The column had to come to a halt, allowing the working crew from the city to arrive and turn the dusty-looking crawler into something presentable. Armored plates and mighty tracks were cleaned, and regalia and emblems were painted anew, announcing to everyone the coming of the Third Army. Along with the workers came the supplies and orders to prepare for a triumphant parade, requesting only volunteers. All Warlords followed Alpha’s example and refused to send their soldiers, leaving just Ice Fang order to send off their troops in gleaming, pristine white power armor, led by Camelia. The Blessed Mother accompanied this advance, standing like a statue on the crawler’s main gun and watching sourly at the waving crowds of people.

Houstad was truly an enormous place; the sheer size of this city filled Janine’s heart with awe. Light danced on the countless windows and cars, and the smells of fresh bread, meat, oil, perfumes, and countless other scents threatened to overwhelm her. Tall towers had their tips lost in the clouds, casting gigantic shadows even at the crawler, proud edifices of returning prosperity. Proud and regal churches and temples littered the districts, with priests and shamans of various faiths coexisting with each other in peace rather than stirring their flock to obliterate the infidels. Upon entering the city, the crowd roared in greetings, with thousands upon thousands of people standing on the sidewalks, all so different and yet so familiar. Normies, mutants, malformed, all were here.

Ice Fangs dressed in expensive dresses or strict business suits occupied richly adorned patios on roofs, and in unison they lifted glasses with some exquisite wine, greeting the arrival of their kin. These were the civil workers of the order, deeply ingrained in the nation’s economic system and either having shares in or outright owning some of the richest firms in the Reclamation Army. All of the Ice Fangs had trained in martial arts since their births, but if the rumors were to be believed, these ice boys had long forgotten how to grasp a sword’s handle properly. A few ice boys, squires and knights mostly, stood side by side with the police, saluting the troops. These were the guards who aided in ensuring the safety of the cities in the Core Lands, fulfilling a role not all that unsimilar to the roaming packs who tried to keep settlements safe in the Outer Lands.

But they do look far more gorgeous. Janine caught herself smiling, noticing Ignacy’s envious expression at the state of the power armor below. The boy gets lost in looks so easily. Who cares if their cousins had more advanced and elegant types of armor? Their plating was too thin, unsuited for a rapid advance without the aid of shields. The Wolf Tribe’s soldiers fulfilled several roles at once: grenadier, shock trooper, melee fighter—you name it, they’ve done it. And their cousins relied on a strict delegation between the troops, with defenders protecting knights’ assaults, knights cutting paths for sages, and Sword Saints taking out the most dangerous foes in graceful duels. Idiocy. War is all about mass warfare; strike fast and end the fight fast; otherwise, the number of victims will keep piling up from both sides.

The procession passed by the terraforming facilities, an enormous, square-shaped facility at the city’s edge. Arguably, this was the most important and precious part of the city, protected even now by the most elite guards. New breeds with the power to block precognition in the area and new breeds with the ability to prevent any spatial transportation stood guard day and night, ensuring that nothing would happen to these facilities. Should they be destroyed before the terraforming process is fully complete, the entire area around Houstad could suffer an ecological catastrophe.

Then a sizable complex with high walls appeared, which appeared more like a command post or barracks than a place for children. And yet it was the famous orphanage, “No one is unneeded,” as Devourer named it. Funded at first from his private coffer, this complex and its sisters in the other important cities were made of over a dozen buildings and housed several thousand motherless victims of conquests, assaults, or simply natural disasters. Normies and new breeds alike were welcomed here, protected, and cared for by some of the best teachers in the state. A massive bronze statue of an unknown girl was erected in the courtyard. Her posture betrayed fear and uncertainty: one hand raised to protect the face against an unseen whip, but her back firmly shielding the entrance to the main building.

In the absence of First, Camelia led the movement as the column passed the bridge that separated the city in two, helmet in paw and spear lifted proudly, her elegant gaunt betrayed just a hint of restrained physical might, a long cape flowed from her shoulders, its edges carried by two squires. Behind her walked other Sword Saints, with the sages forming a line at the edges, leaving knight captains to file out behind their leaders in the shadow of their standards carried by squires. Drones came swooping from the buildings, operated by the news agencies, filming proud warriors from up close and trying to spy on their black-furred kin. Bogdan had to grab Ignacy by his belt when the soldier pulled over the guardrails, eager to see these flying machines up close.

