The blade came down, tearing through the air. Janine barely had time to meet it with the glaive, only for her own weapon to shatter against Brood Lord’s steel. The sheer force behind their blow created an ear-piercing explosion and pushed air asunder, forcing water around their legs to flow against walls. Sharp pieces of steel marked Janine’s and Brood Lord’s cheeks, creating mirroring wounds. Pushing the blade away, Janine aimed the glaive’s gun at her foe, only to be sent back with a blindingly fast strike of his leg.
Strong. A thought flashed in her head, along with blood coming to her lips.
Bullets flashed in Marty’s paws, causing Brood Lord to shield himself with his arm to shield his eyes. Some of his gold medallion shattered under the pressure, and a few bullets skillfully slipped in the space between the unorthodox protection, drawing all too human crimson blood, but no serious damage was done. Brood Lord grunted a laugh and made another overhead swing, this time grasping his gigantic sword with both hands.
Janine kicked the sage away from the danger and took the blow on the glaive, grunting from effort. Brood Lord’s sword became a fiery beacon, engulfed in flames because of friction. And then it came down, bending the shaft of her glaive and exploding stones below Janine’s legs.
Brood Lord wasn’t an unskilled foe; she understood this much at once. The sheer speed and precision behind his attacks, his quick adaptation to Marty’s intervention, his calm eyes tracking the surroundings—everything betrayed years of frontline combat. Even this slam that buried her to the knees in the stone was meant to create a shockwave strong enough to pour all the water in the tunnel at the ice fangs, ensuring momentary confusion. He relied on her weapon to bend before his might and planned for his sword to reach her shoulder, which it did.
But this isn’t it, right? Janine ignored the pain in her right shoulder and remembered the sage’s words, raising an arm before her eyes. Brood Lord’s lips formed an ‘O’ and a stream of acid struck her in the face, splattering and hissing on her arm and slightly hitting her right eye, turning her vision murky. The accursed stream had eaten half of her world for a moment, but Janine fought on, refusing to allow even a hint of panic.
Wolfkins grew stronger with every injury they suffered. If their heart got damaged but the organ endured, then upon being healed, it will become tougher. A lung pierced, a bone snapped, or an eye damaged—all of this led not to detriment but to improvement among the Wolf Tribe. All these times, when Martyshkina landed a knuckle against Janine’s eye in their brawls, all headbutts from Terrific, all kicks into the snout from the shamans, have changed Janine’s body forever.
She didn’t blink, fully concentrating on her foe. Even when the right side of her body started going numb, Janine pushed through her weakness, bringing the weapons of her foe up. Brood Lord had dragged his weapon back, widening the wound but failing to damage the bone, before jumping back, eyes wide, and his blade turning into a blur.
Martyshkina kicked several weapons of the deceased Ice Fangs into her paws, casting a sword into Brood Lord as if it were a spear. Back in their childhood, Marty always loved getting close and personal with Janine, shredding her hide and receiving brutal beatings in return. It all changed the moment Terrific introduced them to shardguns. Marty’s eyes beamed with happiness upon landing a first shot into a practice dummy; a glint of her future divinity came forth in an amber light, and she grabbed the weapon, holding and cooing to it as if it were an infant. On this night, she slept, hugging her shardgun like a lover.
In the years to come, she was busy honing her skill at killing at range. Throwing knives, firearms, explosives, energy weapons, spears… If it could kill at range, Martyshkina would master it, abandoning close combat all together and viewing it as something unworthy of being a hunter.
And now her skills made a difference where Janine’s might have faltered. A blade exploded against Brood Lord’s weapon, only to turn into a hail made of hundreds of sharp shards, slamming hard against his exposed body. His pincer let go of the Sword Saint’s head, hastily coming before his eyes to protect himself. Marty cast another weapon, an axe, purposely shattering it against the strong chitin. Once more iron shards were made, flying aimlessly at the walls…
No. Not aimlessly. Janine understood. The shards passed by the Ice Fangs, hitting no exposed parts of their bodies, ricocheting at the walls behind them, and coming at Brood Lord’s back, driving him back even further. And more came in their wake, breaking and hitting him again. Martyshkina, without her favorite weapons, was driving their foe back.
Janine took this opportunity to catch her breath and wipe the acrid remains from her eye. There was something else in his spit, a toxin of sorts, that now clutched at her lung with an iron grip, trying to wrestle control of the half of her body and making her fight for every breath. Taking deep and calm breaths, Janine put a paw on her chest, begging her immune system to wipe this poison off her sooner.
“Have a bone to pick with Janine?” Martyshkina laughed, tilting her head, her paws casting another blade. “Pass through me first!”
“If you so insist, dog,” came the calm answer.
The pincers struck the ceiling, collapsing stones onto the projectiles. Through the avalanche of stone and steel, Brood Lord dashed forward, his own body pulverizing rubble into dust. The sword struck out in a blinding arc aimed at Martyshkina’s neck. Janine barely had time to block the incoming strike when his pincer struck, forcing both of them to retreat.
