Aranea threw her head up, fixing her eyes on the pale disk of the moon. She moved her fingers to see how responsive her new power armor was and found it adequate. This was a custom-made model, tailored specifically for her needs.
Weighting five hundred and eighty-six kilograms, the brown-colored armor could endure being submerged in molten lava with no damage to the warlord, its detection systems augmented the already impressive eyesight, the sturdy and elegant armored plates ensured Aranea would remain unharmed even should she be shot with her own rail gun. Within her vambraces rested twin deadly vibroblades, or canopeners, as other wolfkins named these weapons. The technology was reverse engineered from Green’s weapons: at a moment’s notice, a sound field would engulf the weapon’s blades, breaking everything in the blade’s path at a molecular level.
Following Janine’s tragedy, the crimson lenses of all warlords’ new power armors were made to be capable of detecting traces of spatial distortion. The brand new AI assistants could process this information and predict a pattern of enemies capable of teleportation. Right now, the AI assistant was half asleep, if such a word could be used in terms of this machine. Aranea also turned off sound tracers, relying purely on her own ears.
Aranea leaned back a bit more, allowing the black cape flowing from her shoulders to touch the ground. The pack’s symbol, the grinning, one-eyed wolfkin skull with a mechanical lower jaw, was painted on the durable fabric. The warlord opened her jaws to the point of snapping. And have released her mightiest howl yet.
The AI assistant returned online immediately, inquiring if the warlord required immediate assistance. When she ignored him, the machine quickly started running diagnostics about her health. Aranea ignored it as well, keeping roaring at a specific frequency, causing every insectoid and predator in the nearby area to run away. According to Till Ingo and Olesya, in a year or two, the assistants get used to the warlords’ quirks and become invaluable aides.
Aranea was standing alone on top of a stone pillar in the middle of a small, sand-filled clearing. A little bit further, the stone hills began, her roar echoed from the stone walls, carrying the sound further and further. Warlord howled at the moon for five minutes straight, never pausing to catch her breath, unleashing her inner rage on the moon above, tempering the unleashed sound with a cold sense of self-control.
Once the time was out, Aranea looked around, her ears twitching. A sound of falling stones. Hundreds of insectoid drones skitter across the ground. Starstruck One’s and Yuki’s breaths, the sound of Olesya leaning back and forth. The shaman is relaxed, while Yuki’s heartbeat is off the charts due to worry. And… Nothing else.
Aranea tilted her head to the side, remembering Alpha’s lessons. Could she mess up somehow? No, the halfbreed was sure that she had done everything to the letter. But… No one came. Ignoring Alpha’s warnings, Aranea threw her head up once more and howled at the moon anew, letting out her inner beast and allowing Wintersong to temper her call.
This time, she heard the footsteps after the fourth minute. Gentle and assured steps, mixed with wild slaps when paws touched the ground. The newcomer was beating in rhythm with Aranea’s howling, dancing her way toward the warlord, who dared not to stop the howling early. Five hundred meters. A leap. Four hundred and fifty meters away. Two seconds have passed. Two hundred meters away, dancing closer and closer. One more second has passed. A sound of claws producing sparks upon hitting the metallic ore in the stone.
The warlord stopped her call and straightened up, looking in the horror's face that had cast her shadow over the other woman. The skinwalker stood a step away from Aranea, the mangled mane was decorated with countless skulls, some belonging to children. Two amber orbs were burrowing into Aranea’s snout, making her paws twitchy with a desire to grab Deliverance and Duty, her trusted rail guns mounted on the back.
“Why call?” The skinwalker demanded, and Aranea fell on one leg, offering the nape of her neck to the creature.
Treat it like a mix of a warlord and a cub. Alpha advised Aranea. Show submission, respect, and try to pique its interest. Aranea felt the breath and a light bite on the neck as the creature sucked a small amount of blood before spewing some of it back at her. A claw tapped on Aranea’s temple, demanding an answer.
“I have a game for you, sister,” Aranea looked up into the maddened eyes, noticing a glimmer of curiosity hidden among the rage. “One of your kind bears the name Kalaisa.”
“So what?” The creature behind her ear, tearing off skin all the way to the bone, “What’s the game?”
Boredom came into the creature’s eyes, and Aranea hurriedly continued before the skinwalker could decide on the game’s type herself: “Find her!”
