The Warrior with No Name

By The Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie

(Marvel Characters belong to Marvel. I made a story up to play with them.

I'm actually glad I didn't post the other part of the chapter 27 because this is a serious revision of what was originally planned.

Thank you, everyone, for your patience and even the ones with Pokey-Sticks! Pokey-Sticks and duck tape make the world go round. Don't believe me? Ask MacGyver. And that ex-spy dude from Burn Notice. Woo!

Input always welcome and much appreciated.

Also, if anyone else enjoys reading Illyana fanfiction, go check out Xakko's Book of Magik, if you haven't already!)

#

Logan knew he was dreaming when he saw Ben Grimm in a straw hat and overalls.

Why he would dream such a thing was a total mystery to the feral mutant, but it was a dream nonetheless. If Logan had a choice, which he never seemed to have, he would have preferred to dream about a leggy redhead without a stitch of clothing, a big box full of Cubans, and a cooler full of beer on a fishing boat out in the middle of nowhere. Now that would'a been a nice dream. But, no. Instead, he wound up with nightmares or this. Whatever, whenever, and where ever this was.

And he wasn't too happy about it.

Logan leaned on the other side of what appeared to be a handmade wooden fence and a wheat field. The temperature was warmer than he liked, but he ignored such things for the moment as his blue eyes pierced the scene before him. Grimm and Johnny Storm were working in the field, Johnny on a large, lumbering tractor and Grimm trailing behind him, stabbing wheat stalks with a pitchfork and tossing them into the trailer attached to Johnny's tractor. Logan's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as watched them argue a minute.

"It's my turn to drive," Grimm hollered at Johnny over the churning of the tractor's engine. "You got to last time. And the time before that. And the time before that. And the time—"

Johnny rolled his eyes heavenward as he interrupted Grimm's tyrade. "Reed's in the barn refurbishing that other one, Grimm. You can drive it after he finishes that one."

Grimm nodded and got back to work and then seemed to catch exactly what 'Torch had said. Wanting the refurbished one, he began a new argument with 'Torch, "Now, waitaminnit, Matchstick, I'm gonna drive that one when he gets done with it."

"Oh, I don't think so," said the blonde man, with a proud grin on his face. "Reed promised it to me."

"Like hell," The Thing snorted. "Just cuz yer family, don't mean nothin'. I want my own."

"Papa!"

Logan's attention was diverted from the confusing but amusing argument as a little blonde girl who resembled Shirley Temple ran full speed to who looked to be Peter Rasputin in the next field over. Peter dropped his hoe at the sight of the girl, blue eyes wide, his face a mask of anxious trepidation.

"Damn," Logan muttered, blue eyes narrowed, cursing whatever or whomever had landed him in this weird reality. Peter's tentative question confirmed the little girl's identity as the large man scooped her up and held her close. Feeling sick, dismayed and ever-so-slightly murderous, Logan scowled further, eying Zilya's doppelganger with contempt before ducking under the top and over the bottom of the two tiered fence and moving on behind The Thing and the Human Torch. He'd knock some sense into Peter later. His first priority was to find out where he was and how to get out of here. He continued on in search of the final two members of the Fantastic Four when The Thing and the Human Torch turned to do another row and had started verbally accosting each other--again.

He walked through the field and onto a path that lead to a large barn. Where ever he was, it was obviously a rural farming community, with fields of various plants taking up the majority of land. The temperature was moderate, and he was reminded very much of Siberia during summer. He'd been to Siberia several times in his lifetime and knew that Siberia, in some places, got as warm as 75 degrees or so in the summer months and dropped well below freezing during the height of winter. Blue eyes beneath scowling black eyebrows left nothing out. There were houses in neat rows and—

"Ust-Ordinsky," he realized aloud. Were they in Peter's dream? When Peter had not been allowed to return his motherland ten years ago and had been imprisoned as a traitor to the Nodina, Logan knew that the younger man had been devastated. The young Russian had suffered much in his three decades of life, first losing his country, then his wife, then his parents and brother and finally his daughter. Peter, though he'd treated her bad enough to get her taken away, was scared to death something would happen to Illyana.

The man called Wolverine eased closer to the large barn, pressing his back against it, stretched his neck around and glanced to see Sue Franklin, dressed in a drab-colored dress, handed her husband a glass of water. Reed smiled, thanked her and downed the liquid before crawling back under a tractor to fix whatever was wrong with it. Reed failed to notice the small frown that pinched her brow and tugged the corners of her lips downward. Brains needed to pay attention to his wife more, Logan found himself thinking then mentally shrugged. None of his business. No his problem.