Pushing himself into the space between the two Warlords, Brood Lord kicked with his legs, sending Marty into a wall like a cannonball and bringing his full fury upon Janine. The bent and useless glaive came against the mighty curved sword. Sparks were dying in the air, throttled by sonic booms that were sending pieces of Janine’s broken weapons into the wall. Cruel and efficient, Brood Lord has brought his pincers to bear, tearing chunks of flesh from Janine’s sides, leaving lacerated wounds on her hide, and using the murkiness of her wounded eye to push his advantage.
And like a ghost, he disappeared from view, leaving Janine made a blind swing against emptiness. Brood Lord’s legs found the ceiling, and his arm made a wide overhead slice that cleaved the floor and nearly left Martyshkina in halves. On her pure instincts, the Warlord dove to the side, blocking an incoming attack with twin swords. Brood Lord cut through them, drawing a deep cut against Marty’s body.
“Now would be a good time,” a hoarse voice whispered, and everything slowed down. Janine’s blood turned cold upon feeling her fingers running along her back. “No, stupid girl. Rage, not ice. Rage against the impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible! If you want to punish someone, try me first!” Janine roared, unsure to whom exactly she addressed. Fear once again tried to worm its way into her psyche, and she shook it off, pushing forward on sheer adrenaline.
She threw the glaive’s remains, aiming not at Brood Lord but at the ceiling, just in the place where his legs were piercing the stone. The projectile shattered the foundation, causing Brood Lord to stumble, and in this moment, Janine was at his back, slamming the bastard into the stone wall. His elbow smashed into her snout, breaking one of her front fangs, but she didn’t care.
A slugfest. Now, this was her element. Her first punch collapsed the wall before them, bulging his cursed tokens deeper into the flesh and carrying them into another tunnel, leaving behind shattered pipes and causing another flood. If not for her lost claws, Janine would’ve grabbed his ribs by now.
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They fell in dark waters, her jaws closing on Brood Lord’s shoulders, legs and paws hitting and slashing, tearing through his chitin plates. With a frown, he turned, leaving a sizeable chunk of flesh in her paws and headbutting Janine, shattering her nose. A pincer closed around her good paw, trying to slice it away; his other pincer narrowly missed her ribs.
Janine grimaced from the effort, prying open his grip with both legs. She responded in kind, slamming her forehead against his nose, making the bastard breathe in the water. And in the next moment, he hit her in the belly with the sword’s pommel.
This time it was Janine’s turn to gasp, feeling water enter her lungs. Brood Lord was just as strong as her; no, as much as it pained her to admit it, the bastard was stronger, and by a significant margin. His strike sent her upward, and a following hit with all six of his legs splattered Janine against the ceiling.
She survived by relying on her instincts, pushing her claws in front just in time to block the cut aimed at taking away her head. Once more, Janine’s head crashed into the stones behind her, her own paw slammed against her jaw, and she found herself falling into the water. With an explosion of rage and anger, she swam to the left, evading another cut.
“Weapon!” Janine roared, stepping back, the Ice Fangs firing their guns at the advancing Brood Lord, bleeding him but causing no serious damage. He won’t let her gain distance again.
“Here, lady!” She reached back and found a sword in her paw.
I am going to die. Janine laughed sourly, bringing this tiny toothpick into the foe’s swing. A knight’s sword! In a situation where true might was needed. Not even a sage’s glaive or, at the very worst, a shield. Seeing the blades coming against each other and time slowing down, Janine felt nothing but anguish and spiking fear.
She still has so much to do! Marty was behind her; her cousins were behind her; how could she die and leave them alone against this monstrosity? How dare she die now, leaving her cubs alone in this cruel world? Her dreams weren’t big, but she wanted to see Anissa exceed and become a shaman; she wanted to see Ignacy and Marco happy; and she wanted to hold Bogdan’s cubs once more.
But death comes to everyone at some point, and sometimes there is nothing you can do. Janine felt Marty’s movements, knowing full well that she would be too late to jerk her away. Her good eye saw how the blades came against each other and saw a crack in the knightly blade. Noble and honorable, a weapon of a defender has faltered in the face of the savagery and durability of a weapon belonging to the despoiler. And the weakness in her body has made her too slow to dodge on her own.
The ceiling exploded, and gigantic claws came down, blocking the incoming hit. Pain caused her paws to release the grip after cruel claws sliced some flesh, but never before had Janine felt as happy to see this person as she did now.
Alpha, still dressed in a bright orange prison robe, came from the street above like some angel, landing in a circle of light. Her elbow sent Janine flying, and with grace unbecoming such an immense body, she whirled around, blocking the incoming slash.
Brood Lord’s eyes widened at the sight of his attack blocked with casual ease. The might of both arms was behind this hit, only for Alpha to block it with just her left paw. Alpha spun, sending his massive body away, and Brood Lord cried out, enduring three deep lacerated wounds on his chest.
“Drozna! Play a tune again, this time inward!”
A roar of anger was the answer to him as Brood Lord skittered back into tunnels, heading to a large steel platform hanging above a waterfall flowing into deep darkness. Alpha walked after him, her long crimson hair freely flowing in the dirty stream, her paw raised in command for all others to stay behind. The jaw with two sets of fangs opened, releasing a hungry gasp.
