Summary: New looming threats on the horizon.
Even for those far away from civilization, far away from the overreach ADVENT, life wasn't easy for those who kept themselves or those who banded together and formed Resistance Cells. It was rough living, scavenging for supplies, and hunting whatever animal life was still around. One was always hoping, praying, that one of the ADVENT sweeps wouldn't find them. Hoping they would be lucky enough to be forever ignored by the "benevolent" overlords of the earth.
"SHIT!"
But today was an unlucky day for one group.
ADVENT had found a Resistance Cell far in one of the mountains in Central Asia. The Cell's time was up. Their luck had run out. They barely managed to get out an SOS, but it was far too late for them.
The slaughter of this camp would serve as a warning to others nearby. Brutally efficient as ever, ADVENT swept through the camp, quickly decimating any opposing forces. They had a ruthless leader at the helm. One different than the standard ADVENT Captain. It wasn't a Chosen though their uncanny resilience would say otherwise.
This one was more talkative. They actively reveled in the chaos, the blood, and the screams of the civilians and soldiers alike.
"Why the hell won't he die!? We've downed that feathered barbarian bastard twice!" A soldier yelled as they tried to hold back the line. "All he's using is axes!"
"Have you seen what he does when he comes back!? He's butchering us!" Their compatriot was terrified. "We are dead, Rover!"
Sounded like a trait of a Chosen.
"Bullshit, Greg!" They hadn't seen it. "That's the nerves talking. No way he's been coming back to life!"
Jovial cackles filled the air.
"Ha, ha, ha! Run cowards!" A rather energetic and slightly high-pitched plummy male voice sang.
The sound of metal clanging together echoed in the air. The madman cackled some more before switching to humming a dirge as the metal clanging became more rhythmic. He was striking the back of his axes together as he calmly walked past his Troopers who were returning fire against the enemy. Barely flinching as bullets hit him.
This ADVENT soldier stuck out like a sore thumb compared to the standard unit. For starters, he towered over them like a Chosen(and was a few heads taller than them) and was bulky(which made the pitch of his voice deceptive). Almost bulky like a Berserker but more a strong man build. And this leader… he barely wore any armor.
His chest was bare, showing off numerous scars ranging from entry wounds and deep slashes. His trousers were littered with tears and holes, with the armor plating covering them equally damaged. A tattered waist cape hung from his waist, with various bone charms and feathers hanging from it, and similar ones hung from his neck on a necklace. How wore equally beat and blood-soaked spaulders and gauntlets. And he did wear a helmet, one more open than the standard ADVENT helmet revealing his Hybrid nature. Not like it mattered he wore one as in the dead center of the forehead was a prominent bullet hole.
"A little sharpening before I lop off your heads!" He sang again.
TING
"Ack!" His metal helmet rattled as his head was thrust back, causing him to stagger back. Hopping on his foot, the other slammed down quickly stabilizing him. nearly
"Heh… Ha! Ha! HA!" A deep chuckle erupted into a mad cackle. He pulled his head forward, readjusting his helmet. A finger traced the new dent, next to a few holes splattered with orange.
"Oh, close one!" A grin crept across his face. He pointed one axe in the direction of where the shot came from. "Don't have anything higher caliber anymore?"
"Just needed you to sit still for a bit." Rover quietly quipped to themselves as they lined up a shot.
"Rover don't!" Greg scrambled to stop them. But was too late.
"Third times the charm."
"Ack!" The barbarian cried out in pain.
The shot struck true as a spray of orange blood and bone erupted from behind the madman's skull. The bullet punched through a weakened portion of the helmet, boring through the center of his head and taking a chunk of gray matter as it exited. The barbarian staggered in place, eyes glazing over, as the last bits of neurons fired off before finally collapsing into a heap.
"››Cover now!‹‹" The Troopers advancing with him quickly moved back and into cover, before firing back..
"Third times the charm indeed." A satisfied smirk crept across Rover's face. The high ground was perfect. "He should be down and out with a chunk of his noggin' missing!"
"Oh no, oh no, oh shit!" Greg, on the other hand, was freaking out. Their head jerked back and forth in rapid succession, looking for something. "We're gonna die, we're gonna die, we're gonna die!"
"Calm down and return fire, Greg!" Rover barked at him. "You want the civilians to get out, don't you?"
"We're gonna die, we're gonna die, we're gonna die, we're gonna die, we're gonna die, we're gonna die—" Greg was out of it. His weapon fell from his hands. Fear had consumed him. As if he knew what was coming next. He was slowly backing, eyes searching for the quickest way to escape.
