“Ma’am,” Stheno peeked in the door to the conference room, “everyone’s on their way.”
“Good,” the fire princess said. “When they arrive, send them in.”
Azula sat with her back to the door, staring into the blue flames she’d conjured in the fireplace. As the sapphire embers swirled before her face, she saw the last gasps of the Miniskirt Armada dancing within them. She’d taken over less than a week ago, and already she found her army stretched thin, utterly fucked by Roy’s betrayal and the soldiers they’d lost with it. They still had a formidable force, and Azula still had an unstoppable spirit -- and that, she knew, would carry them across the finish line. She saw their goal in her mind, and she knew that at this point, there was no other option but to just break straight for it. At this point, the only thing they could do… was make a move.
The grand mahogany doors of the meeting chamber swung open, and the Princess-Commander spun around in her chair. Stheno strolled in first, the various generals and lieutenants of the Miniskirt Armada filing in behind her. Azula’s eyes caught first on the recently-promoted John Connor, patched up as much as he could be from the betrayal of Altanis he’d successfully escaped from just days before. She had to admit -- she’d always thought the man was a little light on the fire, but he’d managed to impress her with the stunt that he pulled. She couldn’t guarantee she would’ve done the same, but he saved the majority of his unit and brought them back to Briggs safely, and that alone proved he was worthy of his promotion to General. Lieutenant Ki tailed him closely, having grown into an important fixture of his unit; the pair slid into seats opposite Azula, conferring privately where they sat.
Mirage and Wraith, who now sported Miniskirt colors, limped in next, freshly wounded from their showdown at one of Gilgamesh’s fortifications. Azula had already heard reports of the ferocity of the pair, and she was happy to see both of them alive -- even if one of them seemed to stand on her last legs. Not far behind them, the trio of Beatrix III, Jaina Proudmoore, and Android XVII -- who had been instrumental to Connor’s unit’s escape from Uxmal -- followed, along with Nico Cinder, who’d been tasked with escorting Gamzee Makara to the briefing.
Sergeant Swift and Pepsiman were the final officers to enter the meeting hall, finding themselves seats near Beatrix and her company. Azula sat and watched them all confer and chitchat, Stheno taking her place near her side, before she finally stood up and everyone went silent.
“Good morning,” she smiled, as genuinely as a psychopath like her could. “Thank you all for returning today. We’ve got a lot to discuss.”
Sergeant Swift raised a hand. “Pardon me, ma’am,” the blonde piped up. “Where’s the co-commander?”
Azula shuddered a bit at the question. She’d almost allowed herself to forget that, technically, she shared titular authority with the meek, polite doctor who currently busied himself in the lower levels. “He’s working on something,” she leaned forward and placed her hands on the table, “...something that hopefully will turn the tide.”
***
Many levels below the meeting room, Dr. Swift watched as the back door of Fortress Briggs opened and Dewey Duck looked up at him.
“Corporal Duck,” Swift nodded, “good to see you. Did you find what you were looking for?”
Dewey glanced over his shoulder. “Uh, yeah,” he pointed, and Dr. Swift leaned out the door, several soldiers from Team Science converging behind him and the young messenger.
Dark Duck squirmed in the bushes, growling at the sight of Fort Briggs’ back door. She looked altogether mangled from her original form, a shell of the Della Duck that Dewey so fondly had imagined. What could’ve happened to her at the hands of this horrific corporation? How could she be such a far reach from the mother he’d always hoped to find?
“You’re not gonna hurt her,” Dewey muttered, “right?”
Co-Commander Research Doctor Swift placed a hand on the small mallard’s shoulder. “I’m not sure there’s anything left of your mother to hurt, little one,” he said, sadly.
Tears welled up in the duck’s eyes, and he turned quickly, scurrying into the underlevels of Fortress Briggs and disappearing from Swift’s sight. The polite doctor stepped out of the backdoor, his soldiers at his shoulders, and sighed. He really did feel badly for the little guy -- he was just that kind, and empathetic. But he also was a nice enough dude that he wasn’t going to sugarcoat the truth, and the truth about what happened to Della Duck was already ugly, and he hadn’t even gotten a chance to cut her open yet.
