She awoke, still entombed in bodies, but no longer surrounded by cold flesh. Three hundred and fifteen skinwalkers coiled around her, cradling the relaxed pale slabs, sniffing her hair, scenting her, sharing the warmth of her body. Alpha pressed the palm of her paw to her chest, sensing the newly formed lung inside. Even the cracks in her ribs had disappeared.
“Sister’s back with us. Good day, sleepyhead!” Voices sang around her, and the light of their eyes illuminated the warlord. “Let’s play, let’s play!”
They hugged her, the once-proud warriors rendered into psychotic mobile slaughterhouses by the flaw of their biology, through no fault of their own. Alpha could not find it in his heart to reject them. Even monsters needed family. And someone who cared.
“I can’t join you,” she told them plainly. They gave her space to stand, and her cheeks blushed at the understanding that the bitches had cleaned her the way a mother cleans an unruly cub. “A war awaits me.”
“A war? Battles! Slaughter! Take us along; we’ll play with meat bags!”
“We’ll pry them open!”
“And see what’s inside!”
“We’ll fill the nights with screams!”
“And feast with joy!”
“Like a family!”
Alpha almost agreed to their pleas. Now that they had calmed down a bit, she was able to recognize some of them. There was Anya, a wolf hag who had watched over a remote village for a thousand days and nights after the Iternian Culling. The woman believed herself to be the sole survivor of the Tribe and had performed her duties admirably until she was reunited with Ravager and rewarded. She had nearly taken her own life when the transformation took hold, but had survived long enough for the taint to spread.
Next to her stood Lena, once a curious scout in Pack Alpha and a proud mother of four litters. How happy she had been to win the domination match and receive her promotion. The woman had willingly accepted the change, believing it to be part of the Spirits’ wills as the shamans taught. Alpha examined the changed face and saw nothing of the formerly composed woman. Lena’s ugly grin had reached her ears; the corners of her mouth cracked, her features distorted. The ridiculous, radiant smile, the bliss of a junkie. In her previous life, Lena had never begged. Not even once, no matter how hard it was. Ruined. So completely and irrevocably ruined.
The skinwalkers were off the leash; it was just a matter of time before the first civilian was devoured or worse. A careless word will sow the seeds of conflict, and assembled tools of destruction will find their way into unprepared paws to further the sickening spectacle planned by these monsters.
“No,” said Alpha. “Return to the Outer Lands. Away from civilization, away from the settlements and military bases. Live in remote caves and be good. Can you play this game for me?”
“We can,” they lied unhappily. “But why stay here? We have such wonders to show you!”
“I am still stable,” said Alpha.
“Are you?” inquired the skinwalkers surrounding her at the bottom of the pit. “We sense disturbance.”
“It is sadness,” admitted Alpha. “I hurt those under my command to summon you.”
“We don’t want you to be sad, sister.” She tensed at their approach. Two skinwalkers climbed nimbly out of the pit and raced toward the tree line. “You think we want to hurt you, but we don’t. Visit us, alone or with Mom. Such sights we can show you underground! And no evil, promise, swear!”
The earth shook as the skinwalkers bounced off it, breaking the branches above and disappearing into the forest, not bothering to hide their movements. Alpha used her fear wave, now much weaker than the version she had used before, to track their direction north. Maybe they weren’t bullshitting about obeying. Perhaps, just this once, they’d do as they promised and not linger in these lands, wreaking mayhem.
Testing her arms and legs for pain, she climbed out to find Sarkeesian and a shaman lying on the ground, their lips and fur covered in dried blood. Knowledgeable paws stitched together the ends of the gaping gashes left by Alpha’s claws, closed the wounds, and even reattached severed limbs. Not daring to risk harming them, Alpha roared a call, calling the pack back and hoping, against all odds, to hear two more voices.
Legs stomped, and the cream of her pack hastened to answer her call, advancing cautiously to their location. Of the two missing women, there was no sound.
“W-warlord…” the shaman exhaled. Crimson threads covered her and Sarkeesian’s bodies, strands of hair stolen from Alpha’s hair used in place of stitches. “They... the revelations the Blessed Ones whispered to me. They claim that the Spirits didn’t create the Blessed Mother, that she invented them, and yet they are real now, brought into reality by her existence and our faith.”
“Tread carefully. Take nothing at face value,” Alpha cautioned the woman, marveling at the level of medical care she had been given. The shaman will do more than survive; bless the Spirits, she’ll even keep her legs! “Skinwalkers’ words are laced with lies. The Spirits use them to test our resolve and devotion. For every truth, they feed us ten poisons. And today they have already worked honestly.”
