Chapter 132: Chapter 125: Harbinger of Fear

With everyone secured, Anissa jumped into the second, picking up the two wounded instructors she and Kalaisa had found on their way down. Holding them under one armpit and gently carrying Marco in another, Anissa kept retreating to the roof, ignoring the cubs’ frightened yelps.

My son is alive. Bless you, Anissa. Thank you, Spirits. Elated, Janine blocked the blow with the shaft of her axe and ended up buried in the road up to her knees. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, her heart racing, the blood pumping faster and faster. She broke free of the trap, dodging the spike aimed at her mouth, and the Taleteller kissed it, shearing it clean. The kiss continued, taking the broken finger next and landing on his breastplate.

“Sword Saint, be careful not to break your claws!” Albert cried the warning as she stabbed with her paw, hooking Iron Lord’s arm to keep the field of destruction from touching her head.

“Relax!” She laughed in the opponent's face, closing in on him and getting behind the khan, brutally tearing her claws free. “Even if they break, they’ll grow back!”

“You are acting too brazen all of a sudden,” Albert remarked. “Don’t risk it, please.”

Iron Lord’s upper body spun, but she ducked under the elbow and slashed at his damaged chest, then at his legs, before the downward swing of his glaive drove her back. Shards of broken iron rang out on the ground.

“Risk it?” Her joy filled the battlefield, seeping into the packs. “The mission was a success!” My son lives. He’ll run again, I promise! She would rather die than admit it to her soldiers, but the sight of her, weaving and cutting back with renewed energy, advancing akin to a sandstorm at its peak, formless and deadly, unencumbered and radiant, motivated them to push through the exhaustion and beyond.

“Reclaim! Retaliate! Reconquer!” They howled the motto of the First, the oldest of the state’s war cries. No one forced them, no one taught them; the Ice Fangs and the Wolfkins just felt like it, abandoning their own traditions in favor of something shared and cherished from the days when they had toppled the vilest of scum.

One hordeman dismounted his dying steed and raised an axe while the rotating cannon on his shoulder was busy ripping wide gashes in the Wolfkins before him. The intense fire was blocked by a brave defender, and the soldiers used the respite to hurl grenades at their enemy, forcing him to curse as his vision was impaired by acid melting his lenses. Together, the group focused fire on his leg joints, bringing him to his knees, and a knight-captain thrust himself forward, ramming a sword into the bastard’s neck.

Even that wasn’t enough to kill the hordeman, as his swing ruined the knight-captain’s hastily raised shield in a single blow. But his fate was sealed; the scout destroyed the cannon, and the mass of troops pushed him to the ground, working their way through the suit.

Impatient One broke Zulfiya’s arm and ripped the helmet from the woman’s head, lacerating her round and wide face with a single slash, avoiding the clumsy counterattacks. Martyshkina fired, landing six bullets in a single point on another hordeman’s chest. The hypersonic bullets pierced their way to the heart, and the body slumped from the surprised bull, who paused, unsure of what to do. Marty reloaded her revolver, licking her lips hungrily, and the animal turned tail to her mockery.

Six legs burst from the wall of the Knight Academy, widening the gap and sending debris everywhere. The fortress, which had withstood both energy and projectile bombardment, gave way, and the four-armed body emerged from the crack in a wave of devastation. Brood Lord spun in the air and smiled at the surprised troops.

“Mine, mine, that incubator is mine!” He landed on the road, slicing through the Ice Fang at his waist and ramming his pincer into the open mouth of a Wolfkin, opening it inside and popping the male’s head. “Out of my way, corpses! It’s your queen I’m after!”

Janine saw him out of the corner of her eye through the visor of her armor, still locked in battle with Iron Lord, and understood that she wouldn’t be able to block both. Brood Lord didn’t care about anyone but her; his legs knocked the soldiers out of the way, and she turned to face his blade. His sword screeched, drawing sparks across Taleteller’s haft, and the mocking face closed in.

“Nice to meet you again, Janine. It seems my hospitality wasn’t up to your liking. You took something from me.” His smile changed to a grin full of needle teeth. “But that’s okay. I sense the traitors.”

“Good,” Janine growled. “Then you can seethe knowing that you will never lay a finger on them again, shit pot.”

“Never say never! Life is full of little unexpected surprises. Like the one I met in that ditch of yours here.” Acid bubbled behind his teeth.

“That’s true if you are alive to experience these surprises.” Janine pushed against his clench, trying to shove him away. “You are done. Dead man walking.”

“His name is Marco? My bad. His name was Marco.” Brood Lord smiled, slightly opening his mouth. “Know that as we work through each other’s families, I enjoyed watching you squirm in anguish. The question is, do you experience the same, woman? Do it now, Iron Lord!”

Janine worriedly glanced back, expecting to be cut between the shoulder blades when the fist the size of her head flew past her, smashing into Brood Lord’s face, and paws rose behind her, blocking the pincers aimed at her sides. The punch was hard enough to send the reeling khan off the warlord, and she found Impatient One beside herself.

