X-Men: The Raid (Part 7)

Storm made another massive, sweeping circle through the air, her eyes casting about on the ground below. From her height, the campus and the wreckage caused by the battle looked almost miniature, like a model. She would have thought it even from a much greater height she wouldn’t miss a battle of super powered mutants, but so far, she hadn’t been able to find Jean and the rest of her team. There were the signs of battle, unconscious Morlocks and students, but no X-Men.

Rogue, who along with Siryn was sweeping the area in a similar aerial pattern, called out over the winds.

“Dangit, where in the Sam Hill are they?! This campus ain’t THAT big!”

Although Storm was much less vocal than her spunky southern teammate, she shared her concerns. The fact that the mental link had gone down mean that Jean was incapacitated and that boded ill for the rest of her team. Jubilee’s fireworks, Dazzler’s light shows, or even Domino’s gunfire should have led Storm and her team right to them, but there had been no sign. There had been no telepathic contact and no hails over their comm system, which meant they had all been taken out very quickly or their comms were jammed, neither of which was a good sign.

Another puzzling factor was the Morlocks’ sudden change in behavior. Initially, Storm’s team had flown at a much lower altitude but had been forced higher when the Morlocks had taken to shooting at them from the buildings. This in itself wasn’t unusual, it was the manner in which they did it, taking single shots and ducking away, covering each other, bounding from building to building, that was much closer to elite sniper tactics than tribal raiders. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought they were dealing with a different, much higher trained squad.

On top of everything else, not as logical but just as significant, Storm simply had a bad feeling. Something was different than when they’d arrived at the campus. Whatever it was eluded her, but she trusted her intuition and the warnings of her spirit. Perhaps a new foe had stepped in, perhaps this had all been a trap by Callisto. Regardless, she feared the X-Men were in for one of their greatest challenges to date.

Suddenly, a voice rang out, so clearly it was like it was spoken directly into her ear.

“Storm… Storm, can you hear me?”

Storm abruptly pulled up and came to a stop, her cape billowing out like the wings of an eagle. It took her an instant to realize the voice had sounded in her mind rather than in the air and as used to she was to telepathic communication, she couldn’t help but be startled.

“Storm!” the voice came again, “Storm, are you hearing this? We’re in… a bit of trouble.”

Ororo recognized the tone, if not the voice per se. One’s telepathic voice didn’t necessarily resemble one’s physical voice, but it was similar enough that with the dry, slightly playful accent, she knew who was calling to her.

“Betsy,” she mentally replied, “I hear you. Where are you? What’s happened?”

For several seconds, Storm waited and received no response. She was stationary long enough that Rogue and Siryn noticed.

“Hey, ‘ro!” Rogue called, “You see something, girl? You all right?”

Storm held up her hand for silence and narrowed her eyes as she focused on her thoughts. If Psylocke was under duress, the message might be faint or garbled. She needed to make it as easy for her teammate as she could.

When Betsy’s reply came back clear as a bell, she was initially relieved until she heard what the ninja telepath had to say.

“They have Jean’s team, Storm,” Psylocke said, “Marvel Girl, Jubilee, Domino, and Dazzler are all down. The Morlocks captured them. They’re… doing something to Jean.”

Storm’s blood ran cold.

“Where?” she demanded, “Where are they? Where are you?”

Another pause as Psylocke presumably looked for landmarks.

“Ah… I’m in the administrative building, I think. Big red brick, west side of the campus.”

Storm turned to the west and scanned for a building matching the description.

“I’m… in a spot of bother myself,” Psylocke continued, “But I can see them out the east side window, the grass between the buildings.”

It was difficult to see more than the roofs of the buildings from this angle, but Storm made out the red brick building in the distance. Immediately, she called the winds to propel her in that direction at full speed.

Rogue and Siryn took one look at each other and shot after her.

“We’re on our way to you,” Storm squinted into the winds, her pulled straight back like a gleaming, white ribbon, “Where are Shadowcat and Wolverine?”

“We split up,” Psylocke replied, “Perhaps not the wisest decision, looking back on it.”

The X-Men’s leader winced. Though it hadn’t been intentional, she’d reminded Storm of how they had wound up in this situation to begin with.

Goddess, she should never have split them up. Even if Callisto got away, it was better than losing any member of their team. If anything happened to any one of them, it was her fault.

She shook her head. Now was not the time for self-recriminations. Her team was relying on her to lead them to victory and that was the task she must focus on. She could flagellate herself later.

“Have faith, Betsy,” Storm replied, “We’ll be with you shortly.”

