Janine followed the scent mark to a small observation platform that overlooked dining compartment number 4. The crawler was a living, moving city, and spacious corridors served as its veins and streets. Even after several days of being confined in this coffin, Janine still relied on the scents left by other Wolfkins, which mapped the environment far better than any soulless terminal could ever do.
And right now, she had entered the territory of the Ygrite pack. Her scent was thin, reeking of uncertainty and avoidance of challenge. But it was mixed with a veiled, acrid stench of a mixture of digestive fluids and powder. The initial taste lulled a challenger into a false sense of security, promising an easier victory before the weaker warriors used every dirty trick in the book. The warlord recalled a wolf hag cursing and choking on razors hidden in the thick fur of Ygrite’s scout. And then the scout buried a knife under the wolf hag’s ribs, drawing a long gash and damaging a lung.
Ygrite’s girls imitated after their warlord, winning duels through smarts where their claws and muscles faltered.
It left Janine wondering why Ashbringer had called her here. The packs claimed territory for their own warriors. Many males, warriors, and scouts napped happily in the airways, their confinement reminding them of their cramped home villages, while wolf hags and warlords rested in private rooms to set an example. An uninvited trespass could lead to a sporadic brawl when a stressed guard threw a reflexive punch. The Blessed Mother made her will clear. Avoid violence in these lifeless bowels.
If this idea troubled Ashbringer, she didn’t show it. She stood at the edge of the observation platform, ignoring the wolf hag of the friendly pack beside her. Her eyes scanned the rows of chewing Wolfkins below.
Ashbringer, like Janine, possessed a misshapen body. Her fur had a silky touch, even softer than the Blessed Mother’s, and it lay smooth instead of sticking like needles. Ashbringer rubbed the ashes of burned victims into her fur, trying to roughen it, but while it created a pleasant shade and black color, the fur refused to lose its softness. Her head was more elongated forward, giving her a wider mouth filled with sharper and smaller fangs, more befitting of a young warrior than of a warlord.
Once, a rare challenger for her rank called Ashbringer a ferret to her face. The entire pack held their breath, worried about the kind of revenge the woman would inflict on the hussy. However, as soon as the domination match was over, Ashbringer bellowed with laughter, flung the broken body over a shoulder, and carried the defeated to the medics in a good mood. Later, she elevated the challenger to the rank of a wolf hag.
Below, the Ygrite pack snarled and tried to snatch the fattest pieces of meat from their trays, pleading for larger portions from the Normie cooks. Several Wolfkins, who had been guilty of something, assisted the cooks by handing the trays to the ravenous swarm, for the unruly soldiers might have accidentally injured the cooks in the competition for the trays. Ygrite was the weakest warlord, but she also accepted every reject and her pack grew numerous.
This pack was an oddity. They lacked the standard family relationships befitting the Wolf Tribe. Suicides caused by rampant dominations, deaths during sparring, added to the already high toll of casualties that came from being the first unleashed on the front lines and serving as the rearguard during rare retreats. Sisterhood never took hold here, and even wolf hags often lost their ranks several times a month. However, the soldiers enjoyed Normies’ company, eagerly learning new tricks and listening to weapons’ instructions. Many soldiers had prosthetic arms or legs that sometimes sparked due to disrepair. Doctors and cyber crafters wrote wishes of well-being on these limbs, and not a single soldier in the pack chastised the wounded for it.
Ygrite believed in survival. It was her law. No matter the indignity, no matter the wounds, if you live, you stand up and keep going, soul be damned. Despite Lacerated One’s repeated attempts to censure the warlord for disregarding her warriors’ wishes for a peaceful death, Ygrite continued to adhere to this heresy. The Wolfkins, scarred and bleeding from fresh scratches, roared in cheer at the news that today’s meal would be mashed potatoes and real cusack steaks instead of synthesized nutrient fakery. Their voices were so sincere that Janine almost had a mind to join in.
“Saw you speaking with that Kalaisa cub,” Ashbringer said. “Be wary of the bitch. She’s not right in the head.”
“And who is?” Janine asked, confused as to why a warlord would be spying on a wolf hag from another pack. “Seems like no worse than you were. What was that boy’s name again?”
“Irrelevant,” Ashbringer snapped. “The Blessed Mother herself absolved me of all sins. Remind me of that incident again and I will rip your jaw out.”
