Fate seldom grants mercy. It leads people to believe they have reached the lowest depths, only to reveal an abyss even further below. The cruelest part is not the suffering itself but the glimmer of hope it leaves behind—just enough to make a man fight against the inevitable, to persist in regret and pain.
James Howlett sat atop a moss-covered boulder deep within the autumn-kissed woods, the dying sunlight filtering through the canopy above. His breathing was slow, controlled, his eyes closed in deep meditation. Yet beneath the illusion of calm, frustration simmered like molten iron. He could feel the sickness clawing at the edges of his consciousness, the unexplained fevers that left him weak and vulnerable. No matter how rigorously he trained his body, no matter how much he built his endurance, this strange illness always returned. It was a betrayal of flesh, a mystery beyond even the medical knowledge he had once possessed in another life.
Then, as if something inside him had finally snapped, his eyes opened—red-rimmed, sharp, and burning with barely restrained fury. He exhaled sharply, pushing off the boulder with a single powerful strike, flipping midair before landing in a crouch. His muscles coiled like steel cables beneath his skin as he launched into a brutal assault of fists, elbows, and kicks, unleashing every form of combat he had ever mastered.
His movements flowed like water, a deadly dance that blended Xingyi's Five Elements, the ferocity of Tiger and Eagle, the precision of Baguazhang, and the sheer power of Bajiquan. The air cracked with each strike, his feet grinding fallen leaves into the dirt. Every punch carried the force of a thunderclap, every step shook the ground with raw energy.
The massive black-and-white stallion he called Panda snorted nervously, stomping at the ground as it backed away. It had seen its master train before, but never like this. This was not disciplined practice—this was something primal, something dangerous.
James' body was a blur, his fists hammering into the thick tree trunks, sending bark and splinters flying. The whirlwind of combat was not merely an exercise; it was an outpouring of rage, of helplessness, of the insatiable hunger to control his own destiny. He was no longer just practicing to strengthen his body—he was challenging the very laws of nature.
And then, it happened.
A surge of power erupted from within him, traveling down his spine like a shockwave. His muscles tensed, his veins darkened, and for the briefest of moments, he felt something... awaken.
With one final, explosive strike, his fist connected with the boulder where he had been meditating moments before.
CRACK.
The impact sent vibrations through the earth. Dust and debris shot into the air as a deep crater formed in the rock, spreading outward in jagged fractures. His hand remained embedded in the stone, untouched, unbroken. The power he had just unleashed was unlike anything he had ever experienced.
James slowly withdrew his hand, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession. He flexed his fingers, testing their movement. There was no pain, no bruising—just an unsettling realization.
He had just broken a boulder with his bare hand.
A slow smirk formed on his lips, his earlier frustration replaced by exhilaration. He had spent years trying to surpass the limits of human potential, and now, he had done something even his past life's greatest masters could not.
But before he could revel in his newfound strength, a familiar heat surged through his body.
No... Not now.
The sensation started as a dull burn in his bones, spreading through his limbs like wildfire. His vision blurred, the world tilting as he stumbled backward. A searing pain coiled around his forearms, tightening like a vice. His breath hitched, his fingers twitching uncontrollably.
Then came the agony.
White-hot, all-consuming, primal.
James let out a guttural roar as he collapsed to his knees, his fingers digging into the dirt, his muscles spasming violently. Sweat drenched his body as his pupils dilated, shifting from dark brown to an eerie, glowing amber. His breath came in ragged gasps, his heart pounding like a war drum.
His skin writhed.
His bones... shifted.
A sickening crack echoed through the clearing.
SHHK!
With a sudden, gruesome sound, three long, jagged bone claws burst from each of his hands, piercing through his knuckles with wet, visceral precision.
James gasped, his mind struggling to process what had just happened. The pain was already fading, replaced by an alien sensation—something new, something unnatural. He lifted his hands, staring in mute disbelief at the six lethal weapons extending from his flesh.
The claws were long, almost the length of his forearm, thick at the base and tapering into razor-sharp points. Their surfaces were ridged, slightly curved, like the fangs of a great predator. The protruding bones pulsed, still connected to his body, as if they had always been there... waiting to be unleashed.
A sharp breath left his lips.
"This world… I know this world…"
Memories flooded his mind. John Howlett. Thomas Logan. The blood. The name... Logan.
Wolverine.
He wasn't just James Howlett. He wasn't just some reincarnated martial arts master. He was him.
The mutant with the unbreakable skeleton. The warrior who lived through wars, betrayals, and centuries of suffering. The man who would one day become one of the most feared and respected figures in history.
James' hands trembled as he flexed his fingers, feeling the resistance of the claws retracting slightly. He took a deep breath, pressing his palms against the damp earth to ground himself.
It all made sense now—the fevers, the rapid healing, the unnatural strength. It was never a sickness. It was a mutation, buried in his very genes, waiting for the right moment to awaken.
A slow chuckle escaped his lips. Then a laugh. Then another.
Before long, he was laughing wildly, his voice echoing through the trees. The fear, the anger, the uncertainty—none of it mattered anymore. He finally understood.
This was his world now. And he was going to claim it.
But then, amidst his realization, another thought struck him.
James abruptly stopped laughing, blinking as he looked at his empty hands.
"...Damn it. I forgot to bring O'Hara a rabbit."
With a resigned sigh, he pushed himself to his feet and whistled for Panda. The stallion, still spooked, hesitated for a moment before trotting over. James mounted smoothly, patting the horse's neck.
"Come on, boy," he murmured. "Let's go home."
The wind howled through the trees as Panda broke into a gallop, carrying his rider toward the distant manor. James tilted his head back, closing his eyes for a moment.
There was much to do.
And his journey had only just begun.