The curved blade came down, scraping against the ceiling, screaming as it passed through the air and landed on the shaft of the glaive that the sage had hastily handed to Janine. Such force! Brood Lord used a single arm, and yet the impact of this collision created a sound explosion and rippled the water’s surface. The metal glaive bent and sharp edge lacerated Janine’s shoulder as she tried her best to stave off the immense weight. Power armor. The strength given by it was overwhelming; there was a reason using an active combat suit during a domination match was considered cheating in the tribe. Even when damaged, it reinforced the invader.
“Cute,” Brood Lord hummed. Three of his legs burst out of the water and closed in on Janine. “Arm first.”
They pulled her down, dragging the warlord beneath the dark and murky surface briefly. Then Brood Lord’s bulk shifted, driving the water aside, and she found herself pinned to the floor, held by his columnar chitin limbs. He raised his blade, and another irises spread from beneath the lower lids of Brood Lord’s excited eyes. These new irises were orange in color, perfectly betraying the thirst for mutilation burning within the man. He wanted to tear her apart, drooling in anticipation.
Explosions blossomed over Brood Lord’s armor, and he threw up an arm to shield his eyes from the bullets. A hiss escaped his lips as a claw—Janine’s own severed claw!—pierced his vambrace at a wrist, and the warlord grinned, lifting his legs in the split second of distraction. She wasn’t alone, not this time. The blade cut in a downward arc, drawing a line where she stood, but Janine was already waist-deep in the returning water, and she met the next blow head-on, shattering the glaive against its edge.
Sharp shards of steel flew everywhere, creating mirrored red spots on her and Brood Lord’s cheeks. Another leg kick broke through the remnants of the glaive and flung Janine against a wall, knocking the air out of her lungs. It wasn’t a blind attack; the invader aimed directly for her solar plexus, and if not for Marty’s timely intervention, the battle threatened to end here for her.
Bullets flashed from Marty’s paws, forcing Brood Lord to cover himself with his pincers to shield his eyes. Several of his gold coins shattered under the pressure, and a few bullets deftly slipped into the open cracks of his unorthodox armor, spurting all-too-human crimson blood from his body, but no serious damage was done. Brood Lord grunted a chuckle and swung overhead, this time wielding his curved blade in both human hands.
Martyshkina rolled as the cut tore a wide gash in the stone, which began to suck in water. The hordeman twisted his blade, jerking it free and sending a hail of stones at Janine. She didn’t block them; a slash followed, and the warlord retreated, hearing a wall crumbling.
“Warlord Janine! Catch!” a knight-captain yelled, tossing something at her, and before she knew it, two claymores were in her paws, just in time to block the returning swing of the whirling hordeman’s body. Cracks and dents appeared on her steel, but it held, and Janine kicked to keep his leg from attacking during the bind.
They parted, the air shaking under their blows. Two-handed style wasn’t Janine’s forte, but she’d be a poor warlord if she hadn’t practiced in every form of combat. Right arm to take his blow, left arm to stab the claymore into the arm holding the sword saint’s head and wound the bastard. She was not going to let him defile his cousin any longer. It wasn’t entirely efficient, and all too often the warlord had to use both swords to withstand titanic swings, but the goal of felling her opponent alone wasn’t on the program today.
For she was not alone. The Ice Fangs and Martyshkina fired, shattering the shell covering Brood Lord’s torso. He grunted and hissed, did not close his faceplate, and never wavered in raining down attacks on her. Her allies obeyed Martyshkina’s command and hauled knights and wounded away from the fighters, for the dishonorable cur could’ve easily replicated what the sage had told Janine. Ground exploded beneath the warlord’s legs; her bones ached after each block, but the battle entered a stalemate phase. Or so it seemed.
Brood Lord was no unskilled opponent; she understood that much at once. The sheer speed and precision behind his often deceptively wide strikes, his quick adjustment to Marty’s interference, his cunning eyes scanning the environment—everything betrayed years of frontline combat. Even the initial swat with his legs was intended not only to immobilize her, but to splash water at the Ice Fangs, obscuring the fighters long enough to hack off her arm.
But this isn’t it, right? Ignoring the pain in her limbs, Janine remembered the Sage’s words and raised an arm as Brood Lord’s lips formed an ‘O’ and a stream of acid landed on her forearm, splashing lightly against her right eye. The accused acid had eaten half of her world for a second, but she fought on, refusing to let in even a hint of panic. The eye was in place; she could feel it.
