“Sisters, brothers, the ice boys fucked us over,” Bogdan announced to a small gathering. Dressed in the overall of an armory worker, he stood on a crate, his paws dramatically raised above his head. “An honorable name had been stolen! Sword Saint Bertruda keeps souring Warlord Janine’s mood! Shaman Impatient One whipped her back to the bone after talking to Sword Saint Camelia Wintersong! Injured! Stinky bombs! Insults! These grievances cannot stand unchallenged, I say!” He slammed his fist into the wall, causing the metal to vibrate. “The ice bastards must be repelled!”
The present crowd cramping the corridor included both males and females in it. In the Wolf Tribe, it was frowned upon to permit a male to lead any public speech, as it implied incompetence on the part of a female for not initiating the discussion of the troubling topic earlier, and the speaker often found himself bitten afterwards. There were some exceptions. If a male revealed the truth about forced copulation, about a wolf hag, or even about a warlord embezzling food or neglecting her duties, shamans and warlords formed ranks around the male, watching hawkishly to ensure his safety afterward. Truth, even bitter truth, was a cost of survival, and a slight had to be corrected.
But this gathering had nothing to do with such serious matters, and Bogdan treaded a fine line. He smoothed the situation by inviting females to a discussion rather than demanding their presence. He also postured to maintain a non-formal appearance to avoid a situation where scouts and wolf hags would not be tempted to assert their dominance, and females returned the favor by letting males speak freely.
“What can we do?” Anissa asked, leaning against a wall. She released her claws and examined them through the aiming scope of her artificial eye. “We tried fighting them, they refused to back down. We tried ignoring them and faced the same result.”
“Yeah, and if we so much as lay a finger on them, Warlord Alpha will rip it off. No thanks,” Elzada stated, checking her mechanical leg.
“Have we tried talking to them?” Kirk asked, shrinking and trying to retreat into the shadows as the entire gathering’s surprised amber eyes focused on him.
“How would that help?” Zlata inquired. The wolf hag ignored the male’s weakness and the fact that his family closed ranks to calm him.
“Well, they are reasonable beings, right? If we explain everything…”
“Kirk, buddy, you don’t speak to the ice boys,” Bogdan said. “They’ll drag you down to their level and trap you with their superior experience in wordplay. Remember the duel.”
“So we are stuck,” Anissa growled.
“Sis, don’t sweat about a problem when finding a solution is so much funnier!” Ignacy said enthusiastically. Like Bogdan, he wore an engineer’s overall. Ignoring his older sister’s angry clanking of fangs, he used his backpack to push Bodan off the crate, then rummaged in it and spread a map over the rusty surface. “Behold! The crawler’s schematics.”
“Where in the Spirits’ names did you get those?” Anissa raised her brow, calming at once.
“Who do you think assists with repairs?” Ignacy smugly pointed a thumb at his chest, then gestured at the intricate web of pipes spreading from the compartments owned by the Ice Fangs. “Our crawler is far from being the stunning beauty she once was…”
“He,” Elzada corrected him. “The Inevitable is a boy. Everyone knows it.”
“Believe me, when you hear the song of working gears, the groaning of wondrous circuits, gears, engines, pipes carrying waste, energy flow coming from the engine, you’ll agree that this is her and that she has a beautiful voice despite her age.” Ignacy dreamily glanced at the ceiling.
“Maybe you could prove it to me, Ignacy.” The scout leaned on his shoulder, nibbled at his ear, and whispered: “Just you and me, exploring the machine world to our hearts’ content.”
“Sure, we can go tonight if you want to,” the Wolfkin said, and Elzada clenched her fist in triumph. “Anyway, see the pipes leading to the septic tanks? Both they and the tanks are running on fumes from disrepair. Normally, such a situation should not have occurred, as the waste would have been recycled immediately, but our baby is overcrowded, overworked, and the lack of maintenance has finally bitten us in the ass. Theoretically, if something were to happen to the tanks, the automatic system would flush their contents in both directions, and the Ice Fangs will find their precious dens leisuring in a thick layer of feces and piss.”
“The stench alone will be the stuff of legends!” exclaimed Melina, closing her snout to the schematics. “That’s bound to cause quite a conniption!” She slapped Ignacy on the back. “It wasn’t half-bad to let males learn from the Normies!”
“Won’t we be punished?” Kirk asked. The often nervous-looking Wolfkin licked his lips and looked around, as if afraid that Kalaisa would materialize out of nowhere and beat him up.
“Planning to scurry away?” Anissa grinned, her eye shining like a young star.
