Every curse had its merit.

Alpha sat cross-legged on the edge of the freshly dug pit, her paws on her knees. She was naked, her armor stripped and carried away by her pack, and she closed her eyes, smelling blood and the stench of loose intestines. Fingers ran up and down her body, painting long black lines with blessed oil. Shamans chanted, praying to the Spirits to give the warlord strength, and Sarkeesian said her goodbyes quietly, joking even right now.

An unrelenting bloodlust could be used to ignore even the most grievous injuries and crush those who threatened the helpless. The numbness of body and soul helped sharpen the mind, opening clever stratagems that brought downfall to the vile. The Wolf Tribe understood the value of flaws. Few were as blessed and cursed as they were.

The ground shook, and the wind sliced across the tops of the trees, breaking some. A fresh smell touched her nose, brought from afar. Ashes. Janine’s plan worked, after all. Good. The girl had the potential, always stepping up when it mattered. But she was too obedient and feared her wild nature, worried about becoming her former leader. Caution was a virtue, but doubt hindered a warrior, turning her into a coward.

Dragena had announced a rally at Houstad, abandoning all unfound refugees and villages. Too soon, considering the perfect ambush area around them. Alpha didn’t blame Dragena, nor did she think she was wrong. The Ice Fangs. The fuckers had rejoined too late, and the resulting mistrust cast a shadow of doubt over any cooperation. Alpha assigned those she had found to escort the civilians to Houstad.

It should never have happened. This invasion, the way her sisters died, the ineptitude of the Order, had proven the shamans right in full measure. The Tribe had become soft, trusting and weak, burdening the Normies with the need to defend and gather information. No longer. The losses they had suffered here would rekindle the traditions and faith in the old ways, and she herself prepared foundations to ensure their safety.

“Enough!” Starstruck One, the watcher of the shamans, slapped Alpha hard. “Stop overthinking! Let it go. Surrender yourself.”

No growl left Alpha’s lips, no blow followed to finish the uppity woman, and the strongest warlord obeyed, staring deep into herself. She had sinned more than many. Understanding of morality and the decision to be better had come to her in a single bite when she had bitten another test subject she had been ordered to dispose of so cruelly. But emotions like love she simulated, wearing them like a skinsuit attached to her very being, in order to be a better person and to contain the wickedness hidden within.

An almost palpable, pungent malice began to fill the environment. She kept her eyes closed, shredding layers of emotion, forgoing concern for her troops and worry for civilians, and in this dreamy state she thought she saw white shapes walking, dancing and creeping behind the trees, clinging to the Wolfkins, mockingly singing in tune with the shamans’ prayers and waiting.

One of us. Different and still us. You play the most amusing spectacle. What will happen when you, too, grow tired of that game? She recalled their words. She didn’t deem it worthwhile to answer, for her loyalty was unshakable and absolute.

They couldn’t be here, not yet. Even now, the Core Lands stood well defended against anything from the Wastes, and their transient nature ensured that they’d never spend enough time sneaking past the wall. Nor did they have the mental control to peek into her mind. But she didn’t dare dismiss these visions outright. Her kin’s brains worked very differently, and they might very well have predicted decades in advance, being here and had done something, just for laughs, to remind her of their presence.

Fingers continued to run up and down; the chanting helped her to drift into the trance, and Alpha let go of all worries about the present and the future, concentrating on herself and opening the door within herself that she had closed over a century ago. Ravager was not present; those fools in Houstad had unwittingly driven that coward away by reminding her of the sins she had committed. Idiot. You can’t escape the past by running away, and you can’t atone through self-flagellation.

The commander’s will didn’t guide and protect the warlord, and today her greatest trial yet awaited her. Alpha shrugged and opened her eyes, sizing up Starstruck One, and the lust for cruelty caused fur to rise on Sarkeesian’s back, and the woman instinctively released her claws and dropped into a defensive stance. Soldiers of the Alpha pack stepped back, sniffing the air, no longer recognizing their leader.

“You can leave,” Alpha said, addressing four shamans and her wolf hag. As the strongest warlord, she had the largest entourage of shamans to attend her, no matter how difficult the times were. Her claws twitched, and the tongue licked her lips in anticipation.

