The doors closed behind her, and the hatch slid to the side, allowing Janine to step on the hull outside, greeted by a howling wind and shockwaves from explosions pushing past the shield. She sank the claws on her legs deep into the hull, facing the mountain of steel that was Mehmed.

Just like hers, his own metallic claws pierced the hull. His back was opened like metal petals, allowing a flaming engine to come out. The metal arms closed and opened, accompanied by a whirling of moving lenses across his body.

“Get off my ship,” Janine told him.

“N-no,” Mehmed stuttered, the lenses on his body focused on Janine’s face. “This ship belongs to my father.”

“I stole it fair and square. Mine now.”

“Your people can go. They can even take the ship. I-I killed a lot of people before and was, no… I-is a vile man, but only now do I understand the extent of what I have been doing all this time.” He moved one arm, looking at his twitching fingers. His voice cracked, the machines in his helmet struggled to translate the despair in the synthesized voice. “Locked in this tomb, feeling nothing, being turned on and off… Like a clock! And I am not! I live still, dammit! You did it to me! It is because of you that the Sky has recreated me in this form! You took everything from me, but I will not; I cannot do the same to you!”

“Because you are too weak,” Janine teased him, hoping to bait him into making an opening.

“L-laugh all you want. I am strong now. Gifted with this unholy power, I can unmake you. And I will, and I will wear your skin like a cloak, mark my word. But turning you into me? No, never. It is not just it’s beyond cruelty!” The metal hands spasmed, lifting to his head. “Everyone should feel something, should have something or someone. Not like this. Janine. Let me kill you, and I swear to let them go. Only your demise can bring me s-s-succor and salvation. P-please. D-die.”

“Never. I have people to live for.” She tilted her head. “Mehmed… Who are you, really?”

“A ruin walking!” The suit of steel roared, taking a step toward her. “I will rip the flesh from your bones!”

The engine in Mehmed’s back spat flames, and the man flew upon her, aiming his lower left arm at Janine’s face. Rather than simply dodge the incoming attack, Janine calmly waited until the sharp fingers almost touched the metal on her snout and then sidestepped the attack, bringing the Taleteller to the joints of his arm.

Forged in ancient times, the sharpest edge has cut through the energy chords and the steel, cleanly bisecting the arm in two. Janine arrested the axe’s movement, not allowing it to cut through the hull, and leaned back, evading a massive knee that almost smashed her head.

“Big fucking deal,” Mehmed said, stopping his flight next to Janine.

Mehmed’s upper body spun around, the stump of his arm bleeding not blood but the brightest sparks. He used this very crippled limb to ram the sharp edges into Janine’s side, drawing a groan of pain from her lips. The steel sliced through her skin, scratching against her ribs, and overheated energy soon followed, cauterizing the wound.

Janine trusted her instincts and refused to retreat, remembering a bit late about a gaping emptiness behind her. She stood at the ship’s edge, and the buildings and forest beneath turned into a mix of gray and green. Mehmed punched with his upper right arm, only to have his hand smashed against the Taleteller’s butt. Janine had thought of leaping to the left when her eye spotted a missile in the air, moving toward the ship.

“Ignacy! Turn off the shield for two seconds!” Janine laughed, calculating the projectile’s trajectory and speed.

At first, she assumed that Ignacy didn’t hear her. But then the bubble around the sky striker disappeared, and the missile flew straight in, exploding against Mehmed’s back and silencing his angry roar in another explosion of his backpack.

The giant of a man stumbled, still turning ninety degrees to his right to face Janine. His legs bit deep into the metal, trying to hold on to the ship’s hull without the aid of his engine. A cloak of flame came straight out of his back, creating a fire trail behind the ship.

But still he fought, trying to crush Janine’s ribs with his broken arm. This time she allowed his push to move her, evading his attempt to grab her with his lower right hand. The sheer speed and air pressure have caught Warlord, sending her into a spin across the ship’s hull toward its rear. Janine regained her foothold, biting her claws into the hull anew, just as Mehmed regained his, facing her fully.

