Kalaisa scrubbed at the toilet seat and sink, trying to clean up the piss and brown mess. Her paws trembled with barely contained rage. Shit! Everything, everything is covered in shit! A mixture of bones clogged a toilet, and she had to fix it, choking on the disgusting smell. Bastards! What did they eat to make such a mess? And how come there were undigested bones?!
Why did you hurt your family? She remembered Janine’s question.
Kalaisa wasn’t sure why the bitch kept pestering her by asking the same question during every visit. Tonight, like usual, she went to the wounded warlord for guidance. The lessons weren’t half bad. Janine imparted the wisdom of trench warfare to the wolf hag, explaining how to prevent a pack from wasting time by forcing them to construct an extensive tunnel system. This system could be useful for surviving an artillery barrage or launching a surprise attack on the enemy. In hindsight, it made sense; the Wolfkins preferred deep underground dens, and Kalaisa eagerly shared the information with the lesser females in Ygrite’s pack, earning a begrudging thanks.
She expected the granny, who bled like a cusack, to kick her out, but Janine kept her word, and her doors were open.
Because it is their fault that I am in this situation. Kalaisa answered then and paced back and forth across the room, trying not to look into these bored amber eyes. Had they only been strong, had they only had the dignity to not hold me back after everything that I have done for them, then everything would be normal!
Liar. Janine sneezed. Kalaisa. You can keep making amends and pretending to change all you want. But you can’t really get better and move on until you answer this simple question. Why?
Fuck off, old bitch. Rage made her shake, and the automatic pump fell from her paw. The damn device shattered, scattering pieces across the floor. What does Janine think she knows? Lying, as if! Kalaisa was the reason her useless siblings survived. She guarded them in the pits, fed them, cleaned them, and stood guard when those useless sacks of shit whimpered in their sleep, calling Mommy and Daddy! The bastards that abandoned them! No one ever called her! She took care of them, and there was always fear in their eyes! Even before she started... started…
Storming out of the toilet booth, Kalaisa sat on the floor. Besides, what does it matter? Her brothers were males, her sister was weak. They deserved to be dominated; she had done nothing wrong! They were the ones who held her back and stole her happiness! Happy... With trembling fingers, Kalaisa started reassembling the pump, putting the chords back into sockets, and mounting the rubber tube back on.
Kalaisa could have been normal. If… If only she were admitted into Alpha’s pack. The respect she so richly deserved, the good pay, and plenty of free time on her paws! She’d served a warlord who stood up for their own, who taught and guided! Had she been in Alpha’s pack, she’d never have won her first domination match. Crushed by a wolf hag, Kalaisa would have been accepted as a warrior, and for the first time she would be able to relax and... and be okay, never fearing, never cursing herself for letting her soldiers die because of her inexperience.
The rubber tube slipped from her fingers, eliciting a growl from Kalaisa.
“Shit to shit, how fitting,” a cheerful voice said. Lifting her head, she saw Bogdan enter.
“Do you mind, shithead?” The pump almost broke in her paws. “I am trying to work here. Find yourself another toilet… Bastard!”
Kalaisa recoiled in disgust as Bogdan approached, unzipped his pants, and began leaking casually into the nearest urinal, almost showering her with yellowish water. She drew herself high and cast a long shadow on him, doing her best to resist the urge to see his insides splattered on the dirty floor.
“What is your problem, shit stain? Wanna die?”
“You heard the Blessed Mother.” The insufferable scum flashed a smile, continuing his business! “Try touching me, and Lacerated One will see you skinned. As for my problem, well… It is you. You don’t deserve to be in the army, but that I can live with. What bothers me is your proximity to my family,” his voice grew cold. “Your family and I had a chitchat. I know what you did to them, you sick psycho. And now you cling to my mother, like a wounded cub asking to be coddled. You aren’t a hot shit, you know it? You are not a soldier, just a useless bully. Because of your behavior, you got your ass handed to you, and someone else had to go on the mission. And they had died as a result, taking a place in the grave so richly reserved for you.”
Kalaisa's fist closed as her heart pumped blood so hard that the veins in her temples pulsated. Remembering Janine’s lessons, she looked aside, taking deep breaths. First. The fucker knows nothing. Second. Does he think she doesn’t blame herself? Third. She volunteered, damn it! It wasn’t her fault! Who does this self-righteous bastard think he is? Bogdan had it easy: a mother, a father, and a family that actually cared! Kalaisa had none of that; her siblings were useless; she had to try to whip them into shape after the shame they brought upon her! It was all their fault, not hers! She was ready to go and die if necessary; it was Janine’s fault; she denied Kalaisa a place on the team; she…
She let someone die. The realization slowly sank in. It made sense, didn’t it? If Kalaisa hadn’t spent all her free time beating up her siblings, if she had trained and kept her pack up to date, she would have gone on the mission that night, because then Ashbringer would have had no reason to challenge her. Kalaisa would’ve cleaved a path for the advance team… And there would be less grief that night.