Blessed by the Spirits, Wolfkins grew stronger with every received injury. A ruptured heart ended up being tougher upon healing, often gaining new chambers. A punctured lung, a fractured bone, or a scratched eye—all of this led not to detriments but to improvement among the Wolf Tribe. Her trainings and sparrings—when Martyshkina landed a knuckle against Janine’s eye in their brawls, headbutts from Terrific, and kicks in the snout from shamans—had changed Janine’s body forever.
She didn’t blink, concentrating on her opponent. Even as the right side of her body went numb, Janine willed herself through the weakness, raising up the weapon of her foe to break another bind. Brood Lord dragged his blade over the edges of Janine’s claymores, widening the gash on her shoulder, before jumping back, eyes wide, and weaving a sphere of blurred slashes around himself.
Martyshkina kicked spears, swords, and axes of the deceased Ice Fangs into her paws, understanding immediately the thickness of Brood Lord’s armor. She launched them like darts, one after the other, forcing each projectile to exceed the speed of sound. Back in their childhood, Marty had always loved to get up close and personal with Janine, shredding her hide and receiving brutal beatings in return. That soon changed after Terrific had introduced them to shardguns. Marty’s eyes lit up with joy when she fired her first shot at a practice dummy; a glimmer of her future divinity shone from those amber eyes, and she cradled the shardgun, holding and cooing to it as if it were a little one. On that night, she slept, hugging her shardgun like a lover. Later, the grown-up woman heavily modified her first shardgun using discarded archeotech and gifted it to her cubs, and presented it to her cubs, and it was passed down like a family relic, always cleaned and loved when its wielder’s paws grew too big.
In the years that followed, Martyshkina was busy honing her skills at killing at a distance. Throwing knives, guns, explosives, energy weapons, darts, rocket launchers… If it could kill at range, Martyshkina mastered it, abandoning melee combat altogether, considering it an outdated thing of the past, a chore unworthy of a soldier.
And now her skills made a difference where Janine’s might had faltered. A blade exploded against Brood Lord’s sword, only to turn into a hail of hundreds of smaller shards that stabbed into the exposed parts of his body. His pincer arm dropped Tancred’s head, hastily protecting his eyes. Marty hurled another weapon, an axe, deliberately shattering it against the tough armor. Another weapon broke, its shards flying aimlessly against the walls…
No. Not aimlessly. Janine understood. The shards bounced off the Ice Fangs’ plates, hitting no exposed body parts, ricocheted off the walls, and came back at Brood Lord, pressing him even farther back. And more weapons came in their wake, this time biting deep into his armor plates and lacerating his flesh. Martyshkina, without her custom-made revolvers, drove the enemy back.
Janine inhaled and wiped the acrid, irritating liquid off her eye. There was something else in his spit, a toxin of sorts, that clutched her lung in an unseen iron grip and tried to wrestle control over her body, constricting muscles against her will. Breathing deeply and calmly, Janine placed a paw on her chest, pleading with her immune system to overcome this poison sooner.
“Cowardice!” Brood Lord said, blocking and dodging. “You assault me together, knowing full well that you are too weak to challenge me in any other way. Animal looks suit you well, freaks, since you even fight like a pack of rabid dogs!”
“Whine more. You hurt my friend; you killed my kin and massacred people under my protection,” Martyshkina growled, and Brood Lord gasped as a sword landed on the axe stuck in his armor, sending it deeper. “A single death is too good for you, so the least you can do is give me a little sport as I take away your limbs one by one.”
“If you so insist, dog,” came the calm answer.
The pincers struck the ceiling, collapsing the ceiling. Through the avalanche of stone and steel, Brood Lord dashed forward, his own body pulverizing rubble into dust. The curved sword slashed out in a blinding arc, aiming for Martyshkina’s neck. Janine barely had time to block the incoming blow when his pincer arm struck, snapping close near their bodies.
Pushing himself into the space between the two warlords, Brood Lord kicked with his legs, cannonballing Marty into a wall and unleashing his full fury on Janine. The battered claymores faced the mighty sword. Sparks flickered in the air, stifled by the sonic booms created by their clashes. Cruel and efficient, Brood Lord brought his pincers to bear, ripping chunks of flesh from Janine’s sides, tearing at her hide, and using the clouding of her wounded eye to his advantage.
