Janine spat at the twitching corpse under her feet. She had half a thought of taking a bit off the bastard; the Spirits knew the day was long, and she was hungry, but she decided against it. Not out of respect. She would’ve pissed on the bastard given enough time. But the soldiers and cousins were looking at her. Restraint and discipline were needed.
She experienced a tingle in her legs, a slight strain in the muscles, and a pleasant rush of adrenaline throughout her body. The reward. Ravager’s legacy had deemed Janine worthy of growing just a tiny bit stronger after murdering this bastard. Weird, she thought she had reached her prime years ago. But Janine welcomed this feeling, allowing the muscles in her legs to grow a little bigger.
The Warlord ignored the chuckle and the shadow poking the dead body. She isn’t here. Terrific could not be here. Taking Taleteller from Bogdan’s paws, she raised the weapon high, howling and announcing her victory. Four packs. Four packs had descended upon the settlement, and they barely made a dent in the enemy forces. Even now, Ice Fangs and Wolfkins have joined forces, pushing the raiders back. Despite losing their leaders, the foe retreated orderly, with the new officers already taking the place of the deceased ones.
It drove her into action, and the first shot from her laser rifle left two bisected bodies on the footpath below the square leading to the Knight Academy. The enemies’ torsos simply disappeared in the searing light; not a drop of blood left their falling legs. Janine kept on firing, ripping lives out of those daring to bring war to the state.
This settlement, proudly called Defiance, was founded over a century ago. For fifty years, the people endured the unspeakable hardships of radiation and dangerous wildlife, stubbornly expanding the mining settlement. And their efforts were rewarded; with the terraformation, life came back, transforming a once small village into a sprawling trading hub and a home for over twenty thousand people. With food productions, farms, two small cinemas, schools, a small park, pharmacies, and even a fully stocked hospital, this place thrived, no longer relying on the minerals in nearby mountains to sustain itself.
And now Defiance has suffered. Pillars of smoke were rising to the sky, carrying away the hopes of thousands and choking civilians hiding in the building. Beasts in human forms were ravaging the place, pillaging, and violating at every opportunity. Women were dragged out of their homes by the hair, and their husbands were cut down or enslaved. Stores and malls were cracked open, the bank’s walls were leveled, and the conquerors were busy leading enslaved people and carrying stolen goods outside.
In their panic, the people flocked to a few places they still viewed as pillars of safety. Police station. The Knight Academy. The city hall. Janine took it all into consideration, spreading the pack and giving assignments to the Wolf Hags with silent approval from Martyshkina, Eled, and Predaig. Marty was to save their stupid kin near the police station and city hall.
Several packs were prowling around Defiance, keeping to the shadows and smoke and striking at the overextending enemy. The Wolfkins caught the raiders with their pants down. No reason not to do it again. And again.
“Scouts. Mark the enemy’s officers. Hunters,” Janine said, looking at the roof of this so-called Knight Academy. Janine knew almost nothing about Knight Academies; she viewed these places as the order’s analogs of pits, places to toughen up cubs. Thankfully, their ice-blooded kin obeyed with no questions. “Fire at will; enemy leaders take highest priority.” Janine grinned, looking at how three raiders trying to assemble another attack had their heads pierced by the hunters. “Wolf Hags, your status?”
Another fireball rose near the walls, answering Janine’s question better than any report. The diversion team converged upon the overly exposed artillerists, killing whoever they could and exploding their ammunition along with vehicles. Their deed done, the Wolfkins darted back into the settlement like shadows.
“Artillery pieces within the settlement are dismantled, Warlord!” An explosion ringed the other side of the settlement, and something gigantic fell from the sky. Marty’s doing, most likely. “But we can’t get to the bastards outside of the wall!” The Wolf Hag in charge of the diversion team shouted, and Janine looked through her eyes.
The pack was busy dodging gunfire and energy beams coming from the cracks in the walls. Moving through the ruined buildings, the pack was now busy picking up wounded civilians and fighting their way across the battlefield. Although this was not in their mission parameters, Janine approved their initiative with a grunt.
