Chapter 94: Chapter 87: Appearing Cracks

The southwestern corner of the Core Lands was a peculiar place. Whatever few lands or hills existed in the area had been mercilessly flattened in the times of the Old World to create space for ever-expanding launching sites that spewed small-sized spacecraft into the orbit day and night. As such, it suffered the least during the Extinction. Weaponized satellites unleashed beams of such potency that the entire area had gained a phosphorous color. Communication towers, control spires, and spaceships had disappeared in the whirlwind of molten metal. Not a trace was left of the natural life or humanity’s presence even before the satellites had crashed, bringing down the full weight of kilometers of man-made steel tubes propelled by proton engines.

Decades passed, and the Reclamation Army, led by Commander Outsider, had brought back the iron order, sweeping away the decadent palaces of Chem-King, an arrogant mutant who had ruled over the jagged wreckage. Town X-14, later renamed Quatindor, had sprung from several mining complexes that had merged in the restoration's wake.

Thick forests covered the area to the south, where experimental fuel testing facilities had once stood. The chemical poison that had spawned the hideousness that was Chem-King had seeped into the soil itself, and not even terraformation could completely remove it, at least not for hundreds of years. Warped and changed, the local trees refused to be cut down, growing back over months, and the Reclamation Army accepted this setback, turning the place into a resort area with villages hidden along the roads.

To the east of Quatindor was a gaping crescent-shaped chasm with two massive bridges built across it. House Sunblade owned the mining complex that spanned the length of the chasm on either side. Rare alloys left over from compressed spaceships, ancient yet incomprehensible engines, ancient and yet incomprehensible engines, occasional untouched chambers containing the precious history that might’ve shed light on the true nature of the Extinction or intact terminals—the value of this extraction couldn’t be overstated.

Since the southern route was problematic because of the stubborn forests, caravans moved through the northern bridge and then fifty kilometers across the farmlands to Houstad. The catastrophe hadn’t left this area untouched, and fields of white lilies dotted the entrance to Quatindor, glowing pale at night. The town itself was famous for its love of six-legged cats, as one such specimen was found—and later cloned—in a ruined underground spaceship, and statues of these mischievous creatures adorned bridges and stood in the middle of fountains, water spurting from their mouths. Cats were everywhere; they were bold, unafraid of tourists, and preyed on birds in the fields, occasionally ending up as food for these mutant raptors themselves.

This was the area into which the Wolf Tribe stormed, quietly spreading out along the front line. The Gilded Horde had already entered Quatindor, and flames were licking at the building, stripping the paint from the walls and revealing the ancient symbols “X-14” as a reminder that savagery had returned. Houses Summerspring, Voidrunner, and Mountaintop were already in the city, while forces of House Wintersong occupied a military base to the north.

Warlord Alpha’s plan was pure simplicity itself. The Gilded Horde’s vanguard alone had dwarfed the combined forces of the state, and many of the raiding parties slipped past the Ice Fangs. These became appetizers for the tribe, which sought to join Wintersong and bring down the northern bridge, forcing the Gilded Horde into a dilemma. Either take a detour through the north or funnel the army into the southern bridge. To facilitate the desired outcome, packs of warlords Martyshkina, Janine, Predaig, and Eled swept away the feeble attempts to stop them and sought to join their cousins in the city. Once united, a massive evacuation will be launched, creating an all too desirable and deceptively vulnerable target.

For the forests were anything but quiet. Forces of Warlords Alpha, Onyxia, and those auxiliary parts led by that disgusting upstart Kalaisa were eagerly waiting for a chance to welcome guests. Confined to an area where it was impossible to use their speed, faced with a situation where their heavy artillery would lag behind, the hordemen would become targets ripe for a bloody harvest, and every kilometer to Houstad would be gained at the cost of thousands of lives. Warlords, wolf hags, and shamans stood ready to cull enemy leadership, while Ashbringer and her forces set out to rejoin the bulk of the Ice Fangs in the plain.

It was a simple plan, but very effective in its insidiousness. If the Horde chose the long route, the Dynast will arrive at Houstad, potentially with Outsider in tow. If they chose a faster route, then death itself waited for them, ready to stall the opposition while the civilians escaped safely to Houstad. No matter what, the state stood to gain.

But the Ice Fangs did not respond. Not a single message came through, and Warlord Janine, worried by their silence, had sent a pack to rendezvous with the Wintersongs and force their excellent ranged support to howl.

