The commander led her south of the military camp, stopping right after they passed the final minefield. A few surprise patrol parties and recon teams noticed them and inquired about their purpose here, but Ravager sat still, listening to the distant tremors only she could hear, and Janine took it upon herself to explain their reason for being here.
It was morning, but the clouds draped a shadow over the army. Engineers toiled to remove the buried shield generators, officers oversaw the abandonment of the city so the agents of the Investigation Bureau could seal its gate, officially claiming the region for the Reclamation Army. The plan was for the place to remain an abandoned necropolis until the terraformation could eliminate the most severe hazards, allowing the settlers to arrive.
In truth, it won’t be so. In mere days or weeks, if they are lucky, after their redeployment, scavengers would arrive, disarming left behind traps and mines. From there, these people would either take the city apart or sell its location to one of the many raiding gangs. Life, lawlessness, and disease caused by the toxic waste would still permeate this region for decades to come, until the Reclamation Army’s return. The region was claimed to keep the Iternian noses out.
Speak of the devil. Four Iternians filmed the white pods moving out of the city. Each pod traveled on an individual platform. Inside them floated the victims of Techno-Queen’s madness. Students of Till Ingo, men and women of various shapes, flanked this procession, refusing to let the reporters speak or film the injured.
Reporters…Heh. Three Iternians looked exactly as one would expect from the press, clad in elegant blue suits, pale faces behind illuminated transparent visors without a hint of scars. Round, hovering drones hovered soundlessly around them, recording everything as the trio tried to engage a shaman assigned to their protection in conversation. Armbands emblazoned with “PRESS” encircled their arms, and the same glowing letters decorated their chests and the backs of their helmets. They stuck out like sore thumbs, and despite their claims of the ability to keep themselves safe, Ravager had assigned them protection.
Because the Iternians didn’t know better. Corpses of their people were often found in the vast wastes or abandoned ruins. Rival country or not, Janine approved the commander’s decision to see them safely to Fort Uglo, where they would be escorted to Iternian territory.
The last one, though. He was no reporter. The man had the same eager expression on his face as his companions, but he had the entire camp in view, never leaving his back open or failing to spot an approaching soldier. Holsters and sheaths grown from his nanomachine armor kept his weapons within perfect reach. Noticing her stare, he smiled and pressed a finger to his helmet, admitting her suspicion.
Graverobber. Explorators, as Iterna called them. Genetically enhanced humans, their muscles enlarged and compressed, their organs made immune to poisons, their bones thicker than those of a Normie. No longer Normies, explorators worked as spies and bodyguards. A sudden steel glint in his eyes and the speed with which he scanned her neck and sides warned the warlord that he had killed before.
The shaman nodded at Janine’s look, wordlessly telling her she had the same suspicions. The explorator had probably planned to visit the city after the army had left, but there was no reason to make it easier for the Iternians. She had no fear for the shaman’s life. Iterna was their rival, not an enemy. And if needed, no pseudo-New Breed could hope to stand up to the real deal.
“What is the reason for Commander Ravager’s presence here in the open?” a reporter asked after being pushed back by the shaman. “The public has a right to know! Commander Ravager! A few questions, please!”
“Fine,” Ravager said, and swung her head to examine the iternian. “Your name?”
“Jacob,” the startled reporter answered. “Jacob Makarevich, commander.”
“Date of birth?”
“April, two… Wait, this isn’t what I meant, commander! I wanted to ask you questions, not the other way around.”
“Blame your own poor wording. Date of birth. I am waiting.”
Janine caught the explorator grinning at Ravager’s interrogation of the man. The Blessed Mother demanded to know everything about him, his family, how many cubs he had sired, where he was born, and what the weather was like on Iterna at this time of year. The warlord heard chuckles of the passing soldiers and let them have their fun.
Her feet caught it. Faint tremors raced through the ground, intensifying with each passing second. Back home, that would be a warning of an impending earthquake. While not entirely inaccurate, another kind of natural disaster was approaching them.
“Welcome to the inner circle,” said Dragena, coming closer with other warlords. She continued to wear her full combat gear.
“You owe me a coat,” Alpha growled instead of greeting, looking ridiculous in her cargo pants and a white shirt that quickly turned black in the acrid winds. Alpha sniffed Janine, leaving a scent mark. “Took you long enough.”
“I’ll aim to be better.” Janine shook Alpha’s wrist, steering clear of the ginormous claws. “Sorry about the coat. How much…”
“No. Give me a new one.”
