Family. In a sense, this was a synonym for a word pack in the Tribe. After all, what was the Tribe, if not one enormous family? All of them came from the Blessed Mother, and even if Warlords had their own views on how to lead the military under their command, blood ties were above all. For this reason, the shamans rated motherless families’ units as a whole before assigning young cubs to one or another Warlord. The weak go to the weak, and the strong go to the strong.
And this was what she intended to change. Even if that meant forcing the shamans to give up their power.
Lacerated One led Janine to an empty spot just outside the base’s walls. Both took off their clothes, allowing the pleasant moonlight to dance on their black fur while trembling slightly in the cold air. Janine rocketed her neck, observing her foe for any sign of weakness. And by the Spirits, there were many.
Lacerated One looked like a victim of severe maiming or a male who had an unfortunate fate of becoming a chew toy for a girl. From head to toe, her body was covered in scars; the scar tissue in some places was so thick that it throttled out her fur completely. Dozens upon dozens of still open wounds were still seeping blood, the wet meat within them glimmered slightly in the light. When the guards pointed a projector light at them, Janine saw moving muscles and ligaments within the skin.
The Supreme Shaman should have been dead, or at least in a healing coma, walking around with wounds like these. The very fur of the tormented woman was wet with never-ending torrents of blood. And yet she stood. Unbothered by wounds and blessed by the Spirits.
Janine clenched her fists and took a combat stance, fists at head level, left arm protecting the head, right arm for punching. Lacerated One only shook her head and released the claws on her feet and paws. Tiny threads of a crimson run through the impressive weapons of destruction like veins through the body. With her claws, the Supreme Shaman left long wounds across her own body, opening more red channels. Janine dropped her stance and released her own claws. All out, it is.
They let action speak on this night, coming at each other at full speed. They collide in a hail of violence, sparks flying, stones exploding beneath their feet, their bulks slamming into one another, and claws meeting claws to create a net of weaving cuts in the air. Each hit resembled an explosion, sending shockwaves that tore at the guards’ clothes, forcing them to grab the guardrail in order not to be thrown off the wall.
Slash at slash. Cut at cut. Janine’s lips twitched, forming a smile at the sight of her claws catching Lacerated One’s paw. Rather than trying to overpower her, her sister in blood smashed an elbow against Janine’s forearm, sending her a step back. Another cut came, slicing clean against Janine’s snout, narrowly missing her eye, opening the left cheek to the bone, and leaving the left ear open. Another attack came, forcing Janine to take a step back, feeling how the sharpest claws scratched against her forehead.
The shaman was pure rage unrestrained, aiming at every weak spot and sending thrust after thrust with the purpose of maiming or killing Janine on the spot. And in this dance of bloodshed and pain, Janine caught herself thinking that she enjoyed it. Lacerated One was in her pure state, aggressing unrestrained and holding nothing back; her attacks sent reverberating pain through Janine’s trunk-sized arms.
Janine let go of her worries, going on the offense. With a smash of her left paw, she beat aside the incoming thrust, allowing the second thrust to come forward. Janine took a step forward with her left foot, burying the claws on her leg into Lacerated One’s foot and pinning the shaman down. Using the woman as a support, Janine shifted her bulk to the left, allowing the incoming thrust to come underneath her right armpit. Her arm has started closing around the Lacerated One’s arm like an industrial vise, aiming to shatter the limb. Without waiting for a result, Janine head-butted the shaman, breaking the woman’s nose.
Her hold closed against empty air. Lacerated One had dislocated the bones of her own arm, jerking it back from the living vise like a rope, easily evading the hold because of all the blood that kept her limb wet. And Janine grimaced, feeling the jaws closing on her trapezius.
The Supreme Shaman has lifted Janine like a cub, liberating the pinned foot and casting the warlord on the ground with enough force to shatter stones. A sizeable chunk of meat was left in Lacerated One’s fangs, resulting in a torrent of blood coming out of Janine’s wound; hers and the shaman’s blood mixed together as Lacerated One leaped at Janine.
