A wave of sand carried Janine along. Often the wave completely submerged her, but the movement never paused; it persisted in carrying her in a single direction. The grains of sand gathered in tangled patterns, replaying scenes from her past, confirming that there was a spark of life beating in her body. She didn’t try to resist or break free from the unconsciousness, knowing full well the futility of such an action. Nothing here was real.
Bogdan. Ignacy. My soldiers. Are they alive?
Had you been stronger, you’d know for sure. A shadow stepped onto the river of sand and walked effortlessly along the warlord. The creature resembled Terrific when she was alive, but there was a sense of falsehood about her. Her limbs were too thick and inflexible; she walked on two short legs; her fur lacked the lush darkness; and her eyes were dimmer than they should have been. It was not a ghost, but another aberration, and Janine didn’t see the point in arguing.
The sand washed over her, painting another scene from her memories. Predaig sat on a cliff with her back to the two approaching Wolfkins. Gray streaks were in her hair and mane, but not on her body. She wore an officer’s leather coat that had been stitched too many times. The fabled killing machine played curiously with three cups placed in front of her, carefully placing tea in each, adding sugar, pouring water, and then using a tiny spoon to stir it.
“A tea, seriously?” Martyshkina asked instead of greeting.
“Amazing, isn’t it? It was all but lost about fifty years ago.” Predaig tapped the spoon on the rim of the cup. They were alone on this mountain cliff, high above the sandstorm passing below. The honorable warlord brought no weapon and said nothing about Janine’s axe or Martyshkina’s revolvers. “Today we have many flavors. I decided we should try the stuff we helped to restore.”
“I am more of a fan of alcohol.” Martyshkina sat while Janine kept standing at attention.
“It helps to forget,” agreed Predaig, and pushed a cup into Martyshkina’s paws. “At ease, Wolf Hag. No ranks tonight, just sisters.” She waited for Janine to sit and gave her another cup. Janine took it carefully, more worried about the precious porcelain of the pre-Extinction era that belonged more in a museum than in the harsh wilderness the tribe lived in. “Congratulations, Martyshkina. Hail to the new warlord!”
“Cheers!” supported Janine, enjoying the sight of the blushing Marty.
“That was more spur of the moment. The w… wolf hag kept pushing it,” Martyshkina grumbled, tasting the black tea. “Hm, not the worst piss.”
“As she should.” Predaig nodded. “Martyshkina, we must always be in flux, ready to change and adopt new ideas. I see uncertainty in your eyes. Good. Let your caution help you navigate the right path for your pack. Listen to your gut and pick what works. You think shardguns are the way to go? Then force you pack to practice with them. And don’t fret about your former leader holding a grudge.” She took a teakettle from a campfire, ready to prepare more tea. “No one should expect to stay on top forever. Soon, age will dull my reflexes and senses, and I will be defeated.”
“Soon,” Janine laughed. “You were ancient when I was born!”
“Heh. True,” Predaig agreed. “Speaking about spur of the moment.” She inspected Janine’s axe and narrowed her eyes. “I know what you did. You disappoint me.”
“It won’t happen again.” Janine hung her head in shame. “Never again will I disobey…’
A violent slap knocked her to the side. There was still noise and stars in Janine’s eyes when Martyshkina was already standing; her paw grabbed the revolver and brought it up to aim at Predaig’s shoulder. Impossibly fast, the warlord’s paws grabbed Marty’s wrist and yanked the barrel toward Janine. Martyshkina hesitated, trying to break free, and received a blindingly fast elbow to the solar plexus that sent her tumbling from the cliff’s edge.
Janine lunged at Predaig, bringing up the Taleteller in a double grip. The elder warlord didn’t dodge, but grabbed Janine’s ankle and pulled her off her feet, headbutting Janine so hard that she flew away and rolled on the ground, flattening sharpened rocks. Janine stopped at last and gasped for air, stubbornly standing up in challenge. How strong was that woman? Predaig treated them like cubs while sitting cross-legged!
“What was the big idea?” Martyshkina roared, climbing back. “You called us here for a meeting of sisters, and you dare betray our trust…”
“It is you who are betraying the trust! The trust of the tribe!” Predaig roared, holding the tea cups from falling. “How dare you not encourage your friend in her time of need? And you!” She locked eyes with Janine. “How dare you show submission over a correct judgment? If I ever dare to break a law, I expect my pack to tear me apart. Terrific taught you well; don’t you dare betray her teachings!” She ran a paw through her mane and motioned for them to sit. “Martyshkina, Janine, my sisters, you do not yet understand; you cannot understand because you are young. I do not blame you; I was the same decades ago. Listen and learn.”
