Blood. Chochmingwu lowered herself on her knees, allowing the steel to come off from her fingers, exposing her tanned, disgusting flesh to the burning sun. Her fingers ran over the bloodstains, noticing that the blood had already clotted but had not yet dried out in the sun. Good. She was getting closer.

Standing up, the former bento let the metal cover her completely and marched on, grateful to the Sun God that her legs were still made of steel. Chochmingwu despised the flesh that the reclaimers had pushed on her. A need to cover herself from the sun. A need to feed yourself. A need to take care of bodily urges, cut hair, brush your teeth… The woman once woke up feeling cold sweat all over her body. It turns out she got sick after catching some virus and had to spend several days in bed, enjoying a headache and an inflated nasopharynx. Geldi helped her with medicine, but Chochmingwu shuddered out of this insanity. She did not know how a fleshbag could put up with this and still find time to live.

Oh, how she longed to become one with steel once more. To hear nothing with your biological ears, to feel no pain or uncertainty, to float in a pond of nutrient solution, directing the perfect instrument that was the cybernetic body around. The woman even begged Till Ingo for this clarity, only to hear that she should treasure her new experience. Wohali’s words, only formed differently. Both understood nothing.

Disgusting as her existence was, Chochmingwu had a job right now. The lenses of her helmet picked up the footprints, her weak and frail ears caught the sound of fighting. Soon enough, she saw them: two black figures, rolling on the stone ground next to a small hill, splashing blood all over them.

The two were cubs, barely old enough to join their first hunts. One girl was bigger than the other, her fur coat looked like a black, starless night, seemingly devouring light around herself. The girl moved with the ease of a trained killer, making no mistakes in her advance on the foe. The moment the two girls brawled together, the larger girl kicked the smaller one in the belly, leaving deep cuts on the other girl’s abdomen, and following after her with a bloodlust shining brightly in her amber eyes. A single cut decorated her shoulder, along with a shallow bite mark on her right side.

The other girl rolled across the ground, a smaller ball of brown fur coat with black stripes across her body. With fear in her eyes, the girl arrested her movement, jumping back on the feet. Her entire body was covered by slashes and cuts, the nose was split in two by a cruel slash, pieces of flesh dangled from fleshy strings on her shoulders. The girl’s right shoulder was bleeding, the jaws of her opponent tore a huge chunk of flesh out of her arm, leaving a bloody patch on her body. The girl’s posture betrayed her sheer horror at the sight of an advancing growling opponent, but she positioned herself behind a stone pillar, using the stone pillar as a way to separate both opponents.

Nagaina refused to play by her rules. Her first punch tore a hole in the stone, sending rubble into the other girl’s eyes. Uncaring about any damage she could cause to her foe, Nagaina growled, leaping over the stone. To the other cub’s honor, the girl had managed to block the first slash before the other claw closed on her eye.

“Enough!” Chochmingwu spoke through a text-to-speech device, her lips moving in an attempt to speak the words.

The cyborg’s elbow crashed into Nagaina’s temple, sending the larger cub into the stone wall. At first, Chochmingwu was afraid of using physical violence to break the cubs’ fights. No more, she has learned in the past few months just how sturdy these little rascals are. Nagaina’s body left a small crack in the stone, but the moment the girl landed on all fours, her eyes were clear and focused on finding the weak spots to attack. In a moment, the girl relaxed herself, accepting the cyborg’s superiority.

Chochmingwu found herself being a sort of a nanny in the tribe, with Aranea’s permission. She half expected to be kicked out when Earless One brought her before the shaman council and the cyborg boldly announced her intention of studying wolfkins’ biology. To her surprise, all the women reacted with indifference, basically telling her that if she wants to learn about them, she is free to do so.

At first, the cyborg enrolled to help Geldi, it was only a natural choice. She wants to learn more about the mutants’ biology, she works for one of their doctors. Chochmingwu has soon noticed that most wolfkins naturally have an aversion to ever visiting a physician. Disappointed but undeterred, the woman joined the mortuary group and became busy cleaning the deceased wolfkins before sending them to their final destination. And occasionally performing autopsies along with vivisections on some bodies.

It was there that she came to realize just how fucked the tribe was. Dead cubs came quite often, some choked each other to death, some tore each other’s necks, and some were killed on hunts, but the last cases were extremely rare, the adults always kept their circus in check. And stillborn, of course. So many cubs were dead at the moment of leaving the womb or before. Had this happened back during the height of the Bento tribe, a national emergency would have been declared and the elders would have been overthrown.

Chochmingwu was disgusted by what she saw, so she went against Wohali’s plan to stay out of natural selection. Instead, she joined the pits to help, breaking up fights and treating the little ones’ wounds. At first, she tried to use words, trying to stop fighting gently… In a few days, Chochmingwu fully embraced Aranea’s way of handling the misbehaving cubs roughly. Mutants or not, she won’t let kids die in vain.

