The Warlock was not concerned about the Commander settled within XCOM.

He had beheld a vision, one that he had seen time and time before, with the whispered voices of promise and assent of the prophecy he was fulfilling himself. He will rule Earth in the Elders' stead, his siblings blinded in marvel at his brilliance as humanity serves as his followers. The vision has not shifted, despite the current crisis and therefore he did not worry himself.

Creatures far older than he, wise things of the deep void assured him of his victory so surely. Humanity cannot withstand such light, they said once. Always the Icarus, never the Sun. He was inclined to agree. Were it not for his Elders' adoration for the infant race of Earth, he would have taken umbrage the moment he was ascended. But They plead, They beg for him to be as compassionate as Them.

Humans were young and reckless – and it stood, that he, as the elder, had the prerogative to punish those who become out of hand. Sometimes, death was simply just a tool to school the others, as messy as it was for an example.

And none could stand to be punished more severely than the Templars.

His loathing bled so deeply into his repugnance for the splinter faction of humanity that had the cheek to believe they understood even a fraction of his masters' power. Let alone think they had the God-given right, the divine blessing, to use it! Never has his stomach turned, his rancor so apparent when faced with these blasphemous, immoral criminals.

Their false religion perverts the very practice of controlling psi-energy and he took the thankless mantle of teaching them their place.

The profane that had drawn his ire was a Templar knight by the name of Luminița Feng. She was no mere lost lamb straying just too far from her flock, no, she was the wolf on the hunt, slaying the holy, beloved servants of the Elders in her sacrilegious understanding. Already enough to warrant her death, he had decided that a swift execution was simply too light a sentence for her.

Had she stayed among the islands of the Templars, sheltered and away, she would have not attracted his attention. But boldly she set forth, encroaching on his territory like a false prophet. His servants snarled at the presence of such a godless being. He would make sure it does not exist for long.

They had a brief skirmish once before that the Warlock used to gain tactical knowledge upon her – despite what his younger brother may believe, he was not just a decoration or a mouthpiece of the Elders' gospel – and he intended to capitalize on what he learned. She is a paladin at heart, always putting the safety of others first before herself. He would find her where the winters were harshest, providing aid under the guise of benevolence.

He did not bother dampening his signature like his brother or hiding in the shadows like his sister. When he arrived, the world knew and looked towards him in awe. His presence was overwhelming to the mere mortals. It was a chore, really, to be so powerful. But he persevered, because none but he were capable of handling such power without it's corruption.

His clawed gauntlets raised to the air, channeling his energy to call upon the servants in his stronghold, summoning his left and his right hand Priests. The twins, Gabriel and Uriel, were among the first of his loyal servants and had earned his favour. They would be given the honour of subjugating the renegade knight.

Luminița's energy was easy to recognize within the dulled, non-Gifted humans. He did not sprint, or plan excruciatingly long hunts, he merely walked towards the source with his Priests at his heels, letting the mortals behold his excellence. They were dirty-faced creatures, huddled in their shacks as the haven was one of the less equipped and ill-prepared one of the bunch. There was no need for ADVENT to wipe them out when winter will do it for them.

A starved child sat in the way of his path, body shivering. The Warlock stopped before it, gaze cast downward in conceited superiority. As he was about to direct his followers to remove the creature in his way, the paladin's melodic voice caught his attention.

"Dhag-Il Vallinar!"

He sneered. How dare her filthy mouth defile his pure name? The child scrambled away from his path, unharmed, and he glared towards the imposing figure clad in plated, muted yellow. It was the first time he'd saw her without her helmet; with hard features and rough definitions. Her hair, at least what was left of it, was choppy and bleached white at the roots with her natural hair colour long since lost.

Feeling her power, it was a shame, really, that she fell to the path of the heathens. She might have made a decent Priest of his.

"And so the heretic stands before a child of the Gods once again." he drawled, gesturing before him. Contempt coloured the low rumble of his tone as he mocks; " – This time, alone. The ghosts of your failure must haunt you so, Templar. Submit before your superior and I may silence them for you."

