Wolverine, the Perfect Whetstone

Russell stood barefoot on the asphalt outside the hotel. Spent casings rolled around his feet with faint metallic clicks.

He looked up at the man emerging from the café across the street—a leather jacket, messy hair, three days' worth of stubble, and an unlit cigar between his teeth.

Wolverine—Logan. On a genetic level, he was another father to this body, at least biologically.

Logan walked into the middle of the street and stopped about five meters from Russell.

He took the cigar from his mouth, tucked it back into his pocket, and looked the young man up and down.

"So you're the kid Charles says needs guidance?" Logan asked, sounding as though he already knew the answer.

Russell looked at him. "And you're that unkillable old wolf from Canada?"

"Haven't heard that one in years."

Logan's mouth twitched. It might have been a smile. "The professor sent me to talk to you."

"About what?"

"About the cops you just killed. About the power inside you that you still can't control. Not that I've ever been much for talking things out."

Logan paused to light his cigar and took a long drag. "This should be Charles's job, but he insisted I come."

"Yeah, I killed them." Russell offered no explanation.

He had killed them. That was that.

Right or wrong, there was no need to say more.

"If you want to talk sense into me, try doing it your way."

Logan studied his face for several seconds. Then he nodded, as if he had confirmed something.

What was Logan's way? His fists, of course, and Adamantium claws that could tear an enemy apart.

"Fine. I really hate fighting these days, but sometimes the claws have to come out."

Russell's eyes lit up.

Compared with Laura, Wolverine would make an excellent whetstone—and one he could use again and again.

"Your healing ability." Logan tugged down the zipper of his leather jacket, revealing the tight undershirt beneath. "Let's see how strong it really is."

Russell did not hesitate.

He charged even faster than he had against Hound 10.

Not out of anger. Out of excitement—a raw, primal hunger for battle rising from deep within his genes.

Logan reacted faster.

Decades of killing and regeneration had honed his combat instincts into something more effective than training and more lethal than technique.

He slipped past Russell's first punch. Steel claws sprang from his right hand and carved a cold white arc through the night.

Russell made no attempt to dodge.

A real man ought to experience a bloody fight firsthand.

The claws raked his forearm from elbow to wrist. Flesh peeled back, blood sprayed, and white bone lay exposed to the air.

[Super Self-Healing Experience +1]

The wound began closing the instant the claws pulled free.

It did not slowly knit from the edges inward. New tissue grew from the bottom of the wound, both sides, and even the surface of the bone all at once, as though countless invisible hands were weaving a torn net back together.

The entire process took less than three seconds.

Logan narrowed his eyes. "Not bad. You've got something."

Then he got serious too.

Logan had never cared about fame or fortune, but losing to a younger man with the same healing ability would hardly look good.

In their second exchange, neither used any fancy moves.

Fist against fist. Claw against flesh.

Logan's claws pierced Russell's shoulder, and Russell's fist slammed into Logan's ribs. Logan drove a knee into Russell's stomach, and Russell smashed an elbow into Logan's back.

Blood spattered across the street, painting an abstract picture beneath the streetlights.

But a difference began to show.

Logan's wounds healed quickly—astonishingly quickly. It was as if his entire body were made of nanobots, repairing damage wherever it appeared.

He also had one advantage Russell lacked: razor-sharp Adamantium claws.

But Russell's wounds healed faster. Not a little faster—twice as fast.

While Logan's claw marks were still slowly closing, not a trace of Russell's wounds remained.

[Super Self-Healing Experience +1]

[Super Self-Healing Experience +1]

[Super Self-Healing Experience +1]

The system notifications rang through his mind in an unending symphony.

Logan, whose instincts and powers of observation were just as sharp, noticed.

He had fought for decades and seen countless opponents, but never anyone who healed at this speed.

This was not Sabretooth's level of "able to survive." It was Logan's own level of "impossible to kill"—no, even more extreme.

He backed away two steps, shook the blood from his hand, and watched a claw mark vanish from Russell's chest in a blink.

"Fuck, that's not healing." He frowned. "That's cheating. I've slashed you dozens of times. Don't you feel pain?"

Of course it hurt. But pain was what drove his Mental Defense to improve.

He could have severed the pain nerves in his body so his brain would receive no pain signals, but Russell had not.

Only by enduring real pain could he truly train himself.