He turned and watched as Peter took off his muddy boots outside a small house nearby, and was totally overwhelmed when the man he thought of as a friend called Kitty's name. When his Pun'kin stepped out the door, Logan couldn't help but give a smile of relief. The weight on his shoulders lifted and his heart skipped. She was okay. Thank God. There wasn't a scratch on her, and she actually looked happy, though confused, to see Peter. Pun'kin wore a white, pink and green sleeveless shirt that buttoned up and had a collar and gray Capri pants. Her brown hair was twisted on the back of her head with a pink ribbon. She was barefoot. She'd adopted the shoes off at the front door rule after her first run-in with Ogun. Logan's heart twisted at the memory, and his claws popped involuntarily. The pinching, burning sensation lasted only a second as the metal claws slid down their sheaths and broke open the skin in between his knuckles. The irritation served to jog him from his reverie.

Logan took a step closer when Pun'kin's confused but content expression became one of startled fear as her gaze settled on Zilya. He needn't have worried as he watched her get control of herself and relax, and his gaze dropped to that of Zilya, Peter's deceased daughter. Logan remembered Genosha and everything terrible his unofficially adopted daughter had gone through at the hands of Cassandra Nova. Kitty had blamed Emma—well, they all had thought Emma had turned on them. Even Jubilee, who had been Emma's student, had felt betrayed. And, after they found out otherwise, Logan, feeling sure that she'd listen to him, had asked Kitty to give Emma another chance. Of course, there was that business of Ogun just happening to reappear out of nowhere and then Pete Wisdom and his stupidity. God save the Queen, my ass, Logan thought angrily. Wisdom could have let Kitty know what he was doing. She was his teammate and fiancée for Chrissakes. Damn Fairies.

Logan growled softly as he leaned again against the barn, arms crossed, continuing to watch Peter and Kitty. They were talking softly as they sat together outside the house, Zilya scampering off into the house. Logan started, realizing he couldn't hear them. Where was his enhanced hearing? He scented the air only catching a whiff of, well, the air. It smelled like dirt and barley and fresh cut grass, but he couldn't discern anything else. He couldn't smell the Fantastic Four, Peter, Kitty or even Zilya, though the child had already disappeared from view. The feral mutant growled again knowing what he had originally assumed: that this was not just a dream but a psychic manipulation.

With that thought, Logan concentrated on waking up and, though it was like walking through very dense very heavy fog with someone beating him repeatedly with a blunt object, he briefly knew reality. Sirens, screams and the smell of smoke assaulted his senses. He was on his back, head pounding. Half-Pint—well she really wasn't his Half-Pint anymore, was she, he thought somewhat sadly—was leaning over him. He could smell her. Her spicy scent was spicier than when she was younger—yesterday—and it was laced with the harsh musk of adrenaline. It was only for an instant and then he was out cold again and back to the Siberia in the dream.

He was standing on the porch of the small cottage now, and he was looking in with a clear view of what was going on. Zilya was seated at the wooden table, her mouth full of a sandwich. She was watching Peter and Kitty closely as Peter leaned down and dropped a tender kiss onto Kitty's lips. Logan was surprised that Kitty let the Russian get so close to her, especially after Ogun's tampering, but what did he know anyway? It wasn't his business though he did feel protective of the woman now in Peter's arms.

Zilya voiced her opinion of the kissing couple loudly and Peter looked as though someone had sucker punched him. His countenance changed suddenly, and he glared at the little girl.

"David, why are you doing this?"

Now Logan had a name. Whoever this David was, he was going to enjoy turning him into a pincushion.

Kitty looked up at Peter, took his hand. "Are you gonna be alright?"

He nodded curtly but didn't look at her. "Da." He continued to watch his daughter, sighed and ran a hand across his face. He shook his head. "Nyet. I don't think I can do this, Katya," he told her hoarsely.

"Ya don't have to do it alone, Petey," Logan told him, having seen enough of this. It was time to get Peter out of here. Logan was pleasantly surprised to have an armful of his Pun'kin, and he gave her a grin. It had been too long since he'd seen her, hugged her.

"Been a while, pun'kin."

Kitty stepped out of his embrace. "I should have called sooner."

"Ya still mad at me?" he questioned really to have something to say to her.

He felt a little relief when she shook her head. "Not as much now."

Now, huh? Well, it's a start, he conceded.

Peter reached out, a look of sadness etched into his smile, and gripped Logan's hand in a firm but affable handshake. There was something else in the taller man's visage, but Logan couldn't place it. It was almost as though he looked… disappointed?

