Janine dove to the right, evading a stream of energy in the form of a ball that rolled across the ground, exploding against the Academy’s walls. She barely had time to regain her footing and block the halberd’s blade before it could split her head in two.
By the Spirits, the man was strong! Each exchange between Iron Lord’s hissing blade and the Taleteller’s edge sent sparks flying in the air and was driving her back. When Iron Lord struck with overhead attacks, Janine found her feet buried in the pavement, only for the monstrous steed to headbutt her back. The Khan wielded his weapon like a feather, creating deceivingly fast, wide cuts in the air before going for a sudden thrust, aiming to plunge the weapon in the warlord’s neck.
“Never the matter!” Iron Lord roared, spinning his halberd above his head. “Inhibitors safeguard our minds, fool! This assault of yours is nothing but a breeze against a mighty bastion. The trap is sprung, and I will see you dead either way!”
Janine raised the axe, taking a hit at the handle, and stopped trying to guess what sort of inane spiel Iron Lord was spewing at her. Confusion leads to death just as certainly as any other distraction amidst a battle, and even now the warlord had to split her attention between giving orders to the packs, keeping a focus on a fight, and worrying dead over Marco.
Her little boy has been climbing through the ventilation shaft, occasionally breathing slightly. He bravely hid it, yet Janine nurtured and fed him as a cub. Even with the aid of the exo-suit, the poplitei, so thin and frail compared to the other boys, were spasming on a move. Defective and underdeveloped since birth, they were threatening to spell his doom now at the sight of mistakes. And fear slowly crept into horror when Marco’s audio transmission relayed the sound of gunfire within the Academy.
All of them felt this. The cubs are in danger. The most sacred thing in the world. A future, small ones who were meant to survive them all, were dying because their elders failed them. The Wolfkins replied to the news as usual, doubling down on their aggression. Anissa and Kalaisa made great leaps, covering vast distances all the way to the top in mere seconds. Lower ranks unleashed howls, casting acid grenades at the enemies, blinding down the great thunder bulls and converging on them like angry insectoids, prying out ribs and tearing sinews, before washing away just in time to evade riders’ weapons. Impatient One landed on the thunder bull of her opponent, crushing the animal skull in a single step and narrowly missing the metal raider, who flew away using a jetpack.
But most surprisingly, the traitors changed. Where before they hesitated, killing surrendering enemies with disgust, now the Ice Fangs roared, surging after their despised allies. A defender saved Kirk by blocking an axe’s edge at his shield and, in turn, got saved by Kirk’s sister when a scout kicked the ice fang away, opening the towering rider to an open barrage from twenty shardguns. Bertruda stepped on a raider trying to crawl away, turning her armor red for the first time during the battle. The raider, clad in steel, tried to slice her, and the spear’s blade flew up, piercing him under the chin. The Sword Saint pressed on, widening the crack in the armor with a fierce growl.
“What is the dumbass doing here?” Kalaisa cursed on the communication, jumping at the roof. “We are supposed to save cubs, not throw more into the pyre!”
“No idea, but once I get him back to safety, his ass is turning red,” spat Anissa, following after her. Together, they smashed into a security door leading to an elevator.
“You will not lay a finger at him, Wolf Hag,” Impatient One growled. “If his mother failed to raise him properly, I will educate him about subordination myself.”
“Aw, so you do care about him!” Anissa chuckled in a strained voice. “That’s so sweet!”
“Of course I do! He is my… he is a member of my tribe! It is my duty…” Impatient One roared. “Dammit! Stop buzzing, annoying fly!”
Failed to raise him… Janine accepted the accusation, matching Iron Lord blow for blow with economical strikes. It was true, wasn’t it? How many times did she choose to spoil Marco, coddling him when a hard paw should have beaten all stupidity out of the boy? Terrific raised her cruelly, punishing every mistake mercilessly with wrath, leaving bones snapped and wounds widening in her hide. The entire pack hated her for it. Scrambling in the night and hunting insectoids to compensate for scraps given to them as food, they polished their skills.
This was the crux of the problem. All these years, she treated Marco softly. A soft approach raises soft people, and in a war, there was no place for kindness. Upon learning about the death of his brother, a desire to do something was born. And love paved the way to insubordination. Her fault. Janine had failed her son.