A Wolfkin encased in highly advanced pitch-black power armor wrapped her arms around Janine next. Zero didn’t care what the lower ranks might think of her; she rubbed her elongated helmet against her named sister’s forehead, her black cloak flapping in the wind. Janine had only seen Zero’s face once, when she was accepted into the ranks of the warlords.
Zero and Ravager were twins, indistinguishable in appearance but different in size and personality. Zero shared every ounce of Ravager’s gift, healing as fast as the Blessed Mother. When Dominator punched a hole in the First Warlord, she healed in under a week. She led no troops, preferring to wage war from range, using her rifle and traps to collect lives. Many shamans still mistook Zero for a Ravager or claimed she was an incarnation of the Blessed Mother, so she scrubbed her face from most photos and always wore a sealed helmet, insisting on being her own person.
“Congratulation!” Zero spoke warmly, grabbing Janine by the paws and spinning her around like a young and expressive female. Her power armor was a masterpiece of technology; every joint worked soundlessly, and its alloy provided enough protection to withstand the fiercest explosions and fastest projectiles. “I always knew Big Sis would start admitting new gens closer to her eventually!”
“Sucks, it’s not my girl,” Ygrite chuckled. A Wolfkin, easily as tall as a warlord, waltzed in behind her, surveying Janine inquisitively. “Welcome to the circle. Heard that, Kalaisa? Janine has outsped you!”
“Adorable,” the Wolfkin replied casually.
“You are not a warlord,” Janine said icily, hugging Ygrite. Kalaisa smelled like a wolf hag, but she was huge. Easily a warlord material. “Address your leader with respect befitting her status before I beat it into you.”
“You can try.” Kalaisa rolled her eyes. But at Ygrite’s look, she knelt. “Warlord.”
Ah, so this is why you keep dragging the girl around. Janine chose to ignore the implied disrespect. No wonder Ygrite has been so stressed lately. The girl was, what, sixteen or seventeen years old? And is already prime material. Rapid growth without proper experience, backed by countless easy wins… Too valuable for the tribe to be broken, maimed, or killed; too volatile to be left alone. Yes, had Janine been in Ygrite’s shoes, she would’ve chained the idiotic cub to herself until she wizened up enough.
Come to think of it, Terrific had let Janine and Martyshkina get away with a lot of weird shit in the past. They once held their own warlord at gunpoint to protect a Troll, a prisoner whom their leader planned to kill. Terrific backed off, but didn’t murder them later, seeing talent and promise in her wolf hags. She even gave them a pep talk once, when they were scouts.
“Keep your protégé on a leash, Ygrite, before someone cuts her down to size,” snapped Ashbringer. She grabbed Janine in a bear hug. Janine returned the favor, matching her muscles against Ashbringer’s. With a grunt of admiration, Ashbringer let go of Janine. “Don’t lose this promotion as fast as you lost the title.” She lightly punched Janine in the chest. “Do nothing I wouldn’t do. If you are uncertain, come and talk, sister.”
“Will do,” Janine promised. Ashbringer was the first Wolfkin of the non-first generation to be admitted into Ravager’s inner circle of helpers. It must’ve been lonely for her to be the youngest among her peers for so long.
The inner circle weren’t advisors. When she made up her mind, Ravager heeded no advice. The inner circle was responsible for smoothing out situations resulting from the commander’s actions, passing orders to the Normies, and listening to the complaints of local governments and medical personnel. They were glorified helpers, rushing back and forth to try to mitigate the consequences of the Blessed Mother’s madness, but the lower ranks viewed the warlords privy to Ravager’s words with almost divine reverence.
“Blessed be, sister.” Lacerated One said and joined Ravager.
“Always knew you had it in you.” Predaig patted Janine.
“Saw your girls recently,” Onyxia whispered in Janine’s ears, catching the warlord by surprise. Of them all, Onyxia was the most unique, beating even Janine to the punch. Her body was like a dark portal that sucked in the light. Shrouded in utter darkness, she stood tall as Zero, with two amber orbs floating in the pools of darkness in her eyes. Envious tongues whispered that the woman existed in several planes at once, and that is why she never mated. Janine dismissed these rumors; Dragena had no cubs yet, either. When Onyxia spoke, she did so in two voices: one sounded like a knife sharpening itself against a bone, and another tone was that of a normal sister, secure in her authority. “How do they stack up against my Anji, huh?”
