The vision provided by the shared link was both a blessing and a burden. Imagine peering through a kaleidoscope at the myriad of ever-changing patterns, while at the same time paying constant attention to your immediate surroundings. Veteran wolf hags and warlords easily handled such an obstacle with ease, battling champions and coordinating the advances of their own packs, never once failing to distinguish a distant threat from an immediate danger.
With her eyes wounded, Kalaisa didn’t even try, cutting herself off from the video feed and ordering her sister and Sheeren to oversee the retreat. She and Widowmaker spun, thrust, stabbed and slashed. Both had no qualms about attacking a nearby enemy to force an opening, and both tried valiantly to shield their allies. Widowmaker represented a dark mirror in Kalaisa’s soul, a less strong, less fast, but far more adept combatant with an unparalleled sense of timing. They shared a concern for their subordinates, but instead of bridging their souls, it tore them apart.
Is that me? Kalaisa’s lips curled, fangs bared, and Widowmaker hissed, scowling, as the two intensified their exchange, abandoning their graceful defense. Was this what I was becoming? A filth readily working beside monsters willing to harm and enslave cubs? And for what? The thrill of battle? How... pathetic.
She met a swirling one-handed side slash head-on and blocked it with one arm, remembering what she had learned from the autopsy performed by Dragena. The hordemen possessed an impressive layer of fat capable of stopping gunshots, and their biology dispersed kinetic blows evenly, rendering them nearly immune to blunt trauma from a lesser opponent.
But as with any New Breed, there was a small price to pay for superiority, and there was a delay, almost minuscule thanks to the khan’s timing, during a full spin, and Kalaisa capitalized on that, stopping the blade before it could gain speed in the thick vambrace and ramming her paw into the space between a pauldron and the armor, grinning fiercely as she felt the hiss of electricity and the spurt of blood against her fur. She retreated without twisting her paw, driven by a sudden fear, and a long dagger sliced through the joint on her belly, drawing a line on her skin.
“You’re grating on my nerves.” Widowmaker’s long tongue plucked a lodged shard from her head and spat it into the exposed part of Kalaisa’s snout. The wolf hag dodged, and Widowmaker closed in, exhaling a white mist and using a dual style. “No idea why. I enjoy this dance. Yet I hate you. Why? How can you hate someone you just met?”
“I despise you,” Kalaisa admitted, coughing. A broken rib? No, simple nervousness about the price of losing. She represents important lessons taught to me, learned wrong. “Begone from my world!”
She snarled, receiving an order from her sister, but silenced the stirring objections and fell smoothly into line, dodging shots and morning stars. Her legs carried her over the dead, a single kick hurling an open-bellied warrior into the APC for the refugees to help the woman get inside.
Her sister was correct in her assessment. A stain on their honor for permitting the Gilded Horde to step on the west through the bridge was inconsequential and would play into their paws in the long run as the artillery will topple this passage. Separated from their allies, Widowmaker and Slavetaker would fall if there was anyone left among them capable of stopping them.
Kalaisa had her doubts about this part of the plan.
“Cubs,” Soulless One had growled twenty seconds ago, just before she faced the khan. Impatient One diligently grabbed the little ones and jumped off the edge, hooking to the bottom of the bridge with her legs and walking back to safety.
Twenty seconds. Twenty seconds ago, Kalaisa had dared to believe that they had a chance.
Two giants fought in a circle of corpses. Soulless One and Slavetaker did not collide, but rather erupted like two volcanoes, somehow ending up on opposite sides. There was no grace or subtle evasion, just pure, unrelenting aggression realized through the endless attacks. Neither cared for defense; every slash and thrust was calculated to kill, the armor of both combatants creaking, chunks flying aside as if shot, and yet they continued, becoming the beacon of bloodthirst of this battle.
Around them was the killing field. Wolfkins and hordemen rolled on the ground, biting, grabbing, shooting. One warrior grabbed a bondsman’s head, almost piercing his eyes, and staggered, falling off him, her chest full of holes. The bondsmen helped their ally to his feet, and Kirk shot two of them. A tower shield of an approaching hordeman rose to break his neck, and Sheeren stabbed the man in the back. The New Breed shrieked in pain, trying to shake her off, but her paw burrowed its way to his spine column, took hold of it, and pulled the bones out.
Legends worthy of songs rose and fell on the battlefield, inspired by the bloodlust of Soulless One and Slavetaker. Their swings, punches, and kicks landed with enough force to disable battle tanks; grazing slashes and stabs left wide craters in the ground that sent the nearest combatants flying. New Breeds did not die easily, and both sides evacuated their wounded. Morning stars went up and down, shattering claws, shardguns and rifles fired, jaws snapped, and people died. Over a simple bridge in the middle of nowhere.
