Seeing the hoverbike, Ignacy jumped to the left, leaving the wounded male behind to attract all attention to himself. His prosthetic arm moved almost on its own, its target systems connected with the target systems of his power armor, allowing the boy to pinpoint the approaching blurred object. Flame appeared in his palm as Ignacy prepared to endure the blades.
A scout from the Alpha’s pack has leaped forward, pushing Ignacy out of the way. In the next moment, the bike raced past her, leaving a slashed wound on her right thigh. The pulse rifle left the Wolfkin with an open hole in her stomach, sending the scout flying. Her body flew through the air, spreading an arc of blood and moving almost at the same speed as the bike. The rider pointed her rifle to finish the scout and shouted from pain when Ignacy bathed the rider with a searing flame from his palm, sending the bitch spiraling off course into a nearby wall. The bike crashed through the wall, but the flame had already reached its generator, turning both the rider and machine into a ball of flame.
Camelia faced the beast rushing at her head-on. The tip of her super heavy spear crashed against the reinforced forehead, piercing through the metal and splintering the hardened skin. For a fraction of a second, it looked as if the bones within the beast’s head would endure and bend the spear when a smile touched the Sword Saint’s lips.
She put her shardgun behind her back and rammed her spear forward with both paws. The poor creature barely had time to roar before its remaining eye was bulged out of the socket by the increased blood pressure within, and rivers of blood soon followed from its nostrils, mouth, and ears. But Camelia wasn’t done. She ran, creating a new hole in the creature’s body with her own advance, coming through the enormous body and coming out of its rear end covered in gore and crimson. The white-furred Wolfkin bowed to the cheering soldiers before charging to stand guard over the wounded.
They are taking after me. Janine thought calmly, cleaving through the raider who tried to retreat amidst the chaos. She saved a male, so all the members of this mixed pack have abandoned this tradition for now, trusting in her judgment to bring the most optimal results in this battle. They abandoned rage, the warriors were pushing males aside, saving them from being hit by the riders’ pulse rifles and the weapons of a few remaining raiders. The males responded in kind, using their grenades to force the attackers into the line of sight of their allies, never once exposing their backs to the foe lurking in the ruins.
Janine started getting annoyed with the hoverbikes that remained. After losing their comrades, the bastards weaved around the ruins, coming out only to shoot once before darting away to safety, always staying at the very edge of their weapon ranges. Their strategy was sound: make the enemy waste ammunition and land a few potshots, potentially killing the foes.
“I have an idea. Warlord Predaig, could you play along?” Impatient One asked.
The shaman walked amidst the carnage, almost casually taking a raider’s head. Ignoring Predaig’s worried shout, Impatient One lowered herself to her knees, pressing her paws together in prayer over the deceased kin. Seeing her as easy prey, one of the bikes changed direction, speeding up to ram the shaman’s side with the sharp blades. At the very last moment, the shaman jumped up, sliding one paw beneath the bike’s blade. With a violent push, the woman sent the vehicle upward, punched with her right hand straight through the metal, and grabbed the rider by his groin.
The desperate screams were silenced by the roar of the engine, and when the shaman pushed the foe through his own bike, there was no longer anything alive left to scream, just a mess of tangled broken bones. The bike made a full turn in the air and crashed on the concrete, erupting in a fire that cleaned the shaman of all filth. Impatient One waved at the Warlord in thanks and Predaig shook her shoulders.
“Good job.” Janine smiled, noticing how the two remaining bikes moved to the main street leading to the east. They halted, inviting the chaise. “Let’s do it again. Shaman, fetch them! Predaig, you take on the bikes; I will take out the hunter.” Her eyes narrowed at the sight of a stone falling off a ruined building.
In battle, there are a few reasons to retreat. One is to naturally save your life. Another reason is to fake your weakness by luring the enemy behind you in a well-placed ambush before cutting off the enemy’s head.
The shaman rushed on all fours after the bikers, growling and snarling, abandoning all reason. A chilling howl left her lips at the sight of them speeding away. Impatient One stood on her legs, shouting her rage at the moon above…
And in this span of a second, the building to her left exploded. A shadow flew out there, aiming a long, curved steel blade at the shaman’s throat, masterfully utilizing the moment of her distraction. The strike that would have taken away Impatient One’s head was blocked by Janine’s axe when the warlord sprinted to stand behind her daughter.
The sound of their clashing blades made the nearby windows shake, and the impact behind the blow made the attacker curse as he felt the reverberation from their clash. Janine showered Impatient One aside, allowing Predaig to bring her weapon down on both hoverbikes who tried to aid the attacker. Ignoring the screams of the dying, Janine grabbed her new foe by the shoulder.
