“Do we know who these bastards are? What exactly is this Gilded Horde?” Janine demanded to know.
Her return to the base was less than graceful. Numbness still tried to imprison the right side of her body, from the eye to the lung. It was pointless to try to hide it, and after she stumbled for the third time, Alpha had simply picked her up under the armpit and carried her like a cub. Crimson with shame, Janine had still given the order to carry Tancred back to his mansion, wrapped in a cloak. Several injured knights had wanted to stay behind and search for their dead, but Janine had tolerated none of this. They had lost enough kin for one day.
Janine hadn’t the faintest idea why Alpha had maintained her silence, staring calmly at her fellow warlord. There was scrutiny in those eyes, but not a single command was disputed, and the group had soon surfaced, facing police, doctors, and journalists. Eased by the sight of her family, Janine had given Kalaisa the task of retrieving the bodies and had briefly contacted Dragena, telling her to put Kirk in charge of public relations in her place. Out of them all—safe for Bogdan, but no one in their right mind would’ve assigned anything important to that mischievous cub—he was the closest to the Normies and had a proper head on his shoulders.
“Negative, Warlord,” Jacomie responded, grimacing from her wounds. The lieutenant and her closest officers were admitted into the Inevitable’s command center.
Low humming and beeping from the terminals filled the room. Busy operators fed regional status updates to warlords and wolf hags throughout the city. Officers coordinated rescue efforts and oversaw military preparations. Encased in protective shells, terminals took a load off from their rebooting ‘kin’ in the city.
Jacomie had a nasty gunshot wound, but she refused to abandon her duties or take painkillers. Dressed only in a t-shirt and pants, she expertly brought the order to several panicked divisions, approved evacuation protocols, and ignored the field medic’s removal of shrapnel from her body. Zero, wearing a simple black bodysuit and helmet, had helped Alpha put on the battle suit.
Lacerated One sat in the corner, eyes closed, paws pressed together in a prayer. As always, the supreme shaman obeyed the primary rule: to obey the warlords in everything during a war. Ygrite crouched over an operator, barking orders to her pack in a raspy voice.
Sage Frouke Ironwill, the chief sage to survive today’s culling, stood in his soiled battleplate, respectful and remorseful, accepting the warlords’ orders without a word. It was beginning to irk Janine. The man had over six hundred soldiers under his command and now he was acting all guilty because he had suffered a setback through no fault of his own! Big deal; she too had trouble enduring Drozna’s rage. They had to work together instead of dwelling on imaginary mistakes. Frouke should have announced himself as a sword saint long ago and established his authority over Household Ironwill long ago.
But she quenched her bile, wary of the relationship between Frouke and Tancred. There was no place for a blind revenge charge.
“Report,” Janine said. “What’s the situation in the city?”
Eled threw one glance at Janine and easily pushed her into a seat. More medics rushed into the room in response to a finger snap and began clearing acid from the eye and bandaging the warlord’s wounds. An injection of something cool into her optic nerve relaxed Janine’s swollen eye.
“The city was hit hard,” Schalk said ahead of his commander, reading from a terminal in his hand. “We lost Sword Saint Tancred; may the Planet show mercy on his soul. The chief of police and his deputy have been eliminated, and Zurkov has assumed the mantle of leadership for the time being. The Third has lost a total of one hundred and twenty Wolfkins, with sixty-eight more confined to beds. Despite vehement protests from your people, the doctors refuse to allow them back in the ranks.”
“Keep it that way.” Ygrite voiced her agreement, surprising everyone. “Sedate them. What about the burden?”
“Civilians,” Eled growled, meeting Ygrite’s irritated gaze. “Address them with respect or not at all, sister.”
The two warlords faced each other, snarling. Ygrite still bore the battering given to her by Alpha’s claws, but it did not seem to hinder her in any way. Her paw slipped back into the sleeve of her cloak while Eled relaxed her fingers and rolled the muscles of her arms. Soldiers and technicians working on the bridge tensed, nervous about a possible explosion of violence that would ruin the valuable systems.