“They are amazing,” Ignacy whispered. “Just imagine sending them ahead of our forces, dropping grenades on the enemy position, or firing small caliber weapons.”

“Or mapping the area.” Janine nodded and pulled him to her side. “The Second and First Armies are already using them. A first party of combat drones is already waiting for us at the base. At my request, our pack will receive the first dozen for trials. Half of them are equipped with scanners, and another half are carrying small guns with duds for ammunition. On Alpha’s orders, at least one member of a scout’s pack is to learn how to become a field drone operator.”

“Really? I mean, this is an excellent new, Warlord!” Ignacy beamed and saluted her.

“I expect you and Elzada to show initiative and pave the way for the rest of our pack to master control over such devices. We are not going to lose to Alpha’s pack. Am I clear?”

“Crystal clear, ma’am!” Her sons replied in unison.

She caught Bogdan smirking. Whatever. Just because she could accept Ignacy’s desire to potentially stay a loner doesn’t mean that she should stop trying to make him and Elzada soulmates. She wanted more granddaughters. Or grandsons. Either will do at this point. No boy of hers should stay alone in his tent at night.

The Blessed Mother was a gorgeous sight to behold. Even without a military coat, her fur covered her like cloth, stealing the light from the surrounding area. A metal diadem, made in the form and color of an olive wreath, encircled her head. Amulets of the Wolf Tribe and jewelry of the Ice Fang order adorned her body in equal measure, with Marco and another youth from the order standing to her left and right. This was the mayor’s idea—a token gesture to show unity between the two groups. Hearing cheerful cries, Ravager stood up on two legs and lifted her paws, clenching them over her head.

Alpha, Zero, and Lacerated One stood behind the Blessed Mother, all clad in power armor, weapons ready. Should madness come upon the progenitor, it fell to them to try to restrain her. But so far, everything seemed in order.

“Go back to your desert, you murderers!” A voice boomed from loudspeakers when a mixed crowd of people broke through the line of police and charged at the main road.

They carried signs: ‘Stop needless wars!’ and ‘Bring our children back!’ above their heads, and Janine frowned, noticing a piece of rotten fruit that landed against Camelia’s chest plate. The woman showed no anger, calmly moving forward as police began to converge upon the protesters. Several new breeds and a few malformed among the protesters simply stood, not using their sharp claws and blades, serving them as arms, nor allowing themselves to be moved away.

No. Janine felt a tingle of worry, sensing Ravager’s aimless attention focused on the people. The Wolf Tribe could instinctively feel their mother’s emotions when she was close. When she felt anguish, it caused turmoil among the tribe. When her focus fell on some individuals, they felt compelled to fight to the death. When she was angry, the Tribe sallied out, turning any foe before them into bloody remains. And now these normies had attracted her attention.

For the first time in the parade, Ravager looked awake; the light of her eyes fell on the police, who started brandishing their tasers and maces, and on the struggling people. And in the next moment, she was gone, moving so fast that neither Zero nor even Alpha managed to make a step to try and reason with her.

Ravager landed before the first mace came down; sparks of electrical current rushed along her back when tasers’ shots hit her back rather than protestors. No stone broke beneath her legs; Ravager had come before the people with the grace of a falling feather and with the silence of a coming night, causing fear and shock to spread all around when people saw just how huge the Blessed Mother was up close. Her snout came upon the protestors, sniffing them loudly, and something akin to realization appeared in her eyes.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“During the subjugation of Mincemeat, right?” She asked an elderly woman.

“You murdered my entire family.” The woman threw away her sign and clenched her fists. Her voice rose like a tornado. “He wielded our bodies like puppets; we have done nothing wrong, and you slaughtered them! You laughed and giggled as their blood painted the sand! Give me my family back, you monster!”

“She saved us!” an elderly man cried from the crowd on the sidewalk. “It was Mincemeat who took our minds away! If not for the Blessed Mother, we would’ve all died in his thrall!”