“You will try,” Janine said calmly.
“Do not tempt fate, Sister Slayer Janine.” Ashbringer still hadn’t turned. “I make no threats or hypothetical. I deal in facts. Better listen to me. See these Wolfkins? Her brothers and sister.”
Janine saw a shambling mess of a Wolfkin, covered in scars from head to toe. It wasn’t uncommon for a male to be badly injured, especially if a girl took a dislike to him and used him as a chew toy. There was a long scar around the male’s waist, dozens of ugly healed wounds on his arms, and the tips of his once sharp, long ears had been cut off. Recent bruises had swollen his legs, and he had lost some fur from stress. The male looked around like a cornered animal, while a taller girl and a smaller male walked beside him, often holding him by the shoulder. When he saw Kalaisa torpedoing her way through the crowd, the boy shivered and almost dropped his food.
“She did it,” Ashbringer stated flatly. “I asked around. People told me the family was close until one day Kalaisa snapped and began tormenting them for no reason. When another girl tried to kill the wounded male for fun, Kalaisa flayed her face and would have eaten her alive if it weren’t for Ygrite’s intervention. Freak. Why maim if you are going for the kill?”
“Everyone is not without sin, like you said.” Janine frowned when Kalaisa shoved her siblings, tossing the two lesser wounded ones aside and crashing the trembling male against a table. The wolf hag sat and laughed mockingly, ordering her brother to eat from the floor. “Ygrite just needs to give her a good beating.”
“You are as soft as our sister. Kalaisa is a motherless cur and must be treated like one,” Ashbringer said. “Anji is keeping an eye on your youngest. For our sake, I hope she can keep Kalaisa from creating a body. Otherwise, I’ll add another one and will have to listen to Alpha’s screams again.”
Pure fury arrested Janine’s limbs at the understanding of just who that bitch meant by ‘off the hook’. It was no coincidence that she had followed Marco into the room. Daring to bare fangs at my family? Janine counted from one to ten, resisting the urge to pounce on Kalaisa and wrenching her head clear off for daring to even think about harming Marco. The shamans and her soldiers might chastise her for taking a life for the sake of a male, and Alpha might label her as weak, but she could live with that criticism. What she could not live with was seeing her boy…
“Ashbringer,” Janine said. “Thank you. But why do you help me? I thought you had despised me.”
“I despise you,” Ashbringer replied. “You are a mongrel cur, so worthless that even your own mother rejected you. To call you a warlord is an insult I must bear. The commander should not have let you be anywhere close to her. But what happened happened. It was brought to my attention that the tribe had failed you. It falls to me to rectify this and support you, since the rest of the rabble is too irresponsible.”
And how different are these cubs? Janine thought, ignoring the insults. Words were irrelevant, as she learned. Actions mattered. All of them, including Kalaisa, were kin. The tribe’s carelessness had led Kalaisa astray, and the misery spread. The warlord clenched her fists as the trembling boy tried to crawl away from his older sister. Marco has her. Anji. Even Ashbringer. Who does this boy have to support him?
“Who allowed you to eat at a table, eh?” Kalaisa kicked her brother in the side. He mumbled something, and Kalaisa’s smile widened. “I can’t hear your whining. Look at me.” The boy froze, and the wolf hag kicked him again, this time using her claws to slice a bit of skin. The boy rolled on the ground, whining and leaving a blood trail, before curling up into a ball. Kalaisa’s siblings tried to stand up between the two, but their elder sister grabbed them by the throats and sent them flying with a casual flick of her wrist. “I said. Look. At. Me.”
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Janine did some pure evil things in the past, this much she admitted to herself. She dominated males in pits, often breaking their fingers or leaving them starve for days. This part of her life she could never alter. Janine could not change the traditions; she could only mitigate them somewhat by providing better conditions for the males in her pack, preventing their deaths at the females’ claws. Some grumbled, thinking her soft, but Melina and Anissa had carried out her wishes. No male ever took his life under her command, and the foolishness of Terrific was but a memory.
Janine wasn’t a better person than Kalaisa. She could not undo the damage she had done in the past.