Slavetaker slammed a shoulder into Soulless One, throwing the woman back and instantly cracking her breastplate with his cleaver. The shaman didn’t give in; not a whisper escaped her lips, and she stepped on the slaver’s leg, blocking a kick, and stabbed both paws into his chest, reaching the ribs. A headbutt threw her off before the claws could hook. Explosions covered the duo, knocking everyone around them aside, and Kalaisa blinked through the ringing in her ear, understanding that they had reached the dividing line. She had ordered them to prepare in advance, following Warlord Ygrite’s advice to expect the shittiest things to happen.
Come to think of it, Ygrite was right about a lot of things. Kalaisa thought as Widowmaker recoiled, touching a burn on her temple. Grenade launchers have saved our hides more than once; traps are an excellent way to thin out a herd without getting your fangs dirty. And as for her last lesson… Kalaisa’s cheeky eyes narrowed. Everything in her was screaming to jump at the khan, knock her to the ground, and slash her to death. She knew better now, already spotting several hordemen hurrying to their leader, and jumped in the air.
Grenades flew through the empty space, tossing Widowmaker down the road like a rag doll and silencing her scream of anguish in their thunderous discharge. Kalaisa’s brother and two other males hastily reloaded their weapons to the encouraging pats of their landed wolf hag. Damn it, it’s wonderful to be a part of the group! The wolf hag thought, summoning back the HUD.
Blows that rang louder than any other noise cleared the area at the center of their battlefield. Slavetaker and Soulless One still fought, their armors full of open gashes, the skin around the wet lacerations convulsing at the touch of the shockwaves. Two giants too stubborn to die, they persisted. Soulless One caught Slavetaker’s arm under her armpit, dislocating the bone in a single violent twist and bending the steel sleeve, nearly snapping the arm. She gasped, her legs leaving the ground as the cleaver impaled her belly, raising the shaman. The tip of the cleaver protruded from her back, damaging the power generator, and the hum of the shaman’s armor disappeared.
“Meat or death?” Slavetaker asked in a calm voice. A red streak ran down from under his helmet.
“D-death,” Soulless One whispered. “On my terms. Packs! Back!”
Kalaisa complied before she thought, even before she heard Widowmaker’s warning cry. It was a rule she had been taught since birth. Obey the shamans in everything; they know better. She grabbed several wounded, cautiously noticing Widowmaker, and the woman nodded, lowering a rifle she had taken from her subordinates. An unspoken truce formed in an instant, and the Horde and Reclaimers surged away. Only Slavetaker hadn’t understood yet.
Soulless One reached her own chest and pushed a paw through the opened crack; her claws sinking into her own flesh.
“Is this a suicide attempt?” Slavetaker asked, twisting his cleaver to widen the wound and pulling his dislocated arm free from the weakened hold. “Cowardice. What do you think you are doing? Your fate…”
“Denying them to you.” A stream of Soulless One’s blood covered Slavetaker’s helmet. Her paw plunged deeper into her chest, and Kalaisa heard the bones crunch. “Do not mourn me! It is a shaman’s duty to sacrifice to preserve the future! Impatient One! Not perfection! Do not strive for the unattainable! Focus on devotion and progress at your own pace! Anissa! Choose and commit! Decide for yourself!”
“Slavetaker, run! Something’s off!” Widowmaker yelled.
“No one impedes Slavetaker…”
“I promised you.” Soulless One’s defiant tone shut him up. Slavetaker let go of his cleaver and took a step back, raising his healthy arm in protection.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
Kalaisa didn’t know much about the shaman. Apparently, the woman was a close friend of Janine’s, and she visited her on the crawler, inquiring about how the shamans raised the cubs in her village, forcing the frustrated wolf hag to repeat and clarify every uncertain instance. She then paid similar visits to the other recruits from the same village, often accompanied by Lacerated One.
There was an order from the higher-ups. Soulless One had to be retrieved and delivered to R&D in case of her sudden death, no matter what sacrifices the packs had to make to prevent her body from falling into the paws of enemies or outsiders. Kalaisa asked for clarification, as the shaman was nowhere near the level of a warlord, but in the chaos of the invasion, her request was buried as an unimportant matter. She received the answer right now.
The shaman glowed. Light poured out of every crack in her armor, a smell of freshly cooked meat wafted from her, and a stream of light focused on the slaver’s face. She stood, the whiteness burning, devouring her wound, her arms spread wide, and Kalaisa could’ve sworn she saw a brief smile of relief on her disappearing lips. Molten streaks ran down her body, the intense heat reaching even the Wolfkins as they shoved the barely moving APC away.
