The raiders dropped to their knees, allowing their comrades in the square to fire over their heads. It was a sound decision, as they were facing a small elite team, and sufficient firepower should have won them the night. Moreover, they pushed the captured civilians out of the slave trucks and herded them closer to the larger group on the square using whips. Another cruel but effective tactic. Every missed shot would reap a toll on the people the Wolfkins were trying to save.
But against the Wolf Tribe, normal tactics were useless. For them, the battlefield or the direction of their advance could change at a moment’s notice. It was dangerous to fire the shardguns to the west, and the IFF system would limit indiscriminate shooting? All the better. The Wolfkins hurled their grenades and darted to the sides, as a cloud of acid engulfed the enemies and concealed the pack. The wolf hags scaled the walls and led the lower ranks into battle, raining down at the foes from the northwest and southwest, while Janine and Predaig pushed to the west, safely enduring the acid thanks to their combat plates. Searing beams from Janine’s rifle flew through the mist, melting new holes in the convulsing figures.
The goal shifted again. Rather than shooting to kill, they shot to wound the fat bastards. Shards, fired precisely thanks to the shared video feed, damaged helmets, and the raiders choked on the green fumes, their windpipes and lungs burning. Finish the smaller group, then go after the larger one.
On her HUD, Janine saw the sword saint’s team engaging the opposition in the north. A warlord’s combat plate differed wildly from the exquisitely tailored knight’s plates of their cousins, which provided maximum comfort. It was a heavier tool where every exposed joint, be it around the elbow, wrist, or ankle, was sharpened to help overcome a similarly strong New Breed in a short-lived brawl. Its armor plates were heavy, rough, and abraded, a perfect replica of the body they protected. It was hard to imagine someone as slender and elegant as Ice Fang ever wielding them.
Camelia dispelled the warlord’s worries. She no longer danced; the grace never left her, but the danger to the civilian awakened that distant kinship shared by both groups, and the sword saint deflected incoming bullets in rather brief and brute movements, ensuring that nothing would scratch her armor. A single thrust of her spear created an airwave that knocked several attackers off their feet, opening them up for Ignacy and the others. Seeing their imminent demise, one raider threw an incendiary grenade into the wooden cage.
“Anji. If you would be so kind,” Camelia said calmly, crossing the distance between herself and the raiders in three zigzagging steps, avoiding the shots.
“One!” Anji jeered, racing past the raiders under the cover of the confusion created by the sword saint. On the move, she secured her shardgun and ripped out a man’s throat. “Two.” She leapt into the air and pirouetted, dodging several bullets as if she were an Ice Fang. Her foot touched a raider’s head, burying it all the way to his stomach. “And three.” She jumped off the corpse and clawed at the woman who had thrown the grenade. A first swipe opened the raider’s belly. The following swings lacerated the arms to the bone, immobilizing the opponent. And at the end, Anji pried open the raider’s visor, plucked another incendiary grenade from the belt, and pushed it between the screaming lips all the way to the throat. Anji removed the pin and grinned as the woman’s eyes widened in pain and horror.
The first grenade exploded, and a renewed fiery hell was about to spill on the hostages. The civilians inside screamed and shoved their cubs into the center of the group, desperately trying to buy time and somehow preserve them.
Anji crashed through the wall of flame and wrapped her arms around the group. The sudden roughness probably cracked a bone or two in someone, but the wolf hag burst free from the burning construction, using her shoulder to smash a wall into nothingness and carried the citizens to safety before the flames could scorch them. Once outside, she let go of them and helped brush some flames off their heads, spreading her arms just in time to pose against the backdrop of an explosion that reduced the panicked and gurgling raider to ashes.
“And done,” Anji sang, patting the cubs to calm them. “Two tasks in one go, not bad, if I do say so myself…”
Janine approved of her quick thinking. Onyxia had chosen a wonderful replacement. Anji was already faster than most shamans. In the years to come, she would make a fine warlord and sister. What a match it’ll be!
