The villagers scattered in panic as the shots rang out, some of them nearly hit by stray bullets.
Cole watched in mild surprise as Logan's body finally crumpled to the ground, blood pooling beneath him. "Hmph. I expected more, honestly," he said with a sigh. "No aura, after all. A pity."
He stepped over Logan's motionless body, his men following suit. "See, was that so hard, everyone?" Cole asked, turning his attention back to the villagers, now scattered and terrified. "With that little distraction out of the way, we can begin our search in earnest. Get the scanners. I want this Dust located before—"
"Ouch… that hurt more than I thought it would."
Cole froze, his eyes widening in disbelief. Slowly, he turned back to see Logan pushing himself up from the ground, bullets falling from his skin. The holes in his body sealed up almost instantly, leaving only the bloodstains on his shirt as evidence that anything had happened.
"That was some powerful stuff. Strongest rifle shots I've taken in a while," Logan growled, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off a mild inconvenience. "But now it's my turn."
One of the soldiers gasped in horror. "He bled! That means he doesn't have an aura! How is this possible?"
Logan grinned, his expression feral. "Aura? Never heard of it. But there's a field full of assholes here, and I'm about to take you all down."
With a snikt, Logan's claws extended from his knuckles, the razor-sharp adamantium gleaming in the light. He crossed them in front of him in a lethal X formation.
Then he lunged.
"Don't just stand there, you imbeciles, shoot him!"
Cole's command snapped his men out of their stunned silence, drawing their focus back to the furious creature in front of them. "I don't know what little trick he has, but he can bleed, which makes this a whole lot easier!"
The air was filled with the deafening sound of gunfire.
Ratatatatatatata!
Logan's growl deepened as he charged towards the armed men, his body a blur of rage and determination. Bullets peppered his flesh, ripping through muscle and sinew, but each impact seemed to only spur him onward. He felt each sting, each burst of pain, and it only fueled the storm brewing inside him. His blood boiled with a wild, animalistic fury. His eyes were locked on Cole, the man who had dared to command others to kill him.
With every step, the bullets that once staggered him began to lose their power. Logan's body adapted, the pain growing distant, a familiar rhythm that barely registered in his mind. His healing factor did its work, knitting his wounds as fast as they were torn open, his body a living testament to raw survival.
As he closed the distance, the gunfire slowed, hesitation gripping the soldiers as the reality of what they faced sank in. Logan's gaze was a beacon of death, and his claws gleamed in the dim light, unsheathing with a metallic snikt. In that moment, the men froze—fear gripping them like a vice.
Logan lunged, claws aimed directly at Cole's throat. But Cole reacted in a flash, swiping his hand through the air. A fierce gust of wind struck Logan like a battering ram, hurling him backward. He crashed through the walls of a nearby house, the wooden structure shuddering and then collapsing in a cloud of dust and debris.
Cole watched the wreckage settle with a triumphant sneer. The soldiers began to relax, their breaths coming out in relieved gasps, weapons lowering as they realized they wouldn't have to fight the monster any longer.
But the villagers—those who had seen Logan fight—did not share that relief. They stared at the ruins of the house, terror and hope mingling in their eyes.
"What an odd monster…" Cole muttered, his tone half-curious, half-disdainful. "No aura, yet he has powers. A faunus, maybe? But faunus can't regenerate from bullet wounds without aura… so much to think about."
He turned his gaze back to the wreckage, a satisfied smirk on his face. This beast would be a puzzle for later, once he had the village under his control. He had already decided to—
BANG!
Cole's thoughts were interrupted as a heavy support beam shot out of the rubble, smashing into his chest with a force that made his aura shimmer and buckle. He staggered backward, his breath knocked out of him.
"Hold that for me, will ya?" Logan's voice cut through the dust, and he emerged from the ruins, battered but very much alive. His flesh was torn and bloodied, yet the wounds were already sealing, muscles knitting themselves back together in a grotesque dance of regeneration. He tore off the remnants of his tattered shirt, leaving his chest bare, the bullet holes visible for only a second before vanishing completely. His eyes burned with a cold fury as they locked onto Cole.