He looked unique for a new breed. Four long needle-like limbs served him as legs, with a hooked pincer at the end of each leg. At first glance, the man looked like an overweight balloon, but Janine felt the force behind his strike and his rapid speed during the attack. His folds of flesh and enormous belly concealed some impressive muscles beneath. The man’s head was shaved almost completely of all hair, leaving just a long mustache that reached his chest.
“Are you the leader of this rabble?” Janine asked, noticing a hint of understanding in the oriental eyes. The new breed had tried to slash at her with her blade, and Janine brought the axe down, severing his right shoulder and two of his legs. Grunting from pain, the man spat blood against her helmet and Janine licked it over, showing her fangs. “Answer me. Or I will feast on your brain.”
“I almost feel bad for you,” the raider laughed, spitting more blood and trying in vain to pry her fingers open. He continued speaking without a hint of an accent. “We only came here on a minor raid. To sniff out if you know something about him. But you have dared to raise a hand against us. For this crime, my father will see you suffer! For this insult, Mad Hatter will see your kind dead, and your lands will become a feeding ground for the horde!”
“All you should feel is fear.” Janine closed her fingers around his neck, looking at his gasping for air face and hearing his nails scratching against the vambrace. “Your kind has slaughtered people under our protection. Infringed upon the dens of our people. Ravaged our lands. For this insult, I will see your horde broken at our feet and your leaders gutted.” She spied the store owner’s daughter and grimaced, annoyed at the woman’s refusal to stay in safety. “Is this their boss?”
“No!” the girl gulped. “There was another…”
“Janine, incoming from the south!” An operator from the crawler shouted.
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Janine heard a roar from the south, followed by the sound of something tearing through the air. Even before images from her pack came to her eyes, she lifted her axe, shielding the girl based on nothing but pure instinct.
It hit harder than any artillery shell, slamming into the Taleteller with enough force to level a bunker. If not for Predaig, who put her blade behind Janine’s, the girl would’ve died, turned into a red mist with the sheer force of the attack. Even so, the shockwave from the collision of two forces sent the unfortunate woman flying and splattered her against the wall behind her. She slumped on the ground, leaving a blood trail.
In this very instant, the captain has given an order, and the crawler’s guns have spoken, spitting out energy beams and shells at something in the skies south of the settlement. Immediately after that, anti-air missiles followed, locking on the target.
Janine felt her own arm tremble, and the pain from the blocked assault reverberated in her fingers as the ruined projectile fell to the ground in a shower of wood. An arrow. Someone had just fired an arrow at the civilian with such speed that a mere passing of it across the rooftops had torn several of them apart and nearly pushed Janine herself aside. With a corner of her eye, Janine saw a slumped body in her paw; the raider had died when a wooden splinter had passed through his skull. Shit. We needed a prisoner. She turned to the south, seeing a ball of flame approaching the walls.
Encased in flame and roaring like a dragon, a flying bike raced toward the city, darting to the sides to evade several missiles unleashed by the crawler. Its rider, a man in segmented armor of golden color, fashioned after a scale armor, had lifted the longbow the size of a man’s body. Two missiles had crushed into each other, exploding five more, but four remained, locking on the heat signatures coming from the bike’s engine. Two arrows had detonated them, each piercing two missiles at the same time with impeccable accuracy.
Eled barely had time to scream the warning when the bike raced past her pack, ramming through two Wolfkins. This vehicle had no blades, only a raging inferno for the engine, but the sheer speed sent the Wolfkins flying. Their armor was not in sealed mode, leaving their mouths open. And so, when the bike raced past them, the fiery hell coming from its engine had cooked both soldiers, not giving them any time to make even the lightest squeal of pain.
The rider charged forward, closing on Janine’s position and coming close to the ground. The man was easily as tall as a Warlord; his faceplate was made in the form of a scowling human face, with twin lenses serving as eyes. Vast, golden wings spread behind the helmet, each steel feather made with exquisite artistry, giving the impression of a living bird sitting on the man’s head.
“Are you the one called Mad Hatter?” Janine asked, struggling to keep herself from tearing the bastard asunder. Her people. Her kin. Calm yourself. He will die. Stay careful, Janine. At her nod, Impatient One rushed to help the civilian.
“Restraint… Sister…” She heard a familiar voice chuckling behind her and almost felt cold, horrifying fingers touching her body. Janine ignored the aberration.
“I left to hunt the runaways, and Brood Lord’s whelp fucked up everything in my absence.” The rider stood up in his saddle, throwing the side of a cloak made out of steel feathers over his shoulders and looking contemptuously at the Warlords. “No matter. You stepped up to the Gilded Horde. There will be no mercy for this…”
“Heard that already, peacock,” Janine snapped and lunged forward.