“Attend to your duties more seriously!” Impatient One snapped as she saved a warrior’s life by deflecting an incoming bullet aimed at her ally’s head with her forearm. “This is a battlefield, not a party!”
“See, this attitude is what makes you shamans grumpy,” Sarkeesian said as she jumped off the building and dragged a raider out of the acid cloud by the legs. “If…” she broke the woman’s neck. “…you enjoy your service, there won’t be a single sour day…” Impatient One’s growl shut her up, and the wolf hag retreated to the shadows.
“Ah, shaman, if I were to hold back on the theatrics, I’d have to shed tears,” Anji whispered, escorting the hostages to the relative safety of a nearby apartment. “Tolerate this weakness of mine, please. I will accept any punishment after the mission.”
“Is this your first time protecting a settlement?” Impatient One asked. Her claws opened the retreating raider like a tin can, and she shoved her snout into his chest, feasting on the man’s organs. Janine made no move to chastise her.
It was a battle. Stuff happens. Not everything was worth noticing.
“Being too late to save the civilians? Yes,” Anji whispered.
“Pardoned. Concentrate on keeping everyone safe,” Janine said, bringing her axe down and taking another life.
Eled and her unit made it to the wall. The soldiers assigned to the warlord had little to do as they advanced up the blood-soaked steps, while Eled hacked furiously, damaging part of the wall in the process. She claimed twenty lives, and the rest fled from the crimson strokes of her weapon. The warlord’s guard gunned down the escapees.
The artillery, a lightly armored hovering vehicle outside of the settlement, satisfied her desire for destruction. It was on the move, retreating to gain distance, and the warlord’s head twitched as the lenses focused on such a tasty treat. The mobile artillery adjusted the long main gun, hoping to fire, and shuddered as the warlord threw her weapon, not even giving them a chance to resist. The scythe sliced across the barrel and went deeper, spinning in its flight and impaling the driver on its shaft.
In shock, the escort and crew came to a halt. Eled jumped off the wall and landed in an explosion of rock that came from the crater her body had created. Musing the tune of the original national anthem, the one that called for the death of the wicked before the Dynast had ordered to amend it to be more peaceful, the warlord jogged to retrieve her weapons and motioned for her soldiers to finish off the survivors.
Good. Kill, my sister. Janine thought. The main Wolfkin force poured into the main square, butchering the opposition. Mercy was not a word they knew tonight. The pack shot those who survived her wide swings like rabid animals or died under her greaves. A raider extended an arm to the Wolfkins, gurgling about surrender. A hail of shards speared his head, spilling his brains on the pavement. Miraculously, the fiend remained alive and continued to plead for surrender, until a male placed a leg on his chest and fired another bullet into his head.
Surrender. Ain’t no one had time for that. Death to the dealers of death. No mercy for the merciless. Janine grimly decided, spotting several raiders heading toward the civilians. They shouted warnings in their guttural voices. Janine’s ears discerned the words “stop” and “shoot”. The rest sounded like gibberish. The implied threat was enough to spur her into action.
Her legs were always too short. She never denied the fact. Sure, she could kick well up to a point, but when she was a cub, the simple act of running caused immense pain in her back and knees. It was almost as if there were invisible shackles around her bones, restricting her range of motion. It was Terrific who spared her the fate of being marked as a Crippled. The cruel mistress dragged the young girl to the medics for a series of lengthy surgeries and then, without explanation, forced her to run for miles while carrying heavy chunks of metal, always keeping up with her. Every time Janine tried to slow down, Terrific’s fingers would leave a dent or bruise on her back, and the pain would send her flying like an arrow. The warlord regularly took Janine to the medics afterward, forbidding her to talk about the training and forcing the young cub to endure medical injections that felt like a surge of pure plasma coursing through her muscles.
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The training continued for months, and with it came the never-ending agony. Marty soon forced her way into these running courses to cheer her friend on, hugging the larger girl at night and whispering her words of comfort when everything hurt, hurt so much that Janine could not sleep. In her moment of weakness, she stood up to Terrific and demanded to be culled or thrown away—anything to stop this misery, to stop being a burden and the weakest.