Even for two Wolf Hags, such a mission was dangerous, but they weren’t alone. Four other shapes moved in the ruins, coming from the smoke to snatch any raider foolish enough to pursue the pack. Eled’s and Predaig’s bodyguards, shamans who had survived hundreds of battlefields, were unleashed in full. Their faith might have forbidden them from using weapons, but in close space, these women utilized gifts given to them by both the Spirits and the state.
Second only to warlords, these warriors were without equal in the chaos of this battle. Seeing through each other’s lenses, they jumped from the rooftops, cleaving bodies with their horrible claws. Their jaws closed, tearing away throats, and the shamans roared, attracting even more opponents to them. Like ghosts, they would disappear after each massacre, pushing through windows without breaking walls, disappearing in the basement, and making new paths around the pack.
The shamans used their own allies as bait, never once stopping their own deadly hunt. Smoke, rubble, attack from the underground—these warriors did it all, abandoning all semblance of humanity and scaring normies to death by devouring still-screaming raiders or purposely leaving mortally wounded foes in the alleys, drawing in fresh prey for the slaughter. Bullets bounced off their thick armor, and swords and energy beams merely hit their afterimages as the shamans kept doing their grim business.
Janine found no heart in her to berate them for cannibalizing downed foes, not after one of them picked two kids from underneath a pile of debris and tossed them to the warriors. If any normie reports it later, she herself will take the fall.
Attacking multiple targets was the Wolf Tribe way. In the absence of a clear enemy leader and facing an enemy too great in numbers to take them head-on, Wolfkins sowed confusion and chaos on the battlefield, misdirecting the foes and attacking exposed targets. Even now, a second group led by three more Wolf Hags dropped acid hell on the hover bikes, aiming to charge after the diversion team, making the enemies guess just how many enemies were in this settlement. Lacking support, the secondary team retreated via roofs, picking up any civilians they could.
But these rapid attacks could not last, nor were they sustainable. Already, the diversion packs had spent a quarter of their ammunition, and new foes were busy entering the settlement. Chaos tactics could not win them the day. Brute force could not turn the tide either.
“P… please!” When Janine passed by, a wounded raider raised her large hand. “Mercy! I can reveal…”
The Warlord popped the woman’s head beneath her foot.
“Make use of the sewer system and retreat to the Knight Academy. Civilians’ safety takes full priority,” Janine told the first pack, quenching her bloodlust. They can’t save everyone. Her eyes spotted raiders charging from an alley a few streets ahead. A small, white leg of a woman was seen just outside the alley’s corner. A trickle of blood was coming onto the main street. The raiders spotted a family trying to hide in the nearby store. “Predaig,” Janine said, and the Warlord jumped.
The streets below were still dominated by foes, but this barely mattered when Predaig landed, her armor spilling sparks because of bouncing bullets. Predaig lifted her giant blade, claiming eight lives with a single swing. Her roar burst the eardrums of the nearby enemies, and the precise fire of the hunters downed them. Turning her back on the foes, Predaig grabbed the family of five Orais in an embrace, shielding them with her own back, and jumped at the roof of the building.
And in Predaig’s absence, two ice fangs and a scout perished, rammed into pieces by one of the hover bikes. Their killer failed to escape; Janine’s rifle speared the bastard down, yet it left a sour taste in her mouth. Orais, normies, and all others dwarfed the Wolf Tribe, and even Ice Fangs, for all their numbers, were not as many as other new breeds. Five lives for three. Civilians for soldiers. And who will protect the former when the latter perishes?
This is our duty. Our obligation. The words felt fake. Her people were dying. Other Warlords reported their own losses. The day was still young, and they had already lost over fifty females, not counting the males’ losses. And not some old and burned females who were unwilling to have cubs after outliving some of their offspring. No, warriors and scouts were dying, precious souls who still had hope. Janine struggled to imagine how hard it would be for the tribe to bounce back from these losses.
