“You! You! Yoooooou!” The hulking mass roared, his lenses trained on her.. “You took everything from me!”
“And you are?” Janine asked coldly.
Something was off. The five-meter-tall freak, clad in a suit of dark steel, stepped towards her, shaking the ground as four eyes spread evenly around the round helmet, flaring. A gorget concealed thick wires running into the helmet; arms and legs had too many mobile joints, and the chest swayed, turning easily. Two sharp toes, easily mistaken for blades, adorned each leg. The suit lacked edges; every curve was smooth and round, so that incoming blows would graze the plates rather than bend them.
Power armors of the world shared a common design choice, a backpack storing the generator on their backs. It wasn’t much of a vulnerability, as the plates helped a user to dominate regular battlefields, ploughing through opponents. Iterna’s models had no generators and received their energy via wireless transmission directly from their many satellites. But that country never sold such advanced equipment, and no one was able to reverse-engineer their encrypted systems.
There was no backpack on the man’s suit. Janine’s ears caught the hum of a working generator in the chest cavity of the approaching brute. But... this was madness. Where would a pilot be? Had they sent a dwarf against her? She examined further, paying closer attention to the wires, artificial fiber muscles, and cables that gave the appearance of blood vessels and sinews. Gears shifted below them. Too thick to contain a person.
A remote-controlled robot? Or was there a Malformed or a mutant of an unusual shape inside?
“I’m... I’m Mehmed, I think.”
“Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“You took my arm. You robbed me of my senses, my body, and even my breath!” Mehmed screamed, his synthesized voice sounding inhuman. The suit stopped, and a burst of noise imitating sucking poured out of the dynamics. “Give it back. Pleaaase… A single breath. I beg you. Give me my feelings back,” he said longingly.
“You are crazy, boy,” Janine said softly. The Tribe tolerated true lunatics, deeming it unworthy to hate the poor souls no matter what they did. In the worst cases, they killed them swiftly. Soothsayers, or therapists as Normies called them, claimed that certain insanities could be treated. Janine didn’t believe that.
“Don’t…” Mehmed chuckled, and a shiver ran through his body. “Don’t you know that when you kill someone, you have to do it properly? And not make wrecks?”
“I don’t even know you. Whatever your beef is with me, know that the mutant bastard up there is using you…”
“Let me feel again!” Mehmed charged.
A metal arm thrust, filling the air with a scream as rending claws sliced through an afterimage left by Janine’s evasion. The limb slammed into the ground, splintering both planks and the concrete floor. The warlord grabbed Mehmed’s elbow and drove the trophy spear into the joint of his torso and waist. Her attack barely cut a single protective fiber, and the spear itself bent and exploded as its miniature generator fractured.
Undaunted, she tensed her muscles and tightened her grip, hearing the whine of the crumpling vambrace. He backhanded her with a lower arm, reopening the wounds on her side, and then there was a click. Janine stopped twisting his wrist on instinct, and it had saved her hide as his upper arms suddenly swapped places with the lower as the arms swung in wide arcs, his clawed fingers tearing at the ground.
Inhuman movements. The sets of arms switched positions again, but she was already charging at the center of his mass, relatively safe from the swipes. She caught his kick between her palms, and the warlord jerked Mehmed off his feet, raising a paw to smash through his faceplate. Flames spat from his back, setting fire to the surrounding wood, and he headbutted Janine, flying up. His arms fixed their positions, and a double blow threw her backward.
Janine deliberately didn’t resist the impact, letting herself be cartwheeled away. A hidden jetpack. Enough strength to match me. Indignities were irrelevant, but the information she gained could save her life. She landed on her feet, grabbing two swords belonging to the dead hordemen, and dodged as Mehmed brought his four arms about, unleashing a flurry of stabs. At first, his moves betrayed uncertainty and inexperience. The man was unused to fighting using bare hands; she could bet her life on that. No longer. The more he fought, the better he adapted, eschewing wide swipes and smoothly flowing his missing stabs into attempts to hook her skin.
