Cover wouldn't save XCOM from her blade, which always struck true and pierced any armour. It was more amusing to watch them cautiously fan out around the Blacksite's refinery. With the lowered racks, it created a bridge over the bath of chemicals, though she understood their hesitance with crossing it. One of the soldiers – Klaus – tested a cautious boot into the fluid and grimaced when it ate through the sole.
Jax-Mon roused her psionics, checking with the Network whom still remained. A squad of three still patrolled the outskirts. A Viper and an Officer-Trooper duo. She notified them of XCOM's incursion, directing the squad to return, but out of sight. She will call upon them if she needed, but for now, it was her battle. The prospect of which excited her. There was a certain morbid catharsis to be had from pain and exertion.
"Do not disappoint me, XCOM.." she purred in the shadows, watching their bodies bristle and the muzzles of their guns blindly track into the absolute dark. Even if a hundred years pass, they lacked the keen sight of those whom knew where to look. The Reaper.. Dragunova, had been a thrilling exception in the skirmish of the dead-zone. A pity she was not with them.
Her brother would not have let her die, that was for sure. It was nothing more than a punishing shot, a reminder of who's better. He'll let her and by extension the Reapers live for as long as they provide entertainment. His brand of mercy was a vile kind: self-serving and utterly reliant on his whims and will. He'd call it the Elders' intention, as a not-so-subtle jab at their masters.
But Jax-Mon thinks him attached, like her elder to his Priests. At least the latter's affections – if one could call it that, they were all inept at displaying such things – were not deplorable and wasted on the enemy.
Not like her, she did not see these marauders as playthings for her own amusement, or filth that wasn't worthy. They were challengers to her skill and she would meet them on the battlefield as an equal; treat them as an opponent to hone her being. Foolish as they were to come here and she pitied them like she had done with Olsen.
She held out hope that the future generations realized the mistake of their ancestors. History has proven that humans generally try to avoid repeating the same errors … as much as they were fond of doing so. But they would have her guiding hand as the planet's ruler to ensure that they only grew.
Jax-Mon resolved, then and there, that she would do everything in her power to ascend to her rightful spot with her masters, like her project file proposed. She was meant to be a leader! She was destined to rally humanity into the potential that they showed – to rise to the stars. The fundamentals were all there, the genetics.
They just needed to be taught … and the bad apples culled from their tree of life. The rotten sowed seeds to dug up – and nothing quite befouled the air and putrefied the bounty like XCOM and the Resistance. They will learn their place, or they would be swept away with the tides of change. She would be a just ruler; pragmatic. The only place in her envisioned future for them were cautionary tales and stubborn grindstone for her to sharpen her blade on.
Whom, among them, would be the first victim to have their blood shed by her hand? It should be significant; a great honour that their lifeblood was allowed to coat the craftsmanship of the Elders.
Should Jane Kelly fall, the leader of the squad – demoralizing as their figurehead was cut down? Perhaps claim her vengeance against Mox, a long standing blood feud against the Skirmisher that death did not want. Or, ease the suffering of their unconscious medic Dawn Lovett, who so often had other lives in her hands, now had her own hung in that tenuous balance.
Her hidden gaze settled on the Templar. No, none of them. The first should be an ode to her elder brother. She would do his work for him and prove to the Elders that he had become surplus. A commander knew when to cut extraneous funding or personnel and the Warlock was a relic of the past. A twenty-year old genetic design that had long since past redundancy. She was the staple of the Chosen.
Her fingers delicately curled around the familiar cold grip of alien-steel, made of materials that had no name human tongue could pronounce, forged in the furnace of Gods. She drew out the katana, letting it sing through the air with promises of battle, psi-energy rippling off the flat of it. A tight network of psionic created a powerful adhesive to the incomprehensible metal. A design so otherwordly that it could not be replicated.
The Hunter took umbrage to that, naturally. He was told it could not, so therefore he must try. She twisted the handle, slipping the shorter, thinner dagger from it's sheath of the katana itself. Whilst not the Elders' work of her prime blade, it was no less skillfully crafted. A shame, that someone so bent on killing and brutalizing his hunts could create just as beautifully. She wondered, idly, as she stalked towards the yellow-clad knight, if he may have turned out differently if the Elders let him pursuit his interests.
But he wasn't supposed to have interests. Only the Elders' will.
It wasn't until the Assassin was directly beside the Templar did the human begin to notice something amiss. Jax-Mon could sense her tiredness, her starvation and need to recuperate. Her little stunt at the door may have been impressive, but without time to rest, she may has well been a wandering lamb.