Most Warlords never counted losses among their males. They were grieving for the fallen ones and tried to give proper farewells whenever possible. But only Janine, Dragena, and Ashbringer wrote letters to the families of the deceased, informing them of their sons’ brave passings. On rare occasions when Janine was back home, she tried to find time to visit the families of her fallen soldiers, offering condolences and asking for forgiveness, often bumping heads with Alpha, who was bringing words of praise about the deceased males.
And the war has only just begun. The packs will go into battle wildly, laughing in the face of the overwhelming odds, but at the end… The tribe might face their own Extinction. Her people, their culture, and their cousins could be no more. Or they could become a statistical insignificance on the state’s scale.
We save others. Will anyone save us? No. The Dynast saved us once. Miracles don’t happen twice. It is our duty, our fate, to give lives to those who can’t protect themselves and die in the gutter, forgotten and abandoned.
Janine shook her head, regretting for the first time that the wyrms had been left at Fort Uglo. She had served with the blue and the black only once and felt disgusted at the blue’s methods, but their might could have saved lives now. Still, the last time these three were involved was during a time of crisis. Maybe proper officer training can make a good person even out of Ivar. And besides, the last time the golden coward tried to help, he nearly bisected a city.
“How is Macarius?” Janine asked, firing her laser rifle and killing another raider before he could run down Elzada and Ignacy.
Bogdan jumped to them, giving both bonks on the heads, and almost dragged the wounded Wolf Hag and his brother to safety, groaning after Elzada smacked him on the face. Janine took a few breaths, convincing herself that her daughters were fine. She had to split her own pack; Marty’s own pack would otherwise be understrength, and Impatient One and Anissa were some of the strongest fighters available. They will be fine. They must be.
“Unconscious, Warlord Janine!” a sage replied, taking place near her and firing a shot from his glaive, ending the life of another rider. The dead body slumped in a seat, sending the hover bike into a group of raiders. “He has no life-threatening wounds; just give our liege a couple more minutes, and we will…”
“Can it,” Janine barked. “We are picking up civilians and leaving.”
“But there are still people in the city!” the sage argued. “Soldiers and civilians alike! If we leave now…”
“They will suffer. Possibly die,” Janine replied calmly. “I am not without eyes, kin. Open yours as well and look. We have civilians on our paws who will certainly die when the foes bring down the full might of their artillery upon us. We pushed back the enemy and made a crack in their command structure. At the same time, for all our efforts, we failed to as much as make a dent in their numbers. Gaze into the walls’ cracks. Can you see the land beneath their feet? It is time to cut our losses and run.” She snapped her jaws before his helmet, silencing the protests. “I am the highest commanding officer here! The shame and guilt are mine and mine alone! We are leaving.”
Janine hated herself. This wasn’t a simple disgust or dissatisfaction at something. No, she wanted to use her own axe and cut open her body, prying away rib after rib. Not because of the restraint she had to show in stopping herself from opening the sage’s back. Not because she had to explain herself to a male. Her heart, still beating with emotions after a century of slaughter and deaths, burned with self-hatred at the necessity of leaving the civilians behind.
Where is Ravager? Where is the Blessed Mother? Where is Devourer? Outsider? Dragena? Alpha? Zero? Or the Dynast? Why is she the one to make this call? Why can’t she bring herself to give a foolish order and charge forward, trying and dying in vain to stop the incoming storm? Why… why must she be logical here when cubs are dying down there! If there were ever a time to let emotions rule, it was here and now!
Please, Spirits, if there is any justice in the world… Make my death painful for what I have done today. Janine did not dare to lie. She wasn’t forced. They could all die honorably here, sending civilians escaping alone with the surviving members of the Provincial Army. Some may even make it to safety. Leaving cubs to die… Only one bitch in the entire tribe dared to do so. Punish my body with the most terrible pain, so that my soul may learn retribution.
“Sister…” Terrific whispered, only to disappear in the buzzing of another report that made Janine’s eyes go wide.
