Chapter 77: Chapter 70: The Second Kill

When Janine stepped out of the city hall, the bustling street greeted her and the loud honking of dozens of passing cars. To this day, the sheer volume of people living in Houston boggled her mind. Life surrounded her from every side, not the kind that waited in crevices to prey on unsuspecting travelers. Mothers walked their cubs in parks or met their laughing little ones as they hurried off buses to get home after school. Future soulmates played ball or whispered intimacy in cafes. It was nothing like the Wastes.

A trio of cubs raced down the stairs of a store, racing to a bus, and a mutant girl had tripped on her knotted tentacles. Janine stepped to catch her before the girl’s head smashed against the pavement, but another colossal black form outpaced her.

Eled caught the girl on her palm and joked to the terrifying cub, eliciting a chuckle out of her. Gently, the warlord placed the girl next to her friends: an Orais boy, already as tall as a grown man, his body covered with short brown fur and boasting impressive biceps, and a Normie girl who was a beanpole compared to the boy. Their cheers and pleas for an autograph brought a smile to Janine’s lips.

Marco would have been happy here.

It was a miracle. Cubs of different origins laughed, studied, and, yes, the suspicious timing of the girl’s fall didn’t elude her, cheated together. No one was afraid because of their appearance. Marco would have fit in well, even if she still didn’t understand how the teachers prevented the Orais cubs from murdering anyone by accident. Abyss, Houstad even had special schools that nurtured and helped mismatched cubs find happiness and purpose.

Could we be wrong? Janine wondered. Her wounds healed, and she was back in her prime. Fighting had made her who she was. But the picture of males and females being equal, the absence of domination matches, and the lack of the need to prove superiority over and over again tugged at her heartstrings. What if there was another way for the Wolf Tribe…

Foolish. She reprimanded herself, focusing on what was important. The Orais boy was incredibly gentle as he patted his friends, pulling out a pencil for Eled to write in their diaries. Cubs raised in peace were hardly suited for the horrors of war, and that was okay. Proper even. They deserved to be happy; otherwise, what was all this for? But that happiness came at a price. This stability around them, this wondrous paradise… Should everyone be like the locals, the state will grow weak.

If they permit it to happen, there will be mere ruins littering the lands and chilly winds howling on the empty streets. The world was not safe, far from it. Janine and every wolfkin had to continue to serve, watering the fertile soil of their nation with their blood until every corner of their world was united and peace was established.

“What news of our sisters?” asked Predaig, rising from a bench before the city hall.

“Servitude for a while,” Janine answered.

“I found an awesome bar nearby!” Martyshkina boomed, placing an elbow on Janine’s shoulder. “Say, how about we taste some of the beverage they pass for booze around here?”

“We need to pick up Alpha, and our soldiers went missing,” Janine briefly explained the situation.

“Eled can do it,” Martyshkina pointed to the warlord, who was giving the Normie girl a piggyback ride. “Anything to keep her away from the cubs before we end up being silly on the news.”

“Too late for that,” Predaig said in a raspy voice, pointing to the crew of reporters. Martyshkina groaned in frustration.

Janine wanted to refuse, but remembered the mayor’s words.

It’s as if you don’t want to live in a world you helped create.

What was the harm in seeing something other than war? Ravager herself demanded that they know Houstad, and she could do nothing to help in the search for Keon.

“You know what? Let’s go. Predaig, please keep Eled out of trouble. The task of escorting Alpha out of jail falls to you. Ashbringer is in charge of searching for our missing troops. After we are done.” Janine eyed an ice cream shop. “I have a promise to uphold.”

“Want to get sick again?”

“Shut it, Marty.”

****

Brood Lord spread his arms, patiently waiting for his servants to mount the battleplate onto his body. Overlapping plates covered his inhuman, sinuous legs. Wires went into sockets, and a jolt of strength brought a smile to his lips. The initial phase of the raid was the most dangerous, requiring his direct intervention. He would have to be the first to step through a portal, to set things in motion.

The thrill of uncertainty was exhilarating. Will everything go as planned? He maneuvered the pieces on the board to his liking, but any plan could easily fall apart. Behind him, his troops were gearing for battle, ready to slaughter in his name. The twin assassins tossed their knives up and down, relaxed. Drozna tensed, pacing back and forth, annoyed at having to miss the action. There was no danger of betrayal from them. One lacked the desire, the other the brains.