A flash of purple accompanied the arc of her blade as it soared through the air, slicing up across the Templar's chest. Luminița collapsed to the floor, hand splayed across the wound as if that would staunch the flow of blood. Psi-laced crimson spattered the sickly metal of the ground – and Jax-Mon's shroud dropped to a chorus of belted orders and clicks of gunfire.
"Open fire! Doctor Shen, can you – "
"Already on it," the Chief Engineer's voice filtered over the main communication line, one that Jax-Mon had access to as the presence of the Commander allowed her to tap into their line. Dawn's GREMLIN whirred, fluttering over to the fallen Templar, intending to administer the second medkit in it's reserve.
Jax-Mon, however, spotted the annoying drone buzzing towards her prey. A simple shift in her stance from sword to martial arts let her strike her foot into the robot with a high-kick, sending it off-course. Twisting the grip on her dagger, she threw it with precision, nailing the GREMLIN in it's chassis and sending it into a broken, smoking heap on the floor, leaking with the fluid of the medkits and oil.
She kept the momentum of her swing, twirling her sword and driving it down into Luminița's back.
Fortunately for the paladin, Geist taught her more than offense. The last of her psi-energy solidified into a second skin, like a protective, chitinous, outer shell. The point of her blade stabbed half-way through it, but her skin was safe. Jax-Mon's eyes widened. No armour, no metal be it natural or man – alien made had ever halted the unstoppable force of her katana's cruelty.
Except for the power of Them. Of course.. the natural, esoteric energy that coursed so bountifully through the Earth would be the immovable object. She laughed, openly, drawing the unsettling brows and apprehension of the soldiers around her.
"You may be safe in your little bubble for now, Luminița Feng," the Assassin warned, a touch playful. Elders forbid. " – But you'll eventually have to come out, or asphyxiate, it matters not to me. My elder will be pleased at your demise regardless if it is by your own follies or my blade."
She turned her burning gaze towards the soldiers – her keen observation noting the lack of the youthful boy and the medic strapped across his shoulders. She notified the lurking patrol to expect the two – and spare no mercy for the wounded and her carrier.
"Come on, come on, Firebrand..!" Lukas pleaded, having made the sensible choice to head out of the facility to ferry the still unconscious Dawn to the evacuation site. He was nothing but a liability to the squad without his weapon and he refused to leave the doctor's side unattended. His muscles were also beginning to groan in protest at the strain of carrying the weight of a human.
"I'd like to see you try to dodge interceptors hot on my flanks AND anti-air artillery at the same time!" barked the ace pilot, the roaring sound of engine and hot, plasma fire threatening to smother her response. Lukas winced when he thought he heard something being distinctly hit – and was thankful that Firebrand's colourful cursing was inaudible.
" – Oh, it's on," she growled. "If it's a dogfight you want, then you're going to have to fly better than a drunken Bradford!"
"Firebrand!" swore the Grenadier. Now was not the time for the hot-shot ace pilot to let her indignation get the better of her. "Lieutenant Lovett might actually die if we don't – "
He froze completely when he heard the slithering, the long, drawn out taunting hiss. He closed his eyes briefly, beginning his life as a praying, religious man right there as he internally begged that he was hearing things. His head slowly turned, then inched upwards to have his gaze reach the imposing height of a reared Viper.
Her tongue flicked out – in mockery, than anything else, the muzzle of the beastly alien pulled back in a hideous, inhuman grin of peeking, venomous fangs, her tail flicking teasingly. The two ADVENT at her flank kept their mag-guns trained on the Grenadier. Lukas vaguely remembered that Tygan mentioned the Viper's tail muscle being strong enough to bend, or even break most human materials.
"Please.." he croaked in futility, frustrated tears brimming his eyes as swift realization of his situation froze over his being, despite the fact he felt nothing but a hot flush of sweat. "I'm c-carrying wounded – "
Aliens didn't believe in a just war.
The Viper drew her head back, mouth opening wide in a grizzly display to shoot her elongated tongue. The barbed appendage wrapped around Lukas and yanked him towards the awaiting coils of her body. He fought and struggled, but it was stickier than flypaper and his injured party was sent careening to the floor, landing in an awkward, haphazard slump.
The Officer languidly approached the medic, rifle at rest as he nudged her head with the toe of his boot – pausing when the Network identified her face. Doctor Dawn Lovett. ADVENT issued a capture warrant against her, as was a given to all scientific personnel. She would be significantly luckier than her companion that shrieked and fought restlessly against the tormenting Viper's jaws.
Perhaps a death might've been better. ADVENT didn't have anything pleasant in store for their prisoners of war. He swept down, hauling the body over his shoulder with reckless abandon, uncaring if his pauldron dug into her broken rib, keeping her barely supported with an arm cast over her dangling legs.