And like a ghost, he disappeared from view, and Janine swung blindly behind her. But he wasn’t there. Brood Lord’s legs hooked into the damaged ceiling, and he scurried toward Martyshkina, nearly cutting her in half with a wide overhead blow. On pure instinct, the warlord dove to the side, losing her collected weapons and earning herself a wide gash across her chest.
“Warlords, sword saints.” The hordemen spat. “Bumps in a road. Stand and be strangled!”
“Now would be a lovely time,” whispered a hoarse voice, and everything slowed down. Pieces of rubble barely moved, stillness gripped the waters, and Janine’s blood turned cold as she brushed fingers down her back. “No, stupid girl. Rage, not cold. Rage against the impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible! If you want to punish someone, try me first!” Janine roared. Fear tried to creep into her psyche, and she shook it off, embracing adrenaline. “I am the one who took your life!”
“A bit premature, don’t you…” Brood Lord, thinking she was addressing him, spoke and hissed in annoyance as the damaged claymores impaled the spot where his legs were hooked into the ceiling.
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The stone gave in, and his body fell straight into Janine’s wide hook. Her working claws failed to penetrate his helmet, but the force of the blow cartwheeled the hordeman away from Martyshkina. A second later, Janine was on top of him, ignoring an elbow that smashed her snout and broke one of her fangs. Slugfest. This close Brood Lord could not use the sword, and the Ice Fangs stopped firing, worried about hitting her. The two of them exchanged blows, pincers and claws raking over bodies, bruises growing, welts appearing, and neither giving in the slightest. Enraged, Janine slammed his bulk against the wall every time Brood Lord tried to shove her aside.
Brood Lord’s eyes glanced back worriedly when the stone gave in. Janine used this distraction to slip under him as they fell into another tunnel, located at a lower level. Her arms wrapped around the armored waist, and Janine slammed the huge body into the floor, sending an explosion of water upward. A kick that tore through her cheek and a pincer closed around her paw, trying to take it away. Undaunted, Janine headbutted Brood Lord, breaking his nose, and the pincer released her as he inhaled the returning water. In response, the sword’s pommel landed at her poor belly, forcing the warlord to cough, and the second blow with the pommel threw her off him.
His blows were insane. It was as if she was hammered with by hundreds of pile-drivers simultaneously. Her zygomatic bone cracked under the pressure, and a sizeable bruise bubbled over it immediately. Rarely had Janine fought against an opponent in power armor without her own trusted suit, and today she understood the difference this piece of technology made. She won’t be mocking hostile Normies during the next invasion anymore.
Next? The thought seemed ridiculous in its certainty that she would survive this battle, yet her heart was pumping, her body wasn’t broken, and the prey was breathing. There was no time to think of peril.
“Weapon!” Janine roared, stepping back while her allies above fired at the advancing Brood Lord, bleeding him. He won’t let her gain distance again.
“Here, lady!” She caught a thrown sword.
This has got to be a joke. Janine laughed sourly, blocking the foe’s swing with the tiny toothpick. A knight’s sword! It was a mere dagger compared to her height. In a situation where true might was needed. Not even a sage’s glaive, a claymore, or, at the very worst, a shield. Seeing the blades coming against each other and time slowing down, Janine bristled and decided to overcome the inevitable.
Her dreams weren’t big, but they were precious to her. Janine intended to see Anissa exceed and become a shaman; she wanted to see Ignacy marry his soulmate and help Marco find happiness in life, hopefully convincing him to exile himself and join this weird, white-furred girl of his. She wanted to fight beside Impatient One again, to apologize properly to Soulless One, and hold Bogdan’s cubs again and again. There was also the matter of the politics and the safety of her pack.
What right do I have to die?
True, death came for everyone, and sometimes a person lost through no fault of her own. That didn’t mean she had to lie down and take it. Janine heard Marty, knowing full well her friend would be too late to save her again today. The blades collided, and immediately a crack appeared on the knight’s sword, widening rapidly. It won’t hold. Which part of her body should she give to survive the inevitable bite…
Janine was still pondering about the dilemma when the second irises disappeared behind the first, confusing her. Brood Lord jumped, getting away from the circle of light shining down at them, and the warlord glanced up; she saw an angel of death descend, the gigantic claws swatting aside a quick slash aimed at Janine’s nose.
