Janine let go of the worries pervading her mind and slowed her breathing to think. She rarely recited prayers to the Spirits, preferring to persevere through her own abilities, but now she needed the focus and clarity granted by their embrace. Ignoring Terrific’s ghostly apparition lurking in the shadows of their prison, the warlord began the Prayer of Rage.
Blessed Mother. Deliver me from the temptation of self-pity and set me straight on the road of betterment. Let righteous rage fill my veins and invigorate me; mold me into a tireless instrument of the state and a defender of the weak. Of this I ask you, Blessed Mother.
The door opened again, and several raiders stumbled in, wearing incomplete sets of their suits and reeking of cheap booze. A faint smile spread across her lips as she noticed the bastard’s ranged and melee weapons. Her prayer was answered. Perfect.
“Think their women are like the town’s whores?” A raider hiccuped, nodding at the Wolfkins.
“Brood Lord took two,” said another guard, stepping closer to the cage. “They didn’t last long, but he boasted they were exactly the same. What, you want to try them? The big one belongs to the khan.”
Spirit of Rage, stay your claws, I beg you. Janine intoned, moving a finger to her wrist. Good, she can reach it. A second finger followed. Let me breathe for a while. Let me stay sane until the deed is done. I am still needed in this world. Avert your gaze, and I will sacrifice hundreds of lives in your honor.
Talking to the Spirit of Rage was the height of stupidity. It had no other goals than to spread destruction and death. Its creations, skinwalkers, possessed genius minds and unrivaled ferocity and lacked any moral restraint. Had Impatient One been privy to her mother’s thoughts, she would have attacked her with the full intention of murdering the warlord, family ties or not. No one should pray to the mother of skinwalkers. You do not tell it your name; you do not think about it, let alone speak of it. These were the rules, paper-thin barriers to stay safe. But superstitions ran deep in the Tribe, and every warlord performed self-invented prayers to this cruel thing, hoping to protect their packs.
“Who gives a raptor’s ass about the big one?” the first raider answered, licking his lips as he looked at the Ice Fang. “Check her out. Such curiosity.” He stepped inside the cage. “Crimson eyes, fur like white silk, and such delicate arms. What a unique sight!”
“Let me go, and I will show you such tenderness,” the knight sang, a murderous light dancing in her eyes. “Come, there is nothing to fear, sirrah.”
“I have heard that the white-furred are nobles among their kind,” the second hordeman said. “She’ll murder you if you let her loose.”
“Then we won’t. But we must give her a proper greeting. How about we give her a taste of real men? Brood Lord Khan won’t mind, as long as she’s alive…”
Ignacy lunged forward as far as the chains would allow, and the man screamed. He recoiled, but Ignacy had already sunk his fangs into the guard’s ear and part of his neck. A single twist of the jaw tore off a considerable chunk of flesh. The Wolfkin laughed, spitting the lightning back into the face of the enraged and panicked guard. Even a heavy kick to the stomach that slammed Ignacy’s body against the bars couldn’t shake him from his mirth.
“Sorry. Just wanted to try a real man.” Ignacy smiled through the pain.
“You fucking cripple!” The wounded guard roared, kicking Ignacy in his groin and adding another blow as the soldier thrashed in his restraints.
“Takes one to know one,” Ignacy groaned. “By the way, you taste like shit. Then again, you look like a pile of excrement. Guess that was a given.”
“Bastard!” The raider kicked Ignacy between his legs again, drawing blood. “Mutant! Filth! My ear! Slave!” A kick accompanied every word, while the other raiders laughed.
Janine’s fingers rested on her wrists, each against the bone she needed to dislocate. Silently, she stood on her toes, preparing to pull her legs through the narrow shackles and break her feet. She wouldn’t let anyone take her son from her. A claw slipped free, unseen among the thick fur. Its tip pierced the skin, reaching the bone.
“Give me tongs! I will rip out his fangs and torture him until his screams are heard in...”