He cast his sight to his pod just in time to watch the Viper grow bored of playing with her food and sink her fangs into Lukas' neck. His screams died out into guttural chokes, before ceasing all together. Unaffected and unable to be repulsed, the Officer signaled the Network for a Skyranger to a prison facility.
Jax-Mon flipped over a stack of processed pods, avoiding the rapid-fire bullets of Mox's bullpup, unable to hide her ecstatic joy at the patrol's success. One pesky Grenadier down, one CMT Specialist captured to extract all the knowledge she had of the Avenger until her head exploded from the psionic overload. What was left of XCOM's shamble of a star squad?
An unkempt, exhausted squad lead, an afflicted Skirmisher and a Templar eking out her life as long and painfully as possible.
… The fourth. She hummed to herself, ducking from the spit of Kelly's shotgun as her gaze swept the room for the blond. Nowhere to be found. Oh, she couldn't have been more pleased. He had fled, like a coward, hadn't he?
"I see your skills have vastly declined since your removal from our service, Commander." the Assassin mused, arcing her blade upwards to deflect a particularly nasty shot from Mox. "But I suppose even the greatest military mind cannot forge a cohesive unit out of the slag and spoil of the human race."
"You are better than this, Balladhur."
Kingsley's frosty comment came so unexpectedly that the Chosen shrieked as fragments of Kelly's shotgun bolted into her arm, boring deep enough into the armour to cause some damage. Baring her teeth in response, the Ranger was not given the luxury of landing a second shot as her impenetrable parries deflected all attempts.
"My! Since when did the infallible Commander of XCOM display such heedless arrogance? Enough to presume that you understand me?"
"Play as coy as you wish to, Assassin, but you act no different to your heinous brothers, no matter how much you want to distance from their taint." Kingsley said. "I recall a sense of honour, once. Where has that gone? Or does combat blind all sensibility?"
"Words of a losing opponent," Jax-Mon sniffed indignantly, though truthfully every word resonated within her.
Running out ammunition, Kelly scoffed deep in the pit of her throat, tossing the useless shotgun in her sling and drawing her machete. Going toe-to-toe with the Chosen Assassin in swordplay was suicide: but their options were thinning and she'd already heard Lukas' comms flat-line. No time to mourn.
Not when the living still required to be protected, Kingsley's words floated in her mind. She vaulted over the terminal she had ducked behind for cover, barrelling towards the Assassin, leaping up in a devastating strike that was merely parried and riposted, though surprisingly, the Chosen did not kill her for her mistake, but smacked her with the flat of the blade.
"Sloppy!" she scorned. "You call that technique, Jane Kelly? A true swordsman would never leave their defenses so open to an attack. Have you paid any attention to my own form?"
"Is jabbering your mouth off one of the abilities that the Elders gave you, or is that something you naturally developed on your own?" spat the Ranger, grunting loudly when she felt the shock absorption ripple through the muscles of her forearms when her blade's edge clashed with the Assassin's katana.
"You should be blessed that I would deign to inform you of your errors and allow you realize how much you could have learned from me, had you been compliant," the Chosen sneers. Her grip adjusted and with one clean incision, cut the conventional sword's blade in half. Kelly staggered back with the force of it, narrowly avoiding becoming chopped herself.
At this point, Luminița was forced to drop the stasis shield around her, lest she suffocate in the protective, air-tight bubble. Her psionic energy had mended her flesh, however unsightly it would scar, she knew she couldn't fight. She crawled over to the wreckage of the GREMLIN, plucking the dagger still embedded into it's metallic frame out.
"Kelly!" she shouted to grab her attention, using what little strength she had left to throw the dagger towards her.
Both Jane and Jax-Mon eyed the sailing weapon and pumped with enough natural adrenaline to make a Beserker seem docile, the Ranger defaulted to the basic tactics of dirty fighting – using the distraction to strike a hard fist across the Assassin's jaw.
It didn't do much but momentarily stun her from the sheer audacity of the action, but it bought Kelly the time she needed to swipe the alien dagger that clattered to the floor, close to her feet. Despite it being the short-sword, it was big enough in Kelly's hands to be it's own blade – more than adequate to match the Assassin.
Jax-Mon contemplated a spluttering insult typical to her brother's fare that Kelly sullied such a weapon – but now they were on equal footing in equipment, she could get a true test of the Ranger's skill.
So a grin pulled back her lips instead, revealing the sharp, uneven fangs. " – You may have one of my blades, Kelly, but your fragility lets you down. I have barely broken a sweat, whereas you.."