"You are no Lord of mine!" she hissed in a shadow of his sister's malice, fury sparking in dull heather-coloured eyes. The anger stirred her power, the thin veins of psionic energy that crept up her neck now a vivid violet. "You presence is an affront to Mother Nature herself and I will be glad, to cast your black soul back to the pits of Hell where it was spawned!"

His arms spread wide, as if inviting her to try, though energy collected into the palms of his open hands. "It almost pains me to hear how ignorant you truly are, but, alas, is that not the birthright of mankind? To be entitled to such incomprehension must be bliss."

"You are a delusional embodiment of affectation," Luminița scorned. "If anything, I pity you, Vallinar. You can't even see that you're nothing more than a puppet pontiff that ended up believing the lies he was forced to spread."

That struck a chord within the Warlock, whose pompous arrogance bled away to an oncoming outrage. It empowered his energy, the collected psionic attack mounting in danger. " – Impertinent little chit, I will see that your last breaths are spent grovelling before the Elders!"

Twin psi-blades shot out from the gauntlets of the Templar, brimming with raw energy that threatened to rival his own. Her eyes glowed with the use of psi-energy and she pushed off into a sprint towards him, bellowing out a cry in her native tongue. The Warlock prepared to lance her with the spear of energy –

He needn't bother with an attack.

Luminița cried out in alarm as something shot out faster than both she and the Warlock could register. Large bolas wrapped around her torso, binding her arms tightly to her sides as her sprint stumbled into scrabbled attempt at balance, gaze flickering downwards in panic. Then, in the span of a second, a scream of agony ripped from her throat as electricity coursed through her body from the trap shot. It took only a single glance for the Warlock to confirm them to be one of many of his brother's tools.

He snuffed out his attack, casting his gaze outward to try and find his sibling, but he was the one creature in the galaxy he could not track until he was right on top of them. Or, more accurately, curiously watching the writhing Templar as she crumpled to her knees, sat in crouch like how one might morbidly observe a dying animal.

The electricity continued to pulsate through the woman's body and she convulsed violently with the shocks. It wasn't enough to kill her or to knock her out, but it was severely painful. She screamed her throat hoarse and any attempt to rise had her fall pathetically to the ground. The balls of the bolas were made of stronger stuff than iron and were heavier than anything she'd ever had to lift. Her mind seared like the electric fire licked at her brain every time she tried to call upon that energy.

The Hunter seemed to take some semblance of sympathy, because he announced; "You know, the trick is to stop using your psionics. They're suppressors for psi-beings much more deadlier than you."

Either she didn't hear him or did not care, for she continued to wail in agony and spasmed on the hard ground.

"Brother." Dhag-Il greeted with a unimpressed murmur. "What an.. unexpected surprise."

Dhag-Mai's gaze casually rose up to his elder, offering a dogged half grin. He knew he had interfered with the fight, but if there was anything in the known universe that could test his boundless patience, it was his brother's long-winded speeches and the preachiness of his enemies.

"You could at least pretend like you're happy to see me, big brother." His look naturally wanders back to the fallen Templar, who had finally taken his advice and ceased her attempts at calling upon her Gift. Her blades faded out and the dark purples of the energy that snaked around her body like illuminated veins faded out to near nothingness. The Hunter made a mocking noise of praise.

" – The human actually learned. What a miracle."

"Unholy... cretin." she croaked, voice shot and armour smoking from the electrification.

"Your presence is never without a catch, brother." the elder muttered. He gestured towards his Priests, who need not any verbal command to understand his will. They approached the Templar, dragging her to her feet and ferrying her away to one of his prison facilities. Dhag-Il will deal with her later. Now alone with his sibling, he gestured for him to follow as the haven was hardly a place to discuss matters.

Surprisingly, the Hunter followed without so much as a snide comment. Suspicious.

"What have you done this time?" he finally asks once they were well enough away, exasperated. His brother's face scrunched up into one of petulance, which usually meant one of two things.