She resumed preparing the tea, her aggression gone as suddenly as it had appeared, and the warlord approached her warily. Predaig didn’t bother to see if they might team up against her.
“Every generation is shaped by its times. We are no exception. The First Generation clings to their grievances and sticks to the methods that worked in the past, wearing them proudly like medals and bristling at those who try to bring forth change.” Predaig handed them the tea, smiling cordially. “Ravager was wise to encourage change. The world does not stand still, and to survive, we must adapt. Listen to tradition, but do not adhere to it blindly, sisters. We are the past; you are the future. One must not dominate the other; balance is needed. Your task is to ensure the tribe’s survival by using your own talents.”
The image broke apart, and sands of memories rushed past the immobilized warlord. That night, she decided to never again hold back and listen to her dedication.
Ah, Predaig, ever so righteous, never wavering in her morality. The shadow crouched, patting Janine’s forehead. Much good did it do to her in the end. She had the experience, but she let you lead.
The sands closed around, swallowing her answer, pouring down the throat. There was no fear. The past had already happened; it could no longer hurt her. There was a new pattern in the grains that filled her vision, and she recognized herself, sitting in the tent, bandaged against her will, her paws shaking. A gathering of the wolf hags and scouts prostrated before her, baring their necks in acceptance.
“Every injured into the infirmary at once,” the Janine of the past snarled.
“Warlord.” Winced Melina. “It isn’t necessary…”
Her paw grabbed the woman and dragged her closer to bite her neck, fangs sinking deep. Melina whimpered, relaxing her body as streaks of blood soaked her fur. Janine shoved her away, stopping her attempt to get to her knees with a snap.
“You can lead by example and see that there is nothing scary in a medical den, Wolf Hag.” Janine smiled at the pure hatred in Melina’s eyes. She didn’t want to break the woman. “Have a nice, long sleep; read a book or something. All soldiers in my pack, female or not, are to properly eat and sleep.” She placed a paw on the ground, weakened by her wounds. “Yes, it includes the weakest and the cubs in training. Feed them milk from your tits, if you must; coddle to their quirks, but they are to stay healthy. There will be no more decimation in Pack Janine.” There was no challenge, and she relented, surprised that no one hated her for what she did. “Next, equipment. Ours are in desperate need of an upgrade.” She stopped, glancing at Anissa. “You are still a scout.”
“Yes, Warlord,” her daughter replied.
“Correct it.”
What have I done? Her paws trembled.
There was much to decide then, and she refused to take a second’s rest. Their armaments were sent to repair, and thinking back, it was probably how Anissa met Chak since Janine had given the assignment to her and Ignacy, but only Ignacy was seen in the armory. Reports to petition larger rations, demands for increasing firearm training, requests for instructors from the Normies’ ranks, reviewing the extent of injuries of her troops... the tasks kept piling up, and the warlord shook her head feebly when she heard stomping footsteps entering the tent.
“You are the one who took her from us.” It was Eled. “How long do you plan to hide in this den?”
“Long enough to solve my pack’s problems,” Janine said. “About Terrific. I am sorry.”
Eled didn’t respond and walked around the tent, sniffing the scent marks. She halted when she reached for the former warlord’s jacket and poked it with a finger.
“Your lousy crybabies were running around as if they were whipped…”
Janine sprang into action, swinging a paw at the scornful snout. Eled caught her blow, grunted in approval, and held the warlord at bay. She jerked her head, dodging the bite, and embers of rage flashed in the yellow eyes as the corners of Eled’s lips curled up, baring fangs.
“Insult my pack ever again, and I’ll see your guts on the ground,” Janine promised her.
Eled smiled. She let go of Janine and raised her paws up, calling for a truce, then pointed a finger at the warlord.
“That’s it!” Eled said. “That’s what I want to see. You are a warlord now, sister; act like it! Don’t sit in your tent; come out and proclaim your rank for every ear in the tribe to hear.”
“But…” Janine faltered. “I thought you hated me.”
“Hated? Why?”
“I… I killed her. Took Terrific away from us. Betrayed my...”