Janine met this assault with a knee strike, beating the air off the woman and sending her back a few steps. Not giving the opponent a chance to recuperate, Janine jumped after her, jaws snapping. They met each other again, slashing and biting, giving in to the animal within. Janine’s jaw came down on Lacerated One’s shoulder, closing in on the bones within. The rich and supernaturally charged blood of her sister has sent adrenaline across Janine’s body, making the Warlord tremble with newfound strength and lose focus. This saved Lacerated One’s shoulder; she jerked her arm back, leaving meat in Janine’s watered mouth. The shaman bit back, tearing a chunk of meat from Janine’s chest and almost taking her upper teat.
The Warlord grimaced at the tearing sound and pain that speared her body and missed the incoming attack. A pain speared Janine’s body when Lacerated One’s claws pierced her through the submental space and almost bisected her tongue. At the very last moment, Janine managed to grab the arm with both paws and pull it out, squeezing the limb with all her might, feeling muscles and vessels within her sister’s limb slowly giving up. The shaman’s eyes flashed with worry at the sight of trickles of red coming pouring out from underneath the claws, and Janine used this moment to land a sweeping kick, knocking Lacerated One to the ground. She followed with a thrust that should have ended the fight, only to find her arm stuck in the stone at the elbow and the shaman rolling aside.
How long has it been? When was the last time she came on another sister like in the old days, using just her body and claws rather than bringing the axe down? She has almost forgotten this thrill—the feeling of blood pounding in her temples, the growls that come from their lips, and the rapid movement of their eyes, tracing each other’s blurred movements. The Wolf Tribe had trouble tracking the fast-moving targets, and Janine has fully embraced her instincts, blocking and counterattacking like a savage.
They fought for a good portion of an hour, with packs gathering at the wall, cheering up the fighters, and the Sword Saints looking dumbfounded at the fight before them. Some white-furred cousins who came to visit their relatives even asked if this was normal behavior in the Third Army. Impatient One confirmed that yes, it was, earning herself some worried looks.
Normies coming home from work started stopping nearby, taking out their terminals, and filming the event. Lacerated One did not shout to stop them, and Janine allowed this too. Who cares? The contest of might, here and now, was so much more exciting! After a while, Alpha came to the people, snapping orders to the pack to keep the civilians safe after one shockwave nearly slammed a woman against her car. Shamans leaped forward, forming a living wall in front of the onlookers and looking at the battle with divine reverence.
Lacerated One’s claws closed around Janine’s right wrist, biting deeply and letting blood flow freely. Janine only grunted and pulled the shaman closer to herself, landing an undercut beneath the opponent’s left leg. Lacerated One lost her footing just briefly, but in this span of time, she let go of Janine’s paw.
And the Warlord took advantage of it, grasping the woman by the neck with her right paw and slamming the claws of her left paw against her mighty thoracic. With no mercy, she choke-slammed Lacerated One into the ground, creating the crater in the concrete and making nearby solid stone get covered in a net of cracks. People on the sidewalks jumped, the Sword Saints on the wall groaned, and the Warlords laughed their asses off, making bets on who would win. Captain Cristobo has lit a cigarette, betting thirty tokens on Lacerated One. Alpha took up his bet, betting five tokens on Janine’s victory.
Janine mounted Lacerated One, holding her waist beneath her thighs. The claws on her legs pierced the Supreme Shaman’s ankles, pinning her down. Mercilessly, she started thrusting with her claws at the body beneath. Years of restraint! Years of holding back! Being afraid of killing another sister again! Her claws pierced the skin, and she let them grasp the meat and flesh, leaving fist-sized holes on Lacerated One’s body. New thrusts followed, and Lacerated One found her arms covered in new wounds as Janine’s claws scooped the skin off her forearms. Pinning Lacerated One’s shoulders, Janine bit off one of her cheeks to the bone, struggling to find the neck. But you can take it, right, sis?!
“This was a passable warm-up,” Lacerated One said calmly.
Wait, what?
A pain speared Janine’s body when Lacerated One buried her claws in four of Janine’s teats. Janine endured the pain of almost having her ribs torn out before; she endured Ravager’s punishment on more than one occasion, but this? This has caused her to weep like a cub. This excruciating pain has made Janine slightly lift herself, and Lacerated One disappeared from beneath her, leaving a fresh surge of torn pain in her now-missing teats and grievous cuts between Janine’s legs.