Cull, Alpha. The ancient command rang in her head and she chuckled.

“Nah, warlord. Can’t. I won’t. Loyal to the end!” Sarkeesian pressed a paw to her heart, the drills in her mouth swirling nervously. “Besides, never shrank from a challenge. Gimme your worst; I’ll survive you yet.”

Not wicked enough. She cared for her troops still. Alpha rose to face the pit of corpses. Dead invaders, with bullet holes and bite marks, their limbs broken or torn, were dragged and dropped here like garbage. Her own Wolfkins, stripped naked of everything of value, and the civilians they had failed to save, shared this grave. Over three thousand corpses, many of them still warm and... delicious. Her stomach rumbled, inviting the warlord to partake, and Starstruck One raised a massive bowl filled to the brim with the drops of blood collected from every corpse present.

I don’t want it. Ravager, Zero, Lacerated One. Please. Save me. I don’t want to lose myself. Alpha took the offering, raised it to the sky, hidden by the tangled branches, and howled. Stop this cowardice! I am Alpha, the Unredeemed! Feeling sorry for yourself, bitch? What about the children who watch their parents die or cry as they are enslaved or worse? Your personality is nothing compared to that. So drink up and win! You are the strongest, the ultimate, and you will not lose!

Alpha’s creators bred her to be an all-purpose model. Able to mimic pity and easily gain a prisoner’s trust, her brain picked up on the slightest changes in posture so she could alter her speech to apply the proper emotional pressure. In combat, her healing factor and innate physical ability allowed her to dominate most battlefields unopposed. Immune to poisons, bulletproof, resistant to most exoteric forces, obedient and without morals, she was also given the ultimate tool that helped her grow and choose to a certain extent.

Instant self-education. By tasting the flesh and blood of her enemies, she learned everything there was to know about them, down to their first cry as babies. The most vivid memories came first, naturally, but no secret was safe, and the uncontrollable influx of foreign influence demanded a certain moderation, lest she be emotionally scarred, so she tried her best not to use this quirk of her body. And now she turned the clay bowl over and poured the lives of thousands down her throat.

As she swallowed their fragments of personalities, their souls, their everything, the most vivid and immediate memories were those of their last moments. She was an infant, crying his sore throat out, not understanding why he couldn’t breathe in the smoke and calling Mom. She was a hordeman, panicking at the thought that no one would take care of her kids. An engineer died trying to gather up his spilled guts and make a brave speech to the frightened children to run, and his last wish was for a warm cup of coffee. So many lives, united in the end by a single emotion.

Horror. Alpha’s psyche cracked; she swayed, unsure of who she was, legs trembling, body shaking, giggling drunkenly and craving more. Almost there. The century of service, the years of training, reduced to nothing by the onslaught of alien memories threatening to erase the core of her existence. She stomped, missing Starstruck One who had jumped aside, her task done. The shaman was ready to sacrifice herself like her sisters, but Alpha refused. Starstruck One observed and guided the most troubled individuals in the Tribe, showing incredible restraint and maintaining a perfect balance of loyalty to both parties. Such talent was rare and to be treasured.

Horror took root, but in order to return and really move forward, something else was needed. A betrayal of her principles and her love. She wasn’t deaf to the murmurs about her foul temper and the trail of mutilated bodies she left in her wake during the challenges, but ever since the incident with Onyxia, Alpha had tried to show a modicum of control, not to maim her sister beyond what they could have healed, not unless they truly crossed the line.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Wolf Hag Sarkeesian was a fine soldier, and Alpha had every intention of kicking her out of the pack one day to lead one of the newer packs as a warlord. How many times had she saved the wolf hag’s hide, and her soldier repaid the debt tenfold by outdoing herself in battle?

Alas, there was no future for her, and fear whipped in an omnidirectional burst, a chaotic and uncontrollable release that toppled several of her warriors and males. They clutched at their hearts, foaming at the mouth as the terror gripped them and they suffered a stroke. Their comrades carried them away, accompanied by Starstruck One, as the horror storm continued to rage, unfocused and merciless, murdering animals by the score.