A warm embrace was around her, and Eled pressed Janine against her chest, unafraid of any bite. She deliberately exposed her neck and said nothing for several long minutes, and the two simply stood, Janine leaning more against Eled and relaxing, letting go of the tension and exhaustion the wounds had brought her, while the other woman held her steady.
“No one here hates you, Janine,” Eled said softly. “No one, Terrific’s soul including, thinks you are a traitor. She was the one who went overboard, not you.” She let go of her and knocked lightly at Janine’s sternum. “But you can’t sit here and brood. Go. Your sisters are waiting to tend to your wound. The Blessed Mother is waiting for a confession. Don’t be a second Terrific; be the first Janine and don’t change. You are sad; I can see that. It’s normal. Let us mourn and send her on her last journey together and then celebrate together.”
“Thank you.” It was as if the weight of a mountain fell from Janine’s shoulders. “I will.”
She wasn’t shunned or despised; there was a place for her in the tribe. The warlords, those of them who were on duty in the Inevitable, had waited outside the tent, but it was Eled who had entered and almost dragged her out by the ear.
But I broke the promise. I changed and showed less mercy, trying to fit into Terrific’s boots, mixing her style with my own to preserve her legacy. I lived in her shadow. Janine realized.
Eled. Be it war or peace, she was always too emotional, prone to losing control. It was her strength and her flaw. Tsk, tsk, it also is the reason for her failure. The shadow said, watching the past unfold.
“You judge them too much.” Janine craned her neck, facing Terrific. Or was it her, wearing Terrific’s hide? “If you are so much better than them, how come you died first?”
How should I know? The shadow shrugged. I am you, the part you locked away, disgusted at how weak… The shadow brightened, the darkness vanished, and a Janine appeared, cradling a silver metallic body and whispering words of reassurance. Or how strong you can be. The darkness returned, hiding the woman comforting the lost and desperate child. In her place came a warrior, pushing the falling entrails back into her body and swinging her axe, murdering Blood Graf’s minions by the score. This is you. Good and bad, flawed and flawless. The shadows swirled again, reshaping themselves into Terrific’s form. Feelings are not weakness; the lack of control over them is. It is time to wake up. We have a job to do.
“Yes,” Janine agreed.
****
An ocean of pain greeted her in the real world, and she found herself strapped to a metal harness suspended in mid-air. A metal beam pressed tightly against her spine, denying her any chance to shift her position. Her arms and legs were bent back to the point of breaking and secured with chains. Solidified steel held her fingers and toes in inescapable vices. Meat hooks pierced the skin between her ribs and her exoskeleton, threatening to scrape against her lungs if she tried to escape.
She blinked, realizing that she was in a vast, dark hall. Blood and tears still seeped from her eyes, answering her that she hadn’t been unconscious for too long. Twisting her neck as far as she could, Janine managed to get a quick look at her body before the suffocating collars around her neck forced her to look away.
The armor was gone from her body, torn away piece by piece along with chunks of hide. Cuts, dark purple bruises, swollen welts marred her body, and there were several broken bones. Nothing life-threatening. Her neck pulsated from agony, but the swelling subsided, and she breathed easily. A few of her implants had been replaced by gaping holes in her chest, and she felt at least two more such wounds at the base of her neck and under one shoulder blade. The blood coagulated, stopping the bleeding, and a soft membrane grew over the wounds, protecting them from infection. Her muscles itched under the skin, growing back little by little, and her body burned through its internal reserves to heal the most severe damage.
A scratching noise of a nail scraping against metal forced Janine to raise her head. There were figures in the dark. She recognized Mad Hatter straight away, even though the woman had swapped her fur robes for a white tunic and plain green pants with silver trim. She was sitting on a slab of gold, carved in the shape of a throne and inlaid with simple gems. A mask of a weeping maiden adorned the khatun’s upper face; five feathers streaked from the top of the mask. White and brown battled on her skin, creating an unusual coloration—a web of visible arteries ran from her eyes to under her mask and then down her neck, where they disappeared into the thick skin. Breathing heavily like an exhausted animal, she sat nonchalantly, one leg dangling. But her sharp eyes never stopped tracing everything in the hall. The warmonger feigned inattention.