"You…! You have no idea who you're dealing with, animal!" Cole spat, scrambling to his feet and glaring daggers at Logan. He raised his voice, making sure the villagers heard every word. "I am an SDC executive! Listen, everyone, I have changed my mind! Because of your friend here, you all will be the SDC's new employees!"
He let the word "employees" hang in the air, the threat clear. This wasn't a job offer—it was a declaration of ownership.
"Not this man, however." Cole's lips curled into a cold, mocking smile. "No, he—he will die!"
Logan's snarl was almost a chuckle. "Oh yeah? I hope for that every single fucking day. But guess what, bub? I'm still here!" He took a step closer, his claws glinting dangerously. "I don't give a damn about what's goin' on here, but I do know you're tryin' to take somethin' that doesn't belong to you. And I ain't lettin' that slide."
"Who are you to tell me what is mine and what isn't?" Cole's voice dripped with contempt. "What are you, some country bumpkin? Do you even have a million vali's to your name? Any property? I will not be denied, especially not by a beast like you!"
Logan's eyes narrowed. "Wait… did you just say SDC?" His tone shifted, a strange hint of recognition flickering across his face.
"Oh? Now you understand the severity of your situation?" Cole sneered, misinterpreting the sudden shift in Logan's demeanor as fear.
"Yeah, I remember them," Logan said, his expression twisting into a mocking grin. "The shitty dumbass committee, right?"
There was a stunned silence. Then, someone snorted—a soldier in a helmet trying to stifle his laughter. It was futile. A kid in the village burst out laughing, and soon, the sound spread. The tension shattered as the villagers, even under the shadow of Cole's threat, found humor in Logan's blunt and irreverent mockery.
Cole's face turned a deep, furious red. His teeth ground together, and in a fit of rage, he swiped his hand again. A blade of wind shot towards Logan, slicing through the air with deadly intent. Logan, almost lazily, tilted his head to the side, the attack missing him by inches.
"Too slow," Logan said with a wicked grin.
"…Slow…?!" Cole's voice rose to a shriek as he sent a barrage of razor-sharp gusts, each one faster and more desperate than the last. The wind tore through the village, rattling windows and forcing his own men to back away.
But Logan was unstoppable. Each gust was dodged with ease, his movements precise and almost effortless. He weaved between the attacks, his gaze never leaving Cole. Every step brought him closer, and Cole's rage turned to panic.
"Don't back up, you fools! Fight!" Cole's voice was hysterical. "Any man who runs will be fired, effective immediately!"
The soldiers hesitated, then obeyed, their guns rising as one. The bullets flew toward Logan, but he barely acknowledged them. With a fluid, practiced motion, he popped his claws, slashing through each projectile as if they were no more than gnats. His movements were a blur of deadly grace, the sharp metallic snikt of his claws slicing the air with terrifying speed.
He was upon Cole in an instant, his claws flashing out. The attack struck true, slicing across Cole's arm. The SDC executive staggered back, clutching the wound, his aura barely holding. He retaliated with another desperate gust, forming a miniature tornado around Logan.
Logan stood his ground, teeth bared against the biting winds that lashed at his flesh. The cuts deepened, blood pooling in the dust at his feet, but he didn't flinch.
"Go in, now!" Cole screamed, his voice cracking with desperation. His men obeyed, charging at Logan with blades of glowing plasma. They moved in unison, their target clear—the beast's vital organs.
With a roar, they struck, their weapons piercing Logan's flesh. He coughed blood, his vision momentarily blurred, and for a heartbeat, the world seemed to stop.
Cole's grin was triumphant. "There! Cut his head off!"
One of the soldiers raised his blade, swinging it down towards Logan's neck. But the moment the plasma blade made contact, it failed to sever the skin, barely breaking the surface. Logan's eyes snapped open, and the soldier froze, staring into the enraged gaze of a man who refused to die.