She switched the HUD, witnessing how the shaman recoiled after a kick in the face; one of her lenses fell off from the helmet; and she herself got smashed into the ground.
“You okay down there, shaman?” Anissa asked with genuine worry.
“That bastard keeps buzzing in and out, and it is pissing me off! Wolf Hag, focus on your mission!” Impatient One dodged another kick and closed her jaws on the opponent’s knee, blocking the blade with her claw. The raider panicked, witnessing a growing crack in his armor.
“Try to hurt the dumbass, and I’ll have your hide,” Kalaisa warned. “I owe him for a sweater! Kirk, damn it!”
“Males, retreat to the rear,” Janine said calmly, ignoring the air-screaming slashes of her opponent and pushing back the blood-curdling fear unworthy of her rank. She spotted an opportunity among the enemies’ ranks. “Defenders at the north, bait the leftmost raider forward. Males, once the prey breaks formation, concentrate on its steed’s legs, then devour along with warriors.”
Following her orders, three defenders faked uncertainty, retreating more hastily than their comrades. Eager to claim enemy heads, a steel raider kicked his thunder bull across the sides, sending the beast into a gallop. Where before the fool was protected by the occasional aid of his allies, once he moved in fully, his bull exposed itself to the concentrated fire of shardguns, all aimed at the left knee. The beast’s left leg broke underneath the weight; the knee itself disappeared, showing only broken pieces of bone and torn hide.
It toppled, catching the rider’s leg on one side. Both the rider and his steed became covered in black armored bodies; warriors made cracks in the angrily shouting man’s armor; and males pushed acid mines inside the cracks. Like a sandstorm’s wind, the pack moved on, leaving the man’s thrashing as mines went off, releasing a dissolving chemical substance within.
“Sounds like someone asking to be introduced to the ground, Kali. Bet.” Anissa forced the door out of alignment. Her voice cracked with fear. “Marco is my brother, and I will not allow his foolishness to continue, even if the Warlord is going all soft on…”
“Hundred lacerations,” Janine told her, making Anissa shut up and concentrate on the task.
Going soft? Yes. A fair reproach, hence such a minor punishment. Janine let the scouts take control of the fight. So far, she was trying to fight against Iron Lord like Warlord Janine, acting as if she were carrying tons of protective metal on her shoulders. It was wrong. Ice Fangs’ armors were made for a lighter—weightless, even—type of fight.
Rather than blocking the next hit, Janine leaned her left shoulder back, evading the halberd’s overhead strike. Immediately after, the Taleteller’s edge came upon the weapon’s halberd, and she ran toward her foe, dragging the weapon across the handle. Iron Lord saw it, throwing up his own left arm, and an energy field started appearing around the wrist.
The edge met the field, overloading it and crashing into the metal. Janine’s knee followed after, leaving a deep dent in the armor and sending Iron Lord out of his saddle like a cannonball. A nearby fire extinguisher exploded, sending up a torrent of water that bathed both fighters. Iron Lord tried to stand up, only to find himself on the ground with the warlord’s legs around his waist. The water’s torrent got split in two after Janine brought the axe down, slashing against the risen halberd’s glaive and locking both fighters into a struggle.
“Was being mounted by me part of your plan, boy?” Janine teased with a heavy breath, feeling her muscles tearing. Even the armor screamed about overloading. “Look at yourself, sitting on your ass, your warriors dying.”
“Three have fallen so far,” Iron Lord replied with a strain in his voice, struggling to keep the weapon at bay. “A bargain price to pay for the lives of Warlords and a Sword Saint. You are sullying my armor with your touch, mutant. I am Iron Lord, the right hand of the Sky’s Avatar, and you are my prey.”
“Words are cheap.” Janine felt another tingle of worry.
“Then feel my actions!” The shoulder cannon moved, making Janine tilt her head, evading the shot.
Iron Lord used this moment to let go of his weapon, grasping the Taleteller by its butt with one hand and dragging it aside while delivering a crushing blow with the other. As the world spun around, Janine felt the blow in full, how the metal of her own armor bulged into the skin of her skull, how phlegm appeared at the cramping lips. The blow went deeper than it should; her relaxed posture had allowed for it, and in her moment of weakness, Janine lost her grip over the axe, allowing Iron Lord to push her back and throw the axe aside.
