Janine allowed all worries to seep from her mind, breathing calmly and deeply. She was never one to recycle prayers or beg the Spirits for aid, but right now, she had found herself in need of focus and clarity. Ignoring the ghostly apparition of Terrific standing in the shadows, Janine started intoning the prayer of rage.
Blessed Mother. Deliver me from the temptation of self-pity and set me straight on the road of bettering. Fill my veins with righteous rage; mold me into a tireless instrument of the state and a defender of the weak. Of this I ask you, Blessed Mother.
The door slammed, and she saw several raiders coming back, all carrying rifles and their useless swords. Her nose picked up a stench of alcohol coming from the bastards, prompting a smile to appear on her lips. Perfect.
“Think their women are like the town’s whores?” A raider hiccuped, nodding at the Wolfkins.
“Brood Lord took two,” another guard said as he came closer to the cell, smiling at the Wolfkins, “didn’t last long, but he boasted they are just the same. What, you want to try them? The big one belongs to the khan.”
Spirit of Rage, please stay your claws. Janine intoned, moving a finger to her wrist. Good, she can reach it. A second finger followed. Let me breathe for awhile. Let me be sane for awhile. I am still needed in this world. Avert your gaze, and I will dedicate hundreds of lives in your honor.
Speaking to the Spirit of Rage was the height of stupidity. It did not care for any goals other than spreading destruction and death. Its creations, skinwalkers, were both geniuses and masters of combat, lacking any moral restraints. Had Impatient One seen her now, her daughter would have attacked Janine with the intent of killing her, blood ties or not. You do not pray to the maker of skinwalkers. You do not tell it your name. Not thinking of it, not speaking of it—these were the only ways to stay safe. But superstitions ran deeply within the tribe, and every Warlord of old knew at least one makeshift prayer to this cruel being.
“Who cares about the big one?” the first raider answered, licking his lips and looking at the Ice Fang. “Look at this one. Such curiosity.” He opened the door to the cell, stepping inside. “Crimson eyes, a fur like white silk, and such gentle arms. What a unique sight!”
“Let me go, and I will show you gentleness,” the knight snarled.
“I heard that the white ones are a sort of nobility among their kind,” the second raider said.
“Then we must give her a proper greeting. How about we give her a taste of real men? Brood Lord doesn’t need to know, as long as she is alive…”
The man screamed when Ignacy lunged forward. The raider kicked back, but Ignacy had already sunk his fangs into the raider’s ear and part of his neck, tearing out a sizeable chunk of meat and laughing as he spat the flesh back into the guard’s face. His laughter turned into a cough of pain upon receiving a kick with a heavy armored boot into his stomach.
“Sorry. Just wanted to try a real man.” Ignacy tried to smile through the pain.
“You fucking cripple!” The raider snapped, kicking Ignacy between his legs and making the soldier thrash from the pain in his restraints.
“Takes one to know one,” Ignacy groaned. “By the way, you taste like shit. Then again, you are looking like a pile of excrement, guess it was a given.”
“Bastard!” The raider kicked Ignacy between his legs again, drawing blood. “Mutant! Filth! My ear! Slave!” A kick accompanied every word, while the other raiders laughed.
Janine clenched her fist, finding bones in her wrists, then turned her feet inward, preparing to snap them. She will not let these bastards take another son from her. A claw came from her finger, piercing the skin and reaching for the bones.
“Bring me the tongs! I will tear out his fangs, one after…”
A shot silenced his screams and the laughter of his fellows. Janine blinked, unsure if what she was seeing was real. A round hole appeared in the raider’s temple; his eyes rolled up before his body slumped onto the floor. The other guards reached for their helmets, trying to contact their forces, and tried to grab their weapons.
One after another, they got riddled with bullets as new invaders stepped inside the prison—four of them clad in full Horde power armor. Behind them came three malformed, skittering about on their long legs and firing from long rifles. The guards’ screams were in vain; the attackers shut the door behind them, pushing men and women to the wall. Questions and pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears. Without a hint of mercy, the attackers gunned down both wounded and surrendering invaders, and soon the group spread out, opening the cells and releasing prisoners.