“I have… all the faith in the world,” came the reply, “But… sooner would be better, Storm.”

The connection was cut.

Storm called on all the winds she could muster, dark clouds swirling in the sky above as she marshalled her power.

Her feelings told her the end game of this battle was imminent. And by the goddess, the X-Men were going to stop Callisto and her ravaging tribe. For the sake of her team, and the world, she would take victory, even if she had to wrestle it from the hands of fate itself.

---------------

Psylocke was slammed onto a table by the collar of her costume, her arms flopping uselessly and resting beside her. Barely a thought in her head, she managed a faint moan and didn’t even try to lift herself up, any more than she’d tried to catch herself when she’d been jerked forward to bang onto the wooden surface. Entirely limp, she was left bent over, legs buckled and ankles turned inwards. If it weren’t for the hand pinning her down, she would have slipped right to the floor and probably not have gotten up.

The position lacked any sort of dignity, the angle widening the gap between the globes of her butt, deliberately presenting its peachy shape. The seat of her costume had been tugged around, one side pulled up farther than the other, leaving even less to the imagination than it usually did. In general, she was a mess, hair mussed, one of her opera gloves torn down to her wrist, her sash hanging loose, but she was far beyond caring. She was no longer even trying to save herself, much less protect her modesty.

Shiva admired her handiwork, looking up and down Psylocke’s shining, muscular legs, the gleaming bands still looped around her thighs. They didn’t seem quite so long and graceful now that they were buckled, rising up into two round shapes that were impressive regardless of their position. The X-Man’s athleticism was still clear in the tone of her figure, but the amazon-like Morlock had beaten it down until she was little more than a pretty, beautifully curved doll.

She was proud of the work she’d done on the ninja. Very proud.

“You’ve definitely got a sweet body, I’ll give you that,” Shiva said, “Those tits, legs… and a perfect ass. It’s like someone made you in a computer.”

She took the lower part of the blue leotard then gave it a couple of solid yanks, wedging it up even higher until it looked little thicker than dental floss.

All of the British ninja’s wry wit was long gone. She merely mewled in discomfort and stayed still.

“Not so tough without your friends,” Shiva sneered, “But I’m not complaining. I’m having a ball.”

She gave Psylocke’s backside several firm pops, making the relaxed shapes jiggle. It was almost an encouraging gesture, as if congratulating the thoroughly beaten X-Man on the masterpiece they’d created together.

Eyelids drooped with utter resignation, cheek smooshed into the table, Psylocke stared at the wall. She didn’t even react to the audacious smacking of her bottom.

The office where the one-sided fight had taken place had been turned upside down. There was little that was in its original place and few pieces of furniture that wasn’t destroyed, mostly over Psylocke’s body. The carpet was torn up in several places, a potted plant smashed against a wall, even some of the heavier desks were smashed. It had all been turned into Shiva’s playground, just background in which she could bat her helpless prey around.

After pausing to give the heroine’s booty a quick squeeze, Shiva released the back of the blue leotard and took a handful of violet hair, close to her victim’s head. With one hand, she lifted Psylocke from the table like she weighed no more than a wet towel.

Psylocke moaned faintly, her hair pulled taut against her scalp.

Holding the heroine up, her feet off the ground, Shiva turned Betsy around to face her. She looked the heroine up and down, then grinned.

Other than a slight pinch of discomfort in her brow, Psylocke’s elegant, exotic features hung as slack as her exhausted body. A spot of blood was set on her lip, a purpling bruise under one eye, other marks adorning her body, yet not broken bones. The super strong Morlock could have smashed her to a pulp with a single blow, but she’d decided instead just to hurt her, harming her enough to tire her but never finishing her.

At this point, Psylocke knew that well. Over almost ten minutes, she’d tried to fight back, but succeeded only in hurting herself on her opponent’s durable skin. Shiva had even let her attack sometimes, wear herself out further, adding to her humiliation before smacking her down. It had been about as much of a fight as a toddler against a playful gorilla.

“Hmm…” Shiva mused, “What haven’t I done with you yet…?”

Her toes dangling inches above the ground, Betsy stared and waited. She knew what would happen next and knew she could do nothing about it.

“I have all these ideas,” the Morlock scowled, “But then when it’s time to—Oh!”

Suddenly she brightened as an idea returned to her.

“How about this one?”

Psylocke couldn’t help but groan as the villainess began to pick her up.