Finally, Alpha asserted her rank. She pushed between her two sisters, not even looking at them, and both Eled and Ygrite dropped to their knees, their throats exposed. Alpha merely gestured for them to return to their seats.
“According to the latest report, we have four thousand nine hundred and eight wounded, over six hundred of them children and teenagers. The numbers are constantly being updated,” Schalk continued in an even tone. “The dead are still being counted, but at least seven hundred citizens have lost their lives. We found your missing soldier and technician, Keon. The Investigation Bureau has graced us enough to state they were killed before the attack.” He tossed the terminal at the table and addressed the lieutenant. “Ma’am, we need to declare martial law. With all due respect to the mayor and the police, they are ill suited to handle the evacuation. This attack should not have happened; the Bureau dropped the ball! Let our forces sweep in and reestablish control; let us integrate the police into our forces until this crisis is over!”
“What is the mayor doing right now?” Alpha inquired.
“Mayor Jaquan is currently giving a speech about condemning the attack, Warlord!” Schalk saluted her. “He has already procured aid from the private clinics, appointed a new commissioner, and authorized increased patrols and the use of power armor and heavy weapons for the police force. On his orders, the police began recruiting volunteers, and the Third Army provided instructors to help train them.” The man nodded gratefully to Alpha. “He also called in the ambassadors of Iterna and the Oathtakers; no idea why.”
“To request their aid, no doubt. Houstad is not just any settlement, Sergeant. Foreigners live here,” Janine grumbled, reading the reports and nodding in approval of Kirk’s speech. Kalaisa support was weird, unexpected, but wholly welcome. “Mercenary companies are enlisting in droves for peanuts.”
“No wonder; their relatives have been hurt, and they want to pay back.” Ygrite shrugged.
“We’ll give them ample opportunities. Veterans of the past wars are stepping forward, ready to join the police.” Janine rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Based on what I see, the green guys held their own admirably. Assign the veterans as their instructors; that ought to keep them away from the front lines. Taxi drivers offer their services for free; the wyrms’ companies are helping; even the criminal underworld is in full swing, throttling the life out of anyone suspected of cooperating with the enemies. Stop that.”
“Already sent the order,” Dragena replied. “There will be no lynching on our watch.”
“Good. Religious authorities are holding mass prayers to allay the fears and to speak of unity. They request Lacerated One…” Her sister opened her eyes, and Janine sighed. “Can we spare anyone? And Kirk has asked that our baubles be thrown into the prayer dens.”
“A sister lost her arm. Let it be her last duty before she joins the ranks of the Crippled,” said Lacerated One. She removed the bone necklace from around her neck and examined it longingly. “All that is left of my parents. I don’t remember them. Such is the price of letting a male run his mouth unchecked.”
“Want it back? Win,” Martyshkina advised. She hesitated and then handed the shaman a bone ring forged out of the femur of her second soulmate. “Kirk did alright.”
Lacerated One embraced the warlord, showing that she held no grudge against her or Kirk. The Gilded Horde had made a lot of enemies today. And Janine intended to see Brood Lord and his ilk skinned for what they’d done.
“Send distress calls to the Dynast…” Janine cringed as Eled stitched her shoulder roughly, the medic’s fingers proving incapable of piercing her hide. She found herself missing Maxence and his kind hands. “… the Second, and the First! I don’t care if it makes us weak; the civilians’ safety is paramount.” Realizing what she had been saying all along, Janine sheepishly looked at Alpha. “Forgive me for speaking out of turn…”
It wasn’t her role. Goosebumps crept up her spine at the simple imagination of what those ruinous claws could do to her. The last warlord who had dared to speak in place of Alpha’s place, condemning cubs to their deaths, had been flayed, excruciatingly slowly, before the entire tribe. It wasn’t easy to mutilate a warlord when the skin was trying to regrow, but Alpha was thorough. She broke the woman, forcing cries of pain from her, and then declawed her. By sheer force of will, the guilty didn’t die and was later admitted into Pack Alpha as a nameless wolf hag, yearning to earn the impossible redemption.
“Approved,” Alpha said calmly. “Lieutenant?”