Janine glanced at his size, looking for any signs of frailty or instability. Nothing. The man stood undaunted, ignoring the roaring inferno coming from behind his back. And she herself was still bleeding, her wounds threatening to drag her down. Her look lowered at Mehmed’s foot, noticing how deep his claws bit into the hull, and the idea came to her mind.

The Taleteller struck, tearing away part of the hull to her left just as Mehmed started his apocalyptic run. She met him halfway, and her axe came crushing down on his lower right arm, only to glance aside, leaving scratches. Angered, Janine struck again, only to be met by the three incoming hits, coming one after another at random intervals.

“I am no longer bound by the limitations of a h-human body,” Mehmed half-whimpered, half-laughed as his arm coiled, evading Janine’s slash, and two more hits came down. The Warlord took one on her shoulder, only for the second to bypass her defense all together.

Mehmed’s forearms spun around, turning his arms into drills and dragging the Taleteller’s slashes away. He lunged forward, aiming to deliver a bone-shattering knee hit into Janine’s thoracic. The instincts saved her, and Janine dove to her right, bringing her axe upward, aiming at Mehmed’s armpits.

The hit never connected. With inhuman agility, Mehmed stopped his kick midway, bringing his leg back. His upper right arm and lower left arm caught Janine’s blade, allowing for his upper left arm to come down in a wide arc, shattering her nose.

“You are breaking down!” Mehmed laughed, starting to wail at Janine as she retreated to the back of the ship.

He punched her again and again, no longer exposing the joints of his armor. With some insane predication, Mehmed started spinning his limbs at just the right moment, bouncing off the Taleteller and delivering bone crushing counterattacks in return. Breathing heavily and feeling the weight of her weapon, Janine has retreated to the engine. Bruises and cuts rose on her body. Her hide was torn from her shoulder, grabbed by Mehmed’s sharp fingers. But best of all, she finally heard the roaring of the engines behind her.

“Y-yes, t-that’s right, Janine,” Mehmed’s speakers spat. “We will plunge into the fire, you and I. And in its searing flame, both will disappear, only for the Sky to rebirth me like a phoenix…”

To be a Warlord was more than being a simple fighter. Some strong individuals never fully understood it until it was too late for them. When Warlord fights, she has to pay attention to every detail and coordinate the assault of her pack. Like a skilled smith, it fell to a Warlord to shape even a battle into a triumph. Traps, situational awareness, feigns, teamwork—everything could and would be used. This is the lesson Janine has given Mehmed now.

He took a step, and Janine lunged at him. Finally, she had him exactly where she wanted him. Mehmed wasn’t a terrible fighter, but rather than using all his lenses to survey the surroundings, he only tracked her. And this has cost him the battle as his leg stepped at the torn hull and found no foothold there, sliding away from the ship. The metal giant has desperately grabbed the hull with his lower left arm, throwing an unfocused punch.

She dodged his clumsy attack, only to bury the axe in the joint of his leg. Another swing tore through one of his remaining arms, opening Mehmed’s corpus. Janine took her axe with just one paw, grabbed Mehmed with another, and started hacking. Up close, the raider’s own long arms prevented him from hitting her; a few elbow strikes were barely enough to shake her off. And Janine unleashed her rage in full.

The first swing cleaved through his metal head, revealing wires and the leakage of some oil within. Mehmed grabbed her, aiming to fall alongside her, and she heaved his massive form back onto the ship, breaking his hold. The next swing cleaved through his left arm, sending it flying past the Warlord. Her claws twitched, widening the cracks in his breastplate. When Mehmed tried to take a step back, Janine stomped his leg right back, breaking some of his mechanical joints.

“You wanted me?! Then come out!” She bulged her muscles and landed her next strike at the hatch in his chest, shattering it.

She twisted her weapon, widening the gap, and saw pure horror within. There was no human body within, no diabolical malformed somehow running this body. A human brain, encased in an armor case, was held by several mechanical claws, floating in some sickly juice. Plugs and wires were coming through the opening in the upper part of the case, spearing the tormented being like cruel spears. A small camera installed at the bottom of this armor glass moved, focusing a crimson lens on Janine.

“D-delive-er-r-rance…” Mehmed’s dynamics spoke, making Janine stop the mortal blow.