He made a low kick, making the warlord jump. Iron Lord’s arms arched back, finding a foothold on the ground, and propelled his entire body forward, planting both feet into Janine’s face with the force of an explosive missile. This time she was ready for it, taking the blow on her forehead, and it still cracked one of her lenses, exposing the eye and drawing a trickle of blood.
The two leaders found themselves unarmed, raising their fists. Both were still fresh, and both felt their blood running. Janine met the incoming punch head-on, repaying it in full with her own and denting Iron Lord’s helmet. No, this armor won’t let her fight as a Warlord. She will fight as an armorless brawler, relying on speed, durability, and physical might to prevail.
Blow after blow. A punch against the chin turned into an elbow push. A followed-up dodge, evading a shot from the shoulder cannon. The force behind their blows pushed the air away, shattering nearby wooden structures. The pavement beneath their legs exploded, unable to handle the sudden pressure. They grabbed each other, kicking and trying to throw the opponent down. Feeling herself losing, Janine head-butted Iron Lord, breaking this clench. The fight between a khan and a warlord had truly become a slugfest.
Inside the Knight Academy, Marco witnessed massacre after massacre, and his mother saw the same through the cameras across his armor. Whole classrooms were painted red, their students’ bodies lying broken, arms and legs twisted, chests flattened by the iron boots. Here and there, an occasional raider lay dead, killed by a desperate resistance, but what could cubs really do against full-grown new breeds?
The boy became silent as a spine mite, noticing a crack in a classroom’s wall and a suspicious lack of dead bodies. He surveyed the situation, witnessing a broken-down door, then looked at the widened crack once more, noticing an iron hatch on the floor. Someone entered this room, led the students away, and then the raiders broke inside and followed the retreated cubs. Marco climbed further, going across a broken restroom, trailing the site of destruction caused by the raiders in their chase.
His ears picked up screams, and the boy arrived just in time to see a classroom, its door barred, and around thirty cubs huddling in its middle, guarding the bloodied unconscious body of a white-furred instructor. Each Ice Fang was dressed in a similarly looking uniform, with girls wearing black skirts and white shirts, while boys were wearing black pants and similarly looking shirts, with only the markings of their households to differentiate between the groups. Three more white-furred, wide-eyed cubs, a girl and two boys, armed with chair legs and pieces of stone, tried their best to hold the door when a nearby wall fell down, collapsed by a blade longer than a cub’s entire body.
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Two raiders stepped inside, laughing. One kicked the girl in the snout, breaking her nose and sending her across the room. Then he lifted his sword, approaching the two boys, who stood defiantly, preparing to give their lives to protect the other kids.
Marco made Janine proud. He disobeyed her, caused his mother and sisters to worry, and no doubt made Ignacy gnaw at his remaining arm in a panic by now. But, like all of them, he was a Wolfkin. A killer to the core. And his instincts took over, making his blood boil and banishing any uncertainty he may have felt. Everything—any enemy of the state, any child killer, and any fool raising a hand on the weak—was their mark.
Leaping out of the shaft with enough force to break the iron grating, Marco reached for his knives. A first-thrown knife was blocked by a cautious raider, but this opened him up, and the second knife found the thick neck, slicing all the way to the bone and damaging the trachea. Marco let go of his weapon, jumping down just in time to evade a shot bursting through the air. Before the second raider could finish him off, one of the boys was already on him, using the first of Marco’s knives to wound the bastard in the knee and prevent a second shot, saving her son’s life.
The boy’s reward was a hit with a sword hilt, an attack strong enough to tear a nostril and damage the boy’s eye slightly, making him recoil in pain toward Marco. Dodging the Iron Lord’s punch, Janine bit her own lip, witnessing how the wounded raiders beat aside her son. With the element of surprise gone, there was no way…
Her eyes widened with pure joy, witnessing the last boy leap up. With an aggression that could make the Wolf Tribe proud, the cub pushed a shard of stone in his small paw beneath the raider’s jaw, closing his fangs on the chubby neck. The man could potentially tear the brave heart away, but Marco and the two Ice Fangs joined the fray, biting and clawing the man, bleeding him like a cusack. The raider fell on one knee, pleading for mercy, and two of the white-furred cubs relented. But not Marco and the cub who saved him.
