================================
PART 7
"The Hawk and The Butterfly"
================================
It was late in the evening when Betsy and Kwannon stepped out of Matsu'o's mansion onto the busy streets of Tokyo. Betsy remained close to Kwannon, not that she trusted her, but she figured that Matsu'o would probably be quite unhappy if his new prize was killed on her first real "mission." Psylocke couldn't help but frown at the word as she made her way down the road, watching the cars hurry by. The word mission had once meant a lot to her, when she was with the X-Men. It meant saving someone's life, not taking one. Now she was just going on a mission to keep herself from being killed. As her thoughts took this turn, a feeling of self-hate began to well up inside of Betsy's stomach. She almost wanted to step out into the street and take her own life now, or maybe try to get awake from Kwannon, and get back to the X-Mansion. But the mansion was half a world a way now, there was practically no way she could get there, and that was even if she survived trying to escape the assassin at her side.
"You look troubled," Kwannon observed, a smirk appearing on her face. She wore a dark trenchcoat, covering her combat uniform.
"Just thinking," Betsy replied, sighing softly, visibly shaken at being caught. Her skin turned a whiter shade of the pale it had become since being locked in that dark room for nearly a month without end. Every so often she had been allowed out to dine, but only very rarely.
"Do not let your expression betray you, Little Butterfly," she said, "you look guilty already, yet in the meantime, we are merely dealing out justice."
Justice, Betsy thought to herself, justice had nothing to do with killing people who someone else had a grudge against. She seriously doubted that The Hand worked as enforcers of the "eye for an eye" rule, and even if they did, they did so for the highest bidder. Psylocke once again eyed her companion, noting that Kwannon was, of course, carrying her twin katanas, which she had seen her wield with great expertise on more than one occasion. There would be no escape for Betsy, no escape except death.
"This way," Kwannon said, turning down a dark alleyway. Rats scurried out of their path, and Betsy decided to stop counting the cockroaches that ran about the dumpsters. The area reeked of foul, aging garbage, forcing Betsy to breathe through her mouth, although at points it was quite useless, because the stench was so thick she could actually taste it. The alley finally came to a stop in a small court completely surrounded by brick walls. There was a street light overhead, flickering on and off, providing good light one moment, and plunging Betsy and Kwannon into darkness the next.
"Are you sure this is the way we were supposed to have come?" Betsy asked, biting her lip, knowing the answer more than well enough as she watched Kwannon take off her trenchcoat.
"No, it is not," Kwannon replied, "but I suspect you are intelligent enough to have figured this out on your own already. It is here that you are going to die." She drew one of her blades, her face as cold as stone, the wind whipping her purple-streaked hair around her, "I can make this quite easy for you, if you cooperate." Betsy looked frantically around for a way out that she might have missed, a fire escape or something. But there was nothing but the graffiti-covered brick walls and the entrance, which was now blocked by Kwannon. As the assassin approached Psylocke, Betsy found herself actually wondering if it was best that she just let it end here. Kwannon raised her blade, ready to make a clean swipe at the girl's head, but as her arms finally went into motion, Betsy ducked, sweeping her leg around and connecting with Kwannon's knees. The assassin hadn't been expecting any resistance, and was unprepared, her knees gave and she fell to the ground, her sword still clenched tightly in her hand. Betsy leapt on top of Kwannon, clenching her right hand into a tight fist and concentrating, sweat pouring down her face as her psychic blade flashed into being. She made a quick movement for Kwannon's head and connected.
The assassin let out a cry of pain, but immediately unleashed a psychic backlash, which washed over Betsy and caused her to tumble backwards off of Kwannon's back.
"Young fool," she murmured, tossing her steel blade aside, "if that is the way you wish it to be, then so be it!" Her psi-katana formed out of her right hand, the energy of it lighting the alleyway as the street light above finally gave out. Betsy scrambled to her feet, all of her training coming back to her now, she took a deep breath, trying desperately to somehow even the playing ground. Her blade grew in length, only a small bit, but it was enough to give her a fighting chance as the assassin once again swung at her. The entire alleyway lit up as the blades connected, psychic energy washing over the pair of combatants.
"There is no way you can win, child," Kwannon hissed, pulling her psi-katana back and swinging it again, only to have it intercepted by Psylocke's blade. This time the force actually caused pain in the minds of the psychic women. The strain was becoming almost too much for either of them to bear.