Never had she seen something like this, always viewing the Blessed Mother’s fear of doctors as something outdated. What’s the big fear about having a limb or two made of steel? It’s disgusting and heartless to replace one’s hot blood and insides with cold and lifeless metal. Janine remembered the words of the Blessed Mother. How right she was. There was a limit at which a simple replacement turned into torture.

At the thought of a Blessed Mother, a fresh surge of energy shot through the Warlord’s body. She felt the muscles in her back and wounded shoulder reknitted, nay, not just healing but growing tougher, becoming rougher. Trickles of blood seeping out of the wounds stopped; a paper-thin skin covered most of her wounds. Along with the familiar and so annoyingly irritating itch came a splash of adrenaline as her body used its very last reserves to accommodate the changes. A rich reward from her power, indeed. This was a pleasant feeling, but one that worried Janine none the less. Could it be a gift from the Spirit of Rage? But no, she was still sane; not a whiff of madness had poisoned the desires coursing through her mind.

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She tore her paw out of the steel suit and closed her palm around Mehmed’s brain case, tearing it out and silencing his pleading screams. The suit went limp, with no intelligence guiding it. Janine has simply kicked it off the ship, carrying her prisoner down the ship. Mehmed doesn’t get to die this easily. Till Ingo would want to know just what the hell the Horde did to him and how to replicate it. A pity it was impossible to bring the armor along.

“Warlord, are you…” a warrior greeted Janine when she came back, only for the Warlord to push the brain case into the woman’s paws.

“Ascended a bit. Keep our prisoner safe; we’ll send him to Till Ingo at the first opportunity.” She saw how wildly the camera lens was moving and felt nothing but pity. Robbed of his body, not once but twice, he was left in a situation when he could think and see but was unable to move or think…

Please, Spirits, let me never experience it. And if possible, show mercy to this lost soul. Punish him for his transgressions in the afterlife, but make his next life a happier one.

“How bad was the damage to the ship?” Janine asked, coming back to the pilot and Ignacy, who still struggled with the wires.

“Perfect, most glorious Khan!” the pilot beamed. “We lost a bit of hull, and that missile explosion really didn’t help. Not to worry, there is no pursuit, and we have reached our top speed! Give us an hour or two, and we will be in your city in no time…”

“City?” Janine’s ears perked. “Does this thing have…”

“It has a broadcasting system.” Ignacy calmed her down, pointing at the panel behind him. “I inputted your personal IDs, and since we are in the reclaimers’ aerospace, it’s safe to say that they are working just…”

“Yeah, yeah, you are going with me,” Janine told him, calling a male from the rear to watch over the pilot and forcibly dragging Ignacy into the corridor between the pilot cabin and passenger compartment.

“What, a mother can’t check up on her son? Relax, I licked you and Bogdan clean when you were…” She fell silent, fighting away the anguish. Making him sit, she checked the damage to his reproductive organs and began bandaging him up. “Well… You can probably still make cubs.”

“Or take some in,” Ignacy said.

She tensed, stopping for a moment at the realization: “The girl is afraid of lifegiving. How d… Such cowa… I understand,” Janine sighed. “But Ignacy, the shame of rising orphans is… The traditions are…”

“Mom, I don’t care,” her son sighed. “If it is not officially banned, then it is allowed. Elzada and I have talked about it. What do we care about the glances of others? If everything works out and we survive, we will have some cubs, our own or otherwise. End of story.”

Janine stopped her urge to growl. The Crippled, the Branded, orphans, motherless curs… None of them were truly at fault. Yet there were rules. Terrific took Janine in, but she never went as far as naming her a daughter officially. Because it is insulting to the Spirits. Unless a Wolfkin was infertile, she had no right to take in any cubs. A new life must be born; otherwise, the old one will become still, eventually. Shamans pushed hard for more copulation among the tribe.

At the same time, she also understood Elzada. First lifegiving was always horrible. A mix of excruciating pain along with the terrifying realization that your cubs were born dead. And then postpartum depression comes in full swing, seeping away the last shreds of will to live and filling a Wolfkin with dread at another lifegiving. Janine knew from personal experience how it could cripple a person. If not for Marty, Predaig, and Eled, she really could’ve done something stupid back then.

