Ashbringer crashed heavily to the ground, kicking up a torrent of dirt and rolling toward the trenches, losing chunks of her armor and struggling weakly to stand before slipping limply out of sight. Drozna’s boisterous laughter followed her, and he dove into the ranks of the soldiers, oblivious to the bullets pounding against his muscles. A single flick of his arm spread crimson across the length of the tunnel as the hordeman simply swept aside a dozen soldiers. His hungry eyes caught sight of the warlord’s crumpled helmet ahead, and he stepped toward it.
At that instant, Ashbringer rose from behind him, wrapped an arm around his neck, and threw the bastard face down to the ground. Wolfkins were famous for performing impossible feats, but Janine knew that this was a carefully cultivated image, both to inspire allies and to scare the opposition into surrendering. Nothing done by her named sister was mindless or pointless.
Drozna saw her enter the trenches with her head to the north, so he unconsciously turned to that side, expecting her to escape as the warlord scurried south on all fours, his helmet thrown ahead. He was far stronger than Ashbringer, but she jerked him back as the massive man took the first step and lifted a foot off the ground. Simple practicality, and Drozna roared in pain, flailing wildly and ruining the fortification as the paw stabbed him in the softer armpit.
An omnidirectional wave of anger whipped around the front lines, driving both hordemen and Reclaimers into a crazed bloodthirst, and here and there the ranks broke as soldiers charged at the enemy and were gunned down. Thoughts of every unpaid grievance returned tenfold; every slight demanded immediate vengeance, and Ashbringer rode this wave, letting it elevate her abilities beyond normal limits.
Several Horde aircraft closed in on the engagement zone, preparing to unleash their cannons. Calmly, the officer in charge rose atop his command vehicle, ignoring his operators, who were trying to claw each other’s eyes out. He held up his hand, trusting the Reclaimers, and from afar, the missiles took to the sky, downing two of the fliers, popping the bubbles of their shields in a shower of sparks. The concealed SAM vehicles joined the fight, and the rest of the 5th switched their weapons to flamers, boiling the advancing bondsmen in the wall of pure hell that hid the invaders from the defenders.
Watching the battle, Janine imagined hope spreading through the ranks, thoughts of possible victory coming to the desperate people. It didn’t last. Ultra-hot balls of plasma and heavy slugs pierced the flames, tearing at the defenders, and larger figures, gigantic shadows of darkness against the flames, stomped into combat.
Purebloods and Dirtybloods stepped into the fray, advancing safely through the cleared minefields after bondsmen soaked up the incoming barrage for them. Loud chants rang out as the Horde priesthood appeared, led by the tall, bird-like humanoid freak. Bullets deflected or stopped dead before touching his bare skin; a simple gesture aged individual defenders backward, and a note from Martyshkina appeared on the screen. She insisted she had killed the bastard properly.
Yet he lived. And New Breeds rained from the skies, howling prayers to their god, flying over Reclaimers and unleashing their own exotic hell. Reality warped and opened gateways to unknown realms, sucking in whole people or parts of them; lightning arcs coalescing in reality wiped out entire squads, and fire and water wreaked havoc in equal measure. New Breeds of the State stepped into the sky, acting in synchronized union, where those capable of mass manipulation supported their comrades, giving them the ability to face the blasted invaders, and the massacre began in full, exotic powers versus unnatural abilities, body-shifting carnage where claw-faced steel and corpses of the dead fell, while on the ground Orais and rare Ice Fangs held their positions against Purebloods.
Tears in reality opened behind the commanding officer, and the curved sword impaled the man. Brood Lord stepped out of the portal, crumpling the vehicle and its crew with the weight of his immense bulk, brandishing the dying soldier like a trophy, and opened fire on the defenders. His assassin duo raced to the rear, murdering the Reclaimers’ leadership, and Brood Lord jumped, gracefully evading from the line of fire. He landed on the nearest tank, kicked through the hatch, dropped a grenade, and leapt away with insectoid grace, his pincers snapping and biting heads as he landed among the troops. From other portals stepped his private guard, cheering the ingenuity of their leader.
Scorched by flames and bathed in noxious fumes, the Purebloods who broke through the front had the appearance of horrors straight out of a nightmare, but it had little effect on their killing efficiency. Veterans of countless conflicts, they began to push toward the center, and Ashbringer broke from her fight with Drozna and snatched a communication device from the nearest soldier.
