Janine struggled to breathe, hearing laughter and cheering above. Shortly after Mad Hatter had a talk with her, Brood Lord shouted orders, and his minions dragged in the last members of her pack. Out of fifty, only twelve remained. With relief, she saw Ignacy and Bogdan among them, both beaten, and someone had ripped off Ignacy’s artificial arm, but both were very much alive. The raiders threw them on the stone floor, dragging up wooden planks after wooden planks, building a whole second floor on top of them. Along with the Wolfkins, two Ice Fangs were present: a hunter, and a knight captured amidst the battle or forgotten during the retreat. A few soldiers of the provincial guard were also thrown into this meat grinder.
The bastards sat on them, pushing their bodies into the floor. Hundreds, if not thousands, of raiders poured into the hall, sitting behind wide tables and laughing. And with their drunken cheering came the first deaths. A soldier of the Provincial Army screamed; his arm turned into a pancake. His pleadings fell on deaf ears; in a few minutes, his whole body started to break, and blood poured out of his mouth. The poor man struggled for three whole minutes before a sweet release of death took him.
More and more soldiers died. Spines broken against the stone, organs pulverized, eyes gouged by splinters—laying here in this utter darkness was pure Abyss. Janine pushed her muscles, ignoring the pain in her own body and hooks between her ribs, and tried to hold the entire new floor just with her might.
My responsibility. She heard more screams and bones snapping. I am sorry. She could not speak; air barely got into her lips. So sorry. She bit her lips to the bone and pushed her muscles. Feeling regret is not an apology. Citizens of the state had a right to be protected by her, and she will give her all! Her children are here, and may the Spirits damn her should she give up!
The Ice Fang groaned, struggling to endure the crushing weight. She looked at him, feeling no anger or pity. It felt… strange. Before, she viewed the Ice Fangs as part of her extended family. Now she wasn’t sure who they were. The paws of their masters severed all ties between them, and Janine came to the conclusion that Ice Fangs were now merely citizens, leaving her certain of only one thing. She must try to save them.
“Warlord,” a nearby male whispered, “stop. You are killing yourself.”
Janine ignored him, bulging her muscles and feeling her lungs expand and contort upon keeping in contact with the hooks. The wooden ceiling moved. A millimeter, but it moved. Then a stomp came, and she groaned, beaten back. The Ice Fang, his bones more brittle than a Wolfkin’s, let out his last gasp. A plank above him cracked, and a part of it came down on his exposed throat. Along with it, his entire body simply collapsed beneath the immense weight from above; claws were pushed out of the fingers, and his legs spasmed several times as if trying to run away.
May you find peace in the next life, soldier. Janine thought.
Strong. Terrific had made her strong. Doctors worked on her body, healing her. Brave people gave their lives so she could live. Some of the best technicians prepared her battle armor. And how, oh how, did she repay it all. Unable to save even a single life. Janine drank deep of self-hatred, allowing it to poison every inch of her body. With it came a desire to self-harm. And through the desire, she pushed herself to new limits, lifting the wood ever higher.
Come on, you weakling! Her fangs tore through the lower lip at the sight of Ignacy wheezing. He was the farthest away from her, and with a missing arm, he… Don’t you dare. Weakling. Pathetic. Is this the extent of your love? You claimed to love him, but all you ever wanted was a normal son, right, Janine? Wrong. Janine wasn’t sure where the sudden surge of strength came from. It felt as if some dam within her had broken. Using pain as a focus and whipping herself through self-hatred, Janine gave one more push, lifting the planks anew and feeling her muscles about to snap.
Hold, Janine. Many people face worse endings. She pushed, keeping the wooden planks away from her soldiers. Cubs born dead, never to taste life. innocents slaughtered for fun. You lived a good, strong life. And now this is it. This is the wall you have to hold. A pain shot through her shoulder, filling her body with heat. A muscle torn, big deal. And you will hold it. Hold the line, Janine. Damn it! For the sake of your cubs, for the sake of your soldiers and normies, and even for the sake of that woman over there, hold it at bay!
The planks moved aside in one place, and a hand lowered, grabbing two soldiers by the necks.
“What are you doing, Dokholkhu?” Brood Lord’s drunken voice cut through the cheer.