Claws cut, and Sarkeesian froze, bearing the pain of impalement. There were weaker, less valuable wolf hags, but it had to be her. A bond of loyalty, respect, and understanding bound the warlord and her top officer, and the shamans served as her confidants. Lacerated One’s assessment was correct; to master her power, Alpha would have to descend to the lowest depths and indulge her worst impulses. The monster was thorough, first ravaging the woman’s body to the brink of death, then proceeding to the rest of the victims, severing their flesh and rending their organs. Blood stained her snout red, the scientists’ commands echoed in her mind, and memories of test subjects dying at her paws flashed before her eyes, and she giggled, reveling in the suffering she wrought.

The storm of terror stopped, eased by Alpha’s reinforced will, locked in the core of her being, and she stood over the five barely breathing bodies. She regretted the deed her claws had done. She was excited at the prospect of finding out which of the toys would last the longest when she unleashed her full power. The duality formed; the potential seed of evil in her soul spread its roots throughout her body, vying for control against the years of false love and true devotion. Alpha became one with her sister, and her control over her power heightened to unimaginable degrees.

Laughing and snarling, giggling and sighing, she stepped and jumped over the pile of bodies, disappearing into them like a body in a swamp, relishing and recoiling in disgust as the walls of cold flesh closed around her. She sank deeper, her bulk crushing everything in her path, accompanied by the rasping gasps and coughs of the dying Wolfkins.

Of her sisters. Of her soldiers. And of her toys.

An army advanced at Magoda, a small, unprotected town full of refugees. An army that they could not stop. The fear wave expanded, pouring from the pit of death, engulfing the wounded, forming an invisible cone, and at her will, it pierced the sky, bending downward in an arc, changing into a sort of needle angled at the Wastes and the Ravaged Lands.

It was a missive of sorts.

There were two ways to save Magoda. The first was for her and First to abandon the front lines and rush to the town, praying that they’d be there in time to buy time for the citizens to escape to the Outer Lands, jeopardizing the evacuation and Houstad’s defenses in the process. This option was unacceptable, as in the rush to escape, hundreds to thousands will die in the heat-scorched lands of the Outer Lands, victims of the sun or local parasites. Or worse, a portion of the invasion force could get past the defenders and wreak havoc.

The second option was approved by Dragena, the shamans, and the Dynast himself. Alpha knew who she was; she felt the extent of the taint from her crimes, and no amount of Ravager’s soothing words or Zero’s forgiveness could change that. She was a devil. What could a devil do to help?

Why, she’ll call her blood kin.

Fear descended upon the faraway regions, blanketing the settlements, waking children in cold sweat, and resulting in countless weapon discharges. Cusacks mooed, swinging their heads in search of impending doom; insectoids scurried to hide deep in their holes; thieves and slavers abandoned any ill intent; and drunks in bars suddenly decided it wasn’t worth picking a fight over nothing. Wolfkins and Ice Fangs reacted calmly, contacting the local command to inquire if this was a call for help, and Wyrm Lord’s conscience clashed against her, revolted at the thoughts nestled in Alpha’s skull.

Alpha told the Golden Child nothing; his obligation lay in protecting and governing the Wastes. The Core Lands were their responsibility, and even his wings would not carry him fast enough to turn the tide in time. Worse, that bleeding heart would certainly challenge Mad Hatter and meet his doom if he came. She searched further and found the blessed and the cursed.

Elephantine and sinewy, muscular and very thin, her sisters roamed the land. One stopped laughing and held a baby over her open maw, dead raiders at her feet, and the weeping parents, freed from a slave cage, scratched uselessly at her furless, pale, column-like legs, their gratitude for liberation turning to despair to the monster’s glee. The creature pondered whether to slaughter the child in front of the parents, or take the unorthodox step of eating the elderly, so that the young would die of dehydration, unable to find a haven.

Another sister had unearthed a child’s grave in order to eat a corpse and was having fun playing with a returned brother to a grieving sister and her family who were blissfully unaware of what had entered their home and how soon a carnage would descend upon their village. For the moment, the fallen sister thought and acted exactly like the dead brother; she had become him in every way, and would rather die than harm the child’s sibling. But the biological clock was ticking, and soon she would revert to the beast within.

The third was busy remodeling her cave, tossing out rotting entrails and getting bored with arranged skins. The fiend wondered if she should lure unsuspecting travelers from a path into a desperate trap or just murder them on the spot.