“There is one statement that is less obscured than the rest.” Sarkeesian’s blood-soaked eye focused on the warlord; a swollen mass of flesh completely covered the other. “Our young. Did you harm them?”
“Yes.” Alpha knelt, placing her arms on the ground.
“Why?” the wolf hag asked, trying to sit, and the wounds on her shoulder reopened. Alpha probed the woman’s mind, using a whiff of terror to keep the wolf hag pinned.
“Because I am a tool,” Alpha began, remembering the white rooms of the experimental center and the screams of dying subjects in her claws. “It’s no secret that I am different from the rest of the Tribe.”
“No… shit, ma’am,” Sarkeesian tried to smile, grimacing in pain.
“Lie still, will you, soldier?” Alpha held back the urge to slap the idiot, worried about her safety. “What is a secret is that I am not a Wolfkin. I am a product, the distilled vision of what a Wolfkin should have been according to a vile vision and a cloned mockery of the Blessed Mother’s cubs.” She spread her arms, hating the need to lie.
Ravager had ordered that the origins of the Wolf Tribe be kept secret from the lower ranks, never to be revealed to outsiders or anyone but the supreme shaman and the warlords. She feared possible reprisals, and for a long time Alpha considered her paranoid, until the day came when Iterna carried out the Culling of those with the ‘impure genes’. Since then, every warlord had learned the value of keeping their mouths shut, cautiously quashing any attempts at racism within their nation and praising the wisdom of the Dynast and the commander who had repeatedly warned that this might come to pass.
For their sakes and as far as they knew it, the Wolfkins mutated from humans, like Ice Fangs.
“Pretty idiotic in retrospect, huh? The imbeciles who created me failed to notice the obvious flaw of my ridiculous claws, incapable of wielding anything. A tool incapable of even dressing itself, a savage barbarian in a world full of excellent ranged weapons, a waste of resources. But they crafted me true in the rest, the bastards,” Alpha said bitterly, mingling falsehoods with the truth, unwilling to shy away from admitting her sins. Sarkeesian deserved better. “Loyalty is ingrained in me. I can’t resist an order from my superior. And they used me as a fighting dog to test the limits of those they captured, forcing me to kill until the day came when the Blessed Mother and the Dynast delivered us.”
“Blessed be their names,” the shaman muttered.
“Indeed.” Alpha sighed. “My sin remained. I confessed everything to the Blessed Mother and asked for punishment, fully understanding the gravity of what I had done. She listened and embraced me, refusing to punish me and asking for only one thing. That I be a good girl.” The absurdity of it all sounded as ridiculous now as it did then. “Since then, I have imprinted on her and the Tribe, doing my best to atone and keep my crimes a secret. Now you know.” Alpha raised her head, exposing her throat to another female for the first time since the conversation with Ravager. “Judge. I won’t resist now or later if you are too weak.”
“Not my place to argue against the commander’s mercy,” Sarkeesian forced the words through her broken drills. “I have seen you in action, Warlord, and tens of thousands rescued and trained by you. Whatever you have done in the past, I am honored to serve the woman you have become. Help me to my feet; I will join the defense of Houstad.”
“No,” Alpha said. “Warlord Janine is wrong about many things, but even a broken clock is right twice in a day. You’ll sit this one out.”
“My friends are dead, bitch!” The wolf hag snarled. “Their souls demand vengeance!”
“Wolf Hag!” the shaman gasped. “Watch your tone!”
“For that, I’ll scar your back later, Wolf Hag,” Alpha promised, hearing the approaching footsteps. “Rest. My decision stands. This war is over for you.”
“I thought you were supposed to serve the Tribe!”
“And I am. To the Tribe. Not Sarkeesian. Sarkeesian is a part of the Tribe placed at my command,” Alpha told her, standing.
Starstruck One entered the clearing, glanced at the pit, and immediately checked on the wounded. She exhaled in relief and snapped her fingers, silently commanding a wolf hag following her to call the medics from the ranks of Normies. There were no more secrets left here to be kept from the outsiders’ eyes.
“Will the Blessed Ones return to their dwellings?” asked Starstruck One, marveling at the gift of two spared sacrifices.
“Most of them,” Alpha answered. “The connection is broken, but I feel the intent. Two plans to fool around, the majority go home, and one is missing. Prepare the search parties; I will not leave my soldiers…”
“We found them on the way here, Warlord,” Starstruck One said.