“Why would I do that?” The skinwalker asked in Aranea’s own voice. The woman sniffed the air. “Ah… A village nearby. What joys can I sow…”
“Tell Kalaisa that her daughter wants to dance with her!” Aranea jumped to her feet, earning herself an enraged look.
Lazily, the skinwalker struck with the right paw, slicing through the empty air. Still standing on the same spot, Aranea leaned to the side, dodging the attack. Her opponent smiled all the way to the ears, and furthermore, the skin cracked, allowing a bloody smile to widen. A hail of thrusts came upon the warlord, aiming to leave a mark on her armor, to shred her cape, to take away the eyes. Aranea pleaded with the AI assistant to stay calm and kept on dodging, never once leaving the spot with her legs. Left, right, down, lean back, quickly lean forward… Finally, she noticed a hint of irritation in the enemy’s movements. The warlord grabbed the skinwalker’s arm by the wrist, matching her strength with her own.
The fact that the skinwalker didn’t simply force a close combat on the warlord had told Aranea that the woman must have been a scout in her previous life. A wolf hag would never stop at this. The skinwalker’s might was immense, but not so much so that Aranea could not hold her wrist steadily. Still, had the woman put her soul into it, Aranea would already be on the ground, whipped down by a lightning-fast low kick. No. Alpha spoke the truth. When called, the skinwalkers intentionally held themselves back, their interest piqued by a new game.
Enemy! Enemy! The AI assistant “shouted” worriedly within Aranea’s brain, its words being transmitted to her via a cord connection to an implant under her left shoulder blade. New breed, first class! Activate your helmet immediately and gain distance…
Good pal, calm down, trust! Aranea replied to it with feelings rather than words. Olesya had tried to teach other warlords how to speak with the assistants without speech, but none had picked up on this skill. Olesya had an easier time speaking with her “buddy” thanks to the augmented brain. No other warlord, not even Aranea, was willing to let Ingo operate on them.
“A dance?”
“The one of blood and rage.” Aranea let go of the skinwalker, and the woman chuckled.
“What fun! Two meet, one feast, one leaves!” The skinwalker giggled, slapping her paws together. The woman jumped up, accompanied by the exploding stone and sand. She landed five steps away, rolling in the sound like a cub, crushing the woven skulls in her mane. Jumping on all fours, the skinwalker rushed into the wastes.
Aranea waited for a few more moments, tracing the skinwalker until she became just a dot at the horizon, and then let out a breath of relief. The injury on her neck has already healed. The warlord leaped off the stone and raced toward her friends.
“You called twice, warlord. This was dangerous.” Starstruck One stated.
The Impatient One sent the shaman to Aranea to keep an eye on the warlord. The woman stood a head shorter than Aranea, her deformed body slightly reminded Aranea of Janine. Thick arms that are easily the same size as Aranea’s, smaller and shorter-looking legs, and a brown fur coat with black stripes all over her body. The left side of the shaman’s snout was devoid of all fur, showing the trace of a long-healed burn beneath. That burn stretched all the way to her left shoulder, which was currently hidden behind her armor.
“Nothing bad happened,” Aranea shrugged her shoulders, noticing the unleashed claws and grenade launcher in Yuki’s paws. The warlord pressed a paw to her chest and bowed. “I had the situation under control. But I do appreciate your concern.”
“All in a night’s work, ma’am!” Yuki saluted.
“We knew that you’d fuck up, Ari,” Olesya laughed. “Naturally we brought the heavy weaponry.”
“Name’s Aranea, Yuki,” The halfbreed playfully slapped her friend across the hand. “Up. We better meet him before someone can scare off the workers dearest.”
“No one is going to harm or scare the iternians, warlord,” snarled the shaman. “We are not savages.”
“If you say so, shaman,” Aranea looked at Olesya. The warlord’s legs were replaced with the inverted knee model, at Olesya’s request. The cyborg grinned from ear to ear as she tested her balance, shifting her posture at the last moment to avoid falling. “You’re coming, Oles?”
“Nah. I promised the Insufferable Trio that I would read them a horror story before they went to sleep,” The Olesya charged toward the village, while Aranea, Starstruck One, and Yuki raced across the village’s outskirts. The Wastes were colder than the Ravaged Lands, so much so that only in a few places people actually needed to wear anti-heat suits. Aranea actually enjoyed the cool air washing over her snout as she ran.