She turned toward the northeast, and her keen eyes spotted a large stone fortified building, more like a small fortress outside of the main wall. A military hospital belonging to the order. Surrounded by a thick minefield, the attackers chose to temporarily ignore the place, while Sword Saint Leonidas and his troops were supposed to evacuate doctors, culling the most mortally wounded soldiers and retrieving the rest.
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Only… None of it happened. According to Janine’s HUD, the precious medical personnel were still inside, the lights were shining, and of Leonidas, there was no sight, nor was he replying to any calls. And the facility was sending requests for aid on an open frequency while artillery was busy shelling its walls.
“Where is Sword Saint Leonidas?” Janine asked tensely, reloading her rifle.
“I…” The sage bowed his head under her heavy gaze. Janine immediately slammed him with the brunt of her axe, prompting the fool to keep firing. The sage staggered, but his aim remained true, and another raider found a hole in his stomach. “I know not, Warlord. Most of our sages left to assist him.”
“Damnation!” Janine spat, weighting her options. Leaving medical personnel was out of the question; even if the Blessed Mother despised them, even if Janine hated them, they were kin. Normie, malformed, new breeds, irrelevant. They were the saviors of the tribe’s lives.
Not to mention how precious their skills were to the state. The Reclamation Army was still a young nation, and losing even a dozen soldiers for an unexperienced surgeon was a worthy trade-off in the end. And… leaving the helpless wounded to these animals…
“Wolf Hag Elzada.” Janine stopped, getting increasingly angry at her inability to summon data with the order’s troops on her HUD. She could see through their oculars, but that was it. Names, ammunition counts, and health were all unavailable to her. Elzada’s armor reported that the woman’s artificial leg suffered a ten percent reduction in mobility, and she had managed to get a bullet hole in her left shoulder. Still, she was the strongest Wolf Hag available. “Sage. It’s do or die for you. Lead our people out of this place and join forces with Warlord Martyshkina. I have already informed her of our course of action. Do so without fail, or I will torture you without end on the other side. Elzada, should I not return, Wolf Hag Anissa is to take my place and forever banish all memories of me from the pack. This is an order!”
Tell my daughters I love them. Janine bit down these words. Now was not the time. At her command, Predaig and Eled gave similar commands to their own Wolf Hags and joined her. They have taken only a group of males and warriors with them, taking only expendable soldiers. Janine tapped on her knee, seeing Ignacy saying farewells to Elzada and joining the newly formed pack with Bogdan. No. She can’t send them away. Favoritism is not allowed.
Two groups separated. For all the jokes Wolfkins were telling about the Ice Boys, one thing was undeniable: arrogant and gallant fools could easily keep pace with their more refined cousins. Grabbing families in their paws, knights and foot soldiers climbed atop the Knight Academy, while behind them the Wolfkins were placing mines, one last farewell gift to the conquerors. Then they too grabbed their share of survivors and were off.
Janine led her pack toward the wall, straight through the enemy ranks. They fell on them like a black avalanche of metal, landing on soldiers. Janine herself jumped from the dais before the Academy, landing on a hover bike. Its rider became a sack of broken bones while the vehicle exploded, bathing her in a cleansing flame. She looked through the eyes of her soldiers and made a swing, cleaving the bodies of five people and spreading confusion among the rest, who were assembling another assault group. Alone, she could have faltered. It was a suicide charge, one that abandoned all semblance of reason.
But she wasn’t alone. Two Warlords flanked her, easily shattering her pathetic defense and cutting a path for the rest of the pack. A maddening howl spread across the streets, announcing their advance and death to all standing in their path. Each swing of Taleteller splashed small pools of blood across the building, and her laser rifle collected its toll from the fools trying to fire at them from the roofs. Eled’s scythe left two hover bikes sliced in perfect halves, and Predaig’s cruel blade came down on a gigantic beast’s neck, sawing its head clean off. When three riders tried to surprise the attackers by racing from an alley, dozens of shardguns downed the fools, leaving the alley to shake and eventually collapse in an explosion.
