Chapter 65: Chapter 58: Union

How do you stop an opponent who can effortlessly switch between fighting styles, always choosing the one that best suits the situation? There were ways. The most obvious solution was to shoot them or lure them into a trap and blow them up with explosives. These options were not available to Janine in this honorable duel.

What did she know? She was physically stronger. Lacerated One stopped her attack and deliberately spoke to her. Like Janine, she was regaining her strength for the final assault. They were exhausted, almost gassed, their bodies suffering from the vicious battle. If her opponent used the right style in the right situation, all she had to do was create a favorable situation and turn it perilous.

Janine’s forearm rammed into Lacerated One’s throat, hard enough to make her choke. The shoulder tackle knocked the shaman back, throwing her out of Onyxia’s style, and the ensuing breathing problem disrupted her attempt to slip into Martyshkina’s style. But that wasn’t the end. Claws scraped the concrete, creating the indentations. The sheer force of the attack moved Lacerated One two paces away. Right into the incoming swing.

“So what if you know some crappy techniques?!” Janine roared and landed a heavy blow on the shaman’s right arm, deeply denting in the flesh. The long-awaited loud crackling was the sweetest music to the warlord’s ears. “I’ll overcome them all through sheer might!”

“Whose styles are you calling crappy?” Alpha’s snout hardened.

“Let’s bury Jani for it!” Martyshkina eagerly clapped her paws together.

“I won’t die until I’ve tasted an ice cream cone!” Janine snapped and struck at the stopped shaman.

Lacerated One raised her paws, using Janine’s own technique to shield herself, fully aware of the damage a well-aimed blow to the jaw could cause. Even Wolfkins, who were naturally resistant to concussion, would find themselves hard-pressed against bone-shattering attacks.

The right technique at the right time. Janine used this rule against the shaman, limiting her options. Her knuckles connected with the shaman’s wrists, damaging the bones. She put every ounce of her strength into the blow, and the air erupted; the wind blew stronger than before, flapping the capes of the knight-captains to the amazement of the crowd. Lacerated One was thrown back; the claws of her legs destroyed a vast swath of reinforced concrete, and she staggered, trying to inhale.

“An ice cream cone?” Predaig asked.

“Is she means… You know, the Ice Fangs’…” Eled’s finger danced in the air.

“I saw her enter the prayer den and shortly after Leonidas left it,” said Ashbringer.

“Wait a sec… Does it mean that Jani and he are…” Martyshkina’s fingers formed a circle, and she slid an index finger through it. “Way to go, Janie! Not the worst hunk of meat! I always knew you had a taste for the exotic. Name a cub after me! A white one!”

“Perhaps we should call her a lady now?” Ashbringer laughed.

“Warlords, I believe you are…”

“No, no, don’t interrupt them; I am curious about where this is going.” Zero quickly put a paw over Anissa’s mouth.

“I wasn’t aware that the order’s rules permitted concubines.” Camelia’s shadow fell on the Summerspring.

“Uncle, if this is true…” Malerata shuddered. “You disgust me.”

“Gossips and rumors! Fairy tales!” Sword Saint Leonidas spilled his wine back into the goblet and turned to Martyshkina. “Lady Martyshkina, how could you even imply that I would besmirch the honor of Lady Janine in such an uncouth manner?”

“What, is she not good enough in bed for you?”

“I am married, you vulgar dolt! And what did you mean by calling me not the worst hunk of meat? Who, among this rabble, can even approach the physical and spiritual greatness that I am?!”

Janine charged ahead, closing the distance to the shaman in a step. Shame burned her cheeks, and she embraced it, letting the emotion drive her movements. The teasing was to be expected; all warlords enjoyed having fun at the expense of contenders during official domination matches.

Lacerated One reacted as Janine had expected. The most optimal strategy to face her would be Alpha’s stabs, but the previous heavy blow to the upper part of her right arm left the shaman unsure of its mobility; she no longer believed she could jerk it in time to evade a grab if the warlord dodged the initial stab. The shaman used Janine’s own style, flicking blindingly fast strikes, hoping to break the warlord’s nose and knock her off course as she tested her right paw.

Janine advanced through the hail of blows, shifting her torso slightly to avoid the worst of the blows and take the fist onto her cheeks. Her sliced ear ached as a glancing punch touched it, but the job was done. She closed the distance and then immediately stopped, leaning back as the shaman launched an upward thrust with her right paw. It scraped Janine’s belly; her left paw rose to shield her neck. Her leg slammed down on the shaman’s foot; the claw of her big toe sliced through the flesh.