The claws sliced against Janine’s rear, and the Warlord struck back with a right elbow, barely shielding her spine column from being sliced. Spinning around, Janine made a high kick, leaving a new crimson flower to open on Lacerated One’s arm. She jumped after the shaman, and the world spun around.
Janine flew like a cannonball, smashing into the wall around the base. Her initial impact left a crater against the reinforced concrete, but the sheer force behind the counterattack was so great that the Warlord rolled around the stone wall like a ball, leaving behind a trail of destruction before fully falling. Janine stood up like a drunk, swaying and breathing hard, seeing a new river of blood coming to her paw across her right arm. Skin, muscles, and veins were all torn, leaving her bones reverberating slightly. It took Janine some effort to close and open her paw, and when she looked up, she saw Lacerated One standing on one leg with the other one still in the air; her left upper teat dangling on a string of flesh and guts trying to squeeze out through the gap on her body. She kicked her. The Supreme Shaman has kicked Janine mid-flight, swatting her like a parasite.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
You are kidding, right? She is only now using her legs? Janine grimaced at the thought. It made sense. Rumors told that Lacerated One could easily have become a warlord, high in power dynamics at that. The woman paid with her body to try to stop Ravager’s madness; it was no surprise that she got this strong and was mad enough to tough it out through any injuries.
“The rage behind your movements is genuine, sister.” Lacerated One tilted her head, seeing how Janine had hunched her head low.
“You are too much…” Janine chuckled.
“Are you surrendering, Janine?” Lacerated One asked icily, all warmth gone from her voice.
“I like it! This is amazing! For the first time in years, I am feeling like I don’t need to hold anything back!” Janine charged forward, evading a low sweep, and stomped on the ground.
She didn’t lie. Janine felt herself genuinely happy; the thoughts of Ignacy’s injury, her fears about Anissa’s future, her loss against Bertruda, and even her sorrow about Martyshkina were gone. To fight! Without the need to pull your punches, coordinate your attack with anyone, or lure a foe into a trap. To fight as a low rank, feeling your heart racing, feeling your injuries burning, hearing your skin tearing, and your bones cracking! What a wonderful feeling it was to be free of all obligations, all worries, and all duties and just be yourself! A fighter in need of an opponent.
Her stomp has caused stone and dust to come upward in a small explosion. An elbow kick has sent some of the stone into Lacerated One’s eyes, making the shaman frown in pain. Immediately, Janine attacked, landing a cruel straight kick aimed at the solar plexus of her opponent. The woman dodged the worst, but Janine’s claws still tore, leaving bloody caverns across Lacerated One’s side. Janine had turned her kick into a step, following after the shaman before she could recover and plunging the claws of her right paw below the shaman’s ribs. Lacerated One gave a raspy gasp and struck with her leg, landing a hit against the left arm.
By the Spirits, the woman was strong! Janine had never dared to leave her comfort zone, only ever struggling and losing against Onyxia and Predaig in a power ranking of the Tribe. Trying to take on someone stronger than this could have left her crippled, or worse, she could’ve made a slip and killed a sister. Janine had seen how Alpha fights, of course, but had never experienced such violence firstpaw. Until today. She took the kick on both her shoulder and forearm, and still her arm exploded with pain, sending her bones reverberating with pain and pushing Janine herself back four steps. Her claws left deep marks on the concrete, leaving her pinky finger limp like a rope.
A single kick! Lacerated One wasn’t one of the first-generation Wolfkins; she clearly was of the second, as Ravager had founded her next to her dead parents. The girl was mad with fear, near dead because of thirst, and still tried to guard the dried-up cadavers of her parents from predators. Ravager brought the girl back into the Tribe and gave her to the shamans to raise. Despite never serving in the military, all Wolfkins of the first generation treated Lacerated One as a biological sister, and the shamans viewed her as a Ravager’s avatar. And now Janine understood why. There was some… primal ferocity in Lacerated One, some kinship that only showed in a fight. She wanted and tried to kill Janine. But not a hint of hatred was behind her strikes. Just rage, one that honored them both.
