Janine darted to the right, escaping a stream of energy that rolled toward the academy and bubbled near its walls, hungrily devouring everything in its path. She barely had time to raise her axe before the blade of the glaive, encased in the strange field, descended to split her head in two.
By the Spirits, the khan was strong! Whether empowered by technology or maybe using some exotic ability, his swing sent reverberations through her bones, and the stone beneath her feet cracked to accept the sucking boots. He dragged the glaive over her shoulder, and its fluctuating aura touched her shoulder, instantly dusting the top of her pauldron. Janine had endured plasma and laser beams; she had bathed in toxic waste and survived viruses hidden in the ancient laboratories. But a simple vibration sheared a slice of skin off her shoulder, prompting the warlord to jerk her weapon up and kick Iron Lord with a knee.
The collision produced a dull thud, and a round dent appeared on the plate of his armor. Iron Lord tried to elbow the warlord, but she caught his arm in her maw, and her fangs gouged deep, torn lines before he broke the limb free and they resumed their battle.
The glaive's length helped the khan to prevent heavy chops of the warlord's axe from landing on him, and the shimmering cocoon formed around its blade created a fake illusion of safety as the destructive potential of the vibration extended beyond the visible gray mass, and Janine learned of it during a block, nearly losing her fingers. Each time she closed in on him, she had to retreat, denting his armor rather than tearing it.
"Really could've used my claws," Janine complained, dodging a lashing slash.
"Apologies, Sword Saint and Warlord. The suit has no such function," Albert said. "As per the Divine Twins decree, the use of natural claws is forbidden as invoking barbarism…"
"And that is bad why?" Janine inquired, parrying a slash aimed at her armpit.
"Barbarism tends to slowly taint every facet of society, leading to veneration of martial prowess over intellect and the creation of cruel laws. To combat the clear paradox of needing to be strong to defend oneself and still set an inspiring example, all children of our Houses are trained in the arts, exposed to culture, encouraged to pursue creativity, and regularly write essays pointing out obvious flaws in the ideology of our noble leaders to avoid descending into idolatry," Albert readily answered. "I can send you video materials…"
"Belay that. Idol… what's that?"
"Worshipping of idols, you mangy beast!" Iron Lord snapped.
He wielded his weapon as if it were a feather, launching deceptively fast and wide swings, trying to lure Janine into accepting the tempo of their duel before rapidly changing the situation and going for a sudden thrust. She took the stabs at the Taleteller's shaft, deliberately stalling the fight to further enrage the man.
"Never the matter!" Iron Lord roared, advancing at her. "You won't take advantage of it! Your assault is a mere breeze, soothing the walls of a mighty bastion! It changes nothing; it aids nothing!"
She didn't try to guess the meaning of the foolish chatter coming from the dynamics of his helmet. Confusion caused death as surely as any bullet. But there was something off about the battle. Iron Lord was too chatty; he hadn't been like this when they first met, and his behavior contradicted the information gathered about his habits.
The strangeness didn't stop with Iron Lord. They paced back and forth, each gaining and losing ground as they tried to land a crippling blow past the defenses. Anger, fear, and worry shook Janine's core, but these were the feelings she expected to feel. But when the khan slashed horizontally, trying to decapitate a knight who happened to be nearby, the warlord was willing to let it happen.
Memories of Mincemeat, the monster of the Wastes, saved her conscience, soul, and the knight's life. That creature had spread its mind control far and wide, bending those within its direct sphere of influence to its will, and those outside had suffered from the changes in their moods.
A heinous act doesn't excuse a heinous response! The amber light in her eyes flashed, and she bellowed a challenge, barging into Iron Lord's close range and blocking the slash. She was rewarded with a pummeling of his fist, hearing her armor crack. From afar, Martyshkina fired without looking, the bullet screaming through the air.
It faced the blanket of the force field activated around Iron Lord, slowed, and continued pushing through. The khan hesitated, and Janine capitalized on it, lacerating his plate, and the bullet tore a chunk from his shoulder. Three ironclads assaulted Martyshkina, denying further assistance. Shots of their plasma guns almost concealed Marty, and ammunition in one of her pouches exploded. The Wolfkin broke through the heat wall and kicked one of the three in the neck, piercing his gorget and finishing him off with four shots to the chest.
The fighters around gave space to the two fighters, and Janine relinquished command to Martyshkina and the traitorous Bertruda, opening a channel to see her son.
Marco braved his way through the darkness of the ventilation shaft, occasionally breathing slightly. He tried to hide it even now, but both of his popliteus suffered from degenerative tissue syndrome. Normal New Breeds would have had to opt for artificial limbs by now, but Marco's physiology as a Wolfkin naturally tried to regenerate the damage, prolonging the agony caused by his defective and underdeveloped body. It was a kind of eternal stalemate, but the horror replaced any pity and regret Janine upon hearing gunfire within the Academy.
It touched them. All of them, including the white-furred betrayers. Cubs were in danger. The most sacred thing in the world. Their future, a faint hope for a generation of peace, their joy and pride meant to survive them, was dying because their elders had failed to protect them.
Their horror-fueled aggression. Anissa and Kalaisa leapt, covering long distances, and when Anissa's paw slipped off a broken stone, Kalaisa grabbed it, helping the other woman without the usual mockery.
The lower ranks howled, hurling acid grenades into the hordemen from close distance, blinding several thunder bulls and covering the animals and their riders like a swarm of angry insectoids, stabbing, biting, and tearing. Their instincts heightened by the shock, the soldiers dodged off the enemies' aim and charged again.