"Damned telepath," Logan told him and Peter's nod confirmed it. "I think I can wake up from this though. Just gotta fight him."

Again the peculiar look crossed Peter's face. "Just the same, it is good to see you again, Tovarisch," he told the shorter man quietly. Logan felt like he'd just been lied to, but ignored the feeling. He wasn't really himself in this manipulation. Everything was distorted by a crazy telepath. Hell, this may not even be Peter he was talking to.

"This guy's already put me through another dream sequence," Kitty said abruptly, her eyebrows furrowed in anger. "Pete and some fairy."

How the hell--? Logan's bushy brows rose. He refused to give into the temptation of telling Kitty the story Betsy Braddock had told him about how Britain and possibly the world was being overrun with murderous fairies and the only way to save it was for someone to marry the damn fairy princess. Damn Fairies.

"A fairy, huh?" he asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral. "Little 'un or big'un?"

"She was my height I guess." She gave a shrug.

Huh, maybe Ol' Wisdom was trying to be helpful. "Pete say anything?"

"Just that 'telepathy's a no go in limbo.' Whatever that's supposed to mean."

Peter and Logan shared a look. Wisdom might be helpful after all, Logan thought as Peter asked out loud, "Limbo? Illyana's Limbo?" Logan could only shrug, oh, so helpfully. How the hell should he know anyway?

Kitty looked thoroughly perplexed. "What?"

Peter explained the events that had taken place in Kitty's absence and went on to tell how Half-Pint had taken on an overlord in Limbo.

At the end of the tale, Kitty stared at them both. "So, she's my age now? Wait, how long have I been sleeping?"

"Not very long," Logan reassured her. "Limbo has no time constraints. She was probably only gone for seconds compared to how long she lived in Limbo."

"I can't wait to get reacquainted with her."

"Papa, who's that?" Zilya asked, pointing at Logan.

"Uncle Logan," Kitty answered smoothly. "I think it's time for your nap, Zilya." She took the little girl by the hand and led her away. Logan took the opportunity to intimidate Peter after he was sure they were out of earshot.

"She ain't one o' yer bimbos, Petey," he said, not mincing words.

Peter had the audacity to look wounded, holding up his hands, a faint flush spreading across his face. Logan had to fight to keep his face neutral. "We're just friends."

"Bullshit, I saw ya 'fore I walked in," Logan poked a strong finger into the Russian's chest, causing him to wince. " Ya had yer tongue down her throat."

"She—I—we—" The big Russian stopped stuttering and frowned down at Logan, dropping his hands to his head. He looked almost guilty. "I think… I think I love her, Tovarisch." Logan had to strain to hear the last part, and he found himself inexplicably angry.

Peter couldn't even take care of his little sister. Kitty was a special girl, but there was no way in hell that Peter could possibly be able to love her. Logan knew what the Russian had been through with his wife and daughter and how he now treated the women he slept with. There was no dating with Peter. As far as Logan was concerned, Peter was a dog.

He told the Russian, "She went through a lot last year."

"She has told me."

He snorted, crossed his arms over his chest. "I doubt it."

Peter tried again. "We are friends, and—I wish for more."

"Tough," the feral man growled.

Peter scowled and ran a hand over his face. He sighed and looked Wolverine straight in the eye, something he hadn't been able to do when last they'd spoken about women. "Look, just because she is your ex-lover—"

"Whu--?" Logan gaped like a fish before bristling and sputtering incoherently.

"So, you're not--" That had better not be relief, I see, Ruskie.

"O' course not, dumbass!" The Wolverine yelled. "Are ya outta yer flamin' mind, Ruskie? She's too much like my daughter ta--" He shuddered in revulsion. "Get yer head outta yer ass, Pete, and get back in the fight!" He tugged on his hair in frustration. All it took was one woman and Peter was a pile of goop. "I'll deal with ya later."

He looked over at Kitty, who had reentered the room. "The Ruskie's out of his flamin' mind!" He shuddered again at the thought, and then he was flat on his back and staring up at a metal ceiling. Was that all it took? he wondered as he sat up and took in his surroundings.

#

This was a really bad idea, Illyana thought as she raced down the sidewalk, weaving in between pedestrians as they hurried on their ways home. The streets were still clogged with irritable drivers trying to get home from work, and traffic was so much worse now because of the catastrophe up ahead. Soaked to the bone and still several blocks from the Chrysler Building, the sorceress was none too happy about the turn of events. She had been so sure she had taken the correct route, made the right choice. But the other times she had been sure too. It wasn't really her fault that she had gotten the others killed. The first time, she didn't know David's capabilities. The second time, she had underestimated her own. Memories of her mistakes surfaced as she thought of Spiderman's simple question: "Why can't you go into the lake?"