White, so white that she looked more like a moving alabaster statue than a living being, Warlord Alpha landed heavily, dressed in a tattered orange prison robe that her crimson hair covered like a cape. It was unbearable to stand in her presence; fear oozed from every pore of that titanic body, worming its way into everyone around her, forcing every nightmare to resurface, filling minds with doubts and worries.
“Alpha,” Janine gasped, happy as never before to see her unusual sister.
“Rest, sister.” An elbow blow, more of a gentle tap by the strongest warlord’s standards, nonchalantly flung Janine away.
Another swing, an almost lazy move, and Brood Lord retreated further, shocked that his attack had been deflected with such childish ease. Alpha opened her maw, spewing white steam, and the hordeman lifted the dented and shortened blade in his hands, crying out in pain as he finally noticed three deep and torn gashes on his chest where his armor had been shaved away.
“Drozna! Play a tune again, direct it inward this time!”
A roar of fury answered as Brood Lord scuttled back into the tunnel, heading for a large steel platform that hung over a waterfall that cascaded into deep darkness. Alpha strode after him, her long crimson hair flowing freely in the dirty stream, her paw raised in command for everyone to stay behind.
Several hordemen rushed out of the darkness, taking aim at the pale monstrosity following their master. Alpha didn’t stop. Her form flickered for a moment, and in an instant she was among the hapless fools, goring and biting them. There was no roar, no aggression. The strongest warlord slaughtered six armored opponents with almost mundane movements.
Lights of the Ice Fangs knights lens illuminated the tunnel, revealing the steel platform overlooking a small waterfall. The familiar clowns and more hordemen emerging from portals were there, guarding Phaser as he scampered around the edges, gesticulating wildly with his claws and sweating profusely. With heavy treads that shook the platform, a muscular beast of a man stepped forward, standing taller than even Brood Lord. His taloned hands grasped the remains of a half-eaten Ice Fang. The poor soul had been chewed to pieces while still clad in armor. Sucking in the entrails, the beast hunched his shoulders, dropping the corpse and flexing his muscles, ballooning arms and legs.
Drozna—Janine assumed this was who Brood Lord called—grinned his crimson jaws, and Janine experienced searing rage in her blood, an urgent need to leap at Marty and prove once and for all who was the strongest warlord between them. A vessel popped in her eye at the memory of how Alpha had dared to humiliate and mock her before. And all around her, the others suffered the same effect. Her cousins glared at their fellows; one even spat on the ground.
“Barbaric filth.” A knight captain clenched his knuckles, accompanied by the wheezing sound produced by his power armor. “Had you only been faster, our liege would’ve…”
“Be silent, male.” Janine had to physically restrain Marty from lunging at the man. The captain drew his pistol, only to have the sage slap it from his paw. “Marty, it…”
The rage intensified, bringing back memories of every humiliation, every missed promotion, every injustice, real or imagined, sparking every bitter memory and stoking the bonfire of long-buried grievances. I killed Terrific. Janine looked at her shaking paw. Terrific was the only one who truly gave a shit about her, and she broke her neck! And for what? For some useless, blasted, mewling cubs? For the offspring of the worst people possible?
I don’t deserve to live. Clarity descended upon her. Several Ice Boys began lifting their blades, nearing their edges closer to necks. What are you waiting for, you coward? Raise your claws, gouge your eyes, and drag your brain out! Do it! It is the least you deserve for…“
“Curious,” Alpha spoke in a tone resembling grinding gears and unleashed her fear.
Janine had a close acquaintance with experiencing the fear wave, Alpha’s power. Once, as a cub, she snuck into the general store to steal treats. On her way out, she came face-to-face with Alpha. No claw touched the young and foolish girl on that night, but she still lay in her bed, pissing and crying all night, tormented by the unspeakable horrors that haunted her for a week. Even some of her fur had turned gray. At the end of the week, the shaman in charge of overseeing the cubs came to Alpha, demanding mercy, and the Strongest Warlord showed it, asking young Janine why she did it. Upon receiving the answer, Janine was sent to watch over cusacks for a month, accompanied by Marty, who volunteered to share the punishment, and her fur returned to its lush black color amidst ambushing insectoids. By the end of the month, Alpha had given them double the amount of the very treats Janine had tried to steal, rewarding the girls for honest labor.
In other instances, the fear wave worked more directly, stopping the hearts of anyone standing in Alpha’s way. But on this day, the fear wave protected them. The anger and self-hatred dissipated, bringing up shameful doubts. Were their crimes truly beyond redemption? If so, how dare they seek an easy way out instead of working to atone until the day they could walk no more? Were their oaths so weak?
