During the Gilded Horde invasion, the Reclaimers put up a stubborn resistance. With their best forces busy conquering other lands, it fell to the Provincial Army to hold up the line against the invaders. The guardsmen, with the help of the Wolf Tribe, had evacuated thousands to Houstad while also fortifying themselves and getting ready to put up one last fight against the approaching armies.
The speed of Brood Lord’s advance no longer surprised the Provincial Army. Unlike the fast and mobile Wolfkins, the officer in charge of the guardsmen has quickly calculated the impossibility of a safe retreat and decided to make their last stand here, denying the enemies a straight road to Houstad.
Mines were placed before the battle ranks. Artillery pieces trained hourly, turning every cover before the battle lines into dust and improving their aim. Tanks and armored vehicles were refueled. Logistic officers were busy forming convoys to bring wounded and civilians back to Houstad, while communication officers contacted nearby villages and settlements, guiding people to safety. Trenches were dug, and a few makeshift bunkers were placed.
The Provincial Guard has stubbornly refused any further aid from the Wolf Tribe, knowing full well that in the open, their allies would not be able to stand up to the Horde. Twenty thousand men and women, the final line of defense before Houstad had prepared to make their final stand, all alone and without the Third Army’s support. The commanding officer of this final defensive line had no illusions about the survival of his troops.
But fight they decide. Because such was their duty and because people relied on them. One last battle to give Houstad time to prepare.
And when the enemy came, they fought. No longer taken by surprise, the artillery harvested a cruel toll from the incoming riders, exploding dozens of hover bikes simultaneously. Those who made it within range were greeted by the automatic fire of the well-placed turrets. What human eyes could not track, the automatic systems easily pinpointed, predicted the line of movement, and fired at the enemies, downing the raiders before they could close.
Angered about his losses, Brood Lord brought his own artillery to bear, causing the soldiers to cover inside their trenches. The ground itself shook as the hundreds of artillery shells and missiles came down. Defensive shield generators placed within the bunkers were swiftly overloaded, and soon the sturdy defensive boxes made out of reinforced concrete cracked and exploded, burying the personnel within under heavy rubble. Chemical missiles landed among the defenders, spreading their sickly substances, but the rebreathers and power armor air circulation systems had preserved the soldiers from the worst.
Looking forward with bloodshot eyes, sweating from fear, and flames licking their sides, the Reclaimers saw how the enemy ranks moved forward once again. Straight into the firing line of tanks. The 5th Guards Tank Division was ever an under-manned beast. Comprising a now-lost command vehicle acting as brigade headquarters and three tank regiments, numbering a hundred battle tanks each, it only had a single anti-aircraft regiment of SAMs’ vehicles. Formed shortly before the invasion, these soldiers lacked drones and reconnaissance vehicles, not to mention any dedicated anti-infantry vehicles.
But they were the sole division of the Provincial Army undamaged by the invasion. And here and now, these people have given their all. New breeds with precognition abilities were placed in most heavy tanks, shielded by the energy generators. On their advice, the tanks spat their rage at the incoming forces, creating whole roads littered with dead bodies within the enemy ranks.
The 5th Guards Tank Division had fired only four more times, before the Horde’s artillery started bringing a wrath of heaven upon them, exploding tank after tank. But they had achieved their main purpose of gaining a small respite for the defenders. The mobile artillery pieces of the state had greater range than that of their enemies, and Command had used this moment to move them in the rear before engaging in a long-range duel with the enemies, now pinpointed by their own attacks.
Several aircraft moved into the battle zone, aiming to circle into the Reclaimers’ rear, only for two of them to be shot down by the concentrated fire from the SAMs’ vehicles, hidden until this very moment. The survivors of the 5th have switched to burners, twin-linked flamethrowers capable of unleashing a steam of flame hot enough to melt through power armor. A wall made of hell rose before the defensive lines, and the wailings and screams of the dying invaders were met with the unifying cheer of the Reclaimers.