By the Spirits, Aranea was happy to be home once more! She had nothing against normies, she even responded to several of Ursico’s requests for help. But here, in the village, the wolfkins moved at their natural speed, racing back and forth like black arrows, scaling the surrounding mountains. Sudden dashes, lunges, jumping over the tents, landing on the tips of one’s toes to evade collisions... Aranea almost forgot how it felt when your heart was racing at home.
In the dark of the night, the village was brightly lit with electric lamps, showing hundreds of tents. Annie’s gift from the times when she was just a wolf hag.
Aranea’s mood soured upon seeing the black and round form of the pits. Pain clutched her heart upon seeing a bloody cub leave after a night’s training, the boy was old enough to train in the fields but small enough for the shamans to make him stay with the younger cubs and for additional lessons to beat up weakness away from him. The cub didn’t stay alone for long, a black-furred form of his father picked up the boy, giving him a chocolate bar from Roggo’s conventional store.
Aranea saw Olesya running past two sentries, weaving her way around the tent city that surrounded the pits, and finally stopping next to a large tent. Even from here, Aranea has heard Olesya’s laughter when she grabbed three pups into a kind embrace, dragging her sister and brothers inside.
A new, larger building was being built next to Roggo’s house. Built on the prize money, this place was meant to house all cubs who had lost their parents in war. Normally, the little ones were left with small belongings and with shamans to watch over them and teach them stuff. They had to meet the night alone, endure the feeling of being lost and abandoned. Shamans believed that this built character. Well, not Aranea and not Olesya. Now that the little ones had a proper place to stay, Yuki, Kaleb, and a few other warriors and males came from time to time, helping with cleaning, offering treats, or simply offering an ear. Yuki was supposed to work in there as part of can find enjoyment in any situation, then one can never be properly punished. Sly has staked his honor on the orphanage having a video game room once it is completed.
The village had no name. No wolfkin village ever got one. Oh, they got some designation from the state, sure. Because of a unique stone formation that surrounded the village, the state named it Black Rose. But no wolfkin, not even Aranea, would ever use that name. Why would they, when the smell worked far better? Aranea’s nostrils caught the familiar scent, showing that this village was her village, her home, the place that took her in. Janine’s home. Sonya’s home.
The place was filled with countless scents. Each of the hundred tents had its own unique scent, marking its belonging way better than any identification could. Any wolfkin could navigate around the village with her or his closed eyes by simply smelling the air. A set of passages around a currently turned off minefield. A defensive perimeter, manned by the state’s normies. The armory. The pits. The stores, both general and Roggo’s. Shamans and sometimes Aranea helped teach the parentless wolfkins about the use of the markings.
Each wolfkin always has his or her own markings. It was a combination of a slash and splattering saliva on a surface. The stronger the wolfkin was, the longer the saliva’s scent lingered. In the middle of the village stood the remembrance stone, a mark to honor all the important heroes of this particular village. Janine’s slash and cut were right next to Martyshkina’s. Their scents, left on the stone surface, were still fresh despite being left over a hundred years ago. The marking of warlord Terrific, Janine’s predecessor, was also on the stone, mixed with a sad scent left by Janine. Terrific died in the ranking battle, the neck snapped in the heat of battle. Despite being forgiven by both shamans and Ravager, Janine never forgave herself for taking such a valuable ally away from the tribe.
In a battle and a war, the wolfkins abandoned their overreliance on smell. It was possible to mimic the scent and cause confusion among the ranks, as Iterna once demonstrated. That and the operation area was sometimes too vast to properly leave markings, and the regular troops had no way to operate via scent either. In home, scents were the primary means of communication. Why send an email or call when you can drop a marking? Aranea sniffed again, catching a fresh scent coming from Kate’s and Kaleb’s tent. A demand for privacy.
Ah, so this is why you asked for a day off, Kate. Aranea wished them luck, keeping sniffing the air.
