Janine spat at the twitching corpse at her feet. She had half a thought to take a bite of the bastard; the Spirits knew it was a long day, and she was hungry, but she decided against it. Not out of respect. She would have pissed on the bastard given enough time. But the soldiers and cousins were watching her. Restraint and discipline were essential. A leader’s self-indulgence invited the same from the pack members, and that in turn invited unnecessary casualties from otherwise easily avoided mistakes.

There was a tingle in her legs, a slight tension in her muscles, and a pleasant rush of adrenaline coursed through her body. The reward. Ravager’s legacy had deemed Janine worthy of growing a tiny bit stronger after the murder. Weird, she had thought she had reached her prime years ago. But Janine welcomed the change and the pleasant sensation of her muscles thickening.

The warlord ignored the chuckle and the shadow form that cradled and poked at the corpse. She wasn’t here. Terrific could not be here. Janine took the Taleteller from Bogdan’s paws and raised the weapon high, howling to proclaim her victory. Four packs. Four packs had descended upon the town, barely denting the enemy forces. Ice Fangs and Wolfkins joined their forces, pushing the raiders back. Despite the loss of their leaders, the foes were retreating in an orderly fashion, and new officers had already taken over.

It spurred her into action, and the first shot from her laser rifle blew holes in two hordemen on the square below the Knight Academy. Their torsos simply disappeared in crimson steam, and limbs and heads dropped to the ground. Janine kept firing, ending the lives of those who dared to wage war against the state.

This town, called Quatindor, was quite prosperous. Economic specifics eluded Janine, but she was not blind to the sight of the extensive mining complex to the east. Food production facilities, farms, two small cinemas, a park, pharmacies, and even a fully stocked hospital. The place flourished, growing into a real trade and tourist center that no longer relied on material support to sustain itself.

It had suffered greatly. Smoke rose into the sky, obscuring the view, and occasional flashes of red announced another rocket barrage coming down to take out a fortified position. Beasts wearing human bodies pillaged and violated the civilized lands, dragging women by the hair from their homes and enslaving or killing husbands. Shops and malls were ruthlessly broken into, their goods carried off, banks emptied of valuable metals, and entire crews stripped the dead from both sides. Shot, choked, or burned alive, people Quatindor burned to ash, their hopes and dreams joining the rising, swirling smoke.

In their panic, the survivors flocked to places perceived as pillars of stability and safety. The police station, the Knight’s Academy, and the town hall. Janine took it into consideration, dispersing the pack and assigning tasks to the wolf hags with the silent approval of Martyshkina, Eled, and Predaig. Marty’s pack, reinforced with the soldiers of her friends, was to save their stupid kin near the police station and city hall.

Monsters of a different kind prowled around Quatindor now. Those for whom this hellscape was as natural as the walls of their home tents, those who grew angrier at the sight of the invaders’ savagery. Armored paws reached out from the shadows, dragging unsuspecting fools into the darkness to rend them asunder. Shardguns’ flashes illuminated the darkness in the alleys during shootouts between the hordemen and Wolfkins. Claws faced claws under burning trees. Surprised families confronted the wide grins of the dark-clad warriors and males who escorted them to safety. Metal cracked, bones shattered, traps were laid, and death continued to feast.

The town wasn’t a necropolis yet, but the Wolfkins had caught the raiders with their pants down. No reason not to do it again and again.

“Scouts. Mark the enemy’s officers. Hunters,” Janine said, looking at the roof of this so-called Knight’s Academy. Janine knew almost nothing about these places; she summarized them as the Order’s analogues to pits, arenas to toughen up cubs. Fortunately, her ice-blooded kin they’d saved here obeyed the orders of a barbarian without question.

You can’t trust them. It spoke. The shadow that pervaded her life rose from the corpse, no longer walking behind the backs of others. It twisted and contorted, opened its dried-up mouth, and breathed out a cloud of dust.