It was at this moment that Brood Lord himself took to the field. A tear in reality was opened above the remains of the 5th, and the khan stepped out of it, bringing his giant sword into a tank’s hatch. After prying it open, the khan dropped a grenade, leaping on the next tank and leaving the doomed crew to die in a fiery explosion. And in his wake came his elite soldiers, faster, stronger, and more durable than the defenders.
The automatic turrets, the only thing capable of stopping this onslaught, were destroyed in the initial artillery barrage. Walking through both toxic fumes and flames, the Gilded Horde’s soldiers looked like some wicked deities coming to punish humanity. A few new breeds of guardsmen were swiftly cut down, and the massacre began in earnest.
Faced with overwhelming odds, the commanding officer has regained control over his troops, purposely leaving over a thousand people and most of his tanks to be slaughtered while directing his remaining troops to fall back and form another firing line. With the enemy advance being slowed by the mines, the officer gave order to the artillery to open fire at Brood Lord, hoping to kill the enemy leader.
A sonic boom in the air has swathed aside the rising shells, and another one came down on the Reclaimers’ rear, cleaving through the ranks of mobile artillery like a gigantic, curved sword. People, steel, and defensive installations all faced annihilation in the wake of falling down an arc of propelled air. Mad Hatter has come.
The defenders held this place for six hours, doing almost impossible things in the face of an overwhelming foe. But upon the coming of the Khan of Khans, their resistance fell in under a minute. A few survivors, no more than a couple hundred, would later tell stories about how bullets and flames bounced off Mad Hatter’s skin and how her mere movements created sonic booms strong enough to pulverize whole dozens of people into red mist. They were picked up by the Third Army’s 2th Recon Brigade, which had arrived to save the last civilians.
The road to Houstad was finally opened, and Mad Hatter’s laughter followed the retreating soldiers. She let them run. The toxic fumes and minefields delayed the Horde’s advance for a few more hours.
****
Warlord Onyxia was forced to retreat from her hunting grounds shortly after Iron Lord’s artillery had flattened almost the entire forest she was hiding in. She rejoined Warlord Ashbringer, and two packs have made a run for Houstad.
Iron Lord proceeded with his own plans, slowly and methodically capturing any settlement in his path. Believing that the best strategy was to force enemy forces into making a mistake, Iron Lord’s forces purposely targeted Knight Academies, mercilessly slaughtering any cub who could not escape in time. This led to the Ice Fangs abandoning any means of civility and outright slaughtering any raiders trying to surrender.
Over the course of the conflict, there had been numerous brave stands and heroic deeds, ranging from daring attempts to save civilians to strange acts of mercy by Gilded Horde khans who purposefully allowed some Ice Fang order youth to flee. But perhaps the most strange event has happened on the northern border.
Houstad was a nexus in the south. Capturing it would not only provide yet unseen riches to the Horde, but it would have opened new raiding routes and forced the Reclaimers to stretch their forces, trying to contain the invading force. But Houstad was far from the only luxurious target.
Nitdiff was positioned behind the wall separating the Outer Lands from the Core Lands. A rather small city with a population of eighty thousand people, most of whom were immigrants from behind the wall. Its primary source of income was the massive farmlands and rich training routes coming from the Outer Lands. Filled with small factories, this place has been responsible for producing small-scale civil vehicles for the colonists and newly joined lands.
It was here that Brood Lord sent a force of ten thousand raiders. Burning their way through the weakly defending farmlands, this force was supposed to take over the city and plunder it, denying any resources it had to the returning Second Army. Defended only by green recruits, the invaders expected this place to be easy pickings.
****
Alpha stood upright on a small mound made of corpses, every piece of armor removed from her body, the cables dangling from the implants. Her pack surrounded her, bringing more corpses to the pile of corpses, throwing them down like bags of trash. Shamans have chanted prayers, being the Spirits to keep Alpha safe upon catching her intention. And the rescued civilians were being escorted out of the forest by the Wolf Hags.