Drenched in blood and gore, supported by the Warlords’ unhinged ferocity, the pack shattered the enemy resistance and pushed for the settlement’s wall.
****
Bertruda looked down. Amal still clawed at his mouth, trying in vain to pull out the metal filling his throat and legs. His eyes became two orbs of white, his pupils collapsed almost into dots smaller than nails, and his unmarred skin went dark. No air will ever come into his lungs. Bertruda expected to enjoy the bastard’s sufferings, but only disgust and pity filled her mind.
Just die already. She turned to face Martyshkina, who stood atop the flying vehicle wreckage, laughing contemptuously at the retreating foes.
“What a day!” Martyshkina’s laughter stopped abruptly, and she looked at Bertruda, ignoring the flaming tongues licking her armor and cloak. “Without technicians or a crawler nearby, our communication network is collapsing. Your little stunt is hardly helping to maintain it. I do wish to skin you alive for all the troubles, cousin,” all the venom in the world was in these words, “but Janine has sent us an order. We are to bail out of here while she charges to the military hospital…”
“What?!” Bertruda cried out, ignoring the revolver pointing in her face. “Shoot if you want, but they must stay away from the hospital at all costs!”
“Elaborate,” Martyshkina demanded; her weapon had moved aside in a blur and fired, leaving a headless body of a raider fall.
****
Iron Lord calmly watched the debacle happening within the settlement, unmoving like a statue. His guards stood behind him, clad in armor of steel, painted with liquid gold, and adorned with real diamonds. In comparison, Iron Lord looked like a beggar; his gigantic frame was that of steel, with only a tiny yellow symbol of the Horde scribbled by children’s hands on his shoulder breaking the picture. Yet none in their right mind would dare mistake him for anyone but the grand commander of Mad Hatter, the Whip of the Horde, and the Subjugator of Nations.
He had told Mungke not to attack strongly, but, as expected, the fool had utterly ignored his advice. Fair enough. A lone missile left the walls, fired by a surviving group of soldiers. Iron Lord’s thunder bull barely batted an eye when the missile exploded against the force shield surrounding the Khan. An ionic cannon mounted on his shoulder moved, tracking the targets, and fired, creating a series of energy bubbles at the top of the wall, catching the soldiers. Their bodies became lit for a millisecond before burning away entirely.
Warriors near the artillery cannons grumbled, angry at his refusal to allow them to go and sack the hospital. Fools. The moment he arrived here and received a report that the place was calling for aid via unprotected frequency, Iron Lord forbade any and all approach to the building, biding his time.
Patience. Such was Iron Lord’s creed, and such was the name of his glaive. There could only be two reasons for the military structure being so exposed outside of the walls. Maybe the foes genuinely failed to evacuate the personnel. Mungke might have flattered himself with the speed of his assault, but Iron Lord was willing to bet his own life that this juicy target was exposed on purpose. Dismantling mines around it and sending a group to investigate it could be child’s play, yet Iron Lord chose another path, exploiting the eagerness of his current foes.
Each land he conquered, he studied beforehand. Be it pathetic faith, culture, or technology, when the situation allowed, he took his time. Skymaster’s demise and their initial losses were both annoying and illuminating, shedding light on the Wolf Tribe’s tactics. Like the Horde, they too valued speed and rapid advance. Unlike the Horde, their true potential was hindered by a foolish notion of protecting the weak. Idiocy. Honor has its place in a stage play, not in a war.
The spy’s information has been proven true once again. The two groups did indeed work independently of each other. Whether it was because of rivalry or mistrust, it hardly mattered. What mattered was his belief that one group tried to pull a fast one on the Horde while another group was blissfully unaware. Given time, these Warlords could have figured out the true purpose of the place. So he took the time away by ordering small artillery fire at the hospital, forcing fools into making a hasty decision. And now it was time to reap the rewards. His oculars pierced the distance of several kilometers and showed him the image of Warlords pushing through the ranks of the Horde’s troops.
Good. Three highly valuable targets. Irreplaceable in the short term, unlike Mungke.