The Wolfkin behind the dark warlord bowed, eagerly offering her neck. With a pristine white mane of hair flowing freely to her waist and bulging muscles barely concealed by a greenish jumpsuit, Anji looked breathtakingly beautiful.
“They’d lose.” Janine grinned, shaking paws with the respectful wolf hag. “You’ve raised a fine replacement, Onyxia! Many healthy cubs to you, girl.”
“Thank you, Warlord,” Anji replied in a serene tone.
“Thank you, Warlord. Bootlicker,” Kalaisa mockingly grumbled.
She gasped as Janine elbowed her in the solar plexus, knocking the woman back. Kalaisa reeled, wrapping her arms around her sides, sinking her foot claws into the stone, and letting out a low growl of annoyance.
“You are wide open and too slow for your temperament, girlie. Don’t drop your guard around those you wish to insult, lest you’ll gain a whole swath of fresh scars,” Janine advised Kalaisa, not angered in the slightest. It happens sometimes. Rapid growth clouded judgment, and beatings in the pits didn’t help a cub mature. No biggie; Ygrite will eventually shape this rough gem into a diamond.
“Slow? Wide open?” Fire flashed in Kalaisa’s eyes. Her arms slashed out in a crisscrossing pattern, landing a heavy blow on Janine’s raised forearm, surprising the warlord with the impact and speed behind the attack, as well as how fast the wolf hag closed the distance. Kalaisa clenched her fists, breathing hard from the excitement. “Why won’t you show me how it’s done, granny?”
Sorry, Ygrite, gotta break some bones. Janine thought as she flexed her muscles. This wasn’t a challenge, not really. There was no hatred, rage, or anything similar behind Kalaisa’s eyes; her scent also betrayed just a desire for a brawl rather than a dominance match. The youngster wanted to test her strength. Janine has noticed the hungry look in Ashbringer’s eyes. If she withdraws from the challenge, Ashbringer will step forward and maul the fool.
“Stay calm, wolf hag,” the voices whispered in Kalaisa’s ear, and her head was jerked to the side. One paw immobilized a shoulder, and the other the head, pressing a claw against the jugular. Onyxia grinned with her pitch-black fangs, rubbing a nose across the strained neck. “There is no shame in receiving a remark. You easily lose track of your surroundings. Own your mistake, and let’s act as adults, shall we?” The claw pushed, piercing the skin, and Kalaisa shivered from an unnatural cold. “Or must I discipline a cub?”
“I obey, warlord.” Kalaisa bared her neck, and Janine accepted the invitation, biting her but leaving the woman scarless out of respect for Ygrite and to preserve her honor. She shoved Kalaisa to her knees.
“At attention!” Alpha barked, stopping the bickering.
The tremors intensified, and even the Iternians felt them now, along with the thunderous roar of avalanches coming down as a titanic mass moved across the plains. The roar of hundreds of engines pierced this chaotic cacophony, and the light of projectors pierced the toxic veil obscuring the horizon. Dozens of reconnaissance vehicles burst through the swirling clouds, followed by rows of heavy tanks shielding troop carriers and mobile missile launchers. Orderly ranks of soldiers clad in power armor marched in unison, moving as if on parade, rifles clutched to their chests. Their steps thundered like an approaching storm.
The Second Army has arrived.
Where the Third Army had three primary colors: black for the Wolf Tribe, white for the Order, and finally brown for their troops, the Second Army proudly wore the silver colors to honor their mighty leader. The Second kept its vehicles in peak condition; no bullet marks marred the tanks’ sides, and no scratches from explosions ruined the silvery color of their infantry.
Their armor and weapons came directly from the foundries of the Core Lands, not from the factories of the Outer Lands. Former raiders, their children, conscripted villagers, former refugees, and many New Breeds served in the Third, making uniformity an impossibility. The brave men and women of the Second came from the Core Lands, the Normies raised in the safety of the great bastions, now venturing out to bring stability and order to those who lacked it.
The discipline of the Second put the Third to shame. In this advance, there was no arrogance, just calm assurance that they could handle everything through the joint coordination of different divisions. What they lacked in experience, they made up for in dedication.
Three crawlers rolled into sight. The Perfection, the Ideal, and the Hare, formerly known as the Snake Lord. There were still some traces of the former heraldry, ghosts of snakes’ images stretching across the Hare’s immense bulk. It was adorned with new images of leaping animals from the Old World. Shield generators kept the banners on the crawlers clear by sweeping away every particle of dust. A feeder, an ancient mobile kitchen, trotted on large wheels in the shadow of its larger siblings, protected by enough weaponry to hollow out a mountain. This generated calories for a single person in the entire army.