A shot silenced his yelling and the laughter of his companions, stopping Janine from freeing herself as she tried to understand what was going on. The hordeman’s head had a gaping hole in its temple. His eyes rolled up, and his body sagged to the floor. His companions immediately reached for their helmets to raise the alarm, their hands tightening on their rifles.
Drinks or no, they reacted too late. Bursts of gunfire riddled the exposed parts of their bodies as the unexpected rescue team entered the prison. Nine raiders clad in full power armors, accompanied by four Malformed who leapt nimbly to the ceiling, firing single shots from their pulse rifles. The guards’ screams were useless; the front door slammed shut, and their questions and pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears. Efficiently and swiftly, the attackers gunned down both wounded and surrendering guards and spread out, opening cages and releasing prisoners.
Dokholkhu approached Janine’s cell, pressing two trembling fingers to his forehead. The boy and his siblings wore an abomination of technology. Sleeves of their suits were too big for their forearms; steel plates connected by cables hung loosely around each leg; helmets barely covered the top of the head, but miraculously the things worked, and his fingers broke through the cage door with ease but faltered when trying to pry open their shackles. On his back, safely hidden beneath the generator, was a large container.
The boy raised his eyebrows at the wet spots on her wrists and drew his sword, aiming for the bonds.
“They are too durable. Use a key.” Janine nodded at the dead guards, and Dokholkhu hurried to get a key ring. It took him several nervous attempts, but finally the shackles fell from her limbs, and he stepped back, smelling of nervousness and sweating with desperation as a paw rose. “You’ve made the right choice, Dokholkhu.” Janine patted his shoulder to calm him and faced his group. “I thought I had spared more.”
“Not everyone agreed to join,” another malformed replied. He approached, carrying the Taleteller and handed it over. “We… we had to take precautions.”
“Is it true? Can your state keep us from the Horde?” asked a hordewoman.
“Keep? Girl, when we are finished,” Janine swung the Taleteller and cut through the chains that held her before, “there will be no more Horde. Just the state. Have you attacked civilians? Violated our people?” She studied the woman’s face, remembering the trickle of blood she had seen.
“N… don’t know,” the raider gulped. She removed her helmet, revealing a stocky, pale-skinned, fear-stricken face covered in a network of scars. “We came from the steppes, and Mungke threw us first at your walls and then at this town. We fought our way to the square, then Mungke went on and got himself killed, and we panicked and tried to hide because of the beasts lurking in the smoke... I do not know if we attacked your civilians or not. There is not even my khaganate anymore; we are all from different clans,” she said, as if that explained everything to Janine. “Listen, I am in charge of these buffoons. Punish me if you wish, but spare them.”
“Appreciate the honesty. We are all getting out.” Janine nodded, deciding to hold back her wrath. The woman was too frightened to lie. Let the Investigation Bureau earn its keep by determining her guilt. Unlike the Malformed, these were adults, and while some leniency will be shown for the rescue, a prison sentence awaited them if they had harmed civilians. But there was no need to say it out loud now. Dokholkhu’s container made a series of noises—needles scraping the surface. “What’s in it?”
“Family,” Dokholkhu replied quickly. “I am not leaving them.”
“Are we working with the Horde now?” The Ice Fang massaged her wrists and stomped on the dead guard’s face.
“Correction: We are escaping the Horde’s captivity thanks to the brave and timely aid of our new allies.” Janine pointed at the corpses. “Shut up and arm yourselves. Everyone, put on whatever armor you can. Guardsmen, you get any weapon left…”
“Warlord… These animals.” Ignacy pointed at the hordemen. “These animals burned their way through our lands; they killed…”
“Enough,” Janine stopped him before the boy could blurt out anything important. She still didn’t fully trust her ‘rescuers’ either, worried that this might be Brood Lord’s trick. But a chance was a chance. Janine put a hand on her son’s shoulder, wishing she could grant him her strength and take away his sorrow. “We will watch their backs and work with them. Because we need them to survive and escape, and they need us for the same reason. That is an order.”
