alex, and that means school comes first. If you can't handle this, how do you expect to handle real missions?"

Alex gritted his teeth, eyes dropping to his unfinished work. He hated this. Hated feeling like he wasn't good enough, hated being left out while the others got to fight, got to be a part of something bigger. He wanted to be out there, helping, doing something that mattered.

He clenched his fists, muttering under his breath. "I just want to show that I can do it too. That I'm not useless."

Charles' expression softened. He had been expecting this frustration from Alex for a while now. Like his brother, Alex had always been ambitious, always pushing forward, eager to prove his worth—often too eager.

"You are not useless, Alex," Charles said firmly, his gaze steady. "But power without control, without discipline, is dangerous. Strength alone does not make one ready to fight. It is knowing when to fight and how to fight that makes the difference."

Alex huffed, but Charles could tell his words had struck a chord. Before he could say anything more, however, Charles froze. His head snapped up, eyes widening, his entire body suddenly tensing in alarm.

Something was coming.

The air in the room shifted, a subtle but immediate change in the atmosphere. The distant hum of the estate suddenly felt muted, replaced with a low, ominous vibration that Charles could feel in his bones.

Alex hadn't noticed yet, still focused on his frustration, still too caught up in his thoughts.

"Alex," Charles said sharply, his voice suddenly urgent.

Alex blinked, confused by the sudden change in Charles' demeanor. "What—?"

"Move."

Charles wheeled himself back from the table in an instant, his mental alarm flaring like a siren in his mind. At the same time, he sent out a psychic message to Amelia, warning her.

Get in here. Now.

Alex barely had time to process before Amelia rushed into the room, alarmed by Charles' urgent summons. "Charles, what's—"

The entire room shook violently.

A deafening roar of impact thundered through the estate as the wall exploded outward. The windows shattered into a storm of glass shards, the wooden beams of the mansion splintering like matchsticks as something massive tore through the side of the building.

Alex barely managed to leap away from the desk before a mass of steel and machinery crashed through the space where he had just been sitting. A truck with its front crumpled from the impact, had rammed straight into the study.

The entire wall was gone.

A gaping hole now stood in its place, smoke and debris spilling into the air.

Alex coughed violently, dust filling his lungs as he struggled to regain his footing. His ears rang from the explosion, his vision blurred from the shock of the blast. Through the haze, he could just barely make out the shape of something moving beyond the wreckage.