But she could do something now, too. As the younger brother wet himself from horror, Janine leapt down, sending a ripple through the floor and sending a few tables jumping up as her massive bulk landed. No more. Kalaisa warily watched as the warlord made her way through the pool of Wolfkins, greeting them with raised throats. She didn’t bite any. Her pack wasn’t large in numbers, and it would be foolish to start a blood feud. But a lesson was in order.
“Kalaisa,” Ashbringer interrupted Janine, landing on two straight legs and never bending her knees. “You and me.”
The warlord stepped down the aisle between the tables, holding her paws behind her back, and rocketed her neck.
“Want to earn scars so badly, granny?” Kalaisa laughed and stood on all fours, releasing her claws and digging them deep into the metal. “Raise your paws.”
“No need,” Ashbringer yawned.
“Take a stance, fool! When I carve my name into your skin, I don’t want you to have any excuses for your sorry… What are you doing?” Kalaisa demanded when Ashbringer looked at the ceiling, counting lights. “Got scared?! Offering me your neck for free?!”
“Your mug disgusts me,” Ashbringer said. “Makes me want to puke just looking at it.”
Kalaisa propelled herself at the warlord, her paws tearing four gaping holes in the floor. Exceeding a bullet’s speed, Kalaisa’s blurred form grabbed knives as she passed tables and hurled them at the warlord’s head as she closed in on Ashbringer, her arms already trying to hook underneath the warlord’s kneecaps to pull them out in a single, unified thrust and bring the opponent to her knees, disoriented and crippled.
Ashbringer bowed so fast that the knives failed to touch her skin. Or at least, this was what it looked like to Janine. The two opponents’ heads collided with enough force to create an explosion of air and a small, expanding vacuum that had knocked several soldiers off their feet. Food trays, tables, and cups made from reinforced glass—everything was reverberating. Blood splashed against Janine’s smirking face. Kalaisa’s blood. The blow splattered her face down into the ground; she bled profusely from her ears, and as she tried to rise, more red streaks flowed from her moaning mouth and nose. Kalaisa’s arms shook, and she fell again, unable to stand after a single, disrespectful headbutt from her opponent.
A snap of fingers bashed the wolf hag’s blood and some ash from Ashbringer’s forehead. She waited a bit, giving time for the glasses and tinkling metal in the compartment to stop, and no one dared speak.
“Unworthy of my claws. Too weak for my fangs. Ugly. Predictable. Honorless, like the rest of Ygrite’s trash. But what else could I expect from a motherless cur who hasn’t learned life’s first lesson?” Ashbringer said in a melodious voice. Her feet touched Kalaisa’s lower jaw, and she lifted her head. “Dominating males wastes time that could be spent honing your skills. I see no sister or comrade in you, filth. Your reckless behavior put several soldiers at risk.”
The wolf hag’s head swelled. Pieces of the exoskeleton pierced the skin, bulging out of alignment from the titanic collision.
“And the lives of those whom they could have saved,” Janine added. She put a paw on Ashbringer’s shoulder, preparing to pull her away from the downed opponent if needed. “Male, female, who cares? We are the soldiers of the Reclamation Army, a shield that rises before the weak, an axe that cuts off the heads of the threatening! We grow stronger to serve, and you deny your pack that opportunity by ruining their lives, Kalaisa.”
Ashbringer stomped on the wolf hag, pushing the panting woman deeper into the floor. Kalaisa screamed in pain, but the warlord kept on going, increasing the pressure and creating a small crater, until Kalaisa’s left shoulder blade cracked under the immense strain, and the woman whined, going limp.
“You spat on our duty, Kalaisa, for the sake of your petty enjoyment,” Janine mercilessly continued, pointing at the Ygrite pack, who stood aside silently. Any pack respected duels, but when they went so far, there should have been soldiers ready to jump in, even at the cost of their lives. These soldiers just stared, not caring about the outcome. “Look around! You cared for none, and none comes to your aid in return.”
“So…What new? No one helped before either…” Kalaisa gasped.
“You are still young, cur.” Ashbringer’s paw closed around Kalaisa’s head, and she lifted the wolf hag in the air, ignoring groans as pieces of the skull moved underneath her fingers. “As of right now, you are a liability. Unworthy of your rank. Change it. The lesson is over. If you force me to repeat this lesson, it will be your last time, potential be damned.”
Ashbringer let go of Kalaisa and spun, moving toward the exit.