Janine calmly watched as Dokholkhu stepped into her cell. The boy was dressed in a mismatched and oversized piece of power armor, with sleeves that were too big for his arms; the helmet barely covered the head’s upper part; and he simply tied up several armor plates to his legs. Still, this abomination of a tech worked, allowing his fingers to tear a door leading to her cell before trying to break her shackles in vain. On his back, the malformed carried a large container, right next to the backpack of his armor.
“They are too tough. Use a key.” Janine nodded at the dead guards, and Dokholkhu rushed to them, cursing and picking up a ring with keys. He hastily started trying one after another before finding the right one and opening the shackle at her right wrist. “You’ve made the right choice, Dokholkhu.” Janine looked at his group. “I thought I spared more.”
“Not all have agreed to join us,” another malformed responded nervously. He came closer, carrying the Taleteller in his hands, and Janine gladly took her trusted weapon. “We… we had to take precautions.”
“Is it true? Can your state keep us from the Horde?” A female raider asked.
“Keep? Girl, by the time we are finished,” Janine swung the Taleteller and cleaved through the chains holding her legs, “there will no longer be any Horde. Just the state. Have you attacked civilians? Violated our people?” She looked sharply at the raider, remembering the guards and how the invaders acted in Defiance.
“N… don’t know,” the raider gulped. She took off her helmet, showing a face white with terror. “We just came from the steppes, and Mungke threw us straight at your town. I and the others fought our way to the square, then Mungke got killed, we panicked; everyone was dying… I have no idea if we attacked your civilians or not. We sort of freaked out and only tried to hide. Listen, I am in charge of these buffoons. Punish me if you want, just spare them.”
“Appreciate the honesty. We are all getting out.” Janine nodded, deciding to hold back her wrath. The woman wasn’t lying; Janine was sure of it. Let the Investigation Bureau earn its keep by determining the raiders’ guilt. Unlike malformed, these people were adults, and while some leniency will be shown if they have harmed civilians, only a prison will wait for them. Not that Janine planned to say it out loud. She heard a sound coming from Dokholkhu’s container—a series of scratches. “What’s in it?”
“My family,” Dokholkhu replied quickly. “I am not leaving them.”
“Are we working with the Horde now?” The knight has massaged her wrists, stepping out of the cell.
“Correction, we are running away from the Horde with the help of their deserters.” Janine pointed at the dead bodies. “Shut up and arm yourself. Everyone, put on any piece of armor you can. Guardsmen, you get any weapon left…”
“Warlord… These animals.” Ignacy pointed at the raiders. “These animals burned their way through our lands; they killed…”
“Enough,” Janine stopped him before the boy could blurt out something important. She still wasn’t fully trusting their ‘rescuers’ either, worried that this might be Brood Lord’s ploy. But a chance is a chance. Janine came to her son and put a hand on his shoulder. “We will guard their backs and work with them. Because we need them to survive and escape. This is an order.”
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Ignacy locked eyes with Janine. She calmly met his look, fully accepting any blame or hate her son might have thrown at her. Was it not by her order that they were here? Was it not her weakness that saw Bogdan dead? But finally, Ignacy bared his neck, and Janine relaxed a bit. She would’ve knocked him out if he had tried to take his revenge.
The Warlord stepped to the unconscious Sword Saint and checked the pulse at his neck. Bad. His skin was hot, his lips were dry, and his heart barely gave out thirty strikes per minute. Janine wished for nothing else but to cave the bastard’s nose in and only held back out of worry that it might kill him. No matter. There is always time later. She briefly examined his body, securing the bandages and making sure the old fool’s ribs weren’t shattered. As if it were a small mercy from the higher powers, Macarius’ only wounds were his missing limbs; the rest of his body bore only a few cuts seeping pus.
Janine carefully lifted the stump of a man and secured him with chains on her back, begging the Spirits to grant Macarius enough strength to survive. To spite the Horde, if nothing else. His breath came out in weak sighs.
“Are there any other prisoners nearby?” Janine asked Dokholkhu.
“Not that I know of.”
