With the force of a newborn explosion, the Wolfkin tore the edges of the opened gap wide. She landed softly, producing no sound, standing taller than even the Number. Her amber eyes glowed with the inner light; the woman’s snout protruded longer than that of her kin, and when she bared her fangs, Yura saw smaller fangs within.

Warlord Ashbringer, the long-awaited guest for the honorable ceremony in Howe, surveyed the room, soaking her expensive dress and gentle and thick fur. The metal edges left the pretty business suit in tatters, exposing a full bodyglove of underarmor underneath. She inhaled the air and moved, sidestepping to the left and slashing with her claws. Blood appeared in the air, an oval stain from which grew a decapitated head and the torso of a woman holding a knife aimed at the Wolfkin’s spine. The Number fell, her power of invisibility turned off, and her lips were still struggling to say something.

Ashbringer roared, chilling Yura’s blood with sheer aggression. She had heard from Elina about the woman; she had saved her life by pushing away a murderous cyborg, acting with the dignity befitting her rank. Only there was no dignity in this roar. None. A bone chilling desire to feed, a demand of a cruel ruler for her servants to arrive.

And arrive they did. Ashbringer’s pack responded to the howl; clawed paws showed up from under the generator, grabbing the nearby Numbers and pulling them down, often breaking men and women in two. The crack in the ceiling widened, and a horde of black-furred and spotted bodies poured out of it and out of the ventilation shafts, all in tattered, expensive clothes, looking ridiculous if not for the blood-curling horror from their howls. They mimicked their mistress, landing softly and murdering the surprised Numbers brutally. Claws, knives, elbows liquidating the throats, jaws closing on limbs, paws tearing through the skulls—the Wolfkins showed no dignity to their opposition, driving the Numbers away from the trainees.

Yura bit her own tongue, crying out of pain, when a searing heat washed over her stomp. A wolf hag, whose muscles rival even Ashbringer’s, pressed a comparable energy cutter to the wound and cauterized it. She sniffed the trainee’s stump, tearing off a chunk of metal off the floor and splitting it in two. The lesser part had sliced through the neck of a female Number who aimed to take the head of the shocked Natasha. The wolf hag crumbled the bigger part of the metal and wrapped it around Yura’s wound before the body could fall.

“Thanks, but what the hell?” Natasha squeaked, turning pale when the amber eyes glanced at her. And she had a good reason to be scared! Wolfkins’ eyes shine akin to stars upon reaching the prime. Ashbringer lit through the darkness with her elegant amber projectors. This wolf hag had a faint cinder in hers. “You hurt my friend!”

“Pain is fleeting.” Natasha screamed, facing the giant paw that cupped her face. “Life is eternal. Survival is all.”

The wolf hag ignored the muffled cries, drew the girl closer, and clicked her tongue at the wound in the neck. She licked the wound and bandaged it with a piece of cloth. Ihor suffered the same treatment from two Wolfkins, closing his eyes at the touch of a lighter burning the wound in his chin.

The pack kept moving, circling on all fours and hounding the Numbers to the center of the room. Each time an assailant tried to break free, a black-furred body already waited for the prey, biting and dragging the struggling body into the ever-moving crowd where claws perforated the vitals. Ashbringer stood unmoving, keeping her gaze fixed on the ceiling, her claws twitching and a low growl leaving her throat. Six used this opportunity, raising a hand and the space extended, aiming at the warlord’s cranium. And Ashbringer didn’t see it; Yura understood. Her eyes hadn’t had the same gift as Yuras; the distortion in space, that unseen blade, was invisible to the ordinary eye!

Ashbringer dodged, shifting her head to the side and then stepping aside to dodge the second blade. She didn’t know about the source of the attack, but her instincts screamed she will be hit, so she stepped out of the zone. Yura trusted her instincts; it was how she survived a daily dose of beating from her mother when she was a young kit, yet Ashbringer’s instincts were something entirely out of this world.

“Step aside,” Ashbringer spat, mangling each word almost as if she had a mouth full of pebbles. A claw pointed at Six. “My prey. My kill.”

“Choke on these words.” Six rolled his eyes.

The chewing gum came out of Ashbringer’s mouth. More pushed out of the woman’s nostrils, and some even appeared in her ears. Her claws sliced through the gum, and the woman held her breath to keep her lungs from clotting. The claws left long and torn gashes in the gum, disappearing a moment later as the mass expanded, trying to get deeper into the warlord’s mouth.