Taking one of the heroine’s arms, she looped it across her own shoulders, then bent down to take her under the hip. The limp X-Man obediently slumped into her, her head nodding against the big, orange shoulder, before she was scooped up. Shiva lifted her up, drawing her entire body across her shoulders now, then took her in both hands and pressed her overhead without even a grunt of effort.

The absurdity of Betsy’s position made her wonder if this was some kind of bizarre nightmare. She was being held horizontally in the air, like a championship belt or trophy, one limp arm across her breasts while the other dangled down to touch the Morlock’s shoulder, her hair falling in a violet curtain. She could have at least squirmed, but she wasn’t even trying. It was like they had both agreed to their roles, and her part was to stay limp and let Shiva lug her around and smash her into things.

“I call this one Broke Back Mutant!” the Morlock proudly proclaimed.

At the prospect of incoming pain, Psylocke tensed, managing a whimper.

The sound was cut off when Shiva slammed the heroine down across her hard, broad shoulders.

The impact threatened to fold Betsy in half sideways. Pain lanced through her joints and she cried out in pain, one of her arms shooting out, a spasmic response to the assault. It was an instant of life, but it faded quickly, the arm flopping down once more and the cry warbling off into a whimper.

“Nice,” Shiva laughed to herself, “I wasn’t sure if that would work.”

With a shrug of her shoulders, she let Psylocke roll off and flop back to the ground with a grunt.

“All these moves work real good on you, though,” the villainess turned, putting her hands on her hips, “You’re so… breakable.”

On her back, breasts heaving, Psylocke barely took note of the words. She recognized the taunting tone, yet what was more important was relishing these few seconds of rest. The carpet was at least softer than a wooden table, she wasn’t being uncomfortably held up by her hair or a single limb, and a few vaguely taunting words weren’t nearly as humiliating as being held aloft like a doll. Her only complaint was she could still feel the invasive wedgie the villainess had gifted her. She hoped it would be a while before Shiva thought of something else to do.

Most of all, she wanted this to be over. She was exhausted, long beaten, her pride and dignity discarded.

Her brow fretted as she stared at the ceiling, yearning desperately to be finished off. She knew Shiva could have done it long ago and now she found herself pleading for it, for an opportunity to accept defeat and blissful unconsciousness. She wanted to beg for mercy.

God… please let this be over… she thought, please… just let it end…

Looming over her, Shiva pursed her lips thoughtfully, stroking her chin. She was considering her opponent’s pleading expression, as if she’d just noticed it and it gave her pause.

The pause went on longer than usual before Betsy was treated to some kind of pain or humiliation. She turned her weary eyes towards Shiva, hoping this wasn’t a prelude to something worse.

The orange amazon mused, looking along the length of the prone ninja’s body. It was like she was surveying, looking for something she had left unfinished, perhaps a patch of skin that wasn’t scraped or bruised. She even tilted her head, narrowing her eyes, giving something serious thought.

Finally, she sighed.

“All right,” the villainess reached down, “Up and at em…”

She took a handful of blue spandex, the part that was stretched out and helpfully presented by Psylocke’s breasts, then lifted her up.

Betsy didn’t groan this time, allowing herself to be sat up, then pulled up to her feet. The tugging at her suit deepened her wedgie a bit and stretched the fabric from the sides of her breasts, but it was better than being yanked up by her scalp.

Shiva straightened her up, then gave the heroine a quick shake as if to wake her. It made Psylocke’s head bobble back and forward before flopping down to rest on her chest.

“Look at me, legs,” she said.

She gave the heroine another shake, then patted her hip.

“Come on,” she coaxed, “Hold your head up. Let me see those pretty eyes.”

For a second Betsy considered ignoring the request. She knew fighting wouldn’t do any good, but she wasn’t going to help the woman humiliate her either. Even holding her head up seemed like a massive hardship.

But then she relented. What did a bit more embarrassment matter at this point?

Slowly she lifted her head. It slumped towards one shoulder, but she kept it up, staring at her opponent with abject exhaustion.

Shiva seemed to like the look. She grinned and eyed Psylocke up and down once more.

“Yeah,” she nodded, “You’re pretty well done, huh?”

Betsy didn’t have the heart to respond or the strength to nod. The villainess didn’t want an answer anyway; she seemed to be talking to herself.

Shiva continued to nod, then with her free hand reached to the X-Man’s waist. She took the pink sash, already hanging off her hips, then finished untying the knot with a few gentle tugs. Undoing it entirely, she slipped it off the ninja’s svelte waist, the silk whispering off the spandex.

“I think we can probably call it a day,” she held up her trophy, admiring the shiny fabric, “I should rejoin the others. Still have to kick the rest of your team’s ass.”