“No!” An Ice Fang roared. “We will fight!”
“Wise words, brother.” Martyshkina patted him on the shoulder and blinked away tears. “That wasn’t very nice. I usually cry after a bottle…”
“Just one? Pathetic.” Janine teased and received a hard slap.
“Curious indeed.” Brood Lord pushed past Drozna, guiding him back to the platform with one arm, and Alpha walked toward them. His surviving troops shuddered; even the assassins were uncomfortable, but no one died of fright. “I’ve always wondered what happens when the brainwaves of two emotion manipulators interfere with each other. It seems that they cancel each other out. Thank thee, the Foolish Warlord.” Brood Lord bowed mockingly, hiding his nervousness, but his skin paled. “You gave me useful knowledge. Now I know who will hunt you down.”
“What good is knowing the answer if you are dead?” Alpha laughed.
“Let me eat her,” Drozna rasped, spewing out a paw. “I can take her. I know I can!”
“No doubt, but more roaches are closing in, and we have had enough thrills for one day, my friend. I had hoped to bring Janine’s broken carcass along, but alas. No matter, we will meet again soon enough, my dears. Phaser, open it now!” Brood Lord commanded.
Alpha charged at them, and Drozna met her halfway. Giant claws slashed, leaving deep gashes in the man’s arms, and his talons returned the favor, bleeding the warlord’s arms. Alpha pushed her opponent back, ignoring the hordemen’s shots. She was about to close her jaws on Drozna’s shoulder when the giant stomped and Janine yelled a warning. The platform shook, coming off the wall with a screeching sound of tearing metal and falling stones. Janine rushed to the edge, just in time to see the structure collapse into a much larger crack in reality, which led to a vast field in an unknown rocky land. Alpha stopped calmly beside Janine, hungrily looking down.
“Hope he picks an interesting one,” she said.
Janine faced her. How could she? So many civilians, so many cubs, their cousins, and finally their own soldiers have perished today. And this… This monster only thinks about the thrill of an individual duel?
Calm yourself. Alpha has saved your life. The strongest warlord has her own ways. Janine chastised herself.
“Gather up!” Janine snapped. “We have wounds to lick and preparations to make. Secure the injured.” She saw shame in the Ice Boys’ faces and added warmth to her tone. “Lift your heads, my kin. Marty and I also succumbed to the mental assault, and yet you endured it far longer than we did. Be proud and act, for we have work to do!” She hoped it would soothe their souls; the Spirits know it was Tancred’s foolishness that led to these losses, not theirs. Damn it, why was it forbidden to use claws to motivate her feeble kin? Nothing cheered up soldiers’ souls like a proper brawl. Drinks helped too, but not everyone liked them. “The foe dared to assault our city! Death and destruction have been brought to our land! Will we stand and take it?”
“No!” The Ice Fangs roared.
“Damn right, we won’t. We are not priests to show another chin! Their leadership we’ll slay and topple their nation, and reclaim their people for the Dynast ahead of the Second and the First! Nothing is forgiven; every grievance is awaiting to be repaid, but the living are more important than the dead!” Janine raised a paw and clenched it. “Let their hearts beat. For now. Assist in restoring the order and saving citizens entrusted to our care. Then,” she bared her fangs, “we’ll hunt them to the edge of the world and see their spines broken against our knees. Vengeance and honor!”
“Ice and heat!” It wasn’t something she had taught them. She had never heard such a cry before, but accepted it anyway, glad to be accepted as kin.
“Shall I call you Sword Saint now?” Martyshkina whispered. “Milady Janine Ironwill. Sounds cool, won’t lie.”
“Screw you,” coughed Janine, imagining the horror. She didn’t take over the Ice Fangs’ pack, right? Things don’t work that way in the order… she hoped.
“Oh, Lady Janine, I never knew this side of yours! Unfortunately, I can’t return your feelings; I’m into males…”
“Marty, I’ll murder you if you don’t stop!”
“You’ll try,” Martyshkina stated arrogantly.
“Where is Sword Saint Tancred?” Alpha demanded to know.
“Dead,” Janine replied sorrowfully.
“Understood, sweet lady.” Alpha bowed her head in a brief show of comradeship. “Find his remains and retrieve his weapon. I have answers to find.” She reached out for a dead hordeman.