“No objections either. The mayor has everything under control. No need to frighten people or bring further confusion while we reorganize the command structure,” Jacomie said, coughing out blood and wiping it out with a piece of cloth. She tried to wave away the medic, but the man ignored her.
“Forgive me,” Frouke broke the silence, drawing attention to himself. “Knight-captains report that vigilantes and less unsavory elements have offered…”
“We are aware. Accept their aid,” Janine said.
“Is it wise? Some of these people were involved in the most grievous acts before.”
“And they received a full pardon from the state after serving their sentences. As for vigilantes, couldn’t care less right now.” Janine faced his eyes. “Frouke, Tancred’s duty falls to you.”
“We will give our lives to uphold his legacy!” Frouke pressed a paw to his chest. “Send us forth; let us pay for the crime of abandoning our posts through our deaths!”
“And leave citizens unprotected? No. We lack the Ironwills’ expertise in maintaining order and evacuation. But we can kill, and so slaughter we will. Stay and do your duty. Do not spurn our unlikely allies; whatever happened in the past, their families are here too.” Janine put her paw on his shoulder, wondering if she was right. “Take the sword saint’s mantle and lead your pack.”
“This… Lady Janine, that’s not how it works in the order…” Frouke tried to argue when the towering shadow was cast over him.
Bareheaded and clad in full gear, Alpha towered over everyone in the command center. Her marbled skin matched the white of the Ice Fangs armor perfectly, while her hungry, piercing eyes searched him, fishing for any weakness or flaws. Frouke stood proudly, and a mighty claw, longer than the male’s head, rose.
“First had offered me to share leadership,” Alpha said, her voice like grinding gears. “I take him up on the offer. On my authority as a warlord and kin to you, I declare you the acting sword saint. Should you feel unworthy, step down later, but for now, hold!” Her claw blurred in an arc, carving deep into her thick neck. Unperturbed, she gathered blood into her palm and bathed the man’s snout in crimson.
Alpha’s blood carried no divine gift like Ravager’s, Zero’s, or Lacerated One’s. When she was cut, she simply bled like any other member of the tribe. But such was her might and skill that a sight of her bleeding was a miraculous occasion. Tens of thousands had fallen to her claws or been incinerated in the lawful heat of her plasma. To see her, of all people, willingly wound herself rendered Frouke awestruck, and the man knelt, a nobleman knighted by a monster.
“Stand tall, brother in rank and blood. Take the weapons and armor of your fallen lord. Shield the people and his wife. Houstad is in the Ironwills’ care.” Alpha stepped aside, already losing interest in the man. Only a faint hiss accompanied her thundering footsteps as the horrible gash in her neck healed itself, emitting a thin crimson vapor.
“And we shall not fail,” the newly promoted sword saint promised.
“Where is Captain Cristobo?” Jacomie asked.
“Dead,” Dragena declared. Her dispassionate, almost dead eyes glared at the lieutenant. “The poison on the assassin’s blade had ended his life shortly after he was delivered to the private clinic.”
Martyshkina had to physically restrain Janine from standing up. She ignored the cruel hook to the head that sent the whole world spinning, and the medic’s protests. Cristobo died? But… It was impossible! Cristobo was the sixth Normie to be personally accepted by the Blessed Mother. She trusted him to enter her den! Cristobo had loyally stood by Ravager’s side all these years, and... And there was something else about the situation that Janine could not put her finger on.
The doors behind Dragena let in a frightened woman, her entire body covered in badly healed bruises and bandaged in places under an oversized trench coat. Onyxia appeared next. Her hair moved randomly, blinking in and out of view. Streaks of shadow seeped through the gorget of her armor, giving a false impression that the armor was all that held the warlord in the corporeal realm. The normally cold and distant warlord held her gauntlets on the woman’s shoulders, guiding her. Onyxia nodded to everyone and scowled at Jacomie.
“We have news.” Dragena pointed at the woman. “Our sister and First have been busy eradicating over thirty slaver camps.”
“Sounds like you had a war,” Ygrite laughed.