"Not fuckin' sharp enough, bub!" Logan's voice was a guttural growl, the rage within him boiling over.
His roar echoed through the village as he tore free of his captors, muscles straining and tendons snapping back into place. He grabbed the blade lodged in his chest, wrenching it free from the soldier's grip, and flung the man aside like a ragdoll. His fury unleashed, Logan's movements were a blur of feral brutality.
Twisting his body, he flung the soldiers who had impaled him to the ground, his claws finding the nearest one's throat. He didn't hesitate, didn't slow—three quick stabs, and the soldier's aura shattered like glass. Blood poured from the wound as Logan's claws pierced flesh.
"Three hits, huh?" Logan's voice was almost conversational, a deadly calm settling over him. He glanced around at the men still on the ground, each one pale with terror. "That's no problem!"
He lunged forward, claws raised, and the fight began anew.
Addaparelle groaned as consciousness dragged her out of what had been an exceptionally deep and peaceful sleep. She had no idea what had disturbed her, but the faint sounds of commotion filtering in from outside made it clear something wasn't right. Rolling over with a reluctant sigh, she cracked one eye open, blinking blearily at the dimly lit room.
"What the hell…" she muttered, her voice scratchy from sleep. She swung her legs off the bed, her bare feet meeting the cool, wooden floor. Running a hand through her wavy blonde hair, she stood and stretched, still half-asleep.
The noise outside persisted, now unmistakably the sounds of voices raised in alarm. Addaparelle's groggy state was quickly replaced with alertness. She moved to the window, pulling back the curtain just enough to peer outside.
A cluster of villagers had gathered in the center of the town square. The way they huddled together, their faces pale and anxious, immediately set her instincts on edge. Something had them spooked.
She didn't hesitate. Her nightgown was replaced in moments with her usual attire: a long violet robe that nearly skimmed the ground, embroidered with intricate, mystic symbols that shimmered faintly in the early morning light. Strapped to her back was her signature weapon—a large, golden mirror that glimmered with a soft, otherworldly glow.
Once outside, Addaparelle's sharp eyes scanned the area. Her training as a huntress kicked in, her mind already on high alert for any signs of Grimm. But the usual markers of a Grimm attack—blackened footprints, deathly silence, or even the distant howls of approaching creatures—were absent. There were no bodies, no carnage. Just the villagers, whispering nervously and glancing over their shoulders.
Then the sound of gunfire tore through the morning air.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Addaparelle stiffened, her head snapping toward the sound. Screams followed, echoing through the narrow streets. She didn't wait for more clues. With a burst of aura-enhanced agility, she leapt onto the nearest rooftop, crouching low as she scanned the scene.
Her sharp gaze landed on a group of men—soldiers, clearly. They moved in formation, clad in white, pristine armor that shimmered in the sunlight. Their movements were disciplined, deliberate, and far too polished to be common bandits.
'Atlantean soldiers,' she thought grimly, narrowing her eyes. Only Atlantis could afford to outfit soldiers with gear like that. But what were they doing in such a remote, backwater town?
Her gaze shifted to the center of the chaos, where the soldiers were converging. There, surrounded by armored bodies, was a man—a wild, brutal figure who moved with animalistic ferocity.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, though his hunched posture and ragged appearance made him seem almost feral. His shirtless torso was a canvas of cuts, bruises, and blood, yet he fought with unrelenting energy. His fists—if they could still be called that—were equipped with long, metallic claws that extended from his knuckles. Those claws slashed through armor and flesh alike, carving a brutal path through the soldiers.
Addaparelle frowned, tilting her head as she observed him more closely. "A Faunus?" she murmured to herself. But no, something about him was… off. His movements were too brutal, too primal, even for a Faunus. And despite the numerous gunshot wounds dotting his body, he moved as if the pain didn't exist.