“No way.” The youngster shook his head stubbornly, holding his left paw to keep it from shaking. “They called our pack a bunch of dirty barbarians…”
“Well, they ain’t wrong,” Kirk’s sister giggled, and Elzada lightly elbowed her. “We are dirty. And barbarians.”
“Speak for yourself!” Elzada tugged on her sleeveless t-shirt. “I clean myself and wash my clothes regularly.”
“Elzada, you wash them in sand.”
“Yes!” The scout blinked and pricked up her ears. “Where else am I supposed to do it?”
“The Ice Fangs could’ve been less of an ass about delivering that statement,” Kirk insisted.
“Then it is settled!” Bogdan announced and walked before the gathering, meeting the eyes of the males and bowing to the females. “My kin from different packs and from different parents! We are bound by saltiness and grief!” He clenched his fist, raising it high above his head. “Time to get even! We…”
“And why should I not send you directly to the shamans for punishment?” Janine’s voice boomed from the corridor’s dynamics. Her calm tone froze everyone present in place. “Warlord Alpha has made her will clear. No fighting outside the arena.”
Janine sat in a small operations center, surrounded by displays that showed her everything important inside the crawler. The rejuvenation shot had left her refreshed and full of fresh energy, and the warlord eagerly joined her sisters in carrying out the duties, even if it meant trying to fit her oversized body into a small armchair meant for the Normies.
The short moment of unity after the recent battle was short-lived. Hundreds of Wolfkins from both groups had begged permission to join Onyxia on her scouting mission, and as the number of volunteers grew, heated insults flew back and forth as the Wolfkins and Ice Fangs tried to prove their superiority. Eventually, Onyxia chose First to accompany her, claiming that he alone could restrain her if she went too far in questioning the slavers and, if the rumors were true, at Alpha’s direct behest.
Tens of thousands of able-bodied Wolfkins were trapped inside the crawler for weeks on end. To combat boredom, they competed for the right to escort refugees from the ruined settlement to safety, as the claustrophobic corridors of the giant machine took a toll on the morale of the soldiers. The Blessed Mother herself stood as an unmoving statue on the hull of the Inevitable, panting and clutching her head. Warlords and dozens of lesser ranks often joined her, sometimes returning proudly bearing new scars as the Spirits tested the progenitor’s sanity, and she lashed out, clawing at those near her.
Fears of enclosed spaces could be overcome. The hardest thing to deal with was boredom.
There wasn’t a warlord of her rank who would let her subordinates fool around for too long. In the Wastes, Wolfkins always had an abundance of duties to perform: recon missions, raising young, training, or hunting. A period of peace always led to dominations. And now, with so many packs sharing one den, the arena was never idle.
It was Dragena’s idea, and Janine kept kicking herself for not suggesting it first. The warlord requested a sealed hangar bay for the ritual sparring procedures, and Captain Cristobo obliged. Engineers removed the broken machinery, workbenches, assembly lines, and everything else from the hangar and constructed four pits for individual sparring. To the north was a larger platform where entire groups could let loose and hone their skills in free-for-alls or team competitions. Later, workers added bleachers and rudimentary balconies for spectators and judges.
Blood, torn fur, broken fangs, and the remains of claws littered the arena floor. Day and night, scores of Wolfkins fought, biting, snarling, losing, and immediately seeking a rematch. Their cousins joined in the gruesome spectacle. Knight captains engaged wolf hags in individual combat, and an orderly wall of defenders and knights tried to withstand a black tide of warriors and scouts pouring at them. Sages and shamans walked along the edge of the arena, often saving lives by breaking up the fiercest clashes to the dissatisfaction of both sides, as neither was ready to give up.
Wolfkins fought with claws and fangs, closing distances quickly, unleashing a flurry of stabs intending to rupture an artery or deflecting an incoming blow to open their opponent for a bite, and willingly ceding ground to avoid danger. Their ice-blooded cousins used martial weapons. They fought measuredly, trying to adapt to their opponents’ nonexistent strategy, and proudly held their ground, masterfully weaving patterns of death in the air. The fighters agreed on one unspoken rule: never maim or aim for the eyes.
Knight captains viewed this situation as madness and pleaded the Wolf Tribe to at least bring in battle knives to the battle. But it was not in the tribe’s nature. They seldom relied on melee in a battle, preferring to leave it to the shamans and warlords and use shardguns. It was all the more humiliating for the Ice Fangs to see so many of their own being wheeled into the emergency room with horrific wounds. Not that the Wolf Tribe was without its share of wounded and near-dead.