"Damn it, Greg! Get a grip and return fire!"
No amount of barking would get his compatriot to break the fear that held him too tightly. He was on his own.
"Dammit, dammit." Rover cursed under his breath as he worked on picking off any ADVENT that poked their heads out for a split second. Until something caught his attention. The sounds of animalistic groans and snarls. The sight of a barbarian's corpse twitched as purple energy began to glow in his chest. How? More than half his head was gone.
"What the hell…?"
The groaning and snarls grew in intensity as the barbarian thrashed about on the ground. Fingers curling, mouth foaming, bones snapping, as his body contorted in on itself. His body slowly rose to his feet clumsily, like strings were pulling him up. Suddenly, purple psionic energy erupted from his body, causing him to let out a hellish shriek as he jerked up straight.
Eyes glazed over, the chaotic energy swirled around the snarling beast. Healing the grievous head wound, layer by layer. Gray matter to bone. Bone to flesh. Several spots, old circle-shaped scars on his body began to intensely glow with that energy. Another ghoulish howl filled the air as the energy around him grew more chaotic and then suddenly, with a ping, he vanished in a blinding purple light.
"››He's up! Move! But keep your distance!‹‹" An Officer barked out.
ADVENT began advancing once more.
"What the hell was that!?" Rover looked around frantically in between shots. "Where the hell did he go!?"
A dull purple light filled the room at first. Then it slowly grew brighter as energy swirls appeared and traveled towards Rover.
"Oh no, no, NO!" Fear fully consumed Greg. He ran. Booking it towards a backdoor.
"Greg, where the hell do you think you're—"
A psionic ping rang out as the purple light fully flooded the room.
"REEEEEEEE!" That hellish shriek was back. And close. Too close.
"What th—ARGH!"
Before Rover knew it, there was an axe in his neck. It was a silver glint, followed by a spray of crimson. His rifle fell to the floor. Eyes wide open, fear slowly settling in, he was stunned. This is what those reports mentioned.
"Hoowowww?" He let out a gargled gasp. Hands finally working, they rushed to his neck. One to save that precious life that was gushing out and the other tried to pry it out. The axe was firmly set in his meat.
It was that barbarian, still enveloped in that psionic energy, eyes filled with madness, and still snarling but… with a twisted grin.
The barbarian tightened his grip on his axe before ripping it free. Then he raised both high over his head.
"NononoN—"
Like a rabid animal, he brought the axes down onto the unlucky man. Repeatedly. One strike to the neck again, taking along some fingers Rover was too slow to move. It was deeper than the first. More blood flowed. A strike to the chest splintered the bones with a loud crack. Another strike to the neck again. It was barely hanging on now by a few sinews.
Savagely, he continued hacking away at him as Rover gargled out pleads and screams until he could no more. Even then, the madman kept hacking and hacking; bathing in the blood of his victim, until with one final swing, that head flew.
The body, if one could even still call it that, crumbled to the floor.
Panting heavily, the barbarian straightened himself. With each breath, that psionic energy surrounding and coursing through him disappeared until his eyes were no longer glazed over. But those circle-shaped scars littering his body continued to glow.
"Argh, ah…" He craned his neck back and forth. "That bloody hurt." A hand went up to the back of his head. Everything was back and healed, but a chunk of his helmet was missing.
"But…" He giggled. His eyes shifting to the floor, they darted back and forth until he saw his prize. He skipped over to it and picked it up. "I gotcha head! Another for the collection! Ha! Ha!" He cackled, taking a moment to lick some blood off of the terrified face. "The taste of fear. Sweet as always!"
"››Yorrick!‹‹" The Officer had made their way into the building and up to the second floor to find him. They paused for a moment as they entered the room, accessing the situation, if not disgusted by the excessive carnage. So this barbarian had a name.
"Hmm? Oh yes, right." He stashed the head away into one of his many satchels. He took a moment to twirl his axes, knocking off some excess blood."More rebels to exterminate? Got a bit… distracted."
"››Nearly the entire encampment has been exterminated. We still have some runners.‹‹" They informed him.
"Really? Did one of 'em come from this floor?" He had faint memories of someone terrified running before he slaughtered their friend.
The Officer nodded.
"Oh, let them run away." He said. "Actually, let the others run too!" He hummed.
"››Sir?‹‹" Such a strange order.
"Let them. Let them know fear. Let them know what awaits them for attempting to disobey the Elders." A wicked smile crept across his blood-splattered face. "Let them know the fear of the Ghost Butcher."