"Why do you always assume that I only visit you when I'm in trouble?" huffed the Hunter. "Maybe I just wanted to catch up on what my dear old brother is up to. Doing your own thing, as usual. See, if I did that, the Elders would hound me until I was deaf – "

"Get to the point, Dhag-Mai. I am not in the mood for your games."

He raised his hands in peaceful gesture, before his grin dropped to a sour line of contempt. " – It's about our baby sister."

Dhag-Il had heard the whispers of his followers talk about Jax-Mon's daring assault upon the haven that funded the greatest insult made to the Elders since the formation of the Templars. He had no faith in her abilities to succeed, as her focus was coloured with a vengeance to regain what was lost to her and he was certain that his brother thought as much too. However if he seemed concerned, then it didn't spell a good picture for the both of them.

He prompted for the Hunter to expand, which he readily did so.

"Whilst you are playing around with your little Templar buddies, our sister might actually have a real chance of getting the Commander back for the Elders." Dhag-Mai never directly criticized, but it didn't take a genius to catch the veiled jibe within. "I've watched her. All of her battles. She might be a pathetic weakling now, but she's growing and that – I don't like that."

"Do not presume to understand my work," the elder growled. He's certainly punished his sibling for less. "Bringing the Templars to heel is more important than you clearly realize. As for our sister, she will soften XCOM and they will be ripe for the taking. She should be of no concern to us."

"Sure." his brother disagreed. " – If you want the title of family disappointment over me, continue to waste your time with the insane cultists. Underestimate our sister. That'll put you in the Elders' good-books."

With his gathered power, the Warlock clenched his fist tightly and the tendrils of psi-energy shot out like snakes, striking at his throat to silence Dhag-Mai. The Hunter stumbled back, hands clawing at his neck to try and swipe away the attack. His breathing came in spluttered chokes and it wasn't until was weakened to his knees did Dhag-Il elevate the pressure by unfurling his hand.

The Hunter blackly glared at him from beneath his hood – his eyes like twin chips of blazing fire. "Strike at me all you want to, brother. Kill me if it makes you feel marginally better about yourself, but you know I'm right. Why else would I have brought it to your attention if what I say had no stock?"

There were truth into Dhag-Mai's words. He never willingly involved himself into people's affairs unless he had more than a good reason to – and he certainly did not make social visits. There was always a purpose – always a plan, to his machinations. Dhag-Il's lip curled.

"Then what is it you expect me to do, brother? I have made it clear that ushering her to an eternal void is not in our right. It is our masters that must do as such."

"A beast is useless once you deprive it of it's essential limbs," the Hunter informs, a grin worming it's way across his thin lips as he no doubt already had the perfect idea of how to handle their little sibling problem. " – And I know exactly how to approach this kind of creature."

"There was a reason beyond their state of fortification as to why we did not wipe out Cell-22 sooner, my Chosen. Now I have hundreds of thousands of humans wondering and fretting about the smoke of the razed compound, or seeking explanation of gunfire and terror."

Jax-Mon's patience may not have been as legendary as her older brother's, but it took a certain amount of it to be an accomplished assassin. The ADVENT Speaker, however, tested her limits beyond what she thought possible. She sat, awkwardly so, as the office's design accompanied more human visitors than alien, glaring at the exasperated grimace of the man.

"Is that not your duty?" she asks, balancing precariously on the cushioned chair opposite him. It might have been a humorous sight, were they not discussing her recently committed genocide. " – I fail to see the problem here other than your inability to do your task."

The Speaker withheld his sigh, instead his fingers steeped at the surface of his desk, appraising the Chosen carefully through the blue lenses of his glasses. "My duty is to ensure that humanity remains docile under the Elders' rule. It becomes difficult to do so when your actions threaten that balance – "

"Your difficulty in performing your task is not my concern."

She expected him to show some form of vexation, annoyance or – anything, but he merely adjusted his frames once the left one updated with Network data she could only hope to guess was being fed to him. His tone dropped lower, now more gentle and coaxing.