Warlords Ashbringer and Dragena found the Wolf Tribe’s performance lacking. From the opposite side, Leonidas Summerspring and Camilia Wintersong echoed these sentiments, expressing their dissatisfaction at the inability of their proud troops to achieve total victory. The bloody tie pleased Janine. She found joy in witnessing white furs express their familial fury in melee combat, plowing through incoming stabs and bites to render the Wolfkins’ bodies immobile with a single swing of their great blades. Earned scars united the warriors. Ravager was the Blessed Mother of the Wolf Tribe and the Ice Fang Order. Neither side was superior to the other. They merely had different roles assigned to them by the Spirits, but at their core, the two groups remained one family.
The arena became a favorite spot for the Normies’ regulars and working personnel to unwind and place bets after working hours, as they cheered on their favorite teams. Priests, doctors, and the Iternian clamored for an immediate ban on the violent sport. In a brief show of unity, the Ice Fangs and the Wolfkins failed to understand the reasoning behind such a weird request.
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Soldiers eagerly seized any opportunity to assist the crew, and many males, motivated by Ignacy’s example, labored in workshops, preparing mobile artillery and repairing combat armor for upcoming battles. Elzada soon joined them, bringing in warriors and scouts from various packs.
Lacerated One happily reported that one hundred fifty-two females were carrying lives, with newly formed soulmates eagerly mating in every corner of the crawler. Unlike Normies, who often gave birth to a single cub, Wolfkin females’ litters ranged from four to eight cubs. Even if it was the first or second litter for the life-bearers, it still meant six hundred cubs at worst and a thousand at best. Meaning two hundred potential fighters could be expected to live to adulthood. A very blessed sign.
Desperate at these news, Janine considered crushing her own head, but instead, she accompanied Alpha and Dragena to Ravager. By the progenitor’s will, the future mothers were to eat exclusively officer’s rations, highly nutritious packages of canned meat and vegetables rich in vitamins. They paled compared to the succulence of a cusack, but Janine ignored the grumbling and cursing directed at her. The bland food could help unborn cubs be born alive, and that was all that mattered. She refused to let anyone repeat her mistakes in carrying the malnourished cubs, and Cristobo and Ravager agreed to her request to send the life-bearers back to the villages, where they could eat and rest in peace. Ashbringer grumbled, unsatisfied that the packs were losing numbers, and claimed the solution to be pointless, but Dragena and Alpha firmly supported Janine’s initiative, shutting down any opposition.
To Janine, it didn’t matter whether or not Ashbringer was correct. Cubs of the first litter had a better chance of surviving in a stable environment, and she was willing to do whatever it took to give them that chance.
This left the Ice Fangs and the problems they brought. The arena helped bridge the gap between the groups, but outside of it, the distrust persisted. The accident involving Impatient One’s self-flagellation, persistent demands for ‘truce’ from the Mountaintops, and the outrageous demands of several Sword Saints for Janine to meet with Bertruda enraged the packs. Tancred’s wound and persistent rumors of the Ice Fangs deliberately hiding in the rear during the war infuriated the Order. Wolfkins of the tribe were baffled that their cousins permitted males to lead, and the Ice Fangs found their black-furred kin’s lifestyle abhorrent.
Insults flew back and forth, and soon Bogdan found a stinky grenade by his door that left him smelling of urine for days. Tancred Ironwill discovered the culprits, personally apologized for their childish behavior, and demoted a knight captain and several other knights who were responsible for the peculiar joke. Bogdan hated he hadn’t thought of this prank first, more than the smell.
The situation could deteriorate, and the warlords had implemented drastic measures. An open insult aimed at an Ice Fang was worth twenty lashes by a shaman arm. Alpha dealt with anyone who dared assault or bite their cousins outside of the arena. The warlords took turns in the operations centers, monitoring their packs’ behavior, and groups of shamans stood ready to stop any troublemakers.
“Warlord!” Bogdan straightened up, looking around for the hidden camera. “There is no need for commendation! We seek no laurels for fixing the drainage system in the Order’s dens. The sight of their irritated snouts when they realize who solved their problem is reward enough for us to strive for greatness!”
“Is that so? And you haven’t even considered flooding them with the former contents of their bowels?” Janine asked skeptically.
“Perish the thought, Warlord!” Bogdan faked terror. “Your orders are absolute. And we are very obedient soldiers!” The others agreed, and Janine’s booming laughter raced through the corridor.
“Fine, fine. If that’s the case, go for it. I expect a full report of your splendid success within the hour. And after you’ve done that, you’ll do the same for every other drainage system in our crawler. We can’t let them break down on us, can we?” Janine smiled and switched the screen’s image.