With a deadly calm, Ashbringer reached into her pocket and took out an incendiary grenade. She tore out the pin, lifted the grenade to her snout, and let it explode. The resulting blast engulfed Ashbringer in flames; her clothes turned to ashes, the bodyglove disappeared, and the woman thundered onward, cracking her fists and blinking away the ashes, the chewing gum melting in her path. She bulged her muscles, spreading the fur with the effort, and proudly showed the world hundreds of scars charting her body and uneven patches of skin devoid of fur where the cyborg’s claws had gored her.

“Fire purifies all,” Ashbringer announced, chewing on every word and confusing Yura. Elina told her the woman was no barbarian. Why is she speaking the Common language with such difficulty?

“Evidently not, since it left a stain.” Six raised his fists, his muscles rolling under the skin and tearing it, enlarging his arms. “Guess it fails to me to wipe out genetic trash. It’s a dirty job, and I’d much prefer Martyshkina to you, but I’ll have to settle my grievance another time. Your kind enjoys facing a strong opponent, right, doggie?” The Number tilted his head, and his legs grew bigger. “Face me at my strongest if you are not afraid.”

“Deal,” Ashbringer replied.

No! No, you stupid bitch, he is baiting you! Yura wanted to scream; she wanted to extend the space and plant her fist in the snarling snout, breaking a few fangs, but she didn’t dare to break the concentration from Olaf’s wound. Warlord, bah! Six tricked her like a kid. Hell, a kid would know better than to take such obvious bait! No wonder the Reclaimers can’t ever hope…

Thum! Ashbringer disappeared. A crater grew in her place, and a sonic boom blossomed, spreading the flames among the rest of the fighters. The warlord rammed Six with a knee in his abdomen, sending the man all the way into a wall with such a force that his body left a body print, and he himself vomited blood as a metal beam above him started falling. The Wolfkin leaped at the Number as he grabbed the metal edges left by his body. She assaulted him with no mercy, lacerating the man’s body with savage slashes and blindingly fast kicks. Ashbringer aimed in equal measure for the man’s groin, knees, elbow joints, or throats with blindingly fast thrusts or cruel kicks; her snout opened wide, biting chunks of flesh off the man’s face, and in a span it took the broken piece of metal to fall Six has received over two dozen open wounds and several torn arteries.

But not a single torn tendon or damaged muscle. Yura saw it, counting the hits, amazed at their speed. None of the landed blows was a mortal wound; none could halt an Abnormal with his level of augmentation to falter. Blood dried up on the wounds’ edges, and Six took an incoming thrust at his forearm, catching four claws in-between his own radius and ulna, thus locking the warlord in place, and raised his other hand to touch her neck.

Strategy and tactics. Both are crucial in war; both are vital in every struggle. Akebia taught Yura this, whittling down the girl in their spars, placing hidden electric bombs to immobilize the Malformed and equalizing a lack of spatial manipulation through superior wits. Wits that the warlord clearly lacked. In fighting like a savage, she got caught.

Jaws closed on Six’s arm, and his eyes widened in shock. Another Wolfkin, a large woman carrying dozens of dangling bone fetishes, growled, burrowing her claws in his side, and pried the hand away, opening Six for a strike.

“You lying, cowardly, misbegotten cur!” Six yelled and broke his arm free, trying to grasp the shaman, who jumped away.

Ashbringer’s thrust saw her claws buried under Six’s jaw. The merciless attack went all the way to the end; the woman didn’t even think about taking the Number alive. Six’s arm moved; he tried to touch her ribs and break them apart, and a male Wolfkin closed his fangs on the Number’s arm, biting out a chunk of flesh and stopping the blow.

They fight like Malformed. Yura decided. No honor or respect for the sanctity of a duel, only a desire to see the foe dead. There was a certain nobility, a certain honesty, in this combat. A fight that used all tools, a struggle for life in its clearest form. The male tore off a chunk of flesh and retreated away from the swing, hungrily gulping meat and muscle. Yeah… It is our wildness. Maybe Malformed and Wolfkins have some common ancestry? Yura wondered, throwing a look at her saviors. The last reporter who asked a Wolfkin this question earned herself a spit in the mouth mid-question. Yeah, some things are better left to mystery.

Six snorted, splashing blood out of his nostrils at Ashbringer’s eyes. Even blinded, she faced his headbutt with her own, keeping the man’s head against the wall, thrusting her claws deeper and deeper, widening the gash, and pushing her own fingers in. Other Wolfkins, males and females, danced near the fighters at all fours, abandoning all resembles of humanity. Their snouts snapped, biting Six, stopping his blows. The clawed paws mercilessly gripped the bodies of their own comrades, leaving bloody traces and pulling them out of Six’s deadly reach.