"I guess I'd better step in before he gets himself killed," she muttered with a sigh.
With a fluid motion, Addaparelle jumped down from the rooftop, landing softly behind a group of villagers who had gathered at a safe distance to watch the fight. Her sudden appearance startled them, and they quickly turned to her, their faces lighting up with a mixture of relief and desperation.
"M-Miss Goodwitch?! Y-you're here?!" stammered a mousy man with disheveled brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses.
"Addaparelle," she corrected sharply. "Miss Goodwitch makes me sound old. That's my mother. And you are… Justin, right?"
"It's Michael!" he corrected, adjusting his glasses with an indignant huff. "We met yesterday!"
"Did we?" Addaparelle said flatly. "Don't remember."
"Wha—" Michael sputtered, throwing his hands up. "Never mind that! We're under attack!"
"I can see that," she replied dryly, her sharp eyes flicking to the ongoing battle.
"You're going to help, right? Those bastards just barged in and started tearing the place apart!"
Addaparelle raised an eyebrow. "Really? What do they even want? No offense, but this town doesn't exactly have much worth stealing unless they're desperate for wheat."
"That's just it," Michael said, glancing nervously at the other villagers for support. "We don't know! But they're tearing the place apart looking for something. And that man over there—" he gestured to the clawed fighter, "—he's trying to protect us, but I'm worried he won't last much longer. These soldiers are trained!"
Addaparelle's gaze lingered on the wild man. "Who is he?"
"No idea," said a woman from the crowd. "He showed up a few days ago. Old Carl's been putting him up, but no one knows much about him."
"Hmm…" Addaparelle tapped her chin thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing.
"Please, Miss Addaparelle," Michael pleaded. "Can't you help him? He's fighting so hard for us!"
"The rate he's going, he's going to die," another villager muttered grimly.
"No," Addaparelle said, her tone sharp enough to draw their attention. "That's not the problem."
"What do you mean?" Michael asked, confused.
Addaparelle crossed her arms, her gaze unwavering as she analyzed the wild man. "He should be dead already. In the time we've been talking, he's been shot over forty times. Some of those wounds should be fatal. And yet, he keeps fighting."
The villagers exchanged uneasy glances.
"Well, that's magic, isn't it?" Michael offered weakly. "You hunters can do the impossible."
Addaparelle shook her head. "It's not magic. We call it aura. It's the manifestation of a person's soul—spiritual energy that protects and empowers us. With aura unlocked, a trained huntsman or huntress can do incredible things. My sister, for example, can uproot trees with her mind. But that man…"
She held up two fingers. "There are two things that don't add up. First, those claws. If they're his semblance, then there's no way he could also have a healing ability as strong as what we're seeing. Second—and more importantly—" she paused, her voice dropping slightly, "he has no aura. None."
The crowd froze, stunned into silence.
"What?" Michael asked, his voice almost a whisper. "No aura? How is that possible?"
"I can't explain it," Addaparelle said, her tone grim. "But what I do know is this: he's not like me. He's just like all of you."
I won't lie, people often called me an animal. Logan you're a beast, from women in the bed. Logan you're a beast from my opponents right before I stab their ass in the throat.
And honestly…
They aren't wrong.
When I get angry, everything just blurs.
Right now I'm at an annoyed, angry level, and rightfully so. With me having to constantly block thess fuckin' bullet as they come at me, traveling at the speed of light.
Might be a bit of an exaggeration but who the hell cares? Not me.
As I sidestep another shower of bullets I close I finally reach a good enough proximity that my claws matter. These fuckers finally realized that there fancy guns don't mean shit anymore.
I could see Mr. Poppins begin to back up as the men create a circle around him.
That didn't mean anything to me.
SLINK.
I reflexingly raise my arms as suddenly a sword cuts through my arm, shredding the skin, close to the bone. I look only for a second before grabbing the weird red sword.
Sizzle. Sizzle.
It burned like shit.