Ah, the wonders of being young and reckless. If Bogdan had been a girl, she would have encouraged him to pursue a career as a scout. As weak as he was, the boy had a knack for gathering crowds for his mischiefs. And unlike her and Martyshkina’s pranks, Bogdan rarely left anyone broken. Still smiling, Janine pressed a button that toggled the display.
In the medical bay, white-furred and black-furred Wolfkins worked together, scrubbing the floor. Aside from friendly banter and the occasional encouragement from the little ones who had recently awakened from their injuries, everything seemed in order here. She switched screens. Arruda was asking Osiris to let her try out his sword gun in his den. Weird, but it seemed innocent enough. Next. Impatient One led a prayer. Several white-furred attended the prayer, kneeling next to the believers and listening to the sermons. No harm in this either, but the absence of Soulless One saddened Janine.
The elder shaman explained that her distrust toward the Ice Fangs was the reason for her absence. She didn’t want to offend the spirits with half-hearted prayers, so instead she taught the healthy little ones and several settlers new languages. Soulless One even invited the Iternian, asking him to confirm if her pronunciation of certain words was correct. Janine watched their lessons for a while, finding contentment in the fact that her friend had regained her vigor and spoke in a clear voice, enjoying putting her hobby to use. Next screen.
“I don’t get it.” The display showed Kalaisa and Anji sitting alone in a dining hall. Kalaisa tossed a bent needle in a trash can. “Why is that night still bothering you? And don’t lie! I heard you smashing the mirror.”
Kalaisa had fully recovered after the beating; her scapula had regained its shape, and fresh neuro-link implants replaced the ruined ones. The recovery period burned through her internal reserves; her ribs protruded from her skin, and the implants protruded from her fur like overgrown ticks. The wolf hag still visited Janine for advice, but lately she spent more time beside her rival, no longer trying to dominate Anji. The two women were busy sewing the remnants of Kalaisa’s several torn garments, spread across the long table, into something resembling a skort and a jacket. Kalaisa cursed as a tremor in her formerly broken arm prevented her from pushing a thread into the ring of a needle, and her finger bent the metal instead.
“Patience,” Anji said. She leaned in, helping Kalaisa push the thread in. “We are in no rush. Take it slowly. The spasms will soon be gone. As for your question, I keep wondering if I’d done things differently, if I could have saved more people. And when an idea comes to me, I react,” she easily admitted.
“We’re killers. Not saviors. Death is what we do,” Kalaisa insisted. She released a claw and drew a line in the air, struggling to articulate her thoughts. Then she shrugged, drank a glass of nutrition drink, and returned to the sewing. “Like… You’re older than me. Surely you have been involved in a few conquests by now. People die. Get used to it. We’ll all die, eventually. Don’t overthink it; train, Anji! If your brain is slow, let your physical speed carry you. Concentrate on keeping a tally of dead bastards so the Normies can one day build their peace.”
“Thank you for worrying, Kalaisa.” Anji smiled, ignoring the bristling. “When I see a dead cub, I keep remembering those rascals I played with when Dad and Mom brought our family to help.”
“Tch. Mother, father, brothers, sisters… A princess to the core. Bet they tucked you into a blanket, too.” Kalaisa clenched her fist, took a breath, and her shoulders slumped as she relaxed. “Sorry. Was rude.”
“Oh, they did. In fact, they still try to do that when I visit home.” Anji laughed. “Mom is weird.”
“Not weird, good,” Kalaisa grumbled. “It was nice, right?”
“It was awesome,” Anji admitted, putting her paws over Kalaisa’s. “Stop tensing so much. You can do it. Here, let me help. See, this way the pattern will look nice…”
Janine turned off the sound out of respect for privacy. Kalaisa looked a bit more stable than usual… But Janine remembered the look on Kirk’s face and the way Kalaisa had treated her family. There was a long way ahead before the gifted fool could be a true pillar for the tribe. Janine tapped her claws together and called Marco to herself.
“M… Warlord!” Marco saluted her.
The events of the past days had left her little time to spend with her son, but her little boy wasn’t a slacker, scampering up and down the crawler to help Zero deliver packages from local traders. But a worry kept boring into the warlord’s mind. The sight of dead little ones back in the settlement lured her back to the memories of her stillborn daughters and her little cubs, who had perished in the pits. Overwhelmed by her worries, she asked Till Ingo for a particular gift.
It was a modified tracking device used by the Investigation Bureau. Not many things could suppress its signal; even Iternian technology had failed several times to silence the emergency signal when they kidnapped agents for questioning. Janine had to call in owed favors from both the Investigators and Till Ingo to get the device, which was safely encased in a sturdy casing and could be activated at the touch of a button.