The warlord reached the edge of the village, stopping to let Yuki catch up with her. Together, the two women sat next to each other, awaiting the workers’ arrival. The shaman stopped next to them, refusing familiarity. They saw the defensive perimeter—a series of towers in the distance. Once, all villages would migrate from time to time to keep themselves safe from harm. No longer. After Annie’s home village was butchered, the state’s soldiers kept the villages under guard. Aranea sent an apology to the commander, seeing the alarms flashing over the towers and the soldiers frantically trying to get a reading on the skinwalker. Soldiers were jumpy, and who could blame them? The dishonor of the Butchery still lived in the eyes of many souls. The day when the Third Army had failed to keep its citizens safe.
“About Lucendra,” Aranea asked, looking at the stars above. “You two good?”
“No,” Yuki replied, hugging her knees, “I mean, we train together and all, I help her get the punches right, she teaches me how to operate drones...”
“Sly mustn’t be all too happy about it.” Aranea grinned.
“It’s his own damn fault for letting a drone explode into my snout! Lucendra was right, you know?” Yuki looked away. “Sly is reckless. He is the gentlest, most loyal, and most loving soul in the entire world! I’d give my life for him a hundred times over. But each time I see him tinkering with a generator or blowing something up, I get scared. What if he gets hurt and I can’t drag him to safety in time?” Yuki sighed and holstered the weapon behind her back. “You know Lucendra wanted to become a scout?”
“I heard stories, yes.”
“Not anymore. Lucy only wants to provide for her family now. She never even responds to any banter, just shrinking down like a scared cub and waiting for the laughter to be over. Fuck my life, I really messed up this time, am I?”
“Yes,” Aranea saw no reason to sugarcoat anything. The entire Annie’s pack despised Yuki now. These men and women, who cheered up Yuki’s survival, who offered any help they could in helping the warrior get back on her legs, have now closed their ranks, becoming colder toward Aranea’s pack. “I messed up too, remember? Back when I gored Kate. Kate is… tougher person than Lucendra, but it took her a long time to get out of her shell. You can’t fix the damage with just a few pretty words. What you can do is admit that you have a problem...”
“I admit it,” Yuki crashed a stone under her paw. The shaman growled at her for interrupting the warlord, but Aranea raised her paw, silencing the dispute. “Sly fucking told me not to touch Lucy! And yet I gave in to my rage, to my fear of… losing Sly to her, and… Made my comrade broken,” Yuki looked down helplessly. “I am broken. I never wanted to make anyone else broken. So why did I kick someone who needed help?”
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“I was broken too,” Aranea grasped Yuki’s shoulder, “I hated myself to the point of wishing for death. I hurt my friends. Was too stupid to see what was going on... When you’re broken, really broken, you can’t feel right, and your judgment is always clouded, which leads to making another mistake on top of another. But you know what, Yuki? I am no longer broken. And that is all thanks to the people who cared for me. Janine, Kate, Sonya, Kaleb, you, Keyl, Annie, Sly Virginia, Marco… And now it is my turn to help my friend. You didn’t fail, you were merely injured. Sure, the wound will not heal tomorrow, or even next week, but wounds heal, trust me.”
“Thanks. So… Who are we waiting for exactly?”
“Help.” Aranea smirked, trying to look mysterious. Finally, she gave up, “Remember that man who helped me with Kate and Velka with Olesya? Tonight we’ll get the means…”
“The enemies are here.” Starstruck One calmly said.
“Not the enemies,” Aranea moved to stand her feet in one fluid motion, silent as a ghost. Yuki jumped after her, looking at the distant dot that rapidly got closer. A usual truck, one that often delivered food for the village in the mornings and sometimes brought in fresh cusacks. “Helpers…”
She stopped, frowning in confusion. The truck stopped, and a burly man dressed in a blue suit jumped off it, carrying a paper-thin terminal under his arm. The hood of his suit was pulled down, showing the face of a young-looking, middle-aged man, whose eyes looked around with genuine curiosity. There was not a single drop of sweat on his brow, and a black earpiece rested in his left ear.
He was iternian, Aranea was ready to bet on this. The issue was that they had expected a crew of five, but only had two. And the second newcomer was not human.
At first, she mistook him for a person in power armor. A moment later, she saw differences in his movements more clearly. The joints of his body were protected by the armor glass, wires were visible The blue lenses on the being’s head shone with like newborn stars, illuminating the path for the other iternian. Remembering Sonya’s stories, Aranea identified this being as an archangel, noticing with surprise the lean build of the machine. Even encased in an armored frame, the archangel was hardly taller or bigger than a normal human.
