Orderly chaos reigned in the magnetic catapult launch bay. Where the Normies displayed exemplar discipline and calmness as they prepared five round-shaped spheres for takeoff, the Wolfkins rushed into the bay at full speed, howling to announce their arrival and demanding a spot in one of the magnetic catapults. Janine and her bodyguards were one of the first to arrive, pushing the Wolfkins from Dragena’s pack aside on their way. Janine slammed the knob of her axe into the floor and bellowed a guttural roar, securing the obedient from the incoming troops. The bickering subsided, and Wolf Hags and Scouts unhappily fell in line.
“Captain Cristobo.” Janine approached the captain, who was standing before the spheres, reading information from his terminal. “What’s the sitrep, sir?”
“Eco… Just Peachy is being raided.” The captain nodded, greeting two more warlords and two sword saints as they entered the bay. “The attackers made quick work of the defenders, bypassing the patrols and neutralizing the outside sensors, eliminating the perimeter towers, and then rushing the regulars. Their first strike was aimed at the communication tower, so they know their craft. We will use the magnetic catapults to send in an assault team. Saving civilian lives is the highest priority. Recapturing the town, eliminating the attackers, or anything else is at your discretion. ETA for ground reinforcements is thirty minutes. Save our people, Janine.”
“Yes, sir. Suit up at once!” Janine whirled and faced Impatient One, who had brought a bowl of insectoid blood. “No rituals! Gear up immediately! Males, attend me!”
Impatient One nodded, dropped the bowl, and jumped away, giving Janine a wider berth as the bodyguards mounted armor pieces on the warlord, rapidly inserting cords into the implants’ sockets, and pushing the warlord without a hint of reverence or respect. Ignacy arrived, already clad in his armor. He leapt to the males’ aid, wielding his new arm with the same ease as his original limb and effortlessly activating the power armor’s generator. Around them, newer pieces of the Wolf Tribe’s power armor rose from the openings in the floor, delivered straight from the armory. It mattered not if a suit belonged to another Wolfkin; at this moment of urgency, engineers and males put it on the females, anyway. There was no snarling about any disrespect or refusal of the Normies’ aid; the amber eyes of every Wolfkin present were focused on the task at paw.
“Battle!” Eled ran a finger along the edge of her scythe blade. “At last. I’ve been longing for a decent slaughter. Ready for competition, Janine? Let’s see if you can collect as many skulls as I.”
“Curses,” Predaig said, spreading her arms. Her fur had grayed in several parts of her body, giving her hide a spotted look. “We haven’t even left the Outer Lands yet, and Devourer immediately fucks up!”
“Enough!” Janine grinned, lifting her lips and baring her fangs. Now was not the time for pointless boasting of imaginary superiority. As if the raiders had never attacked when the Wolf Tribe was here! “I came first. I lead.”
“You lead. We follow.” Eled and Predaig bowed quickly together.
“I follow,” Impatient One said.
“I follow!” shouted Till Ingo’s strange, snow-skinned assistant. The woman arrived carrying twin machineguns, which she snatched off the passing guards.
“Nope.” A paw grabbed her by the nape and yanked off her feet. Despite being tossed in the air, Banshee made a graceful turn in the air and landed smoothly as Wolf Hag Sarkeesian and two scouts of the Alpha Pack took her place.
“I was here first! I can fight!” Banshee argued vehemently.
“But can you put on a suit?” Sarkeesian’s mouth daggers gnashed out the question, and the mutant stopped. “Thought so. Elites of the Alpha Pack, ready to serve! Any challenging Warlord Janine’s authority is our enemy!”
“We follow!” The mixed group of assembled Wolfkins howled.
“Thank you for your help, Wolf Hag. Children these days,” Till Ingo remarked from his place in the operator’s seat. The man took over a console and proceeded to prepare the launch procedure. “Worry not; as a reward, I shall give you a smooth landing. Banshee, be a good girl and help your teacher.”
“I can fight, father!” The mutant returned the weapons and ran to Ingo.