“Not the place for switching sides, Rust Lord.” Brood Lord wiped his mouth. “Then again, you never were a bright spark. Your own sons and daughters are lying dead. Don’t you care? Don’t you even care?!”

“Betrayer!” Iron Lord roared. “This was my operation! Those puppies in the academy should have been smuggled out of the town long ago to be used as hostages or raised as my future soldiers. This place is mine; you agreed to it! How dare you deny me my spoils! How dare your degenerate filth harm the future servants of my... Khatun’s army! Worse, you failed to achieve even that! We conquer and rule; what do you think you are doing, massacring children?!”

“And rule we will! Over those who are left. No need to be so stingy over useless dregs. Plenty of those around.” He swung his head to Impatient One, nodding at her wound. “Why push your luck?” He asked with genuine curiosity. “I am after someone else today, and this hunk here is a much more affordable target.”

“You touched the warlord’s son.” Impatient One unleashed her claws to the fullest, stretching the skin on her fingers to the point of tearing. “No mercy.”

“He is mine,” Janine said.

“Almost forgot about you, my dear. Here, this is yours, I believe.” Brood Lord tossed something in her face.

A strip of Marco’s torn skin.

She roared and lunged, earning a kick to the chin. A spin saved her from the swing of Iron Lord, who had no intention of allying with any of his enemies. Brood Lord found himself on the ropes as the shaman crashed into him, sparks flying. A shaman’s claws were different. Where the Tribe cherished their natural weapons while accepting more advanced methods of slaughter, the shamans stuck to the old ways, gnawing at suits and hollowing out entire caves with their claws on a regular basis, ignoring discomfort and pain and strengthening them every day.

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And Impatient One had earned the right to be one of the finest fighters among the shamans, prevented from ruling over villages only by the vice of her temper. But in Janine’s opinion, the daughter had long since surpassed the mother in pure martial prowess and was held back by her smaller stature. Unhindered by any physical disfigurement, Impatient One created a web of cuts approaching Brood Lord’s face, slicing away his mustache. Her toes pressed hard into the road, and she leaned back on them, dodging a slash that would have decapitated her, and immediately leapt into the fray, catching the snapping pincers, then kicking at the khan’s chest, bouncing off him to gain distance.

Brood Lord chased after her, swinging his sword down, and the shaman caught the blade between her paws, groaning from the intense pressure of struggling against his single arm. Brood Lord spat his acid, missing his target as Impatient One jerked her head away. Her leg kicked, damaging his chitin plate, and in that second Janine pushed past Iron Lord, shoulder tackling the other khan away.

“It is getting ridiculous,” Brood Lord sighed pretentiously, touching his ruined mustache, and another set of irises appeared from behind the first. His hind legs arched back, resembling scorpion tails as they hung over him. “All I wanted was to see Janine writhing in agony as I plucked members of her family like grapes, but no. You had to come and incur a blood debt. Pay up; I haven’t got all day.”

His legs came down on Impatient One’s shoulders, stabbing into them with enough force to reach the bone and pin the woman to the ground. Brood Lord took his time to bring the shaman onto a knee, smugly grinning at Janine, who fought against Iron Lord. Ignoring the claws that scratched the lines on his chitin, Brood Lord raised his sword.

We are monsters. Let the world hear us and tremble at what it has birthed.

The advice came suddenly to Janine, but she obeyed, giving up battle plans, tactics, dominance, traditions, her place in the pack, even her family in exchange for the urge to kill. The most basic thing a monster could do for humanity. Destroy those who threaten the weak.

Iron Lord’s glaive rose, propelled by her blow, and the warlord lunged at Brood Lord, dragging the axe across the ground like a tool. The swing of the axe damaged the tip of his hind leg, and the next blow drew a long gash across his belly, piercing his gilded armor and sending coins of the conquered nation free. The Malformed freak stumbled away from Impatient One, touching his wound.

“You… you weren’t that quick before.” His finger ran over the bleeding edges, and then he licked them clean, watching the warlord. “Overdosed on drugs? Angry? Come on, Janine, what’s a few dead kids between friends?”

Enough! Shut him up! She obliged, facing the rapidly moving khan, blocking his blade thrust, backhanding his pincers, and tackling through the kicking legs. Iron Lord appeared to her left, swinging at her neck, and the warlord dodged the blow. Brood Lord immediately tried to use that second to split her legs, and Iron Lord struck him with the end of his glaive.

The three-way fight. They stabbed and slashed, each defending against two opponents at once. There was little reason or logic to the clash; the blows hungered for exposed limbs and were stopped at the last second. Brood Lord’s looming legs struck again and again at Janine’s head, swaying it and escaping from her jaws. The glaive cut a wide swath from her chest, exposing a side of her body down to her waist. The warlord responded by slicing through Brood Lord’s armor above his ribs and crippling Iron Lord’s leg, leaving him limping.

Sensing the shift in the battle of the beasts, the khans dropped their quarrel and faced Janine together, planning to finish off the strongest in this fight. She parried the glaive, and a bullet flew between the fighters, scaring the Malformed away as it chipped a piece from his helmet.