A small copy of Brood Lord, an ugly towering beast on four insectoid legs, stopped trembling slightly, before pulling the soldiers out.
“He is merely getting a few slaves for himself,” a female voice hiccuped drunkenly. “Father, come on, surely he’s earned this much?”
“Eh, fine, go get them, bull!” Brood Lord laughed, and Janine gasped, hearing how the wood plank above her got broken beneath the khan’s leg. Sharp wooden edges and an insectoid leg crashed into her belly, making blood come off her nose. “The party grows stale! I say the main event is an order; what say you, my warriors?”
“Main event!” Drunken voices roared, making the wall tremble. “Main event! Main event!”
“Let’s light up this party!” Brood Lord stomped with another leg, and a warrior next to Janine died; the bones pushed into her heart.
The raiders removed planks, pulling Janine and the others up, and she has found herself in the same wide hall, only greatly changed. Tables were moved away from the room’s center, and new steel walls covered with sharp spikes were placed at the tall walls. Like rodents, the raiders hurried away, carrying food and drinks in their mighty hands, leaving just Brood Lord and a few of his guards to control the prisoners.
She saw fresh faces among the rows of raiders. Some were new breeds, some clearly were from the ranks of malformed. Drozna sat among one such crowd, his wounds already closed. The gigantic beast of a man drank heavily and was busy lovingly caressing the natural armor plates of the uncomfortable-looking soldier next to him. Other raiders were normies. With disgust, Janine recognized a few traitors from the provincial army.
The Gilded Horde was a nation; Dragena guessed right. The Horde absorbed everyone into its ranks, showering them with gifts and giving them a taste of power to use them as fodder later, refilling its ranks with fresh fools. Janine’s amber eyes spotted the murderous duo from Houstad. Both the sister and brother were covered in bandages and kept stone faces, refusing any drinks.
“Let me illuminate you about choices!” Brood Lord danced in place and threw Janine to the floor. She twisted her mouth, feeling hooks scratching against her lungs. “Consider your situation. Fifteen… no, seventeen people had died, along with your disgusted kin. All because of you.” He lowered his face, smiling. “Yes, who is the guilty one here? You are! By spitting into Mad Hatter’s face, you signed up their death sentences.”
He jumped to his feet, scurrying across the floor, and grabbed a warrior, lifting the woman easily in his hand. Brood Lord laughed at Janine’s growl and took a curved knife from his belt. The Wolfkin bit away at her own tongue, refusing to grant Brood Lord her own scream when he buried the knife in her chest, avoiding hitting her lung or heart.
“This,” Brood Lord continued to the raiders’ cheer. The knife moved, painting a blood circle across the warrior’s body, “is the consequence of your actions. Look at her, Janine; look at the life flowing out of the wounds. Are you happy with it? Is this what you wanted?”
“You will die,” Janine promised him, looking into the eyes of her soldier, remembering her every last moment, catching the light leaving the amber eyes.
“Yes, she will die. Already dead, in fact,” Brood Lord chuckled. “And so too will others. Why did you make this choice? You can’t claim ignorance, for I trust you to be an old enough girl.” He looked at the other prisoners, who were kept on their knees. “Can any of you shed light on such a decision? Anyone?” He let go of the dead body and stepped on the Wolfkin’s head, shattering the skull. Brood Lord spread his arms wide, addressing the crowd. “Choices! Everything always comes down to them! Submit to the illustrious Mad Hatter and prosper! Resist and suffer! Be weak and suffer! Be strong and rule! These are the only true choices left in this world!”
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“The strong rule!” The crowd roared, stomping with their feet, their voices intoxicated with alcohol. “The weak obey!”
Initiation. Janine calmly observed the scene. This whole wickedness has a purpose.
Brood Lord stepped away from the body, lifting his arms high. At his signal, the raiders at the edge hurried, dropping something gigantic. The item came down with a crack of wood and thunder, and when the dust settled, Janine saw a golden bull standing on a golden dais. The statue’s legs were spread wide; at its bottom there was a small hatch, and beneath the hatch was placed a large bowl. The twins looked at this device with disgust; the female spat at the floor, and together with her brother, they stormed away. Drozna asked them what had happened, and the man answered that this was getting boring.