“No one told me to stop.” Onyxia shrugged her shoulders. “First ain’t so bad, I must say. He kept pestering me about ‘human rights that, human rights this, no, you can’t just eat slavers alive’. Bah, it was such a bother dragging their asses back to our borders! But, Ygri, you have to see him on a mission one day! Covered in blood and gore, sneaking after you with a ghost’s grace, ending lives at a touch… Ah, what a male! I’d jump into his pants right away if his heart didn’t belong to another!” Alpha stomped, and Onyxia dropped all pretense. “Back to business, yeah. First Sunblade has left to meet his fellow sword saints and inform them of Tancred’s demise. This right here is a princess…”
“I am no princess,” the woman whispered tearfully. “A princess stays with her people. A princess would’ve protected her family…”
“Yeah, yeah, heard that one already. Cheer up; the horrors are in the past; retribution cometh.” Onyxia gently patted the woman on the back. “So, the princess over here belonged to a country recently conquered by the Gilded Horde…”
“They butchered everyone who resisted,” the woman whimpered. “Brood Lord grabbed my brother, a boy less than a year old, and dragged him out. He used him to distract my father and… and...”
“How did you survive?” Janine asked softly, trying not to frighten the woman. Another debt owned by Brood Lord. He had incurred too many of them already.
“I am not sure myself. One of Brood Lord’s whelps had let us run. At first I thought it was a cruel trick and that they planned to hunt us down later, but... we escaped. And later, we ran into a slaver party; the bastards came to poach on our weakened home. I distracted them so my family could escape. Milady Onyxia and His Excellency First were the ones who rescued me later. I have no idea how to repay them…”
“Think nothing of it,” Onyxia told the young woman. “Live your life, get many cubs, eat and sleep plenty, be happy, and the debt is cleared, okay? Okay. Now tell us about the Gilded Horde.”
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After taking a deep breath, the trembling woman told her tale. Her homeland had first heard of the Horde from the refugees, who had portrayed it as an unstoppable force that wrathfully hammered down upon everything standing in their way, enslaving and beating the populace into submission. The king had been weighing whether or not to call in the Reclamation Army or the Oathtakers for help, worried that the soldiers might stage a coup once they arrived. There was a kernel of truth in these concerns, Janine admitted to herself. The Dynast and his rival Lord Steward had taken advantage of such situations before, though both nations had moved toward trustworthiness as the world changed.
But the king never had the chance to choose. The Gilded Horde invaded far too soon; their minions sowed dissension in the capital, and their champions, warriors of impossible strength and incredible abilities, overran the countryside, cutting off communications to the Net and halting any attempts to call for aid. Dragena meticulously added everything the princess had said, including obvious exaggerations, and Martyshkina, Onyxia, and Ygrite narrowed their eyes at the news of a crazed preacher who mercilessly tortured humans using his control over time. Such opponents were usually left to Alpha, but occasionally one of these three handled them.
Dragena kept asking questions about enemy numbers, but the princess was of little help. After the siege began, her father sent the girl to the inner chambers. She had heard from the servants how the purple fields around their city had turned yellow and glistened with steel as countless thousands of hardened killers arrived in full force.
“Their emissaries asked us about God.” The woman wiped her eyes. “We told them about the water goddess, the wind deity, and even about the wise stone master, even though his faithful were never many. But they merely laughed, insisting that they were looking for one true God pretender, whatever that means.”
“Idiocy,” Ashbringer broke her silence, crossing her arms. A streak of flame left her flamethrower, heating her snout. “There is no true singular deity. Otherwise, only a single religion would’ve risen from the ruins, not a host.”
“And now they are coming here,” the woman said mournfully.
“This is their graveyard,” Janine promised her and gestured for a soldier to lead away the foreign princess. Once the crisis was over, the Dynast would probably reinstate her as ruler to secure new lands, but they had to survive until then.
Janine remained silent as she studied the similarities in the Horde’s attack. Mysterious murders preceded the invasion. They had experienced it today. The implication of it was clear: the Wall had to be fortified. Their new enemies also used chemical warfare, unbound by international rules.
“The population will need chemical protection,” Janine said finally.