This is how Melina ended up in her current predicament. The Wolf Hag had led her pack through the war-torn Quatindor’s outskirts, sneaking into homes and stopping the breath of marauders, be they invaders or her own citizens. Six scouts were at her command, and it took all of her restraint not to act in Terrific’s ways.

Warlord Janine was wrong. Their pack should have unleashed groups of torturers to skin the garbage scavenged from the ruins and fill the sky with their desperate screams as they skinned, broke, and crucified the invaders. Concealed grenades would take their toll on the rescuers before the combined fire of dozens of shardguns would create a proper killing field. Angry, confused, and frightened prey was prone to making mistakes, and if they’d wanted to lure the idiots into the woods, there was no better method.

Instead, she obeyed, forcing herself to adopt new, inefficient, and alien ways. She had calmed frightened citizens and formed teams of the most capable among them to lead the rest to the first evacuation zone. She had snapped necks of unsuspecting fatties. Terrific’s influence—her legacy—was waning, disappearing, and Melina hated herself for letting it happen. The sour thoughts vanished when her pack ran into Arruda’s pack, sent on the same mission.

A situation near the bridge’s entrance had halted their advance. The Gilded Horde troops were there, but that in itself wasn’t unusual; the bastards were everywhere today, but this situation was fishy. A single vehicle occupied the center of the road. The machine had two cylindrical spiked wheels, large enough to break through walls, and a cage full of prisoners was attached to the back, with several more thrown on their knees in front of the lead wheel.

They were being examined by a group of richly decorated hordemen, led by a giant of a man whose helmet was stylized into a tusked board. A cloak of flayed skin flapped in the hot wind, and Melina frowned, disgusted by such a tasteless and meaningless thing. The idiot had woven in cubs and women’s faces, rather than shaping it from the strongest foes brought to despair. He even preserved the coat’s skin instead of letting it rot naturally to add an exquisite stench to the gruesome imagery. Amateur. They were dealing with the amateurs, proud of their cruelty but lacking the mastery to instill true fear. It will soon be changed.

There was a woman beside the pighead. Where New Breeds of the Horde were taking extreme care to keep their battleplates polished and rich, this specimen had a thick layer of dirt and blood covering her power armor and rows of empty sockets staring out from her breastplate where encrusted gems and rubies had fallen off. Alone among her group, she stood bareheaded on the battlefield, her face greasy and her short black hair tangled in dreadlocks, but the blade of her sword gleamed through the smoke. Dangerous, Melina decided. Like the fat piggy.

The pigheaded bastard was chaining two kids to the spiked wheel. Sharp hooks were piercing their skin, and the boys wept and cried, trying to keep their cool.

“That was… Ah!” the overweight, short boy yelled as the hook pierced his skin around the elbow. “The worst of your plans, Jay!”

“Why did you stick around… No!... then, T?” The lanky kid tried to wipe away his tears, but this simple movement stretched the skin over his arm in places where the chains held him.

“Someone with a half of a brain had to be here!”

Arruda and Melina exchanged glances. There was no need for words as to guess why the hordemen were here. It wasn’t torture or an intimidation tactic. Battle raged in full swing in the town. None of them seemed to guard the entrance to the bridge, and their numbers were too few. It was bait, cruel, and quite effective. The hordemen gave the intruders a clear indication that once the rest of the chains were in place, the wheel will turn, skinning the youngsters. So they offered a choice. Reveal yourself or lose. If they were the appetizers, then the main course was hiding in the houses up the street, waiting for the trap to be sprung.

The most sensible decision was to continue with the main mission and cut their losses here. Deaths happened in wars. But it was impossible to accuse the Wolf Tribe of being completely rational, and there was one thing Janine and Terrific always agreed on.

They had to try to save civilians, no matter what the situation. Soldiers alone could not build a brighter future.

“I have cubs back home. Four boys. About the same size as them.” Melina nodded at the writhing kids.

“Me too. Three. Adorable, but not smart,” Arruda admitted.

“Can’t expect males to be. I’m doing it. You?” Melina asked.

“It’s what I am paid for,” Arruda shrugged.

“Zolushka, want to redeem your pathetic ass-defeat or are your guts caught cold again?” Melina laughed, summoning the icons marking the soldiers of the two packs on her HUD.

“Born ready,” growled the scout, and her paw twitched over the shardgun. “After the war, Wolf Hag.”