“Atta boy!” Impatient One howled. “Rip and tear, Marco! Bless you too, you white-furred bastard!”
“Make him bleed!” Kalaisa said viciously.
“You’re amazing, boy! Keep it up…” Kirk shuddered, expecting a punishment, but no one cared for his interruption.
“Groin! Go for his groin!” Anissa advised bloodthirsty. “Make the bastard really feel it before he croaks!”
“Pull out his eyes, Marco!” Martyshkina laughed. “They bring luck and taste awesome!”
“No mercy to the wicked,” Bertruda said icily.
Janine simply smiled, diving under Iron Lord’s swing. She and her foe were pretty much equally matched in raw strength, yet Iron Lord’s larger frame should have given him an advantage. In theory. In practice, he wasn’t that skilled in brawling, making swings far wider than he had to, and she used it to close the distance and thrust her claws against the metal protecting his ribs.
It felt like striking an iron wall, meters thick. Five cracks appeared on Iron Lord’s armor, but it was she who felt the pain of this thrust. Dodging a blindingly fast elbow hit, Janine gasped, feeling a knee strike against her chest. The hit actually lifted her off the ground, and Iron Lord immediately grasped his hands together, bringing her right back down with a thundering force.
The backpack cracked, but thankfully, it was still working. Janine grasped her foe by the ankles, pulling the foothold out of him and slamming Iron Lord onto the concrete with enough force to leave a crater. She dodged his swing, grabbing the khan’s left arm into a lock, and turned the bastard around, positioning herself on his back and starting to break his arm.
This time, he groaned. Actually, groaned from pain, smashing the concrete with his right arm, making a half-circle through the solid rock, before finally landing a punch in her head, throwing Janine on the ground, and mounting her. She counterattacked with two punches, shattering one of his oculars and allowing wires to pull out. Her reward were hands closing around her neck. Janine tried to reach the Taleteller nearby but did not even touch it. Hearing the metal crumbling, Janine sent a quick command to the APCs’ drivers.
“See how the roles are reversed… Ha!” Iron Lord laughed contemptuously as a shield engulfed both of them, deflecting the APCs’ fire. “Clever and useless, just as expected from an animal! I will tear off your throat!”
Within the academy, Marco stood up, breathing hard, looking with mad eyes at another cub, who wiped his crimson eyes with a trembling paw, stopped in horror at spreading even more blood and viscera around the snout, and turned to the other two cubs.
“Gregor, what the hell?” The smaller boy came closer, checking the damaged nose. “Why did you two stop?”
“But he was surrendering, Tilden…” the other cub whispered.
“There is no surrender! It’s us or them! Do you want Philona to end like… to end like…” The boy broke down in tears. Gregor and Philona tried to hug him, only for Tilden to break free. “It’s kill or be killed! We have to… W-we must… I did the right thing! Stop looking at me like I’m a monster!”
“No one is looking at you like that…”
“What we need to do is escape.” Marco cut them off, picking up the knives. After some hesitation, he handed one to Gregor. “Follow me, crybabies. You four, pick up the wounded and…”
“Who do you think you are insulting and talking to us like that?!” Tilden closed up on him, eyes wide with panic and confusion. “Do you know who you are speaking to, dust dweller? I’ll have you know that my uncle Osiris is a knight captain of the Summerspring Household! I deserve respect!”
“You mean he is a Sword Saint.” Marco almost pushed a sword into Tilden’s paw, ignoring the gurgling sounds of the first dying raider.
“Ha! Shows what you know, barbarian! Sword Saint Leonidas, my great-great-grandfather, is the one leading our glorious household. And this here is Gregor, belonging to the…”
“Tilden. Please,” Philona interrupted him and pointed at the cubs. “We are all scared.”
“And must save the others.” Gregor picked up a smaller cub, slapping the other cubs across the cheeks gently to bring them back to reality.
“What is going on?” Janine froze, hearing Brood Lord’s voice through the dynamics of the dying raiders. “Did you pop the youth or not?”
“Obey. Or we’re all dead!” Marco commanded, and Tilden noted quickly, racing to pick up the pistol while the boy started instructing the cubs.
“I can save you,” Brood Lord’s voice came from the raider’s dynamics. “Just look to the side. Not at the ceiling.”