“Fire at will; officers take highest priority.” Janine ignored the aberration and grinned after three raiders who tried to assemble their comrades earned themselves holes between the eyes. Damn it, Marty was right! Hunters are awesome! Spirits be my witness; one day I’ll have my girls trained in the sniper arts too! “Soulless One, status?”

Another fireball rose near the walls, answering Janine’s question better than any report. The diversionary team converged on the overexposed artillerymen, killing all they could and detonating their ammunition. Their work done, the Wolfkins slipped back into the settlement like ghosts.

“Artillery is silenced,” Soulless One said over the comms, surprising the warlord. There was no grudge, no burden. The shaman’s voice sounded just like it had when she was a young girl, light and certain of her future.

You have found your way, my friend.

“Good. Stalk in the shadows, Soulless One. There are citizens yet trapped in the town. Rescue as many as you can,” Janine ordered.

“My place is by your side, Warlord,” Soulless One grumbled for decency’s sake.

“Your place is where I send you, Shaman,” Janine snapped back, not the least bit displeased. “I know of your desire to save lives. Act upon it.”

“Will make you proud, Janine,” Soulless One thanked on a private channel.

“Artillery pieces inside the town are dismantled, Warlord!” another wolf hag reported. An explosion rang out to the north, and something gigantic began to fall from a heavy cloud of smoke. Marty’s doing, no doubt. “But we can’t get to the bastards outside the walls!” The wolf hag in charge of the diversionary team shouted, and Janine summoned her video feed.

Led by two wolf hags, the pack was busy dodging gunfire and energy blasts hitting the wall. Retreating into the ruined apartment buildings, the Wolfkins were busy rescuing wounded civilians and clearing the floors of the Horde’s stragglers. Though not part of their mission parameters, Janine approved their initiative with a grunt.

Even for two wolf hags, such a mission was dangerous, but they weren’t alone. Four other shapes traveled separately from the packs, emerging from the sepulchral darkness to snatch any hordeman foolish enough to pursue them. Eled and Predaig’s bodyguards, shamans who had survived hundreds of battlefields, were unleashed in full. Their faith may have forbidden them to use weapons, but in close quarters, these women used the gifts given to them by both the Spirits and the state.

Second only to the warlords, these warriors were unparalleled in the chaos of this battle. Observing the situation through the lenses of their lesser, they leapt from the rooftops, slicing bodies in half with a single blow. Their jaws closed, ripping out throats, and the shamans roared, drawing more opponents to the carnage. Like phantoms, they disappeared after each massacre, weaving their paths around the packs. The shamans used their own allies as bait, never once stopping their own deadly hunt.

Janine did not find it in her heart to berate them for cannibalizing downed enemies, not after one of them plucked two unconscious children from under a pile of rubble and tossed them to the warriors. If a Normie reported it later, she would take the blame herself.

But she doubted that any of the civilians cared about adhering to these laws.

Attacking multiple targets was the Wolf Tribe’s style. In the absence of a clear enemy commander and facing too massive numbers to crush them head-on, Wolfkins sowed confusion and chaos on the battlefield, misdirecting foes and destroying vulnerable pieces. Wolf hags proudly challenged the Horde to duels, and after hoverbikes were sent to mow them down, their soldiers dropped acid grenades from burning buildings. Clad in full battleplates, the packs moved comfortably through the burning ruins, navigated by the shared and constantly updated map. When support was lacking, calls for help were sent out and well-planned ambushes were launched.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

But these quick gains could not last. The distraction packs had already used a quarter of their ammunition, and fresh enemy forces were moving past the walls. Chaos tactics could not win them the day. Brute force alone could not turn the tide of this battle.

There is no victory here. Fingers, unbending from rigor mortis, ran over the edge of her gorget, beckoning her head to turn.

Bitter as it was to admit, Quatindor was lost.

“P… please!” A wounded hordewoman raised her hand to the passing Janine, holding her intestines with another. “Mercy! I can reveal…”

The warlord stomped the woman’s head flat.