Ignacy met Janine’s eye. She calmly accepted whatever blame or hatred her son might have thrown at her. Was it not her orders and lack of foresight that brought them here? She was too weak to save Bogdan from this terrible fate. Suddenly, Ignacy bared his neck, and the warlord relaxed, happy that she didn’t have to knock him out if he had tried to take revenge. Ignacy examined the former hordemen’s suits and sighed, clumsily adjusting several parts to provide better protection, and gave the Malformed advice on how to better fold their cables to avoid being fried by an occasional discharge.
Stolen novel; please report.
“I thank you for your assistance, even though it wasn’t needed, sir.” The Ice Fang bowed to Ignacy.
“Beat it, traitor,” he told her. “I am already engaged to the best woman in the world, so paws off me.”
“That wasn’t my intention, and I’m no traitor,” the knight said slowly, massaging her temples. “My congratulations, sir. Pray tell, must the Wolf Tribe always reduce everything to the degeneracy of carnal pleasure?”
The warlord checked the pulse on the neck of the unconscious sword saint. Bad. His skin was hot, his lips were dry and his heart barely beat thirty times a minute. It was tempting to declare the bastard beyond saving and snap Macarius’ neck, but that would betray everything Bogdan had fought and died for. Even breaking the bastard’s nose was impossible; in his condition, he could easily die from additional stress.
Irrelevant. There will always be time for it later. She re-bandaged his wounds using relatively cleaner pieces of the dead guards’ clothing and secured him to his back with her own chains. Pus oozed from the cuts and bruises on Macarius’ body, alarming her. The infection should not have spread so quickly. She intended to save him to spite the Horde and uttered a small prayer to the Spirits, asking the Blessed Mother to help the man endure.
“Are there any other captives nearby?” Janine asked Dokholkhu.
“Not that I know of.”
“Got it.” Janine swung, testing if there was any weakness in her arm. “Here’s the plan. Cubs, stay with the guardsmen in the rear. New Breeds, and we will cut us a path…”
“We better steal a Sky Carrier.” Dokholkhu noticed a raised brow and quickly explained, beaming. “It’s an aircraft. The Gilded Horde has three of them; they are used to transporting goods. Fa… Brood Lord was given one for his service, and it is currently undergoing maintenance in the hangar after being damaged in the last battle. The Sky Carrier has no weapons, but it flies fast. It also has a shield, so if anyone tries to shoot at us, we have a better chance of surviving.”
“And you have any idea how to pilot it?” Janine clarified.
“I… No.” Dokholkhu looked down.
“I can!” A hordeman raised his hand. “I was a pilot for Mungke Khan back in the steppes before his son kicked me out.”
Janine considered the idea for a second. Her original plan had been to steal a Horde vehicle, drive it to the edge of the chasm, and drop down. It was risky, but the Wolfkins were skilled climbers who could save themselves and their allies. Then they would have travelled north in the safety of the depths. But that plan was risky, and Dokholkhu’s proposal promised better chances of survival for their Normie allies, and depriving their enemies of rare equipment was too tempting. Perhaps it might even get them to Houstad safe and sound!
“Tell me how to get to the hangar,” Janine told the boy.
“Why are we in the rear?” She heard a Malformed hissing after their preparations were complete.
“She thinks us children,” Dokholkhu whispered back with a mixture of confusion and annoyance, loading his rifle.
“Is she dumb? I lived for three thousand days!”
“Three thousand divided by three hundred seventy-five…” whistled a guardsman and sized up the Malformed.
“What?”
“Surprised,” replied the guardsman. “Quiet, kiddos,” he said as Janine raised her paw.
She was done sinning. Cubs of any race, no matter how they looked, were untouchable in times of war and peace. Accidents happened, but just because the Horde had resorted to such mindless cruelty didn’t mean they had the right to abandon their laws. Much to Ignacy’s disappointment, she told him to stay in the back.