“Men,” he breathed, “seize her.”
***
“So what’s the plan, boss?”
Azula’s eyes flitted to Mirage, who’d kicked his feet up on the table.
“I mean, yeah we shredded that tower, but I don't think we can do that again,” the Apex Legend mused. “Plus, I don't know if you've noticed but Wraith hasn't been looking so good and any battle might be her last,” he continued. “Is getting us nearly killed on the agenda again?”
“Depends,” Azula shrugged, “do you plan on continuing to be belligerent?”
The table grew quiet, and the fire princess felt the energy shift. She looked around at all of the faces here, clearly non-plussed to have a teenage psychopath sassing them after all they’d been through in the past few days, and if she really thought about it — really — she couldn’t blame them. She met Stheno’s gaze through her blindfold and then turned back to all of them, swallowed a deep, nervous gulp and said words she’d never even considered saying before.
“I’m… sorry.”
The collective shock at the table over that sent everyone even deeper into silence. Azula… apologizing? Mirage’s feet slid off the table and the bamboozler leaned forward. “What’s the damage, boss lady?”
At that, Azula bit her lip. What was the damage? The truth was, well… everything. The Miniskirt territory had, for the most part, remained intact, but their situation was not what it once was. Their numbers had dwindled dramatically thanks in no small part to the defection of the Babylonians. Their most recent — and, in Azula’s mind, final — attempt at playing nice with the Hell Divers had gone decidedly sour. She could tell that although she’d inherited a beast of a time, her soldiers were already wondering if the Princess-Commander truly had the stuff to be up to snuff. If she were being honest… she was wondering that, as well.
No, she scolded herself, quit that. You are Azula, crown princess of the motherfucking Fire Nation. You can handle this. You can still win this.
But she couldn’t pretend there was no damage.
“Are we doomed, ma’am?”
Azula looked up. The sad, war-worn face of John Connor stared at her from the other end of the table. Normally, his robot pal would’ve been behind him, but no more. Azula didn’t feel too awful about the T-800’s demise — after all, of all the soldiers she’d lost, it was the least human, even less so than Pepsiman — but she had to admit that seeing John Connor depressed made even her a little teary. Especially after he’d been such a good officer to her.
“Absolutely not,” she stood up straight. “We are not doomed.”
“Sure seems like you’re doomed,” Wraith shrugged.
“Then why join us?” the ebony-haired android across the table sassed. Seventeen sat up in his chair. “Why not run back to your Hell Divers?”
“Perhaps the bitch thinks we’ll keep her safe,” Beatrix scoffed. “Dead wrong.”
“Beatrix,” Jaina scolded, reaching out a hand and grasping the blood mage tightly on her shoulder. “Stop.”
“Everyone needs to remain calm,” Ki said, standing at his seat. He barely rose over the table, prompting a hearty guffaw from Nico Cinder next to him.
“I gotta say, it’s really fucking neat that we’ve got a car samurai sitting in on these secret meetings,” the teen laughed.
Ki didn’t seem incredibly bothered by the boy’s comment — though he never seemed incredibly bothered by anything — but nevertheless he turned to Cinder and started to speak. The words were lost beneath the sudden, loud shouting of Beatrix III, who’d watched a barely-hanging-on Wraith roll her eyes during that brief exchange and stood up to confront the other woman. Try as she might, Jaina lost her grip on Beatrix’s shoulder, and it looked as though the blood mage might strike when suddenly the entire table burst into blue flame.
Everyone slid back, watching as sapphire fire covered the surface of the ornate wooden conference table. Mirage shielded Wraith, helping her onto her feet and towards a corner, as Azula climbed up onto the burning piece of furniture and stood in the middle of her generals and lieutenants. Hot flames lapped at her ankles; they perhaps would’ve climbed up her dress if it had been made of lesser fabric.
As it were, she stood like the Fire Lord she was amidst the raging blue inferno, looking down at the men, women, and cats below her.