The sensors of his armor picked up a familiar stride behind. Iron Lord refused to turn around, calmly observing the battlefield and reading through reports. The hearts of his bodyguards were linked with his; should he perish, so too would they. The news about another Warlord attracted his attention. A Warlord working with a Sword Saint? He raised his fist, signaling the technicians to add additional power to the communication jammer, filling everything within the settlement with white noise. At the same time, he sent a silent command to drive the Sky’s Wrath closer.
“And here goes Mungke. How very sad,” Brood Lord said, coming to stand next to Iron Lord.
“I have told him not to attack strongly. What a fool,” Iron Lord replied in a bored tone; the dynamics of his armor turned his voice into thunder.
“To think that he and I had such great plans… Eh, things of the past.” Brood Lord shook his shoulders. “You know, Iron Lord, come to think of it, Mungke and the others were always a bit rash. Kind of strange sending this rowdy bunch in the first wave, right? I know that some of your clan also went missing, but by the Sky, it almost looks as if you are declawing me…”
“They were your people. Blame yourself for failure to train restraint in your own dogs, and next time prepare better.” Iron Lord kept looking at the prize, noticing how they reached the edge of the minefield. No explosions. Curious. Their armor sent a signal.
“I would’ve never dared…” Iron Lord looked through the cameras on his armor and spotted a sly smile from Brood Lord. “Say, with Mungke’s demise, his alliance between you and him is moot, right? Do you still have any needs for his daughter? Cause if not, I heard she is quite a…”
Iron Lord swung his glaive, stopping its blade against Brood Lord’s neck. He could feel the rising tension and felt anger pouring from Drozna, threatening to mess with his conscience. Thankfully, implants in his brain activated at once, preventing any emotional manipulation. Priests and Brood Lord’s minions shouted, demanding he stand down, and his own guard moved out, silent hills of steel, their weapons at the ready.
Iron Lord wasn’t pureblood. He wasn’t even changed like Brood Lord. No, he was a merchant, a member of a caste who produced weapons, vehicles, and gear for Mad Hatter. Many people felt awe looking at his gigantic metal body, but few noticed how close his oculars were positioned to each other. Beneath all his steel, Iron Lord was just a normal human of average weight and height; his reaction sped up with technology.
Memories of his wives’ surprised faces at the sight of his true body brought a sense of amusement to his soul. As is customary during political marriages between clans, wife and husband protect each other to the end. None of his eighteen wives dared to reveal his secret. And in doing so, they had earned his undying loyalty.
Iron Lord didn’t particularly care for his offspring. If they fool around and die, that’s on them. But their frailty was his responsibility, and he rectified it by grafting metal on their bodies, elevating them far above the usual purebloods. Even now, a few of their ranks serve as his bodyguards.
Brood Lord rolled his eyes, mockingly trying to push away Patience’s edge with a single finger. The fool knew of its sharpness when the portable generator was active, and still he dared to try to irk him even now.
“Of course you won’t,” Iron Lord said, choosing to ignore the latter remark. “Because I will never make a slip. The only reason you and I haven’t met in a circle yet is because your ambitions serve as an amusing diversion. But I grow tired of jokes. It is time to end this foolish sham of resistance. Brood Lord Khan, do the honors.”
Iron Lord moved Patience away from Brood Lord’s neck and lightly slapped him behind the back with the weapon.
“Sending me headfirst into a battle, eh?” Brood Lord grinned, hefting the sword on his shoulder.
Iron Lord only glared at him.
“Fine, fine, here I go again, claiming lives for our glorious khan. But do hurry to join the fray, will you, Iron Lord Khan? Otherwise, people might confuse you for a Rust Lord Khan.” Brood Lord laughed and gestured for his crew to follow him.
Phaser, always eager to please, jumped forward, tearing the space before Blood Lord. The twins joined their master, while Drozna stomped next to Iron Lord, leaning closer and sniffing the steel. In response, the cannon moved, aiming its barrel at the monstrous mug.