Janine recognized the purpose of this torture device right away. Iron maiden, oubliette, mundane blinding and cutting, slow burning, death by bleeding out, starvation, slave collars… Janine saw a lot of wickedness in her service, learning about the positives and negatives of torture from Terrific. This, while being far from the worst, was a device to instill a sense of utter helplessness along with desperation in a victim before slowly murdering them. Doubly so if a victim is a new breed or a person who naturally resists a lack of oxygen.
The Horde’s soldiers hurried to the statue, casting broken wood planks beneath it and pouring alcohol onto the wood. Meanwhile, Brood Lord pointed at a Wolfkin, a Normie, and the Ice Fang, ordering his soldiers to put them on their knees before himself.
“You have been given a choice, Janine,” Brood Lord said sweetly, pressing his hands together. He kicked Janine, turning her to look at the golden bull, and circled behind her. “You chose poorly. And now you and others will suffer for it and will keep on suffering forever and ever. But look at the bright side! You get to choose again!”
Janine felt her heart freeze when he stopped forward, carrying Bogdan by the neck in his hand. The new breed’s smile grew wider at the desperation on her face, but she didn’t care.
“No,” she whispered. “Please. No. Take me.” Janine attempted to crawl, but the harness stopped her.
“Now, where is the fun in that? If you are in any way like me, the fire will barely heat you up,” Brood Lord chastised her. “Heh. I barely had to torture those bitches to learn who Bogdan was. Ain’t that cool, boy?” He shook Bogdan. “Your own kin gave you up for a quick death!”
“I would have done the same just to escape from looking at your ugly mug any longer,” Bogdan whispered in a hoarse voice and spat into Brood Lord’s face. A punch in the gut was his reward, and the soldier laughed through the blood. “Was that a tickle?”
“Something like that, yeah,” Brood Lord laughed along, turning to Janine. “Choose, Janine. Who will it be? Your son? Or three randos?”
Janine thrashed in her harness, ignoring laughter, the screams of her soldiers, and the pain in her ribs. Her son! Bogdan! The memories of the happier days flooded her mind. His first prank, when he served highly spicy food to Impatient One and Anissa, leading to both girls fighting for the precious water while he rolled on the ground, laughing. Janine had to treat his blackeyes after the girls were done giving him a piece of their minds.
It didn’t discourage him. In fact, Bogdan learned from it, becoming sneaky in his pranks. An accident discharge of a paint explosive or suddenly messed up prayer materials of Impatient One, Bogdan tried it all, always evading being found. When a girl started dominating Ignacy in the pits, it was Bogdan who dropped the insectoid’s acid into her food.
That incident did not end well. The girl nearly died, and Bogdan admitted his fault, fully accepting whatever punishment Janine and Colt would see fit to deal to him. Janine paid for the full recovery of the wounded, going so far as to take a small loan. A Warlord she may be, the actual number of tokens she has been earning is small. She still remembered that night: Ignacy holding her leg, begging for lenience for his brother, and Anissa throwing herself on the floor, asking Janine and Colt to show mercy to Bogdan. Even Impatient One kept her silence, despite the fact that punishment for such a prank has always been a brutal skinning.
The shamans were fuming with rage at Bogdan’s crime. None of them really cared that a male defeated a female; the Spirits taught that change was inevitable, after all. The girl lost, but it was the way in which she lost that angered them all. A poison against kin. Not a proper hunt, not a proper challenge, but a cowardly and sneaky attack. Only the girl’s request and Janine’s pleading had spared Bogdan’s life.
It was Colt who came up with a punishment and a lesson. Bogdan cost them tokens? He will have to earn them back. Her husband took young Bogdan to a village nearby, working side by side with him at a cusack’s farm. Hard work had tempered the young cub’s temper, and he eventually even apologized to the girl, much to her surprise. The insufferable brat kept on working on the farm even after earning enough tokens back and making new friends.
Colt did not stop at this, dragging Bogdan by the paw to the hospital. Lacking skills, both father and son were given the most dirty and harsh jobs possible. They were removing waste, cleaning toilets, and washing paralyzed patients from the ranks of both normies and Wolfkins. A few nights later, while Janine and Colt were cuddling, he admitted with a chuckle that the plan was to instill some discipline in their son and shock him. Instead, Bogdan spent hours in the cubs’ wing, learning how to treat injuries and getting to know new people.