“Perhaps,” Melina said thoughtfully, forming teams. “Arruda and I will provide a distraction. Take two warriors and sneak around; give the bastards as wide a berth as possible. When the fun starts, grab the kids and whoever else and retreat to the evac point. The rest of you head out to meet the Wintersongs. No matter what, do not turn back; the mission must not be compromised. Is that clear?”

“You are taking only males,” accused Zolushka.

“Yes. We do.” Melina smiled, standing with her back to the woman. Strong, not completely daft. A fine replacement.

“Fuck it, Melina, I don’t want to settle our score this way…” Zolushka’s claws scraped the surface of her helmet, carving lines. “Call the Wintersongs, ask them to rain down hell, then we can strike during confusion and…”

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“Can’t. Communications are jammed.” Melina’s paw closed around the scout’s neck, pushing her to the knees. Zolushka yielded, honoring her wolf hag rather than resisting.

“I obey, Wolf Hag Melina,” Zolushka called her by her full title for the first time in the ten years they had served together. It had always been either Melina, old timer, or wolf hag. Melina didn’t want to admit it, but this demonstration of loyalty touched her.

Janine changed the pack, softened it. She insisted on reducing corporal punishment, doting over them like a concerned mother, sending the wounded to the infirmary to heal. Terrific let the weak die and the strong survive so that the best blood could strengthen the tribe. Janine believed the opposite, and her cancerous and false belief had infected Melina. Hope. That was why she was willing to give her life for the warlord’s dream, even if she never embraced such ideals.

She reasoned it to be a natural course of things. A new warlord takes over, and a pack inevitably changes. Your pack, your rules, as decreed by the Blessed Mother. But it was a lie. Melina of the Wolf Tribe wanted to save these children. She would’ve liked to spend her retirement helping out at the orphanage, administering vaccines, reading bedtime stories, cleaning floors, caring for orphans, petitioning the mayor to remove that ugly harpy from the entrance… She now dreaded the inevitability of the culling. Warlord Janine brought a desire to be more than a weapon to the pack, and for that Melina cursed and thanked her.

Was it the will of the Spirits? Melina examined her shardgun, the scarred, trusted friend that had saved her more times than she could count. There had been a time when the tribe had disregarded firearms. Were traditions mere safeguards to survive hardships? If so, was it to amend… A child’s scream interrupted her thoughts. There was no time to think. There was never time to think.

The packs surged forward, Zolushka leading her smaller team to the west, avoiding the obvious ambush; the largest group surged toward the last known position of Camelia Wintersong, and Arruda and Melina struck headlong. Given enough time, they could have come up with a better strategy, but the situation had denied them that luxury. Grenades flew into the broken windows, exploding, drawing roars of pain from within as acid found its way through their armor.

“Slavetaker! Widowmaker, they…” a burly hordeman roared, stepping out of the building into four shots.

“The prey spoke in Common,” Melina said into the communicator as the body jerked and stumbled back.

Arruda caught a hordeman pushing from the window by his head and closed her fist, sinking the claws deep into his skull and piercing the steel with ease. She beamed with strength and awareness, standing on the precipice of becoming a warlord. A raider shot her in the back, and the wolf hag dodged the bullet as it left the barrel, not even using the shared vision link, operating on instinct alone. She spun, fired once, and the man’s visor exploded into shards of reinforced glass and bone. Another spin faced her in the previous direction, and Arruda’s wrist flicked, carving three deep lines into a man breaking through a wall.

Melina was weaker and concentrated on crippling her opponents, trusting that the males would finish them off. The trap was closing, and her ears picked up the stomping of dozens of enemies converging on their positions from their hiding places in the ruins. Zolushka’s team narrowly missed them; the area of their spread was wider than the scout had anticipated, but the woman adapted immediately.

“Come, then!” Melina roared and kicked, denting in the knee pad of a hordeman’s leg. “Meet an opponent capable of fighting back.” Her shardgun fired, stabbing shards into the pig-headed bastard’s armor.

“Let’s make some widows!” Widowmaker rejoiced; her two-handed sword moved fast enough to become a cloud before the woman.

