Claw met steel in a burst of sparks, and the resulting collision pushed the air aside, briefly trapping Kalaisa in a vacuum prison. Widowmaker held one arm behind her back and attacked in a swashbuckling style, a sort of mixed martial arts version of weaponized combat. Her blows were scornful and mocking, yet skillfully executed without adhering to any single known dueling form. Slashes to stabs, stabs to parries, and back to slashes again, with the addition of dragging the blade across the arms to damage armor. The grenade launcher fell, split in two.
And Kalaisa faced this storm, parrying swings coming from different angles, exchanging over thirty attacks per second, holding her own in a match where a single misstep meant death, her heart pounding with excitement. She abandoned the theatrics, sticking to a mundane and basic style of parrying and countering, and Widowmaker was the first to retreat, licking a deep gash on her chin that exposed her porcelain teeth with an impressively long, throbbing purple tongue, her eyes squinting with pleasure.
Arruda’s murderer took the sword in both hands. No more games.
Why are you always in such a hurry? Ygrite’s words came to Kalaisa’s mind as she blocked the thrust roaring through the air. The impact shook her claws and reverberated in her forearms, stopping at the elbows. Great! Still evenly matched. The tip of the sword escaped the claw vise, raced skyward, chasing the nose and meeting an equally swift slash, recoiling and then stabbing at Kalaisa’s knees as fast as quicksilver. Double swipes stopped both attempts, sending the blade far away, and it returned in a wide arc, resuming the dance.
The wolf hag could barely see half of the incoming attacks and still blocked or parried them all. Kalaisa had never had a close bout in her life; it was always either dominating, which was most of the time, or being dominated, and the sole middle ground was her play fight with Anji, in which they both held back, enjoying, bonding, and learning at the suggestion of her therapist. Instinct and relentless training kept her alive. The body moved on its own, itching not only to match but to surpass an opponent, and the guiding mind refused to lie down and die, tempered by the resolve of responsibility for those under her command.
You always act like you are trying to impress someone. Who are you trying to impress? Alpha had visited the pits once, back when Kalaisa wasn’t a monster yet, and the towering hill of might asking questions scared the young girl into mewling. No, it’s not useless. The timing was wrong. Anji had told her after she had sulked about how the Supreme Shaman had failed miserably with Kalaisa’s ultimate move against Janine. Keep it simple. You are a Wolfkin; you do not rush or impress; you protect and kill. The right move at the right time, cub. Kalaisa remembered Janine’s lessons.
Simple? Let’s overwhelm her! Kalaisa grinned, mirroring Widowmaker’s smile, and leaned in, stepping into the khan’s zone, forcing her to go on the defense. The closer you were, the less room there was for the enemy to swing a weapon and apply more force to a slash or stab. Her own claws no longer hurt from blocking, and she took a step ahead, advancing through the cloud of sparks flying around the two combatants.
“Wondrous. Don’t stop. Show me more, and I’ll do the same. I am not afraid to die,” Widowmaker said.
“Good. Because I have reasons to live for,” Kalaisa replied.
“Silly girl,” Widowmaker laughed, unmindful of a claw snapping in front of her face. “Have you forgotten we are at war?”
Right! Kalaisa spotted a blur approaching her head and retreated, taking a morning star aimed at her head onto the vambrace. The blow dented the armor, and the sharp spike cut a crack to the hordeman’s approving grunt, and he pressed on as lightning leapt from his weapon and died on the resistant surface of her suit. Kalaisa twisted her arm, slipping the blow off, and stabbed at the man’s visor. Her claws clanged, stopped by the flat of the sword, and the return swing drove the wolf hag two paces back. Widowmaker, flanked by two hordemen chased after her, ready to end her.
All is fair in love and war. And I am not alone!
Shards flew from under her arms, fired by her family, and the hordemen took them on their shields, while a flicker of Widowmaker’s wrist directed her sword to collect three armor-piercing projectiles, and she sent them back, aiming at Kirk’s head. As if! Kalaisa swatted them aside and resumed her advance, merging her family’s vision with her own. Not alone. Broken and reforged. There was a future waiting for them, and she would cut a path right through that arrogant thing’s body if she had to.
They faced off in their own private corner of the battle, three against four, pacing back and forth in a never-ending burst of action. Widowmaker’s blade swung at Kalaisa’s sister, and Kalaisa grabbed the blade, almost paying with her ribs as one of the hordemen closed in. Her brother fired at the bastard from closer range, and Widowmaker again saved her minion by swinging at Kalaisa’s brother. Once again, the wolf hag blocked the strike, and the khan danced back, rescued from shots by the tower’s shields, which had been crushed into concrete.
Left, right? Kalaisa thought feverishly, waiting for Widowmaker’s move. Up! The khan jumped, spotted by Kirk’s lenses, her descending sword aimed between Kirk’s eyes. Kalaisa kicked to eviscerate the khan as she elbowed the sword away, but Widowmaker landed on her men’s shoulders and let go of the weapon. Her hands closed around the wolf hag’s ankle, twisting Kalaisa to the side and planting her on the bridge, right in the path of the incoming morning star’s blow.