They bit each other’s shoulders, tearing flesh. Blood pushed out of their wounds as they strained their muscles to the limit. Feeling her right arm giving in, Janine has landed a kick against Lacerated One’s belly, straight into the exposed guts and making the woman cough blood. Tancred Ironwill, a tall and regal Sword Saint clad in power armor colored in white and violet hues, cried out, demanding to stop this madness. No one answered him. The Shaman has smiled fiercely and whispered,
“Oh, sister. If I had only known about your fear and hunger earlier. Trust me, you never have to hold back anything against us. We are tough girls.” She pushed on, and Janine almost felt the bones in her right arm about to give in.
“Enough,” a voice said, and Janine and Lacerated One dropped to a knee, bleeding profusely and baring their necks.
Ravager came forth, still wearing her gold jewelry and talismans, flanked by a man in a green lab coat. The skin on the man’s forehead shone with an unnatural light, almost as if someone had put some sort of device beneath it. Two drones buzzed at his sides, recording the events.
“No killing each other,” Ravager snapped, coming closer. “This is a civilized place! No scaring locals, no killing; be the good girls. I forbid all fighting while we are in Houstad. Make peace and don’t bicker.”
She snatched them both, one in each paw. The giant snout came upon them, and Ravager has started licking them. Janine tried to pry the fingers apart, feeling her skin go red with shame, but all her efforts were for naught. Compared to Ravager’s might, Janine felt herself less than a cub, while thick, soft drool had fallen on the wounds, causing an itching sensation in her ruined ear, making the edges of her wounds come to each other, and making Janine’s stomach growl like mad. The last time, Ravager merely gave Janine a whiff of her healing power. This time Ravager went all out, taking her time and licking them clean of blood, as if she were once again a caretaker of the first generation.
The hunger that came upon Janine was so irresistible that she even gnawed on the Blessed Mother’s fingers, doing no more harm than the normies’ punches earlier. Her body demanded, no, cried out for food to sustain the restorative process. The excess of fat carefully stored in her body has started burning out, with the belly getting smaller by the second. And judging by Lacerated One’s protests, the blood sister felt the same way.
With a flick of her wrists, Ravager has thrown both women to the ground, walking toward the entrance to the base on all fours again and ignoring reporters nearby. Her head swung to look at the man near her.
“Biological parts, Till.”
“Some of them had already agreed to the artificial limbs,” Till Ingo replied carelessly. This man, the legendary researcher of the Reclamation Army, had paid no attention to Ravager’s angry growing, examining the ruined fortifications and ground instead. “I’ll send a few drones tomorrow. Could be a fun test if they can fix…”
“You agreed to the deal,” Ravager whinged like a cub denied her favorite treat.
“Ravager, it will take half a year to produce the necessary number of cloned limbs.” Till Ingo still looked at the ruined concrete as if it were the most important thing in the world. “The wounded are panicking, and I feel for them. Imagine being submerged in a healing solution not for days but for weeks, breathing through a tube in your lungs, and barely being able to speak. Most of them are lacking arms, legs, and a dingle, which hardly helps their mental state.”
“Turn on TVs for them. Invite priests or soothsayers to help with your mental state. Do something, anything; you are supposed to be smart! But keep them away from metal! I don’t care if they are afraid of floating in the healing solution; placing steel in your body is no way to live. It’s disgusting and heartless to replace one’s hot blood and insides with cold and lifeless metal.” The Blessed Mother circled around Ingo and leaned her head toward the ground, basking him in the light of her eyes. “Ingo, they deserve proper lives. Don’t betray me, please.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Till stopped talking and looked at Ravager, who suddenly bared her fangs, struggling to keep herself restrained. Ravager took two deep breaths, clutching at her chest with a paw.
“I am fine… I am not in the Room… Zero! Camelia!” Ravager cried. “Attend me! Take these baubles off me… I am tired. Mister Ingo, we will continue this discussion never.”
“Of course, Commander.” The man bowed his head.