Iron Lord’s fingers were bulging down Janine’s gorget with a force enough to collapse a house. When she tried to break free, the khan lifted her slightly before slamming the warlord to the ground. And again. And again, widening the crater and making Janine gasp for air. His cannon moved, taking aim. Terrific, this harbinger of disaster, had appeared once more, hanging in the air. Not my son, you bitch! Fear, hatred, and rage—all these feelings coalesced within Janine’s very being, and she grasped Iron Lord’s big thumbs. And broke them, uncaring for any restraint, unchained by any fear. Something ancient, something she had long since locked away, had sneaked out and now looked through her amber eyes. Terrific smiled, horribly twisting rotten lips.
“Restraint…”
“To the Abyss with it!” Janine howled.
Iron Lord said nothing, and neither did she hear any bones crunching. But it did not matter. His hold weakened, and Janine pushed his arms back, holding him by the wrists, and managed to move her knees, bringing them to her chest and using the widened crater as a space to lean back. With all her might, she struck up with her feet, tearing chunks of metal off her enemy’s jaw and letting go of his wrists. Rather than hitting her, the cannon’s shot flew to the skies as Iron Lord reeled with a grunt.
The warlord made a spin in the air, landing on her feet, and grabbed the Taleteller. A single, wide slash has made a clean cut against the enemy’s belly, drawing sparks rather than blood. The cut kept going upward, tearing away the shoulder cannon. Iron Lord kept retreating, extending his right arm, and his halberd flew into it, summoned by a magnetic device within the gauntlet. In a single blindingly fast cut, the khan bisected both Janine’s pauldron and her shoulder, not cutting through the bone only because she retreated in time.
“A shallow cut! It can’t even reach my flesh!” Iron Lord chuckled darkly at the sight of blood showing out of her shoulder. “And your steel is brittle. Shite to shite, how fitting. You are bleeding, you are getting tired, and soon you will be at my legs, struggling to gasp for air, with your bones pulverized!”
They came at each other, blades flashing, and wind rose around both fighters, pushing rubble and ruined gear away. Janine’s shorter weapon and arms made Iron Lord try to keep her at bay, skillfully wielding his weapon like both a spear and a blade, making thrusts just as often as wide swings. And when Janine had finally closed the gap between the two, a mighty shoulder crashed into her, pushing the warlord several steps away. Opening her wide. And luring Iron Lord into her trap.
Just like she expected, he made a thrust, aiming to end the fight here and now. Taking the hit on the Taleteller’s head, Janine lunged forward, taking the weapon in both paws. Iron Lord did not react in time, and the Taleteller’s edge landed on the khan’s shoulder, straight into the torn wires left of the cannon. With a scream, Iron Lord swung his weapon, driving the warlord back. He retreated to his bull, touching his bleeding shoulder with something akin to disbelief. A gush of blood appeared out of the crack, quickly clotting.
“So much for Iron Lord.” Janine spat and used a moment to breathe out, filling her legs with newfound strength. “There is only one prey here, boy.”
“How long has it been?” Iron Lord asked in a human voice, and the synthesizer giving him a bombastic speech turned off. His fingers touched the drying blood. “How many years have passed since I bled? Warlord Janine, is that right? I salute you for the reminder of mortality and promise to show clemency when your people finally fall to the Gilded Horde. Let us end this; I have more people to kill.”
She wanted to make a retort, to laugh in his face, but for her, everything slowed down. For a brief second, she felt herself like an Ice Fang; the time slowed down for her.
Within the Knight Academy the dying raider looked at the escaping cubs. And a laugh, not his own but that of Brood Lord, came from his armor.
“Phaser.” A single word. A single word scared Janine like no other. And she was helpless to change anything, forced only to watch.
A blue line, so terrifyingly familiar, appeared before the retreating cubs. The girl led the retreat, helping to drag the wounded teacher. Gregor and Tilden left behind, helping the younger cubs get into the shaft, while Marco kept watch. All saw the line. And all panicked when it started widening.
Marco forcibly pushed the last two cubs inside when a leg covered in chitin stepped through the tear, breaking the floor. Then another. And another. Carrying himself on six legs and carrying a blade on his shoulder, Brood Lord stepped into the Knight Academy, with Adonis and Heika flanking him.