The Strongest Warlord breathed. Dragena just announced a wide retreat toward Houstad, cutting off any remaining settlement. Too early. Alpha did not blame Dragena, though; she had seen the number of losses. Ice Fangs. Fuckers rejoined too late. Their pride has cost the Wolf Tribe a potentially bright future.
But no matter. Alpha spread her arms, and shamans and her own soldiers surged away, leaving her free and alone. Her pack will come back. But she hadn’t finished with her own hunt. Not yet. Alpha’s eyes opened, and her mind focused on the fear wave, molding it, turning it from the omnidirectional surge of fear coming from her into a needle, a string aimed at the Outer Lands.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
A missive of sorts, carrying Alpha’s howl.
She has killed many people. Right after she left her vat, her creators had set Alpha against other test subjects and normal humans alike, making the newborn monster pain her claws red while they cheered as she slaughtered kid after kid. Alpha was tainted, and she knew that. No matter what Zero said, no matter the Ravager’s forgiveness, Alpha knew full well who she was. A devil. And one who will fall into the Abyss after her death.
There were two ways of saving Nitdiff. The first was for Alpha to come there personally and lay down her life, buying time for evacuation to the Outer Lands. Upon further consideration, Alpha decided against it. Hundreds will die in the heat-scorched lands of the Outer Lands, many more will perish in the days ahead, unaccustomed to evading deadly parasites.
So she called other devils. Her true sisters.
Alpha’s mind connected with similar beings to her—sisters turned into monsters. And skinwalkers answered, giggling and laughing like mad, pouring from every cavern, stopping whatever wicked deeds they were doing. Just as her own mind whipped them with fear, so too did she feel their thoughts.
Sister! It’s been so long! Sister! We are coming! What fun will we conduct! Is the Mother near?
Alpha knew she should be surprised at them reversing her mind-link to speak with her, but in dealing with the skinwalkers, she learned to accept the most unexpected things. If there was a fighting style, they would master it in seconds. If there was some science that looked interesting to them, they would learn it in a matter of moments. She once saw one skinwalker developing a cure for the flesh-eating plague unleashed upon the Outer Lands, all because the woman thought it would be funny to kill that virus. Alpha had to personally kick the skinwalker out of the laboratory after her sister tried to make an even stronger plague.
The Warlord walked to the north, thanking the Spirits for the fact that skinwalkers were utterly incapable of concentrating on anything for long. Once a new shining thing attracts their attention, off they run. Now one hundred and fifty skinwalkers, all currently alive sisters in the Outer Lands, were charging upon the wall, running faster than most planes.
They contorted and twisted their limbs during the advance, purposely breaking bones and tearing ligaments, only to have them healed right away. Some ran on their arms only, while others limped on an arm and a leg, never falling behind. Already they have been getting bored, and Alpha had to force her will to the limit, feeling a trickle of blood running down her nose.
Do not kill allies. This was all she had managed to command as the skinwalkers charged at the wall, scaling it up and passing by the terrified soldiers.
Mines, traps, gunfire—nothing stopped one. Some things were too slow to track the monsters; others were insufficient to bring them down. Ignoring her wounds, a skinwalker stopped before a pair of soldiers, looking them over, before snapping at the man to confess to his girlfriend already. Another barged into the headquarters, loudly berating the shocked officers for such meager defenses. She pushed an operator off her seat, quickly typing a new and far more improved battle plan. Two more visited engineers assembling fifty pieces of power armor in the span of time it would take a person to take a shit. And what a horror had a monstrosity who barged into a kitchen constructed? Alpha did not even wish to think about what sort of disgusting cuisine her sister had created.
