The standoff in the desolate valley stretched, taut and heavy as the moments before a thunderstorm. Wolverine remained coiled, a predator sizing up an inexplicable phenomenon. His claws, though no longer poised for an immediate killing strike, still glinted menacingly in the dappled sunlight filtering through the pines. Elias Thorne, empowered and transformed, met that feral intensity with an unnerving, newfound calm, the mirrored adamantium instincts within him whispering warnings and tactical assessments even as he spoke of alliance.
"You don't know what you're messing with, kid," Logan finally growled, his voice a harsh rasp. The term "kid" was ironic, given the centuries of weariness etched into his own features, but Elias, physically still sixteen despite the ageless power now thrumming through him, understood the sentiment. "People who offer help usually want something. Something I ain't willing to give."
"Everyone wants something, Logan," Elias replied evenly. The constant, low-level thrum of Logan's psionic distress, which Elias could now perceive due to the mirrored abilities, was a dissonant counterpoint to his calm words. It was a mind perpetually on the edge of a razor. "I want understanding. I want strength, properly applied. This world… it chews up unique individuals like us and spits them out, or tries to turn them into tools. I offer a different path. A way to be more than just a weapon, more than just a hermit hiding from a past that clearly haunts you."
He didn't press. He let his words hang in the crisp mountain air. He could feel the immense, almost gravitational pull of Logan's power, even without further empowerments. His own Host Power, which the System now simply designated as [CLASSIFIED – Recalibrating to Omega Tier Metrics], was a dizzying new reality. His senses were a symphony of overwhelming detail: the scent of pine needles crushed underfoot miles away, the frantic heartbeat of a rabbit frozen in fear in a distant thicket, the subtle shift of barometric pressure signaling a change in weather. It was exhilarating and terrifying. The mirrored healing factor was already at work, knitting together microscopic muscle tears from the sudden influx of power, alleviating the slight disorientation.
Logan slowly, almost reluctantly, retracted his claws. The snikt was softer this time, less aggressive. "Words are cheap," he grunted, but his posture eased infinitesimally. The immediate threat was receding.
"Actions, then," Elias said. "Come with me, Logan. Not as a prisoner. Not as a servant. As an… associate. Observe. See the world I'm navigating. See the forces I'm gathering. If, after a time, you decide this isn't for you, you're free to return to your solitude. Though I suspect that solitude offers you little comfort."
This was another gamble. Allowing a being of Wolverine's power to simply walk away after revealing so much was a risk. But the potential reward of voluntary alliance, as hinted by the System's "Pacification & Integration" objective, was far greater than coerced servitude.
Thomas MacIntyre and Joe Tomah watched this exchange with barely concealed awe. Thomas, though fiercely loyal to Elias, was still grappling with the sight of his young employer manifesting adamantium claws and facing down a creature of legend. Joe, ever the pragmatist of the wilderness, recognized a shift in the natural order, a powerful spirit making an uneasy peace with another.
Logan stared at Elias for a long, searching moment, his animalistic eyes trying to pierce the calm facade. What he saw, Elias hoped, was not a master, but a fellow power, offering a lifeline from an ocean of pain.
"Got nothing to lose, 'cept this damned quiet," Logan finally muttered, more to himself than to Elias. "Alright, kid. I'll see your 'world'. But try any funny business, and those claws of yours won't be the only ones tasting blood."
An uneasy truce. It was more than Elias had dared hope for in the immediate aftermath of the empowerment.
The System updated silently: [Objective: Pacification & Integration (Wolverine) – Phase 1: Tentative Alliance Achieved. Loyalty Meter (Wolverine): 5% (Wary Curiosity, Self-Preservation – Extremely Volatile). Further interaction and trust-building required.]
Only 5% loyalty. Extremely volatile. But it was a start. The path to full symbiotic resonance was long and treacherous.
The return journey from the Serpent's Spine was… different. Wolverine moved through the wilderness with an unsettling silence and speed that even Joe Tomah grudgingly admired. He spoke little, his presence a brooding, powerful undercurrent. Elias walked beside him, a strange pairing: the impeccably dressed, preternaturally composed young landlord, and the feral, centuries-old mutant. Thomas followed, a watchful guardian, while Anya and the new pilot collected them from Lac Perdu, Anya's keen eyes cataloging Logan's every subtle movement and reaction to this re-entry into a semblance of civilization.
Back in Montreal, the change in Elias was subtle to the outside world but profoundly felt by his inner circle. He moved with a new, almost fluid grace. His already keen intellect now processed information with blinding speed. His gaze, when he chose, could be as piercing and unsettling as Wolverine's own. His senses were a constant barrage, which he quickly learned to filter, to control, lest the sheer volume overwhelm him. He could hear conversations through thick walls, smell deceit or fear on a person's breath, see details that were previously invisible. The world was sharper, louder, more intensely real.
Dr. Finch, when Elias next met with him, paused mid-sentence, peering at his young landlord over his spectacles. "Mr. Thorne… you seem… revitalized. Remarkably so. Your cognitive acuity… it feels even sharper than before, if such a thing were possible." Finch, with his own partial Archer enhancement, was perhaps the only one who could subconsciously sense the quantum leap in Elias's mental processing.
Elias merely smiled. "The northern air was… invigorating, Doctor."
He installed Logan in a discreet, secure apartment he owned in a non-descript building, far from his other operations. It was sparsely furnished, utilitarian. Logan seemed to prefer it that way, prowling the small rooms like a caged panther, his discomfort with enclosed spaces palpable. Elias didn't try to integrate him into his network immediately. He let Logan acclimate, observe, occasionally engaging him in brief, carefully neutral conversations, testing the waters of his temperament. He provided food, good whiskey (which Logan consumed in startling quantities with little visible effect), and solitude when clearly desired.
Anya was tasked with discreetly observing Logan's patterns within this new "urban lair." Her reports spoke of restlessness, of Logan spending hours staring out the window, his gaze distant and haunted. She also noted his senses were almost impossible to fool; he'd often look directly at her observation post, even when she was blocks away and perfectly concealed, as if he could taste her watching him on the wind.
Elias found the mirrored berserker rage a difficult, seductive undercurrent within himself. It was a well of immense power, promising to sweep away obstacles with savage force. But it also threatened to consume his carefully cultivated control. He spent hours in quiet meditation, not of a spiritual kind, but a mental exercise of partitioning, of building walls around that feral instinct, learning to access it only when absolutely necessary. His newfound psionic resistance helped, acting like a dampener.
The city's underworld continued its slow burn. Scarelli, after the public humiliation of Angie Trapani, was becoming increasingly isolated, his remaining men jumpy and demoralized. Fitzpatrick was consolidating power, but with a cautious awareness of the mysterious "Thorne" who seemed to operate with impunity from the shadows.
Elias, now armed with the power of the Wolverine, looked upon these squabbles with a new perspective. They were small cogs in a much larger machine he was beginning to envision. His empire, forged in property and System-granted powers, was about to be reinforced with something far older, far more primal, and infinitely more dangerous. The adamantium in his bones and the feral power in his blood were a constant reminder that the rules of the game had fundamentally changed. He wasn't just a player anymore. He was rapidly becoming the board itself.