The stream slapped a small wave against the bank. Logan narrowed his eyes, looked into the water—

A huge surge just below the surface; Logan got a brief glimpse of swelling water over the savage visage of Creed, attacking from below, like a gator—

As water exploded up over him, he rolled back, his claws whipping through the skin of his knuckles with the disturbing ring of steel on steel only slightly muffled by his flesh sheathes. Not fast enough. Creed's talons trailed down one arm, laying the skin and muscle open. Logan managed to roll under most of the attack, and then he was up and springing back as Creed darted after him, slashing and gouging.

His mind was far from battle frenzy as he faced off with Creed; the stakes were too high to go for deep sticks, so he'd settle for cuts, for nicks, for painful injuries that would slow Creed down. The big man leaped at him again, muscles tight and packed with the thrill of battle. Logan darted to the side and jabbed with his claws, cutting Creed's forearm and taking a chip of his elbow. As Creed whirled with a sweep of his arm, Logan ducked and jabbed as a single motion, sticking Creed in the knee.

Creed wasn't leaping at Logan, either; he couldn't afford to let Logan cut him too deep too fast, or Logan's claws just might finish him off. They squared off, and Creed feinted for a grab. Logan's claws hissed at where Creed's wrist would have been, and Creed's other hand darted out and grabbed the short man by the wrist.

In a smooth motion, his massive muscles flexing as one, Creed swung Logan off the ground and smashed him head-first into a tree. With a dull clang, the tree shivered. Creed whipped Logan toward another tree when the smaller man twisted his wrist in Creed's grip, his unspeakably sharp claws snipping through Creed's forearm flesh and cutting the tendon to his hand. Creed lost his grip in a scream of primal pain, and Logan sailed into the underbrush.

"Nice move," Logan said, springing up from the ground. He was almost twenty feet from his large attacker.

"Plenty more where that came from," Creed grunted as his flesh re-knit itself; he felt the tendon send out thin strings of new flesh, pulling his arm back together. "You got sharp little fingerknives, you know that, runt?"

"I know it," Logan said with a nod. "You know it too. I can't believe Fury agreed to let you come to this shindig just to get my metal bones."

"Fury had nothin ta do with it," Creed snarled. "You got no better claim to that metal than I do."

"I didn't even ask for it," Logan said. "Believe me," he added, nodding, "I wish they had put it in you from the start." He shivered. "All things bein equal, though, I'd have to say I'm using it at the moment and not willin ta part with my bones."

"Maybe I can convince you," Creed said, a snarl beginning in his chest. Logan grinned, spun, and darted into the undergrowth. Creed was right behind him.

Far above, the observation stand was empty, swinging gently with the wind.

Logan ran out onto a large rock that formed a clearing in the jungle. The rock was over thirty feet to a side; plenty of room for a tussle. Even early in the morning it was warm with the sun. One side dropped over a shallow slope down to more jungle.

"I still can't believe you shot Mysty in the leg," Creed said, shaking his head as he walked out of the jungle. His cuts were fading.

"You think I shoulda shot her in the head maybe?" Logan growled.

"After what she did for you. After what she was to you," Creed said. "Only time in my life I wasn't sorry to handle the leftovers." He leered at Logan. "We been real close the last couple a decades."

"Ancient history, bub," Logan growled. "Aint that simple ta rile me. She always made her own decisions."

"Not like Sweet Lisa," Creed murmured, his eyes lidded and full of memory. "Mmm."

"Awright," Logan grunted, and he hurled himself to the ground, rolling. Creed hopped back, braced, and lashed down. Logan was ready for that. He changed the course of his roll as he came in without even watching for Creed to attack; he had predicted the strike. Logan came up with a backhand swipe that caught Creed's jaw, lay his face open, and chopped his nose in two as teeth sprayed out of his shredded visage. Creed's claws darted out, latched into Logan's exposed ribs, and tore his flesh wide open as he flung the smaller man through the air, spinning, to crash into a tree and bounce to the ground.