She let them have some fun, but already her control over them had started to erode, and blood appeared in her ears. At a gesture of gigantic claws, the shamans darted forward, encasing Alpha in her power armor. Dragena knew she wouldn’t be coming back early. Therefore, she purposely gave Alpha the initiative in this decision.
Alpha approved her named sister’s actions. She herself was nothing but a slave, unable to reject orders given by those she deemed to be her commanders. Such was her curse; in such a way, Alpha was made by the creators before Ravager slaughtered them and usurped ownership. Moments of freedom were… appreciated.
Now held upright only thanks to her power armor, Alpha walked on, bleeding from every orifice, her skin seeping blood, and her organs rumbling, threatening to burst. The skinwalkers departed the wall, some flying on makeshift planes, others riding a scrap of metal they had assembled. These vehicles should not have worked, yet now they fly faster than many similar vehicles in the state.
It took less than an hour for the skinwalkers to find their prey, and in this moment, Alpha’s fangs broke, only for new rows to appear. She kept on walking, seeing the horror she had unleashed upon the Core Lands.
The invaders were pillaging through the farms, dragging out women and children, and lining up farmers for questioning. Beautiful vineyards were on fire, greenhouses toppled, and hover bikes were flying back and forth across the fields, catching the runaways.
One such bike was about to bisect a running man and woman when a skinwalker fell from the sky, her own plane coming crashing down at the soldiers ahead. Sharp claws found the surprised man, dragging him off the hoverbike with almost gentle care.
And took him apart. Skin first, then muscles, along with ligaments, blood vessels, and arteries; finally, the skinwalker took out organs and bones, placing them on the ground as if it were some sort of rug. Without popping or breaking anything.
This was their main horror. A skinwalker coming from a warrior was roughly equal to a shaman, but thanks to innate regeneration, these naked creatures could easily be a match for a Warlord. A skinwalker coming from the ranks of Wolf Hags was a full match for a Warlord in her gear. And their intelligence, might, and regeneration weren’t the only strengths of skinwalkers. Upon tasting the flesh of any living being, they, like Alpha, gain memories of said living being. But unlike Alpha, her true sisters shapeshifted into the last eaten person, becoming a perfect copy down to every last emotion and memory, which allowed them to sneak in settlements.
For this reason, she restrained one hundred and fifty pseudo-Warlords from eating their foes. Struggling to keep them from eating innocents, Alpha could do nothing against their cruelty. The smallest of the skinwalkers was around four meters tall; their bodies were clean of all fur, showing a monstrous snout with several rows of fangs within. Claws, only second to Alpha’s and Ravager’s in sharpness, came upon the raiders.
A skinwalker saw a thunder bull and laughed like mad, pointing her claw at the rider. Her inane giggling turned to silence after she spotted how the rider pointed his oversized weapons at the captives. Leaping to stand before them, the skinwalker took a full brunt of energy discharge straight into her chest. A ball of energy, meant to be used against fortifications and the heaviest battle tanks had blown up the monster’s upper body, leaving just her waist and legs standing.
When the legs made a step, the rider panicked, trying to reload his weapon, much to Alpha’s delight. Bones, already wrapped in organs and muscles, poured from the ruined waist, recreating the thoracic, arms, and legs. From the stump of the neck, a new head popped up, just as ugly as the last, and the skinwalker rushed toward her prey, sliding underneath the thunder bull and opening its belly with a claw, bathing herself in his blood. Turning crimson, the beast appeared behind the rider, pushing her fingers into his temples.
Cellular regeneration. To kill a skinwalker, one had to destroy her head and keep the brain destroyed long enough for the body to accept death. That, or a skinwalker must be made to burn her inner reserves. Nothing less could suffice. And even with a destroyed brain, soldiers had to be careful around a fallen skinwalker, for the moment the head regenerates, the skinwalker suffers from no memory loss or confusion like so many other regenerators.