Even though she had expected this move, it still caught her off guard. The shaman did not follow up with a direct stab, knowing full well that she would not penetrate Janine’s arm completely. The muscles were too thick, too sturdy for it to happen. What she did was more insidious. Lacerated One’s fingers closed on Janine’s forearm, and the claws’ tips sank beneath the skin, not deeply, but just enough to pinch the nerves. Terrific’s technique—it wasn’t much of an offensive play but rather an attempt to induce a sepulchral shock out of familiarity.

The warlord didn’t flinch. No ugly mug emerged from the darkness; no revenant lurked behind the crowd. Terrific was dead, buried, not forgotten, but gone. Her adoptive mother was in the Great Beyond, sent there by Janine’s paw. The very paw she was now swinging, preparing for a wide sweep. Lacerated One stopped her attack; her shoulders slumped as if in acceptance of inevitable defeat.

Ygrite’s trick. Lacerated One sprang into action as the fist was about to touch her forehead. The blow merely grazed some of her fur as she slipped away, paying with the parted foot for her release. As she fled, the shaman changed her style to Martyshkina, weaving around Janine’s arm to get to her back and grab the great neck in a lock.

She knew it was coming. It was a perfect counterstrategy, as Marty had defeated Janine in a similar situation. The unconscious girl woke up wiser and received a bottle of beer from her friend. Today, Janine stopped her strike and dropped onto her back, using her full weight to ram her elbow into the shaman’s abdomen.

To her credit, Lacerated One barely gasped, whirling underneath Janine. But this time the warlord had no intention of letting her named sister flee. She turned and mounted the woman, pinning her legs to the ground as she sat on her waist. Their paws locked in the fight and their jaws opened wide, facing each other in a desperate struggle.

Fangs scratched against Janine’s fangs as the two fighters stood still in an ugly parody of a kiss, trying their best to overcome their opponent. Both growled; both tensed their muscles to the extreme, and Janine experienced a tingling pain in her fangs. Despite the disadvantage, Lacerated One possessed the sharper chompers. In a minute, Janine would lose most of her fangs to the bite, along with her gums.

It was acceptable. Sometimes, for the sake of the many, an individual had to sacrifice something precious. Eight of Lacerated One’s fingers spasmed when they found themselves in the semblance of caterpillar tracks grinding them down. Janine’s blows had weakened the bones of the already exhausted shaman. The skin on her fingers swelled; more blood seeped through the opened cuts. She may have the warlord’s jaw. In exchange, the shaman would lose her paws, as her fingers would burst like pimples under pressure.

Janine’s fang broke; a louder snap of the shaman’s skin echoed its shattering.

“Enough.” A single word turned them into statues. The black paws grabbed the two by the napes, yanking them off each other. The shining amber orbs illuminated them.

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Ravager was here, surrounded by the buzzing, hovering drones, constantly filmed by the reporters. She was drooling red. The Blessed Mother kept shaking her head, trying to control her emotions. Janine sensed it in the great body; she wanted to bite them; she desired to claw them to instill discipline and prove her superiority.

“No killing each other,” Ravager forced out the words and set them down. “This is a civilized place. Be the good girls. Peace. Cooperate. Don’t bicker.” She abruptly grabbed herself by both sides.

“Blessed Mother!” Janine and Lacerated One spoke in unison, but a swing of Ravager’s paw kept them at bay.

“I… I am fine. Need… Need to feel gore. Must… rip and tear. Zero. Take these baubles off me, please,” she said weakly, trembling, with her whole body shaking. Janine physically sensed the progenitor’s suppressed aggression, rage, and desperate attempt to maintain control. It made her own body twitch against her will; the desire to savage and rend sparked in her chest, but even the thought of disobeying the command was unthinkable.

Talons showed from Ravager’s fingers, weapons of mass murder so large and deadly that not even a warlord could hope to withstand their full touch. The great paws closed, hungry for prey, but Zero approached her sister unafraid.

“Ingo called, Big Sis,” Zero said, taking off Ravager’s jewelry and bracelets and ruffling her fur. Her fingers massaged the progenitor temples, and something cleared in the gigantic eyes. “There was an accident. A patient woke up. They are in a bit of panic…”

“Let them panic.”