A flash of pure white licked everything in sight and flickered to orange. A plasma explosion destroyed the entire section of the bridge, cutting it cleanly in half. Its edges shriveled, glowing red and dripping metal down the canyon. Slavetaker could not escape the blast and flew down, his armor overheating, his cloak disappearing, his hand trying in vain to grasp something as he howled in frustration and pain.
“The crazy bint actually did it! Hurray to Soulless One! Glory and everlasting memory to our sister!” Sheered pressed fingers to her helmet in a salute.
“Honor her sacrifice!” Anissa and Kalaisa said together, and their lenses met. As the stronger wolf hag, Kalaisa was expected to assert dominance, but she bared her neck and surrendered authority to the more experienced woman. “Get the civilians off the bridge; rouse our Normie allies so the medics could save lives. Stay on alert; they are…” She stopped, without looking back. “Away from the bridge, now!”
Massive figures appeared on the bridge, advancing slowly and leveling their laser cannons at the group. Walkers, three of them, had stomped over the Horde’s wrecked vehicle, coming to reap their harvest. Kalaisa pushed her family forward, staying behind with the males to carry those who could not walk, and watched as the light glowed in the barrels. It was impossible to avoid light, but she could still save lives by dodging the aim-dodging…
Whistles stopped her. Shells rained down upon the eastern section of the bridge, pulverizing both the walkers and collapsing the damaged section as the hordemen, led by Widowmaker, struggled to escape. The khan turned and blew an air kiss to Kalaisa, unmistakably finding the Wolfkin even in the panic. Then she sheathed her weapon, slung four soldiers over her shoulders, and ran away.
The battle was over.
“Thank you for saving my hide, everyone,” Kalaisa said later, standing still while her brother worked gently on her poor eye. She had never known that he knew anything about medicine. Then again, considering how she had behaved, it wasn’t surprising that he had chosen that trade. And she was proud of him.
“That’s what family’s for,” her brother joked.
“Y-yeah, sure. Family.” Kirk bristled. “W-wolf h-ag, with your permission.” He bowed, and she nodded.
Kirk turned his back on her and left to help treat a nasty, wide, gaping gash reaching the bone on Sheeren’s arm. Two Normie medics tried to cut through the sturdy armor, and Kirk offered his help. He pried open the torn ends of the wolf hag’s vambrace, gasping worriedly at the darkness inside.
“What?” Sheeren’s jaw snapped over his helmet. “Am I not good enough for you?”
“W-wolf hag, there is a rot on your arm…”
“You are the one who has a rot! A brain rot!” Sheeren said defensively, pushing the bleeding limb to his nose, ignoring the medic’s pleas. “There! Sniff! A clean wound. I tried to dye my stupid brown fur to look more like Mum.” She sighed. “Overdid it a bit, yeah. The damn paint darkened my skin up to my elbows and knees.”
“Oh!” Kirk smiled, and for once, the corners of his mouth didn’t twitch. “It’s kind of cool, actually.”
“Thanks! Want me to…”
“You used Delta paint.” A medic grabbed his head, reading Sheeren’s medical history on the display of his portable helmet. “Where did you even get that? We can’t even produce it; where in the world did you find a can of such paint as a child!”
“Why, is it rare?” Sheeren rolled her eyes and tapped behind her ear, pretending that it was stressful for her to reach it. Kirk hesitantly scratched the ear, shrinking back in anticipation of a bite, but the wolf hag just rolled her eyes.
“It was used to paint the hulls of starships and could withstand the temperature of a sun. Yeah, rather rare,” the medic said.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to our weirdos,” a medic from the Third told her colleague.
“The child used the substance because it looked pretty… The resulting chemical reaction caused a shift in pigmentation,” the medic groaned, carefully extracting a damaged implant from the wolf hag’s arm. “I’m not sure who I want to strangle. You for risking your health for nothing, your irresponsible parents, or both.”
“Done.” After the treatment, a medical patch was placed over Kalaisa’s eye, and a pleasant, cold sensation spread from underneath it. “Don’t take it off and don’t lick the eye for six hours. You’re a tough girl, sis, but let’s follow the instructions.” Her brother placed a paw on her shoulder. “And about our family… They’ll come around.”
“There is no need,” Kalaisa softened her voice. “What I have done…”
“I forgive you.” He shrugged.
“But why?” she whispered, not wanting to bother Kirk. It was adorable to watch how he kept missing social cues, much to Sheeren’s confusion. The woman flashed her claws in front of his nose again and raised her eyebrows at his silence. “I brutalized you. As an older sister, I should have known better and cared for you instead of giving in to my impulses.”
“Listen.” He took her by the chin. “You were a victim, and we were victims.”
“I was the abuser.”
“And that abuser is now dead and buried, hopefully. I have decided to stop blaming and hating. I don’t think I’ll ever forget, but the past is set in stone; we can’t undo it or change it. What we can do is learn from it and change ourselves. I give you a paw of peace. Let’s try to be a family again and do it right this time.”
