Chapter 29
They returned just two days later. This time not at the beginning of Misogi, but at the end, so they didn't have to wait.
"Your information was confirmed, VictOr," Nicole skipped the greetings and got straight to the point. "The assault is tomorrow morning, departure in an hour." I nodded to confirm I understood and started getting dressed. A minute later I was ready to head out.
In a minute and a half, we were already walking towards the city.
The six-hour flight across the ocean ended with a night drop, landing on the water.
Forty minutes later, the entire island was under S.H.I.E.L.D.'s control, except for a couple of rooms within the laboratory complex itself.
Unfortunately, Stryker was not on the Island at that moment, but that was S.H.I.E.L.D.'s problem, not mine.
My problem turned out to be an absolutely berserk Wolverine, equipped with his full set of famous adamantium claws. Berserk and highly aggressive. Also tireless and unkillable.
Cap was saved by his shield. From Logan's claws, but not from his knockout kick to the head. Fury didn't lose her head only because I substituted my arm for the swing of the blades, slightly delaying their rapid flight, giving her time to fall and roll away from this enraged meat grinder. I was temporarily left without an arm. But my heel planted itself in Logan's jaw, sending him on a long flight through three walls, which he smashed through with his semi-metallic carcass.
Carter, having already emptied half a magazine from her Beretta into Logan, received a smack on the back of the head from me and the parting advice: stay out of the way.
Then I jumped after the flying body, and the battle began. Although, calling it a battle wouldn't be entirely accurate. "Beating" would be more fitting.
In less than ten seconds, I had two arms again. It grew back, my precious! Good as new, maybe even better!
I caught up to Logan and systematically began pounding him into the ground; it was a pity about the walls, they turned out to be too fragile.
Except Logan is unkillable! And completely refuses to pass out. No matter how hard I hit him in the head, I couldn't crack the adamantium skull. No matter how I twisted his limbs, I couldn't break the bones. Let alone tear something off him.
Then I remembered a comic book I had accidentally read in my "past" life. What's more, I hadn't read it completely, only managed to see a couple of pages, and even then briefly. I don't even remember exactly which series it was from.
So, on those pages, Sabretooth once again found Wolverine on his birthday. And attacked him. But this specific time, he attacked not just for the sake of it, but to conduct an experiment. He was going to drown Logan.
I never found out how the comic ended. I stopped at the moment when the insolent cigar lover cut off the balls of Sabretooth, who was engrossed in strangling Logan in a mountain stream, with his claws...
I don't know about the original Sabretooth, but I would definitely hold a grudge after something like that. Well, that's just by the way.
The idea itself is important—drown him!
I stopped playing the role of a steam forging hammer and switched to joint locks, once again remembering Morihei with a kind word, who had trained me pretty well in this area over the past five years.
Twisting both of the "patient's" clawed limbs behind his back and securely locking them there, I dragged him toward the shore, to the water, occasionally kicking him under the ribs with my knee along the way so he'd thrash less.
There I laid the kicking Howlett with his head in the water, so that the top of his head completely disappeared beneath the surface, face down in the wet sand. I clamped his throat with the bend of my knee, sat on top of him myself, and continued to secure his arms in a position safe for those around.
It was comfortable to sit, and I had to do this for quite a while. The "client" thrashed for another fifteen minutes, but eventually went quiet and limp. I don't know exactly what the main factor was: drowning or strangulation, but Wolverine passed out.
I pulled the body out of the water, bound his elbows behind his back with a piece of thin (only a finger thick) rebar, handed him over to the recovered Cap, and trudged off to find my arm. I didn't want to leave such a trophy to anyone—better to nail it to the wall in my house (the claws are extended on it, too), it should look nice!
"Thank you, VictOr," Nicole thanked me sincerely, although who knows her spy soul. "You saved my life again."
"Don't mention it," I shrugged and picked up the object of my search from the floor. The cut on the arm was smooth and surprisingly clean; I even clicked my tongue from an excess of emotion. Fury also looked at my trophy.
"I didn't know you could do that," she noted. I looked at her skeptically, raising an eyebrow. "No," she immediately corrected herself, slightly embarrassed. "In the Agency's archives, there are documents preserved about a certain Corporal Victor Creed of the volunteer Continental Army, who continued to fight even after a musket volley almost point-blank from a full British square, but that you could regrow an arm in a matter of seconds, I didn't even assume."