"Hm hm hm," Creed chuckled, pushing at his face with his claws. "Taste a home, I was," he said, his voice odd and slurping as his face struggled to reform.

"Shut up," Logan snarled, leaping back toward his tormentor as blood spun in droplets through the air behind him. He leaped right at Creed, and Creed slashed towards the air he would have to cross.

Logan's claws whipped out to each side, catching Creed through the palm of one hand and the wrist of the other, and Logan slammed a kick home with all the power of his heavy body. His boot snapped right into the shredded cheek, pounding bone and blood and flesh into Creed's windpipe. Creed's face and skull were mangled. Logan spun twisting, and Creed's hand tore badly, his wrist almost cut in two. Logan landed, crouched in a flashing circle of whirling blood, clear.

He was startled as Creed stomped on his upper back, slamming him to the ground. In a swift motion, Creed shoved Logan down with all his weight, using Logan to support him; before Logan gathered presence of mind to shift, Creed brought his other foot smashing down square on Logan's skull.

Logan gasped, dark fireworks exploding behind his eyes as his ribs flexed and his spine protested the weight. His claws—pointed the wrong direction—Creed so damned heavy—

Desperate, Logan bent his arm at the elbow, putting claws up over his head. Creed had no time to change course; his boot rammed down on the angled claws protecting Logan's head; claws punched through the top of the combat boot, transfixing the huge man's foot. Creed screamed.

Balance lost in a slithering and awkward struggle, the two men fell and groped at each other's wounds for a moment before Logan rolled clear and up to one knee, blinking and choking. Creed rolled, slower, and hauled himself up to his knees, his good eye fixed on his enemy.

Both men struggled to breathe as their magnificent healing fought to clear their breathing passages, rebuild what could be quickly rebuilt.

The underbrush swished, and then another one was with them. Kravinoff spun between the two and stopped for just a moment.

For that one frozen moment the other two hunters saw him, in his mottled warpaint with his eyes shining like beacons, a magnificent and terrible man. A huge knife was strapped to his belt, and in his hand a simple club.

Then Kravinoff was moving, unwilling to sacrifice his surprise. He took a quick step to Creed and whipped his club through the air, catching him on his wounded hand. Bones crunched and shifted; Creed howled. Logan was already leaping, but Kravinoff ducked into a compact squat, his arm whipping up in a hook shot motion that rammed the tip of the club into Logan's eye socket. Between the force of the blow and the force of the leap, Logan felt a ringing snap as his eye ruptured.

Kravinoff was free and spinning, the club clanging off of Logan's exposed ribs as it sent him crashing to the side. A fluid lunge with the tip of the club rammed it into Creed's mashed face with enough force to knock him on his back. Kravinoff said nothing, instead shifting his combat stance as Logan dragged himself up to his feet and Creed lay on his back scrabbling for leverage to rise.

Logan moved sideways, wary, low to the ground in a battle crouch that made him even shorter than he already was. Kravinoff shifted stances, watching both him and Creed. He wasn't even out of breath. He wasn't nervous, Logan realized. Only excited.

Logan spun towards him, claws slashing high for his face. Kravinoff easily shifted back, the claws swishing past; but before he could counterstrike—

—he gasped in agony as Logan's other claws punched down through the top of his foot, pinning him to the ground. Some deep instinct spoke in Logan and he whipped his claws straight back out instead of simply twisting and destroying the hunter's foot.

They crouched, just out of each other's reach.

"Thanks fer shuttin him up," Logan muttered with half a smile, inclining his head toward where Creed managed to get to his feet. "Now I think yer done dancin. Sorry ta kill ya, but yer deeply nuts." Logan shrugged. "Sorry." He crouched.

In a swift deliberate motion, Kravinoff whipped the long knife out in his other hand. He twirled the weapons once, ignoring the blood pooling from his wounded foot.