She tucked one end of the sash into a pocket of her vest, then stuffed it inside like a handkerchief.

“We both know who won,” Shiva continued poking the sash down, “And I’m almost starting to get bored with this. Almost. So, I think I can probably finish you off…”

Psylocke swallowed, starting to get a bad feeling.

“If…” the villainess continued, “I hear you admit a few teensy, weensy things first…”

She finished tucking the sash into her pocket then turned her gaze back to Betsy’s.

“First…” her eyes narrowed, sly and cruel, “I want you to admit that I didn’t just win, I kicked your pretty little ass…”

Psylocke winced, her head starting to droop again.

After all the humiliation and punishment, after all the times she’d cried out, been entirely helpless to defend herself, the only good thing she could say about her performance is she hadn’t begged. At the very least, she hadn’t given Shiva that satisfaction. But now even that small victory was going to be taken away… if she didn’t want this torture to continue.

Betsy chewed at her lip and turned her weary eyes away. She wanted to cry.

Shiva pulled on the breast of her spandex, pulling her closer.

“Say it, X-Man,” she said in a softer voice, “It’s the truth and you know it. Just say it. Admit it.”

A lump formed in Betsy’s throat and she tried to swallow it down. Years ago, in grammar school, a girl had tried to bully her. She’d kicked that girl’s ass, but for a moment she’d felt that same fear and shame that she felt now. Now, however, it was much, much worse.

There was no point in staying quiet. Shiva was right. The only thing she could do was get it over with. She couldn’t take another twenty minutes of this. She’d just say this and it would be over.

Psylocke’s reaction was the same as any girl who submitted to a bully. Her head and eyes lowered, she swallowed again, brow furrowing with shame at what she was about to say. She was sad, beaten, less than what she had been.

“I… I admit it…” she whispered.

Shiva shook her head, but her grin broadened.

“No,” she reached up to stroke the exposed side of the heroine’s breast, “Say it like I said it. I kicked your pretty little ass.”

Psylocke swallowed again, her head sinking a little lower.

“You… didn’t just beat me…” she said in a sad monotone, “You kicked my… pretty little ass.”

“Now say,” Shiva leaned closer, affecting a cockney, mocking version of Betsy’s accent, “Oh, please, mummy. Please knock my little ass out.”

Psylocke flushed, closing her eyes for a second. She couldn’t believe this was happening.

“Oh… p-please, mummy…” she said, “Please knock my little ass out…”

Shiva’s grin twitched.

“Okay…” she said, her voice tight with mirth, “Now say… It’s proper ninja night-night time.”

The beaten X-Man’s head hung, no longer caring to hold it up.

“It’s… proper ninja night-night time.”

Shiva laughed gently, amused, but also pleased. Very pleased. She’d not only beaten an X-Man, she’d made one degrade herself and beg for mercy. That alone was more than worth getting punched in the face earlier by Rogue.

Psylocke allowed the laughter to wash over her without raising her head. There was no point glaring or trying to defend herself. She couldn’t feel any lower than she did right then.

After a bit of pleased laughter, the villainess sighed and looked the humbled X-Man over. Her eyes softened and she smiled affectionately, even somewhat apologetically. Like she didn’t necessarily feel guilty but was sorry it had to happen.

“Awww…” she cooed, then tipped up the heroine’s chin.

Drawing closer, she pressed a gentle kiss to Psylocke’s left cheek, followed by her right. She finished with another, more lingering kiss on the forehead, almost like a benediction. After the last, gentle press of lips, she withdrew and offered another loving smile.

“All right, ninja girl,” she said sweetly, “Let’s put you out.”

Psylocke’s expression hung sadly, her eyelids drooped, unreactive. She was getting her wish, but it wasn’t something she wanted to celebrate.

Shiva reached down and slipped her hand between the ninja’s firm, glossy thighs. The palm smoothed invasively over her crotch, then past, all the way around to her bottom. There, on the warm space between the groin and the flanks, she took a firm grip and lifted.

Once again, Betsy found herself rising into the air like she weighed nothing. Held up over the Morlock’s head, she faced the floor, arms and legs dangling as limp as her violet hair. She didn’t even groan, entirely still, allowing her enemy to handle her body as she wished.

Shiva held her there for several seconds, beaming in triumph.

Psylocke was hers, even more a trophy than the sash stuffed into her pocket. The sexy X-Man’s pose was almost like that of a pig on a spit, Shiva’s handholds leaving her rump and shoulders propped up while her waist sagged between them. The villainess’s orange hand smothered most of the heroine’s flanks but couldn’t completely hide the rounded shapes. All she was missing was an apple in her mouth.