Aranea jumped to welcome both newcomers, stopping two steps away from both men just to be safe.
“Greetings,” The warlord made a bow, hearing the shaman and the warrior stop behind her. “I was told that there will be a crew of five. Did something change?”
“A bit,” The man responded in a familiar voice that sounded like flowing honey. It took her a moment to recognize this voice. Philip. “Since all my sessions with your people ended up being cut for one reason or another, I have decided to come in person, Aranea. How is Kate feeling?”
“Much better, thank you.”
“What about Velka and Olesya? I’ve got a bit worried when miss Velka stopped calling me.”
“Oh, that…” Aranea busted out in laughter, wiping tears from her eyes. She extended her paw to the surprised man. “Sorry, it’s just… It hilarious. They both came around just fine, Velka simply has her own new share of workload to deal with.”
This was an understatement. Even with Alpha’s promotion, the strongest warlord still found time to train Velka. The poor woman only ever got one day off, even now, during the time of peace. Every other free second, she was either sleeping or training, growing in size and skills rapidly. The former scout got promoted to replace the late Hine. There was supposed to be an all-out brawl between the pack members for the right to be called a wolf hag, but after Velka flexed her new muscles just once, everybody sat and offered their necks to their new leader. The situation got to the point where shamans grumbled that Velka should have challenged Olesya, but the wolf hag was perfectly content playing the role of a loyal subordinate.
“Then I won’t dare to pry into their personal lives any longer, not unless they allow it,” Philip nodded happily. “May I meet with whoever needs help?”
“But… How are you going to lead sessions in here…” Aranea scratched behind her ear.
She had signed a contract with one of Iterna’s mental institutions. Their workers were supposed to remodel one of the orphanages’ rooms into a smaller study, building in a proper connection to the Net and installing a holographic engine to allow a specialist from Iterna to help some of the many wolfkins who had suffered severe mental trauma post-war.
Aranea had expected to burn through her reserves by building the orphanage and hiring Iterna’s staff. According to her calculations, she should have lasted for a year. Instead, she was making a profit out of it and slowly getting richer.
Normally, these therapy sessions would be way too expensive for someone like her, after all, Iterna and the Reclamation Army are two different and often rival countries. But after consultation with Scorpio, the black wyrm assured the halfbreed that tokens are no problem. First, Aranea applied for a discount, pushing the fact that she had indirectly saved a member of the World Without Border news agency back in Belaz when King had plans to destroy the city. She then subtly mentioned that it might be in Iterna’s best interests to increase the discount even further, since the Wolf Tribe had previously aided the rival country.
And lastly, Aranea made sure to talk about it on the open line, reading the text that Scorpio had written for her, word for word. The realization as to why this was needed has only struck her recently, after she saw an uptick in new tokens in her bank account. Both the investigation bureau and Iterna’s intelligence agencies heard her. The investigation bureau could not act against the warlord, she had broken no rules. But leaving things the way they are was unendurable for the state’s pride. So the agents enrolled Aranea in one of the state’s programs aimed at assisting developing societies, essentially paying Aranea to hire mental health professionals for her Tribe.
And the miracles did not stop there! Leila showed up recently, carrying new filled-out forms. Iterna, too, had special programs for “struggling” societies. If such a society is “nominally” friendly to Iterna, they are beholden to some benefits, including therapists and psychiatrists help, as well as basic access to the Net. Naturally, the shaman council had refused all offers of free food, water, and furniture, viewing this as denigrating and breeding weakness, but they had nothing to say about accepting additional help with mental problems. When Aranea warmly thanked Leila for her help, the wolf hag shily responded that this wasn’t her doing but refused to elaborate on who came up with the idea.
“Thanks to the holographic engine, of course,” The doctor patted the terminal, “And in time we’ll build up a proper office. Find me a room, and we can start today if needed to be.”
“Great!” Yuki stepped forward, shaking the man’s hand, “Name’s Yuki. You are one of the mind healers, right?”
“My name is Philip McGuiness, a pleasure to meet you, miss Yuki. The correct term for my profession is…”
“And you are, sir?” Aranea looked at the archangel.
“Jehu,” The machine replied in a voice that perfectly mixed the sound of a working mechanism with the eager voice of a young man. “I volunteered to come here to monitor the doctor and get some real-life experience.”