“Use the sewers and retreat to the Knight’s Academy. Keep civilians out of harm’s way,” Janine ordered the distraction and diversionary packs, quelling her bloodlust. They can’t save everyone. Her eyes spotted raiders charging from an alley a few blocks away. A small, white leg of a woman was seen just outside the alley’s corner. A trickle of blood spilled onto the main street. The raiders headed for a family who was hiding in a general store. “Predaig,” Janine said.

The streets leading away from the plaza were still dominated by the Horde, but that hardly mattered when Predaig landed, sparks flying from her armor from the ricocheting bullets. Predaig’s enormous blade moved too fast for Janine’s eyes; all she saw was a wave of blur in front of her friend and six bodies falling, their arms and torsos cleanly cut. Predaig tossed two grenades at the survivors and shocked enemies and grabbed the family of five Orais in a tight hug, not caring about accidentally cracking their bones. A single bound brought them to a rooftop above, and to the cheers of the youngest member of the family, the warlord leapt away, taking a detour to return safely.

In Predaig’s absence, an ice fang, a warrior, and a scout perished when a hoverbike rammed into them. Their killer failed to escape; a beam of Janine’s rifle ended his life, but it left a sour taste in her mouth. Orais, Normies and other groups were far more numerous than the Wolf Tribe, and even the Ice Fangs didn’t have that many members. Five lives to save three. Civilians for soldiers. And who will protect the former when the latter was no more?

This is our duty. Our obligation. The words sounded hollow. Her people were dying. Other warlords reported their own losses. The day was still young, and they had already lost over fifty females, not counting the males’ losses. And not some old and burnt females who were unwilling to have cubs after outliving their first offspring. No, warriors and scouts were dying, precious souls who still had hope. Janine struggled to imagine how hard it would be for the tribe to recover from these losses.

Melina, too, was no longer… There was a lot the Order had to answer for if they couldn’t prove that they really hadn’t heard her calls.

Ah. You begin to understand.

Most warlords never counted losses among their males. They mourned the fallen and tried to give them a proper send-off whenever possible. But only Janine, Dragena, Alpha, and Ashbringer wrote letters to the families of the fallen, informing them of their sons’ brave passings. On the rare occasions when Janine was home, she tried to find time to visit the relatives of her fallen soldiers to offer her condolences and ask for forgiveness, often butting heads with Alpha as she brought words of praise for the males who had died under her command.

Their war had just begun. The packs will go into battle wild, laughing in the face of overwhelming odds, but in the end... The tribe may face its own personal Extinction. Her people, their culture, and their cousins may disappear or become a statistical insignificance on the national scale.

We save others. Will anyone save us? No. The Dynast saved us once. Miracles don’t happen twice. It is our duty, our destiny, to give our lives to those who can’t protect themselves and die in the gutter, forgotten and abandoned.

The Third was supposed to leave the Core Lands with more soldiers than it came with. But that’s not going to happen now, is it? The sounds and movements around her ceased, and Janine exhaled, turning to the one demanding her attention.

“What do you want?” She growled.

For you to listen. Terrific’s dead eyes bore into her.

“Listen to you? A cub slayer, a rule-breaker, and a merciless torturer?” Janine laughed. “For what, so you could lead me astray? You, hiding in my head, filling it with lies to distract me?”

I do not hide and I do not lie. Everything you accuse me of, you yourself have done to one degree or another. Terrific’s eyes rolled in their sockets, trying to focus on the trampled hordewoman. It is pleasing to see how much you took after the teacher.

“We are nothing alike,” Janine insisted. “You are not here. Terrific is paying her penance, earning forgiveness through labor, and waiting to pass on to a better, happier beyond. You are nothing more than a figment of my imagination running wild. The reward!” she said, realizing. “It changed something in my brain, and you crawled out. My guilt torments me.”