Faced against the maddening desperation, Janine waited calmly for Mehmed to expose himself and slashed at the unprotected cords on his wrists. The Horde’s swords, capable of piercing the state’s armor, shattered in her paws, turning into useless handles that were hurled at the blazing lenses in vain. Janine met the next thrusts with her own claws, sinking them into the unusually resilient wires.
“Please.” Mehmed backhanded her away. “Let me feel anything. I’ll do anything, anything you want. Even death is okay. Return what you took!” He raised his lower arm, looked at the cables spitting hissing sparks, then fixed his oculars on her, clenching his arm into a fist. A finger moved a little slower. “Sparks? Where is my blood? D-damn you. Just… why couldn’t you simply kill me?! Why this?! Why?!”
Her paws and his upper hands closed against each other, fingers intertwined, claws deeply lacerating flesh and shredding metal. Groaning from the exertion, she began pushing him away.
“Die, die, die, die, die, DIE!” His lower arms slammed into her sides, dropping Janine to a knee. “I won’t let you turn anyone else into this!”
“I am done entertaining this madness!” roared Janine and rushed at him, kicking Mehmed and denting his chest plate. Their lock broken, she slashed at him, scraping the smooth metal surface and carving small grooves. A pain forced her back as his lower hands stabbed her in the stomach. Her abdominal muscles saved her from the worst, preventing the blades from reaching her insides.
It wasn’t a losing battle. Mehmed possessed the advantage thanks to his extra arms; their strength was evenly matched, and the fatigue dulling her combat instincts was negligible. The damage she had suffered, in addition to the inability to breathe through her nose and the diminished field of vision, threatened to weigh her down. She had to end it soon.
He kicked with the flat of his foot, unused to having clawed feet. Janine took the blow to her wrists and stepped back, feeling the reverberation in her bones. It was all right; she had him where she needed him. The leg slipped ahead, and she grabbed the ankle, threw Mehmed over herself with enough force to slam him face-first into the ground, and leapt at his back. Right into the stream of flame.
It was futile trying to break his leg. Even an idiot would remember the blades on his other leg. Mehmed was encased in a rigid shell, but there was a way to get to the vulnerable parts. Janine planned to break through the extended jetpack, and her plan paid off. Her skin withstood the intense heat, and she was almost ready to plunge her paw into the device when a light flashed at the back of Mehmed’s head. Another camera.
His upper body swung around and landed two elbows on her forearm, raised in defense. His blows numbed her fist, bulging the skin inward, but the warlord wrapped her legs around his, gripping his arms and attempting to break them. Mehmed tried to claw at her, but the impact rolled them across the floor, throwing his aim off. She heard the metal give way, the lenses of the suit dimmed, and he stopped moving; the hum of his generator was no longer audible, and the pillar of fire no longer spewed from his back. Janine ignored this, still trying to break his limbs when a foot crashed into her side, throwing her off the tin-can man.
“Enough fun for one night,” Brood Lord said, and Drozna pushed her face down, and more hands joined in, tying her up.
“Coward,” Janine said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Are you so afraid of a wounded and lone Wolfkin? Have you no faith in your champions? Face me if they can’t give me a decent challenge!” Drozna punched her, almost breaking a fang.
“Janine, don’t get so angry. You won; be happy!” Brood Lord jumped nimbly from the wall. “As a reward, I shall spare your people. For today.” He smiled, flashing his needle teeth. “Fret not; decades of miracles await you. Return the prisoners to their cells! Sing and drink, friends! We have a nation to conquer; let’s lift our spirits with the spoils of our victory!”
****
Janine desired to murder any invader who touched her, but unfortunately, Drozna took on the task of dragging her. Trying to gnaw at his bone-covered limbs was pointless, so she wisely relaxed, using the brief respite to allow her wounds to close.
Brood Lord was a fool. Decades, was it? Soon, very soon, the Blessed Mother would stir from her slumber. Devourer was no doubt already on his way back, and the dreaded Outsider would not stand aside when danger threatened their homeland. The Horde was finished; they were dead men walking to their slaughter. She had half a thought to remain the prisoner, to enjoy firsthand the realization and panic settling in Brood Lord’s eyes as every ounce of control was taken from him. But it was an unworthy thought. She was responsible for Ignacy’s well-being and the other captives. She had to get them out and sacrifice enough invaders to placate Bogdan’s soul.