Her axe came down, aiming at the front part of the vehicle. Before she could smash it asunder, the bike moved back, spitting out a flame that made the stone building behind it melt like clay. Still standing, Hawkhead, as Janine dubbed the bastard, aimed his longbow at her. The warlord made no attempt to block the incoming arrow, allowing Predaig to do it for her. Once more, the sound of an explosion ranged across the streets, creating a shockwave strong enough to ruin a few walls. The bike had moved upward, and Janine leaped after it, jumping into the saddle to meet the calm-looking foe.
Die. She brought the Taleteller down in an overheated arc, not caring if Hawkhead would try to dodge or block. Either way, she will ruin this flying bike and bring his armless and legless body back.
Grabbing an arrow from his quiver, Hawkhead has blocked the incoming attack. The blade sliced through the wooden shaft, tearing at his pauldron, but before it could come down on the bike, Hawkhead slammed his knee into Janine’s belly, kicking the air out of her. Janine returned the courtesy by smashing her elbow into the helmet, breaking up the steel lips, and cracking one lens.
The raider immediately went on the offensive, using his own broken arrow like a short sword, hacking, slashing, and thrusting at the Warlord. The metal of their weapons sang a song as they came against each other while the bike carried them higher and higher. With almost unnatural ease, the rider manipulated his steel steed with just his legs, facing the incoming assault with a strength that matched Janine’s.
Janine grunted, struggling to keep her balance on the ever-turning vehicle. Her opponent had skills and strength to match! A rare case indeed. During her long life, she had killed teleporters, choked unconscious regenerators, and easily dispatched those who could emit energy from their hands. Once, she even killed a soldier who had the ability to slow down time in an area to a crawl. All because of her superior speed and strength. When foes could not see your movements, victory was all but guaranteed.
This one could. Hawkhead’s arrow aimed at her knees and shoulders, leaving slashes in the armor on her side, before weaving and trying to strike her eyes. Janine blocked the hits with the head of her axe, counterattacking with the weapon’s butt, ended up being forced to use her axe like a staff. One of her glancing hits had torn the left wings off the enemy’s head, failing to distract the man even for a second. She didn’t like to admit it, but here and now she faced someone who fought at a warlord’s level with ease.
Once realization came, adrenaline followed. How long has it been since she met an equal foe with no need to show mercy or restraint? What gifts will the Spirit give her after the victory? Janine allowed rage and hatred to engulf her, starting a pillar of righteous fury in her mind at the memories of death, wounded and dying below them right now. He will not leave alive. She swore to herself and moved forward, taking the fight to the man.
Janine has bitten the arrow’s head with her jaws, stopping the weapon in place, and made a great swing with both arms, slicing through the shaft and taking off a man’s finger in the process. Not giving the bastard a chance to recover, Janine spat the metal back into his face and struck again, cleaving a bloody path from his right shoulder to his left hip. Golden-colored scales fell on the leather saddle as the Hawkhead leaned back, spilling blood. Releasing the grip with one paw, Janine quickly clawed at his face, leaving a few holes in the steel mask. Eager to finish him off, Janine moved forward only to receive a blindingly fast hit against her temple that pushed the metal into the skin and another hit with his bow. The last hit was strong enough to send the Warlord over the steering wheel. Janine landed on the unsteady metal, trying her best not to fall.
“Your kind can fight,” Hawkhead said with a begrudging admiration in his voice, extending his maimed hand to her. “How about it? Join me, and I will keep you safe from Brood Lord’s vengeance and make you a queen of your people. The weak must follow the strong, and there are few people stronger than us. It is our duty…”
Janine refused to listen to this heresy any longer. The moment she lunged forward, his hand moved to the quiver, taking out another arrow. The bike made a turn, leaving Janine to see the ground below. Her claws failed to find something to grab a hold on, and, seeing that the foe was still ahead of her, the Warlord spat at his face before the bow swathed her away from a bike like a fly.
She started falling down, throwing her axe up just in time to block an arrow aimed at her face. The impact had transformed Janine into a fiery streak that was hurtling down the street in a torrent of wood, stone, and pain. The armor did its best to dissipate most of the impact, but Janine could feel a few fresh bruises growing on her back and heard the bombastic laugher above her as the foe turned around, darting away from the settlement.
Janine calmly looked as Hawkhead left the walls and then called the crawler.
“Blessed Mother,” Janine smiled. “A foe worthy of being hunted by you has finally appeared on the battlefield. South of my location, rapidly esca…”
A howl tore through the night, and the ground shook before Janine could finish. Ravager came.
Wolfkins’ spit was such a wonderful thing, after all. Scent left by it could linger for weeks to months and with a small crack in the Hawkhead’s helmet some of her spittle had fallen on his skin. He could run to the edge of the world if he wanted to, but the Blessed Mother’s nose will never lose his scent.
And when she reaches him... Well, Janine did promise to make him dead.