“Got it.” Janine made a swing, testing her arm. No sign of weakness. “Here’s the plan. Cubs, keep up with the guardsmen in the rear. New breeds, and we will cut a path…”
“We better steal a sky striker.” Dokholkhu noticed a raised brow and quickly explained. “It’s an aircraft. Fa… Brood Lord only has sixteen in his employ. One was shot down; fourteen are with his army, but the fourth is in the nearby hangar. It lacks weapons but should be able to fly just fine. Plus, it has a shield, so if anyone tries to shoot at us, we get better odds of surviving.”
“And you have any idea how to pilot it?” Janine clarified.
“I can!” A raider raised his hand. “I was a pilot for Mungke Khan back in the steppes before he gifted it to his son.”
Janine pondered this for a moment. There wasn’t much choice, really. Her original plan was to cut a path to the Horde’s hover bikes and use them to escape the city. It felt only logical that machines capable of evading most mines would have won them the day. In hindsight, it still would’ve caused losses from artillery fire. But an aircraft… This may just let them get back to Houstad safe and sound, leaving the raiders behind.
“Tell me how to get to the hangar,” Janine told the boy.
After Janine gave the order for him and his family to remain in the back with two warriors and guardsmen protecting them, his expression changed to a mixture of confusion and annoyance. But she was done sinning. Cubs, no matter their appearance, are to be inviolable, be it in days of peace or war. Just because their enemies resort to savagery doesn’t excuse Janine’s behavior. Much to Ignacy’s disappointment, she told him to stay in the back as well.
In silence, they stepped outside of the prison, and Janine tore a piece of metal from one of her nostrils, along with a piece of skin, and sniffed the air. Alcohol from one tunnel ahead alerted her to potential raiders, and the pack took another route, avoiding the danger. Passing by a window, Janine sniffed again, catching smells of sweat and blood from outside. Her ears caught the sounds of dozens of people being dragged away. Civilians were hauled like livestock, ready to be sold at the market.
I will come back for you. She passed forward, listening to the sounds of people crying and shouting and the laughter of their oppressors. Failure. A total failure of the state. At the very least, Drozna’s smell came from beyond the city’s borders, so at least one problem was out of her mind.
Dokholkhu had explained to Janine that she and her troops were being held in the factory in the south. Its hangars were now repurposed for military needs, and most of the workers were either captured or escaped. The floor and walls of narrow tunnels were covered with cracks and traces of blood; it seemed that at least some members of the Provincial Army made their last stand here. Janine kept relying on smell, avoiding a meeting with the raiders and leading her ragtag group closer to the “hangars”.
Occasionally, the group encountered a few patrols. The female raider distracted one such group long enough for Janine and her Wolfkins to come down at them, hacking through bodies without mercy. The deserters eliminated another group on their own by approaching the inebriated raiders, conversing with them, and taking bottles before pushing them into the raiders’ eyes.
They stopped only once, when the sounds of working gears started filling the corridors. In a small room once used by workers for rest, a group of raiders strung a civilian to the pipes at the ceiling and were busy flogging the poor soul. Janine raised her paw, sensing the anger in the Wolfkins and guardsmen. Good. Anger was far better than fear.
With her permission, the ice fang and two warriors sneaked behind the raiders’ backs, slamming two stolen knives into their necks. A single twist ruptured both arteries and bones, killing both men. Two of the remaining invaders have started turning around, only to be greeted by blindingly fast thrusts of steel buried in their throats. From behind her back, the warriors leaped, slamming the remaining raiders into the walls and allowing their fangs and claws to speak their minds. It did not last long.
Janine gave a nod of respect to the knight. It was so easy to forget just how dangerous Ice Fangs could be. Behind all their lushness and silk, there were some real fighters whose feral instincts just waited for any sign to reemerge and bring in a slaughter. And judging by the look in the crimson eyes, the knight itched for an opportunity to cause more carnage.
She spent little time trying to question the civilian. The poor soul’s body got covered in horrible, lacerated wounds, revealing one of his ribs. In a quiet and whimpering voice, the man explained that the invaders believed in some old rumor about buried treasure around here, a joke told by the workers. This joke has cost several lives tonight. The trembling man grabbed Janine by her waist, begging for a quick end before they came back.