“No, you can’t,” the man said patiently. “Still too young and inexperienced. And I am not your father, student. Keon, increase the output; we want our forces in sooner.”
"But sir, won’t we risk missing the landing coordinates?” asked the former servant of Techno-Queen and glanced at the man in charge of the shift, who nodded and added:
“Sir, we haven’t used the magnetic catapults in a while...”
“Calm down, will you?” Till Ingo asked. “I was the one who reinvented them. They went out of fashion because the stationary platforms are not usable by Normies, and the ones on crawlers have the added negative of being unable to deliver a large enough strike group. In theory. This isn't the case here, as we have sword saints and warlords. Using the mainframe, we can make real-time adjustments to account for the crawler's movements, ensuring a precise delivery. See these calculations on the display?” He glanced at Cristobo. “I’ll be joining the land forces, captain. I am very curious to learn how our sensors failed to alert the town about the raid.”
“We thank you for your assistance, sir,” Cristobo said politely, not breaking away from giving orders to the land troops.
“I follow,” Bertruda announced.
“No.” Janine noticed she was limping. “Stay. Too valuable to lose to the wounds.”
Bertruda’s snout twitched in annoyance, but Camelia put a paw on her shoulder and stepped forward. The sword saint was still dressed in a light nightgown of a black color; her weapon, the Moon, rested at her waist in the form of a sheathed claymore strapped to a jeweled belt.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“I follow,” she said in a tone that left no room for objections.
Janine sighed. A change was needed. At the dawn of the Wolf Tribe, the warlords didn’t permit their packs to mix up, even in the face of imminent danger, forcing them to fight as separate units. Such a strategy lacked benefits granted by a singular command and had cost far too many lives, so the warlords assigned Alpha, Dragena, or an officer in charge of large-scale engagements so that the leader could coordinate packs, monitoring the flow of battle and giving orders when to push or pull. Now, a host of Wolfkins from various packs, including even the Alphas, have willingly submitted themselves to Janine, giving their hides to her care. Like it or not, she can’t spurn away help from someone as strong as Camelia if she cares about the survival of her troops. And the sword saint did show up earlier than many others.
“Accepted. But we have no time to wait for your armor, nor will you hold back, Sword Saint.” Janine’s eyes dug into Camelia’s crimson ones.
The sword saint didn’t waste time bowing. She tore her rich gown off, exposing a body covered by exquisite implants, richly incrusted with silver, and painted in the colors of her household so that from afar they looked more like talismans. The engineers gave her Ygrite’s power armor, as it was the only suit fit for someone of her size. If Camelia experienced any pain when the hissing cords were pushed into her implants and sparks of the connection briefly lit the surrounding skin, all without an underarmor to mitigate a rapid union, then she didn’t show a sign of it.
“I follow.” Kalaisa, still bandaged, leapt ahead.
“No,” Janine replied, pointing at the entering Anji. “Wolf Hag Anji joins the pack. You stay.”
“But I was here first! I…” Kalaisa stopped at a kiss of the Taleteller’s blade against her neck.
“Submit,” Janine demanded, and the stubborn girl exposed her neck without wasting a second. Haste and a decision to reward good behavior kept Janine’s jaws from inflicting further punishment. Kalaisa retreated and joined the engineers in suiting up Anji.
“Don’t you dare die out there, Bootlicker,” Kalaisa hissed.
“I didn’t know you cared. It’s so sweet!” Anji’s lips parted in a mocking, honeyed smile, and the rival wolf hag groaned as she placed the helmet on Anji’s head and attached it to the gorget. The fingers of her good paw ran over the rubberized protection, tapping on it to check if it was in place and that there were no gaps. “Don’t worry, Kali, I will be fine.”
“Kalaisa! The name is Kalaisa! You owe me three lives tonight for the butchery of my name!” Kalaisa rasped, trying her best not to bite the other woman. “We aren’t finished! Your hide is mine to take.”
“Aww! I’ve made a frenemy! Shall we paint our claws together later?”
“Fuck off to the Abyss, weirdo!”
“No, seriously, Kali, thank you for your help.” Anji took the young woman by her paws, and Kalaisa gurgled, choking on her own raging foam. “It’s very kind of you.”