Kalaisa rolled to the side, clawing at the man’s legs and tearing muscles through a joint in his armor. Widowmaker was already leaping from her soldiers, kicking the falling sword back into her hand and forming a blurry sphere of slashes around herself, deflecting every incoming shard from herself and her allies. She closed in, the sword sweeping in a horizontal arc to decapitate the siblings.
A ball of fury crashed into Widowmaker, knocking the air out of the woman’s lungs despite her armor. Her legs scraped the surface, leaving wide marks; her sword danced, blocking the relentless onslaught of slashes from every side and seeking to damage tendons.
Never. Never had Kalaisa timed her secret attack so well; never had she gone so far and so clean. She hadn't even realized it at first; she had simply moved to save her family, striking much faster and precisely than before, and still Widowmaker had denied her victory by stepping into her path and forcing the headbutt. Kalaisa’s plan was to run past the woman and take her arm, but the current situation satisfied her as well. She dragged the monster away from her family, away from the battle, ramming her with the forehead, looking through the soldiers’ lenses to attack, never parrying, forcing the khan to stay on defense the whole time, and sparks glittered around them like stars.
The sudden stop caught Widowmaker off guard, even more than the sweeping kick that knocked the khan off her feet. Kalaisa jumped, dodging the whipping blow aimed at her ankles, and ended up above her enemy. This was it. An ideal position for a killing blow, and she thrust down at the nape of Widowmaker’s neck.
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Her eyes widened as the blade blocked the stab. The woman’s skills were incredible, her every movement filled with liberated strength as if her limbs were released springs. The khan landed on her left shoulder and rolled away, cutting a wide scar across Kalaisa’s chest armor, and the wolf hag retreated, her back to the south.
Widowmaker slashed, and pain gripped Kalaisa’s eye. Air. The edge of the sword never reached her; she was stronger and faster than the khan, but the difference in skill and her own immaturity brought about a change in their battle. She knew Widowmaker was quick enough to create waves of propelled air, strong enough to push even flames aside, so why didn’t she pay attention to watch out for such a technique!
There is no point in self-blame. Kalaisa almost reached the edge. For this mistake, I forgive myself. Her left eye wasn’t working, narrowing her field of vision. It was still there; she hadn’t lost the eyeball, but the arc of air cut her skin a little and damaged her vision. What would the granny do…
The idea came to her, and Kalaisa smiled into the face of the charging Widowmaker. Back to the south. Left eye. Why, Janine wouldn’t fight at all! She would block! Widowmaker launched an overhead slash, no doubt planning how to catch the wolf hag after a dodge. But the flat of the blade was caught between the palms, and Kalaisa smiled fiercely as she struggled to keep the edge at bay in such an unusual position.
War was a collective endeavor. Sure, champions often turned the tide of battle, but even a warlord would eventually fall, and a small contribution could change the course of a war. From the dawn of their existence, humans banded together to overcome trials, and Kalaisa surrendered the idea of winning on her own and entrusted her life to her family, who had already finished the hordemen. The one with the crippled leg fell first, and his companion soon joined him.
Wide eyes betrayed Widowmaker’s surprise as the first shard kissed her cheek, passing through the flesh to the other side, scratching the opening teeth. The khan spun, twisting the blade free, slashing at Kalaisa’s knees, and parrying the ammunition aimed at her. Panic led to an adrenaline rush that gave her an impressive burst of strength, catching the Wolfkins completely off guard, and if it weren’t for her armor, Kalaisa’s kneecaps would have been dusted.
What does it take to defeat her?
“Aw, guys...” growled and mused Widowmaker, anger and excitement mixed in her tone, her eyes narrowed, her gaze tracing everything. “Couldn’t you last five minutes? My men are not lambs to be slaughtered.”
“Then they should flee or surrender,” snarled Kalaisa, advancing in the whirlwind, the shards fired by her family drumming against her plate. “Otherwise, death.”
“Death indeed, but…” Widowmaker leaned back, dodging a swing at her nose, her head bleeding from several stuck shards. “Not for me. You should consider surrendering.”
Blood splashed in the front rows of the Wolfkins. A scout and a warrior lost their arms; the speed of the cut overloaded their cameras. A punch followed, crumbling the warrior’s cranium into the back of her helmet, breaking her neck and jerking her head back. The scout barely had time to open her jaws for a bite; a headbutt cracked her chest plate, sending broken bones to rupture organs. Another khan drew himself up, his helmet in the shape of a tusked boar, the dim lenses of his helmet whirling.
Slavetaker, one of the bastards who had wounded Packs Janine and Ashbringer, swatted the Wolfkins out of his way, swinging his cleaver lazily. His elbow knocked Sheeren aside; one blow nearly knocked a male off the bridge, and his cloak of flayed skin flapped behind the man as he advanced toward the APC.