Shots fired by Arruda and her team were deflected or cut in half, and Widowmaker grasped a dirty, ornate gun on her belt. A broad smile of pleasure came upon her face as she leveled her weapon and fire. The sound of the shot caused the kids to yell in pain, and even Slavetaker grunted in annoyance as the sound-amplifiers built into the weapon sang their mad tune while Widowmaker writhed in pleasure at the deafening noise. One male took a bullet meant for Arruda and fell to his knees, his partner dying a second later from the hordemen’s gunfire. The last darted into the ruins to buy time and have a better chance of survival as Arruda and Widowmaker faced each other, firing at point-blank range.

The shots of both women speared through the afterimages, shaving slices of steel from their armor. The shardgun and the pistol were dropped simultaneously, and the long blade came down on the clawed paw. Widowmaker speed was insane. Melina perceived a rain of slashes and stabs coming against Arruda’s head, but the wolf hag matched every move, weaving around the attacks and trying to force her opponent into a close fight. The hordewoman used the full length of her blade, redirecting her missed strikes into horizontal swipes to keep the wolf hag at bay, and sparks flew from the intense duel.

“Are you married, Wolfkin?” Widowmaker shouted. “Ten thousand widows have I promised the Sky for my salvation from the slave dens. You’ll have the honor of being the five thousand and thirty-two! Tell me your wife’s name, and I promise to spare her for the amusement you have given me!”

“Talk is cheap.” Arruda stabbed, and her claws took away a dreadlock and cut the hordewoman’s face.

“So is your life, woman!” Widowmaker spat at the wolf hag. She turned her stab into a horizontal slash, opening Arruda’s wrist. “Such talent, and I can’t even add you to the tally! Waste! You are wasting my time!”

Slavetaker briefly hefted his own gun and left a hole in a male’s chest as the soldier pushed Melina away. Two of her own shots had forced him to raise an arm as the lens of his helmet cracked and a shard nearly blinded his eye. Slavetaker closed in on her, thudding heavily against the street, and picked up an oversized cleaver in both hands, swinging it with full force. Melina darted back, unable to get the distance from her opponent, and had to use her claws to block the swing. To her shock, the blade passed through them with ease, and Slavetaker didn’t bat an eye when she fired at him from point blank range, widening the already-made cracks further.

He let go of the blade and lunged at her, hitting her with his knee with such force that it tore through the layer of exoskeleton beneath her skin. Slavetaker’s hook nearly sent Melina spinning; her helmet broke, and Zolushka’s report of saving the children was replaced by a hiss. Hands grabbed the wolf hag around the ankle and on her shoulder, and she was lifted up and hurled at full speed onto his knee.

Melina screamed in agony as her backpack broke and her power armor went into emergency reserve mode. Her spine held up, but the agony of the blow reverberated through every organ, and she barely noticed as Slavetaker threw her face down on the road.

She was up on her elbows in time to see the end of the duel between Widowmaker and Arruda. Throughout the duel, the two were evenly matched, and fresh cuts, like medals of honor for surviving so long, covered both of them equally. The wolf hag never once used her kicks, and when the hordewoman glanced at the defeated Melina, she acted. A straight kick with her claws, aimed at the solar plexus, timed at the right moment to eviscerate and win.

It should have been the end if Widowmaker had acted in the same manner. She didn’t. Like Arruda, she fed her opponent the false information, sticking to horizontal stabs and upper body attacks. And when the kick came, an incoming overhead slash was transformed into a diagonal slash that sliced through the knee joint and hacked off half the limb. Widowmaker wasn’t stupid. She had used the length of her blade to gauge the distance and kept herself as far away as possible, inviting this very move, and the hordewoman executed her attack flawlessly.

The second slash sheared off Arruda’s thumb at a knuckle in her clumsy attempt to block. The wolf hag bit the incoming blade, stopping it briefly in a final act of defiance as Widowmaker twisted the hilt, breaking Arruda’s jaw, and ending the fight by severing half of Arruda’s head.

Defeat. The word pounded in Melina’s head as a hand grabbed her by the throat and dragged her to the spiked wheel. She tried to pull the fingers away, but even that failed. She was weak, and the last males of their team threw their bodies at hordemen, dying in vain as the crowd cheered on their leaders.

“Where are they?” Slavetaker’s question accompanied his exhalation.

The cheering stopped, and the crowd around the vehicle looked back, murmuring in surprise. A corpse with its throat slit hung from the roof; the chains holding the children were cut unevenly, and even the cage holding the prisoners had been opened in the chaos of the battle.

“I ordered you to watch over them,” Slavetaker growled.