“Big Sis, it’ll take a year to grow the needed amount of cloned organs and limbs…”

“No, Zero,” Ravager said sternly. “I will not hear it. They are not to leave the facility. They are not to get used to this metal… filth. Tell Ingo to turn on TVs for them or invite priests or soothsayers or keep them asleep, I don’t care. He is supposed to be smart. It’s disgusting and heartless to replace one’s hot blood and insides with cold and uncaring metal, to forever lose the ability to experience touch. They deserve a proper life.”

“Of course, Big Sis,” Zero agreed.

“We must stay in Houstad for a month… Two months, maximum. Outsider is bound to return from the west, eventually.” Ravager addressed the officers. “Zero, I am heading to the snow peaks. There have been sightings of unbound bioweapons. Can you handle public relations?”

“A loner,” Zero said.

“When will you grow up?” Ravager sighed. “Alpha?”

“I am better suited for military missions, Commander.” The warlord bowed.

“Dragena and Cristobo are in charge of our forces until my return. If anything happens to either of them, Alpha is to take over. When First comes back, he is to be their equal. Trust the Sunblade as if he were me; is that understood?” Ravager snarled at the Wolfkins, seeking for a hint of disobedience in their smells, but they all bared their necks in acknowledgement. “Janine. Get healed. You and Camelia are to represent the Third to the mayor.”

“Blessed Mother?” Janine prostrated herself, and Ravager nodded, permitting the question. “I do not understand. Predaig, Alpha, and Dragena are wiser and more competent than I. Surely they deserve this privilege more.”

“And what will we do when they pass? Learn and grow while you have the chance.” Ravager’s eyes shot at Janine’s sons. “The little one… Marco. He is permitted to enjoy Houstad, unhindered. It can be a positive experience. No Ice Fang or Wolfkin shall harm him. Males are to share the same privileges as females for the duration of our stay, as long as they maintain discipline. If they get mischievous, spank them, but that’s it. I forbid losing body parts or lives in dominations. Lacerated One, you will see to it. If an anti-war demonstrator insults you on the street or throws a fruit at you, I expect you to stick your tongues up your collective assess and take it like a woman or a man of whom I can be proud of!”

“Commander Ravager.” A priest wearing the garments of the Church of the Planet stepped out of the crowd. “Are you truly planning to leave so soon? Have we offended you in any way? Was it because of the demonstration earlier today?”

“No, holy father.” Ravager’s chuckle reached every ear in the crowd. She laid a trembling finger on the man’s shoulder. “I bear them no ill will, and neither should you. The Dynast has changed his policies in the past. The Houstad you know today is the result of one of those changes. No one is infallible, and we must never become so arrogant that we close our ears to different opinions.”

“Let us at least treat your wounds!” the priest pleaded.

“Stay in Houstad, Commander!” A group of civilians shouted. “We wish to honor the Third and you for your heroic deeds!”

“Hear this, my soldiers?” Ravager asked. She whirled to face the base and spread her arms wide. “Our beliefs differ from those who live in peace. Yet here are humble souls offering aid to a monster out of the goodness of their hearts. Do you need a further reason to love that which you protect? Do any of you still fear that there is no place for them in a world devoid of war?”

“No, Blessed Mother!” Janine roared, surprised to hear the Ice Fangs, Normies, New Breeds, and Mutants join in the Wolfkin’s cries.

“It brings me joy to hear you speak true, my soldiers.” Ravager paced before their ranks. There was no hint of growl or bestiality in her voice. She sounded radiant, complete, and pure, and even standing naked, she exuded dignity and a commanding presence. Janine experienced a wave of assurance, a promise of a better tomorrow beaming from the Blessed Mother, and she smiled, thanking the Spirits for giving this small grace to a soul who so desperately needed it. “Not always was I a leader worthy of your veneration. I lost those whom I could save and murdered those whom I could spare. Yet you chose to become my trusted claws, and for that I thank you from the bottom of my blackened heart. For me, peace is unattainable, but for you, the future is open. Choose wisely. Live, my troops. Rest, protect, and serve.”

“Protect and serve!” Janine and the others thundered.