“At ease.” Janine placed the device in his paw. “Marco, Houstad is a big city, and your family might not be around all the time. If anyone tries to dominate or claw you, press this button. And I will come, no matter what.”
“I don’t need protection,” Marco said, looking down. “I’ve survived the pits just fine.”
Janine left the seat and knelt, taking her son by the shoulders. Traditions and rules called for severe punishment to be meted out to a male who dared to speak back to a female. But she simply hugged him, letting go of the discipline and trying to be a mother.
“We both know it isn’t true,” she said softly. “Marco, the reason your knees hurt is because of me. It is my fault for ruining your future, for failing your sisters and your brother, for not giving you and them enough vitality to thrive.” He tried to speak, and she pressed a finger to his lips. “Colt has asked me to watch over you and your siblings. Permit me this one weakness. If things get scary, call me immediately.”
“I am not weak!” Marco shouted. “I understand precisely why you are giving this to me! You think me weak, worthless! Everyone thinks the same! ‘Oh, poor Marco, how are your knees? Can you walk today? Why do they make you carry these greaves? They are too heavy for you. Do you need help to carry this box? No, I don’t; no, it’s not too heavy; and no, I don’t need to be pitied or reminded of how useless I am! I... I’m going to be as mighty as you, Ani, and Y...” He gurgled, gasping for air, when Janine closed her paw around his throat.
She rose to her full height, lifting her boy to eye level. A low growl ignited a spark of fear in his gentle eyes. Marco clenched the remote and tried to bare his neck in submission when Janine closed her snout to his, baring her fangs.
“You are not like me or your sisters,” Janine said mercilessly. It hurt her heart, but the boy must learn. Either he accepts his harsh place in the tribe, or he makes the right choice and agrees to be exiled and become happy. Janine loosened her grip so that Marco could breathe freely. “No male in our tribe will ever be equal to a female. Such is the will of the Spirits. Do you think we care for you and offer to help because you are weak? Is that it? Because we pity you? We care because we love you. We help because we are a family. And you will always be our family, regardless of whether you are stronger or weaker than your living brothers. Sit.” She dropped him and summoned Martyshkina.
Marco obeyed Janine, found himself a place in the corner, and sat quietly, massaging his neck as Janine observed the packs, no longer glancing at him. The warlord paid no heed even to the hilarious chaos happening on the display as the ‘repair’ team faced unexpected difficulties.
Was that what Marco was thinking? Did he truly believe that his siblings stood by him out of pity for his illness? Spirits, no wonder he thought that; she had taken him from the pits! Her actions were the reason her boy drank richly from the cup of misery. She used him as a glorified delivery boy and failed to emphasize his value as a soldier for the nation. No, Janine had made enough mistakes. She had failed Marco’s siblings; she would not hope for the best again. The mistake will be corrected tonight. A lesson was in order—a lesson every cub passed in the pits. It was her responsibility to show Marco just how capable he was, and that the path to soldiering was not barred to him.
“Called?” Martyshkina showed up, pressing two fingers to her temple in a mocking salute. When Janine turned in the chair to meet her, the warlord raised her brows at the sight on the screens. “Jani, mind telling me why our boys and girls are standing knee-deep in shit?”
“By the Spirits, it’s everywhere! What the Abyss are they even eating!?” Anissa cried in disgust. “Ignacy, you bastard! You’ve told us that the pipe will hold!”
“How is this my fault? The ice bastards understated the severity of the situation in the latest report!” Ignacy snapped back.
“Clearly by a lot,” Kirk said as he assisted his brother, who had been thrown to the ground by a torrent of brown mass, to get to his feet.
“Ignacy, if I die drowning in this, I swear I will get your ass in the Great Beyond!” growled Zlata.
“Why am I at fault? It was Bogdan’s plan!”
“It was a horrible idea to let males learn! They ruined everything as usual!” Melina lamented.
“For once, I agree!” Anissa dug her claws into the wall to keep from slipping into the brown mire.
“Alright, folks, we’re facing a literal shitstorm. Gotta work fast before the system flushes the pipes! If we hope to salvage the situation, we can’t afford to look bad in the eyes of the Ice Fangs,” Bogdan said.
“Not sure about the looks, but we sure as shit smell like... shit,” Elzada chuckled.
“Practicing in performing emergency repairs,” Janine quickly replied to Martyshkina, standing up and picking Marco up. “Listen, could you take over the watch? I’ll owe you one. I have an emergency on my paws, too.”
“No problem here.” Martyshkina gracefully leapt over Janine and landed heavily in her seat. She put both paws behind her head and watched the displays with a grin. “Is this Zlata trying to clog a pipe over there? For such a show, I am willing to do it for free.”