“You weren’t there! She killed them! She was never in danger; this bitch could’ve evaded us all, but she chose to stay and cut a path through us!” Tears flowed from the woman’s face, and she came upon Ravager, slamming her feeble fists into the black fur. A younger man, who looked like the elderly woman, tried to lead her away, but she broke free and kept pummeling at Ravager’s leg, shouting, “Here! I am now as old as my mother was back then! Use your claws, turn me into a blood smear, show your ugly nature; I don’t care! Give me my family back or send me to them, you accursed murderer!”

“No.” Ravager stopped the police with a single word, keeping her gaze on the woman. “There will be no violence today, save for one directed at the guilty. Their grievances are fair. They are not to be arrested or harmed. I am sorry,” Ravager told the crowd, hunching her head low. “I would like to offer some recompense and some measure of satisfaction for what I have caused you…”

“But you did!” More people shouted from the crowds. “Mincemeat controlled us with his mind from our very birth! If you hadn’t brought the aid afterwards…”

“What does it matter!?” Ravager stood at full height, looking left and right. “Does a good deed excuse the bad? What can I possibly do to atone for the sea of blood left in my wake? No. I am a monster, fully and truly. Say your piece, good people; shout your anger and inflict a token of pain on me that I have brought upon you. I owe you this much. I would’ve given my life to pay for what I did, but this coin is not mine to give.”

Ravager lowered herself on one knee, listening to the shouts and words of the people before her while the parade kept on passing by.

*****

Leaving the Ice Fangs and Ravager to entertain the crowd, the column arrived at Southaven Base, an old military outpost left from Houtstad’s first days. One big enough to house all three armies; nowadays, this base has just enough space for one. The crawler’s main door opened, and hundreds of legs thundered across the metal, taking posts from the local guards, setting up a defensive perimeter, moving the armor and weapons to the armory, and starting cooking and preparing for the day’s training.

Janine gave her pack little time to marvel at the city, immediately throwing them at the firing range to keep their instincts in check and shake off the relaxing feeling of the trip. They defeated Onyxia’s pack in a competition before falling to Dragena’s pack. With a smile on her face, Janine whipped the Wolf Hags into action, sending her pack into a run around the base’s perimeter as a punishment. As the evening came, the first domination began. As usual, males submitted to females, but the hot blood running through the warriors spurred them into action. Anissa had to protect her rank against three scouts, leaving the Wolf Hag with torn wounds across her arms and her opponents with a new set of ugly scars against the snout. Elzada won the right to become a Wolf Hag, paying with the flesh on her back. Janine had to order the stupid girl to the medics after seeing a gleaming bone of her spinal column.

With howls, blood, infighting, and struggle, the Wolf Tribe has started to settle in their new, temporary den, marking and scenting every inch of the place. Normies came to their duties far more diligently. Terminals were reconnected to the main network, working teams were assigned to keep the place running, tanks were moved to hangars for maintenance, and garrison duties were assigned. Kitchens have been opened, providing refreshments to weary travelers, and an officer club has opened its doors, serving exquisite drinks from Oaksters Vineyards. Doctors broke up a few fights between Wolfkins, sending troublemakers to assist them in settling into a new hospital. Cristobo followed suit and ‘recruited’ the winners of the domination for the purpose of keeping bathroom units clean.

On Chak’s request, warm clothes arrived, leaving the Ice Fangs wondering if their cousins were collectively messing with them or if they really were that cold-sensitive. After seeing a Wolf Hag in no less than three turtlenecks, the ice boys came to the conclusion that the Wolf Tribe had to be mad.

Janine kept tormenting her pack until the night came, and she had to physically drag Ignacy away from tinkering with the drones and send him off to sleep the day off. After checking on the wounded, Janine cracked her knuckles and went to see Lacerated One. Whether she liked it or not, the Tribe had a problem. And any problem must be solved.

*****

Janine stepped inside a spacious, dark den that Lacerated One and the shamans had prepared for their spiritual needs. They have torn aside the concrete in front of the base, burrowing deep into the ground, and brought in beams to support the newly made cave. Five crude idols made of torn concrete stood at the far side of this cave, each representing one of the Spirits, with the Spirit of Rage standing the furthest from the praying place. Two shamans had been busy putting down wooden planks to make a floor.

“Can you imagine? They said they believe in the Spirits!” One shaman hushed another.

“Liars, they have to be. Outsiders have so many religions; why would anyone try to take our faith? And male shamans? Impossible,” the other one snorted.

