CHAPTER 143— THE TRAIL BEGINS
The rain hadn't let up. By morning, the sea was raging white against the cliffs, and the X-Men gathered outside Muir Island's lab in the storm. Wind whipped capes and coats, the kind of weather that made everything feel more dangerous.
Cyclops gave the order like he was born for it. "We check the nearby village first. If Kevin's moving between hosts, we'll find a trail."
"Proteus," Moira whispered, standing with her coat pulled tight. Her face was pale, haunted. "His name is Proteus."
Logan lit his cigar against the wind, shielding the flame with his palm. He took a drag, eyes narrowing. "Don't matter what name you give him, lady. He's leaving corpses."
Banshee muttered under his breath, crossing himself again before blowing into his hands for warmth. "Bloody cheery way to start the day."
The team piled into vehicles and the Blackbird. Cars were faster for the narrow island roads, the plane quicker for distance. Logan took the wheel of one car—because nobody argued with him when he growled "I drive." Nightcrawler rode shotgun, tail flicking restlessly. Colossus and Thunderbird loaded into the second. The flyers—Storm, Jean, Banshee—took to the skies, cutting through the stormclouds like black arrows.
The village was quiet, almost too quiet. Stone cottages hunched against the rain, smoke curling weakly from chimneys. A police cordon ringed one of the back alleys, and the X-Men walked straight past the officers' protests.
What they found inside turned every stomach.
Another husk. Another body shriveled like dry paper, limbs twisted, skin sucked tight to the bone. A man this time—middle-aged, still in his work clothes, his face frozen in terror.
Storm closed her eyes, breathing hard. "This is no death by natural cause. This is desecration."
"Agreed," Colossus rumbled, crossing himself in quiet steel.
One of the policemen—an older sergeant with tired eyes—stepped forward. "We've never seen the like. Found him just after dawn. No sign o' struggle, no witnesses. Like he just—dried up on the spot."
"Not dried," Logan said, crouching over the corpse, inhaling deep. He grimaced, ash and copper hitting the back of his throat. "Drained. Like a leech with legs."
Cyclops knelt, visor glowing faintly as he studied the alley. "If he needs hosts, he won't stop. This village won't be enough."
"Big city," Jean said softly. Her eyes were distant, voice almost not her own. "So many lives. So many bodies to burn through." She shivered, hugging herself.
Banshee glanced at her sharply. "Jean? Ye alright, lass?"
"I—" She blinked, shook her head. "Yes. Just… thinking too far ahead."
But Logan watched her, eyes narrowing. Her heartbeat skipped in a way that didn't sit right.
Cyclops stood. His voice was iron, cutting through the drizzle. "We don't wait for him to make the next move. We split. Cover more ground."
Logan bristled instantly. "Splitting up is a good way to get picked off, Summers."
"We don't have a choice," Scott shot back. "One team won't be enough to cover the roads out of here, or the air. He could already be gone."
Thunderbird cracked his knuckles, grinning. "Fine by me. The sooner I get my hands on this bastard, the better."
"Always so eager," Banshee muttered.
Cyclops started laying out assignments. "Logan and Nightcrawler in one car. Colossus and Thunderbird in the other. The flyers—Storm, Jean, Banshee—take the skies. Sweep the countryside, check the roads, check the villages."
"Divide and conquer," Storm said, her voice calm but heavy with doubt.
"Divide and find," Scott corrected. "We regroup at sundown. No exceptions."
Moira grabbed his arm, desperation flashing in her eyes. "Scott, you don't understand—Kevin's power isn't just possession. He twists reality. Nothing is safe near him. He'll tear you apart without even meaning to."
Scott's jaw set like stone. "Then we stop him before he gets the chance."
Lightning split the sky behind them, thunder cracking like a war drum. Each team turned to their assignments. Engines roared to life. Wings spread against the storm.
Logan flicked his cigar into the rain, muttering under his breath as he pulled onto the road. "Hell of a day for a hunt."
Nightcrawler smirked despite himself, tail swaying. "At least we are the hunters, ja?"
Logan didn't answer. His claws tapped the wheel in rhythm with his heartbeat.
'Hunt's only fair when the prey can't turn the world upside-down.'