But there were others, those he had entrusted to lead his portion of the Horde in the coming assault. The ambitious rabble, impatient for any sign of weakness that would allow them to usurp him.

“The Horde values strength,” Brood Lord said, licking a slave who was strapping his pistol to his belt. The woman became so submissive after he ate the second of her five children. “Are you strong, Phaser?”

“Valuable,” screeched the thin man, waving his claws in the air and setting up the portals.

“Valuable.” Brood Lord moved his humanoid hand, testing the gauntlet’s fingers. “Do you remember that bullet of the Old World we found in the ruins? So unique, elongated, richly encrusted with unknown metals, and shining like the morning sun. When Mad Hatter gifted it to Iron Lord, he melted it down to learn more about the alloys involved in its creation. That was the limit of its preciousness to him. Many Purebloods sought to kill me for the origin of my birth, and I forced them to bow.” He gestured to where his Brood and the soldiers stood. “Can you do the same?”

“No,” the mutant answered cautiously. “What’s this about, Brood Lord?”

A pincer closed around his neck, and Phaser froze, blinking nervously.

“Khan. Brood Lord Khan,” Brood Lord reminded him. “By my force, I have earned that rank. Just checking to see if we are on the same wave, my friend. I know of your visit to dear Mungke. If I disappear, the Purebloods won’t tolerate you. Not as equal. Even Dirtybloods may enslave you, and you know that they can break you into submission. Everyone breaks.” He stroked the slave’s cheek, regretting that she no longer served him poison. It was good for his stomach. “You lead a pleasurable existence thanks to my might. No Brood Lord, no rank, no wealth, nothing, but servitude.” He let go of Phaser and let the slaves work.

The cables of his generator joined the assembled plate, and it added its rumble to the din of the lesser models. The slaves attached a scabbard to his belt and filled his amotion pockets. Brood Lord inhaled recycled air, receiving updates projected onto his retina by his heavily modified version of a battle helmet. His little helper was busy sending to him the exact positions of his chosen prey and the sacrificial lambs. Brood Lord declined offers of adrenaline stimulants, trusting his own abilities to reach the state of supreme exhilaration where his perception would be heightened enough to slow even falling pebbles to a crawl.

His host prepared. Soon.

****

“This is exactly my kind of place!” Martyshkina laughed, landing herself on a chair.

It had been almost a month since the Wolf Tribe had arrived in Houstad. But it was only now that Janine understood what a labyrinth this place was. Her shoulders scratched the edges of the stone walls as they navigated their way through the narrow alleys that flowed into one another and another into three more. Hundreds of advertisements flashed on the masonry, and the homeless scavenged through the trash, looking for metal cans. Her every instinct called for a jump—to plunge her claws into the walls and reach the rooftops from where she could survey her surroundings.

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Her friend led them to a small street bar, half-empty at this hour. A welcoming and familiar darkness greeted them inside, clouds of smoke hid them from the patrons, and low, unhurried, wordless music was pleasing to her ears. Judging by the bartender’s warm greeting and the scents outside, this was not Marty’s first visit.

Tentatively, Janine ordered an orange juice, sniffing the glass several times before finally tasting it with her tongue. Her eyes widened in delight and Janine gulped down the entire thing. It felt good! The taste was delicious and pleasant, as the addition of sugar took away the sourness. The warlord snapped her fingers and ordered more juice, mixing it with cognac.

“Care to explain what is bothering you?” Martyshkina hiccuped, emptying the first bottle. “Or should I beat it out of ya?”

“That obvious?” Janine laughed. “Marty, I am engaging in a little politics. I want to make a proposition at the next Gathering and was wondering if you…”

“Lemme stop you right here. Sorry, Jani, can’t support you here.” Hungrily, Martyshkina snatched a plate of fish from the bartender’s hands.

“But why? You haven’t even listened to what I want to change…”

“Because it is arrogant,” Martyshkina replied. “Jani, the tribe is divided between civilian and military life for a reason. The shamans are the ones who help new mothers with lifegiving. They are the ones managing food, and it is only thanks to their cleverness that we have survived the famines. And yet, despite all this, they willingly serve us in times of war, risking their lives to preserve ours.” Martyshkina put the glass away and folded her paws. “We, who spend our lives on the battlefield, who lead our cubs…” She closed her eyes. “We are the tools of death. They are the instruments of life. Both are needed, but neither should encroach on the territory of the other. If we try to lead villages as we lead packs, it may be tempting to cut our losses, so to speak, and force everyone to conform to our vision. But what if we are wrong? Gatherings, more than one warlord, the shamans created such a system to avoid tyranny, to let our people speak their minds.”