At last, the Emerald Guard came into view—two thousand soldiers, veterans of the original Second, kept forever young and capable by Devourer’s personal coffins. They vowed to not die until they saw the Unification, and in their loyalty they followed first the Dynast and then Devourer into every hell, suffering, losing body parts, and rising again, reforged by the nation’s finest cybernetics.
Drones, a recent addition to the military, flew above them, mapping the area and carrying small-caliber energy weapons, ready to add their fury to any struggle that might befall their allies.
The Emerald Guard were normal humans who had undergone countless augmentations and preferred to hide their faces under helmets. Initially, they fashioned their armor in the shape of snakes and dubbed themselves the Serpents’ Heirs. However, following Devourer’s total metamorphosis, which resulted in the permanent loss of human features, they renamed themselves. The gold and emerald elements of their ornamentation blended seamlessly with the alloys of their armor, giving them the appearance of ferocious, wingless half-wyrms.
The elites’ numbers dwindled, but Janine had no idea where they were enlisting reinforcements to maintain the strict two-thousand-man limit. There were rumors that the Emerald Guard voluntarily provided their genetic material to clone factories, allowing them to reincarnate not only from metal, but also from flesh. While romantic, there couldn’t be much truth to such stories. If you could clone someone from scratch, why create Normies and not New Breeds?
Ravager spread her arms, welcoming the guests. Immediately, the Sword Saints emerged from the camp and stood to the left of the Blessed Mother, while Janine and the others stood to her right, leaving Anji and Kalaisa behind. Janine caught Bertruda’s glance but ignored it, only giving a single amiable nod to enforce an image of unity. Ignore the Ice Boys. Never again will Janine allow herself to be tangled in any mess involving them.
Captain Cristobo Bulwashnikov, a tall and broad man wearing a brown captain’s trench coat and a rebreather to withstand the harsh air of the surrounding lands, joined them. A small entourage of officers and bodyguards flanked the man as he stopped beside Ravager, saluting the incoming forces.
“Put on the helmet, Cristobo, before you burn your lungs,” Ravager hissed.
“It’s fine, commander,” the coal-skinned man responded. When the tip of Ravager’s claw left a tiny blood mark on his neck, he trembled. Janine barely saw the Blessed Mother’s movement; to the eyes of the Normies, she never moved an inch, still standing with her arms outstretched in greeting.
“You have cubs at home, idiot.” Ravager smirked, and the captain’s eyes widened. He raised a shaking hand and removed the rebreather. “Congratulation. You are now a New Breed. No poison can harm you. Ignore the voice; it’ll disappear in a couple of months.”
Ravager herself was strong enough for many soldiers to revere her as someone mystical and divine. To see her topple a mountain filled the hearts of the people with nothing less than pure awe. But there was one thing that struck fear in Janine. Power grafting. At the touch of her claw, Ravager could give a person a power once per week. Sometimes she could control this process and give it the exact power she wanted, but more often than not, it was a lottery. And sometimes, very rarely, it could trigger an involuntary change into a skinwalker.
“Greetings, comrades!” Ravager roared to the Second; the corners of her mouth twitched and formed a warm smile. The recon vehicles stopped, and the soldiers shouted greetings back, sounding genuinely happy. “We thank you for your loyal support! With you here, the Third Army can finally march on again!”
“Greetings to you too, Commander Ravager.” A deep lush baritone boomed across the plains, heard by everyone, and finally Devourer showed himself from within the clouds, leaving the Iternians gasping in amazement.
A giant—longer than a crawler—slithered forward; his body could stretch to the sky, his immense weight carving new roads in the ground as Devourer moved to Ravager, circling around his forces. Once he was a man, born after the Extinction into a normal family. According to the official history, as a child, Devourer was exposed to the glow as a child, and his skin sloughed off and scales grew in its place. He was one of the first New Breeds to join the Reclamation Army, following Outsider and Ravager. Back then, he was just a rival to First and Alpha, with a similar build, a mouth full of fangs, and tough claws on his fingers. His ferocious nature and indiscriminate eating habits had earned him the name Devourer. Atop his bike, Devourer led his forces to victory like some barbarian.