“No,” Terrific whispered to her, leaning forward and lacerating the girl’s back. “You won’t get away this easily, little one. Are the cubs giving you trouble… Ah.” The realization hit the amber eyes. “You think you are the one holding them back? Silly, stupid nymph. Martyshkina and you are their forearm and claw. Fail me, and I will pick one of them at random and skin him or her alive. Their safety now lies in your paws, Janine.” The ominous jaws touched Janine’s ear, scenting it with a mark of promise. “They live for as long as you persevere.”
Janine endured it for a year, fighting wordlessly against any insectoid foe, completing every training assignment, never once sharing her fears with the pack or the shamans, too afraid of what Terrific might do to others. And then it happened. Something snapped in her swollen back and knees. She could move and run and jump freely, as if the mystical locks had been unlocked and the cruel ropes untied. Janine learned to fly and heard Terrific’s joyous laughter as she outran the walking warlord. Janine was taken to the doctor one last time, and this time she told them all about her recovery at the warlord’s command. There was a lot of shouting at the bored warlord about the risk of permanently crippling the girl. Even Alpha was summoned and elbowed Terrific in the chest, wishing Janine well.
It was the day when the Spirits and science had given her a chance. And she would be damned if she didn’t use it to protect those weaker than her.
The stone underneath her exploded under the impact of her legs, carrying Janine into the sky, and she covered the fifteen steps in a single, blindingly fast leap. She kept her gaze focused on the raider closest to the hostages, his fingers pressing the trigger. The Taleteller’s blade blocked the shot as it left the barrel, and the diagonal cut shaved the upper part of the man’s body. Predaig joined Janine, cleaving through the necks of the remaining raiders. And behind them, the pack broke through the last defense, biting, slicing, and shooting.
Janine ignored this and secured her rifle to grab the last raider, ignoring the knife that left a scratch against her armor. She shattered the visor with the haft of her axe. Beneath it was a slightly tanned woman’s face, and narrowed eyes glinted with fear. The woman gulped nervously, tried in vain to pry the warlord’s fingers open, and kicked at the broad chest.
“A chance to live,” Janine offered. “Where is your leader?”
“Fool,” the woman spat. “Hate rises. Fool. No survivors. Riders. You fall.”
Barely knows any Common. Janine tilted her head, more curious than annoyed. Of course, there were many languages and dialects around the world. Common was simply the most used, but many people coming from half a continent away had their own, often melodic and nice-sounding speeches. Sure wish Soulless One was here. Doesn’t matter, the Investigation Bureau…
“You are here!” A teenage girl rushed from the ruins, wearing only an oversized military coat that was too big for her. A large bruise swelled her chin and a nasty cut across her face split her left eye in half and blood dripped from under her eyelid. The HUD identified her as the daughter of the general store owner.
“Please take care not to overextend yourself, Kit. Your wound is not fatal, but there is no reason to risk it.” Janine deflected a shot that nearly killed the girl. “The area will be secured in under ten minutes.”
“It doesn’t matter! I overheard them! Their boss is coming! The screamers are near!” Kit yelled, rushing to help unchain the group of citizens.
A deafening noise filled the square and blurred shapes flashed across it. A warrior pulled her claws from the raider’s eyes and gasped as she watched the arm fall, severed cleanly at the elbow. The attacker, riding a hoverbike, stopped some distance away, slowing to make a turn. The warrior bit her lips, sealing her helmet, and reached for a shardgun, joined by a male who kicked up a lying rocket launcher, planning to use the intruders’ equipment against them.
The hoverbike sped up, a large thing of steel and blades, and rammed the two Wolfkins, skewering the male on the front blade and its side blade sliced through the warrior’s gorget, and the helmet with the head inside it flew up. The rider grabbed the convulsing male and flung the dying soldier away from his blade.
So, these must be the screamers. Janine thought, ordering her soldiers back to the roof. A bike moved to mow her down, and the warlord stepped aside, placing the struggling raider in its path. The raider disintegrated in a shower of blood and gore, her entrails entangling the rider. As the axe’s blade was about to cleave through his head, the rider aimed a rifle at Janine, and a purple flash drove her back a step. A fist-sized hole appeared in her pauldron, the energy bolt dissipated, failing to reach her body.