The skinwalker soon got bored with a mundane slaughter. They would steal hover bikes from the enemy, reassembling them into bombs before throwing them back, giggling like mad. Instead of tanking the incoming gunfire, skinwalkers turned into blurry forms, calculating each bullet path and dodging the incoming attack with a grace befitting a Sword Saint. No longer did slaughter reign on the battlefield; now it was a carnival of horror. Legs were being pulled out, pleas of surrender ignored, and skinwalkers were dancing, parading their horrid trophies to the enemies before killing them.
A few strong invaders lasted no longer than a few breaths. Skinwalkers did not care for honor, so they took apart raiders just like they were taking down any fool agreeing to duel with them before. Alpha blinked, focusing her will after seeing how a skinwalker came to the captured people. To her relief, the skinwalker sliced through the restraints, dragging the scared people to a nearby corpse of a thunder bull. Using it like a couch, the monster lay on it, asking the people why they thought they would never recover from today’s slaughter.
Stop playing therapist! Alpha snarled, her mind’s voice sounding weak even to her. You don’t have a license!
Shall I visit Houstad and get one? The creature has asked eagerly, beating aside bullets intended for civilians. The scariest thing was that Alpha knew she wasn’t joking. She once saw how a skinwalker took apart a woman verbally, driving her to suicide. Just for fun.
The slaughter continued, and Alpha felt an organ rupturing in her body. A lung. She had just lost a lung. Her vision darkened, but Alpha held on to the reign over the skinwalkers, not allowing the beasts to sink to the lowest form of debauchery. Only after the Horde surged back, too horrified and terrified to continue, had Alpha allowed herself to collapse, still transmitting orders not to harm the civilians.
She woke up some time later, with not a single member of her pack nearby. But she was hardly alone. One hundred and fifty naked bodies were around her, cradling her armored form and trying to warm Alpha with the heat of their own bodies. Alpha pressed a paw to her chest, sensing a new lung forming.
“Sister is awake,” a voice sang from all around her, illuminating Alpha’s snout with an amber light. “Play, play, play!”
They hugged her. The once noble soldiers had turned into psychotic slaughterhouses by a flaw in their bodies. And Alpha hadn’t found it in herself to reject them. Even monsters need family. And someone who cares.
“I can’t join you,” she told them, standing up and finding herself clean. The bitches took off her armor and licked her wounds before reassembling it. Alpha’s paws twitched from shame and humiliation. “A war awaits me.”
“A war? This means battles! Slaughter! Take us with you; we’ll play with meat bags!”
“We’ll pry them open!”
“And see what’s inside!”
“We’ll fill the night with screams!”
“And feast in joy!”
“Like a family!”
Alpha almost agreed to their pleas. When she looked at them, she saw former comrades and friends. Here was Lena, once a scout in her pack, a proud mother of four litters. How happy she was to earn her first promotion. Alpha looked at her face, seeing nothing of the once-composed woman. Just distorted face features, pleading, and a radiant smile. In her past life, Lena never pleaded. Not once. Ruined. So utterly and irrecoverably ruined.
Her control over them has already crumbled. It is now a matter of time before the first civilian finds himself eaten alive while a skinwalker plays his or her role. Families will be broken by a careless word, and weapons of mass destruction will be assembled just to see the sparks fly.
“No,” she breathed out. “Go back to the Outer Lands. Away from civilization, away from the gathering of people. Live in remote caverns and try to avoid people. Can you play in this game for me?”
“We can,” they lied unhappily. “But why are you staying here? We have such wonders to show you!”
“I am still stable.”
“Are you really?” The skinwalkers inquired, and Alpha turned around, looking for a new battlefield to fight on. She can’t control them. But she can control herself.
Alpha allowed memories of dead children she had killed to resurface. Never again. Until her body holds, she will fight to save any children, be they cubs or normies. And when a day comes and her body finally breaks down, Alpha will meet those she slaughtered in the heavens and accept all their righteous accusations before being cast down into the Abyss by the Spirits.