“My prey!” Nagaina yapped, her head low, her eyes locked on the other girl’s neck. “Tanithe wanted to dominate Jacen. Her neck is mine to gnaw upon!”

“As if you could!” The other girl stuttered the moment the steel elbow came on her head, knocking her into the dust at Nagaina’s cheerful laughter.

“I don’t care who did what!” Chochmingwu snapped, picking up Tanithe and seating her on the stone. The girl was bleeding badly, Nagaina tore through several arteries. “I will not allow any deaths among the children in my care! Or among any kids in general, you heard this Nagaina?”

“No one is going to miss this worthless…”

“I asked you a question, Nagaina!”

“Yes.” The larger girl unhappily agreed, sitting down and looking hungrily at the younger girl.

Working on the wounds, Chochmingwu caught herself thinking that Nagaina was worrying her more and more. Sure, her ‘court’, as Nagaina called her friends, tried not to dominate the other cubs needlessly, just once to beat them into submission. And they were also nice to the troubled kids, like Jacen and Hubert. The problem lay with their ‘queen’. Nagaina was wild and never showed any restraint whatsoever. Nagaina enjoyed seeing others broken, she would often push the head of her opponent deep into the stone floor, almost popping the poor foe. Female or male, Nagaina never cared, her each attack and bite sought to leave a broken or maimed body in its wake. It was a pure miracle that Nagaina did not kill anyone yet, but she had already caused three broken necks and one damaged spine. After Aranea’s strict talk with the girl, Nagaina slightly toned down the violence… Until today.

Chochmingwu did her best to stop the bleeding, thanking the Sun God for the wolfkins’ physiology. A normal kid would have been long dead by now. She cleaned the wounds and bandaged them before taking the struggling Tanithe into her arms, ignoring the sharp claws that girl had released.

“I am not useless!” The girl tried to push her away and break free, earning another Nagaina’s laugh when the claws only managed to pierce Chochmingwu’s poncho and leave a few scratch marks on the steel armor.

“Motherless weakling.” Nagaina giggled, licking off blood from her claws. Her fun lasted not long, the cyborg dragged her closer and put medical patches over her wound, ignoring the angry howling of the older girl.

“Stop acting like an animal!” Chochmingwu pulled Nagaina by the ear, leading her after herself.

Wolfkins were amazing, this much Chochmingwu was willing to concede. Their metabolism, rapid healing, ability to grow stronger, and early sentience resulted in remarkable biological machines. Had Wohali been still alive, what wonders could he have achieved by grafting wolfkin DNA onto human DNA? What miracles could he create?

At the same time, wolfkins were stubborn, shortsighted, and utterly ungrateful for the gifts that nature dished out to them. Chochmingwu only shook her head at Nagaina’s constant teasing and Tanithe’s whining answers. A desire to dominate was in their very blood. If only she could find a way to expunge it from them… But Chochmingwu wasn’t Wohali. She’ll just have to be content filling her own books with research and observation about wolfkins and the workings of their bodies.

To her surprise, Chochmingwu heard loud stomping steps, and both girls fell silent. Nagaina sniffed the air, briefly whispering to Tanithe, whose nose was ruined, to submit, and like trained soldiers, both girls bared their necks before Earless One’s figure even appeared from behind a sand dune. The shaman still had her mechanical ears, cared for and maintained by Chochmingwu, a mismatched rag made of several stitched together jackets covered her body like a cloak. Next to her walked a woman in a black leather coat, her hair tied up in a knot, her left arm and leg replaced by elegant-looking augments.

“What the freaking hell?” The woman in the leather coat darted toward the cyborg.

“This is Anissa,” Earless One responded to Chochmingwu’s silent look. “A state’s medic. Came to visit Geldi, but she is not here…”

“It doesn’t matter, you overgrown dog!” The medic snapped angrily, almost tearing away the wounded girl from the cyborg. Her free hand pressed to the girl’s neck, and the small body shuddered.

Tanithe gasped, her ribs protruded and started pushing against the skin. Feeling worried, Chochmingwu reached out to the girl, allowing the metal gauntlet to slide from her hand. Beneath the fur, Tanithe’s skin moved like a living ocean, one of the smaller cuts simply disappeared, leaving not even a scar behind, when the wounds’ edges closed together. Anissa held the panicked girl steady, not allowing her to break free until the changes ended.

“Now then,” The medic grumbled, seating the girl on the ground, grabbing Nagaina, repeating the process. With curiosity, Chochmingwu saw how the bruises and swellings on Nagaina’s body disappeared, although the older girl didn’t lose that much of her weight. “Explain the fuck is going on here and why are you wounded? And who are you, anyway?”