Kitty's agonized screams would forever haunt her. Her screams transitioned into Cat's shrieks and Colossus' cries as the memories became darker. Illyana shook her head to clear her thoughts. Now was not the time to be thinking such things. Cat had been like a sister to her, and she was determined to have a similar relationship with Kitty, albeit a less aggressive one.

Kitty was still alive now, the others were safe, and there was nothing she could do now to save Cat or Colossus from their fate. Or rather she shouldn't do anything. It was their sacrifice, willing or otherwise, that had enabled her to defeat the Demon Lord and to escape. Without them—or that Witch, she mentally added with a twinge of something felt remarkably like regret—Illyana felt sure that the Demon Lord would have grown too powerful for even her Sword to defeat.

Illyana paused, taking in great heaving breaths even as the rain fell in sheets onto her blonde spiky hair and her already saturated clothing. Only a little further. She could see the emergency vehicles in the distance. At least now, Illyana had more information than she had in the beginning. Logan's revival had given the sorceress a clue to the telepath's power. David had a range. Luckily she had guessed his range and gotten them to safety. And now they were waiting in Limbo for her.

Oh, how she wished Piotr was awake to really pound David. She detoured down an alley and activated her powers, appearing nearer to the building. David. The Cretan. She did not fully understand why Amelia had been taken, but she was sure it was his fault. If David had only asked Kitty, Illyana knew without a doubt that Kitty would have jumped to help him. Colossus had told her that Cat had been that way before the Demon Lord had imbued such mistrust into the woman.

The blonde Russian woman took a cleansing breath focusing her thoughts on getting into the building up to the proper floor. She edged closer to a fire truck and peered around, blue eyes taking in all. Rescue workers were steadily running people out of the building. A fire chief was giving orders in a walkie-talkie. Flames crackled as the firemen desperately tried to quell the rage of the inferno on the upper floors. The flames hissed in the rain, crying out in anguish as some of them were quelled by the tumbling drops of water from the sky and from the power sprays of the firemen's hoses. Smoke caused her to nearly choke and gag. The old fears surfaced, but she went through the series of exercises long-ago instilled upon her by Logan.

"Time to get Kitty," Illyana said quietly and called forth a stepping disc to take her to the floor she needed to be, reappearing just behind the madman. What she saw up there kicked her blood pressure into boiling. Kitty lie drenched and unconscious, strapped in a straightjacket, on the cold floor. If she was going to Hell, she thought vehemently, then she was taking David with her.

And suddenly, it was a very good idea. The N'Garai would love his flesh. She could add his soul to her collection. She seemed to recall that she enjoyed collecting such things just as the pentacle on her hand glowed eerily. And he screamed like such a little girl when Darkchilde made her intentions known.

Limbo stretched out before them as she called her weapon, the Sword that the Demon Lord had wanted so very badly. The pentagram on her hand pulsed, sinking into her skin, black scrawling slithering up her arm over her back and down the other, forming black lightning against her red-colored skin. The Sword throbbed against her hand, power coursing through her, and she allowed herself to dive deep into her hate, loving the fact that the little human was cowering and screaming before her. Darkchilde wanted so to have another soul. She was good at collecting things, she thought as the pentacle on her hand glowed a deeper red and the lightning bolts on her body writhed with a life seemingly of their own.

"Welcome to Limbo, David," she taunted, eyes narrowed to slits, "hope you survive the experience. I very sure you won't."

Two of her precious N'Garai slithered and hissed and snapped and the little human screamed louder, wetting himself in the process. Oh, how delightful. Yes. Yesss. The little human's soul glowed. It would be soon that she could have it for herself. A new demon. Yes.

"Look, look!" the demon sorceress crowed to her minions. "See how he fears us!"

The scaly N'Garai grinned, baring their spiky maw of teeth, acid drool dripping. "Human flesh," they hissed in a language only Darkchilde knew.

"You took me and my friend," she told David, holding her sword aloft, "and used us against my brother, David. For that you will be punished!"

"N'Garai Demons? " Piotr's voice asked from behind them. Darkchilde whirled around, horrified that Colossus was awake. His eyes widened as he took in her demonic appearance. "Illyana? What—what has happened to you?"

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(Hopefully it was worth the wait. Input welcome. I'd like to know what you thought.)