Most shockingly, the traitors changed, too. Where once they had fought with reserve, expressing disgust at the killing of surrendering and wounded enemies, the Ice Fangs now roared and followed the Wolfkins. A defender saved Kirk's brother by timing his shield to stop a plasma blast and was saved by Kirk's sister when the scout kicked the large Ice Fang away before an axe could cut through his head. The hordeman cursed and prepared to attack again when Elegance stabbed him under the chin, and Bertruda growled fiercely, pushing the blade deeper.
"What the fuck is Marco doing here?" Kalaisa cursed. "We are supposed to be saving cubs, not throwing more into the pyre!"
"Betrayal, obviously." Anissa spat. "Once I get him back to safety, his ass is turning red."
"You will not lay a finger on him, Wolf Hag," Impatient One stated. She hid behind some rubble, pulling a long spike from her belly and ignoring a knight who offered her a medical kit. Despite the trembling paws and the pain she had to experience, the shaman tried to keep her voice steady and calm. "If his mother has failed to raise him properly, I shall discipline her and educate Marco about subordination myself."
"Aw, so you do care!" Anissa laughed. "That's so sweet, shaman!"
"Of course I do! He is my… Every cub in the tribe deserves the shaman's care!"
"Yours what, honorable shaman?" Kalaisa asked innocently, throwing debris from the entrance.
"Stop your buzzing, annoying fly," Impatient One warned.
Failed to raise him… Janine accepted the reproach, matching Iron Lord blow for blow with economical strikes. All these years, she treated Marco softly, harming his growth. Softness breeds softness. Kindness wasn't always bad; every warrior should cherish what shreds of it he still had, but after hearing of his brother's fate, a desire to do something was born. And his love, unfettered by true discipline, paved the way for disobedience. Her guilt.
"You okay, Impatient One?" Anissa asked as the shaman fell awkwardly to the side, dodging a shot, and the knight helped her to her feet.
"Can function." Impatient One wiped her mouth. "Concentrate on your task, Wolf Hag." She kicked, startling the Ice Fang, and blocked a blade aimed at his back. The murky air behind the man solidified, forming into a steel-clad holding the sword. The knight stabbed at the opponent's elbow, and Impatient One closed her fangs at the hordeman's throat, trying to shove the panicking fool down.
"Troops, attention. New form of camouflage," Janine said.
"Stay alive, shaman. But," Kalaisa exhaled, "make sure to educate and nothing more. Lay a finger on Marco and I'll have your hide. I still owe him for the sweater."
"Drop the chatter, Wolf Hags!" Janine snapped, stopping arguing. "Packs, stop this foolishness. Males, to the rear. Kirk, take over and support us from range. Sniff out cloaked foes." Her helmet closed around the face, cutting off the rest of her words from being heard by her opponent. A battle grid appeared on her HUD. "Defenders at S7, lure the leftmost rider to your position. Kirk, take off the steed's leg and devour alongside warriors." The helmet opened.
A trio of defenders feigned uncertainty, retreating hastily and emitting scents of fear. Eager for glory, one steel-clad kicked his beast into a gallop and found himself without the protection of his allies, exposed to the concentrated fire of shardguns, all aimed at the bull's knee. The beast's wounded leg broke, unable to support its body, and a black carpet covered the rider. The warriors cracked his protection, and the males shoved acid mines inside, escaping the slash zone as they exploded, chemical substances dissolving the hordeman.
"Sounds like someone asks to be introduced to the ground, Kali." Anissa jerked the door out of alignment. Her voice cracked. "Marco is my brother, and I will not allow his foolishness to continue, even if the warlord goes soft on…"
"A hundred lacerations." Janine silenced her daughter.
Going soft? Yes, a fair accusation, hence such an insignificant punishment. She fought Iron Lord as Warlord Janine, acting as if she still wore the assault combat suit. It was wrong. The Ice Fangs' models suited better for the lighter—weightless, even—style.
"Albert. You were right."
"Beg your pardon, Lady?"
Rather than blocking the next attack, Janine leaned back, letting it pass overhead. Immediately she raised the Taleteller, scraping its edge across the haft of the glaive as she charged at close range. A fist, wrapped in an energy field, prepared to meet her.
The axe crashed into the field, overloading it and biting deep into the metal. Janine's knee followed, denting the armor and sending Iron Lord stumbling. She dodged the elbow and pushed him back, knocking the bastard to the ground with enough force to send a tremor that exploded a nearby fire hydrant, and a veil of water covered both fighters, hissing vividly on the disappearing force field.
Iron Lord tried to stand and found Janine's legs locked around his waist, her weight pinning him to the ground. The axe split the torrent of water in two and thundered against the glaive.
"Did you predict you'll be mounted by me, boy?" Janine teased, frowning under the pressure. The armor was screaming, its fiber bundles barely holding, the servomotors straining. Her recently healed muscles were on the verge of tearing, but her heart was on fire. "Look at yourself, sitting on your ass while your soldiers die."
"More of your kin lie dead than mine, mutant." Iron Lord replied, his voice unfaltering, but his arms trembled. "An acceptable price for the warlord's head. I am Iron Lord, the chief commander of the Gilded Horde, the right hand of Sky's Avatar, and you are sullying me with your touch. For that, I will hunt you today."
"Words are cheap," Janine experienced another tingle of worry.
"My thoughts exactly." His cannon moved, forcing Janine to tilt her head to evade the shot.