“I’d much prefer not to expose our citizens to shelling, but you are right, sister,” Dragena agreed icily. Janine ignored the tone. Dragena was simply incapable of expressing herself otherwise; there was no implicit disrespect in her words. “Ygrite. Half of your pack still hasn’t had their equipment repaired. Guard the little ones in hospitals.”
“Figured out their methods, didn’t you?” Ygrite grinned. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep the pipsqueaks safe and sound until we can evacuate them. If Brood Lord shows up, I’ll leave you a finger or two, dear sister.” She glared at Janine, opening her jaws wide. “Although, had someone taken an enemy alive, I could’ve prepared much better.”
“She killed civilians, Ygrite,” Janine said coldly.
“And yet she begged for mercy, Janine,” Ygrite responded. “I watched the recording of your engagement. Are you a soldier or an executioner? Even the Horde shows more mercy. Terrific would be proud of you.”
“Imply it again and I’ll rip out your fangs.” Janine rose. Martyshkina was by her side immediately.
“Enough.” Dragena stepped between them, paws behind her back, and Alpha loomed behind her like a shadow. “None of us is without sin, Ygrite. I, too, had murdered my opposition. Janine, mercy is never misguided. If not for the Dynast’s mercy, none of us would be standing here. Show restraint in the future. Let the courts do their job. Regardless, we know enough now.”
“Elaborate,” Alpha demanded.
“All members of the Insectoid Commune share the same pitch-black compound eyes,” Dragena began explaining. “Ice Fangs and our people have red and amber eyes, respectfully. Even Orais and Trolls look similar to their kin. Only the Malformed experience such a variety of changes in their bodies. Judging by how different Brood Lord’s offspring are from him and from each other, we can safely assume that he is a mutated Malformed himself.”
“Is this even a thing?” Martyshkina asked.
“It is a rare genetic occurrence, but it does happen. Mutants’ cubs often lose the biological characteristics of their parents. Researchers will have the final word, but judging that Brood Lord’s litter is smaller and less powerful than he is, I assume he shares the same anomaly. Next, the New Breeds of the Gilded Horde.” Dragena snapped her fingers, and a screen descended from the ceiling, displaying the results of the autopsy. “Observe. The placement of the organs and the skeleton itself are similar to the Normies. They do not have subdermal armor like us, but their muscle fiber density is fifty times that of a well-trained Normie, and their fat serves as an excellent natural kinetic disperser.
“These people are clearly a tribe, like we are. Not only that, but there are Normies, mercenaries in their ranks in abundance, along with battle beasts.” Dragena faced the warlords. “Our foe is not some warband, but an expanding empire, hungry for conquest, with leaders capable of matching us. Doubtless, all of them have their own styles and preferences for leading a war, too. Janine showed excellent foresight in calling for reinforcements.”
Janine scratched the back of her head, struggling not to refute the praise. I am not that smart. I only wanted to preserve our people.
“Yet this time they had gravely miscalculated,” Dragena stated.
“How?” Janine asked.
“Houstad.” Martyshkina grinned.
“Very good. Someone’s been listening,” Alpha snapped angrily, turning to Ashbringer, Onyxia, Eled, Zero, and Ygrite. “Janine is green blood; what is your excuse? Fools. What did the princess say?”
“They sabotaged the capital, cutting it off prior to…” Zero clicked in understanding.
“Very good, there are still marbles in that bucket of yours, Zero,” mocked Alpha.
“Screw you, sis.” Zero chuckled good-naturedly. “The Gilded Horde underestimated our scope. They think Houstad and we are the heart and the army, rather than a heart and an army.”
“Warlord Dragena! The contact is restored!” an operator shouted, and Dragena appeared beside the man with a loud thud as steel boots bounced off the ground.
The warlord leaned toward the display, its faint green light reflecting off her faceplate. With a snap of her fingers, the incoming video feed was transmitted to the warlord’s terminals.
The worst-case scenario had happened. The once unassailable bastions to the southwest had been breached. Missiles flew over the Wall, landing at a road, burrowing into reinforced bunkers, crashing amidst artillery, and spewing out chemicals that immediately choked the defenders who had their armor fractured by the earlier bombardments.
