Janine’s eyes glanced at Ignacy, noticing the strained look on his snout when the corpse of his brother was dragged out of the golden bull. Ignacy’s paw spasmed and twitched; he even tried to bite a guard, only to receive a smacking hit against the head. But thanks to the Spirits, he kept his silence.

Situation. Janine wondered, turning her gaze at Bogdan. Her son, her beautiful boy, no longer reminded her of the gorgeous Wolfkin he was in life. Parts of his hide were left within the golden bull, melted into its walls. The rest of the body bore horrible burning marks. Half an hour. This is how long her son has suffered. I am locked in a harness. Unable to move any fingers. The hooks between my ribs are reaching my lungs.

The raiders dragged her pack away, leaving Janine with the captured normies. Brood Lord stepped on Bogdan’s head, pulverizing the skull, before moving toward Janine.

“As amusing as it was, the night is still young, and we thirst for excitement,” Brood Lord said with a chuckle. He extended his arm, taking a large vat filled with some hissing liquid from a guard. The khan lifted it to Janine’s head, showing her swirling gold within the vat, and took a drop of Bogdan’s blood, dropping it into the molten metal. “Savage you may be, but a queen deserves her crown. Let’s make you one.”

He poured the molten metal on Janine’s head. This wasn’t like those weird restraints that kept her paws secured; this gold was heated to its maximum point. It cracked and spat sparks upon connecting with her temple, while Janine herself kept looking at Brood Lord’s legs. She didn’t bite her tongue, welcoming the clarity of pain instead.

As a Warlord, her body changed. Muscles grew tougher, and sub-dermal armor formed above her natural bones, tough enough to stop most bullets. With each wound, with each injury Janine has received, her skin would get ever slightly tougher. If doctors were to be believed, even the shape of her heart changed, turning into a square and getting new chambers to pump up the blessed blood across the body.

In many wars, she had been tested by both flames and plasma alike, surviving them all. Now was not all that different; only the outer part of her scalp screamed in pain, and a few, freshly grown strands of her fur and hair got burned before the thick mass of tissue stopped the searing liquid, arresting its advance long enough to cool it off. The gold stream has flowed over Janine’s left eye, and she has closed it, leaving herself with half a world.

In a sense, it was fitting. Bogdan was part of her world, inseparable and precious. She deserved at least this much for losing him. The molten metal came further, coming across her long snout and closing both nostrils. It’s ok, Bogdan. She thought to the splinter of her son’s body within this metal. Meanwhile, the giggling raiders were burning his corpse. It doesn’t hurt. And I will carry your spirit out of here myself.

“There, much better!” Brood Lord laughed, kicking her hard enough to send Janine into the air. She landed and felt her harness go off, her paws free. Janine jumped to her feet only to see Brood Lord stepping through a tear and reappearing on the makeshift wall, along with his guards. “A sight befitting a queen! My friends!” He addressed the crowd. “With a heavy heart, I am to inform you of treachery.”

The crowd fell silent, and faces started turning to Brood Lord in confusion over his words. He pressed his palms together and put a somber expression on his face, walking toward the new breed who had grabbed soldiers before. With a sudden burst of violence, Brood Lord has kicked his son in the hind legs, bringing the smaller man to his feet.

“Yes!” the khan roared. “Treachery! A most foul kind! In past battles, a few of our members failed. Some,” He kicked his son off the wall, “showed mercy to our enemies! My flesh and blood have let enemy soldiers escape, staying his hand because he is a pussy! And more!” The khan spread his hands wide, and the roar of engines filled the hall. Three hover bikes stormed into the hall, circling around Janine. Behind them came two dozen raiders, all armed with melee weapons. The riders were armed with long, cracking spears, while the raiders carried long swords and shields. “In the wake of the noble Mungke’s death.” Brood Lord made a theatrical sob, pointing a finger at the troops below. “These, pardon the word, purebloods, had abandoned the pursuit and retreat out of Defiance. Cowards! Weaklings!”

Janine kept her silence, using the precious time to gesture for the provincial guard to stay behind her. Her wounds were closing, getting better by the second, but her stomach rumbled, demanding substances to help with healing.

“Traitors!” the crowd responded.

“Father…” The malformed stood up on his four insectoid legs, looking up in shock.

“Yes! Traitors! But simply killing them is no fun.” Brood Lord kicked a small blade to his son, and the air trembled around the walls’ edges. “Dokholkhu! Weaklings! Earn forgiveness through the deaths of your foes and the lamentations of their friends! I have wounded a Warlord for you; get the kill or die trying!”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Brood Lord was still speaking when Janine moved, leaping at the closest rider. The woman barely had time to react when jaws came down on her shoulder, tearing through armor and bone. This time, Janine didn’t spit out the meat, grasping the screaming raider with both paws and squeezing her body. The jaws closed hungrily, tearing a chunk of meat, and Janine jumped off the hover bike, allowing the dead rider to fall and lifting the vehicle in one paw.