“The stupid one is Nagaina, the weaker one is Tanithe.” Earless One pointed out.

“I tried to dominate Jacen…” Tanithe frowned, trying to tear off the bandages. Chochmingwu allowed blades to come from her fingers and cut them off, seeing the pristine and fixed nose and no trace of cruelly lacerated wounds beneath. Even the bite mark was gone, covered by the brand-new fur. Most curious was the fact that her older scars were still present.

Abnormal with power. The cyborg understood, keeping a note of how the woman’s power worked.

“Who?” The soultaker frowned.

“Roggo’s son.” The shaman tried to clarify.

“No idea who it is.”

“The store’s owner’s son. A harmless and very nice boy, unlike these two troublemakers,” Chochmingwu extended her hand for a handshake. “Chochmingwu, a traitor from the Bento tribe. Sorta work like a medic here.”

“Anissa, a fellow traitor. From the Soultakers tribe,” The woman shook her hand. “Your work is not half bad, even if it is wasted on these self-destructive lunatics.”

“I totally kicked Tanithe’s ass and ran her out of the village,” Nagaina beamed. “Wanted to tear off her throat too…”

“That’s bad. Hurting others is a big no-no.” Chochmingwu chastised her.

“Sure. This is why you hit me.” Nagaina mumbled, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, why the abyss do you care?” Tanithe yawned. “He is just a male… Aiii!”

Anissa lifted the girl by the ear with her right hand, lifting the jerking body into the air, locking eyes with the angry-looking girl. The shaman made no attempt to stop the disciplinary action, only frowned when Tanithe raised a paw to strike at the woman. Sensing the marking, the girl wisely stopped her attack.

“You like being hung up like this?” Tanithe shook her head negatively, and Anissa seated her over the shoulder, taking Nagaina by the paw. “The boy also did not like the pain. Hell, no one enjoys being beaten up, trust me on this one. So, guess what we’ll do?”

“What?” Both girls asked in unison.

“We go now, and you’ll apologize to this Jacen. Then you’ll apologize for hurting Tanithe, Nagaina.”

“Why in the abyss would I do that?” Nagaina snorted furiously, “She is nothing more than a motherless cur! Her father was a weakling who died in the war, and her mother failed to endure a birth! Useless, useless, useless!”

The look of sheer hate that Tanithe threw at Nagaina promised every imaginable torture on the planet. The bigger wolfkin simply smiled, beckoning the other girl with a claw.

“Because if you do this, I’ll buy you a chocolate bar, one for each. And some soda.”

“Yew, stinky stuff,” Nagaina frowned her nose. “I once tried it and ended up belching afterwards.”

“Then I’ll buy you an orange juice,” Anissa smiled at the girl’s words. “If you two promise not to fight anymore and try to play a little.”

“She nearly killed me!”

“She is a motherless cur!”

“What, are you not up to the challenge?” Chochmingwu caught on to the game and teased both girls.

A look of confusion came over Nagaina’s face. She sucked on her own claw, her eyes became serious for a moment. Chochmingwu heard how the mighty chompers were hammering at the claw in Nagaina’s mouth for a while.

“You’re playing me,” Nagaina took out the claw, pointing at the cyborg with the accusation, “I am not dumb. But I am unafraid of any challenge! I am Nagaina, the greatest ever wolfkin to grace this planet with her steps! I’ll be greater than Olesya, stronger than Aranea, and I will be bigger than Alpha! I am a queen, and a queen can do all!” The edges of Nagaina’s lips moved all the way to the ears, forming a nervous smile, her eyes spread wide and the large cub looked up. “Tanithe. I am sorry for calling you motherless and attacking you. My mom also doesn’t give a shit about me, and my dad is in the ground. How about we start from scratch?” Nagaina’s face changed from the strained and sweet smile into an ugly leer. Her lips moved up, showing fangs. “But touch Jacen again, and I’ll eat your guts. So… What it’ll be? Friends or devouring?”

“I… submit,” The other girl showed her neck. “But I don’t have anything. There’s no gain in being friends with me.”

“Eh, I also have nothing. We can bond over it,” Nagaina let Anissa lead herself. “You’re a member of my court now. Behave, and all is forgiven.”

“You are not going to go back with them?” Chochmingwu asked the shaman, looking into Anissa’s back and wondering if she could trust her with the cubs.

“No need. There are eyes aplenty around the village, and the late Hine named Anissa a blood sister,” Earless One put her paws behind her back, looking in the distance. “You might want to leave. The problems are coming.”

