Chapter 44: Chapter 37: Janine's Flawed Justice

Janine predicted serious purges against the bandits in the coming weeks. Commander Devourer was, undeniably, the most soft-hearted and civilized of the Dynast’s champions. But when the situation called for it, he could easily surpass even Ravager in sheer, unrestrained carnage. Then again, no one would cry over scum being flushed down the drain.

Her ear caught muffled voices. She moved away from the rubble that she was excavating and pulled a large steel plate out of another building, opening a concealed hatch leading into the basement. Sinking her claws into the hatch’s edges, she tore it up, blinking in surprise as a shot from the darkness ricocheted off her armor.

A family of eight people and their neighbors hiding inside recognized their mistake and immediately started apologizing, as the chuckling and joyful warlord helped them outside. Alive! More survivors.

The ridiculousness of the situation was maddening to her. Thanks? Some settlers even hugged the Wolfkins, stiffening them. Why? Why did they thank them? The Wolf Tribe had failed them; they had let the people die; they had failed the Oath again… And the people were still happy to see them, praising them as if… as if they were heroes. I need to visit Lacerated One and confess my sins. Janine decided, hoping to receive a proper punishment.

A scream from the settlement’s center jolted her from her thoughts. A group of settlers converging on a woman wearing a tattered officer’s coat was the source of the commotion. Two Wolfkins stood beside the assailed officer, clearly preventing a lynching, as one had to grab a rifle from an enraged settler. Sword Saint Camelia, still wearing Ygrite’s plate, arrived ahead of Janine but waited for the warlord out of respect.

“The bitch helped them!” Kit shouted, pointing at the officer. Kit survived the fight, but the smack against a wall left several fractures in her skull. Despite all the shock and pain that she had suffered, as well as her heavily bandaged head, the girl fiercely tried to help anywhere she could, bandaging the injured, calming cubs, and refusing to leave for medical treatment in the crawler. Janine had the thought that perhaps she was seeing a future mayor. “I saw a soldier ask her to wait so the others could get into the bunker, and the bitch just shot him in the leg and slammed the door in his face before anyone could get in! And when the raiders broke inside, she bargained for her safety in exchange for telling where our folks were hiding!”

“This is a lie! She is lying to you! No, you are all lying; this is… I had no choice!” The traitorous officer shrank under the heavy gaze of Janine. The woman licked her lips and continued in a trembling voice. “This… this was the only way I could’ve kept the people inside the bunker safe!”

“And when you saw them killing cubs—infants, as you call them—did you grab your weapon and try to protect them as your duty demands?” Janine asked emotionlessly, her grip on the shaft tightening and tightening until her skin finally cracked and a trickle of blood ran down the Taleteller.

Betrayal. It sent a searing fire through her veins. No one raised a fuss if an elder or simple settler gave in to the raiders’ demands under threat of violence. Such cooperation has often saved lives. Help could not get everywhere in time, and material goods were always compensated, with no punishment befalling the one making such a choice. However, for a soldier to act in such a manner, and, even worse, to disregard their duty to protect the vulnerable, was another matter entirely. Both the Blessed Mother and the blue wyrm showed no mercy to such bastards.

I am focusing on the wrong angle. The situation cleared up a little. How could a small group of raiders attack such a large settlement in such a way that no signal for help was sent? How did the raiders know which parts to strike first? If this filth… The warlord inhaled. Nothing was clear yet. The betrayal could be premeditated or sporadic; there was no point in jumping to conclusions yet.

“I… You don’t understand, if you had seen what those animals did to Lieutenant Veronika…” The officer tried to take a step back, and Janine shoved her snout closer, illuminating the frightened face with the light of her amber eyes.

“I am giving you a choice. We can send you to the Torment.”

“T-torment?!”

“Torment.” Janine took pleasure in the sheer terror of the traitor. The Torment. The state’s maximum security prison was notorious for its inhumane treatment of prisoners. Those fortunate enough to leave its walls alive resembled pale shadows of their former selves, forever scarred both mentally and physically. “Or you can tell the Investigation Bureau everything you know, without lying even once tonight. Confess your sins and you will be sent to a regular prison for life. Break the agreement and you will be burned alive.”