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Two collared servants in plain gray robes stood by her legs, dwarves compared to the seated giant. One had to use a chair to reach the Khatun’s face with a broom to wipe away trickles of blood to prevent them from staining her garment. Another, a woman wearing the insignia of a Reclamation Army officer, held up a plate with disgust and self-loathing on her face. Fruits, drinks, and meat were on the plate, but what drew a growl from Janine’s lips were two halves of Predaig’s head in the center of this feast.
Mad Hatter tore an ear from Predaig and tossed it into her mouth.
“I take it you are awake,” she said in a relaxed voice; her words came in like a soothing breeze. “Can you speak? Anything overly hurts?”
“You are a dead woman,” Janine promised her.
“Because of this?” The Khatun pulled out Predaig’s eye. “Silly child…”
“I am older than you.”
“Perhaps,” Mad Hatter conceded, patting the officer. “The гармаа had told me of your rejuvenation technology. Don’t blame her. She had agreed to fifty years of loyal servitude to save the rest of her unit from death.”
“It was the wise decision.” Janine complimented the officer, ignoring Mad Hatter to infuriate her.
“Petty, careless, moronic. What if your posturing forces me to renege on my deal?” the khatun inquired.
“Are you this childish?”
“No.” Mad Hatter smiled, and her joy reached her eyes. “I already love you, Janine. My word is the word of God; I will sooner break than lie. But back to the topic. Age is a poor indicator of maturity, girl. Can you tell the schematics of a plasma engine or biological reasons for the Troll’s inability to form emotional expressions?” She waited. “What I see, I understand. What I understand, I can replicate. In terms of intelligence, I am superior. Your indignation over my evening cuisine amuses me. Your tribe eats their enemies, so what’s the harm in me honoring your fallen in the same manner? Though I admit, uncooked meat no longer appeals to me.”
“Why do it, then?” Janine asked. “To make a point?”
“Oh, please, you sound as Brood Lord now.” Mad Hatter laughed, and her eyes opened wide, splashing drops of blood for her slave to catch. “The comparison insults you. My apologies; it wasn’t my intention. I have moved beyond statements and embraced theatrics.” She ran a finger over the corpse. “This one is special. As I ended her, my muscles clicked. It’s been years since I’ve grown stronger from a victory, and to see it happen again was ecstatic.” She clenched her fist. “I’m still not at my upper limit. If a daughter gave it to me, what prize awaits me from her mother?”
“Annihilation,” Janine assured her. “You speak of intelligence, but all I see is an idiot. The Reclamation Army has many great champions who can smite me. The Blessed Mother, Wyrm Lord, Devourer. Stand against them not, if you want to live. But there is one who is an absolute end, whose might surpass yours in every conceivable way. And you have angered him. It doesn’t matter if you run; it won’t matter if you stand. Your existence is over, done.”
“More bravado,” Mad Hatter yawned.
“Observation,” Janine corrected her. “You claim intelligence, but all I see is stupidity. How many soldiers had your Brood Lord grinded down in vain? How many rounds of ammunition have been wasted for the sake of self-indulgence?”
“Plenty,” Mad Hatter said, not angered in the slightest. “And irrelevant at the same time. The efforts of the Reclamation Army have provoked the wrath of vast armies of scum who long for the days of yore. As we speak, slavers, bandits, and crushed tyrants are rushing under the Sky’s banner, hoping to feast on what will soon be a corpse. More armies stream from the steppes, reinforced on every kilometer of the way. Our vassals send their own to impress and join in on the conquest.”
“How unfortunate,” Janine remarked. “It will be a bother to bury them afterwards.”
Mad Hatter stood, and Janine expected herself to be smashed, but no strike came. The khatun gestured for her servants to stay and circled around the prisoner, running her finger over the wounds and edges of the implants, not increasing the damage, not tearing or ripping. There was a scent of curiosity and confidence about her.
“You understand then. It is the era of demigods, a wondrous time when champions of gods meet in battle to decide who will rule the planet. We live in the era of individuals,” the khatun said. “In the past, a leader had to tread carefully around their followers, worrying about the possibility of dying from poison, being overthrown, or being assassinated. But when an individual can turn the tide of war by themselves, what need is there for politics or intrigue? I take what I want when I want, and it just so happens that I desire to rule the world, and so I shall.”
“And enslave ordinary people.” Janine looked at the captives.