Janine let go of her axe so her helpers could put on her gauntlets. The helmet came next, and she blinked, summoning the HUD, now filled with the new icons of the soldiers’ names from outside of her pack. She gasped against her will when Ignacy jammed plugs into the implants near her spine, and a small, piercing pain made her spasm as her nerves received an electric jolt. With Taleteller in her paws, Janine stomped and sat in the nearest sphere, sharing it with Impatient One and three more soldiers.
Camelia Wintersong left her aides, taking unsteady steps to get used to the cumbersome, heavy black power armor. Even though she wore it for the first time, the grace taught through grueling decades of training worked its magic, and her feet produced no sound. She lightly nodded, accepted a shardgun, and strapped it to her back before unsheathing her blade. The Moon trembled, and streaks of molten metal rose from its sheath, adding mass to the blade. Both pieces of her weapon joined, and a massive spear was now in the sword saint’s paw, held with the same ease as a quill. The blade was so long that its ends extended back a quarter of the spear’s length, forming a triangle.
Camelia had a unique power, impressive even amongst her peers. By adding her own blood to any alloy, she imbued it with her own essence, manipulating and shifting it like a skilled sculptor, creating new weapons or tools. In battle, when the sword saint found herself in dire straits, her own battleplate flowed, closing the cracks and gashes like a swarm of nanomachines, restoring the integrity of her armor. Camelia wound the lower end of her spear around her wrist like a whip to shorten its length, then entered the launching catapult and took a seat beside Anji, Ignacy, and two other Wolfkins.
It took each member of the relief force only a little over two minutes to prepare and sit in the spheres strapped in for the rough landing ahead. At the end of the third minute, the spheres were moved to the tracks and lifted into the air, held in place by an activated magnetic force. The soldiers inside didn’t feel anything until the very last second, when the catapults propelled their “ammunition” forward at such a high speed that the engineers and technicians couldn’t even perceive the moment when the spheres flashed and flew through the tunnel leading outside. Janine summoned the reports and reviewed the available information from the crawler’s side.
Their destination was a small frontier settlement named Ecological Habitat 647, but even traders called it Just Peachy. Situated on the long stretch of land that connected the Core Lands to the Outer Lands, it was a regular place, walled for security, and stationed military personnel provided stability. In several decades, this place was to become another part of the Core Lands. Captain Ivar fought fang and claw, trying to secure the mining rights for the Outer Lands, as the nearby mountains had a relatively well-developed mining industry, and a stream of immigrants provided a solid workforce and a nice example for the Reclamation Army’s propaganda to show the outsiders how superior life under the state was. The town itself thrived, announcing the opening of the sixth school and publicly thanking the Blessed Mother and Wyrm Lord for their patronage.
About half an hour ago, an armed group stormed the place, took out the communication tower, bombarded the walls, and created a gap wide enough for the entire assault force to enter. The one who called for help was a store owner’s daughter, a girl named Kit, who had slipped inside the wreckage of the tower, found a working terminal, and sent a request for relief that was picked up by the crawler’s operators. The girl was naturally panicked and distraught, making confusing statements and mistakes. At first, she screamed about thousands of attackers, but soon calmed down and admitted that there were probably far fewer invaders. She recounted the horrific screamers who had injured her boyfriend and sliced apart her family. She told about a great red comet that rode after the escapees and the gigantic beasts stalking the ruins. The girl whimpered, clearly injured, as she begged for help, explaining that something had happened to the safety bunker and failing to provide any further useful information.
Aside from two things. The attackers wore power armor covered with golden embroidery, and they began to indiscriminately butcher citizens of Just Peachy, seemingly with no reason. The operators asked her to hide for the time being.
“A battle is expected in an urban area full of civilians. Activate IFF,” Janine ordered.
“Must we, warlord...” The Alpha Pack scout began to moan a question, but stopped abruptly when she heard a shardgun aimed at her. The woman quickly bared her neck in submission.
“Heard loud and clear and obey, warlord,” Sarkeesian assured Janine.