The traitor nodded fearfully, but the warlord kept towering over her until that idiot uttered the words of agreement. She paid no attention to the daggers in Camellia’s eyes and the furious and still not realizing what had just happened citizens. An Investigation Bureau agent took over the betrayer from Janine’s paws, and as she planned to have a talk with the sword saint, another situation demanded their utmost attention.

From the wall came the howling that sounded like a living furnace containing the flammable liquid. Janine, Camelia, and Kit hurried there and came upon a strange picture. Predaig arrived first and pinned down a body, frowning at dozens of tentacles slapping her armor, leaving dents and scratches. A soldier nearby pointed to a dug-up, ruined street and explained that they had dragged the thing from under the debris, thinking it was a dead body.

There was no fault in their judgment. The creature lacked a lower body; its exposed ribs rattled against the pavement; an eye was missing; and there were a series of deep wounds on the chest. One arm ended at an elbow, and Predaig held the other with the flat of her double blade. The protruding jaws clicked jittery, and the creature inhaled loudly, howling anew and attempting to escape.

“Not sure who our guest is,” Predaig said, keeping an eye on the body. “Keep civilians away, Janine. Once freed, it chewed on the corpses, and I am pretty sure it is regenerating.”

Janine wasn’t sure what her named sister was talking about, but then she heard a loud pop, and a fleshy, somewhat oily lump was pushed from inside the skull into the empty socket. A new set of veins spread out, securing the lump in place, and ripples passed through its surface, slowing down but undeniably forming a fresh eye.

She restrained Kit as the girl squealed, half-choking, half-happily, and tried to jump to this strange being.

“Don’t hurt him! It’s my lo… It’s Šime Štefančić!” she screamed. “He is a soldier serving here!”

“Malformed, really?” Predaig tilted her head. “Eh, don’t listen to the old hag. You do you, girl. Just remember that some of their cubs eat their way to freedom…”

“Šime is not a Malformed!” Kit stamped her foot furiously. “He is a human! He used his power and transformed himself…” She touched Janine by vambrace. “Will Šime be okay?”

“He is a regenerator, right? Should be.” Janine pointed at the leathery sacs pulsating underneath the ribs. “I can only speculate, but based on Predaig’s words, it seems to me that Šime’s power has grown a rudimentary stomach to digest calories and use for body rebuilding. Stay clear of him; he is not himself yet. Predaig…”

“Yeah, did before,” her named sister responded, extending an arm to nearby soldiers.

They guessed her intentions and started tossing ration batons to her. She caught some and dropped them into the clanking jaws. Å ime ate them hungrily and arched his back, his bones scraping the ground as a slithering spinal column jutted out, covered in a thin layer of protective membrane. His howling subsided, and he concentrated on stuffing himself, glancing at Kit, and Janine could swear that there was a glimmer of humanity there, wounded and in pain.

“Not sure if I should be jealous or freaking out,” Predaig mused. “Tell Till Ingo to stop tinkering with the dead metal and get his ass over here! We need his biased expertise.”

Janine patted Kit on the shoulder and left her in the company of two soldiers, ordering them to keep the girl away from Šime. There were tragedies aplenty, no need for her to get injured by a sudden bite. She heard Camelia’s footsteps following her on a road to the next excavation site.

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“Warlord,” Camelia said in an icy tone.

“My deepest thanks for saving Ignacy’s life, Sword Saint,” Janine said honestly. “Had it not been for you, the losses would have been greater. It was an honor to fight by your side.”

“I know what you did.” Camelia raised a finger, and Janine obliged the request. Their helmets closed around their heads, allowing them to speak in a secure channel without prying ears. “You trapped that traitor. This isn’t just. You indulge in revenge, not upholding justice. A clean stroke of a sword…”

“Will deny us any information she knows, Camelia. And you are wrong. This is justice, a retribution for the crimes committed,” Janine interrupted her. “Justice is blind.”

“But we are not; you’re not an impartial judge either!” Camelia insisted. “Janine, you may have the right to condemn her to such a fate, but revenge warps an individual.”

“If it weren’t for you, Camelia, I would have forgotten her by now. How is her death going to affect me?”

“Then think about how your lie might affect the future, and what lasting consequences it may cause to negotiations? Would anyone trust us if we trap unsuspecting people like that?” warned Camelia.