Kelly's breaths were ragged, heaving and greedy, shoulders lifting up and down as her grip furiously enclosed around the hilt of the dagger – imperceptible tremors nudging it ever so slight. Sweat beaded her face and exhaustion washed over ever muscle. But still, she stood against Jax-Mon in defiance. Still, she fought.
The Assassin ignored Mox creep over towards Luminița to assist the downed Templar. Nothing in the room mattered but her and her opponent. She dipped her head in an exchange of respect before she flourished her katana and bolted towards the Ranger.
The Elders' craft met the Hunter's work – and both blades sung harmoniously as they clashed in flashing, alien-steel. The two swordsmen danced; with Jax-Mon's steps light and masterful whereas Kelly struggled to keep pace.
Having no intention of a fair duel, Kelly relied on her ability to feint out an attack to press the advantage. Jax-Mon could not predict like her brother, the older, but she was wise to Kelly's unorthodox way of fighting and altered accordingly to each faked movement. Eventually, the Assassin disarmed the Ranger with a deadly strike from the pommel of her blade, bruising her hand. She began to surge forward –
"Vial acquired!"
There was the missing Ranger. He clutched the Blacksite sample triumphantly in his hands and Jax-Mon could hear the soft hum of Skyranger engines somewhere outwards to the facility. Evidently, she had underestimated their pilot's skills, being able to outmaneuver the interceptors and find a blind spot of the artillery.
Mox and Luminița were nowhere in sight, as the former carted the latter off towards the evacuation zone. Kelly too, swiftly abandoned the pretense of fighting Jax-Mon in favour for hauling ass towards the shattered window to make their get-away. The Assassin's gaze descended upon Webnar, whom tensed briefly, offered a cheeky wave and slipped the sample safe into the pocket of his utility belt.
She stormed forward, only pausing to grab her dagger up from the Blacksite's floor, picking up enough speed to a sprint – wincing sharply as the dust from the Skyranger's turbines hailed over her. The Skyranger was awfully close to the ground, enough that the two Rangers jumped aboard by foot rather than rope.
The back of the ship snapped shut when the two got on board and Firebrand twisted the Skyranger in such a way that she intended to take Jax-Mon's head off with the tail end of it if she didn't plaster herself flat to the ground. The transport ship shot off to the sky, leaving her to the emptied Blacksite…
… That promptly set ablaze in an almighty explosion, as Klaus had scurried around, setting as many charges as he could undetected. The Assassin, caught in the blast, screamed her throes of death, the heat of the inferno lukewarm under the disappointment that the Elders indubitably felt over yet another failure.
"Kelly is shaken. Feng is out of commission for the month, Mox is still addled with an incurable headache from the Skulljack's feedback, Webnar injured his spine and didn't think to tell anyone until he collapsed, Doctor Lovett has been captured and Vaun.."
Bradford's gaze traces the hardened face of Kingsley as he reads off the debrief of the mission report. He knew that look all too well. The despondency. Professionalism shoved to pilot her actions whilst she locked up her grievances in a little box. He saw it twenty years ago and he vowed then never to see it again.
"Dottie.." he started, but it was if the familiarity jilted her to draw further away.
"An unfortunate loss," she echoes. "We will have to do better."
He slammed his fist so hard upon the table that he felt the aftershock run through his hand, but it had the intended effect of jolting the Commander, eyes wide, body tensed and hand hovering over her hip where her pistol always used to lay. She blinked a few times until he was finally able to be eye-to-eye with the Kingsley he called friend.
"For the love of God, Dorothy." he scolded. " – You have to let the soldiers grieve!"
Then, gentler, he settled that same hand upon her shoulder, feeling the tense muscle slacken under his touch. "You have to let yourself grieve. Why do you believe that basic human right doesn't apply to you and that you're some, strategic golem?"
Kingsley smiled, which seemed to drain the warmth in the air, tone bitter. " – Because for twenty years I was, John. I was nothing but a tool. A non-essential component in the vast machine of the Elders' machinations. I thought I – My subconscious believed Them, you know. That I meant the universe to them. That they actually loved me."
Bradford didn't know if it was his own refusal to believe what she was saying, or if he lacked the understanding. Either way, he gripped her forearms, massaging them gently with his palms as he made sure to look her straight in the eye. "You are not with them any more. You are not a thing, a tool, or whatever they made you feel and you don't have to feel like that any longer."
She looked like she had more to say on the matter, but she held her tongue, her smile waning.
"… We'll hold the funeral in the morning. Posthumorously promote him to the rank of Captain and.. award him with his country's medal of honour. The Polish Cross of Valour, I believe."
Bradford nodded slowly. It was perhaps the biggest breakthrough he'd get out of her in that moment so was content with that outcome.