Janine saw the clowns from before standing guard above Phaser, who rushed back and forth around the platform, gesturing madly with his claws, sweat coming from every pore. With heavy stomping steps that made the entire platform tremble, the beast stepped forward, shielding both Brood Lord and blocking the entrance. His gigantic, clawed hand still held a half-eater ice fang; pieces of metal and blood dripped from the mighty fangs. All across his body, muscles bulged below the skin, giving this Drozna the appearance of an air balloon ready to burst.
Drozna grinned, and Janine felt something—a burning rage in her blood, a sudden desire to leap at Marty and prove once and for all who is the strongest Warlord between them. A vessel popped in her eye at the memory of how Alpha dared to humiliate and mock her before. And all around them, the others felt the same. Their cousins cast angry looks at each other; one of them even spat on the ground.
“Barbaric filth.” A knight captain clenched his knuckles with the wheezing sound produced by his power armor. “Had you only been faster, our liege would’ve…”
“Be silent, male.” Janine had to physically restrain Marty from jumping at the man. The knight captain pulled his pistol, only for the sage to beat it out of his paw.
The rage kept increasing, bringing back memories of every humiliation, every missed promotion, and every injustice, whether real or not, sparkling every bitter memory and fueling the bonfire of long-buried grievances. I killed Terrific. Janine looked at her shaking paw. Terrific was the only one who truly gave a shit about her, and she broke her neck! And for what? For some useless, blasted, mewling cubs? For children of the worst people possible?
I don’t deserve to live. She understood this clearly. What are you waiting for, you coward? Raise your claws, gouge your eyes, and drag your brain out! Do it! It is the least you deserve, for…“
“Interesting,” Alpha said, her voice sounding like grinding gears, and fear came.
Janine had a close acquaintance with experiencing the fear wave, Alpha’s power. Once, as a cub, she snuck into the general store to steal some treats. On her way out, she came face-to-face with Alpha. No claw touched the young and foolish girl on that night, but she still lay in her bed, pissing and crying all night, tormented by the unspeakable horrors that kept following her for a weak. Even part of her fur turned gray. At the end of the week, the shaman in charge of overseeing the cubs came to Alpha, begging for mercy, and the Strongest Warlord showed it, asking young Janine why she did it. Upon receiving the answer, Janine was sent to watch over cusacks for a month, her fur returned to its lush black color. And at the end of the month, Alpha had given her the exact treat she’d been trying to steal, rewarding her honest work.
In other instances, the fear wave worked more directly, stopping the hearts of anyone standing in Alpha’s way, leaving hundreds of dead bodies. But on this day, the fear wave protected them. The anger and self-hatred dissipated, leaving confusion and shame in its place. Were they really ready to come at each other’s throats? Were their oaths this weak?
“Interesting indeed.” Brood Lord pushed past Drozna, guiding him back to the platform with one arm and with Alpha walking at them. “I always felt curious about what should happen when brainwaves emitted by two emotion manipulators intervene with each other. Seems like they cancel each other out. Thank thee, the Foolish Warlord.” Brood Lord made a mocking bow. “You gave me useful knowledge. Now I know who will hunt you down.”
“What good is knowing the answer if you are dead?” Alpha laughed.
“Let me eat her,” Drozna gasped, spewing out an arm. “I can take her. I know I can!”
“We had enough thrills for one day, my friend. I had hoped to pick up Janine’s broken carcass with us, but alas. No matter, we will see each other soon enough, my dears. Phaser, open it now!” Brood Lord commanded.
Drozna roared and stomped with his leg, causing Janine to cry out a warning. The platform shook, coming off the wall with a screeching sound of tearing metal and falling stones. Janine dashed to the edge, looking down just in time to see how, tumbling down, the gigantic construction fell into an open tear, showing a vast field in some unknown place. Alpha calmly walked next to Janine, looking down with hungry eyes.
“Hope he’ll choose a good one,” Alpha said.
Janine looked at her. How could she? So many civilians, so many cubs, their cousins, and finally their own soldiers have perished today. And this… This filth only thinks about the thrill of an individual duel?
Calm yourself. Alpha has saved your life. The Strongest Warlord has her own ways. Janine chastised herself.
“Gather up!” Janine snapped. “We have wounds to lick and preparations to make. Take care of the wounded.” She saw shame in the ice boys’ faces and allowed a bit of warmth in her voice. “Rise your heads, my kin. Marty and I too fell victims to this assault on our minds, and yet you endured it far longer than we. Stay proud, for we have work to do!” She hoped it would soothe their souls; the Spirits know it was Tancred’s foolishness that led to these losses, not theirs. Damn it, why can’t she just use her claws to motivate her feeble kin? Nothing cheers up a soldier like a good brawl. “The foe has dared to assault our city! Death and destruction were brought upon our lands! For this, we will hunt them to the edge of the world and see them broken against our knee!”
“Where is Sword Saint Tancred?” Alpha demanded to know.
“He is dead,” Janine replied sorrowfully.