“A classroom, huh?” Brood Lord looked around, turning just in time to see Tilden pushing Gregor into the airway tunnel. “Children. The teacher has just arrived, and since you have forgotten to bow as I entered, today’s lesson will be disembowelment!”
He charged. Janine looked dead inside as her dear Marco pushed Tilden into the tunnel, only to be grabbed by four white-furred paws. Gregor and Tilden both almost dragged Marco after them, but it was too late. The blade struck. Wires hissed. Marco screamed at the top of his lungs. And his legs were gone, cut above the knees.
The Brood Lord’s hand pushed into the tunnel, bending metal and grasping Marco by his side. With a desperate push, the boys pulled Marco away, leaving a piece of his skin in Brood Lord’s hand. The khan made a thrust with a sword, and Marco kicked Tilden in the stomach, saving the boy’s life. Only a slight cut appeared on his snout, and Tilden raised a pistol with his trembling paws.
Brood Lord spat his poison. He smiled when Tilden shot, utterly ignoring the bullet, which left a mark on his cheek. And the stream of poison landed on Marco’s face, making the boy shriek from otherworldly pain, his gentle eyes barely able to withstand a poison that almost blinded his mother.
Tilden and Gregor dragged the boy away, falling out of the shaft in the restroom, Marco’s blood pouring out of the stumps where his legs used to be. Janine saw it. She blocked Iron Lord’s strike and numbly gave command to the forces, ordering them to clear up the area where the cubs would exit. Deep inside, she felt… Not dead; that wasn’t an accurate word for it. Time and time again, when one of her cubs died before her eyes, leaving her…. Helpless. Yes. This is the word. This is how she felt, witnessing everything and once again being unable to do anything to save Marco’s life.
“We have to run!” Tilden stopped Gregor from trying to put Marco on his back.
“You idiot!” the other boy screeched, tearing off his belt. “He will bleed out. Your belt, now! We must make tourniquets!”
Both boys used their own belts as tourniquets and took off their shirts, tearing them to use as bandages. All this time, Janine looked, blocking Iron Lord’s attack and going into deep defense. She looked at how poor Marco swayed back and forth, groaning and moaning from the pain caused by his injuries. The little one tried—oh, how he tried—to hide his pain, to keep his mother from worrying.
“Marco. I love you,” Janine said out loud, blocking a slash aimed at her neck. It’s better to say something and appear weak than to say nothing and later regret it. Weaknesses can be removed with training and victories. Regret not so much.
Everything was lost. Already the first cubs appeared, carrying the wounded. Shielded by defenders, soldiers started escorting them to the APCs. They will survive. The mission is a success. And at the same time. Her son will…
The door to the bathroom opened, and two figures stepped inside. The clows, these assassins who work for Brood Lord, Heika and Adonis, both carrying a dagger in each hand.
“Take the kid and run!” Tilden snapped, jumping to his feet and firing the pistol. Adonis’ blade parried the bullet. “I-I’ll figure out something! I am destined for greatness! I won’t die… I can’t die!” The boy fired again, to the same effect.
“They are just kids,” Heika said.
“Business is business, sister,” her brother replied, taking a step.
“Must we really?” his sister inquired, folding her arms.
“This is hardly sporting, true.” Adonis mused, slicing another bullet in two. Tilden pressed the trigger, and his crimson eyes widened at the sound of an empty magazine clicking. “Well then, we’re of the same mind, sister.”
“Please!” Tilden squeaked. “My uncle is rich. We-he can pay for our safety!”
Spirits. Please. I will never again dare to presume better, just… Janine’s wordless prayer got interrupted when the restroom’s ceiling exploded, allowing a large, black-armored form to land before the cubs. She stood up, at first smirking. Her smirk turned to a flat line when Kalaisa looked at Marco. The lenses on her helmet noted steam going from his closely shut eyes—streaks of steam mixed with crimson. The Wolf Hag paid attention to the severed legs and finally looked at the raiders.
“Did you do this?” Kalaisa demanded to know in a deadly, calm voice.
“Perhaps.” Adonis smirked.
Kalaisa’s lenses looked up for a moment, the helmet fully closed her jaws, and she sent an encrypted signal before the helmet’s lid around her mouth slid away, revealing fangs. The wolf hag moved her fingers and bent her knees.
“You are dead meat,” she promised Adonis, unleashing a howl.