“I thank you for your gentle offer, holy father,” Ravager addressed the priest. “But it is unneeded. As the first life suffocates in my grasp, my madness will temporarily cease. I will bring ruin if I remain with you. That honest woman spoke true; I am a monster, fully and truly. Reclaimers. People. I despise delusions. I cannot take back what I’ve done, nor can I stop fully what I will do in the future. But I will continue to try to protect you and pave the way to your happiness in the best way a monster can. I’ll try to use my wickedness for good! I am the monster who devours monsters; I am the bane of the oppressors and the end of the nightmares! You desire to honor me? Then don’t leave a single child to be abandoned or abused, no matter their origin!”

Saying nothing else, Ravager let her arms fall and jumped, creating a loud boom somewhere high above. She lingered in place for a second, as if suspended on ropes, and then vanished to the gasps of surprised citizens trying to spot her in the air. Even the buzzing news drones looked lost; their cameras whirled, struggling to comprehend the disappearance. Janine smiled at hearing suggestions that the Blessed Mother had flown or teleported away. They weren’t far off.

Ravager was gone even before the first boom. What people saw was her afterimage.

Under the right pressure, an unleashed jet of liquid could cut a steel plate in half. Slam a body against a pool of toxic sludge fast enough and its surface will momentarily solidify, perfectly replicating the purpose of the floor. Even a simple drop of blood can penetrate a head if it is flicked at incredible speed. To a lesser extent, the same was true of air; a powerful blow could propel it and cause another person to fall.

Ravager transcended these limits. A swing of her claws was capable of unleashing doom, not through physical contact, but by channeling a shockwave. A slap could create a vacuum. Her divine muscles bounced off the emptiness above and carried the Blessed Mother over Houstad to a destination of her choosing.

“Cooperate…” Lacerated One stood and stretched herself, ignoring the pain in her sausage-sized fingers. “Two went in, and two came out whole, spared the wrath. Spirits have spoken. The shamans will support your decision.”

“My thanks.” Janine rose to her feet and helped her sister limp to the base’s entrance as their sisters and soldiers cheered on. “You could’ve gone for the eyes in Onyxia’s style. That way, I’d… Wait.” She turned to Lacerated One. “The Blessed Mother’s arrival, her words… Did you…”

“You are unwell, Janine.” The supreme shaman smiled. “In need of healing. Visit me sometimes, and we’ll talk to ease your burdens.”

Janine frowned, trying to gauge if her suspicions were true. Lacerated One breathed heavily, pushed to the very limits of her endurance; her foot was split in two by the claw, and the edges of her broken bones scratched against each other as she walked. Bruises and cuts covered her, and it was a miracle she was conscious. Still, there was a nagging feeling in the back of her mind that the situation wasn’t as simple as she believed.

It is not a simple thing to surrender political power in the tribe. Even if the supreme shaman had demanded it, not everyone would fall in line behind her. But if she interpreted the Blessed Mother’s words correctly…

Oh, sister. You truly know how to play us.

Janine let go of her worries and weakness, concentrating on the task. The shamans are with her. Technically, this should already win her the vote, but why stop here? She wasn’t a politician, but strength in numbers was a valid strategy. Who among the warlords could she convince to join her?

Eled and Predaig will support her out of friendship alone. Ygrite could be persuaded, or she can call in the debt. Alpha? Janine glanced at Alpha’s back. The strongest warlord was regarded as the second mother by her pack. But the length of her claws led Janine to wonder morbidly if she could survive a round if Alpha decided to test her resolve like the shaman. Nah, I am worried about future cubs and the well-being of packs, but I also kind of want to live and see my granddaughters. This is a pointless risk, and… I am scared shitless of Alpha.

Marty was a staunch traditionalist. But it can’t hurt to talk to her. Who else? Ashbringer. If she really was mentoring Janine, she might join her, but she won’t push the woman. She owes her that much for Marco’s well-being. Maybe Zero? Onyxia? In their last spar, Onyxia defeated Janine, but occasionally showed a softer side of her, stopping a male’s beating. Next to no males ever offed themselves intentionally in hers or Ashbringer’s packs. She’ll see Janine’s point. Fatima? No, too stubborn.

A rumbling in her stomach distracted the warlord from her thoughts. She had done everything she could; the rest will have to wait. Janine ignored Maxence’s berating and the needles’ stings. She paid no attention to the fact that her ear was being stitched up and greedily grabbed the frozen cusack carcass that Impatient One had brought her. Janine thanked her and sunk her fangs into the meat, sharing it with the supreme shaman. The ice cracked on their bloodied gums; their stomachs were cold, but both ate their fill, confident that a little cold could not possibly harm them.