Her commands halted the panic, and the troops began an organized retreat, shielded by the remaining turrets destroyed by the invaders. Brood Lord beckoned to the warlord; Drozna shouted the challenge, but she ignored the obvious bait and continued the retreat, ordering the rearguard, a thousand soldiers, to hold their ground against impossible odds. The 5th and the artillery tried to help them when an arc of propelled air swatted the shells aside and flattened the tanks. The next apocalyptic blow landed on the artillery, opening a new canyon in the ground into which many had fallen. Mad Hatter arrived at last; her laughter drowned out every sound, and no one could stand up to her.
Six hours. That’s how long the Provincial Army held out, biting and fighting, but the arrival of the khatun put an end to any resistance, and the few survivors, led by Ashbringer, told tales of Mad Hatter’s invulnerability, of how she breathed poison and walked through the energy discharges, ignoring the bullets that ricocheted off her skin. The road to Houstad was open, but surprisingly, the Horde had stopped.
This was important. Janine reviewed the woman’s previous campaigns. Based on the stories of Caikhatu, the defectors, and the Brood; Mad Hatter never let enemy leaders escape. Her own experience proved it, so why was Ashbringer allowed to retreat? A trick, of sorts? She replayed the laughter segment, listening for anything out of the ordinary. The khatun sounded… pensive, as if feigning amusement while her mind was on other matters. A trap?
Iron Lord’s absence also concerned Janine. That khan was a thoroughly conventional person, and if he had been in charge of the Gilded Horde’s advance, then her own trap and the mistakes committed by Brood Lord would’ve never taken place. His artillery would have reduced the defenders’ positions to poison-filled rubble without risking a single soldier, and that would’ve been the end of it. So where was he? Murdered? Doubtful. His rival never asserted his authority over the invasion.
She scanned the rest of the reports. The refugees who had failed to cross the bridge had arrived safely at Hunter’s Lait, the place of debauchery ruled by the offspring of that accursed S-Class Malformed killed by Devourer decades ago. Soon after, the Horde’s pursuit party arrived, and joyous howls filled the hills. The invaders expected to face the usual skittish Malformed, but the things populating this rocky region were of a different kind.
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Hunting was everything to them, superseding even their own survival, as the missionaries trying to civilize the local tribe explained. The only reason the people of the Great Nations felt at peace there was because of the Promise, and now the locals rejoiced and sang praises to their ‘benefactors’ for sending a worthy game to their lairs. The two sides clashed and locked in a fierce stalemate until the arrival of a wyrm broke the Horde’s morale and turned the tide in the Malformed’s favor. No mention of Iron Lord.
The scattered remnants of Skull Lord regrouped and plundered the lands, seemingly leaderless. Dokholkhu, and later Jaliqai, visited the captured brain and confirmed it to be Mehmed. The doctors assured Command that they could keep their prisoner alive, and the Investigation Bureau agents detected no attempts by the Brood to contact their father. Good. She wished the cubs a healthy future, unburdened by the past. Till Ingo reported he had recruited his own captive... Why was that in the reports? Probably a mistake.
Janine leaned on the back of the armchair, looking at the ceiling. To think that just a month ago she had wondered about such stupidity as an ice cone and Bogdan was alive then, helping to calm the cubs. A few days ago, she believed the shamans were wrong about the Order. The truth smacked her with full ferocity for such stupidity, stealing a part of her soul. Her paws clenched. A mistake—her mistake—had brought so many deaths. Never again. They shared no kinship with the Order.
She picked up the Taleteller and began swinging mindlessly, keeping reading the information from the portable terminal. Camelia was still in a coma, but nothing threatened her survival, and her House staged an orderly retreat, listening to scout… Wolf Hag Zolushka at long last. Alpha vanished, but reports poured in about intestines hanging from the branches and about sporadic eruptions of fear in the region, driving even the stubbornest of farmers to abandon everything and join their families in Houstad. Their sister was doing a wonderful job, just as the Blessed Mother had taught them. Even the vilest talent could be used for good.
Knight-captain Osiris took on the mantle of the Sword Saint after Leonidas’ passing and already offered to compensate the Wolf Tribe in any way they could. Macarius had opened his eyes hours ago and begged to see her. Janine ignored the request of both traitors, unwilling to be trapped by their honeyed words.
Twenty-five hours. Maybe less if Mad Hatter stopped her brooding sooner. In a day or so, the battle for Houstad will begin, and the commander was yet to appear.
A knock on the door distracted her.
“Open!” Janine shouted, turning off the terminal.
Martyshkina pushed through the door, still bedecked in the full combat suit. The helmet slid from the head, revealing her unusually calm face.
“Shouldn’t you be supervising the retreat?” Janine asked.