"››Yes sir.‹‹" They nodded and quickly left to bark some orders to the other troopers.
Yorrick stretched his neck again. He cast his gaze at the corpse. Baring his teeth, he felt an all too familiar gnaw ticking his brain and stomach. "Tempting, but later." He twirled his axes. "Let's finish up business here." He struck the blades of his axes together before heading back out to hunt for any stragglers.
The slaughter continued for half an hour more as they swept the camp to find those who tried to hide to ride out the assault and killed them.
Yorrick was true to his word allowing those that had run to get away. It would have been a waste of time to even chase them down.
With the action simmering down, the Officer took over to sweep through the camp again. Time to gather choice bodies and search for any intel and contraband. Yorrick considered the task boring.
"That was… invigorating." Like a hyped-up rabbit, the Yorrick hopped in place. He twirled his axes for a bit before finally holstering them on his back. He rubbed his hands together eyes his eyes scanning the decimated camp. He was ready to start hunting for more spoils of war. "Oooh ho, ho! Wonder where I'll be sent to next."
"Still uncivilized as ever, I see my knife-eared friend!" An alluring voice commented.
"Eh?" He craned his head in the voice's direction.
Stepping off of the dropship was a pale, brown man clad in a white suit. He looked very out of place. More out of place than Yorrick.
Yorrick squinted his eyes for a moment, raising his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. A gasp escaped from his lips. His ears popped up. "If it isn't my puppeteer best friend!" A few skips and a hop over and Yorrick swept the twig, compared to him, of a man up in his arms.
"My suit…" He whined.
"I could just kiss you, Garrette." He sung.
"Please don't."
Much to his reluctance, Yorrick proceeded to kiss his cheeks a few times, smattering a suitable amount of blood and slobber on him.
"YORRICK!"
A cackle escaped his lips before he finally dropped his friend.
Garrette raised a hand to his face, shuddering as he pulled back a thick trail of spit and blood. He looked down at his suit and wasn't amused by his new red, orange, and white splotched look. "For the love of… no, no, no." He quieted himself.
He took another step back as he could feel a strong disgust boil deep within himself and he did not need to go off. He quickly produced a handkerchief from a pokiest and worked to get most of the muck off his face. The suit was forfeit.
As he cleaned his face, he took a good look at Yorrick. Hmph. Blood and gore. New bones to his waistcoat and necklace. Same old, same old with his unlikely friend. He noticed those still glowing scars which were less vibrant than before. Then he noticed something missing from his friend.
"No control rods?" He asked.
Yorrick's nose wrinkled. He spat and crossed his arms. "Don't need those damned things. Perfectly fine without 'em."
Garrette raised a brow. "They keep you from going insane when you resurrect when on the clock."
"The madness adds to the fun!"
"Makes you more of a risk to the others." He gestured to the Troopers. "How in the world did you even get fielded without—"
"Sooo!" Yorrick sung. He walked around his friend, finger playfully jabbing at this head. "What brings you here? You TV personality, you?"
His brow twitched with each jab. Avoiding the question, but it was always a touchy subject. "Back to business." He mumbled. Garrette raised a finger as he worked to get remove the last bits of muck stubbornly clinging to his face. After a minute, he let out a happy sigh and flung the soiled handkerchief away. Hands shifted and adjusted the opening of his suit only to cringe feeling the still wet gore.
"Well," Garettee steadied himself, "I'm here to retrieve you. Prep you for a meeting"
"Retrieve?" Yorrick gasped, hand clutching his chest dramatically. "I'm doing my bloody job! Like They instruct."
"Oh no, you're doing that quite… fine, I see. Sans the control rods." He cast a glance at several mutilated corpses spread around. Excessive violence. Not his usual tastes. "We are being called in."
"We?" Yorrick crossed his arms once more. "As in all of us?"
He nodded. "An important meeting will happen in just a few days." With an elegant gesture to the dropship he arrived on, he started to head that way.
"Exactly why?" Yorrick followed.
"The Elders are… worried. If I can say that." How sensitive Their egos could be. "Their 'children' aren't fully cut out for a particular task."
"Oh, ho, ho, ho." He snickered. "Something's serving the Chosen their asses? Consistently? That's a first."
"That's one way to put it."
Soon the two boarded the dropship.
"Oh, I like that. This has me interested." He grinned. "Who we hunting?"
"Have you heard of that oh-so-troublesome resistance group called XCOM, right?"
A devilish grin crept across Yorrick's face. "Oh, I have."