“Then you are ignoring their wishes by refusing to listen to the opposing point of view and blindly voting for the shamans’ side every time,” Janine insisted.

“Well, perhaps I am a hypocrite. Or perhaps I don’t trust myself enough to decide how the tribe should live! But that’s not what’s bothering you, is it?” Martyshkina roared and slammed her paw against the table, rocking the drinks. Janine quickly waved her paw to the patrons to show them that everything was fine. “Jani, I saw your hesitation in the fight against the bull. I had spoken to Bertruda…”

“You did what?!”

“Don’t look at me like that, sister.” Martyshkina pressed her forehead against Janine’s, locking eyes with her. “I planned to break her for hurting you, but she was kind of sad, and her description of a battle threw me off. The Janine I know never held back in battle, consequences be damned.”

“The Janine you knew grew up.”

“Bullshit! You nearly broke my back when we were cubs over that boy…”

“Wait, what the fuck, Marty?” The bartender asked.

“Shut up! It was a phase!” They cried in unison, still looking at each other. Martyshkina continued. “Jani, I am sorry. I am sorry for being so consumed with my own problems...”

“Don’t be,” Janine interrupted her. “Don’t you ever dare to downplay the importance of what has happened in your life. I should have…”

“You did.” Martyshkina grinned, still sober. “Eled, Zlata, Predaig, even Anissa that one time…”

“That obvious, huh?” Janine said dejectedly. “I’ve… Subtlety is not my thing, but I couldn’t… I was worried, okay, Marty?!”

“Jani, I’m not mad! It was sweet!” Martyshkina hugged her. “Thank you! Thank you for caring. But that is over now. I am not yet back in my sane mind, but I feel better. Tell me honestly what’s bothering you before I claw an answer out of you! If I am still your sister in blood and friendship, trust me!”

Janine sighed, emptying another glass of cognac. It’s true, in the past, they always shared everything with Marty. Boys, fights, sorrows, victories, treats, secrets… When one got hurt, the other treated her wounds. When one suffered defeat, the other would pounce on the victor. Janine filled the glass again, rolled the liquid inside and decided not to add juice. The two substances were better separated.

“It’s about Terrific,” Janine admitted, taking another shot.

“About that bitch? What about her?” Martyshkina asked bitterly, making Janine smile.

“She is… Terrific wasn’t a bitch!” Janine looked weakly at Marty. “Well, she wasn’t a bitch to me. Remember when I was weak in the pits and then I could take you in battle? That’s because Terrific stood by me and pushed me to excellence. Under her care, my body had healed; she nursed me from a near grave to my peak.” Janine put aside the glass, reliving the past. “The warlord was a bad person.”

“You mean a monster,” Martyshkina said. “She broke our ribs and limbs to torture those little ones.”

“Should I call the police?” the bartender asked.

“No need. Terrific is long dead,” Janine told him. “Marty, she had a hard life. Terrific was one of the first generation, a person who stood by Ravager at the dawn of our tribe. And yet she was different. Her claws were so tiny, they barely left her fingers.” Janine raised her own paw. At the end of each fingertip, every Wolfkin had wrinkled skin that was loose and baggy. Claws protruded from these places. Janine let out a few millimeters of her own claws and showed them to Marty. “Here. This is all she could do with them—not enough to reach for a jugular or anything vital.

“And she was weak too, not like other warlords who grow naturally. Marty, she trained—actually trained all day long, carrying tremendous weights on her fingers, injecting steroids, and fighting everything she could. She challenged other warlords over and over, even Alpha, and always ended up losing. At the end, it was the shamans who promoted her to warlord after the tribe grew big enough. Can you imagine this shame? To obtain the long-desired rank, not through strength, but through pity-victory. It was eating her alive, probably causing her to lash out in the way she did. But she cared for us. She helped with your transfer. She honed my skills, turning me from a useless wreck…”

“Useless? You think I’d waste my time on a useless person? Jani, a wreck would not have the guts to stand up to the warlord when she was about to off me. A useless person would not have persuaded me to team up and share food with the entire pits,” Martyshkina said calmly. “Call yourself useless ever again, and I am dragging you to my therapist. Let’s see you cry your heart out during a session.”