“Ah, you are the one who saved Sonya!” Aranea grasped his hand for a handshake. “Welcome to our humble village.”
“Saved is too strong of a term, she actually…”
Starstruck One jumped to the group. The shaman sniffed off Philip, her nose running him down from head to toe. She even demanded that he took off his earpiece and checked the soft piano music coming from it too before returning it back to the doctor. With a final sniff, the shaman licked Philip’s face, leaving a marking announcing him as one of the tribe’s guests and putting him under the defense of all shamans. None would dare jump on him or challenge him, not if they wanted the wrath of the entire shaman council upon them. And this marking would also allow wolfkins to find the doctor should he get lost around the village.
“Tin can man.” Starstruck One said, looking down at Jehu.
“Smelly woman.” The archangel looked up in her face, not moving back an inch. Suddenly his mouth moved: “Ask for dialogue, Jehu!” A woman’s voice pleaded, soon followed by a man’s voice: “No, he is right. Start no shit, take no shit.”
The shaman and Aranea both raised an eyebrow at this.
“Sorry,” A light flickered in Jehu’s eyes. “Parents are using my voice module.”
Starstruck One closed on the archangel, sniffing and smelling him all over: “What am I to make of you? Are you a human? Or a tool? A soldier? A drone? What marking must I give to you?” The shaman asked in a distraught voice.
Aranea stood aside, keeping her silence. The shaman council had already agreed to a great deal of her propositions, she half expected Impatient One to shut down anything the warlord suggested. Shamans were the ones who gave markings to anyone entering the village. No outsider was allowed to walk in without being sniffed over by a shaman. Sure, shamans never forbid tourists or workers from coming in, but neither do they encourage the presence of outsiders.
In a sense, Aranea understood them. This was one of the few places where the Tribe felt free, everywhere else they had to walk slower and be more careful. A smell of an outsider in the air meant a halt in free movement and the need to tread more carefully. Leila sometimes jokingly complained when some wolfkins would ram into her at full speed, but the half-wyrm was widely accepted as part of the Tribe, along with everything that it entailed. The half-wyrm no longer even had a marking. But normies, unlike her, could not endure the brute force of a collision with an overly eager cub or adult.
“If it helps, I came here to have a talk with Sonya…”
“No machine will ever court a member of our tribe!” The fur on Starstruck One’s back of the head rose, and a low growl came from her lips.
“What?! No! By the Planet, no!” Jehu took a step back at the accusation, and a mix of female and male laughter came from his lips. “Mom, Dad, shut up! I left the assembly line three years and…”
“Three years? A cub’s marking it is,” The shaman cut him off, pressing her snout to Jehu’s shoulder and leaving a smelly marking. The woman stepped back, ignoring Jehu’s explanations that he was, in fact, an adult by the standards of his kin. “You are not among your kin, little one. You said you came for experience? I can show you how to herd cusacks if you are up to the task.”
“Caring for roaming livestock?” Jehu’s eyes became dim for a second. “Pardon me, but where exactly do you find pastures for them to feed upon? According to Iterna’s encyclopedia, the Wastes have a severe lack of water even today.”
“Cusacks are not moving around much,” Aranea quickly started explaining. “They just stay in a few selected areas, waiting for the hunters to bring in dead insectoids from training sessions. Cusacks eat them, the little ones are milking them, and the Tribe gets milk this way. There is not much to do aside from occasionally helping a cusack to stand up…”
“Stand… up?” The machine stopped, his eyes dimmed again. “Elaborate please, this information is lacking from my data banks.”
“They have flat backs and like to rumble among themselves. This leads to some of them ending up on their backs, and beasts can’t get up on their own. At all. In nature, they die at this point. You just grab one of them by the left leg,” Aranea recalled from her own youth. “And roll the idiot on the side and on the legs. Don’t worry, they are sturdy beasts.”
“Don’t listen to the warlord, little one,” Starstruck added quickly. “Never roll a cusack on its side, it may rupture an organ. A full-grown cusack is worth eighty tokens, a healthy calf is worth one hundred and twenty. They are not cheap to serve as toys,” The shaman cast a disapproving look at Aranea. “Once a beast is on its back, push your hands behind its neck and lift it to a sitting position for a minute…”
A roaring sound of sirens and the sound of gunfire stopped any further explanation. Aranea’s ears picked up a sound behind them, a deliberate crush of stone to attract her attention. The warlord turned around, sensing a very familiar smell and the unmistakably alien presence of a skinwalker.