"I can try, though," Betsy managed to say, ducking and rolling behind Kwannon and driving her blade into the back of the assassin's head. She let out a cry of pain and once again lashed out at Betsy, taking a grasp of the girl's mind and dragging it onto the Astral Plane. Betsy suddenly found herself on somewhat unfamiliar territory, she felt like she was floating in space... in fact, it felt more like she was completely free of restrictions, as though her body was gone. Around her was a void, massive and vast, and standing across from her was Kwannon, dressed in the garb of a ninja warrior. Psylocke found herself in the same clothes she had been in a few moments ago, and grasping a dagger in her hand. Kwannon launched herself at Psylocke, swinging her katana expertly at Betsy's head. She was, once again, met by the X-Man's own blade. Betsy swiftly dropped to the ground, delivering a kick to Kwannon's midsection. The assassin stumbled backwards, off-balance. Betsy quickly drove upwards with her blade into Kwannon's midsection. No blood came from the wound, but the cry that Kwannon made Betsy know that she had scored a hit. A moment later, Betsy found herself nursing her own wound as the assassin's katana came down on her left shoulder. The two continued battling this way, no blood being shed whatsoever, merely shocks of violet psychic energy with each hit the combatants scored. The battle lasted mere moments, lasted an eternity, neither opponent knew which, all that they knew is that in the end, they both won, they both lost. They both faded into blackness.
================================
Betsy sat up, holding her throbbing head. The battle had been intense, with no clear winner. She looked around, seeing that it was just past dawn and pale beams of light shone down into the alleyway. She took a deep breath and instantly regretted it as a sharp pain shot through her abdomen. Oddly enough, as she surveyed her body, there was not a scratch on it, merely the dark blue leather costume she had been wearing the previous night. She paused for a moment, surveying her clothes again. It was Kwannon's form-fitting battle costume. Betsy panicked, jumping to her feet, looking around for her opponent. She finally laid eyes on the unconscious form a few feet away from her. Kwannon was wearing the purple and red jumpsuit Psylocke had been wearing the night before, and her face...
"Oh my..." Betsy's eyes flew wide open. She ran out of the alleyway into the street, rushing to the nearest store and looking at her reflection in the window. She saw a familiar face looking back, not the mirror image she was used to, however, instead she saw the face of a beautiful Asian woman, the face of someone she knew as an assassin. It was the face of her enemy. Betsy realized that after their battle on the Astral Plane, hers and Kwannon's minds must have someone switched places. Psylocke could recall memories that were not her own, as well as those that belonged to her. She remembered many different assassination techniques, the faces of victims. She went running down the street, tears streaking down her face. How could this have happened to her? How could she have become her own worst enemy?
================================
To Be Continued
================================
PART 7
"The Hawk and The Butterfly"
================================
It was late in the evening when Betsy and Kwannon stepped out of Matsu'o's mansion onto the busy streets of Tokyo. Betsy remained close to Kwannon, not that she trusted her, but she figured that Matsu'o would probably be quite unhappy if his new prize was killed on her first real "mission." Psylocke couldn't help but frown at the word as she made her way down the road, watching the cars hurry by. The word mission had once meant a lot to her, when she was with the X-Men. It meant saving someone's life, not taking one. Now she was just going on a mission to keep herself from being killed. As her thoughts took this turn, a feeling of self-hate began to well up inside of Betsy's stomach. She almost wanted to step out into the street and take her own life now, or maybe try to get awake from Kwannon, and get back to the X-Mansion. But the mansion was half a world a way now, there was practically no way she could get there, and that was even if she survived trying to escape the assassin at her side.
"You look troubled," Kwannon observed, a smirk appearing on her face. She wore a dark trenchcoat, covering her combat uniform.
"Just thinking," Betsy replied, sighing softly, visibly shaken at being caught. Her skin turned a whiter shade of the pale it had become since being locked in that dark room for nearly a month without end. Every so often she had been allowed out to dine, but only very rarely.
"Do not let your expression betray you, Little Butterfly," she said, "you look guilty already, yet in the meantime, we are merely dealing out justice."
Justice, Betsy thought to herself, justice had nothing to do with killing people who someone else had a grudge against. She seriously doubted that The Hand worked as enforcers of the "eye for an eye" rule, and even if they did, they did so for the highest bidder. Psylocke once again eyed her companion, noting that Kwannon was, of course, carrying her twin katanas, which she had seen her wield with great expertise on more than one occasion. There would be no escape for Betsy, no escape except death.
"This way," Kwannon said, turning down a dark alleyway. Rats scurried out of their path, and Betsy decided to stop counting the cockroaches that ran about the dumpsters. The area reeked of foul, aging garbage, forcing Betsy to breathe through her mouth, although at points it was quite useless, because the stench was so thick she could actually taste it. The alley finally came to a stop in a small court completely surrounded by brick walls. There was a street light overhead, flickering on and off, providing good light one moment, and plunging Betsy and Kwannon into darkness the next.
"Are you sure this is the way we were supposed to have come?" Betsy asked, biting her lip, knowing the answer more than well enough as she watched Kwannon take off her trenchcoat.