"Did your people find the container with that metal they used to make Logan's claws?" I asked, not bothering to delve into the details of the topic she raised.
"They did. It's in a liquid state and is still being heated," she didn't hide it.
"If it cools—it will become indestructible. By anything. Completely," I warned. "Don't let it cool down."
"Alright, we will keep that in mind," she nodded.
"I want a sword made of it. A katana," I informed her.
"A-alright," she agreed with some hesitation. Hmm? Is there more adamantium there than I think? Why is she agreeing so easily? Maybe I should have asked for two swords?
"But you will make it yourself. My people will be figuring out its properties for a very long time, and you, as I understand it, are already familiar with it." There's the catch, I noted to myself with some relief. Hand S.H.I.E.L.D. the technology for working with adamantium. Maybe serve them the secret of its manufacture on a silver platter, too? With a blue border, naturally.
But I nodded in agreement. I already knew who to turn to for help. I just needed to think about how to pull it all off more deftly.
Although, what's there to think about?
"Send me a container, identical to the one it's in now, to the Hombu Dojo in Japan, with exactly the amount of metal necessary to forge a classic Japanese katana blade."
"Keeping secrets?" Nicole chuckled.
"Problems?" I raised an eyebrow.
"No, not at all!" Nicole immediately raised her hands in a surrendering gesture. "I'm not prying into your secrets! I just want to remain a friend."
I turned around and silently walked toward the plane. A friend... I'd like to believe that. I really would. And I might even believe it if Erik doesn't find a single bug in the container... maybe.
* * *
I made it in time for the evening training session with O-Sensei. And the days stretched on again, in a measured, established rhythm. And that is good. I like learning. Especially learning from such an amazing person as O-Sensei. And if there is happiness in the world, this is it.
The container was delivered to me twenty days later.
I hoisted it onto my shoulder and went into the mountains. From there I "jumped" to Massachusetts, to the outskirts of the city where Erik's University is located.
From there, I ran to him.
A few days ago, I had already visited my "little brother" and explained the task that required his help. We even practiced on regular steel (the blades turned out pretty good, by the way, sharpened down to almost a single molecule, but the metal's properties are still mediocre—it lacks the hardness to hold such an edge for long, but it's more than enough for one fight against an unarmored opponent).
And now the coveted metal was in Erik's and my hands! However, it didn't hold any particular practical value for either him or me. But what boy would refuse to play with such a toy? And what scientist would refuse to research such a completely illogical object? That's why it was coveted.
* * *
In the morning, I dragged an old reinforced concrete lamppost into the dojo courtyard. And I dug it in the middle, under the curious and bewildered gazes of the students. But they didn't interfere. They even helped dig and tamp down the earth.
But by the time Morihei arrived, curiosity had eaten away at everyone. The question "for... what?" was readable in every gaze.
But finally, here he was. I walked out to him with a bundle in my hands and bowed deeply. O-Sensei carefully accepted it and unwrapped it. Inside the bundle lay a sword—my and Erik's joint creation.
He slowly drew the blade from the scabbard (by the way, we had to tinker with them too, fitting them so the blade wouldn't slice them open when drawn, but we managed) and admired it in the light. He even reached out with a finger to test the cutting edge. I intercepted his hand warningly and shook my head. And then I suggested he test the sword on the lamppost (I didn't spend the whole morning digging it in for nothing, did I).
I don't know about anyone else, but Morihei didn't hesitate or act cautiously. He smiled, shrugged, and slashed at the concrete post diagonally, as if it were a bamboo trunk during tameshigiri. And he almost fell, because the target offered almost no resistance (a monomolecular edge from the God-Master of Magnetism is no joke), and the top of the post slowly slid off the cut. And it almost crushed one of the students; luckily, I managed to react in time and intercept it right by the lucky guy's head.
Anyway, over the next hour, nothing was left of the post but thinly sliced pancakes. Morihei wasn't greedy and let everyone who wanted to try, and he didn't hold back himself either.
So I managed to gift my Teacher forty minutes of happiness and joy. That was worth all the effort and even a severed arm.
At the end, O-Sensei wanted to return the sword to me, but I firmly stated that it was a gift. My gift to him. And if he didn't accept it, I would be offended. He didn't put up any more resistance, and the katana took a place of honor on the shomen of the training hall in the dojo.
And Erik never found any bugs, beacons, or any similar nastiness in the container. Make of that what you will...
* * *