Janine groaned slightly as Drozna shoved her into the cell, keeping her limbs pinned while his minions were busy securing them with the oversized shackles and durable chains. Ignoring them, Janine surveyed the place. Previously, this area had served as cold storage; she could smell the scent of cusacks in the air. Anything of value had already been taken by the invaders, who had later set up several cages here. One held Normies, another Wolfkins, and Janine was in the last cage. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Ignacy chained to the iron bars. Ignacy blinked several times at irregular intervals.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
I am well. He said it with silent speech, bowing his head in a sign of acceptance and grief. Invented and implemented by the combined efforts of Dragena and Alpha, this form of communication closely mimicked a state of confusion and distress in captured Wolfkins, often fooling their captors.
Your brother. My fault. Janine blinked back several times and spat at Drozna, earning herself a hit. She spat at the cretin’s shoulder in response, frowning from a heavy blow to her stomach.
Fool. Stop messing around. Love you. Ignacy bit his lip several times, forming the message. The last part of the wordless dialogue meant an admission of love between two soulmates, but Ignacy deliberately wounded his lower lip to show that he meant the blood ties.
They didn’t dare speak to each other out loud. Not after what had happened to Bogdan. It was a cruel lesson, but one that Janine’s cubs had known since birth. Never reveal family ties or a friend in captivity, for they could be used against you. A lesson she had learned at the cost of the lives of four of her children. And a lesson she had failed to keep.
Bogdan. I am sorry. So sorry.
“Keep an eye on her, boys,” Drozna hiccuped, stepping aside. The man reeked of drink. He gave the chains a quick tug to see if they would hold, then stomped for the exit.
“You won’t be staying with us, Drozna?” asked a hordeman.
Drozna moved and smashed the hordeman’s head against a wall.
“Drozna? Drozna? I am no Malformed, no stray for you to call by name. Brood Lord made me an officer! The next one who calls me by my name is gonna be eaten alive!” He glared at the terrified guards, then smiled and helped the wounded hordeman to his feet. “I met a real cutie tonight. He and I are going to spend a night in the outskirts, enjoying stars.”
“But… the woman, Brood Lord said…” the wounded man wiped blood from his ears.
“The big bitch is beaten and broken. She ain’t running. Stay away from her. As for the rest, have fun…” Drozna walked out of the room, and several guards hurried after him, begging the giant to reconsider.
“Warlord?” said a Normie, pressing his face against the bars. Unlike the Wolfkins, the guardsmen were not tied to their cage. “You saved us. We owe you our lives.”
“You owe your lives to the state, soldier,” Janine replied. “For its eternal glory, I will see you survive and put them to good use.” She smirked through sorrow. “If you want to repay me personally, name one of your cubs Bogdan.”
She tested her own restraints, drawing a claw over them. A rare alloy of some kind, one that resisted her attempts to leave a mark. But… She turned her paw around, calculating the size of the shackle’s hole. Yes, it was possible. If she broke her paw, she could pull it free. It’ll hurt more than a little, but the bone structure will inevitably recover after a period of recuperation, so she’ll be in fighting shape…
“Cousin,” said the Ice Fang knight, bowing her head. The woman’s hair was evenly colored in black and yellow, and her eyes were deep. “I am sorry about your…”
“Shut up, bitch,” Janine told her, letting out the boiling rage inside her. “Take your fake condolences and shove them up your ass. Your treacherous masters brought this upon us. Call me ‘kin’ or ‘cousin’ again and I will murder you, Ice Fang. Name’s Janine, warlord of the Wolf Tribe. I am no kin to the honorless traitors.”
“C… Warlord,” the Ice Fang corrected herself. “What has happened was horrible, but I…”
“I, I, I, it’s always the same with you, parrots, always I and your damn honor. Stop making everything about yourself. Let me think.” Janine bared her fangs and deadened her ears to the words of the white-furred traitor.