Shiva strode in a small circle, as if showing the heroine off for a crowd. When she stopped, it was with a broad, eager grin.

“It’s time for… the Railroad Spike!”

Licking her lips, she readjusted her grip, fixing her stance and giving her imaginary audience a moment to cheer in anticipation. She might not have been as powerful as other heavy hitters, like Rogue or Colossus, but her showmanship was up there with the best of them.

Besides, she needed to concentrate for a second to do this move right.

After a few more seconds, she was ready.

She spun in a slow circle then tossed the heroine up into the air. While the limp body was still airborne, she jumped after it, looping an arm around the back of its neck. Together they rose to the same height, for a split second hung at the zenith, then fell.

Shiva kicked out her legs.

The landing was thunderous. The muscular Morlock’s backside slammed into the floor, rattling the windows, the force travelling up her body and into her victim.

Psylocke’s chin bounced off Shiva’s chin and bucked high into the air, almost folding her over backwards before it fell again. Jarred several inches backwards by the impact, she missed the orange shoulder this time and instead hit the floor. Her limbs flopped violently, thrown out by the belly-flop landing as if in momentary celebration, then came down and lay still.

Sitting with legs splayed like a toddler, Shiva grinned boisterously, pleased with her success. The timing was difficult with that one, but she’d nailed it. She hadn’t felt the fall, just Psylocke’s head smacking off her shoulder. The only downside was she’d had to be gentle to keep from breaking the ninja girl’s neck. Next time she’d have to try that on someone more durable.

Grunting, the pleased powerhouse stood up, pushing herself off her knees, then took a second to dust herself off.

A woman of simple pleasures, she didn’t wonder how she’d known this is exactly where Psylocke would be. It never crossed her mind that she shouldn’t have been able to sneak up on the ninja or evade her telepathic senses. She didn’t question the urges that had guided her here, nor the urge that was directing her to pick up Psylocke and go somewhere else. She simply decided what she felt like, then did it, in that order.

Which is partly why, though she felt an important moment was coming and that she needed to be where Callisto was to see it, she didn’t immediately grab a handful of violet hair and drag Psylocke away. There was something else she felt like doing first.

Turning around, she stared down at the fallen figure in the blue spandex.

Psylocke was entirely out, of that there was no doubt. She lay face down, nose smooshed into the carpet, her limbs splayed about at wild, uncomfortable angles, and her leotard was still bunched up tight into the groove of her bottom. Despite all these things, she didn’t moan or make the slightest movement to adjust herself. She was just a pile of curves, tight fabric, and shining, violet hair.

What Shiva had in mind was completely unnecessary, but the more she looked down at the ruined, formerly graceful martial artist, the more she decided it was the perfect ending to the fight.

Dropping back down to all fours, she tucked her hands under the limp figure’s shoulders and hips, then flipped her over.

Psylocke obediently rolled onto her back, head lolling to the side, expression peaceful and unconscious at last.

Clambering over her, Shiva reached under Betsy’s thigh, hugged it against her chest, then rolled over, dropping her massive shoulders into the smaller woman’s stomach. Psylocke wheezed in her sleep as the Morlock pulled back on her leg like a joystick, stretching the limp limb high in the air. A classic single leg pin.

“One!” Shiva slapped the mat with her free hand, “Two! THREE!”

The only bell signaling the end of the “match” was in the orange amazon’s mind, but she was satisfied. Psylocke’s flexibility allowed her to lift the leg so far, it lifted one side of her flanks off the ground. If she pulled more, she was sure she could touch the heroine’s knee to her head.

She decided to forego that for now. Instead, she smoothed her hand up and down the back of the stretched thigh, enjoying how taut and firm it was in this new position, then let it go.

Released, Psylocke’s leg swung down and bounced off the floor. Her peaceful expression never even flickered.

Satisfied, Shiva looped her arm around the heroine’s waist as she stood up. Carrying Psylocke’s limp body under her arm made it no harder for the super strong Morlock to rise.

Once up, Shiva stretched with her free arm, then popped her neck. Kicking ninja girl’s ass hadn’t quite given her a workout, but it was enough to get her blood flowing. Maybe soon she’d get to fight someone who could make her break a sweat.

“Come on, girly,” she gave the rump under her arm a good smack, “I have a feeling things are about to get a lot more interesting…”

Feeling chipper, altogether pleased, she moseyed off in the direction she knew she should go.