The one who stood behind them was a head taller than the skinwalker before. Her skin was devoid of all veins or muscles, the monstrous creature stood at the village’s edge fully relaxed, unconcerned by all the traps she had sprung or by all the military forces that were undoubtedly coming to this location. Her long hair was tied into dozens of braids, mimicking Aranea’s own hairstyle. The creature struck her own claws against each other at an interval of once per second, never once breaking the tempo while looking at the group.
“You called,” The skinwalker said in a deadly calm voice. “I came.”
“Your sister was faster, kin of my blood,” Aranea cursed to herself. Alpha warned, she warned her of the danger of howling more than once. “Please, abide by the rules and leave in peace.”
The skinwalker kept looking at them in silence, clacking with her claws. She examined each member of the group carefully and without fear, despite the sound of working engines and wolfkins charging toward the armory. Shamans might view the being as some divine creature, but any skinwalker who stays in a village would soon find herself killed. And the beasts knew this!
So why is she here?
“Is this the Cry for Cir Danon by chance?” The skinwalker’s monstrous snout stopped at Philip, her eyes glanced at the earpiece in his hand that still let out the music.
Aranea’s fingers twitched from a desire to grab the railguns. She forced herself to stay calm. The skinwalker became distracted. Maybe they can talk her out of causing trouble.
“Y… yes.” The man nodded eagerly, allowing a smile to return to his face.
“First composed four hundred and eighty years ago, in commendatory to the ancient…” Like a raging storm, the skinwalker charged at Aranea, spewing drool and shouts of rage from her lips.
Starstruck One appeared in front of the warlord, one paw grasping the claws aimed at Aranea’s neck and the other slamming claws into the base of the skinwalker’s neck. This didn’t stop the beast from reaching for Aranea’s head with her left paw, creating a sonic boom through its sheer speed. The warlord let the woman’s fingers close around her head, she jumped, grasping the beast by the wrist with her right paw and burying the claws on her feet into the skinwalker’s shoulder. Aranea’s left paw reached out to the shaman, taking the woman off the cruel claws.
Before the battle against King, Aranea would not doubt find herself dead, the vise made of bone and flesh that closed around her head would spell her down. Now she didn’t even panic, feeling the pressure on her head, the slight pain from the twitching claws that slapped across her head. Aranea continued to stretch the oversized arm with all her might, burrowing deep into the skinwalker’s flesh with her claws. The warlord felt the sound of muscles in the monster’s hand stretching, the popping sounds of tendons shifting sides. All the instincts in Aranea’s body called for trying to bite at the head, but the warlord chose against it.
A bite meant a direct challenge. No, she’ll treat this like a challenge from a warlord—a trial to overcome rather than a battle to the death. And so, the moment the skinwalker’s arm got dislocated, Aranea twisted the massive paw to spread the claws around her head away and used the woman like a springboard to jump away from her, carrying Starstruck One with her.
“Do this again, and I’ll end you,” Aranea landed on the ground, reaching and grabbing Deliverance. She aimed at the skinwalker’s snout, noticing a series of stuck in darts all across her right side. Jehu fired at the monster at the moment of impact. “You got it? Leave in peace, or I’ll throw you out in pieces. Your choice, blood kin.”
Aranea briefly glanced at the shaman. The woman stood on one knee, holding a paw over the grievous crack on her chest plate. Blood was pushing from between her fingers, the woman’s breathing became slow and rasping, indicating that the skinwalker’s claws reached all the way to the lung. She felt an urge to fire and had to force it down, noticing vultures in the sky. The carrion beasts came in anticipation of a feast.
No one dared fight a skinwalker in a village. Not even Zero. The goal was to shoo the mad women away, not to start an all-out war so close to the young cubs. Sure, maybe Deliverance can make a big enough hole in the enemy’s brain to knock her out. If so, Aranea had a good chance to end the beast safely. But that was all it was: a chance and nothing more. One mistake, a lapse of judgment, and unrestrained cruelty will descend on the village, devouring and killing all before it is stopped.
The skinwalker looked at her broken left arm. The drool stopped falling from her lips, a sense of calm came back in her eyes. Before Aranea’s eyes, the horrible wound on her neck closed, leaving behind just smooth skin. With a shrug, the skinwalker fixed her arm.