“I expect there will be no more outbursts,” she glared at them, hands folded behind her back. “We are one, not many. We are grateful to the contributions of everyone in this room and the soldiers in their command, including those who may not always have been with us.” She glanced down at Wraith. “I know the power of loyalty,” she nodded, remembering the reports of Gilgamesh’s defection, the word they’d recieved that Mustang had bowed to the pretender, “and I do not take it lightly that you have chosen to stand with us, Renee. Whatever your reason.”
She glanced toward Beatrix. “Nor do I take lightly those who have been loyal since the beginning. I may not have always been your commander, but I have always believed in our burning legion, and I am happy to see every piece of it here that remains here.”
She straightened her back. “And I am rarely happy.”
“It’s true,” John Connor muttered, eliciting a chuckle from the Princess-Commander.
“Now,” Azula continued, “we are not what we once were, it’s true. But we are not out yet. And all of us know, I think, what comes next. What have we been working toward? What’s the endgame, here? Clowns in the north, clowns to the south, clowns to the west. We are surrounded by fools, and it is time we showed them just how foolish they were to challenge us. It is time we marched into battle and proved to the evils that await that they were wrong not to fear us.”
She took a deep breath, smoke from the smoldering table flying into her lungs. “We must make them know that underestimating us was their biggest mistake.”
“It was,” Stheno called from the head of the table, still standing just off to one side of Azula’s chair. “Especially with someone as crazy as you in charge.”
The gorgon smiled at Azula, and the fire princess grinned back. Everyone in the room stood still for a moment as they wondered if the perceived slight was going to shift their leader’s mood on a dime, sending her into one of the blind, furious rages she’d been known for. But it didn’t — instead, she laughed, and Stheno laughed, and the two young women cackled and cackled and cackled for nearly half a minute until finally, someone else chimed in.
“Yeah,” Nico shrugged, “you’re fucking nuts!”
“A truly refreshing psycho!” Pepsiman whirred.
“I knew you were trouble when you walked in!” Sergeant Swift belted.
“Honestly the only reason I didn’t defect sooner,” Wraith shrugged.
“Just fucking weird,” Seventeen nodded.
“Yeah, we all heard about that punchfest,” Mirage piped up.
“YOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Gamzee screeched.
Within moments, every soul in the room had erupted into uproarious laughter, for the most part, and Azula let her own witchy cackle begin to die down. She waved her hands, and the fire dissipated from the table’s surface. The Princess-Commander observed her compatriots, incredibly ragged and some incredibly broken, and sighed. They were the ones who were going to be with her until the end. She wasn’t normally sentimental about such things, but today… well, today, for the first time since Mai and Ty Lee had betrayed her, she appreciated other human beings. And cats. And robots.
It wasn’t a feeling she was totally comfortable with; in fact, it made her cringe excessively. But she knew that at the end of the day, working together with those who had stood beside her, who had been with the legion since the jump, or who had proven their loyalty since, was the way that they could still win this godforsaken game.
“Thank you all for your service before, your service now, and your service in the future,” she said. “With your help, we will continue to cut a path across this island, and we will show those monsters who should really be feared here, on this ridiculous comet. We will show Karl Jak that he made the right decision placing us together, that our Legion is strong, and that we will burn everyone else to the ground. Those abominations will smolder before our might, and the foolish traitors of the Hell Divers and pretenders of Babylonia will be strangled by the wreckage.”
“To the Burning Legion,” Stheno shouted, and the entire room went quiet.
“If I may,” Pepsiman chimed in, “it’s impossible to toast without a refreshing beverage.”
As if by magic, a collection of glasses rose from the table, all filled to the brim with different Pepsi products. Azula squatted down, lifting her rocks glass full of Baja Blast.
“We are a Legion,” she spoke, quieter than before. “May our enemies burn and our friends burn bright.”
The generals and lieutenants lifted their glasses in unison, clinked them against those nearby, and then gulped down the refreshing liquids. As they drank, all went silent once again, until…
“So what’s the plan?!” Nico shouted, slamming his glass on the scorched table.
