As his brother's body was ruthlessly dragged from the golden bull, Ignacy's paw spasmed, closing and opening, claws slipping free and immediately retracting. He coughed, hiding the tensing of his muscles behind the grief, and then leaped at the guard, trying to close his jaws on the woman's neck. But the armored bitch slammed the butt of her rifle into his throat, sending him sprawling. Thank the Spirits, he remained silent.
Situation. Janine pondered, looking at Bogdan. She resisted no longer; her breathing slowed, and she concentrated on letting her body heal, accepting the unacceptable. Her son, her beautiful boy, was mutilated beyond measure. Pieces of his hide remained glued to the walls as he tried to break free, and wet flesh glistened on blackened ribs. Scorch marks covered his body. Red heels, exposed bones, an eyelid so swollen it had blown the eye out. Half an hour. That was how long her son had endured this nightmare before succumbing to his injuries. I am locked in a harness. Unable to free fingers. The hooks are touching my ribs.
Armored hands closed on the members of her pack, taking the Wolfkins away. Janine was left in the company of the captured Normies, who jumped to her and tried to free her. The hordeman didn’t seem to care, and Brood Lord’s pincer decapitated Bogdan.
“Amusing as it was, the night is still young, and we thirst for further excitements,” Brood Lord chuckled. He stretched out his human arm, and a guard hurried to his side, carrying a portable heater with a pot of bubbling liquid built into it. The khan broke Bogdan’s head over the pot and poured scalding hot gold on Janine’s head. “Savage you may be, but a queen deserves a crown. Let me help you get one.”
Janine welcomed the clarity brought by pain as the first drops splashed against the top of her head. The metal hissed, spreading unevenly across her solid head, short-circuiting a lone implant in her temple, melting through the membranes of her closed cuts and scratches, hissing near her ears, and setting fire to the outer layer of her skin.
The reward had brought many changes to her body. Her muscles had hardened to the point of immunity to warriors’ claws; subdermal armor had grown over her bones, fusing her ribs into a solid and elastic structure. Every injury hardened the skin further, and each illness she overcame improved her immune system. Not even radiation posed a threat to her health. The doctors showed her pictures and explained the transformation of her heart. It was now square, full of new chambers pumping blood through the blessed vessels of her body.
Flamethrowers and plasma had tested her in many wars, and she had survived. It paid off today; the outer part of her scalp pulsed in agony, but her fur and inner layers of skin resisted, stopping the spread of the heat and halting its advance long enough for the gold to cool. The stream flowed over Janine’s left eye, and she closed it, shutting out half the world.
It was poetic and fitting. Bogdan was a part of her life, inseparable and precious. She deserved to suffer this much for failing and losing him. The molten metal dripped onto her snout, reaching her nostrils and sealing them. It’s okay. Bogdan. She thought, addressing the lingering ghost of her baby inside the metal, ignoring the giggling raiders burning the corpse. It doesn’t hurt. I will carry your soul out of here myself.
“There, much better!” Brood Lord laughed and kicked her in the chest.
The impact knocked her upright, scaring the Normies away. A series of clangs preceded the relief as the hooks fell from her sides one by one. Janine didn’t roar; her fingers broke through their restraints, her unleashed claws shredded the chains holding her in tatters, and before the steel beam tormenting her spine touched the ground, her swing was already aimed at Brood Lord’s face.
It didn’t reach him, and the warlord narrowed her eye. Her arm was still in a half-bent position, but she knew the swing went full length! She couldn’t explain it and jerked the arm back, thrusting both paws at his neck. Again, they stopped at a certain line, refusing to go near his grinning mug. Janine moved around him, attacking relentlessly, and found herself unable to touch the khan.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Scared? I thought you hated me.”
“Coward!” thundered the crowd of hordemen. “Wuss! Pussy! Raptor shit! Craven!”
“Let that be a lesson to you, Janine,” Brood Lord said. He pointed to a person on the wall whose long beak for a nose gave him a hawk’s resemblance. “The high priesthood stands by my side. There is no situation I can’t turn in my favor. I murdered your son…” He sipped lazily from a goblet, ignoring attempts to tear at his throat. “… and took away your ability to fight. You belong to me now.” A tear opened behind him, and he stepped through it, reappearing atop the wall. “Behold, my friends! A queen, humiliated and reduced to a plaything. Alas, I must interrupt the festivities and inform me, with a heavy heart, of a treachery most foul.”