“Why should I care about the lives of mortals?” Mad Hatter asked sincerely. She tilted her head, listening. “I hear the lamentations of the locals, their words whispered. Tears roll down their cheeks. Do you know why they are crying? Not because they have lost you, but because their precious protectors are gone. The lesser, the weak—they don’t value us for our personalities; they don’t care about that. To them, we are not people. There was a time when no one said as much as a word to me, except in retort to show off their sharp tongue. All that changed the moment I ripped the skin off one of their faces. Suddenly I had friends, companions, drinking buddies... I didn’t let it confuse me. I was valued for my strength and the threat I posed, so they sought to get in my good graces, hoping to use me. But there are those who can treat you equally, regardless of your differences. Once I solved this conundrum, life became simple.”
Her fingers touched Janine’s shoulders, rubbing into the stiffened muscles, easing the tension and sending a fresh wave of relaxation. Mad Hatter’s head neared the warlord’s ear and whispered:
“I can teach you the same lessons, Janine. You are an individual, not my equal, but a pureblood nonetheless. I can appreciate you as a person; let you off your leash. How many times have these gnats you call allies come to check on you in your hour of need? They don’t value your personality, don’t care about your suffering, but crave your strength.” She moved in front of Janine and pointed at a barely concealed hatred and hope in the eyes of the enslaved officer. “See this? She is praying for you to accomplish what is impossible for her. Such dependence is toxic, unworthy. You can do so much better. Join me. Gain freedom and take back control over your destiny.”
Janine laughed in her face, unafraid to die. There was no punishment, no rebuke, no demand for her to stop. Mad Hatter waited for her to finish, then took a glass of an unusually smelling liquid and offered it to the warlord. She drank hungrily, and the khatun refilled the glass, offering the strange mixture of milk, honey, and alcohol again. Janine accepted the small grace.
“Of course they don’t care about me.” Janine tried to shrug and frowned at the pain in her ribs. The khatun finger tapped her on the forehead, warning her to be careful. “I don’t even think about every single person in the state; why should I ask the others to? It’s idiocy.”
“Why serve, then?” Mad Hatter pulled her throne closer and joined in the drinking.
“Because we live in this world together,” Janine answered plainly. “As life improves for ordinary citizens, it improves for us. My tribe no longer starves.”
“You could achieve the same result by raiding,” Mad Hatter pointed out.
“Are you retarded?” Janine asked. “Look what the Reclamation Army has already accomplished by cooperating. Our lands are being terraformed, our factories produce valuable and soulless augmentations, and medical complexes heal the wounded and sick. Poverty has taken a backseat. I’ve seen nobility, not born of lineage, but real nobility, as citizens who never knew the hardships of the Outer Lands mourned and sent aid to those who live there. Is it bad that so many cubs hunger no longer? That diseases no longer claim settlements? Or what New Breeds and Normies don’t oppress each other? Yeah, we are not perfect, but why harm this process? Everyone benefits from it.” She spat blood and licked her lips.
“Peace is an illusion and stagnation. The Old World fermented in its peace, and our species nearly died to the first fomented conflict.”
“I deal in facts,” Janine said stubbornly. “You deal in delusions. My destiny is aligned with the dreams of my tribe and the wills of the Dynast and the Blessed Mother. We suffer so others don’t have to. I will never betray His Excellency’s ideal.”
“There is no arguing with indoctrinated.” Mad Hatter shook her head. “Don’t worry, I’ll fix your people. Since you spurned my offer, your fate is almost sealed. Tell me…” Her fingers touched the necrotic area around the implants fabricated by Janine’s firstborn. “These crude toys. They harm you. Why keep them?”
Janine didn’t respond. There was a promise of death in Mad Hatter’s words, but not at her hands. Something worse or better awaited her, and she saw no reason to divulge details of her personal life to this maniac. The khatun’s pupils dilated, filling the entire white of her eyes, then returned to their normal size as she exhaled wearily and picked another slice of meat from the plate.
“Sentimental,” she said, and Janine blinked in surprise. “Made by your family.” The warlord experienced a cold sweat. “Son. Your son did it.” Mad Hatter smiled in her face. “Good. I learned you. Answer my next question or your pack will be flayed alive and dragged through a salt field.”
“Where are they…” Mad Hatter thrust a finger into Janine’s mouth, ignoring the futile attempts to bite through her skin and scrape her tongue.
“No questions. You have lost that privilege. Be an obedient doggy, and answer me this: Do you know God?” She removed the finger, wiping it against the floor.