As the shaman showed Alpha what her cursed sisters had done to the two injured shamans and the dead woman, her paws closed and claws drew long lines in her arms. Twisted limbs were stretched to the breaking point, the bones inside them reduced to bone dust. Dead eyes, still wide opened from the unspeakable torture, stared at the shocked pack members.
We don’t want you to be sad.
Instead, they made her first joyous and then enraged.
“Take them off,” Alpha said, maintaining an even tone. “Respectfully. Wrap them in cloth and give them a proper farewell, Shaman. Don’t let the Normies see what’s been done to them. Then off to Houstad.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“You speak as if you plan to go a separate way, Warlord,” Starstruck One said.
“I am,” Alpha confirmed. “I hope my sisters will forgive me for not personally sending them on the final journey. But matters of the living demand my attention. Our kin escort the convoy of refugees. I will join them as soon as possible to protect them.”
****
Mad Hatter stood in the exposed hall of the command center, admiring the results of her handiwork. The Reclamation Army believed in the security of their wall, and there was a certain merit to that, as their bastions, built at a certain distance from one another, possessed impressive firepower and manpower to repel any regular invasion. Unfortunately for them, she didn’t belong in the realm of normality, but rather acted as the deity’s wrath incarnated, and so she had passed through the laser beams unharmed, flattened the bunkers with the swings of the scimitars, and inhaled a full chest of forbidden chemical weapons, desperately unleashed to repulse her.
The fortification ruins surrounded her, and the khatun had examined them curiously, questioning the survivors. Flashes of gunfire banished the darkness of the collapsed corridors as soldiers tried to attack her; brutish, apish assailants stood shocked as she had been weaving around their blows and outpacing bullets, inquiring of their traditions to determine their future role in the Gilded Horde. It was a game. She had promised to spare the bondsmen, Normies as the Reclaimers called them, if a single bullet or knife touched her furs, hair, or skin before nightfall. The defenders had been unsuccessful so far.
She passed the control consoles, ignoring a few survivors who pretended to be dead and dutifully tried to contact their command. Such loyalty had to be rewarded, and the khatun decided to forfeit the game at dusk and integrate these serfs into her clan. Banners taken from the defeated war bands caught her attention, and she touched the fluttering cloth and leather, unfurling several.
Behind her was an open field divided by roads; a single slash of her scimitar sheared off a third of the fortification, sending it crashing down like a landslide. Had she known of such trophies, Mad Hatter would have shown more care. Crude bone staffs, with spines of the unfortunate victims braided around the steel poles, stood alongside exquisitely tailored silken standards so wide they could easily pass for sails. She recognized the greenish patterns snaking across the silk, shining even in the shadows. So some of the nations she had conquered had tried their hand at raiding the Reclaimers’ lands.
“Curious. Shall I destroy you? Your Sultanate refused to surrender,” she said, ignoring the insistent whispers of her ‘passenger’, who was trying to convince the khatun to accept his offer. “And what is this?”
She heard a noise and stepped aside, irritated when a bullet dented the alloy-covered bones that served as the pole for a war flag. These were her trophies now! Ignoring the urge to murder the gasping soldier, Mad Hatter moved on, running a finger over the cap of a dead officer seated in front of a display. Debris had fallen from above, piercing the man’s chest. Was he in command here? She closed his mouth and leaned forward, examining the display, eager to glean something of value, tapping the gold-encrusted communicator in her ear, ready to send any useful information to Iron Lord.
Their dear traitor had reported that Houstad’s leadership was undertaking every effort to safely evacuate its population at the cost of abandoning its industrial and research facilities. Sure, the traitor was a scheming flea who harbored plans to use the Horde and had already tried to deceive them about the size of the Reclamation Army, but in this the reports sent to them proved true, much to everyone’s bewilderment. She understood the value of sentimentality, but common folk could use their own legs to escape. An abandoned factory was a place where weapons were made for the enemy. And yet the reports on the screen continued to prove it.
“Hey! What do you think you are doing, causing a ruckus around here? It’s our hobby; get your own, copycat!” Mad Hatter blinked, hearing the cheerful, mocking query.
She didn’t notice the newcomer. The soldier gasped, not in awe at the inhuman speed, but at the tall, pale body towering over the human. The creature’s scarless skin was white, muscles coiled beneath it, always in motion; its fingers twitched, and it grinned with a wide maw full of sword-sized fangs. It resembled a Wolfkin, but its eyes lacked concentration, as if a thousand thoughts and desires passed through them in a second. The thing stood relaxed, shamelessly exposing its nakedness. It had no fur, but a long blond hair touched its shoulders. Its back was to the horizon, where a mushroom explosion swallowed a good third of the blue sky, and the racing shockwave reached the ruins.
