To Hell and Back (League of Guardians 1.50)

Logan couldn’t see anything, but his other senses kicked in as everything inside him quieted. His nostrils flared. His ears perked up. His skin quivered.

When the hit came, he saw it coming in his mind, but he took it. And then he took another crushing blow that brought him to his knees. And then another across his back. His father roared, “Are you that weak?”

He kicked Logan in the ribs and sent his son crashing into the cage wall once more. “Are you that pathetic?”

Logan exhaled, and though his fingers burned fire, he dug into the enclosure and dragged himself up. He heard his brother Zane shouting, “Are you insane? Kill him!”

He heard the shouts of the crowd. The anger and hatred. He felt the electricity in the air. The heat and madness. He thought of Kira and his unborn child. And of the little boy held in Lilith’s chamber. He thought of all those who would perish if he didn’t prevail.

It was enough to give him strength to go on. To take as much from his father as he could. To wait for the perfect opportunity to strike.

So when Santos picked him up and flung him into the air like a paper doll, he went with it, though he rolled at the last minute, barely avoiding a wave of acid that erupted from the cage ceiling. The acrid smell of burning flesh reached his nostrils and for the first time, he knew his father had been struck.

On all fours, Logan was aware that Santos crossed to Merlin, who waited on the other side of the cage. He rolled again, nostrils flared as he sought out his brother. When he found Zane he half-ran, half-staggered over to him. “My eyes,” was all he could muster.

Immediately, cold liquid squirted onto his face, and Logan rubbed it into his eyes. The burn subsided somewhat and he blinked rapidly, shaking his head and trying to clear his vision. But it was no use. He saw shapes and shadows, a definite improvement over total blindness, but that was all.

“You need to take him down,” Zane whispered hoarsely. “What the hell are you doing? You’re not even trying. Do you want to make it the hell out of here with that little boy or not?”

Logan heard the anguish in his brother’s voice but didn’t have a chance to respond. He was yanked backward and twirled around like a top, his arms flailing, his senses confused as he tried to gain his balance. As he tried to find his father among the shadows.

Too late to duck, he took another crack to his jaw and blood spurted everywhere as he took yet another. And then another.

Logan took two steps back, feeding on the rage that rose into the air. Santos was more than pissed off. He was beyond that. His father was angry that Logan had not raised one hand in his defense. Sure, Santos wanted to beat the crap out of his son. Send him to the pit. He wanted to dole out a lesson Logan would never forget. But he was a proud man, and the fact that his son was responsible for the jeers and junk tossed their way—at Santos—was enough to make him furious.

Logan was a reflection of Santos, and at the moment he was far below par.

Santos picked up a metal rod that had been thrown at them. He bared his teeth and advanced on his son. There was no mistaking his intent. He wanted to finish what had become an embarrassing spectacle.

Logan spread his feet slightly, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He pushed all thoughts from his mind, save one. Getting his ass out of District Three. He didn’t see or hear his brother Zane shouting from behind him. Didn’t take note of the crowd, or Lilith, or even the boy who stared down at him from the darkness.

He blew out a hot breath and focused all his energy on Santos, ignoring the fire that still raged beneath his skin as the poison from the spikes continued to burrow and infiltrate his muscles.

Santos leapt into the air, intending to bring the metal rod down into his son’s chest, but Logan’s arm shot out and he grabbed the end instead. For several moments the two of them held on as the crowd grew quiet, sensing something afoot.

Logan saw the blurry outline of his father as the man bore down on him. Eventually, his father’s age and superior strength won out, and Logan fell to his knees, though he managed to keep his grip on the rod.

The weapon, tugged in both directions, slowly bent as Santos took two steps closer to Logan. And then the heat of his breath fell across Logan’s face as he bent lower still, his anger a thick, palpable thing.

Santos opened his mouth to speak and in that moment, Logan struck. He yanked—hard—on the rod and his father stumbled forward and the two of them tumbled to the ground. What had been a one-sided fight suddenly erupted into a deadly wrestling match, one that brought both hellhounds down to a basic level of survival.

The crowd was silent as the sweat-soaked, straining father and son grunted, swore, and locked themselves into a deadly battle of brute strength. Santos had the edge, yes, but Logan had something his father didn’t.

Hope. Love.

Kira.

But would it be enough?

Santos locked his arms around Logan’s neck, pushing his son into the ground as he kneed him in the back. “I will kill you.”

Logan blew out a hot breath as he tried not to panic. The poison had worked its way through his upper body and he was barely holding on. The more he strained, the faster it worked and for a second, despair flooded his mind.

Santos bent low so that his mouth was beside Logan’s ear. “I will end you down here and it will be my mission to make sure you spend eternity in the pit.”

Logan bucked his hips suddenly and Santos, not expecting it, lost his grip. It was enough for Logan to break his hold and roll to the side. He gained his footing and stood up as Santos lunged at him again.

The metal rod, forgotten by his father, was already in Logan’s hand and he brought it down across his father’s face, breaking his nose and slicing into flesh and bone. Santos roared in anger and staggered back.