Creed sailed in, and Kravinoff leaped to the side ducking under one sweeping arm. He stood spinning, taking all the momentum from his move and channeling it into the club, which slapped into Creed's elbow, snapping it from behind. He lashed out with the knife blade jutting away from the heel of his hand, ramming it through Logan's forearm as the short hunter leaped and using the force of his slash to knock Logan off track, flying past Kravinoff instead of into him. Allowing his knife to pull him into a spin with Logan's momentum, Kravinoff slashed down with the club, catching Logan square on the back of the head as the short man tumbled away. Kravinoff was facing Creed as the big man spun to charge again. Logan tumbled across the rock and lay panting for a moment.

"Yer good," Creed managed, awkward through his crushed face. "Thtrong, too."

Kravinoff said nothing, his face devoid of emotion, and he twirled his weapons once and settled into stance.

Creed struggled to catch his breath. His foot was mostly better, but his hands were still badly torn, and his right arm was useless from the elbow down. He glanced at Logan, who managed to regain his feet; the smaller hunter's face was a gory nightmare, one eye crushed. He seemed to have a little trouble with balance.

Darting forward in a lunge that was so fast it belied his bulk, Creed managed to catch Kravinoff in his sweeping grasp and bear him to the ground. Blood spattered both men as they thudded to the ground, Creed's gory injuries spraying. Creed propped himself up on his shattered elbow, about to lash down with his claws when the club smacked across this throat and the big man under him twisted. The claws came down, but the mangled wrist was blocked by a forearm. Creed felt something tear, but he could not scream. Then, in a single powerful wrench, he felt himself thrown over. He lost track of where Kravinoff was—

The knife hissed down at him as he tried to roll. Then it clanged to a stop.
For just a moment Kravinoff and Logan locked eyes as the knife was stopped between two of the claws jutting from Logan's fist.

Logan twisted his wrist in a deft motion. Two pieces of knife fell on Creed.

Kravinoff sprang back and landed on his good foot, then slid into a stance, club ready, wary.

Creed lay on the ground, panting, as Logan crouched and sidled closer to the hunter.

"You are going to have to let go, to survive this," whispered Kravinoff.

"I figure I won't," Logan growled. "You may be a hunter, bub, but ta me yer chump change."

Logan leaped to the side of Kravinoff and spun into range, claws whipping through the air. Kravinoff leaned back just far enough, then snatched at Logan's wrist. Logan let his spin carry him around, but before his free claws could catch Kravinoff in a backhand Kravinoff's club smashed into his wrist. The big man crushed his knee up into Logan's kidneys, then roared as he dropped the club and snatched Logan's wrists. Crossing them, he bent his mighty muscles into gripping Logan.

Logan's claws swept up by his shoulders, but Kravinoff's arms were huge, and he had Logan in a crushing grip. He dropped to one knee, forcing the shorter man down so he couldn't engage footwork. Logan kicked against the ground as hard as he could, violently rocking back, but Kravinoff was just too strong; Logan couldn't push free, he didn't have the leverage.

Then he heard the slap of wet footsteps, and Creed smashed into both of them. The tangle of three crashed to the ground and spun off the edge of the rock—

Ten feet down they smacked off the slope, busting the group of hunters apart, and each scrabbled at the slope as they slid away from each other.

For a moment Logan lay still, panting, feeling every muscle in his body ache. He heard Kravinoff spring up and retreat. He also heard Creed laying on the slope unmoving. He didn't raise his head to talk.

"Great," he managed. "Just great."

"Tboos," Creed said.

"What?" Logan said, propping himself up and looking over at Creed.

Creed pushed at his face. "Truce," he said. "Till I can talbk."

Logan lay back and felt his ribs regain their flesh, his head heal, his eye itch as it began to grow back in. He lay still, a mass of pain. Truce sounded like a pretty good idea…

After a few minutes, Creed started clearing his throat. When he could do so without obstruction, he rolled over and looked at where Logan lay some twenty feet away.