Kalaisa didn’t know what to say. She simply hugged her brother, and for a brief second, all was right with the world. The fear of failing to live up to her role as a leader, the grief for her lost troops, and the worry of turning back into a monster receded, and she dared to believe that she could atone for even a fraction of the things she had done.
“Late as usual!” She heard Anissa say.
The wolf hag stayed in the rearguard with the wounded and sent the strongest parts of her pack, under the command of Kalaisa’s sister, to escort most of the refugees on the trucks to the headquarters. This area was relatively safe, but Anissa wanted no surprises, and the group took cover in a cave near the canyon. The Ice Fangs vehicles provided additional cover by placing force shield generators around the area. Their knight-captain took over the defensive perimeter, while the Wolf Tribe scouts climbed the canyon’s side to watch for any attempts to cross, and the white-furred kept a close eye on the skies. So far, they had reported that the Horde forces had retreated to the town and that a small detachment had left in an unknown direction.
“Two minutes,” Anissa muttered, distracted from reviewing the reports. “They claimed they would arrive in two minutes. It was three and a half. If it hadn’t been for them, she…”
“Cease your hysterics,” Impatient One said, sitting cross-legged. Two rescued cubs slept on her knees, stirring in their sleep.
“Where are any dead Ice Fangs? Over two dozen of our kin have died. We were supposed to be replenishing our ranks in the Core Lands, but the war is thinning our ranks even further. I hear the soldiers’ suspicions that the Ice Fangs seek our total extermination…”
“Then, as leader, you should quell them rather than succumb to the poison of despair, Wolf Hag.” The shaman raised her voice a little. “What good will come from fracas? Delays happen in war. Do not look for treason where there is none. The Horde killed them, not the Ice Fangs. Your brother has sacrificed his life for an Ice Fang. Honor his choice and trust his judgment.” She closed her eyes and exhaled. Her snout mellowed, her bandaged paw continuing to ruffle the boys’ heads. “The soldiers had reported the sightings of the slaver. Perhaps we should take a small pack and go hunting.”
“Out of the question, Impatient One.” Anissa’s tone was respectful, but she didn’t bare her throat. “If we can go down, so can the Horde, and any scramble risks us being swarmed and murdered. We have our orders.”
“Right you are, Wolf Hag.” Impatient One nodded. “His death won’t come from our claws, but it’ll come, regardless.”
“Is that a premonition, Shaman?”
“No. Yes. Both.”
“He is alive?” The larger boy, T, shook away his dreams. “I heard him roaring, promising to get to us in my sleep. And there is no one who can stop him from claiming our skins.” He touched Impatient One’s wrist. “Can you…”
“Don’t give up.” The care and warmth in the shaman’s voice surprised Kalaisa. She had expected to see a heavy slap and hear a few teeth fall, but Impatient One touched her forehead to the boy’s. “Never dare to surrender. As long as you live, even if your body is stolen from you, there is a chance for revenge.”
“But I am too small to beat him!” T argued.
“Then do a pro move and let the adults handle it.” Anissa loudly reloaded a shardgun. “You’d be surprised how many people are willing and able to grind the bastard into a powder.”
Kalaisa wanted to offer her own encouragement, but decided against it. Actions spoke louder than words, and Slavetaker had done a grave insult to the Wolf Tribe. Let him come, Soulless One demonstrated the way this creature fought, and she’ll bleed him dry, tearing tendon after tendon until his wretched soul joins the shaman in the Great Beyond, where she will gnaw at him until the day of rebirth or parting.
Best not to keep Soulless One waiting.
She jumped to her feet when she saw a bright yellow glow outside. It wasn’t a sun; the knight-captain turned his head to the north, and in less than a breath Kalaisa was standing next to the man, her mouth wide open. A thundering pillar, thin in the distance, rose on the horizon, touching the clouds. They were kilometers away, yet the billowing wind slapped her muzzle and the ground rumbled a little. Rocks tumbled down the slope, spooking the scouts, and they climbed up.
“Is this the Horde?” Kalaisa whispered, trying to imagine what could have caused such an explosion. “Had they used another of their weapons…”
“No.” Anissa joined her, smiling mirthlessly. “It is Bogdan’s funeral pyre.”
“Bogdan’s…” Kalaisa stumbled. “I don’t understand. The granny Warlord Janine has returned. I thought…”
“My brother’s dead. I’ll never hear him ever again.” Anissa pressed a paw to her own chest, her fingers squeezing the metal a little. Her artificial eye dimmed, zooming in on the roaring cataclysm. “Come, Kali. Let’s load everyone up and head back while the Horde is stalled. I doubt we’ll have much time later.”