Numerous cannons punched holes in the reinforced concrete, reaching the barracks within. Shells rained down on the auxiliary facilities in the rear, flattening additional radar relays and communications towers. Sniper positions withered under searing napalm, and burning figures toppled from the battlements.
Hordemen marched through the burning sea of torched, overgrown greenery to the openings in the wall, led by a gigantic, laughing figure of a woman in furs. She alone wore no armor, eagerly welcoming the defenders’ counterfire as she sheathed her weapons. Sniper fire was less than a mosquito bite to her; the explosions of the surviving artillery that tore the nearest hordemen into pieces were no more than a morning breeze. Then the screen flickered as the soldier who filmed her had his neck snapped by a breacher.
Entire levels cascaded down as the siege weapons unleashed their wrath. Their missiles had sharp drills at the end, and upon striking the target, they burrowed tens of meters deep within and exploded in flashes of light, melting cameras and sending titanic shockwaves rocking through the fortification. Rapidly advancing automated machines quickly closed in on the Wall, unfolding into heavy weapon emplacements with turrets sprouting from their bowels. Bursts of armor-piercing fire ripped through the gaping hole in the bastions, preventing the defenders from denying the enemy entry.
The Provincial Army fought tooth and nail, refusing to surrender any corridor or room without extracting a bloody tool. Turrets were removed from the top of the wall and placed at critical points; a sudden charge of super-heavy tanks from the hidden entrances in the advancing wave caught the eager invaders off guard and bought a brief respite; the state’s New Breeds mowed down their foes one by one. An Exotic gifted with the ability to shrink items helped move dozens of oversized artillery cannons into the corridors, and they sang a nasty surprise, leveling the passages and the attackers alike.
Sacrifices of these brave souls had given the defenders enough time for orderly retreat, and many passing trucks forcibly grabbed gaping traders and civilians, taking them to safety. No audio files came along with the visual feed, but Janine understood the strategy. The officer in charge was trying to alert the smaller settlements so they could flee to Houstad. But as the state forces retreated from their borders for the first time in decades, the Gilded Horde revealed their hand.
Bubbles formed over the section of the Wall, and it immediately changed in color. The paint washed over it in a cloud of dust, webs of cracks spread far and wide, and a massive rain of rusted steel and crumbling metal came cascading down, paving the way for the invaders. Shining gold, green, and silver, thousands bypassed the Wall, spilling into the Core Lands.
To murder, enslave, and conquer.
“Why haven’t we been informed? How did they get so close?” Jacomie asked, already calling her troops and ordering the formation of cordons at Houstad’s entrances.
“Find a way to establish a connection with our allies. Warn the nearby settlements.” Dragena ordered the operator.
“Impossible, ma’am!” the operator replied, typing furiously. “Something is jamming our communications! We can see them, but we cannot send or receive a word.”
“Contact Till Ingo. Request his assistance immediately.” Dragena’s helmet rapidly closed around her head. “First. Camelia. Voidrunner.” She paused, tapping the side of her helmet. “They’re not responding.”
“Maybe their communications are jammed, too?” Janine guessed.
“Impossible,” Dragena replied coldly. “Our encryption systems have proven to be superior to those of the Provincial Army, and our kin are spread far too widely for them all to be affected. Frouke just responded to me, and his supremacy had passed messages to the mayor before, so we are not the ones being blocked. No, these proud fools ignore us on purpose.”
Dragena walked to the center of the room, facing the warlords and reading their intentions. Janine knew what she had found in them. Logically, the most reasonable thing to do right now was to stay here and dig in, setting traps, preparing defenses, and awaiting the Second and First armies. The state was vast, and it would take time for its armies to arrive, but when that time came, the fate of the enemies would be sealed.
But this wasn’t who they were. Not with their kin still in the field. Not with the civilians caught in the settlements in the Gilded Horde’s path. The Wolf Tribe swore an oath to be both the shield and the sword for the state that took them in and cared for them. They had honored it before; they would do so again, even if it meant defying Ravager’s orders.