"No, it is not," Kwannon replied, "but I suspect you are intelligent enough to have figured this out on your own already. It is here that you are going to die." She drew one of her blades, her face as cold as stone, the wind whipping her purple-streaked hair around her, "I can make this quite easy for you, if you cooperate." Betsy looked frantically around for a way out that she might have missed, a fire escape or something. But there was nothing but the graffiti-covered brick walls and the entrance, which was now blocked by Kwannon. As the assassin approached Psylocke, Betsy found herself actually wondering if it was best that she just let it end here. Kwannon raised her blade, ready to make a clean swipe at the girl's head, but as her arms finally went into motion, Betsy ducked, sweeping her leg around and connecting with Kwannon's knees. The assassin hadn't been expecting any resistance, and was unprepared, her knees gave and she fell to the ground, her sword still clenched tightly in her hand. Betsy leapt on top of Kwannon, clenching her right hand into a tight fist and concentrating, sweat pouring down her face as her psychic blade flashed into being. She made a quick movement for Kwannon's head and connected.
The assassin let out a cry of pain, but immediately unleashed a psychic backlash, which washed over Betsy and caused her to tumble backwards off of Kwannon's back.
"Young fool," she murmured, tossing her steel blade aside, "if that is the way you wish it to be, then so be it!" Her psi-katana formed out of her right hand, the energy of it lighting the alleyway as the street light above finally gave out. Betsy scrambled to her feet, all of her training coming back to her now, she took a deep breath, trying desperately to somehow even the playing ground. Her blade grew in length, only a small bit, but it was enough to give her a fighting chance as the assassin once again swung at her. The entire alleyway lit up as the blades connected, psychic energy washing over the pair of combatants.
"There is no way you can win, child," Kwannon hissed, pulling her psi-katana back and swinging it again, only to have it intercepted by Psylocke's blade. This time the force actually caused pain in the minds of the psychic women. The strain was becoming almost too much for either of them to bear.
"I can try, though," Betsy managed to say, ducking and rolling behind Kwannon and driving her blade into the back of the assassin's head. She let out a cry of pain and once again lashed out at Betsy, taking a grasp of the girl's mind and dragging it onto the Astral Plane. Betsy suddenly found herself on somewhat unfamiliar territory, she felt like she was floating in space... in fact, it felt more like she was completely free of restrictions, as though her body was gone. Around her was a void, massive and vast, and standing across from her was Kwannon, dressed in the garb of a ninja warrior. Psylocke found herself in the same clothes she had been in a few moments ago, and grasping a dagger in her hand. Kwannon launched herself at Psylocke, swinging her katana expertly at Betsy's head. She was, once again, met by the X-Man's own blade. Betsy swiftly dropped to the ground, delivering a kick to Kwannon's midsection. The assassin stumbled backwards, off-balance. Betsy quickly drove upwards with her blade into Kwannon's midsection. No blood came from the wound, but the cry that Kwannon made Betsy know that she had scored a hit. A moment later, Betsy found herself nursing her own wound as the assassin's katana came down on her left shoulder. The two continued battling this way, no blood being shed whatsoever, merely shocks of violet psychic energy with each hit the combatants scored. The battle lasted mere moments, lasted an eternity, neither opponent knew which, all that they knew is that in the end, they both won, they both lost. They both faded into blackness.
================================
Betsy sat up, holding her throbbing head. The battle had been intense, with no clear winner. She looked around, seeing that it was just past dawn and pale beams of light shone down into the alleyway. She took a deep breath and instantly regretted it as a sharp pain shot through her abdomen. Oddly enough, as she surveyed her body, there was not a scratch on it, merely the dark blue leather costume she had been wearing the previous night. She paused for a moment, surveying her clothes again. It was Kwannon's form-fitting battle costume. Betsy panicked, jumping to her feet, looking around for her opponent. She finally laid eyes on the unconscious form a few feet away from her. Kwannon was wearing the purple and red jumpsuit Psylocke had been wearing the night before, and her face...
"Oh my..." Betsy's eyes flew wide open. She ran out of the alleyway into the street, rushing to the nearest store and looking at her reflection in the window. She saw a familiar face looking back, not the mirror image she was used to, however, instead she saw the face of a beautiful Asian woman, the face of someone she knew as an assassin. It was the face of her enemy. Betsy realized that after their battle on the Astral Plane, hers and Kwannon's minds must have someone switched places. Psylocke could recall memories that were not her own, as well as those that belonged to her. She remembered many different assassination techniques, the faces of victims. She went running down the street, tears streaking down her face. How could this have happened to her? How could she have become her own worst enemy?
================================
To Be Continued
================================