Azula turned to the punk-rock kid and smirked. “I’m so glad you asked…”
***
Hours later, Azula was back in her private quarters, preparing her things to depart. She knew it might be the last time she’d be in Briggs, so she had to make sure that she gathered what she needed for the trek. When the sun rose the next morning, she would once again be leaving Fortress Briggs on what might be a fool’s errand -- but she would have her generals and lieutenants at her back, and if this was her last stand, it would be a ferocious one.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Ma’am,” Stheno’s voice announced her arrival. “I’ve brought what you asked for.”
“Come here, first,” Azula waved her in. “I’d like to speak to you.”
The mercenary entered and shut the door behind her. Azula turned and looked at her soldier-turned-personal bodyguard. They’d been through quite a bit together in the weeks since the war, and the fire princess didn’t know what to think about that. It had been quite a while since she’d trusted anyone the way she found herself trusting Stheno. Mai and Ty Lee had ruined all of that, and her new acquaintances in the Crossroads had thus far yet to prove so reliable. Hela, of course, was a hag and a snake -- one that, for whatever reason, Azula wanted to impress, but she couldn’t trust the bitch as far as she could throw her. Rominia seemed nice enough, but she was a dog. A tool, and nothing more.
Stheno was a tool, too, but one that somehow, Azula had grown to… like over the course of their time marching through the field? The gorgon and the fire princess had yet to have the opportunity to engage in an actual, honest to God battle, but if their march rang true, they soon would, and it would be one for the ages. Maybe she’d finally get to see the woman take off her blindfold and utilize that so-called special ability of hers’.
“Yes, ma’am?” the mercenary asked, stepping closer in.
“You can call me Azula,” the Princess-Commander relented. “We’re…”
“...friends?” Stheno laughed, as if she could read just how ridiculous Azula thought the idea was. The fire princess didn’t know if the term exactly fit, and she honestly recoiled at the thought of keeping actual friends, but nothing seemed closer, so she shrugged and chuckled along with her bodyguard.
“Something like that,” she acquiesced. “Before we leave, I just wanted to...”
She looked up at Stheno. She was strong, and admirable, and there was something inherently intoxicating about her. She was older than Azula, had seen so much war and pain and suffering, and carried herself with the demeanor of a warrior, and the teenage tyrant… admired her, almost? Yes, she thought, that’s what it is. Admiration.
“I just wanted to say congratulations,” the raven-haired girl nodded with a smile. “Congratulations, you’re a lieutenant now.”
Azula couldn’t see Stheno’s eyes, but she was pretty sure the woman blinked in slight surprise before erupting into laughter. “Alright,” she nodded, “thank you… Azula.”
The women reached out and clasped each other by the arm, looking at one another, and then, as if by accident, almost fell into a hug. Neither was big on embracing their contemporaries, on the exterior, and both played like this particular embrace was accidental, but Azula, at least, found herself enjoying it in spite of herself.
“Alright, alright,” the Princess-Commander spoke, bringing herself out of the hug and back to her senses. “Bring him in.”
Stheno nodded, turning and opening the door. She gestured, and the guards outside threw a still heavily injured Strazio Rockwell into the Princess-Commander’s personal chambers.
He fell to the floor, his body still crumbling from the damage Karl UnJak’s assassins had done to him. His breathing was heavy, his body weak, and, Azula hoped, so was his mind -- as it was, she was about to depart this place, perhaps for the final time, so it was only appropriate she made one last effort to offer him a one-way ticket.
“General Rockwell,” Azula smirked. “Perhaps you’ve heard by now that your friend Altanis decided just over a hundred of my soldiers were a better prize than your freedom. To me, that lack of commitment speaks volumes.”
Strazio’s eyes flew up towards the princess. Had he heard? Had he heard that the demoness had left him out to dry, all for a failed capture of Connor and his unit?
“I’m offering you one last lifeline,” she continued. “Generously.”
Stheno watched as her Princess Commander knelt before their prisoner, hands bound behind his back by chains.
“Join our Burning Legion,” she said. “It’s your choice. Either way... you’re coming with us.”