“You don’t grow stronger from dominating males,” Ashbringer said, passing by warriors. “Remember it and act as a unit, damn you. If Ygrite would have any complaints, relay to her she is welcome to have her skull broken against my fist any day of the week.”
“What…” Kalaisa licked her lips, standing up on the wobbly legs. “What did I do wrong? Strength is revered, and I lived by this rule! That was what I was taught!”
“You are brutish, not strong, Kalaisa,” Janine said. “There is more than one type of strength that is required to be a wolf hag. You are strong physically, but you fail to inspire loyalty, and your mind is fixated on self-pity, preventing you from shining. Rather than indulging in your impulses, control them, own your bloodlust, and turn it inward, using its energy to make your pack better, stronger, faster, and more united than ever before. A single soldier is but a puzzle piece on the battlefield—a cog in a machine, if you will. Work with others to overcome anything in your path, rather than putting them down.”
“I… don’t get it,” Kalaisa admitted, struggling to focus on Janine.
Mercy is never wasted. It was hard. The bitch threatened her son. She was another warlord’s problem, and Janine’s paws were already full. She wanted to leave and let the fool die a fool’s death. But where Janine had the blessing of Martyshkina, Terrific, and the shamans to guide her through the darkest period of her life, this one had no one.
“Visit me every evening, and I shall teach you what I can. For the time being, focus on healing, apologize for your actions, and ensure your soldiers’ wounds receive proper treatment.” Janine approached the broken Wolfkin, bypassing the male and female’s feeble attempts, and the boy simply closed his eyes, baring his neck.
Maybe she should’ve gotten Impatient One. The boy was broken; it was plain as day. It may be cruel to let him live. Kalaisa’s treatment would kill him one day. A quick death and a fresh start in a new body or a new life in the Great Beyond is a far better deal. But Janine refused this choice and gave the youngster time to collect his thoughts.
“Your name?” she asked.
“Kirk, warlord,” he replied, and she patted him.
“I see. Heal. Survive, soldier,” she told him, leaving him in the care of his siblings, glaring at Kalaisa one last time to ensure that the moron was obeying her command.
Good. Small steps toward betterment. The tribe failed this family, and Janine gave Kalaisa a paw, seeking to pull her to the light. But this is just one member of a broken family.
What am I doing? She pondered, grabbed a terminal, and called Bogdan. Ignacy answered and quickly passed the terminal to her son.
“Warlord?” Her son hiccuped.
“Have you been drinking?” she bristled.
“In my spare time, as permitted by the rules, warlord!” He burped and continued in a hushed tone. “Sorry, Mom. Had a call from my baby and got a little emotional after talking to the little ones. They are already saying words…”
“And he taught them profanities while his wife left them alone to talk. Five minutes! That’s all he needed to spoil them!” Ignacy complained, and Janine noticed him speaking some words a bit longer than needed. Both of her sons were having a celebration of their own, it would seem. “Bogdan, she’s going to kill you once she hears them spewing vileness in the pits, and I fully support this decision, you bastard.”
“Eh, I never thought I’d live to hear my little ones speak, so I’m taking every day as a bonus and living life to the fullest, and there’s nothing you can do about it, nerd,” Bogdan replied. “Sorry for my undigni… innapro… unfitting behavior, warlord!”
“Not another word,” Janine relented. Bogdan had gotten into trouble in the past for drinking too much cheap moonshine and alcohol. But he gave up drinking altogether after becoming a father. The silly boy claimed he wanted to be an example for his cubs. It was hard for him to be so alone, unable to see his girls and boys growing up. “I have a request. Personal,” she added. As a warlord, it wasn’t right to offer a male a chance to refuse outright, but Bogdan was smart enough to make up something if he didn’t want to work.
“I am all ears. Me and Ignacy have plenty of time on our paws.”
“Why do you speak for me?” Ignacy argued.
“Because you’re not doing anything!”
“I planned to read about sonic emitters….”
“See! Doing nothing.”
“Bogdan, I have a new arm, and I am not afraid of heating someone!” Ignacy warned.
“Ho-ho, then how about you use it to heat a girl for once?” Bogdan laughed.
“The Abyss are you meaning?! Why would I set an innocent woman aflame?”
“I meant, get yourself a mate already, brother!”
“You done?” Janine asked, and her boys fell silent. “Good. There’s someone I want you to help, in a way only you can, Bogdan…”