"All I ask of you, my Chosen, is that you inform us prior before any major attacks." He paused, then added as an afterthought; " – You do not have to follow the same path as your brothers. Our Network stands to serve you, not to hinder you."

Jax-Mon snorted. She never considered that the ADVENT was anything else, but she had a feeling this speech was not the first time that it had to be given. She couldn't imagine her siblings tolerating the Speaker even a fraction of how much she had. Begrudgingly, perhaps it was rather sudden of her to mount such a large scale assault without so much as consulting the Network.

The Assassin would not apologize, for in the Elders' name, she would move mountains and slay all that she needed to if it meant returning the Commander. But, perhaps, less haste – more tact. Something she could take from her older sibling.

"Very well," she conceded. "I will instruct my Priest to handle further communications between ADVENT and my plans. Is this an acceptable arrangement for you?"

The Speaker beamed, eyes crinkling in the corners and teeth peeking through a brilliant smile that has placated humanity for decade., But for Jax-Mon, his engineered charisma held little effect. " – More than acceptable, my Chosen. I couldn't have asked for anything better."

"You are too trusting, John. The Skirmishers are ADVENT. ADVENT, is the enemy. The enemy – is food."

Bradford's knuckles whiten as he grips the terminal of the communications line, trying not to let his eyes stray towards the mounted figureheads of aliens that the Reaper leader had killed – and ate the rest of. He had to keep a level head when dealing with the volatile man, lest the fragility of the peace treaty they were working towards be crumbled by a few bad words.

"Try not to mention that when our agents meet up, Volk." he muttered, though if there was anything that was widespread knowledge on the Reapers, it was their dietary habits. Everything else they kept tightly under wraps to ensure that they remain as elusive as ever. " – I shouldn't have to remind you it was Betos' men who tipped you folks off to the whereabouts of the Commander in the first place. You trusted then."

"I trusted that her intel was sound, not that I trust her or her band of traitors." the leader rebuked. " – All I'm thinking of is just how long had they known where the Commander was and never acted on it? If they're truly fighting for the bigger picture, like you say, then they're doing a piss-poor job of it."

"You are the last person to criticize the actions of another faction. We don't know how long they've known or even if they've attempted to contact you or us peacefully only to be gunned down by over-eager operatives. The Skirmishers are not the ADVENT we fight."

The video feed jittered as Volk moved, reaching over to his lit cigar in the ashtray and bringing it back to his lips, taking a much earned drag of it. Smoke filled the edges of the screen as he leaned into his chair, face barely illuminated by the light of his smoke and poor video lighting.

"After everything we've been through." he murmured. "All we've endured. You really stand by that?"

"Would it make it more believable if I said scout's honour?" Bradford relaxed a little after dampening his snark, glad that the conversation was not escalating into their typical shouting matches with a threat of assassination and leaned away from the terminal. With his hands gesturing encouragingly, his tone dropped to a reassuring tenure.

" – Look. The Skirmishers held up their end of the bargain so far and I take Betos by her word. She's willing to send her right hand man to meet with one of yours to forge peace. We're all fighting for the same thing, Volk. Can I count on you to at least offer the same courtesy?"

Volk didn't answer for the longest time, taking another elongated drag of his cigar and blowing the smoke through his nose. He leaned forward, his look skeptical, but otherwise neutral. "We shall see, John. Volk out."

His fist slammed the table in finality, cutting the video feed off. Bradford exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd held, shoulders slumping. It was huge relief to have something go right for once, in the sea of bad news from the total decimation of their Resistance cell, to the Commander's lack of response.

Speaking of, Tygan seemed optimistic – a rarity in the stoic scientist – that the Commander would awaken sooner rather than later and Bradford couldn't help but share that optimistic hope, too.

A/N: For anyone whose read Grim Horizon - Yes, Gabriel and Uriel are the twins that Kelly dubs 'Left' and 'Right' during the Warlock chapter! And if you recognize the name Feng, then you likely have figured out how that little plot point is going to develop.