“Well…” Janine stumbled and patted her friend. “I am quite large, can stop a lot of bullets, at least.” They burst out laughing and refilled their glasses. The rebuke helped push back the poisonous self-pity. So what if her biological mother tossed her aside? Who cared? Janine had friends, sisters, family. “Thanks. I needed that. Marty, Terrific was… is like a mother to me. Cruel, ever-angry bitch threatening my friends, but still part of my family. That is why I feel like a traitor after murdering her.”

“Okay, I am calling the police, ladies,” the bartender warned, and a few customers hurried to leave the establishment.

“Go ahead. The MP has already investigated me and cleared me of any guilt.” Janine waved a glass at him and continued. “It happened when Terrific captured the slavers’ cubs. You know how she was; she had plans to slowly skin them alive to force the bastards into panic and swoop in, saving the hostages. And I couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t fail again. Those cubs were what, under eight years old? There was no fault on them. I…” Janine licked her lips. “I challenged her. I will never forget the look of utter betrayal on her snout. Terrific wanted either you or me to succeed her, but only after her death.”

Marty chuckled, “Well, she can suck dick on that one. We have several warlords who have lost and reclaimed their ranks. Ain’t nothing weird about that. Abyss, Ygrite lost her rank five times and jokes about it!”

“That may be true, but they earned their original rank by right,” Janine argued, fighting the urge to grin. “Terrific did not. For her, losing a rank was the end—proof that she was unworthy of being one of the first generation. And when we fought, she refused to quit. And when we fought, she refused to give up. Marty, if you had only seen her fight, you would’ve forever respected her stubborn refusal to lose! She was weaker than me, but her ferocity is forever etched in my soul. But in the end, there could be only one victor. As I held her by the neck, pinned on the ground, she dug her fingers into my side and tore at my ribs. It enraged me; that stupid refusal to admit reality pissed me off; the fear for the cubs’ lives drove my paws, and I snapped her neck. I’ve been dreaming about that moment ever since, wondering how I could’ve resolved it differently and saved my mom.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Martyshkina placed a paw on her shoulder. “Boo-hoo, the prideful bitch refused to go down and tried to kill you. Should you have coddled her into submission?”

“Maybe!” Janine snapped. “Maybe it’s what I should have done! Each new warlord must be better than the last. Soldiers who died under my command, civilians I failed to protect... Imagine how many lives would have been saved if I had reined in Terrific?”

“Janine…”

“Good, bad, it doesn’t matter, Marty. We have to grab them both by the ears and drag them, drag them into the future. This is the only way the tribe can grow.”

Martyshkina said nothing to it. She simply poured more drinks into their glasses, and the two friends toasted in memory of those who were no longer in this world.

****

Brood Lord smiled, opening his helmet. A leader had to set an example, and he walked bravely to the crackling line in the air. It spread to his left and right, forming a V-shape and opening a gateway onto the road. His front legs carried the khan through the portal, into the realm of honking horns, where white-furred mutants played on the sidewalks, escorted by the larger, black-furred mutants. Light danced in the hundreds of windows, people of many races chatting, oblivious to the complete upheaval of their way of life that was about to occur.

There were eyes on him. Brood Lord had expected it, the arrogant sword saint standing at the crossroads not far ahead, surrounded by his white-clad knights. The man came here for an inspection, carrying only his weapon. His whelps were the ones who posed a danger. They reached for their ranged weapons, noticing his oversized handgun.

It was too late. The mole’s reports were correct, and Brood Lord quickly aimed and fired at the car driving toward him, liquidating the driver’s head and shearing off the head of Maxim Puchkov, beheading the local police as he returned to the station. Pieces into places. Fear was a universal tool for conquering nations, but there was so much more to this art. Brood Lord wisely never taught his subjects everything he knew, letting them act against him based on the incomplete ideas of his modus operandi. Pretend to be stupid in order to survive and thrive.

The projectile left a wide gap in the car and kept ongoing, hitting a family in the next car, and the ensuing screams were music to his ears. And they were about to grow so much louder.

“Hello, wonderful place,” sang the khan.

Countless portals opened all around the city.