The Number’s own trap turned against him when Ashbringer pinned his arm against the wall and opened her jaws wide, showing rows of smaller but incredibly sharp white fangs. Blood splashed as she closed the fangs on Six’s neck, drinking blood and gnawing at the muscle, trying to reach the bone and carotid artery.

“One!” Six screamed. “Open the portal! Open the portal and come!” He thrashed, his body still changing as he tried in vain to shake off or push the Wolfkin away. “What do you mean he needs it?! One, leave Eight alone! We can deal damage to the Reclaimers! Come here; together, we can claim a warlord’s head! One!”

“Left all alone, food?” Ashbringer tore a chunk of meat, swallowed it, and said in a clear, gravelly voice, shaking the rest of her barbarian guise. “Sad. I wouldn’t mind killing two Single Digits in a day.”

“Don’t you dare to think that you won!” Six roared in her face.

Chewing gum flew out of his pockets, moving toward the warlord’s mouth as she pried her paw, driving the claws deeper and deeper. A single incendiary grenade from a soldier stopped this attempt, leaving the two standing in crackling flames, and the male Wolfkin darted away, whining at a burn left on his hand. The Number laughed, raising the freed hand, and the female Wolfkin pushed through the flames, grabbing him at the elbow.

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“You didn’t win anything!” Six spat at Ashbringer. “Every time we fight, each time we kill the genetic rejects like you or die to them, it is we who win! Whom do you think this body belongs to? Me? Ha! It is a fool from the lands under your control, stolen and changed for my needs. Even now, he wails in pain, sobbing and begging for a release. And I, I will live on outliving you. Do you see it now, beast?!” He ripped his arm free from the smaller Wolfkin and raised it for a cleaving blow. “Even when you kill us, we still win! We lose nothing, and your kind grows weaker! If anything, we gain knowledge…”

“Some fools never learn.” Ashbringer pushed one last time, and the man’s bones gave in. The claws impaled him from his lower palate to the back of his head, ruining the brain and scraping at the skull.

The remaining Numbers rushed the Wolfkins in a maddened rage, trying to pass through them and kill the trainees. One of them jumped free from the fight; an ice spear formed in his hand, and the large Wolfkin who had tended Yura’s wounds rose to block it. The strike never came; tendrils of utter darkness slithered from the shattered crack in the ceiling and wrapped the attacker in a pitch-black cocoon. Yura heard the snapping of bones, and the body went limp, and the void disappeared, letting the body fall.

Neither Wolfkins nor the Number had managed to kill the host. More spears of darkness rose, driving the Wolfkins away, and Headmaster Torosian stepped forth, appearing out of nowhere. The Headmaster was still dressed in a ceremonial black uniform, with silver Iternian national symbols glittering at his high collar. He injected the wounded Number in his neck, sending the tortured soul into a medical coma, then nodded to his students and joined the fray, taking the enemies alive and sometimes throwing the Wolfkins off the fallen Numbers before they could finish them.

“You can let go.” A gloved hand touched Yura’s shoulder. A smartly dressed woman holding a terminal in her hand smiled gently. Like Torosian, she looked strange at the site of battle, wearing a black vest, a black shirt, long boots, gloves, a modest skirt, and a cap holding the dark hair in place. Her visage exuded calm and confidence.

“B-ut…” Yura nodded at Olaf, struggling to formulate her desperate fear.

“Everything is under control, child of Iterna,” the woman said in a honeyed voice, sitting next to Yura.

Several more soldiers appeared in the room, all clad in black carapace made of modular parts rather than nanomachines, and their helmets stylized after human skulls. Rather than focusing on the Numbers they closed on the trainees, pushing the Wolfkins aside. One tore the bandage off Natasha’s neck, and a needle appeared up from under his vambrace, injecting her with painkillers. After that, the soldier started cleaning up the wound.

With shock, Yura found the metal on her stump removed. A similar needle injected her in the leg, spreading a sensation of numbness from the stump, and another black-clad soldier with burning crimson lenses treated her wound. A third sat on his knees, and his chest opened. Yura saw machines working in there; elastic threads of fiber muscles kept the limbs agile; the generator’s hull contained destructive energy within its chambers; and craned arms, each thinner than a branch of a dried-up tree, showed up, carrying syringes and medical instruments. But no human body was visible. None at all, yet the soldier’s movement felt a lot different from those of a VI. Yura knew this, because several Vis often kept her company while she waited for her PO.