The crowd fell silent, and confused people turned to Brood Lord, sobered by his words. Pressing his palms together, he wore a somber expression as he walked toward the New Breed that had pulled the soldiers from the trap earlier. The younger man shuddered and hugged his knees to his chest, trying to look smaller. With a sudden burst of violence, Brood Lord’s hind legs kicked his son, forcing him to stand upright.
“Yes!” the khan roared. “Treachery! My attention was drawn to the mysterious disappearance of our prisoners. In my wisdom, I had suspected my son’s involvement and had assigned a servant to watch over him. Imagine my surprise,” he punched his son off the wall, “when my servant disappeared on the same day that the slaves I had secured for myself escaped! My own flesh and blood helped them! Out of pity! And more!” The khan clapped, and the roar of engines filled the hall. Three hoverbikes stormed inside, circling around Janine. Fifty invaders armed with melee weapons entered cautiously behind them. The riders wielded long spears, their tips crackling with energy, while the foot soldiers brandished long swords and raised shields. “In the wake of the noble Mungke’s death.” Brood Lord sobbed theatrically, pointing a finger at the troops below. “These, pardon the expression, Purebloods, abandoned the chase and fled the battle. Deserters and weaklings!”
Janine said nothing to this development and motioned for the soldiers of the Provincial Army to hide behind her, waving away their offers to bandage the torn wounds in her sides. The wounds itched madly. Her punctured bones and damaged lungs were healing, and thin skin was growing over them, accompanied by the rumbling of her stomach, which demanded immediate nourishment to keep the healing process going.
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A request she would gladly oblige. Her mood craved for maiming and killing.
“Traitors!” the crowd shouted.
“Father…” The Malformed rejected prince whispered shockingly.
“Yes! Traitors! But simply killing them is no fun.” Brood Lord kicked a blade to his son, and the air trembled around the arena’s edges. “Dokholkhu! Weaklings! Earn forgiveness through the deaths of your foes and the lamentations of their friends! I have bled the warlord for you; secure the kill or die trying!”
Brood Lord hadn’t even finished speaking when Janine acted, closing in on the nearest rider. The woman barely had time to process what was happening before the jaws closed on her shoulder, tearing through pauldron and bone. Indulging her cannibalistic urges, the warlord grabbed the screaming raider, snatched the hoverbike, and pressed the prey to her chest, devouring the rider’s head.
The raiders charged, screaming war cries and shouting to inspire themselves. A rider drove toward the guardsmen, retreating to the wall. Janine recalled the sharpness of the vehicles’ cruel blades, capable of slicing through the Wolfkins’ bodies with contemptuous ease. And she had no intention of losing any of her allies. They were getting out. Together.
She hurled the hoverbike, swatting the charging rider aside and sending both vehicles crashing into the wall’s force field. The Provincial Army trooper hurried to pick up the fallen weapon, while the remaining rider rode briefly into the rising clouds of smoke and charged at the eating Janine, pointing his spear at her single open eye.
Janine inhaled heavily, chewing on the meat and calmly assessing the situation. It was surprisingly annoying to fight without the simple ability to breathe through the nostrils. But there was no reason for panic; the combat proceeded according to her plans. By staying in the center, she invited the hordemen to attack her, and the rider had doubtlessly planned to time his attack with the assault of his allies. Well, no dice. Dropping the half-eaten corpse, she charged at the rider, hearing his scream of horror as her paw caught the spear under the blade and her claws hooked the spear. In a single spin, she sent the machine flying toward Brood Lord, seizing the spear for herself.
The bike flew a good sixteen meters, heading for the unmoved khan, who raised his hand, ordering everyone to remain seated. The explosion of the crashed bike obscured the khan from her vision, and the warlord noted the force field’s stubborn refusal to bulge. She won’t be able to overload it through her might.
The cheers of the crowd brought her attention back to the task at hand. The infantry finally reached her, and Janine met them head-on, a hurricane of violence breaking through their ranks. Her enemies wore armor suits of the Gilded Horde, dwarfing normal humans and making them look like cubs.
To her, they were no more than Normies. The trophy spear struck, impaling a hordeman through the mouth and kissing the forehead of the one behind him. Her swing clawed through the torsos of two more, and she eagerly caught flying flesh, feasting on the battlefield and continuing killing, seeing every blow and hearing every step. Their fear was palpable; it intoxicated her bloodlust and fueled further aggression. She didn’t bother to block, simply dodging the incoming blows, advancing deep into the crowd of her opponents, surrounded by a faint halo of splattered blood and bright sparks flying from the ruined suits.