The pack had no choice. She had no choice. Leaving the man here meant signing his death warrant. Janine doubted that anyone would treat his wounds. Her paw closed around the man’s neck, choking the poor fellow into unconsciousness. Then Janine handed him to Ignacy, feeling only burning shame at the need to hurt a civilian. Just another sin to the large pile.
Shadows stepped from the turn ahead as a group entered the tunnel, leading to the source of an increasingly loud sound. Hidden from her nose by the smell of oil and standing perfectly still, the four-legged offspring of Brood Lord met them. Each of them was carrying heavy machine guns aimed at the group, with their leader, a woman with long hair gathered into a tight knot, armed with a plasma discharger torn from one of the guardsmen’s vehicles.
“Halt,” the woman said, keeping her weapon pointed at Janine. “Dokholkhu. What the fuck are you and the others doing? Do you know what Dad will do to you for this?”
Janine finally recognized the woman. She was the one standing near Brood Lord earlier and the one who distracted her father’s attention from her brother. Even now she spoke quietly, yet with her legs she pushed the two soldiers rescued by Dokholkhu to stand before herself.
“I am getting our family out here, Jaliqai.” Dokholkhu pushed closer to Janine, and she had to keep him back with one arm.
“You are betraying the Brood,” Jaliqai said with a stone face.
“What is there left to betray?” Dokholkhu clenched his fist. “The Brood is dead. We are finished. Culled almost to the last.”
“It has happened before. New ones will…”
“And you wish them to live a life like ours? You said it yourself; it has happened before.” Dokholkhu pressed a hand to his chest. “It will happen again. You will die. I will die. For what? Screw it, and screw him! Jaliqai, please step out of our way, or better yet, join us!”
“It’s too late for me, brother.” The girl hesitated. “Too late for us all. The things he made me us do…”
“Maybe so. But it is not too late for them!” Dokholkhu pointed at the container behind his back. “Do you want our brothers and sisters to become like us and die like the rest? Do you want me to be sacrificed, too?”
Janine only looked at the weapon in the girl’s hands. Energy weapon. Almost soundless. But should her kin fire… The entire facility will be alerted.
She looked over the malformed, noticing torn chitin plates from their upper bodies, wide scars, a few missing fingers or ears, fresh cuts, and bruises. Ignoring their age, these were veterans of many battles—people who survived almost impossible odds and who came up with a plan to sneak up on them. So why didn’t they attack them right away? Janine sighed, finally getting the reason. A genuine family, after all.
“Put your weapon down,” the warlord said softly. “Had it been too late for you, you wouldn’t care. You’d shoot right away. But you hesitate. You want to be punished, to be killed, and to see these cubs escape, right? You think it’ll bring you redemption?” She saw the answer in Jaliqai’s eyes. Had it several times in her own eyes, too. A desire, a longing for demise, an end to that struggle calling itself life. “It doesn’t work that way, kiddo. You have to earn it. You can chicken out and refuse to try to redeem yourself. Or you can dare to fly into the unknown. I won’t lie: trying to fix your mistakes and crimes will be hard. But you clearly ain’t happy here either, and dying here will only leave your family even more broken. Why not try to live with a family that cares for you rather than dying for a family that spits at you? Live.”
“Who is here!?”
Jaliqai’s finger moved to the trigger, and Janine tensed, preparing to haul her axe at the woman. But rather than firing at the group, the four-legged woman turned to the left and burned a hole in the chest of a raider coming to the turn. The man barely had time to recognize what had happened; a gasp for air left his lips before his body collapsed.
"Well, this answers it." Jaliqai pushed the guardsmen toward Janine. "People, we are officially joining the mutants. Fuck Brood Lord."
“Sister…” a male near her started talking.
“What?” Jaliqai let her hair go loose before gathering it back into a tight knot and hugging Dokholkhu. “Don’t tell me you’re going to turn on me.”
“Nah. Fuck Brood Lord and all,” the boy chuckled. “Just… Jaliqai, Dokholkhu, we’re better off hurrying. There are a lot of people in the hangar.”
“Leave it to us,” Janine told him, grabbing the energy weapon from Jaliqai. “Cubs ought to play, learn, and stay safe. Just stay back and let us work.”