“Which one? Spirits, Planet, Champion…”
“The sort who whispers lies to you.” Mad Hatter paced back and forth, pressing a trembling hand to her face. “He lays out poisoned gifts, begging and pretending, offering unrivaled power in exchange for acceptance. His lies never stop, never end, robbing you of your sleep.” She swung an arm through the air, knocking the slaves off their feet with the sheer force of the wind. “Crimson-eyed, white devil, whose very form is allure.”
“Never heard of your God,” Janine replied honestly.
“Not mine!” The woman screeched; her voice broke unexpectedly, returning to the rough and angered warrior tone. “Look at me! I am the Sky’s daughter, elevated above any living being. And that filth denies me sleep to ensnare me in his servitude? Ha! I will never bow to anyone but my father, never honor anyone but my mother. I’ll scour this world, overthrow every nation, and drag the lying demon into the light. And then I will sleep.” Her lips twisted into a dreamy scowl.
Shaken from the healing of her body, twisted from the hooks that had bitten deep into her, and still suffering from the concussion, Janine imagined that she could see two new figures. One was very familiar. Terrific lurked in the darkness, her mangled body creaking as shattered bones scratched inside. Dim, pale eyes looked past Janine.
The second figure was new. A white mist floated in the air, roughly the proportions of a human body. Ephemeral arms wrapped around Mad Hatter’s too-thick neck, pale lips whispering intimate words into her ears. Crimson dots flashed through the mist, focused on the captive, two burning portals to the depths of the Abyss itself. She had seen her share of psychos and lunatics. This thing surpassed them all; the boundless cruelty and glee in its eyes were unmatched even by the khatun. It derived pleasure from the very act of her suffering.
You are afraid. It spoke in a sublime, angelic voice, and time ceased. Mad Hatter stopped in her tracks, frozen as she offhandedly helped her slaves to their feet. The fabric of the clothes, the wind in the hall, trickles of blood and motes of dust were frozen in place, and every color was sucked into the white form, filling Janine’s vision with gray. But Terrific remained in that sea of gray, walking behind the figure as if unaware of her presence. Loss. The figure continued. Since you have graced reality with your first cry, all you knew was loss. Your mother. Children. Future.
It floated closer, sending a jolt of strength through Janine. Her muscles flexed, ready to burst from the prison of her body; her heart pounded, sending rivers of blood in a fierce flood through her body.
Then she saw her soulmates. Colt was among them. They were joined by her smiling cubs. One by one, they grew older; injuries covered them, and soon they disappeared into the gray. Eled, Melina, and Predaig appeared briefly, standing beside their lost friends. Like a curtain, the gray consumed them.
You sacrificed so much. The white shape said sympathetically, patting her head like a caring parent. And will continue to sacrifice. But when you need help the most, when you are alone and defeated, there is no one at your side to help you stand. Is this any way to live? The figure held out a hand, and a radiant glow appeared in its palm. Take my blessing. Embrace me as God and bring retribution upon the leeches and parasites that inhabit this husk!
A vision came to Janine. She broke free of the harness, healing all the damage in nanoseconds. There was no fur on her body; it disappeared, replaced by gray skin that was both solid and liquid, tougher than any known alloy. She and Mad Hatter exchanged blows, and her fist broke the khatun’s knuckles, surprising her long enough for the jaws to tear off the arrogant head.
She didn’t stop. A single blow leveled the entire building, and her fury spilled out upon the Horde and its captives, upon all who had betrayed her, used her, or abandoned her. Their crimes and insults were millions, so there was not a hint of mercy in the unrestrained cruelty itself as she first choked Brood Lord and then ended his offspring. The town became a graveyard as she roared into the sky, ending the Ice Fangs for their treachery, razing villages and hamlets to the ground, punishing the unbelievers. The Blessed Mother tried to stop her, and Janine ate her limbs for refusing to aid her daughters in the hour of need. Then she visited the Dynast, ending his wretched lie of violent reunification, quieting every word on the surface and below, and new servants worshipped God in the right way. Guided by His love and…
“Sister,” Terrific croaked, and Janine bit her lips, resisting the aberrations’ wills.
She is she! Janine of the Wolf Tribe. A warrior who pledged her life to the state! And she will be damned before she ever reneges on her vows. Under the Dynast’s vision, the world will recover. And a day will come when every subject of the Reclamation Army will know peace, and together they will travel to the distant stars to learn and spread humanity far and wide.