“Brood Lord had collected the enemy’s life while you are meandering in vain, unable to repeat the same feat with an entire army at your back. Show some respect, khan,” Drozna clenched his fists, filling the air with wet pops. “Otherwise, someone might just snap that pretty helmet of yours.”
A light fell on them, and Drozna looked into the sky’s shielding eyes. A figure descended from the skies, wreathed in flames and easily matching Drozna in both height and stature. He landed softly, immediately setting the grass around Iron Lord aflame and overheating the Khan’s steel cloak. Immense flame coming from the devilish person drove Drozna back and even melted a few coins on Brood Lord’s body.
The newcomer allowed flaming claws to come from his fingers and looked at Drozna with white eyes, burning just as brightly as night stars. When he spoke, his voice reminded a cracking of an erupting volcano.
“Scurry away, Drozna, lest you want to be reminded of the hierarchy.” Flames left Horkhudagh’s eyes, setting the ground on fire. “Iron Lord Khan was elevated by Mad Hatter’s orders above us all. You will obey his words or pay the price for disrespect.”
“No disrespect was implied!” Brood Lord said hastily, pressing a finger to his lips. “So, this is your answer, honorable Horkhudagh. I will remember it.”
“Answer?” The cracking of the volcano subsided as the Khan tried to speak cheerfully. “But I don’t recall any questions. Either way, you have a job. Do it. Before I turned your minions into cinders.”
Horkhudagh leapt into the air, allowing wings of flame to burst from his back, and took his position above Iron Lord, spreading his wings far and wide in a silent threat. The khan paid him no more mind than Brood Lord and raised his hand, addressing the artillery crew.
“Prepare the Sky’s Wrath. I want to see a crater in place of Defiance’s north part in under a minute.”
He heard its movement even now. The thundering sounds of gigantic tracks dragging the mighty engine of war across the plains. Made in times before the Extinction, this weapon was capable of sniping spaceships out of low orbit. When used against land targets as a mundane artillery piece, its intricate guidance systems could lock on even the smallest target within one hundred and fifty kilometers, delivering an apocalyptic loadout with pristine accuracy, leaving only craters behind. So far, no shield, wall, or bunker has ever endured a shot. This was a city killer, ruthless and merciless, flattering all in the Horde’s path.
“But my khan!” A pureblood in charge of the artillery rushed to him, falling on one knee. “Our forces are still in close proximity! And slaves! Once the Sky’s Wrath speaks, whom will we enslave?”
“They failed.” Iron Lord turned to look at the man, making him sweat nervously. “As for slaves, we have a Sword Saint and a Warlord on a plate. It’s too tasty a treat to let it escape our rapacity. A few drops of spilled milk are hardly worth mentioning.”
“No,” a voice said from the dynamics of Iron Lord’s armor, from Brood Lord’s portable terminal, and from each and every communication device nearby. Hearing her, the khan bowed his head. “Let them run. We came to conquer, not to rule over desolation. Iron Lord Khan, my blades are itching for air. I will show the enemy what a true God is.”
“As you command, Khan of Khans.”
His heart increased its beat just slightly. Iron Lord remembered Mad Hatter and the shining light in her eyes when she announced the formation of the Gilded Horde. He was but an insect compared to her, and she still allowed him greatness. For this, he brought the merchant into the fold, uniting them just like she united khans. Even when her sleep was stolen from her, Mad Hatter’s clarity never wavered, and their dream of conquest shone ever so brightly.
Hitting his steed, Iron Lord charged. On his orders, the jamming was over; perhaps frantic calls for help will attract someone else into his net. The cannon on his shoulder and the artillery spoke their thunder, making the hospital shake and exploding wide gaps in the minefield, creating a patch of land safe enough for him and his guard to advance.
Brood Lord was correct. The Horde valued results, and even he needed to prove himself.
And as Iron Lord charged, he felt pressure at the back of his mind. Mad Hatter, Khan of Khans, Slayer of Beasts and Humans, Ruler of a New World, and the Sky’s Avatar were coming. And no one can stand in her path. Not now, not ever.