“I understand, but disagree, sisters,” Dragena said calmly. “Lacerated One! The enemy may attempt to use mental attacks once more. You are to stay behind to aid Ygrite and Frouke. If Drozna reappears, end him. You will use the latest power armor.”
“If that is your wish, Warlord.” The Supreme Shaman bowed, clearly unhappy about having to discard her ancient plate. “His anger is but an insulting joke against our devotion.”
“Don’t push it. Even sages had troubles.” Dragena’s cold eyes found Zero. “Get the Blessed Mother.”
“I don’t know where she is.” Zero gulped nervously.
“Don’t play games, sister,” Dragena pressed. “Lives are at stake. Our sisters’ and brothers’. Do it. Please.”
Zero’s trembling paws reached for her helmet. She pressed several buttons in sequence, and with a soft hiss, the helmet opened, the lower part folding into the upper. A light that rivaled the Blessed Mother’s in intensity illuminated the entire command deck like a newborn sun. Ravager… Zero took off her helmet, ran a paw over her perfect hair, smiled, showing beautiful and elegant fangs, and gave thumbs up to Jacomie and Schalk’s gasps.
Janine struggled against the urge to bend her knees. It was not only a sign of weakness but also an outright insult to Zero, who wished to be treated as her own person. And yet, there was a feeling coming from the woman—an unspoken command demanding absolute submission, every bit as strong as the Blessed Mother’s.
Looking at her face here and now, even despite knowing that Ravager wore no clothes and seeing the Blessed Mother up close, the sight still made Janine want to submit. At first glance, when Zero wore her normal clothes, maintained her normal posture, and chatted with others with her helmet on, few would associate her with Ravager. Now, without her helmet, the resemblance was undeniable. Same-looking cheeks, same-shaped cheeks, same nose, identical eyes. It was as if someone had taken the Blessed Mother, shrunk her considerably, and forced her to wear clothes and walk like a real person.
Ravager and Zero were one and the same, two lives born of the same material, but where the Blessed Mother ascended to divinity, Zero chose not to, deliberately hindering her growth and refusing the gifts of her power. All who came from Ravager bore the same gift. The stronger the foe they defeated, the stronger they grew. Each had their own individual ceiling, resulting from the intensity of the gift coursing through their veins. But they could also stop that growth by refusing to accept the reward of their power. And Zero did just that, content to be equal to mortals rather than standing equal among gods.
Janine noticed that only the provincial officers gasped. All warlords were initiated into Zero’s secret upon their elevation. But the command crew? Curious.
Zero leaned back and studied the hatch in the ceiling. Her nostrils moved, picking up the scent of her sister. And then she was gone, a ghost disappearing on her own hunt.
“Rouse the packs,” Dragena commanded, taking the Ravager’s seat on the dais. “The mission is to bring back our kin, save as many civilians as possible, and gather all available forces of the Provincial Army. Do not attack strongly, sisters. Five warlords are in the Outer Lands, watching over our villages, and every sister who bears life is to join them immediately, even those already in maternity hospitals. Better to have a few stillborn cubs than to lose everything.” Dragena took a moment of silence, waiting for any objections. No one spoke. “Alpha, is she…”
“In the Outer Lands,” Alpha growled.
“Good. Six warlords will survive if the worst happens.”
“Five warlords. She is not our sister and never will be,” Alpha insisted, and Dragena paid no attention to her.
“No matter the losses, our blood will live on. The Wolf Tribe and the Third Army will launch the operation immediately,” Dragena said.
“I will go with them…” Jacomie started.
“You will rest and work with me, Lieutenant. No, Captain. Jacomie, you are promoted to the rank of the late Cristobo. Schalk, you are promoted to the rank of Jacomie. Congratulations.” Dragena’s eyes betrayed no emotions.
“Where is Predaig?” Onyxia asked as Janine accepted adrenaline and anti-toxin shots from the medic. “Don’t tell me she croaked too…”
“No,” came a voice from the sliding doors.