“Get the fuck out.” She spoke through clenched fangs, trembling. “Now! Or I will report you for… unworthy conduct in front of the commanding officer.”
“Sure, ma’am.” Bogdan deliberately slowly finished his business, pausing near the exit to rest a paw on the door casing. “I have ears, Kalaisa, and they heard your boasts about harming Marco.” His claws splintered wood. “You’re always whining about not being where you belong. Well, listen here. Try to so much as scratch my little bro, and I send you where you belong. Lay a finger on my buddy Kirk and I’ll bury you. And no one will bat an eyelid.”
Kalaisa slammed the door after him, hard enough to damage the jamb. She groaned in frustration when she heard the crack. Now she had to fix that too! She returned to the pump, reassembling it more slowly this time, using her claws to push screws into positions, taking slow breaths, and not caring about smells anymore.
Why did you hurt your family? She didn’t lie, right? Her siblings were weak; they stole her future in spite of everything she did for them. They deserved to suffer as much as she did! There wasn’t anything else.
Kalaisa tried to remember the past when she returned home from the pits, carrying food for the squeaking fuzzies at home. Tired, her bones cracking, she fed her siblings, chewing meat for them and letting them crawl over her. Did she... did she really never care about them? If so, why did she care about their wellbeing? Why on earth did she go to such lengths to ensure their survival?
She bit her lip, getting progressively angrier at herself for wasting so much time beating Kirk. Kalaisa could’ve trained her pack! She could have taught them new tricks or learned more about fighting herself. Why did she... Why in the holy names of the Spirits did she waste so much of her life on something so petty, so useless… vile.
Kalaisa paid little attention to Bogdan’s threat. A: He is a male. What is he going to do—bleed on her? B: She was the expendable one. Like all normal people, Anji had people who cared about her; that bastard Bogdan had a family who cared about him, and friends to boot! Even that dork Marco was genuinely adorable; no wonder Anji always tried helping him. Who does Kalaisa have? Bogdan spoke true; should she die right now, no one will care.
I wish I was normal. Kalaisa reassembled the pump and looked at the doorjamb. I can fix it. She promised herself, remembering Anji’s offer.
Yeah. She’ll take it. It was too scary to go to a therapist alone. And then she’ll help Marco. She owed him that much. There… there had to be steps to mend everything. To change.
No one will ever die because of me ever again.
****
I can give you everything.
Mad Hatter stood in the center of a crater, her curved blades sheathed. Heat still emanated from the molten rock that swirled around her boots. It was a pleasant heat. No longer focused on the here and now, she could hear the rumble of artillery trying desperately to keep the Horde at bay, and the war cries of the khaganates. So many of them were here. Tens of thousands of hearts were beating: excited, furious, frightened. A music of war.
Another heart lay at her feet, slowly stopping. She hadn’t the faintest idea who he was. Mad Hatter left the camp for a stroll, speaking her mind to her Great Father above, ignoring the aberration. A streak of lightning carrying a silver-clad idiot across the night sky had caught her attention, and then he was on her, shouting that she would pay for her crimes. It ended as usual—the weak chattered, the strong acted. To honor his dedication at least, she caught him on the blade and opened him from chest to groin. Already dying, the man spat in her face, pleasing her with his defiance. She had already prepared a little poem in his honor.
You stand on the threshold of immortality.
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“No one is immortal, save for the Sky, demon,” she laughed at the white motes flowing around her. Sounds faded, the molten rivers stopped, and even the rain of debris around her stopped. “The strong get fat, grow old and fall. It is our nature. We come, we go, and the Sky remains.”
You are worshipping a non-existent deity, girl. I have seen this rock floating in the void, lifeless and cold. My hands sowed it with life; my words greeted the first ape rising to the first sunset. Such power you can gain if you but accept me. The voice was everywhere and nowhere; its warm, assuring words were meant for her ears alone. She knew better than to swing her head left and right, hoping to see the deceiver.
“Heaven had already given me enough. The rest is up to me.” There was someone at the edge of her vision. A figure formed of coalesced blinding light, its eyes burning red. Her arm moved, and a blade of propelled air sliced the figure in half, cutting a long line across the ground behind it. The figure reformed, laughing sadly, and hands touched her shoulders, beseeching her to be calm.
The strong lead, the weak obey. Is that not your creed? He whispered into her ear. Accept me, and the ultimate power shall be yours this instant. In place of a human, the sun will shine on the queen of the new world, a true transcended being, worthy of my love. Your hand shall sweep away the remnants of the unworthy so that true servants may come in their place.