Didn't care, however, as I wrenched it out of his hand and stabbed him repeatedly until his aura broke and from there it was game over.
"Y'all's guns can turn into weapons now? What year is it again?"
"Hold your ground!" What sounded like the commander of the troops, shouted.
It didn't matter. I slashed and I slashed and I slashed. My blood was starting to heat up now and I hardly paid attention to who I was slashing. All I knew was that there was obstacles in my way and I had to take them down.
"Send out Bob!"
Someone in the back seemed to exclaim. Suddenly, I heard the sound of bricks breaking, and I barely managed to move out of the way as a meaty fist flew through the air.
The soldiers next to me were not so lucky and were sent flying like rocks down a river.
As I rolled I managed to get a good look at the guy whose name was "Bob.".
He was a tall and large man who stood at a solid seven feet. He wore the same color garment that the soldiers wore for pants and was shirtless exposing his large belly that was tattooed up. His face was round and his eyes were fierce. My first thought was that he reminded me an awful lot of Juggernaut.
If Juggernaut had a son who didn't live up to his potential, that is.
"Bob, smash you!"
"Not your catchphrase, bub!" I snarled, charging in. I thrusted my claws, intent on killing him fast. Before I could, however, he grabbed my face and slammed me into a house.
He then grabbed me again, but this time I was ready and scored a slice down his arm.
He roared in pain and threw me again. I flew through the air but managed to catch myself. Enraged he took to offense, throwing a wild haymaker. Because of his size, avoiding it was easy and I sliced at his stomach.
This time however, that stupid barrier blocked my path.
I was really getting tired of this charade. He used the opening granted to him to try and grab me but I was quicker. Ducking under his meaty hands I kneed him in the chin, pressing my weight onto him by grabbing onto his face as leverage.
And of course, since I do weigh several hundred pounds it wasn't that hard.
His fat self hit the floor with a thud and he was mine from there. Several slashes later and he was unmoving on the ground.
Finally, I got off him, standing up and swiping off the blood from my claws.
"Well, who's next, bubs?!"
Before I could get an answer to my question, I saw myself suddenly. I was covered in blood and frankly, I looked like shit, there was no two ways to it.
But why was I…
"Wait just a moment."
Logan looked to see a giant mirror floating and the one who seemed to be controlling it was some chick dressed up like she was going trick or treating a few years too late.
She had platinum blond hair and green eyes and looked to be around her early thirties. All in all she was just a fuckin' bombshell. No two ways about it.
"Huh?"
"Look at yourself in the mirror. You look a fucking mess."
"Sorry, princess, I'll make sure to put my makeup on after I kick his snobby little ass…" I said, pointing my claws at the man who stood with a scowl behind his men. He was on what looked to be some typa device and seemed to be getting chewed out.
I could make out some words through the chatter.
"Dust… money… business… right now… of your pension." The fuckin' Cole brat's face rapidly paled it was amazing to see. I had more news for him too.
"Hello? Are you listening?"
"No."
The woman got irritated.
"Look, leave this matter to me. This village is my responsibility and so I plan on taking care of them myself and bringing them to the Valean council to be charged for their crimes. I appreciate the help you've given the village but your role is over." She said, turning around.
Everything she said went in one ear and out the other. Who was she to tell him what to do? I was just about to push past her to finish my business with this guy when suddenly, I found my movements constrained. My feet were off the ground and I swung my arms around trying to gain any type of leverage. I didn't do the air.
"Woah! What are you doing?!"
"Keeping you out of this." She said and as she did I was sent flying.
"Fuck!"
Carl's heart pounded furiously in his chest, each beat like the drum of war echoing through his ears. He could not stop himself from constantly glancing up, anxiously, as if the very roof were seconds away from collapsing.
No, that was not the issue. The issue wasn't nature, but what had taken over that very force.
Humans.
More specifically, the SDC. He knew it had to be them. There was no way that such vehicles could belong to anyone else but them.