Their unusual group stepped into the corridor in silence, and Janine tore a piece of metal from one of her nostrils, along with a piece of skin stuck to it, and sniffed the air. The stench of alcohol from a tunnel ahead alerted her to potential hostiles, and the pack took a detour to avoid exposing themselves unnecessarily. She sniffed again as they reached the shattered windows, picking up the faint scent of Drozna in the distance and many more reeking of sweat and blood. Cries of dozens of people being dragged away to be sold like cattle at a market. Proud conquerors walked through the ruined streets, overseeing the restoration by the enslaved population.
I will come back for you. She led her group ahead, listening to the sounds of civilians crying and screaming and the boastful laughter of the invaders. Failure. A total failure of the state. How many will die because they cannot bear the abuse?
Dokholkhu had explained to them that the prisoners were held in the west factory. The site had been converted from civilian to military use, and the engineers had set up workshops and assembly lines in the hangars. Cracks and crimson stains on the wall indicated that several units of the Provincial Army had made their last stand here, protected from artillery fire. Janine continued to use her nose, remembering her days as a scout as they approached the largest ‘hangar’.
Occasionally, the party encountered a patrol. The first time, the hordewoman had distracted the guards long enough for the Wolfkins to sneak up close and mercilessly dismember them. The second patrol had been wiped out by the deserters themselves, who had approached the drunkards and spoken briefly before stabbing them in the necks.
They had only halted their flight once when they heard the clatter of moving gears filling the corridors and faint wailings. A group of intoxicated soldiers had taken over a small room previously used by workers to rest and were hanging a civilian’s hands from the ceiling, whipping the poor man for their amusement and betting on how long his heart would last. Janine sensed the anger in her Wolfkins and guardsmen. Good. It was better than fear.
Led by the Ice Fang, two males sneaked up behind the torturers and plunged the stolen knives into their necks. Two simultaneous twists ripped through arteries and bones, killing the prey instantly. The three remaining guards turned just in time to be greeted by a blindingly fast quick-draw from the Ice Fang. The inelegant Horde blade decapitated them, and the knight shook it to clean the blood from the edge, glancing scornfully at the falling bodies.
Janine nodded in respect of the knight’s skills. It was so easy to forget how dangerous the Ice Fangs were. Behind their opulent gowns and perfumes were incomparable warriors, their feral instincts waiting for the right opportunity to emerge and wreak havoc. And judging by the hungry glint in the crimson eyes, the knight itched for an opportunity to unleash the true carnage.
“P-please,” the civilian whimpered as Ignacy gently lowered him on the floor and guardsmen began bandaging the horrible lacerations at his back. “I didn’t want… We didn’t mean… It was a joke; there was never any treasure buried here, but they… they killed everyone…”
“Hush,” Janine pressed a finger to his lips. “You are safe.”
“No.” His panicked gaze focused on her, and the trembling hand gripped her waist. “No one is safe. They are here… Please, a quick end, a…”
Mad. Too scared to move on. The pack had no choice. Leaving him would spell his doom, and Janine closed her paw around the man’s neck, choking him out into unconsciousness. Another sin for her to atone for.
“I can carry him,” the Ice Fang volunteered.
“Your paws are needed for battle. Ignacy, take him,” Janine said.
Shadows greeted them as they turned to the left in the corridor. Concealed from her nose by rubbed-in oil and standing perfectly still, the four-legged offspring of Brood Lord revealed themselves, blocking the path to the steel gates leading inside the hangar. Each Malformed carried a heavy machine gun leveled at the Wolfkins. Their bodies tensed in readiness to jump at the walls at the first sign of aggression.
Their leader, a woman whose long hair was tied back in a tight knot, stepped forward, armed with a plasma discharger ripped from a provincial army vehicle. Two gagged and bound soldiers, rescued from the arena by Dokholkhu, followed her. A layer of oil covered them.