Janine only nodded, keeping her mouth and fear shut. The Tribe was ever a subject to change. Mayhap this was a sign from above that another change was needed. In any event, cubs are cubs, no matter their origin.

“Ignacy,” she said quietly, banishing away her own pain. “About Bogdan. He was an excellent soldier, a loving father, and a beautiful son. What has happened to him is my fault and mine alone. You have all rights…”

“Mom.” This time it was Ignacy who hugged her, and Janine straightened him up with a growl, holding back a hit. He is no longer a cub! Even familiarity should have its limits! Ignacy leaned against the wall, meeting her look. “I do not hate you. Bogdan would never hate you. You…” he swallowed. “You’ve made the right decision.”

“Thank you.” Janine kept treating his wounds when an idea struck her brain. “Wait. How in the Abyss’ accursed asshole do you know my personal ID codes? I never gave them to anyone!”

“I… may just remember them from that time Chak and I worked on your armor…” Ignacy smiled nervously, trying his best to merge with the wall at the sight of his mother’s released claws.

“Ignacy,” Janine said slowly, forcing herself not to scar him. She closed in, delivering a single, almost gentle bite before butting him with her forehead. “This wasn’t your job. Worse still, imagine what could have happened had the enemy tortured these codes out of you? Son, I am trying to accept… your peculiar passion for all things mechanical, but everything has its limits, and you are not making it any easier for me, either. Never again take or copy anything from my gear without my permission.” Her claw left a mark on Ignacy’s nose, and Janine stood up, cracking her neck. “Congratulations on your quick thinking, Ignacy. Once we get back, I’ll send a report, asking Command to present you with a medal.”

A crimson light flashed above them, silencing Ignacy’s answer with loud sirens. Both doors slid aside, showing the worried pilot and her soldier.

“Incoming missile!” The pilot shouted, and Janine cursed, grabbing the man’s seat.

She saw it—a bright spark rising in the air from the forest ahead. Unlike the Horde’s crude anti-air weapons, this was a missile launched by a dedicated SAM. It won’t miss. Janine felt an icy shiver running down her spine as the missile locked onto them.

“But… We are transmitting a Warlord’s ID,” Ignacy stuttered. “Who would dare…”

“It’s not a question of daring, but of idiocy,” Janine said, grasping his shoulder. “Ice Fangs. They can’t ID us because the morons blocked all communications with us beforehand!” Janine turned to the passenger compartment. She should have thought of this sooner, damn it! “Female Ice Fang! Get your traitorous ass here and input Ice Fang’s ID! You!” she addressed the pilot. “Drop the speed and start lowering the ship.”

“But the missile…”

“Will hit us either way! I don’t want to see us splattering against the forest, do you? Everyone, brace yourself and prepare for impact!”

The missiles of the Reclamation Army were nothing like the pathetic excuses for explosives used by the Gilded Horde. While the state had never had a strong aerial fleet, aside from the Stormfiend, its soldiers encountered various enraged bots and half-broken AIs from the Old World. Malfunctioned and shambling mess they may be, it was hard to undersell the sheer superiority of their energy shields, and when those machines took to the skies, the state had to retreat.

To combat this, Commander Outsider personally oversaw the introduction of the newest vehicles, carrying some of the best SAMs into battle. Designed in such a specific way, upon coming into contact with a shield, the missile exploded, propelling a stream of overheated destruction upward in a straight line rather than splattering across the shield equally. Missiles’ deadly contents literally burned their way through the shield, damaging whatever was hidden behind, often hollowing up entire bunkers.

And this is what now came crushing against the sky striker. The shield did not last even a moment; its reserves were already depleted by the Horde’s attacks. The pilot threw the vehicle to the left, aiming to escape a small, bright star heading for the cabin. Rather than spearing the ship, the orange spear has licked it, taking away both engines on the right side and disabling the cluster behind. Only through the sheer grace of the Spirits and pure luck has the hull integrity not collapsed entirely, but the Wolfkins in the compartment behind jumped off their seats, pushing their allies away from the half-ruined wall.

