Who: Logan What: Dreaming, rather disturbingly Where: His house When: Mid day Status: closed
Chaos. Death. Destruction. It was all around them. The world around them had begun to slowly crumble. And it was by their doing. Together. Bodies lay by the wayside, the acrid scent of blood hovered in the air. Everything had gone to hell in the proverbial hand basket. Logan just never thought he'd play such an intricate part in it.
But then again, that was Logan when he cared. Before everything save for his wife had been taken from him. When he thought he could be a hero and help make the world a better place. All too soon he found that was all a load of bullshit. Creed had been nothing compared to the enemies he had yet to even meet. Logan was gone, all that remained was the Wolverine. The humanity, the man that he had tried so hard and long to cling to had finally reached his breaking point. And when he had, so had his wife.
Control was a thing of the past for them both. Right was all a matter of perspective. And goodness was a long distant memory, one he could barely recollect. Besides, he'd found he was happier this way, freer. The way he was intended to be since whatever force put him on this earth. He was a killing machine, and he was the best at what he did. Though, his wife was a very close match. It wasn't long until his thirst for carnage began to effect her. She could only fight it for so long until she took her place at his side.
His body was larger now, a giant hulking mass of rippling muscle and brute strength. Eyes that had once been hazel and sensitive were now cast over as dark as a moonless night. Wolverine didn't carry the battle scars of his victories, at least not visibly. His canines had elongated since he let the beast take over. It wasn't until now he understood what Creed meant about letting the animal take over. Every life he took was grafted into his mind forever and there was no regret.
To his side was a vision, encased in black, her coat flapping in the wind as they walked. The heels of her boots soundless, the sword in her hand from the tip to the bottom was coated with blood. The woman was stealthy and showed no mercy. Her eyes a flaming bluish white, face as white as snow, a mass of ebony hair. But around her lips an alarming red tint was smeared. The smirk she wore allowed her fangs to peek out. It was as if she wore death like a cloak.
And together, there were unstoppable.
His eyes sprung open, he'd fallen asleep on the couch. Gypsy was on the floor beside him, whimpering and looking up at him. It wasn't until then that he realized his claws had sprung out during the dream, the stuffing of the couch was on the floor. Selene was going to kill him.