“Jaliqai?” Dokholkhu tried to push past Janine, but she stopped him, wary of what might happen. “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you,” Jaliqai answered. “Father never trusted you. He assigned me to spy on you, and you did a spectacularly poor job of stealing from his treasure trove. And then I caught these two trying to steal a hoverbike. The question is, what do you think you are doing, you idiots? Do you have any idea what Father will do to you for this?”
Janine recognized the Malformed. She had stood beside Brood Lord in the arena earlier, and her voice had drawn the Khan’s attention away from her brother. Even now, she never raised her voice but used her legs to push two soldiers in front of her, using them as a shield.
“I am getting our family out of here, Jaliqai.” Dokholkhu replied.
“You are betraying the Brood,” Jaliqai said with a stony expression.
“What is there left to betray?” Dokholkhu clenched his fist. “The Brood is dead. We are finished. Culled almost to the last.”
“It happened before. New ones will…”
“And you wish them to live a life like ours? You said it yourself; it happened before.”
“I…” she hesitated. “No, of course not.”
Dokholkhu pressed a hand to his chest. “It will happen again. You will die. I will die. For what? Screw it, and screw him! Jaliqai, please step out of our way, or better yet, join us!”
“It’s too late for me, brother,” the girl said. “Too late for us all. The things he made me… us do…”
“Maybe so. But it is not too late for them!” Dokholkhu pointed at the container behind his back. “Will you let them take them back? To mutilate them, to torture them, to raise them in his image? So they will always be afraid? Are you willing to sacrifice me for him?”
Janine kept looking at the girl’s weapon and the way the barrel was pointing down. An energy weapon. Almost soundless. But should her kin fire… The entire facility will be alerted.
She turned her eye to the Malformed, noticing torn chitin plates from their upper bodies, wide scars, a few missing fingers or ears, fresh cuts, and bruises. Regardless of their age, these were veterans of many battles—people who had survived impossible odds and who had devised a plan to sneak up on them. So why didn’t they attack them right away? Janine sighed as she finally understood the reason. A genuine family, after all.
“Put down your weapon,” the warlord said softly. “If it was too late for you, you wouldn’t care. You’d shoot immediately. But you hesitate. You want to be punished, killed, and let these cubs escape, right? You think that will redeem you?” Jaliqai’s look told her the answer, mirroring the same expression she had seen in her own eyes many times before. “It doesn’t work that way, kiddo. Earn it. You can chicken out and refuse to try to redeem yourself. Or you can dare to fly into the unknown. Trying to make up for your mistakes and crimes might be hard. But you’re clearly not happy here, and dying won’t solve anything. It will only further fracture your family. Why not try to be with a family that cares about you, instead of dying for a family that spits on you? Live.”
“Who is here!?”
Jaliqai’s finger moved to the trigger, and Janine tensed, preparing to bring her axe down on the woman. But instead of firing at the group, the four-legged woman turned to the left and burned a hole in the chest of the approaching guard. The man barely had time to realize what had happened; a gasp escaped his lips before his body collapsed.
“Well, that answers it.” Jaliqai released the guardsmen. “Guys, we are officially joining the mutants. Fuck Brood Lord.”
“Sister…” a male Malformed near her started talking.
“What?” Jaliqai loosened her hair and tied it back into a knot again before hugging Dokholkhu. “Don’t tell me you’re going to turn on me.”
“Nah. Fuck Brood Lord and all that,” the boy chuckled. “Just… Jaliqai, Dokholkhu, we better hurry. There are a lot of people in the hangar.”
“Leave it to us,” Janine told him, grabbing the energy weapon from Jaliqai. “Cubs ought to play, learn, and be safe. Stand back and let us work.”
“But we are not cubs,” Jaliqai argued, snatching a spare gun from one of her brothers.
“Trust me, it is better not arguing,” Dokholkhu whispered to her. “They are weird. They think someone who has lived for three thousand days is a child.”
“The wise and merciful khatun is not wrong,” said the hordewoman. “You are children.”
“Madness is contagious,” Jaliqai muttered.
“Enough chatter,” Janine said, cracking her neck. “Time to go home.”