The raiders charged, cheering themselves up with screams and shouts. One of the riders moved his bike toward the guardsmen, who were retreating to the wall. Janine remembered how sharp the blades of these machines were, capable of cleaving through bodies with contemptuous ease. And this time, she had no intention of losing any of her allies.

So she cast the hover bike with her paw, propelling it forward along with its drive. The whole vehicle struck another rider like an arrow, turning both machines into a small blade of flame that separated the fighting sides with a wall of flames. The last raider broke through the cloud of smoke, speeding up at Janine, its spear aimed at her sole open eye.

Janine breathed heavily, forcing herself to be calm. It was surprisingly annoying to fight without the ability to breathe through your nostrils. But there was little reason for panic. She can do it. She can save everyone. The rider let out a weak scream of horror when Janine plucked his spear with one paw and grabbed his driver’s seat with her right. She spun the vehicle around, tearing the weapon free, and threw the screaming fool along with his bike straight into Brood Lord.

The bike flew a good sixteen meters across the wide hall, heading to the unmoved khan, who only raised his hand, keeping Drozna sitting. With a smile on his face and hands behind his back, Brood Lord disappeared in the clouds of smoke and fire when the hover bike exploded against a force field before him. Janine took note of it, abandoning the idea of climbing out of here.

The cheers of the crowd returned her attention back to the task at hand. The remaining foes broke through the fire, coming at the guardsmen, and Janine met them head on, appearing before her allies in a burst of violence. Her foes were clad in the Gilded Horde’s version of power armor; their size and bulk dwarfed normal humans, making them look like cubs.

And compared to her, they were normies. The trophy spear struck, cleaving through the mouths of three raiders. She ended up grabbing the fourth and eagerly biting through his head, gulping both meat and metal. Ripping off a sword from the dead man’s hand, Janine went on with the killing, seeing every blow, hearing every step, and tasting their fear. Janine did not bother to block, sidestepping the incoming blows as she moved deeper into the crowd of her opponents, striking them down. It was butcher work; her sword and spear broke after the third kill, and Janine allowed her claws to speak.

They had no chance. Even wounded, starved, and mentally strained, Janine was simply superior to the raiders. And worst of all, they understood it too. With surprise, Janine noticed that the battle had stopped. Eight invaders were still alive, but Dokholkhu stepped forward, gesturing to his people to stay behind, not unlike how she herself gestured to the guardsmen just a few minutes before.

“We give up,” Dokholkhu said.

“What?” Janine nearly choked on the meat of a dead raider in her paws. She kept devouring the corpse, looking warily at the malformed.

“We surrender.” Dokholkhu dropped his sword. “We can’t defeat you…”

“And that’s the reason!” Janine shouted, throwing the corpse away. She was on the man in an instant, grabbing the bastard by his neck and letting her claws pierce his skin. “You came to our lands, murdered our people, and now that the situation is reversed, you get cold feet? Is that it, boy?” Her jaws opened.

“Please,” the man pleaded. He grabbed her fingers and tried to pry them out. Janine calmly looked at his tears. “I never wanted to be here.”

This is just revenge, not justice! Camellia’s words came to mind suddenly. Janine kept on holding her prey, wondering what this all was about. Before her was but another murderer, a fiend with knowledge of no honor or justice. A meat sack fit only to fill her stomach before she releases his remains through her bowels. The one who stood aside when her son… when Bogdan…

Janine, mercy is never misguided. She had to physically stop her fingers from twitching. Dragena spoke true, didn’t she? The Dynast had saved them all and offered them food and a place to stay. The Blessed Mother spared Wyrm Lord, and now he is one of the greatest potential champions of the Third Army. How many times in the history of the state have former enemies become friends and citizens? Countless vile cultures and faiths were spared oblivion, and the years ahead saw them change.

“He is your son.” Janine looked at Brood Lord. “What will you give me for his life?”

“A bowl of meat soup if you kill him.” The khan shook his shoulders, and a woman near him who resembled him shuddered as if struck. “Do whatever you want with him. The boy’s boring.”

“I see,” Janine calmly responded, looking into Dokholkhu’s eyes. The amber light coming from her eye has reflected in his wide and panicked eyes. “You belong to me now.” She lifted her gaze at the other raiders. “Your hearts beat because I willed so. You are breathing because I spared your lives. From now and forevermore, you are my servants.”

She threw Dokholkhu aside, turning her back on the raiders and begging the Spirits to spur them into action. To make them attack her, to make them break the terms of surrender in some way. Anything to let her claws drink blood and allow the mind to waver away from the thoughts of her dear son being turned to ash.

“A slave owning slaves?” Brood Lord laughed, stopping the crowd’s angry roar with a raised hand. “Fuck me, I like it. I like it a lot. Dokholkhu, get up here, boy. You are off the hook for making me laugh. As for you, Janine… Here is someone who is itching to meet with you!”

The sound of a roaring engine deafened the crowd’s cheer, and an enormous shadow rose behind Brood Lord. Air shimmered for a second before the khan, opening a hole to allow this strange fighter to jump at the arena, throwing up wood, broken weapons, and the remains of bodies.