Not enough. Their deaths weren’t close enough to satisfy the desire for vengeance; not even the sight of bodies ripped apart by her claws pleased her.
They had no chance. Even wounded, starved, and mentally exhausted, Janine was simply superior to the raiders. Realization crept into their minds, and with surprise, Janine noticed that the battle had stopped. Years of training halted her paw. A dozen and a half hordemen still lived, and Dokholkhu stepped ahead, motioning for them to stay behind, not unlike she herself had ordered her allies to do several minutes before.
“We give up,” Dokholkhu said in the clean Common.
“What?” Janine nearly choked on the meat of a dead raider in her paws. She closed warily to the Malformed, bewildered.
“We surrender.” Dokholkhu dropped his sword. “We can’t defeat you…”
“And that’s why!” Janine shouted, throwing the corpse away. Her paws closed around his neck, claws digging into his skin. “You invaded our lands, murdered and plundered, and now that the tables have turned, you get cold feet and beg for mercy? Is that it, boy?” Her jaws opened.
“Please,” the man pleaded, crying. He grabbed her fingers, trying to break the grip. “I never wanted to be here. I never had a choice.”
This isn’t just. You indulge in revenge, not upholding justice. Camelia’s words echoed in her head. Janine tilted her head, wondering why her conscience was bothering her now. This creep was another murderer; a Malformed was bad enough, but a servant of the Horde was scum incarnate by default. A sack of meat fit only to fill her stomach, this creature knew no honor or justice and deserved none. He stood by as her son... Bogdan….
Step away from the prisoner. Another memory touched her. She and Martyshkina had aimed their shardguns at the surprised Terrific, preventing the warlord from touching the strung-up Troll prisoner.
“Wolf Hags,” Terrific said then, “I give you one chance to submit.”
“No,” it was Janine who answered; her paws had leveled the shardgun first.
“You forget yourself, girl.” Terrific growled, stepping toward them. “You will address me as a warlord, or I’ll see the color of your guts.”
“Then act like one, Terrific!” Janine snapped back, holding a finger on the trigger. “Obey the state’s laws or step down. The prisoner stays unharmed!”
Colt said he had never been prouder of her than on that day.
Janine, mercy is never misguided. It took all her willpower to keep her fingers from twitching and cutting the carotid artery. Dragena spoke the truth, didn’t she? The Dynast’s mercy had saved them, and later he had given them a shelter, food, and a purpose. The Blessed Mother had spared Wyrm Lord, and he became one of the greatest champions in the Third Army, a potential commander whose actions had already rescued tens of thousands of lives. Countless times, the state had turned former enemies into allies and citizens. Vile cultures and religions had been spared, reformed, and integrated, ensuring peace and prosperity.
“He is your son,” Janine said to Brood Lord. “What will you give me for his life?”
“A bowl of meat soup, if you kill him.” The khan shrugged, and his daughter beside him quivered as if struck. “Do whatever you want with him. The boy’s boring.”
“I see,” Janine replied calmly, facing Dokholkhu. The amber light of her eye reflected in his horrified ones. “You belong to the tribe.” She looked at the surviving hordemen. “Your hearts beat because I want them to. You breathe because of mercy. From now on and forever, you are the servants of the Dynast and the Wolf Tribe.”
She let go of Dokholkhu, turning her back on the hordemen and begging the Spirits to spur them into action, to betray her, so that she could let her claws drink blood and banish the thoughts of her precious boy turned to ash. To let her bloodlust save her from the gaping hole in her soul.
“A slave owning slaves?” Brood Lord laughed.
“Let me do them in.” Drozna rose to find a hand on his shoulder.
“Sit,” the khan said coldly. “I’m enjoying this. Don’t spoil my fun, friend. Dokholkhu, get up here, boy,” false warmth returned to his voice. “You are off the hook for the amusing spectacle. As for you, Janine… Here is someone who is itching to meet with you!”
A wall of darkness rose behind Brood Lord, and the nearby crowd moved aside as the new fighter leapt through a briefly opened hole in the field and landed with enough force to send splinters of wood, broken weapons, and bodies flying upward. A roar worthy of a Wolfkin rang out across the arena.