“You’ll do.” Mad Hatter smiled, gauging the creature’s physical limits from its height, the way it breathed, and the visible muscles. Not much exercise, but better than nothing. “Tell me, intriguing embellishment of the day, what are you? I have never seen a pureblood like you. Are you a mutant, a test subject, or did you take the deal…”
“Liar riding a liar.” The thing clapped its hands and tilted its head, examining some unseen curiosity.
White motes shied away from approaching the strange beast, and for once, the pretender was not in a hurry to snatch a champion. He seemed disgusted by this aberration, and it was new information, but it wasn’t what drained the smile from Mad Hatter’s face.
“Peculiar statement.” It bothered her more than even sleep deprivation. “Why did you call me that…”
It lunged, accompanied by the sound of a fired cannon, collapsing the part of the floor, and the soldier screamed, grabbing the edge of the ruined room to save himself. The operators stopped feigning death and rushed to his aid, while Mad Hatter raised an arm and examined a wound with disbelieving eyes. The creature’s talons slashed at her, far faster than it should have been able to move, and a single drop of blood appeared from the paper cut on her arm.
She was wrong. So exciting. Mad Hatter wished to experience this feeling again.
“How…”
“Oh, don’t cry; I barely grazed you!” The monster fell on his ass, rolling with glee as a series of wet pops went off around its knees.
“Is this your power?” Mad Hatter inquired as the cut disappeared into the smooth skin. Pity. She’d like to earn a scar. “Super speed? Cute parlor trick, but useless. It won’t save you.”
“Who said I’m wanna be saved, liar?” The thing stood up, crouched, and placed its palms on the ground. “I’m enjoying myself.”
“Again you say it.” Mad Hatter frowned, growing irritated. “Why? Whom have I lied to?”
The creature jumped, blossoming a wide sonic boom in its wake. Its edges touched the soldiers briefly, but it was enough to reduce them to a crimson mist. Angry and acting on impulse, Mad Hatter punched, planning to wipe the ridiculous grin of this madwoman who had dared to kill those the khatun had deemed fit to spare.
What? Her ears caught the sound of tearing ligaments as the knuckles shaved the flesh from the creature’s skin, barely touching the bone.
The creature’s head twitched, bending so that the skull disappeared behind the body, and the air propelled by Mad Hatter’s fist continued, crumbling the reinforced fortifications and gouging into the intact segment of the wall, the devastation growing as the talons struck the khatun’s chest.
There was no pain; she had instinctively braced for the incoming stab, but the impact knocked her off her feet and brought the astonishing thrill of being cartwheeled through several walls and ending up buried in the rubble. Mad Hatter stood up, ignoring the bullets bouncing off her body and the communicator falling out of her ear. She nodded to the few soldiers, accepting their victory, and walked back to the dust-covered command center. The crazy naked woman lingered there, kneeling by the consoles near the intact wall, playing with the cables with a single working arm. Her right arm hung loosely, then fixed at an elbow and shoulder, and paws mounted the dangling head at the back of the neck, letting the mocking amber meet the khatun’s.
“Okay, I figured it out.” Mad Hatter pointed at the woman’s trembling legs. “Your impossible evasion, inability to stand after clawing me in the first engagement, and unnatural burst of speed… A normal human usually knows his limits and does not try to turn his head beyond the impossible because it hurts. You have regeneration and ignore the body’s limits, deliberately suffering what should have been a fatal injury just to land a hit or dodge.”
“It’s one way to match you.” The fiend shrugged.
“Match me?” Mad Hatter placed both arms behind her back. “Arrogant, crazy woman. Your delusions have led you to the wrong idea. You are touched by divinity; I will not deny it.” She walked up to the tensed woman, not bothering to take a defensive stance or reach for her scimitars. “But I am God’s daughter. If I want to, nothing can touch me.”
“Wrong on both counts,” the thing snorted, “but cute.”
Mad Hatter serenely rested her head on the shoulder, just in time for the swinging arm to miss. Now that she knew what to expect, she could clearly hear the tearing of muscles and the breaking of bones. For a moment, the woman’s arm arced above the khatun, then it came down, snapping at the elbow, shoulder, and wrist. Mad Hatter stepped away from this touch and from the sweeping leg kick that failed to reach her fur robe. As quickly as the limbs self-destructed, they healed, regained mobility, and the dance began.