Russell rolled his shoulder, and the bones cracked. "Jealous?"

Logan's mouth twitched. His claws sprang out again. "Come on, then."

This time, he was more vicious.

After two rounds, Logan knew the man in front of him had a body even more absurd than his own. He abandoned defense entirely and put everything into attacking.

His claws struck Russell like a storm—shoulders, chest, abdomen, thighs. He even caught Russell twice across the face.

Russell did not defend himself either. Like a human sponge, he absorbed every blow and watched the damage disappear within seconds.

[Super Self-Healing Experience +1]

[Super Self-Healing Experience +1]

[Super Self-Healing Experience +1]

Felicity and Laura stood at the entrance to the hotel lobby.

Felicity covered her mouth, her eyes wide as ping-pong balls.

She had seen Russell soak in Sulfuric Acid and Aqua Regia, and seen an energy beam punch through his skull only for the wound to heal instantly. But watching flesh grow back right before her eyes was a sight she would never get used to, no matter how often she saw it.

Laura stood beside her, claws extended—not because she meant to fight, but because of instinct.

Her healing ability was not as strong as Russell's, and she lacked Logan's combat experience. But her genes told her that whatever those two were doing, she should be able to do it too.

Her fingers trembled slightly. Not from fear, but excitement.

Scott stood about ten meters from the café entrance, arms folded, his expression complicated behind his Ruby-Quartz Visor.

He had seen Wolverine fight, Jean unleash her power, and Magneto lift a stadium. But two people abandoning defense and relying entirely on healing to endure each other's attacks? That was a first.

"Freaks," he muttered, though whether he meant Russell, Logan, or both was unclear.

The fight in the middle of the street continued.

Logan's breathing grew ragged.

He was not tired—his stamina was nearly limitless. He was baffled. He had never encountered anything like this.

His opponent seemed unafraid of injury, pain, or even death—because he could not die.

Slash him, and he was fine in two seconds. Stab him, and he recovered in three. Logan knew all about that.

But being unable to die and being unafraid of pain were two very different things.

"Enough." Logan stepped back and retracted his claws. "There's no point fighting like this."

Russell tilted his head. "Giving up?"

"Like hell." Logan spat a mouthful of bloody saliva onto the ground. "You can't kill me, and I can't kill you. We could keep this up until morning."

"Then let's try something you know."

Russell raised his hand.

Molecular Psychokinesis surged out of him like a tide—not to attack, but to pin Logan down.

Logan's body suddenly grew heavy, as though an invisible hand had settled on his shoulder and was forcing him downward.

His claws sprang out again as he tried to resist, but Telekinesis was no physical blow. It was everywhere, slipping into every opening like water, air, or gravity itself.

Logan dropped to one knee, veins bulging on his forehead. "Why didn't Charles tell me you pull the same tricks as Magneto? I hate that."

"Magneto? You could look at it that way. Either way, it's something you know well—control." Russell walked up and looked down at him.

"I could control the iron atoms in your body. Your Adamantium claws contain iron. Your blood contains iron. Every cell in your body contains iron."

He crouched until he was eye to eye with Logan. "Do you really think being unkillable is enough?"

Logan looked at him. There was no fear or anger in his amber eyes, only scrutiny.

He studied the young man's eyes, his expression, and the slight upward curve of his mouth when he spoke.

Then Logan laughed.

"Now I get what Charles meant. Your genes... Turns out you're just as punchable as your dad," Logan said.

"Dad?" Russell frowned. He had no habit of accepting someone as his father.

"You don't know?" Logan stared for a moment, then burst out laughing.

"Magneto. The guy you just mentioned."

His laughter echoed down the empty street, startling the people in the distance who still had their phones raised. Russell eased his hold.

"Interesting." Logan stood and brushed the dust from his knee. "Really fucking interesting."

He turned toward the café, though deep down he was rattled. Ever since he had seen the abilities this kid possessed, a terrible thought had been lurking in his mind.

Logan simply did not want to admit it.

"We're not done fighting. Where are you going?" Russell flicked a finger, sending a trash can hurtling at Logan. Logan slashed backward, splitting it in two.

He frowned. "There's no point to this fight."

Maybe not for Wolverine. For Russell, it was another matter.

"Fight me."

Russell attacked first. Logan tried to retreat, only to find a force controlling his body and making him swing his claws.

"Mutants who control things are such a pain in the ass."