"What do I do? What should I do?" Carl muttered under his breath, his voice shaking as he paced back and forth across the uneven floor of the rainbow-colored cavern. The crystalline dust deposits lining the walls shimmered with an ethereal light, casting brilliant, prismatic reflections around the space. But their beauty did nothing to soothe him. If anything, it only deepened his fear. These precious resources, untapped and untouched, were worth a fortune — millions of lien, perhaps more. And the SDC would stop at nothing to claim them.
Carl knew what the arrival of the Schnee Dust Company meant. It meant destruction. It meant devastation. They wouldn't hesitate to raze the entire village to the ground if it meant securing this cavern's bounty. The thought of his home, his friends, his life — all reduced to ash and rubble — filled him with a cold dread. But more than that, it filled him with rage.
His wife's work, her dream — everything they had built together — would be stolen by the hands of a greedy corporation whose only goal was to fatten their already overflowing pockets. He couldn't allow that. He wouldn't.
"No… I can't let that happen," Carl whispered fiercely, his hands balling into fists. His voice grew stronger as the resolve hardened within him. "I won't let that happen."
He took a steadying breath, eyes flicking toward the entrance of the cave. If it came down to it, he would defend this place with his last dying breath. He owed his wife that much. This cave, this dust, their legacy — it wouldn't fall into the hands of those vultures. Not without a fight.
For a brief moment, his thoughts turned to Logan — the strange man who had wandered into their village not long ago. There was something… off about him. Carl couldn't quite put his finger on it, but the feeling was undeniable. Logan wasn't a Faunus — Carl was sure of that — yet there was something about him that felt untamed. Wild. Like a beast barely contained beneath the skin of a man.
Logan carried himself with the air of a seasoned warrior, someone who had seen far too many battles and walked away from every one of them. He was calm, composed, deadly — a perfect soldier. And yet…
He wasn't.
For all his strength and skill, Logan was a mystery. He didn't even seem to know the most basic things — where they were, what continent this was, or even what a Faunus was. It was as if he had just… appeared, fully grown and utterly lost.
The more Carl thought about it, the stranger Logan seemed. Maybe it would be better to keep his distance. Whatever trouble Logan was mixed up in, Carl had enough of his own to worry about. Let the wild man find his own way — Carl had a village and a legacy to protect.
Crash.
Carl froze, every muscle in his body tensing at the sudden, sharp sound of wood splintering above him. His blood ran cold. That was his house. Someone was inside.
Without hesitation, he reached for the weapon he always kept close — his shotgun. But this wasn't an ordinary firearm loaded with simple gunpowder. This was his own creation: a dust-infused shotgun, crafted with precision and care. One pull of the trigger, and the target wouldn't just fall — they'd explode. He was confident it had enough power to punch through even the advanced armor worn by Atlas soldiers.
Moving with slow, practiced caution, Carl began ascending the wooden steps leading out of the basement. Each step was deliberate, his weight shifting carefully to avoid making any telltale creaks. The sounds of rummaging continued above — drawers opening, objects being overturned. Someone was searching for something.
He reached the top of the stairs just as he heard it — the quick, unmistakable sound of footsteps. One set.
Good. He could handle one.
The floorboards groaned softly, and Carl knew his intruder was only moments away from opening the door.
The door swung open.
Carl didn't hesitate.
The shotgun roared, a deafening explosion followed by a burst of smoke and fire. The force of the blast sent the figure flying backward, slamming into the far wall with a crash. Flames licked at the edges of the room as the intruder landed in a heap, motionless.
For a brief, triumphant moment, Carl felt a surge of pride. He had done it — protected his home and his cave.
But that pride turned to horror when he stepped closer, his heart dropping as he peered through the smoke.
Groaning, bloody, and still smoldering… was Logan.
"This is not my day," the man muttered weakly.
A/N: Okay, I know I said Fire Burns next but I had this basically ready that I couldn't help myself. So here is the chapter. I hope you guys enjoyed and let me know if I should continue this.