“Mercy!” A hordeman dropped to his knees and crawled to the taller man. “I have served you loyally for three years, never making a mistake! Mercy, my Khan! My eyes have left them but for a moment, I swear!”

“And only a moment you have left to live,” Slavetaker responded.

He grabbed the man by the collar of his armor and tossed him at the wheel’s spike. The man shrieked in pain as the sharp end pierced through his shoulder and wailed in horror as the wheel moved, grinding him against the ground. His legs disappeared underneath the wheel that pulverized his bones, his body stretched, and the spike broke through his collarbone, but the release came too late, and his remains were dragged into the spinning wheel. Melina was next.

She was ready for the throw and grabbed the spikes, stopping the fatal spin even as her armor gave more vocal warnings, alerting her to the immense weight threatening to break it. Slavetaker’s hand pinned her tightly to the metal, denying the wolf hag a retreat.

“Take what you want from the dead and prepare to give chase,” he ordered.

“The Khatun was right,” Melina heard Widowmaker’s chuckle. “I can’t believe these idiots decided not to cooperate. I expected your plan to fail.”

What? A cold sweat broke out on Melina’s fur as she strained against the immense pressure of the engine pushing the wheel. It must be a ruse. Was there never any jamming? Had the Ice Fangs deliberately refused to answer their calls, as Dragena suspected?

Did the blasted Ice Boys abandon their kin to die willingly? She wanted to howl, to rage against the inevitable. Traitors. The shamans were right. The Blessed Mother was right to keep them at bay. What fools we were!

“Yet you joined in,” Slavetaker said dryly.

“What can I say? I never pass an opportunity to murder someone,” Widowmaker said. “Though I never expected to fight by your side, old hound.”

“It pleases me to see a slave prove her usefulness,” Slavetaker said. “Keep it up, and I won’t have to brand you again.”

Melina heard the angry murmurs and the noise of fingers closing on the firing studs. Those hordemen who served Widowmaker closed their ranks around the woman, leveling their weapons at Slavetaker’s servants. The slave trader ignored them, continuing to press the wolf hag against the wheel.

“My friend, I enjoy the banter, but let’s keep it grounded in reality, shall we? Otherwise a curious person might test your statements,” Widowmaker said in a honeyed voice. “Khatun’s favor is all that keeps you alive. You can ask to have this favor retracted, so we can settle our modest feud…”

“Enough delusions, slave,” Slavetaker grumbled. “Prepare to give chase; we have flesh to return…”

“No,” an emotionless voice sounded from the cracks of Slavetaker’s helmet. “Ignore the irrelevant children. Form ranks and attack the Wintersongs’ flank while they are engaged. The fools’ disharmony must be exploited.”

“These children’s skins are mine. No one escapes Slavetaker,” insisted the slave trader.

“Complaints of our obsessive dog fellow aside. Khan, if we do as you say, Brood Lord’s dregs will treat themselves to the town,” Widowmaker observed. “Not that I care for it, but we bled for the mines.”

“Let them,” said the cold voice. “We have a treasure in our sight; if Brood Lord wants to spend his troops for the sake of scraps, more power to him. He is conducting this war as a common thief, and as a thief he’ll die when his rabble is scattered. The Reclaimers want to force the southern route on us.”

“How do you know that?” Slavetaker demanded.

“Because that’s what I would have done. It won’t happen. Destroy the Wintersongs’ artillery, dispose of their sword saint, and I promise you rich lands to match what you lose today and slaves in abundance. As for your persistent hobby, Slavetaker… The children have only one place to run. As long as you’re alive, you’ll get them eventually.”

Melina’s legs snapped at the ankles, and Slavetaker let go of her. The cruel spikes rammed against her shoulders, locking her face against the metal. I want to live. She thought as the sleeves of her armor, and then her arms, crumpled, bending her down and arching her spine until it almost snapped. Why? We always fought at the front lines; we gave our lives to preserve the Ice Fangs. Why now, when we tried to live as you? Why did you ignore our calls for help? The question, and the memories of her cousins’ elegance and nobility, infuriated Melina to no end. Even the pain in her body took a back seat. We were loyal to you; we thought of you as kin even after you… You… Stabbed Janine in the back. A plague on your houses! I disavow you; I deny any kinship! What fools we… Traitors.

Her spine broke, and Melina disappeared under the spinning wheel, turning her body into a mess of broken bones, muscle, and steel.