[ Logan catches the spark of appreciation in the man's eyes. Unfortunately he's known far too many assholes who were into lopping bits off of him to see what grew back to be comfortable with that.

Then he goes and does exactly what Logan thought he might do. Logan watches the twisted muscles in his body move as he shifts stance to swing the axe. Gauges the arc of impact.

Doesn't move.

The axe thuds into his chest, cutting through fabric and skin and muscle until it hits the wall of his adamantium-covered ribcage, a jarring blow. Logan grunts and falls back a step, axe still buried in his chest, fighting back the rising waves of red-washed pain that threaten his ability to think. The animal in him is awake and ready for vengeance, snarling and snapping teeth against the bars of its cage.

Instead, he lifts his head and looks Ivar in the eye. Raises his hands and lets his claws slide out again. ]

One last chance, bub.