“Is Olaf going to be okay, sir?” Yura asked, clenching her fists at the sight of her friend being treated by… a machine? She wasn’t sure. The soldier ignored her, and another one placed her severed foot in a cylinder, sealing it in a floating green liquid, and pressed a button on top of it, freezing the contents. All without uttering a word.

“Of course he will, child of Iterna. A wounded heart is nothing to fret about. It is the brain that matters. A sole irreplaceable organ, and thanks to you, his is undamaged,” the woman said, her voice soothing rather than chastising. “Iternian lives are sacred to us, and those covered by shadow need not be afraid.”

“Who… who are you?” Yura asked. “Watch out!” She saw a trembling air at the woman’s back and grasped her to pull her to safety.

A Number sneaked close. Yura saw his outline through spatial anomalies in the air; he hid itself in a space between dimensions, using the stolen power to creep past the fighters. He stepped out, a boy seven years old, aiming a pistol at Natasha’s back, leaving his hiding space in utter silence. The soldier treating the girl’s wound swung his hand, a dark sword extended for a split second, and the child lost his head; his body toppled on top of the ruins of his cleaved weapon. Torosian turned around with a scowl but said nothing and proceeded to use his own power to immobilize opponents, trying to preserve lives amidst the massacre.

“See? Nothing to worry about.” The woman freed herself from Yura’s hold and stood up, adjusting her tie. “I am a delegate, working on behalf of the Shadows. You can address me as such; we give little care for the actual names, Yura.”

“You know me?” Yura felt confused. She had never met the woman.

“Not specifically, but I have called up your file.” The Delegate tapped on the temple. “Sorry for all the troubles you had to experience. You are a very brave girl. Please steel yourself and don’t worry about anything; I’ll clear everything up with the parole officers; no one will judge you or your friends.”

“But I k…” A finger stopped the admission.

“Once again, Yura, everything will be taken care of,” the woman said, her voice a soft purr. “There is nothing to be afraid of; you have done great. In the future, we might…”

“Not happening!” Torosian snapped, coming closer. He checked each trainee and locked eyes with the Delegate. “One more word, and I’ll sue. Keep your poisonous offers away from my students.”

“But of course, Headmaster.” The Delegate made an elegant bow, ignoring the sounds of the fading battle.

“Wait!” Yura shook the haze of painkillers, focusing her thoughts. “Instructor Akebia is also…”

“Locked in combat, yeah, we know.” Ashbringer pushed a Shadow aside and came closer, licking the blood off her paws. “My pack ran into her on our way to save you. I left a wolf hag to aid, but frankly, the female is tough enough as it is. Should be soon here.”

“How did you find us? How did you even know about the attack?” Ihor asked, trying not to look at the Shadow who stitched his ruin chin. “We are several kilometers away from Howe.”

“And we are grateful.” Natasha bared her throat, earning a grin from Ashbringer, who gestured for the girl to sit. “No, don’t break it!” The teen darted to the terminal, screaming at a Shadow raising a fist to smash the Numbers’ jamming device. “I can disable it; maybe we’ll learn something out of it!”

“Jumpy cub,” Ashbringer wrapped a hand over a smaller Wolfkin, drawing him close. “My scouts monitored the place, itching at a chance of dueling with the tall females.” She nodded at Yura. “They saw a group entering the ruins, heard explosions of mines, and alerted me. The rest of the rabble tagged along.”

“On behalf of the Academy, I thank you for the rescue of the Iternian students.” Torosian placed a hand over his chest and bowed. “And my offer still stands. If you want, even the cubs’ relatives can…”

“Fuck off from our children already, male!” Ashbringer bristled. She ignored a Shadow who stood to protect the headmaster and surveyed the room, counting bodies. “The deed is done. Your honor is accepted. We are leaving.”

“This wasn’t the honor!” The Delegate drew closer, dismissing the Shadows with a gesture to keep a respective distance from the warlord. “Wide and noble Ashbringer, the flaming fist of the Dynast, mother of hundreds, please stay a while. Citizens of Howe, citizens of Iterna, and even your fellow citizens back at home all wait to see the ceremony. Iterna is even in greater debt to you after today, and our best clothiers will restore your damaged clothes, our artisans…”

“I have no need for any clothes. Fur will suffice,” Ashbringer said quickly. A male by her side whispered something, and the warlord nodded. “If any of my pack wants it, they are permitted to accept gifts from you. Shouldn’t be a problem to mail them to one of our bases. We are leaving. Now.”

“We can’t simply let you leave without the honor…” The Delegate pressed her hands together.

“Am I being detained?”