Decades passed, and Devourer changed. His torso elongated, swallowing his limbs as he grew. And keep growing, becoming larger than most vehicles in the state, towering even above mountains. His jaws could stretch to an unimaginable size, swallowing sand reapers whole. The rattle at the end of its tail sounded like an artillery barrage, instilling fear in the enemy before his massive body crashed down, tearing wide holes in the opposing forces’ formations. His scales matched the toughest alloys of the Old World; his bright eyes spotted satellites in orbit; and the weave of his coils could put an entire brigade to sleep.
Above all, Devourer had become a match for Ravager. The two battled each other, ruining mountains and creating canyons. After winning the official match and tearing a gaping hole from the corner of Devourer’s mouth to his tail, the Blessed Mother succumbed to Devourer’s venom and fell into a coma that lasted for a week. The sheer stubbornness of the Second Army commander had earned him the respect of the Wolf Tribe. There was no scar on Devourer anymore, and this surprised Janine. The costs to remove such a scar must’ve been astronomical.
She heard the Normies argue Devourer was envious of Ravager. Foolishness, she told them. Commander Devourer was the uncrowned ruler of the Stormfiend, the greatest archeotech city in the Core Lands; he was the patron of many built towns and an idol to the growing generations, a person surrounded by brilliant minds; he himself was well spoken and an excellently self-educated star of the Reclamation Army.
What could such a person envy?
“Brave men and women of the Third, I greet you all,” Devourer said, raising to full height and swaying so his shadows wouldn’t cover the Third. “By your sacrifice, you have saved the population of an entire region! Bravo Ravager! Excellent work, my comrades! Glory to the Third!”
“Excellent work, comrades! Glory to the Third!” his army roared.
Several groups and even whole squads shouted and waved their own personal cheers to the individual members of the Third they had worked with before, and Janine returned the gesture, letting out a howl to the troops who had dragged her from under a wreck in the past. The scheming Iternians filmed it, but there was no way to remove them.
Devourer let the thundering shouts subside, then extended the tip of his tail to Ravager, allowing her paw to grasp it for a shake. His snake eyes flicked and singled out Janine, and a pleasant smile, reserved for more private occasions, touched his lips.
“Ah, Janine, it’s been thirty-eight years since I last saw you! You have become a warlord? Well earned, I say!”
“It warms my heart to see you in good health, Commander Devourer. My apologies for distracting you recently.” When she attempted to bow, the tip of his tail stopped her. It boggled her mind how something so gigantic could control the very edge of his body to be gentle.
“I will have none of this on this joyous day... Night? It’s hard to say in such a dreary place. Occasion it is, Warlord! Call me Devourer. You are most welcome to message me at any time of the day. Your sisters, you, and the fabled sword saints...” He nodded amiably to the Ice Fangs, “...have richly deserved such a privilege. How are the children? All well, I trust?”
“Just fine, thank you.” Janine forced a smile, hoping that Devourer would finally look away.
She felt herself drowning in his eyes, as if something was about to rip out her soul and suck it into those huge pools. Once, Janine worked with Devourer to take down an irrecoverable Apocalypse class. Against all rules and commands, Devourer came upon the girl they had been ordered to kill and talked, trying to convince the cub to step down and get help. Upon hearing that she wasn’t needed by anyone, Devourer nodded. His tail dropped, and the apocalypse was averted.
“Superb, simply superb. Zero, Camelia, First, Alpha, Macarius!” His eyes shifted toward the group. “My dear friends, how I have missed you! We will speak at length later, but for now I must steal Ravager away for a while; we have matters of state to discuss. But pray, don’t think I’m leaving you high and dry, my friends. We have brought enough refreshments for everyone, including our unexpected Iternian friends. Today we celebrate our reunion!” Noticing Cristobo’s movement, the commander shifted his head and lowered himself to the ground. “And of course, everything mine is yours! Supplies, medicine, and personnel—we will help however we can. Please give orders to my troops as if they were yours, Captain Cristobo.”
“I thank you for the courtesy, your lordship.” The captain dropped to one knee, but the tail prompted him to stand up.
“Janine, with me,” Ravager growled, heading for the mountains on the west side. “Alpha, First.”
“Understood, Blessed Mother,” First said. He put a paw on the explorator’s shoulder. Courteously, but sternly, he accompanied the man to the feast while Alpha entertained the reporters, answering their questions in a mumbling voice.
The warlord followed her leader, shocked at the sudden call. Previously, Cristobo, First, or Alpha would accompany Ravager during negotiations between the commanders. For what possible reason could the Blessed Mother need her?