Blows capable of leveling buildings lanced at Mad Hatter, the creature’s speed rendering her arms and legs invisible to the naked eye; the merciless onslaught resembled the ravenous white beams of a high-powered laser to several soldiers who arrived to witness the commotion. The displacement of air deprived them of the privilege of observing the divine comedy as the unleashed shockwaves popped eyes and tore bodies, widening the cracks in the room and sparking from the shattered consoles.
Not a single attack reached Mad Hatter, who strode through the forest of living spears aimed at her. A slight tilt of the head brushed hair away from covetous hands; careful footwork moved her elegantly aside the line of attack, her incomparable mind predicting every possible move hundreds of steps into this dance, and the khatun closed her eyes briefly, trusting her prediction to carry through the prelude.
Sounds died as their combined movements banished the air around them, and silence enveloped the room, disturbed by the pretender’s irritating offers of power. The two never stopped their dance in the vacuum; this moment belonged to them alone, a challenger against an avatar of God, and Mad Hatter would not have it any other way. If that creature thought she or it could do me in, then get it and do it.
To her credit, the pale-skinned horror never stopped improvising, deliberately extending the length of her limbs by violently shattering each bone and using the limb as a whip. Through the agony of self-mutilation, the creature delivered blows from every conceivable angle, its arms bouncing off the floor and walls as it closed in on the fleeing foe.
But every play had its finale, and Mad Hatter opened her eyes, blinking away the blood as the sounds resumed. Here it was, the encore. The creature’s right arm twisted, wrapping around its axis, each muscle clinging tightly to the bone to lend superior speed to its thrust, and the seemingly mindless attacks positioned Mad Hatter with her back to the wall. Left or right, or an undignified escape from the stage. Exploiting my pride, huh? Nice plan, but every plan exists only to fail against an Avatar. A little more speed to circle around the woman and then a chop to finish…
The creature held off the attack, briefly baffling Mad Hatter, when suddenly an orange flash of explosion surrounded her, shattering the ground, and she understood the thing wasn’t attacking randomly. It had intentionally stayed in this room, fiddling with consoles to activate a self-destruct sequence, while Mad Hatter had been too confounded by the loss of her footing. Just as the khatun had planned everything in advance, so too had her opponent, and the rotating arm emerged from the spreading fire, closing in on the robe.
I refuse! In the midst of the growing explosion, Mad Hatter found a stone to stand on and, for once, used all her strength to bounce off of it. The added velocity turned the piece of rock into a meteor that tore its way through the floors of the bastion to the surface and deeper, opening deep canyons around the place. Her jump carried the khatun outside, and she witnessed firsthand as the Reclaimers’ stronghold was scattered by the atmospheric wound she had caused. The fortress no longer existed; any survivors died faster than their pain receptors could alert the brain to the pain, and the wave of destruction tore through the nearby green and rocky plains.
“Seems I forced you to run away after all!” A laughter came from the rising cloud of dust, and the badly mangled creature limped to stand on a shaking pillar. The thing lacked an eye, one arm was missing, and it grew thinner, no longer possessing reserves to regenerate.
“What are you here for, really?” Mad Hatter asked, acknowledging the fact but not the loss. It did not touch her. She had won.
“To train you,” the creature gurgled, spewing blood. “It wouldn’t be fun if Mum murders you in a single stab.”
“Then her skills are…”
“Surpassing my own, yeah,” the thing confirmed, ignoring the shaking ground around.
“Good.” Mad Hatter covered the distance of a hundred meters faster than the pale creature could react. “Because your skills…” Still holding her hands behind her back, the khatun kicked; the tip of her foot landed at the Pureblood’s ankle and traveled all the way up to the head, opening the body. “…are nothing to brag about.”
The force of her kick reverberated through the creature’s body, bursting every blood vessel and damaging every cell as the body unfolded in glorious petals of white and red. The khatun waited, confirming the death, and nodded as the remains slowly merged with the dust of destruction. She had killed regenerators before, and she will do so again.
Do you see it? The red-eyed form whispered in her ear. The world is far vaster than you have dared to imagine, my daughter. Today you made a mistake and survived thanks to your superiority, but how long will that last? Accept me, take your rightful place at my side, and let us remake…
Liar. Mad Hatter’s chest strained, expanding slightly, her muscles flexing, tightening. An invigorating surge touched her, stronger than anything before; the pretender continued to blurt out his falsehoods, and she didn’t care enough to ponder the implication that he hadn’t offered his services to the creature, or that the thing had been able to see him.
No, she stood for several hours wondering about that statement. She never lied, did she? In a world of deceivers who wanted to take advantage of everyone, she had told the harsh truth since childhood.
What was the lie?