Predaig entered, clad in her armor, aside from her helmet. Her mane and fur were wet, the light in her eyes shone brighter than ever, but the most significant change was the complete absence of the gray strands. Their sister was reborn, striding with the grace of a young scout and capable of the devastation befitting a member of the first generation.
“The Horde’s cruelty had incurred a blood debt. I wonder if they have enough lives to repay it,” Predaig said simply, as if that explained everything, moving her fingers as if to marvel at the returned agility.
“Where are your scars?” Onyxia’s teasing nibble cleaved the air before any question could be asked. “Ah, I get. Met a boy…”
“Shut up!” Predaig slammed one end of her weapon into the floor. “I don’t know! I opted for a rejuvenation procedure; it was not my fault that the blasting Iternian abused my trust.”
“Ooh, Iternian, you say.” Grinned Onyxia and dodged a swing.
****
Janine met her pack outside of the crawler; Bogdan and Ignacy had just returned from the city and were now hurrying to her with the power armor. Marco was among them, proudly carrying a massive helmet in his paws. Janine nodded to them, sparing no warm words today and spreading her arms in greetings of hundreds of her soldiers.
“Sisters! Brothers! The Oath calls us!” she thundered as her sons encased her in the combat plate, shoving chords into the sockets of the implants and filling her body with tingling electricity. “Our walls have been breached, our noble city violated, our compatriots wounded or dead. Treachery has wormed its way into the heart of our defenses and taken the lives of our sisters and brothers. What answer will we give to those responsible for it?!”
“Death! Death!” roared hundreds, their voices joined by every pack. Only Martyshkina joined in late, silently paying her respects to her fallen wolf hag.
Sheer aggression. Sheer rage. This was the way of the Wolf Tribe. They did not care about numbers or odds. Only to fulfill their duty to the letter or die trying.
And many will die; of this, Janine had little doubt. The packs will set out fully equipped and with the best weapons possible. But in their advance, they will have little chance to resupply and almost no chance to repair their gear. Every crack, every missed shot, every cut and bruise will slowly wither them down. Yet there was no fear. There will be no single desperate counterattack into the enemy’s charge. The bastards liked raids? The Wolf Tribe will give them raids, biting them from dozens of directions at once, striking without honor, but with reason, precision, and determination.
Our pure condition. Hunters unleashed from the leash.
“Then death is what we will bring to the invaders! Many they are, but this only means more corpses to serve as fertilizer!” A booming laughter came back, and Janine returned the grin, the metal closing around her paws. She leaned forward, and Marco mounted the helmet that dulled her voice. “The inhabitants of the Core Lands. They are soft. And gentle. Beautiful, and so full of potential. Cubs in need of protection.” Her armor hummed, a beast awakening, and the helmet opened so the sun could see her fangs. “The future is theirs, but the coming carnage is ours! Revel in the coming righteous slaughter and rejoice in the opportunity to live our own way! Protect the weak and strangle the tyrants!” Anissa handed the axe to Janine, and the warlord raised her weapon and took the laser rifle from Bogdan. “Let the hunt begin! Doom to the Horde!”
The locks clamped, securing the weapons to her back, and Janine leaped, denting the ramp. Flying over the troops, she landed on all fours and raced for the exit, her named sisters at her side, the packs joining her. In a river of black-shelled bodies, they sallied forth through the emptying streets, the lenses of their helmets burning crimson. Bone-chilling howls filled the air, but the citizens waved at them instead of fleeing, and there was a look of hope on their faces. The troops of the Provincial Army and the policemen pounded their fists on their chests in farewell.
Hundreds of engines revved, and the New Breeds of the Third joined this march. The loss of their soldiers to treachery and Keon’s death spurred Chak and his staff to an unprecedented level of effort, and they worked overtime to repair the remaining vehicles and armor. Wounded Wolfkins cast aside superstitious concerns and demanded artificial limbs, insisting on staying and fighting. The Third was wounded but was far from dead, and now the cornered beast bristled, roaring a challenge.
This time the army marched without the guidance of the Blessed Mother, and it was Dragena who coordinated their strategy and oversaw preparations for a siege. But there was no fear.
Fear was what their opponents should have felt.