“…Battle in which Cir Danon, the last of Danon’s family, laid down his life to protect the retreat of his subjects,” The beast addressed the pale-looking Philip calmly, as if nothing had happened, ignoring Yuki and her weapon. “A wonderful choice of music, really soothing. So, why did ya called?”
Upon hearing Aranea’s explanation, the skinwalker gave a quick nod, ignoring the weapons pointed at her. The steel darts in her body had slipped beneath the flesh, disappearing in their entirety. A steel dart lodged in her eye was sucked inside and exited through her nose.
“If you had even a momentary trouble reacting to my movements, you are going to die, sister,” The beast let out a nervous giggle, gnawing on her own fingers for a moment. “I’ll deliver your message myself.”
“A moment!” Philip stepped forward. “I heard of your kind! If you would only…”
“She is insane. You can’t fix that.” Yuki quickly said, pushing the man back.
“I am not insane,” The skinwalker looked calmly at the warrior, “I am simply obeying my rationality, which keeps changing every moment. Sister,” The woman looked at the shaman, “Has anyone earned the name Calmed One?”
“No,” Starstruck One tried to stand up, “You… Still live.”
“Yes, sister. My faith sustains me.” Olesya and several wolf hags had appeared on the stones surrounding the village, a lone laser beam came from behind Aranea, creating a burning mark on the perfect skin.
The skinwalker leaped in the air, jaws snapping. An unfortunate vulture barely had time to scream before fangs popped its body like a balloon. The skinwalker sprouted wings, becoming an ugly version of a harpy. Her arms turned into feathery wings, the legs enlarged, and the fingers on the feet merged, producing new feet with cruelly looking two-fingered talons. The skinwalker shrieked with her new beak-like mouth…
Meeting Olesya head-on. Aranea felt a tingle of worry, seeing her friend flying up, firing the cannon at the larger monstrosity that hovered in the air above her. The skinwalker lingered not a moment, like a quicksilver, she darted out of the beam’s way before it could reach her, the following supersonic scream nearly ruptured the eardrums of everyone on the ground and knocked Olesya down like a comet. Seeing the crater the warlord had made with her body, the skinwalker giggled at her victory cry and darted away across the night skies.
Aranea followed the flying thing until she could no longer see it. Then she dropped to help the shaman. The woman only waved her away.
“I am sorry,” Aranea clenched her fists. She was warned. Warned, damn it! And her overconfidence caused another ally to get injured.
With a sound of crushing stones, Olesya stood up, laughing with a booming voice. Paying no attention to Aranea’s look or her own pack, the warlord took to the skies once more.
“Ari, this is the bestest night ever!” Not even a crack was on Olesya’s armor. “Tonight I dine on a skinwalker’s soup!” Like a comet, the warlord shot across the skies.
“For what?” The shaman rasped, standing up on the wobbly legs. “You are blessed, warlord. None, save for Alpha, had ever called a skinwalker and made her listen. You did it twice! On your first try!” She coughed up blood on the ground. “It didn’t go perfectly, but this is part of the learning process. And shamans are here to take the brunt of damage in times of war or change. I am honored to serve you, warlord.”
“Just call me Aranea.”
“Sure. Sure. Little one,” Starstruck One’s eyes locked on the archangel. “I appreciate the ferocity and quick-thinking, but I thought you were interested in Sonya.”
“I beg your pardon?” The machine stuttered.
“Why else would a male try to help a female? Keep to yourself, ally. Sonya is most likely awake by now. Come, and I’ll introduce you.”
“Your wounds first.” Jehu refused to move, looking up at the wolfkin.
“This? This is just a scratch, tin can!”
Aranea let the two argue and walked to meet the commander in charge of the state’s forces, quickly explaining the situation to the man. Soon enough, Olesya sent a message, laughing through the pain. The skinwalker knocked her down in the mountains, leaving her with a broken arm. Aranea felt the blood boiling in her veins from the sheer rage. A mistake. Aranea let herself believe she was in control, dared to believe that she was the strongest now, that there was no situation she couldn’t solve.
No more. Aranea swore, running to pick up Olesya. Never again will I be careless. Once my mother is freed from this indignity, I’ll help Zero in wiping out this curse from our bloodline.