“What I want, I take by my own hand.” She turned, but there was no one behind her. “Your words reek of lies, deceiver. God does not hide.” She pointed above. “The Sky never hides nor demands submission; he does not care for heresy; he does not need the help of a mortal. My father simply is, and this is the true divinity. Eliminate humanity, shed my mortal coil? I am mad, not genocidal or idiotic!” Her bombastic laughter tore clean the veil of suspended stones around them.
Do they not offend you? Even from here, I can sense their ambition and hear the words of cowards who can never muster the courage to face you. They scheme, skulking in your shadow, smiling in your face while holding daggers behind their backs. He clung to her back, his voice pleading, soft and concerned. Worthless slaves, undeserving of your gaze, disloyal servants, and fools who resist your rightful rule. What is there to cherish?
“Worthless?” Such ignorance amused her. She remembered the first slave whom she earned by breaking the neck of an arrogant khan. The wizened, bent man created such beautiful music from his flute. It moved her, the strongest human, to grab a fan and dance, laughing happily. “Strength comes in many forms, fiend. If those below me can kill me, it means I became weak and deserve to lose. You say you can give me anything…” she asked slyly, giving the figure a sideways glance.
Yes. Anything. Wealth. Eternal life. Your every wish can be granted in an instant. I am a gift.
“Then gift me your life. Die. Cease to be.” Mad Hatter smiled.
His disapproval was palpable, his irritation sweeter than any drink she had recently. He had cost her so many years of stolen sleep. The demon laid promises at her feet day and night, often intruding and forcing her into conversation. Idiot. Not everything had a price, and her soul and her devotion to the Sky weren’t that cheap.
She bore no ill-will to her father above for not helping her. A parent can’t be expected to stand in never-ending vigil over their child eternally. At some point, the child had to mature and make their own decisions. Mad Hatter did just that. A raven does not forgive a rat for feasting on its offspring. It doesn’t forget insults hurled at it. The Gilded Horde will rule from continent to continent and find this coward for her to…
The dying man at her legs shifted, and she tilted her head. There was no pop, no slurping sound common to regenerators, and the edges of the bisected flesh didn’t shift. No, a simple line of light ran down the wound, closing it, and she heard a thumb. Very loud, it soon rose to a drumming worthy of a theater play, beating on and on, and Mad Hatter clapped her palms in tune to it, enraptured by the music of revived life.
Lightnings flashed everywhere, flowing over her, superheating the surface anew and bathing the land in a blue and white glow. The assailant’s hands twitched, his legs convulsed, while she danced, regretting not having her harp. It was fun! A normal person standing here would have burned to the ground long ago., but the fury of the elements pleased her. It was as if she were a small child again, climbing the highest mountain to pay her respects to her revered father and the God of all.
“Goooood…” half-yawned, half-stretched the dead man. His eyes flashed, focusing on her, and more muscles wriggled under the skin, like a tight knot of rope unraveling. The skin stretched but never tore, the man’s silvery clothes evaporating into smoke as lightning forks leapt into her eyes. “Divine punishment awaits any who blasphemes against God.”
“Weren’t you yelling about protecting your nation just now?” asked Mad Hatter and ate a straight uppercut landed on her jaw, and a jolt of electricity raced over her skin, intensifying to become a spear of light that hid her head. His skin turned gold. A pillar of light completely engulfed her head, jumping from the thrown-up strands of hair as the energy pillar disappeared into the clouds above.
“Take up your swords, heathen,” demanded the creature.
“Nah,” the khatun replied. She touched her smooth skin, whipping away the streaks of blood seeping from under her eyelids. “You sold your soul for this?” she asked in disgust.
It, Mad Hatter no longer considering this filth to be human, erupted, sending out a dome of electricity. The khatun laughed and opened her arms wide to welcome the tickling sensation, not caring that the pins and rings holding her furs turned red. Warm! This was fun. The world spun, and she leaned to the left, still laughing after the thunderbolt-covered leg kicked her against the temple.
“Still unimpressed, non-believer?” The creature asked mockingly.
“Yep,” Mad Hatter confirmed, not bothering to straighten up. Another kick to the head followed from the other side; the golden figure disappeared, keeping the dome of crackling electricity around her. She was struck almost simultaneously from the left and the back, on the nose, then a finger poked her in the eye, but the khatun continued to jeer, ignoring the shockwaves from its punches and kicks. The silly buffoon tried to impress her with its speed. “To tell you the truth, you were much more beautiful when you fought like a man for a cause you believed in.”
“You dare?!” The figure stopped flickering around her. The dome disappeared, and the electricity and lightning generated by its power gathered into this figure, fleetingly moving toward his fists. Orbs of pure energy grew on them, pure white gloves that completely covered its arms. Blue streaks rose from their surface and jumped between the man’s hands. “You dare question my unending devotion to God? I will shut your heinous mouth once and for all!”