The fear wave touched more consciousness, and Alpha heard a loud pop. One of her sisters died. Four remained. And it didn’t even sadden her. Alpha expanded the fear wave, trying to contact every cursed one.

A monstrosity covered in iridescent tonic sat crouched in front of a hastily assembled lab. Fingers that ended in claws larger than those of a warlord nimbly plucked at rainbow vials and activated strange machines whose purpose eluded Alpha. Rusty engines reassembled into a strange industrial line, surrounded the madwoman, and from her mind, the warlord understood she was working to cure a small plague afflicting the local village. Then the idea became boring, and the thing snarled, grabbed scattered details and began to assemble a device to destroy the surroundings. Complex calculations, willingly shared, flooded Alpha’s brain.

That creature had never experienced a nuclear explosion and was curious if it would hurt or sting or both.

STOP! Alpha commanded, her demand touching her sisters, and they dropped everything. The little one was returned to his parents; the little girl wailed in anguish as her ‘brother’ contorted, head turned in a full circle, and the body itself grew, breaking through the ceiling and leaping away; the travelers were left untouched, and the sick mind had finished the vaccine and tossed it to the suffering villagers, relishing the prospect of having a statue erected in her honor.

Sister! It’s been so long! Arms emerged from the many crevices of the Wastes and Ravaged Lands; bleak forms rivalling her in size danced in perfect unison and cohesion, despite hundreds of kilometers separating them. Oh, you shouldn’t have changed yourself so much! You were so cute before! Here, have some back! Joy and unconditional love met the fear wave, flooding directly into the warlord, and the crack of her psyche narrowed, increasing the understanding and the torment at forcing her soldiers to suffer nearby. She almost lost control of the fear wave and her veins swelled, threatening to bulge as Alpha tried frantically to hold the wave in her recovered state. Gift and poison in one. Such were the skinwalkers. What fun we shall conduct! Is Mother near?

Alpha knew she should be surprised that they reversed her mind link to talk to her, but in dealing with the skinwalkers she had learned to expect the most inexplicable things. If there was a fighting style, these women mastered it in nanoseconds. If there was a complicated scientific problem, they invented a solution and then forgot about it.

The skinwalkers stopped whatever they were doing and danced, with several of them ignoring shots of the panicking settlers and bandits firing at them from close range. Left legs went up, stomping into the ground, sending ripples, arms twisting at impossible angles, fluttering rapidly in the air, the bodies swayed next, hairs flying as heads were thrown up in celebration, then right legs stomping before the process repeated itself. Amber orbs looked in Alpha’s direction, despite the vast distance, and any wounds appearing on the perfect bodies were immediately swallowed by the white flesh.

Their dance resembled the simplest tribal celebration, performed by the younger cubs on their birthdays or to mark a first kill, as the emotions overwhelmed them. But where such dances marked a joyous occasion and praised life, the inverted mockery of the skinwalkers served both to amuse and to ruin their bodies, so that they could drink from both opposite ends.

Sister! So long! Sister! What ails you? Whom do you need to kill? Tell us, direct us, sick us!

Not killing. Not this time. Alpha hastened to dampen her enthusiasm, but it only piqued their interest, and it heaved at her, threatening to squash her like a bug.

Sister, you are so clumsy! The burden lessened. Who is it with you? Is it because of them you had tortured yourself so?

None of your business. Alpha answered. Our… My friends are in trouble and in need of a rescue. I am sending you the coordinates. Can you do me this favor? Without mischief or double-crossing me?

Succor! Oh, such a wonderful game! I haven’t played it in years! Gosh, I had completely forgotten how funny it was! We’re going to see new lands, kill… rescue people! Not them then, huh? Succor! Succor! What fun, what rapturous joy, what a curious task! We accept! But you know the rules… The mind link transmitted a change in their voices, a deep, playful intonation that gently massaged Alpha’s strained mind.

Alpha’s eyes opened wide and amber light shone brightly from beneath the corpses as she demanded obedience. And the Bane of Humanity responded, all three hundred and sixteen of them. Three hundred and sixteen beings stronger and smarter than warlords. Motivated to win.