Two more missiles rose in the air, and Janine put a paw on Ignacy’s shoulder. She did everything she could. There was no regret in her at the attempted escape. They deprived the Horde of some lives, removed Mehmed, and stole a hopefully crucial aircraft. When flames engulf them, Janine will beg Bogdan for forgiveness on the other side, but she refused to wallow in misery over her decision to escape.

Thyia’s fingers quickly inputted a series of numbers in the terminal, and with a breath of relief, all of them saw how missiles went off course before exploding safely behind them. At the very least, the order’s betrayal was not absolute. The sky striker went down, kissing the tips of the trees before finally plunging into the forest, nose down.

The pilot screamed, raising his hands in a desperate attempt to save himself, when a tree trunk broke through the window. Janine beat aside the wood, shielding the deserter with her forearm, and yanked Ignacy out of the way of another broken tree. Her son let out a weak scream, grasping his belly where a piece of wood pierced into his skin. Janine ignored her own safety, pushing the Taleteller forward and using its blade as a shield, trying her best to endure while the sky striker was leaving a trace of destruction upon the ground.

It ended just as suddenly as it began. The trees around were still falling, and the engines were still spitting air and sparks when Janine snapped orders, dragging the shocked people out of the cabin. The landing ramp ended up jammed, but Jaliqai simply broke part of the hull, spreading the gap along with her brother.

And nearly died for it. Figures in black and white power armor were already outside, taking aim at the ship. What saved the malformed was the reclaimers’ curiosity about the ID codes and Janine’s loud growl.

“Warlord!” a familiar voice said, and Anissa stepped forward, taking off her helmet. The amber eye beamed at the sight of Ignacy and Janine. “The pack is…”

“Warlord?!” Janine roared, backhanding her daughter to the ground. “Warlord? I gave an order for you to take over the pack; why in the Abyss are you not wearing my title?” She stepped on Anissa’s chest. “I am claiming the rule over the pack. Do you submit?”

“It’s really you.” Anissa smiled, baring her neck in submission. “Welcome back, Ignacy.”

“Hi there, sis,” Ignacy said weakly, coughing blood.

“Warlord. The pack is yours.” Impatient One joined them and lowered herself to her knees. Janine felt pride in the even voice of her daughter. Not a hint of familiarity. A true shaman.

“Warlord Janine!” An Ice Fang with the markings of a knight captain made a courteous nod. “Are these Horde’s men your captives? My kin, we are welcoming your return and, with your permission, will help with the wounded…”

A slash against his helmet cut the man short, stopping his paws from reaching Ignacy. Janine wished for nothing else than to strike the fool with full might, sending the bastard through the trees and hearing his bones snapping. But they were at war, and any soldier counted. She held her wrath, leaving the knight captain with a minor scar on his gear and giving Anissa a paw to help her stand.

“Don’t ever dare to touch my kin, Ice Fang. And if you dare to address me or my soldiers as kin, I will slaughter you. The former raiders are our allies and will be treated as such.” Janine turned her back on him. “Wolf Hag Anissa! Assign a scout to oversee the wounded. Janine’s pack! As of today, ice boys are merely citizens. Some comradery is allowed at your discretion, but never forget who caused our grievous losses. Never trust them again unless you want to suffer. Traitors! We have a badly wounded Sword Saint with us. Lead us to your base at once! Do you have medics from the ranks of normies there?”

“We don’t have a base, Warlord,” the Ice Fang replied calmly. “But rather a mobile HQ. And if you just allow our own medics to…”

“You may help the guardsmen and the civilian. Even Horde’s people, if they are foolish enough to trust you. But stay away from my tribe for now and ever, traitor.” Janine bared her fangs.

She reached for her head, sinking her claws beneath the metal covering her snout. Ignoring the knight captain’s pleas, Janine has torn the metal free, tearing off flesh along with her hide, and looked at the world with both eyes, sniffing the air with both nostrils. Janine crumbled the bloodied gold in her paw and blinked twice, getting used to the pain, before starting to give orders and demanding food. When a medic from the ranks of Ice Fangs came closer, almost throwing herself at Janine in an attempt to treat her ruined head, the Warlord nearly tore the woman’s throat out.

They had a war to win. The Horde had killed her son and hurt the land in such a way that Janine could never truly heal. But healing was always done by others. Retribution, meanwhile, was in her grasp.