“High-powered pulse weapons! Keep moving, don’t try to block them!” Janine roared. The bike turned around, once again aiming to ram her.
Janine let go of the worries, intent on shielding the trapped civilians behind her. Her duty to the state demanded nothing less, and she raised a weapon, taking the pulse shot on the flat of her axe. Even for her, the pulsating energy orb moved too fast, but the rider still had to aim his weapon. She successfully blocked the projectile by anticipating the line of fire. The bike’s sharp side blade broke against her armor, cutting it slightly. This collision’s impact veered the vehicle off course. Janine fired, burning a hole in the raider’s back, and his body slumped off the bike as it crashed near the square’s edge.
“Facing increasing resistance. Eled, really need you here,” Janine called for aid. “Sword Saint Camelia, get ready. The bogies are throwing their best now.”
“Warlord, secure a hovering machine for examination…” The crawler’s control team banned Ingo’s icon after it briefly appeared on their helmet display. It reappeared momentarily. “I haven’t finished! Preferably an intact… Unhand me, you brutes!” There was a sound of struggle.
“Drop the chatter, Mr. Ingo,” said Captain Cristobo. “Our soldiers are in combat. Do not distract them, or you will be arrested. You will be able to commit to your research after the mission.”
We will secure the vehicle after the battle. She decided and prepared to face the remaining hoverbikes when the scout of the Dragena Pack disappeared from the HUD. A sharp blade tore through the woman’s armor like a knife through hot butter, severing the spine and reaching the heart. Still-working cameras caught a shadow of something four-legged skittering away into the ruins.
“Unknown New Breed, melee attacker! Abandon the hunt; watch each other’s backs! Warlords will mop up the rest.” Through Ignacy’s lenses, she saw the ground shake. “Camelia’s pack! South!”
Something huge collapsed the building next to Camelia, driving the sword saint to dance aside. A four-legged beast emerged from the ruins, its body covered in armored scales, and heavy metal plates mixed with gold embroidery crudely encased it like a second skin. Shards fired by a nearby male pierced the outer steel, but bounced off the hardened skin inside. With a hateful roar, the beast locked its sunken, beady eyes on the attacker and galloped forward, bringing its immense weight down on the soldier and nearly flattening the male.
A stream of flame left Ignacy’s artificial palm, cooking one beady eye, and the beast rose on its hind legs in agony, escaping the fire and freeing the splattered wolfkin from its foot. Blood gushed from the many cracks in the male’s suit. His spine, legs, right lung, both arms—everything that could be broken was broken, and several organs were damaged, but the soldier still lived thanks to his armor.
“It’ll explode, my ass! Eat your heart out, Bogdan!” Ignacy rushed to his wounded comrade, scooped him up without a moment’s hesitation, and tried to escape as the beast slammed its legs down, filling Janine’s heart with fear and distracting her enough that she missed a shot that damaged the armor of her knee. My boy. Spirits, please, take my life; let him live!
The spear plunged into the beast’s leg, halting its movement. Camelia came to Ignacy’s aid, holding the creature several times her size in one paw and carrying the shardgun in the other. The tip of her spear sank deep into the flat foot. A figure peered from behind the beast’s head—another raider in power armor of a gray color. The man aimed a rifle at Camelia, only to receive two shards through his lenses and fall. With a flick of her paw, Camelia sent the beast tumbling back into the ruins. The creature’s titanic fall and roll to the side caused another building to collapse, and a web of cracks wove over the stone ground.
With a grunt, the beast rose, no longer roaring, and hungrily surveyed the sword saint. Stubbornly refusing to back down, it slammed its thick, short tail against the wall of a building, destroying it. It lowered its head to the ground, exhaled angrily through its nose, preparing to charge. Camelia chose to stand her ground to keep the beast away from Anji and the civilians.
Another hoverbike drove from the curve in the road, preparing to strike at Ignacy and the wounded.