“Of course not, Warlord Ashbringer. Your people, the savage and mighty Wolfkins…” Yura expected the Delegate’s words to offend the guests, but they kept listening in calmness. “… fought against our armies more than anyone else. Because of the betrayal by the traitors who ruled our nation centuries ago, Iterna had scarred your trust. And yet you saved our citizens twice, once per your duty and once out of the goodness of your heart…”

“Out of duty,” Ashbringer interrupted the woman. “Ever out of duty. Clad in armor or not, beneath a banner or not, every female and male in my pack are Reclaimers till death. And no Reclaimer worth her title will shy away from a fight.”

“If you say so,” the Delegate continued. “This ceremony, a small token it may be, can serve as a sign of a new era to come, an era of peace and trust between our nations. Grand deeds start with small steps. Please understand that you can’t simply leave or attend naked…”

“I will not understand!” Ashbringer raised her voice. “One of you keeps pestering me about the cubs non-stop, acting like a pedophile.” She pointed at Torosian, who almost choked at the accusation. “And you want to dress me up as if I am a doll to parade around! We are not your toys! If your people can’t accept us for who we are, fine, we helped you; you thanked us; let’s go our ways. But I refuse to give in and coddle your sensitivities any longer when all you do is ask, ask, and ask for more, making me move rather than moving yourself. My duty is to protect humanity and help reunite the world, not to slave myself to the whims of others.”

More soldiers showed up from the cracks in the ceiling: a group of Problemsolvers followed by Howe’s guards and Iterna’s regular soldiers. They spread out across the room, trying to ignore the fuming warlord and her pack. Several of the still-living Numbers, whose bodies were turned into a horrid mess by the claws and fangs, had tried to stop the hearts of their hosts, and some even succeeded. The Problemsolvers injected every single body, even those torn apart, with a heavy dose of sedatives and power-suppression drugs, preserving the captive for a chance to be rid of the Numbers.

The Shadows rummaged through the pockets in search of any evidence. Three more assisted Natasha at dismantling the device clinging to the generator’s control panel, never saying a word despite the trainee’s shy attempts at making small talk. A bit later, the Wolfkin wearing the bone fetishes joined them, telling the girl to breathe in slower and concentrate.

“Your reproach is fair,” the Delegate admitted. “We did impose our rules on your people. Name the concessions we must make for you to stay, Warlord.”

“Proper apartments…” Ashbringer raised a finger.

“We gave your pack rooms in the five-star hotel!” A hint of emotion flashed through the Delegate’s dispassionate face, and her façade of a pleasant servant shattered for a second. She wasn’t angry, Yura noted, but rather shocked.

“What idiot would sleep at such a height?” Ashbringer arched a brow. “How would you feel an earthquake approaching and hide in time? Don’t try to fool me, Delegate, I saw Howe’s people living in normal houses, and this ‘hotel’ of yours is empty. Even the filthy male…” She pointed at Torosian. “… lives at ground level. You gave us that place because no one else wanted it. Either let us have normal tents or let us dig our own dens.”

Yura wanted to interject and explain that Iterna had booked the entire place for the Ashbringer Pack, but on the other hand, she was curious to see how the situation will go, and it was funny hearing the insults hurled at the Headmaster. She let the Shadows treat her leg, never leaving Olaf’s side. Torosian joined them later, putting a hand on her shoulder and reassuring her that her friend will be fine. His sincerity made Yura feel bad.

The heated debate continued, and Ashbringer kept making demands. No clothes. The Delegate refused to budge on it, and the Warlord agreed on casual dressing. No ceremony spanning hours or hugging with the ambassador to fake friendliness, but a brief, several-minute-long exchange of pleasantries. The Delegate accepted it with almost physical pain. Ashbringer and the Delegate agreed that any member of her pack may be present in a proper suit or dress if they wished to, although the warlord stood confused as to why any of her soldiers would even want it. Next, the two clashed over a selection of food next. To the Delegate’s horror and a few hidden smiles of soldiers, Ashbringer demanded a right to rummage through Howe’s dumps, decrying the exquisite cuisine served to them as not nutritious enough.

For the past ten minutes, the Iternian team has worked to melt its way through the main doors leading into the hall. Akebia turned the ancient doors to dust, firing her sonic cannons at close range, and stepped inside, covered in blood and gore remains left from her opponents. The neon smile and eyes faded off the visor, letting an image of a worried human face take their place, and the instructor lowered on a knee, hugging Yura and Ihor and giving a nod to Natasha.

“Oh, Olaf,” Akebia chuckled with relief after hearing a report from Yura. “You always find a way to screw things up in the most spectacular ways.”