And his cubs! So young and foolish, how will his wife raise them without him? Will any of them even remember Bogdan’s face? Janine ripped at her restraints again, widening her wounds. How can… how will she ever look at her granddaughters and grandsons after this?
“Choose,” Brood Lord said. “Or I will take them all.”
There could only be one correct choice. Her blood. Her son. His future.
“Mom,” Bogdan said, not looking at Ignacy. “Don’t you dare. Make the right choice. Three is bigger than one. And don’t you dare to cry! Silence is virtue…” He gasped as Brood Lord clenched his fist.
Don’t… don’t I deserve even a single miracle? Janine looked around in despair, seeing only laughing faces. How many times has she saved others from this situation by barging into the slavers’ camps and ending the bastards? She had given her entire self to the state and preserving lives; can’t the Spirits grant her one, small miracle here? Please. Someone. Anyone. Help me.
There was no answer. Then again, there never was. And Janine knew what was right. She only felt glad that Ignacy kept his silence. Bogdan’s last words. His order wasn’t meant for her alone.
Each of the three had their family or someone to wait for them, or at least their lives. Even that white-furred bitch. And Janine had no right to take this away.
“Bogdan,” she said.
“Yes?” Brood Lord pressed a hand to his ear. “Bogdan what?”
“Take him.” Janine looked him in the eyes. “Take his life. If you dare.”
Pride at seeing her son’s first kill. Her clumsy attempt at comforting him after one of his brothers died. His shock and fear at long nights, Bogdan’s happy smile after he earned enough tokens to throw up a birthday party for Impatient One, and her punishment for this, Janine tried to remember and relive it all anew, to treasure those happy and silly moments till the end of times.
“You heard it, folks and girls, we have a winner!” Brood Lord roared to the cheers of the crowd. Two of his soldiers grabbed Bogdan, dragging her body to the golden bull. “For those of you who just arrived from the steppes or joined us recently, here is the explanation. In goes the whelp.” Brood Lord pointed at the hatch in the golden bull. “And then we close him inside. Don’t you worry, he won’t choke out of luck of air.” The crowd let out a cheering laugh at his words. Janine saw Brood Lord’s sons and daughters standing in utter silence, looking more frightened than happy. “A simple tube goes through the bull’s mouth into its stomach, allowing our daring volunteer to breathe. Once he is inside, we set up a fire beneath the bull, getting the metal hotter and hotter… And let me tell you, boys and girls, those of you who are seeing this for the first time, the screams coming through the bull’s mouth are a rush to hear!”
The guards dragged Bogdan closer to the bull, and the creature named Phaser stepped forward, looking as if someone had tried to cook him recently. Fresh burns covered his ugly skin, but the bastard mercilessly cut off Bogdan’s claws, leaving her boy bleeding. He gestured to the guards, and they brought out tongs, prying Bogdan’s mouth wide open, and started pulling fang after fang.
Scum. Janine stopped struggling and started remembering faces. She knew why they were doing this. These bastards ensured that her little boy would have no way of ending his suffering prematurely. She took a breath, ordering herself to live.
Finally, they threw her ruined son into the bull, slamming the hatch.
A flame cracked, and Janine slammed her head into the wood, hating herself for her weakness. Brood Lord lifted her by the nape, making her look at the flame licking the bull’s sides.
“You know what’s funny, Janine? Had you never said his name, I would’ve never known he was your son and would’ve simply killed him. You set him up, and now you’ve chosen him to die. Sky knows I am prone to killing my kids myself, but you are something else, my dear,” Brood Lord whispered into her ear. “You make others pay for your mistakes.”
When she heard the first screams coming from the bull, her heart cracked again. That, too, was something Janine was all too used to. She kept on looking, steeling her eyes to rob Brood Lord of pleasure seeing her broke and remembering every sound, every scream, engraving it into her memory.
Janine shrugged off Brood Lord’s lies. These might have worked on a cub or an emotional person. Janine, for all her pretending otherwise, was too emotionally blinded at this point. First things first. Find a way to save Ignacy and the others. Next, the retribution. Then… the duty will guide her.
And so, with Bogdan dying in front of her, with Brood Lord whispering his poison into her ear, Janine blinked and allowed her old, no, her true self, to resurface. With calm and dead eyes, she looked around. And started planning.