Shardguns flashes illuminated the man, hundreds of metal spikes sunk deep into his heavy plates, turning the man into a weird version of a bipedal porcupine, and he paid little attention to any of it, killing or beating aside those trying to bar his inevitable passage, and the hordemen followed, denying the Wolfkins an opportunity to close ranks and spreading further chaos of the melee.
Why? Is he after the wounded? Kalaisa’s hesitation allowed Widowmaker to retreat and hide behind her own vehicle, disappearing from the fray. Slavetaker slashed at the APC, slicing through its hull, and thrust a hand inside, reaching not for a wounded wolfkin but for an overgrown fat boy inside.
How did he know? When the children told her about the stalking creep who noticed their every move and found them in the town's ruins, she thought they were hysterical. His visage haunted them during the brief time they slept, and a wounded officer donated his place in the evacuation to the children, choosing to try his luck in Hunter’s Den. A betrayal? No, an idiotic suggestion. Still, they were in a carrier; he had no way of seeing them!
“No one escapes Slavetaker.” Kalaisa heard as she ran back, her heart pounding with concern that they had no one to stop another khan of Widowmaker’s level who didn’t disregard basic protection.
“Then I’ll be the first, sucker!” The kid laughed as the steel fingers closed around his head.
A loud crack reached her ears, filling her with fear and crushing guilt for failing to protect a civilian. But instead of spilling blood and brain matter, the child’s body vanished into the air, and Slavetaker roared in anger, shoving the APC aside and lunging after two tiny figures running east.
“The fuck are you doing here, Jay?” yelled the unharmed fat boy. “I told you I can lead the freak away from everyone! You should have stayed and hid!”
“Screw you, T!” snapped another kid, helping his friend run. “What we start together, we end together!”
“You’ll end up on my cloak, you misbegotten, cheating cockroaches!” Slavetaker was gaining on them, saved from the fire as the Wolfkins were worried about killing children by accident.
He pursued them, a giant chasing mice, his legs tossing wreckage aside, sending broken cars flying, and shaking the ground. T screamed and stabbed himself in the arm with a pocketknife; tears welled up in his eyes, and a perfect copy of the boy climbed out of his back, not even tearing his jacket or shirt. Another fat boy ran to the side, but Slavetaker ignored him, his tusked helm glaring at the two kids.
It changed into a blur as a Wolfkin of comparable size to Kalaisa slid to his legs, accompanied by her reflection in a suit covered in engraved letters. The two grabbed the slaver’s legs from under him, planting the bastard into the ground, and one fired a shardgun into his back while the other stabbed him mercilessly in the back. A roar of unhinged rage left the man’s dynamics. He lashed out, slamming Anissa and Impatient One to the ground, and rose to his feet, delivering a knee kick to the wolf hag’s stomach and knocking away the dodging Impatient One.
He crept closer to the children through the resistance, inevitable and merciless, a mass of death, his fingers twitching with the need to tear and break. Jay stood defiantly in front of T, clenching his small fists and blinking tears of horror. Kalaisa speared a hordeman in the back, saving her soldiers, her eyes on the big bastard’s back against all reason, her family covering her own rear, but she was far, so far away, and Anissa and Impatient One could not stand against Slavetaker in open combat.
As if answering her prayers, a line of metal struck past Jay and T’s heads, landing squarely into Slavetaker’s groin and stopping his approach for good. Another kick to his helmet knocked him back, and a larger wolfkin stepped past the kids, eyeing the slaver through her gray lenses.
“Puny creature!” Soulless One laughed. “Now you face a butcher maiden!”
“You are…” Jay swallowed.
“Hey, it’s that furry lunatic from Houstad!” T laughed.
“I promised to be your guardian, right?” the shaman said. “As long as I stand, no harm will come to you. The spirits have declared his life forfeit! Do you hear their indignation, monster? Today you fall, all the way to the bottom! And I am a conduit of their will!”
“Divine or mortal, it matters not,” the khan rose, missing a tusk, and the swing of his cleaver drove Impatient One away. “No one cheats Slavetaker and lives. None!”
Kalaisa let out a howl of joy and slashed at another hordeman’s throat, blinking in surprise as sparks flew into her snout, and the man was unharmed. She leaned back, dodging the blade, and a kick hurled her aside.
“Told you, my men aren’t lambs,” said Widowmaker. She had sneaked close in the chaos of battle and launched her strike. “Face someone your own size!!”
“Sure,” Kalaisa answered, dodging an overhead slash. “Drop dead!”
“Good idea! Do that!”
Howls filled the field, and the Anissa pack came out in full force on the east side, running on all fours to join their wolf hags as fresh reinforcements showed from the smoke cloud on the western part of the bridge. The Horde and the Reclamation Army closed in melee, filling the air with the snaps of bones, the tear of flesh, the cracks of cables, the barking of guns, the whines of twisted metal, and the gasps of the dead and dying. In the center of it, Slavetaker ran at Soulless One, dragging his cleaver across the road and shattering concrete.