“Forgive my intrusion, sisters.” Janine clumsily put her paws together.

“Here, Janine.” Lacerated One said it in an icy tone.

The Supreme Shaman sat at the west end of the room, preparing small idols with her fingers. She took a chunk of metal and simply molded it like clay, changing it into toys for cubs or prayer beads for adults, with the image of the Spirit of Rage always gagged and blinded on each puzzle, a method to ensure that the wrathful reaper would not come to collect. An open book lay at her side, carrying images of the Spirits and listing prayers for well-being. The Supreme Shaman herself was only dressed in blood-soaked rags.

“Forgive me for bothering you at this late hour.” Janine bowed.

“You came to us so rarely, Janine, that you seem to have forgotten much,” Lacerated One replied in the same indifferent tone. Yes, she was definitely still pissed about losing the skinwalker. “It is our duty to listen and advise. Blessed be, Janine. Come and tell me your worries.”

“I want to have your support at the next Gathering,” Janine told her bluntly, earning a look for the first time. Gatherings were meetings of the Tribe, a time when all violence was forbidden, aside from ritualistic duels. Males and females were all equal during this time; all could voice their worries and let shamans and warlords decide via voting.

“For whatever cause, pray tell?” Lacerated One asked.

Janine sat near her and bared her neck, exposing her vulnerability to the shaman’s claws, while looking Lacerated One directly in the eyes.

“I’ve met with a Wolf Hag recently. The name’s Kalaisa. A motherless cur, like me. No one ever explained to her that such orphans should ask the shamans for food and help. As a result, her family ended up malnourished and Kalaisa was made to join Ygrite’s pack despite her potential.”

“This…” Lacerated One frowned, scratching her nose. “I will check this at once. If what you are saying is correct, the shaman in charge of her village will be punished and stripped of her rank. This is our failure… My failure. But you don’t need to ask for my support to change this at the next Gathering. A situation like this should never have happened to begin with. Being motherless is a sin, but not the one you can’t atone for, and certainly not the one deserving any neglect.” The shaman looked at her paw, noticing a crushed cub’s toy. Janine only pitied the fool who oversaw Kalaisa’s village. Shamans always held themselves to the highest standards, punishment including.

“This is not all.” Janine gulped, hating herself. Look at her—not even two hundred years old and already daring to think that she has the right to change the Tribe! “I want to allow warlords to pick their own soldiers, regardless of the pack they are born into.” Seeing Lacerated One’s stony expression, Janine hastily continued. “Yes, family ties are important. Abyss… Forgive the profanity; I know it! But we can’t just shower potential aces into unfitting packs and hope it all works out. The bitch… Kalaisa has nearly killed her brother, all because she believes he holds her back.”

“She is wrong. Females are given more by the Spirits, so they should carry more on their shoulders. With benefits also come duties, Warlord.”

“Of course she is wrong; she is a stupid cub!” Janine took a calm breath and kept looking into unblinking amber eyes. “But you have seen her, right? A potential warlord brought low by her own hatred. Any sister would’ve snatched her for her own pack right off the pits. She should have gone to Alpha’s pack, and Alpha is the perfect leader to mold Kalaisa into a functional person. And her family? Who will win if they are to die at her claws for the crime of being weak? Lacerated One, sister, the way we distribute soldiers right now… It isn’t right. I understand that giving Warlords more power might disrupt the balance, but it is for the sake of the Tribe! If this situation happened once, it happened before and will happen again. The change is needed.”

Lacerated One kept on looking at Janine for a solid five minutes, working almost mindlessly with her fingers, dropping toys in a bucket and steel praying beams into another. Neither of them made a blink, and Janine has felt an annoying burning sensation in her eyes. But she kept them open, wondering if this is how one should behave in negotiations. Dammit, this is the last time I ever get involved in the political life of my tribe! I am feeling like a dolt.

"Janine," the Supreme Shaman said finally, "when was the last time we fought each other? To tell the truth, I don’t recall us ever clashing."

“Perfect occasion to remedy the mistake, right, sister?” Janine nodded quickly, catching on to the game. “You and me, and let the Spirits make their decision.”

“Indeed, Janine, indeed.” The Supreme Shaman smiled, standing up. “Follow me. We will settle it close enough.”