Beside the knight was Sword Saint Macarius. Chains bound him to the iron bars as his arms and legs were missing. Bandages covered the stumps, but her nose caught the smell of pus coming from the blood-soaked cloth. Her eyes stopped briefly at the swellings on his shoulders and near his waist.
Infection. He would be a dead weight in the war, and she doubted they would be able to wake the bastard up and keep him conscious long enough to open a portal to his mansion. Annoying. But it was her duty to save his life, since the state’s medical services can save his life. If she can get the traitor out fast enough.
If. Too many ifs. Could she pull it off? It was pointless to doubt. The Reclamation Army can’t afford to lose more sword saints or warlords. Her tribe needs the lives of her soldiers. That and… Janine admitted she wanted to see Bogdan’s cubs, apologize for failing their father, and help them grow up. So. What can I work with?
Drozna is out tonight. Brood Lord is one of their major khans; he will have to join the front. How long can he afford to stay? The Horde did not seem like an entity prone to staying stationary. Does that mean he plans to take them along? Not necessary; with this Phaser fellow, he could return and torture her at his leisure.
Janine began to count the seconds, ignoring the knight’s words. Eventually, one of her soldiers advised the Ice Fang to be silent. Can we afford to stay and wait for a more favorable time to escape? No, Macarius might die. He ranks above me in martial prowess and possesses a power. Chances are his cubs will share the talent. Just because he is an idiot does not devalue him in the state’s eyes. Foolishness is curable. Death is not. Janine compared the shackles and chains that bound the soldiers to her own. At a glance, theirs appeared to be ordinary steel. It made sense; an alloy impervious to her claws must be incredibly rare. Her fangs would do the job.
So, what were the options? Dokholkhu and the raiders she had spared? Too risky; Janine couldn’t be sure of their assistance. The best-case scenario was to wait an hour and break her paws. How long would she be unable to stand and walk properly? If she’d been in her prime, Janine could have recovered in an hour. Now she wasn’t sure, but two hours sounded about right before some mobility returned. Could she face the guards as a cripple? Yes.
Her saliva had scented Drozna, allowing her to sniff it from kilometers away. Another potential asset in their escape. Where to run? Not to Houstad, with the two armies battling nearby, they wouldn’t be able to cover the ground and enter the city. Not south, Macarius needed urgent medical attention. That left her with a single choice.
The Oathtakers. The corners of her mouth twisted. Janine had experienced the displeasure of meeting them in battle, losing some and winning more. She had even been captured once and exchanged for a New Breed of equal value. Still, it was a viable option. Perhaps Lyudochka would vouch for her.
Their rivals were nothing like the Horde. Respectful of their prisoners and not known for excessive slaughter, unless some unfortunate soul happened to run into Crawler. The worst thing she could think of them was that accursed Oath, that heinous, unnatural curse borne from a power.
It was an invisible binding, linking the New Breeds who accepted it. The Oathtakers’ founder had created it, and based on the data and theories of the researchers, the Oath subtly influenced people, prompting them to abandon thoughts of corruption and lessening their aggression towards their fellows, drastically reducing the number of accidents caused by drunken brawls. Abusive parents who swore by it changed for the better, alternative paths in life opened up for former ruthless murderers and scumbags of all kinds. In moderation, it was a healthy medicine, though Janine never expressed this opinion to anyone.
For the Oath robbed people of their free will, violating the most sacred thing. No nation had the right to rule with such a tempting crutch as mind control. In time, it would be inverted and altered to serve the upper classes, corrupting those above and below. The Dynast tolerated shady practices for the sake of unification, but this was a step too far, even for him.
Regardless, their nations were at peace, and the Oathtakers had helped in Houstad. With any luck, she might be able to persuade them to let her go so she could join the war effort, as they keep former prisoners as ‘honoured guests’. It was clear that the Oathtakers would use it to advance their agenda, but any gains would be political.
Half an hour passed. A slam of the door distracted Janine from her planning as she waited for her wounds to heal. Dokholkhu and two guards approached.
“Leave us,” the Malformed demanded haughtily, approaching Janine. Keeping a safe distance, he landed a heavy kick into her stomach, causing her to twitch in rage at this betrayal. “She and I have a score to settle.”