He jumped, and Mad Hatter’s gaze followed him, barely curious about what he would do. Its power increased tenfold, it moved faster, its blows were far more powerful than before, but the khatun viewed the disgusting lump of flesh as a cautionary tale. Free will is precious; it was worth more than stupid strength. A slave, faking smiles and hating her in secret, was infinitely more important to her than this extension of a foreign will, whose every desire was inverted in exchange for accepting the deal. The deceiver…
A line of white linked her to the sky as the creature hurled its thunderbolts at Mad Hatter. The ground erupted; the force of the impact had driven the khatun up to her neck into the quagmire that the overheated stone had become. She climbed free, hearing the roar of the exploded projectile that dwarfed even the distant battle and witnessing the widening crater.
“You…” A ray of light shone down and transformed into the golden figure. “How much longer must I endure your impertinence…”
“Enough,” Mad Hatter said.
She was on the fool before it could register her movement. The creature had done something far worse than simply surrendering its will. It bored her. Her arm plunged into the golden chest, breaking through the ribcage as if it were made of paper. Wind flapped her hair as the driven air finally caught up with them, tearing house-sized chunks of rock from the untouched ground. It tried to squeak; beams of light formed in the creature’s irises, but she clenched her hand, bursting its heart.
It died disappointingly fast; blue lightnings from the initial shot still lingered, changing to a red hue when life was banished from the eyes.
Do you see now? The white mist swirled around Mad Hatter, its edges pointing at the widened crater, and fissures opened in the ground. Devotion is greatly rewarded. I am not a silent deity who never responds to the pleas of my flock.
“No, you lie and use them.” She focused her eyes on the figure in the mist. “He asked for a power to cast me down. And you have assigned him the role of an example to entice my interest, false pretender. True God has no need for falsehoods.”
Any person has their limits. Yours are simply greater than the most. The whisper came. Play your silly game. When the end comes, you’ll beg me for aid.
“When my last hour comes, I will face it with integrity and ask for no more mercy than I have shown others,” responded Mad Hatter.
The flow of time returned to normal. Her own perception dropped from its height, so she would not be exhausted for months watching a stone fall. It was a lonely existence to be at the peak. Mad Hatter purposely put herself on the normal human level, ignoring the Purebloods’ confusion. They were too engrossed in their game, vying for a scrap of authority. Alliances were formed only to be dissolved the next day, oaths were sworn and then broken, and occasionally there was even a hint of stubborn nobility, a sign so rare and exotic in the Gilded Horde.
What a wonderful existence! Competition sharpens the mind, but since birth, no one could match hers. Mad Hatter deliberately ventured into traps to turn them around, used Dirtybloods and even bondsmen to humble arrogant khans. Nothing brought her joy; it was so simple, the flaws to exploit so obvious. Any game becomes stale when you win all the time. It was unfair to the loser and to her.
A stage had drawn her. First, she shyly recited poems, bringing tears to the eyes of murderers, and then she dared to dance, encouraged by her wizened slave. The man never told her his name, and though it would be trivial to break him, Mad Hatter granted him this cloak of dignity, personally giving him a sky burial after Darkie, as she called him, died of old age. Flutes, harps, throat singing, drums, dances, performance! Infinite variations—a pure sea of untapped creativity—waited for her to pour her emotions and intellect into. Former rapists no longer turned to violence; murderers pursued dignity; butchers showed mercy to the youngest after hearing her songs. It thrilled her, even more than conquering.
But things come to a halt, if not to an end. There was the night the weak demon sat on her shoulder. He whispered even now, denying her a chance to sleep, a chance to formulate her thoughts, disrupting her creativity. Mad Hatter was not a kind person. First, she bent the Steppes to her will, searching for the trickster. He was not found. And the Gilded Horde marched on, burning their own legacy upon the world.
“It is ready, Khan of Khans,” said a stern voice. It had touches of static that disturbed some syllables. Mad Hatter smiled, hearing her dear curiosity from tens of kilometers away. One last hurdle to clear before facing the Reclamation Army, fellow madmen bent on world domination. It should be fun.
There is a play brewing. She decided. Iron Lord and Brood Lord. So different, so ambitious. She envied their equality, the thrill of uncertainty, and uttered a simple prayer to her true father, begging the Sky to send her an opponent of superior or equal abilities to face so she could taste pain again.
The battlefields were her stages now.
“What unforgivable crimes have you committed that the Sky has deafened your ears to my demands?” Mad Hatter asked aloud, addressing all those foolish enough to oppose her. She lifted the corpse to the heavens for approval and sank her teeth into it, ignoring the whispers of the false filth.