"Way I figure it," he said, "This nutjob is gonna git both of us if we loosen each other up for him. I think we know that now," he said, glancing up at the flat rock above.

"Yeah," Logan said. "Yeah, I think yer right."

"He's only beating us because we're distracted. I say until we've beaten Tarzan we forget about the past. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Logan muttered. "Let's check out the blood trail.

The two hunters rose and ghosted into the jungle.

xXx

"Runnin water," Logan said, squatted by the edge of the stream. "An about two dozen false trails all through here of different ages." He sighed. "Looks like he even scraped the moss off the rocks beforehand. It's not gonna be easy trackin him deeper in."

The underbrush rustled. Logan and Creed turned, tensed. Sniffed.

Then their assailant burst from the undergrowth, hurling towards them like a heavily muscled torpedo. Logan's claws were out, he caught the brunt of the assault on the six blades, let himself be hurled back, twisting, stabbing.

"I wasn't gonna say anything," Creed said, looking on in academic interest, "but I am starvin ta death."

"Shaddap," Logan grunted, shoving the dead boar off his chest, "an help me carry this thing to the beach."

xXx

Afternoon was waning when they got the skinned boar hoisted up over their campfire.

"I still think it'd be a lot easier ta eat the damned thing raw," Creed grumbled.

"You can eat yer part raw if ya want," Logan muttered. "I'm cookin mine."

A short time later they sat by the campfire, forty feet from the treeline, twenty feet from the sea, tearing into the crisp, chewy flesh of the burnt hog.

"Sis good," Creed nodded at his shoulder joint of meat. "McDead Pig," he said, and grinned broadly.

"Prolly voilatin forty er fifty health codes," Logan said around his mouthful of ribs.

Then it was quiet for a good long while as they stuffed themselves, and their bodies hungrily broke down the food and healed their grievous wounds.

Dusk was settling in as they finished eating, licking their hands. They waded out into the water and washed the grease off, then trudged back up onto the beach.

"One helluva sunset," Logan said, looking out across the foam-crested water at the blazing glory of the day's death.

"Yep," Creed grunted. "Thanks fer supper."

Logan froze, and slowly turned to look at Creed. Creed sat unmoving, watching him.

"So you figure you can take him alone," Logan said, echoing the thought in Creed's tone.

Creed slowly nodded. "Figure I can," he said.

"What about us trackin him down together?" Logan said. "That was yer idea."

"I'm feelin much better now," Creed said. "Figure I'll polish you off, use yer smelly hide fer bait."

"You just want me for my body," Logan murmured. "Some things never change." He took a deep breath, lowered his head, then raised it and looked Creed right in the eye. "If that's how it's gotta be, what d'ya think yer waitin for?"

Creed stood. "I was gonna jack you in the back when you weren't lookin, or wait until you slept, but that just seems unsportin after all our adventures together. C'mon, Logan. Show me what you have left."

They squared off. Creed started to growl. Logan's face was set; almost a little sad. He waited.

Then a glittering bit of metal hissed out of the night and stuck into Creed's leg. Creed hesitated, looking down. He plucked an eight sided star out of his leg. Another peculiar whirring, and another bright bit of metal tacked into his chest. He growled, looking into the shadow beyond the edge of the campfire.

Kravinoff stood at the edge of the treeline, bandaged where necessary, waiting. He flicked another shurkien with a simple motion of the wrist.

Creed sidestepped. He looked from Kravinoff to Logan to Kravinoff.

"Do what you gotta do," Logan said softly.

"I'll be back fer you," Creed hissed. "First I'm gonna stomp down Tarzan."

He sprang up the beach, moving at inhuman speed toward the edge of the trees. Kravinoff spun and dashed into the gathering gloom of the jungle.

Logan squatted down on his heels, stirred up the fire, and watched the edge of the trees. He felt old.

"Yer on yer own," he murmured, but he wasn't sure who he was talking to.