“How will anyone know? Not like we’re going to tell anyone.” Janine shrugged. “When people hear her screams, they will naturally think that she lied again.”

“Cruelty inflicted does not excuse cruelty in return! There is a reason why the Twins preached mercy toward the worst scum!”

And where are they now? Janine shut her mouth. Some truths are best left unspoken.

“Warlord! Sword Saint!” she snarled as the figure of the intrusive Iternian appeared from a bend ahead. Three hovering cameras orbited the man like satellites around a planet, filming the surrounding destruction. Two soldiers accompanied the Iternian, clad in his nanomachine armor. “A word, if you please! Your daring rescue tonight saved hundreds of lives and brought victory to the Reclamation Army. What can you tell the public about this savage raid?”

“No comment…” Camelia started.

“Victory?” The cameras soundlessly broke from filming dead and injured people, focusing on Janine’s snout as the helmet left her face. She spread her arms, as if trying to embrace the tragedy. “Is that what Iterna considers a victory? People died, cu… children died. This is not a victory, but a bloody day, a sorrowful day, and a stark reminder of the dangers lurking in our beautiful world. Iterna, Reclaimers, Oathtakers—it doesn’t matter. We must remain vigilant and never lay down our arms. The wildness must be tamed.” She hesitated, recalling Iterna’s extravagant wealth, and an idea sprang into her mind. “The civilians have suffered greatly, Jacob. Any assistance your homeland can provide to the victims of such unjust and unprovoked aggression will be greatly appreciated.”

“You heard it firsthand, people; even the ancient warriors weep for the fallen and help the living,” Jacob said as the cameras focused on him. “Do we have any excuse to do otherwise? I say no! Contact your mayor and demand that help be sent immediately. Tom, back to you…”

Janine excused herself and hurried away, pausing as she understood the optics of letting a foreign reporter film a scene of a living person burning alive.

“Agents?” Janine contacted the Investigation Bureau. “About the traitor. Change of plans. As soon as you have everything you need, send her to work in the most remote prison mine for the rest of her life.”

“You made the right choice, Janine,” Camelia said. “Mercy is good for a soul.”

“Believe whatever delusions you want. We have work to do,” Janine told her wearily, and stomped away. Mercy. A life sentence in the mines, where seeing sunlight was rare. It wasn’t a mercy. Not by a long shot.

****

There was no sound. No noisy grinding of gears, no sizzling of liquids passing through many tubes, no beeping of obsolete sensors warning of her body’s condition, no straightening rustling of packets of artificial lungs receiving oxygen, and no hissing of sparkling wires burning her from inside. She swallowed, enjoying the pure, non-acrid drool, and opened her eyes, ignoring her organism’s urges to have a long sleep. She can slumber to her heart’s content later. For now, she had enough rest.

Soulless One woke up to a dim, gentle light that didn’t irritate her eyes. She was still strapped to a slab of metal that was cleaned of blood and pus, and there were sheets and pillows at her back. Stitches covered her body, but to her pleasure, the wounds were already healing.

“Water,” she asked, and a hand placed the end of a hose in her mouth. A stream of fresh, cool water ran down her throat, and she gulped, enjoying it to the last.

“Better?” asked Banshee, taking the hose away. The mutant was dressed in a field uniform and had a tired appearance.

“Better.” Soulless One charged against her bindings, to no avail. “I am fine. You can remove the restraints.”

“Uh-huh, dream on, granny,” Banshee yawned. She picked up a tray full of food and began feeding the shaman. “You are here for two more days, no ifs or buts. There is still a problem with a deformed nasal canal that needs to be fixed.”

“What changed?” Soulless One asked. “What was taken from me this time?”

“Nothing organic, so relax,” Banshee yawned. Soulless One kept her gaze fixed on the woman, and she relented. “Every single original implant has been removed. You’ll feel heavier; your chest now houses the latest model of machine lungs. When you’re free, touch the back of your neck and you’ll find two round metal objects no larger than coins. They can inhale and exhale air if something clogs your throat. A new digestive tract has replaced the old one. No more rubber tubes; it is made of self-cleaning materials to minimize the risk of infection. You don’t want to know what we pulled out of your intestines. Your poor kidney shriveled and resembled a dot. Father and I had half a mind to remove it, but after running tests, the diagnostic system confirmed that it will recover. The generator for your implants is now in your womb; it is a plasma type, so steer clear of being shot by anything serious, or the ensuing blast will incinerate everything within a ten-meter radius. It is an experimental model capable of running for fifty years without a need for recharging.”