“It’s taken care of.” The warlord stepped closer to Janine, looming over her because of the power armor. “Everyone is in place, and the packs are out on foot, picking off any raider foolish enough to try to get a jump on us. I have a sin to confess.” Marty bowed her head. “I planned to shoot myself once the war was over.” Her paw stroked the handle of the revolver. “The shame of leaving you, Eled, and Predaig behind burned me every second. I could not eat, drink, or rest. All I wanted to do was throw myself at…”
Letting go of the Taleteller, Janine slashed with enough force to shake even the statues. She didn’t hold back, and Marty’s scarless cheek opened to the bone, also exposing her fangs.
“How dare you?” Janine shoved Marty into her chest, forcing her to step back. Fear and anger mixed inside her in a searing cocktail of emotions. “Soulmates carry on even after their partner dies. Are we worse than them? Are you weaker than them?”
“Maybe.” Marty ignored the blood dripping onto her armor. “I am tired. Exhausted. All we do is fight and kill. I know it’s selfish, but I can hardly go on. Waking up every morning, pretending to be happy, looking into the eyes of your pack and wondering who you are going to lose today. Fear gripped me after I lost my spiritual sisters, the one pillar of my existence that I believed could never be shattered or removed. You and I grew, wept, and cheered together. Predaig and Eled became our family. They accepted us, and now they are gone, and you expect me to take it as if nothing happened?” Her voice broke. “What awaits us but endless war and the pain of loss?”
“We have to live on, Marty.” Janine hugged her, banishing aggression and letting herself become a simple young cub who wanted to comfort her friend again. “We have a duty to protect civilians.”
“No arguments here. I will never give up and will never surrender until the Gilded Horde is crushed beneath my boot. But Jani.” The other woman swallowed. “I understand Predaig now.”
“What?” Janine asked calmly, remembering the first time she, Eled, Martyshkina, and Predaig had come to their first party to bond as named sisters.
Spirits, they were so stupid! Without armor or clothing, the four bought enough booze to drown a small village and set out into the wilderness, drinking themselves into oblivion while shouting obscenities and trading rumors about other females. They awoke to the sight of a skinwalker sniffing at them, with spine mites and parasites busy sucking the blood out of them. And then that inhuman bitch tore off some insects from their hides and ate them, changing into a horrible, mismatched mess formed of their combined parts that knew their every fear and worry and gleefully using it to send them screaming back to the village. Alpha taunted them mercilessly afterwards.
Was it fun? Damn, yes, it was! Janine felt another wave of sadness, knowing she’d never see Eled or Predaig again. Even their remains were lost or eaten.
“I forget her face,” Martyshkina whispered. “The first of my cubs to survive, my pride and joy, and I am forgetting what she looked like! Biologically, my body is barely thirty years old, and my brain is still functioning perfectly. But the doctors said that it is natural to forget some events after living for so long. They recommend making photos and videos to… to… I can’t… This shit, I just can’t. Why must we keep ongoing when our cubs die again and again? When is it our turn already? When can we rest?”
“I don’t know,” Janine whispered, letting go of her friend. “All I know is that it all has to mean something in the end. But... you are right. We are humans too. Do you remember our first oath?”
“About beating up Freya?” Marty laughed, wiping the tears. “Yep, I sure do. We went overboard, and the poor lass still suffers from back pain. And her sister limped until the day she died.”
“Those bitches deserved it. They nearly blinded us for fun,” Janine grumbled, closing her eyes. “We were cubs back then. Cruel, stupid, merciless fools. I will apologize to Freya after the war. But how about a new oath?” She smiled at Marty’s confusion. “A good one this time. Let us leave the army as soon as a stronger warlord is ready to replace us.”
“But the Tribe…”
“Will live on! And so will we, for the first time! We’ll steal some males, open a bar… We can even drag some of our cubs with us!” Janine squeezed Marty’s paws. “Think about it! It’s not like we’re betraying the Blessed Mother or the Dynasty. If they call, we will come immediately.”
“What is there to think about?” Marty smiled brightly, shrugging off the weariness. “I like it. Abyss, why not?”
“Alone or together,” they said in unison, trusting their instincts to guess the words of each other, “we promise to leave the Tribe one day, find a new soulmate, and start a new life. A normal, happy life.”
The two women embraced, grieving in silence in memory of those they had lost and, at the same time, finding new strength to hold on. One kept going thanks to the fresh dream. And another because of her duties and family.
And the war still raged on. A screaming siren broke the silence, announcing an emergency across the mobile fortress.