“Dokholkhu, just because Brood Lord…”
Dokholkhu turned around, standing high on his hind legs. His front closed around the hordeman’s neck, tightening up enough for him to struggle to breathe. His comrade reached for his weapon, and the Malformed pointed his own pistol at the man.
“Either let me take my vengeance on the butcher, or I will extract a pound of flesh from you to quench my thirst. Which will it be?” Dokholkhu asked calmly. The hordemen blinked nervously and nodded.
The Malformed turned his back on them, holstering his gun and taking out knives. Two of them struck her shoulder, slicing through the skin as the guards closed the door. Janine tried to bite the bastard and received a kick to the jaw, accompanied by a chuckle.
“So much for not wanting to be here,” Janine spat in his face, marking him and preparing to break her paws.
“I have spoken to the soldiers I rescued,” Dokholkhu’s arrogant and hateful voice changed to a calm and shy tone. “Is it true that your state accepts Malformed?”
“Yes,” Janine responded, catching on to the game. “The Reclamation Army accepts pretty much anyone who wants to live peacefully.”
“Even those who have done something truly cruel?” Dokholkhu asked cautiously.
“If you are tired, rest. If you have sinned, repent. As long as you are alive, there are all kinds of opportunities.” Janine tried to shrug and failed because of chains. The kid removed his knives from her shoulder. “How old are you anyway, Dokholkhu?”
She felt stupid. Someone like Ygrite or Zero could build a rapport with even the worst scum and get them to confess without lifting a claw. Janine herself had trouble with small talk, but she had to try to emulate them. What was most important? To dissuade a prisoner of the idea that they were beyond redemption. The aim was to offer a little leeway in return for better cooperation.
“I lived for two thousand and eighty-eight days.” The Malformed slapped his chest.
“You’re joking,” Janine looked him over, horrified, recognizing the childlike gleam in his brown eyes. “Five years old?”
“We grow up really fast,” the kid sighed. “Die fast too.”
“A cub? I killed children?” Janine whispered, remembering the Malformed she had executed in Houstad. Damn it. How old was she? War was the Abyss, but the Wolf Tribe held itself to a higher standard. The standards she had broken. I will turn myself in later. Helping him is the priority. “Listen to me, Dokholkhu. Drop everything. Literally drop everything you are doing and leg it. Right now. Find a Wolfkin, any Wolfkin, and surrender. You are a clever boy; you know Common; it should not be difficult. No one will hurt you if what you say about your age is true. Forget any crimes you may have committed; none of them matter. You can’t stay here. Your fucker of a father will kill you. But there are people out there who can help you. You have no idea how many. If you’re afraid of Reclaimers, find people known as Oathtakers, or better yet, Iternians; they won’t hurt any cubs either.”
“And if you set us free, that’ll count as a bonus,” Ignacy said.
“How do I know you’re not lying and won’t rip my head off the moment I do it?” Dokholkhu asked.
“Do we look suicidal to you?” Ignacy pressed his snout against the bar. “I have a lot to live for.”
“You… don’t,” the boy admitted, pointing at Janine. “But she does. I saw her leap into flames! Not even to save anyone. Who does that?”
Son of a whore!
“She does it a lot,” Ignacy said. “I struggle to wrap my head around it.”
Don’t you dare take his side!
“I don’t intend to die in here,” Janine assured the cub. “You said that you didn’t want to be here.”
“Can’t blame the kid one bit; it is horrible here,” the Ice Fang said.
“Shut up already, traitor,” Janine told her. “This is your chance, Dokholkhu. A chance to be free and happy and away from the shadow of your cruel parent. If you just reach out and do what’s right, it’s yours.”
“I am sorry.” The Malformed took a step back. “But it’s not that simple. Give me… time. We will speak again.”
“Boy…” Janine started, but he was already at the door, calling for the guards. When they came, she played her part, spitting drool and cursing him, vowing to flay him alive and eat the remains.
Cubs. Spirits, forgive me; I didn’t know! Never, I will never become another Terrific.
I am Janine. And this is my way of doing things.