A pity. The white shape replied, extinguishing the light in its hand. You are infected by the most unworthy gift. Hope. No matter. Either way, humanity’s doom will be sealed by one champion. He glanced at Mad Hatter. Or by another.
The white shape returned to cling to Mad Hatter like a parasite, resuming its whispers. In a blink, reality resumed. The grayness disappeared, Mad Hatter returned to her throne, and Janine tasted smells and breathed. What she had seen just now was an illusion concocted by her exhausted brain. Nothing more. Only the Spirits were real.
“Why are you doing this?” Janine asked Mad Hatter. “Waging wars, I mean. Surely it is easier to try sleeping pills.”
“I tried them.” The khatun picked up a glass sourly. “They don’t work anymore.”
“Why wage war at all?” Janine ignored the pain, genuinely trying to understand. “I get the impression that you don’t care much for ruling. You want to sleep. That God prevents it.” Or you are imagining him, you stupid, murderous whore, she wanted to say, but ignored the desire. “If you are so hellbent on finding the bastard, why not ask around? Why fight, purposely slowing yourself down your search?”
“Ask?” Mad Hatter laughed. She pointed at the slaves and reached out to move their clothes aside, revealing daggers and loaded pistols. “The slaves ask; they plead, afraid to act. A human act. Strength comes in many varieties, and will is my favorite. Am I to kowtow and court for a favor? I impose my will. Had people not sinned so much, the Sky would not have unleashed such a great monster as I to feast upon them.”
“If you are so strong, what need do you have for slaves?” Janine mocked her. “A strong person uses her strength to better the lives of everyone. That Horde you created? It isn’t strong; it’s a ravenous group of rabid freaks, ready to scatter at the first sign of trouble. Unlike you lot, the Dynast doesn’t have the petty desires of being surrounded by slaves. He builds technological marvels, restores forests to the world, and eliminates hunger. This is the true strength, the one that surpasses us both.”
“You, perhaps,” Mad Hatter murmured, amused. “I am not bound by such limitations. And you attribute too much to your sire, ironically ignoring the contributions of the small folk that you claim to love so much. It wasn’t the Dynast who founded your cities, nor any of his generals.”
“What happened to my pack?” Janine asked.
“Again, you seek to irritate me, acting as if you are free, when your life is forfeited.” Mad Hatter tapped her fingers on the throne and gestured for her slaves to eat their fill. “But I don’t find a desire to end you. Curious. Your comrades have been captured, and their fate lies in your paws. I no longer wish to make you into a khan of your people, but a token of submission can save them. Save you.”
“A token?” Janine asked, deciding to play along, sensing tension in the air. Someone nearby was unhappy.
If Mad Hatter asked her to bow, of course she would. And the moment the woman’s gaze left her, she would lead her soldiers on the run, back to the tribe. The Ice Fangs might frown upon such deception, but the Wolf Tribe knew it was foolish to honor a word given to the dishonorable. The Gilded Horde were insane and cruel, and Janine will see them meet their doom.
“We have one of your… sword saints,” Mad Hatter chuckled, “in our possession. He is hardly the man he was, armless and legless as he is now. And we also have an abundance of civilians. Among my people, it is customary to seal deals with blood. The strong do not bleed; they force their lesser to do so for them. And that is the price I expect. Bleed a thousand lives to create a worthy pool of blood in which to drown the Sword Saint. Do this, and our pact is sealed.”
“Fuck you,” Janine spat into her face, stiffening the slaves with fear. There was no retaliation; the khatun could have easily dodged the spit, but she stood her ground. “I know what you are, Mad Hatter. You are neither a god nor an avatar of one. You are a human masquerading as a monster, a subjugator. Heed me well, Mad Hatter. Whatever monster you may think yourself to be, the Blessed Mother is the Slayer of Monsters and Dominator of Dominators. Bow your head, accept the punishment for your crimes, and you may yet live as an eternal servant. Resist, and you will meet her.”
“That is exactly what I want. I will do more than just meet her,” the woman said calmly. “I will end her and ascend. Brood Lord.”
“My khatun?” Brood Lord stepped out of the shadows, flanked by two smaller copies of himself, a male and a female, both four-legged. The khan smiled at Janine; his wounds had already healed.
“My offer has been spat upon. Janine is all yours.”