Still clutching her chest, Ravager kept breathing rapidly, looking around like an herbivore in the presence of an unseen predator. She licked her lips, baring fangs, when the two women came to her. Closing her eyes, Ravager lowered herself on all fours, allowing the Warlord and Sword Saint to work.
“We are going to stay in Houstad for a month… Two months, max. Outsider is bound to return from the west eventually,” she said with a trembling voice, and she looked at Zero. “Zero, I am heading to the mountains; can you deal with the relationships… No, of course not. Alpha?”
“I am better suited for military missions, Blessed Mother.” The Warlord bowed.
“Dragena, you, Alpha, and First, when he comes back, will oversee the Third Army’s military affairs until my return. Trust Sunblade as if he were me; is that understood?” Ravager’s eyes have found a figure on the wall, and Dragena has bowed her head. In a blur, Ravager’s head turned to glare at Janine. “Janine. You are to speak with the mayor in the Wolf Tribe’s name. Lick your wounds and show him every courtesy he can possibly ask for. Camelia, you will fulfill the same role for your order. Be pleasant and honey; these people feed and support us! And if any protestor attacks or insults you on the street, I expect you collectively to shove your tongues up your asses and take it like a woman! Or male, I don’t care.”
Adding nothing else, Ravager stood up, leaving the gold and jewelry in the Wolfkins’ paws. She jumped up, disappearing in the air like a ghost, leaving Till Ingo looking around when her speed had overcome the optical zoom of his drone’s cameras.
“The shamans will support your idea.” Lacerated One gave Janine a pat on the shoulders, caressing the naked muscles. “Both the Spirits and the Blessed Mother have shown their will. Healing, rather than pain. Come to me sometimes, and we will talk. Blessed be, my sister.”
Wait... Janine frowned. Lacerated One could’ve beat her; the woman’s kicks were brutal. So why has the fight lasted for so long? Why did the fight… A smile touched her lips. Ravager’s arrival sealed the agreement of the others. Oh, sister. You truly know how to play us.
Janine breathed in fresh air, unbothered to show her weakness. Okay, the shamans are with her. Technically, this should already win her the proposal. At a Gathering, a Warlord makes her suggestion, and all shamans more often than not vote along with Lacerated One in such instances. Even if every other Warlords votes against them, one Warlord plus all the shamans should easily outvote them.
But this is a theory. And Janine wasn’t a politician, but there was no reason to treat it any differently than a proper war. The more troops, the quicker the victory. Janine glanced at Alpha’s back. She gauged the length of her claws, morbidly wondering if she would survive a round against her if Alpha decides to test her. Nah, I am worried about future cubs and the well-being of packs, but I also want to kind of live and see my granddaughter. And I am scared shitless of Alpha.
Alpha’s foul temper and unhinged ferocity were well known within the Tribe. Even ignoring the supposed crimes she had committed back in the lab, Alpha knew not how to hold back and would often leave any challengers declawed and mentally broken from torture. Janine could endure torture, but if she ever wants to find a new soulmate in the future, the claws must be preserved. No, it’s better to avoid Alpha all together. Sure, the woman could be gentle at times, and her pack viewed her more like a mother than a distant leader, but to Janine, she was a wall not meant to be climbed.
Marty was most likely out of the question; she was a hardline traditionalist. But it can’t hurt to talk with her. Who else? Ashbringer and Ygrite. She can subdue one, and hopefully another will agree for fun. Maybe Zero? Onyxia? Onyxia beat Janine in their last spar, but occasionally showed a softer side of her, stopping a male’s beating. Next to no males ever offed themselves intentionally in hers or Ashbringer’s packs. She’ll see Janine’s point. Predaig and Eled… Hm… Predaig has her paws full because of age, but the need calls for desperate measures. Eled… no, too stubborn.
Putting her paw on the flat belly, Janine stood up. So much to do… It’s best to do it right. But first she needs to feed! Janine stomped toward the base, jumping at the top of the wall and showering Anissa and her boys aside, stopping her thunderous advance toward the kitchen only when Impatient One brought in a frozen carcass of a cusack.
What a good girl. Janine sank her fangs into the meat, feeling ice cracking on her bloodied gums and feeling her body getting filled with infernal cold. Hah, never mind. As if a little cold could harm her!