If I am you, then listen to me, for I speak your own instincts through your thoughts. Terrific’s legs left the ground. Her body made a full circle, and she faced Janine upside down. Think of all the times you have interacted with the Ice Fangs. How they stole your title by abusing your injury. Their arrogance left you in the dark and your soldiers dead. Or Marco. He is the curiosity, a fleeting interest for them. Don’t argue. You know it is true. When the chips were down, he risked his neck to save their kind, but did they extend the same courtesy of at least getting him out of the war zone? Did they even try? They never saw the tribe as equals, never appreciated them, never asked how they were. There is no kinship. So let them drink what they have brewed. Take your soldiers and leave them to their fate before it is too late for the tribe.

“Poison.” The Taleteller sliced through the shade’s neck. “My bigotry is greater than I thought, if that is what lurks in my subconscious. Our tribes may be different, but the Ice Fangs truly care for us. There are individuals among them who are unworthy of respect, like Bertruda, but as a whole, our people will live together in the Core Lands that will one day span the entire world.”

Now, who is the poisoned one? Terrific laughed. Who is the liar? Where were we stronger? The question stopped Janine’s sarcastic reply. You understand it. Beyond the wall, the tribe was together, ever-ready, strong. There was no betrayal; the Blessed Mother fought in your ranks. Here you are all alone, forced to pretend to play—pretend to be civilized and getting murdered for it! Think of those who lost their lives in Houstad, unarmed and ambushed! It should never have happened. Civilization will be your death. Terrific held out an arm to Janine; her legs returned to the ground, and she imagined a faint crimson fire burning behind the pale yellow spheres. Take it. Let’s return you to the path that was meant for you; remove the shackles of morality from you, my daughter. Bring you back to your intended condition. Slaughter for the Dynast. Slaughter for the Blessed Mother. Slaughter…

The paw trembled, its fingers unfurling with loud pops of torn muscle. Their pure condition. Janine’s thoughts traced back to the days before, to her fear of Alpha and the need to enter politics, her irritation about the mayor’s inability to understand why he was wrong, the need to tiptoe around the Normies, and how ungratefully they welcomed the Blessed Mother, not valuing the lifetimes of sacrifices the tribe had done for them.

She smacked the eager paw away, remembering Marco’s happiness about visiting swimming pools and reading comics, Ignacy’s genuine elation about getting his artificial arm, Bogdan’s love of watching prank shows, Anissa’s love for that filthy, disgusting Malformed who didn’t deserve her princess one bit, and even Impatient One’s interest in trying to understand how the banking system worked. Civilization took a lot and offered a lot in medicine, armaments, and an easier future. To betray it, to revert to the state of Terrific, and to abandon their allies was to betray everyone who had died and the Blessed Mother’s desire to integrate them into the world they were helping to forge.

And besides. Houstad would be in bigger trouble if they hadn’t been here. The Dynast, in his infinite wisdom, was right to send them here.

Suddenly there was another Terrific, and Janine prepared her axe, angered at the tricks of her mind. That second Terrific sunk her crooked fingers into the ribs of the first, and the first Terrific screamed, shocking the warlord. Her mother had never cried from such a lover’s tap. The bone was torn, and the second Terrific easily dodged a clumsy swing and grabbed the flesh around the first’s neck, tearing off a sizeable chunk. The first Terrific’s scream turned to a faint gasp; she pressed both paws to her neck and turned tail, running to hide somewhere deep in the plaza.

You passed… sister… The second Terrific said in a hoarse voice. Keep… Passing… Restraint…

“I am restrained!” Janine stated, irritated by the pantomime her mind was playing.

D…

Janine shook her head, breathing freely as the world resumed and she was free from the prison of the dream. She was getting worse. Maybe she needs professional help? No, she wasn’t that weak.

She regretted for the first time that the wyrms had been left at Fort Uglo. Their mind control would have helped suppress their insanity. She had served with the blue once and was disgusted by his underhanded methods, but their might would’ve turned the tables today. Still, the last time these two had been involved was in a time of crisis. Maybe proper officer training could make, if not good, then a decent person even out of Ivar. Besides, the last time the golden coward tried to help, he left a canyon in the middle of a city.