“Mijn handen... my arms feel lighter.” The shaman clenched her fist and tested each individual finger.

“Because they are! The damaged tissue of your muscles was crudely grafted onto titanium fiber before, but now new synthetic muscle overlays your natural muscles, working in harmony and more efficiently. The increased muscle density and removal of the titanium fiber has created space for the damaged exoskeleton to regrow partially. Your immune system is recovering rather nicely, so sleep well and don’t bother your roommate. I’ll bring you something to read once we deal with the shitshow.” Banshee yawned again. Her mouth opened so wide that her scalp touched the space between her shoulder blades. Noticing the surprised look, the young woman blushed and sneaked away, shutting the door.

Roommate?

Soulless One craned her neck to see another Wolfkin lying on a small bed nearby. She was an Ice Fang, dressed in a black tot, and orange lines on the cloth formed a flowing river of her house’s heraldry. The Ice Fang was engrossed in reading, and she remained unrestrained. The shaman understood that the Ice Fang had nothing below her waist, and long elastic tubes stretched out from the ruined part of her body, bringing in medication, aiding in blood circulation, and removing waste.

“Hey,” the shaman said. “Name Soulless One. Resting until recovery. You?”

“Malerata Summerspring, at your service, lady.” The Ice Fang set aside her terminal and reached out her paw to make a respectful and elegant fist bump with the bound shaman. The woman’s white fur was even paler than usual. “I’m waiting for a scheduled surgery to install mechanical legs.”

“Did something happen while I was unconscious?” Soulless One asked.

“No idea,” Malerata said. “They kept me here for several days before they brought you in. Banshee refuses to share the latest rumors, and my grandfather tells me not to worry. He wanted me to wait until the Core Lands for a proper cloning replacement, but I refuse to be away from my unit any longer.”

“Admirable,” Soulless One praised her. Her thin-blooded cousin treated duty seriously.

So the Ice Fang received no rumors. Unusual. Something did happen, she was willing to bet her life on it. She must contact Janine as soon as possible and find out what has transpired in her absence.

“Will I be cursed?” Malerata asked, and Soulless One raised an eyebrow. The knight pointed to her missing legs. “The mechanical prosthetics. Will the Spirits deny me a meeting with the Twins in the afterlife?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Bristled Soulless One. Morons, appropriating a faith that was never meant for them. Belief in the Planet suited the Ice Fang Order far better. “No one serving faithfully is abandoned by the Spirits.”

“But I have heard how many of you reject augmentation. If not for fear of angering the gods, why?”

“Because it is the mutilation of the soul,” Soulless One answered bluntly. “By replacing the natural perfection given to us by the Spirits, we diminish our connection to them. Understand, young one, that the Spirits are not omnipotent, nor are they eternal. There will come a time when no soul will remember them. They are a guiding force in existence, helping us move from one corporeal form to another and advising us on every earthly matter. They test us so that we become stronger. When our souls are thinned, we cut ourselves off from their grace; they cannot reach us, and it takes them a long time to heal a ruined soul after death. Imagine spending centuries healing instead of immediately meeting your friends in the Great Beyond. But no, you are not cursed, Malerata. I don’t think the Spirits curse anyone; even skinwalkers are a blessing in disguise.”

“Our sages describe faith in the Spirits differently,” Malerata said.

“Then they should stop meddling in affairs they do not understand,” Soulless One replied.

“Could you explain it to me?” Malerata asked. “Since we are both stuck in here. The religion resolving around the Blessed Mother. And why the name Soulless One?”

The shaman wanted to refuse, but the Ice Fang was right. Talking is one of the best ways to pass the time. What harm could they do by sharing the knowledge of her religion?

“When we become shamans, we take a name after our greatest vice, so we never forget about it and work on bettering ourselves,” Soulless One sighed and made herself comfortable. Damn, was it really necessary to secure her neck with a restraint? If not, she could have gnawed on the rings that held her arms. “I was initially supposed to be known as Sour One…”