“Hey, whoreson!” Martyshkina landed nearby, holding a smoking revolver. “We have unfinished business.”

“Piss off. It’s Janine I want,” Brood Lord barely glanced at her.

“Too bad; I don’t share.” Marty leapt forward, evading a sudden slash aimed at her slash. “I hate unfinished business and unpaid debts.” She blocked the blade with the barrel of her revolver and fired the second, halving Brood Lord’s severed leg. “That’s one.” Martyshkina smiled at Brood Lord’s groan of pain. The agony made him sloppy, and Martyshkina pressed the advantage, kicking and breaking another of his six legs. The limb twitched and detached from the joint, first holding on to greenish strings covered in red, then falling off completely. “That’s two.” She pressed her revolver against her enemy’s visor. “And that’s dead.”

The blade smashed the revolver away, and instead of blowing his head clear, the bullet tore through Brood Lord’s cheek, hitting the building behind him and causing it to collapse. That was enough for the khan, and he hurried to Iron Lord’s side, hiding in the bubble of the shield field formed around the leader.

“I must say.” Brood Lord used his sword to deflect two of Martyshkina’s bullets, slowed by the field. “Your operation is shit, my friend. Had I planned it…”

Fear.

Everyone felt it. Janine stopped, her axe locked against the glaive. The packs moved hesitantly away from their opponents, dragging their wounded and Ice Fangs to safety. Bertruda yanked her spear from a corpse and took an uncertain step toward the APCs, shaking her head to clear the confusion. The cubs and citizens cried, their worst horrors manifesting in their minds. Impatient One drew a crescent with her finger, imploring the Spirits’ favor. Anissa nearly fell and jumped from the roof.

Rodents and insects emerged from under the building and from the sewers, scurrying away, vast living carpets trying to escape, obeying the unspoken demand to clear the field or the fangs would descend. Thunder bulls roared a challenge, and Iron Lord’s steed approached its master, snorting nervously. Eyes—omnipresent eyes—watched every combatant, tracking every moment. And in the midst of it all, she came.

Warlord Alpha landed in the street, her weight buckling the stones, disrupting the nearest foundations, and even sinking the nearest point of the Academy next to her into a pile of rubble. The Bane of Disbelievers, the Punishing Paw of the Shamans, the Strongest Warlord, the Thousand Slayers, the Eater of Monsters, the Loyal, the Undefeated… Hundreds of honorable names and titles she’d been given and earned didn’t even begin to do justice to the threat she posed.

Her impossibly long claws reached down to her ankles, and gore covered tons of her power armor. Intestines tangled around her shoulders like a disgusting cape, and freshly skinned faces screamed wordlessly from her pauldrons, forming a silent orchestra. Her topknot, the pride and special joy of this warlord, was now braided with the recently torn spinal columns, and streaks of blood added to the burning crimson of Alpha’s hair.

A claw touched the ground, snatching Brood Lord’s leg and tossing it into the open maw for Alpha to chew on with both sets of fangs.

“Retreat,” she commanded, burrowing her gaze into Brood Lord.

“Sword Saint Alpha!” Albert mimicked a gasp perfectly, unconcerned in the slightest about the terrible damage done to the suit he inhabited. “The future lady of the House of Sunblade! Ah, her beauty is even more vivid than I had dared to imagine…”

“Shut up,” Janine begged, securing the axe to her back, morbidly curious to see what crazy implications filled the Ice Fangs’ databases. And they called the Wolfkins crazy! She scooped the awed Impatient One into her paws as if the shaman were a cub. The Reclaimers ran for the APCs, not even to collect their dead. What was the point? A splinter of the divine was here, and the souls of the fallen had already been sent to a kinder reality.

Alpha addressed Brood Lord in a growl that sounded like hammers pulverizing bones: “You dared to harm a cub of the Wolf Tribe? The punishment is extermination. No trace of your lineage will remain in this world or another.”

“It is done,” said Iron Lord.

“Warlord Alpha! A moment!” Janine hurled her daughter to the transports and approached the Pillar of Terror against her instincts. Alpha’s eyes looked at her, searching for a challenge, but the lesser warlord knelt, and an ear was offered.

She told everything as briefly as she could.

“Iron Lord.” Janine heard the bastard who had crippled her son. “I believe it is our cue to bow out.”

“Huh… I see. Piss off my battlefield.” A gentle kick jerked Janine off the ground and sent her spinning dozens of meters in the air until she slammed her back against a transport and landed next to Impatient One.

“You’ve been blessed, Warlord,” the shaman assured her. “You interrupted Alpha’s hunt and you are still breathing. What an honor for our pack! Marco is now surely guaranteed a long life and much fertility and health!”

“Get… get into the transport,” Janine groaned.

“Correction. I will eat you alive, and that’s it,” Alpha said.

“Not a fan of living up to your boasts, are you, beast?” The Malformed mocked.

“It is a privilege of the strong to be free to change their course in light of new information.” Alpha took a step.