Problems? Chochmingwu turned her head to the desert and saw dust on the horizon. Soon enough, three cars broke out of the cloud, racing toward them. Two were the simple armored vehicles, their mighty tracks made new roads for their advance across uneven terrain. The armored plates of the armored carriers were painted white, a symbol of a flaming blade proudly decorated their left sides. The last car looked unusual. If the two other vehicles were blunt instruments, this car was a breathtaking marvel. A gravity engine hovered the car in the air, a small shield bubble around it prevented any sand or rock from hitting the car’s smooth curves or destroying the intricate golden tapestry of lines that ran across the pristine white metal. On the car’s roof, the lines intertwine, changing color and forming an eye, looking at the fierce storm. Soundlessly, the car stopped ten steps away from the shaman, immediately flanked by its brutish companions.

The backs of armored vehicles opened, unleashing two dozen figures in power armors. Clad in their armors, the soldiers looked like perfect copies: the same size, the same measured steps that carried them with utmost elegance to form a square around the car, the same blue lenses of their helmets, the same shields and swords mag locked to the backs of their armors. Edges of their heavy white cloaks licked the ground, the impressive-looking armor-piercing rifles in their hands had the safety switch on, hinting at a desire to make a show but not cause intimidation. One dozen of these strange newcomers had their power armors colored in deep blue, with the same symbol as the one on top of the car looking from their chest. The other dozen were colored bright crimson, with the flaming sword symbol resting on the left side of their bodies.

With curiosity, Chochmingwu analyzed the armors of these strange new guests. They looked like sister models to the power armors of the Wolf Tribe, the joints were slightly in different places, there were no openings for claws or fangs, at least not anywhere the cyborg could see. Their rich colors seemed outlandish and stupid in this barren wasteland. The handles of their rifles rested on their left palms, the barrels leaned on their left pauldrons. As one, the soldiers pressed their hands to their hearts, and the side of the elegant car slid up, releasing the passengers.

The first being who jumped out was a creature of horrors. Four legs ended in hooves, a huge mane decorated the neck that held a protruding forward head the size of a cub. Instead of jaws, the creature had a beak, its beady eyes looked left and right nervously before calming. A snake-like tongue came from within the beak, licking off the furless body like a cat.

A white-furred wolfkin stepped next, dressed in a light summer dress, street sneakers, and a straw hat on her head. When the crimson-eyed woman saw the shaman, she waved at her and got a grunt back.

“Earless One!” The woman raced toward the shaman, grabbing her paw without hesitation. The creature followed her like a loyal watchdog, its size matching the shaman’s. “It’s been too long!”

“True enough, and I would’ve liked you to stay in the safety of the core lands, Ulrica,” Earless One leaned forth, rubbing a welcoming scent on the woman’s lean neck. “Your creature still lives and grows, I see. Is it docile?”

“Oh, Rexy is biologically immortal,” Ulrica pressed a paw to her lips, and Chochmingwu saw a pitch-black necklace around her neck. “Doctors say he’ll survive us all! And naturally, he is the gentlest of souls.”

“Keep it away from cubs then. They’ll want to wrestle with it, and one of them will bite his head off.”

“Greetings,” Chochmingwu allowed her helmet to slide off her head, the faceplate slid into the breastplate, the back and top moved behind her back. “Chochmingwu of the Bento tribe. I am sorta helping people here.” She extended her hand, and the woman eagerly shook it. The woman’s fingers were small and gentle, so unlike the hardy fingers of the Wolf Tribe.

“Ulrica Voidrunner, at your service, lady. I came here to meet with Ultis and Annie.”

“And the rest?” The shaman asked.

“And the rest can speak for themselves.” Came an arrogant voice, and three more figures stepped outside of the car.

The speaker was a tall wolfkin dressed in a crimson business suit, a brooch in the form of a burning blade pierced his collar. A corner of a white handkerchief showed from a pocket on his chest, the dust immediately covered the expensive-looking shoes, taking away their gleaming darkness. Two crimson eyes, each shining just as brightly as the shaman’s, were locked at Earless One’s face, a hint of royal gold flowed amidst his white sclera. Chochmingwu’s nostrils caught a whiff of pleasant perfume as the man came closer. His short hair was littered with gold and folded on one side with perfect precision. And most of all, he was huge, only a jaw lower than a shaman.

Behind him came a sturdy-looking wolfkin in a blue business suit, leading a malformed woman, dressed in a blue summer dress that left her spine open, by the hand. The moment his eyes found the cyborg, he and his companion smiled with warm smiles.

“Nofre Wintersong and Hilda Wintersong are at your service, lady Chochmingwu, my dear Earless One,” The sturdy wolfkin made a theatrical bow. “Pardon our sudden intrusion, but we simply had to see how business is going under Roggo’s management.”

“Booming, although for the life of me I don’t understand what you are getting out of this. Greetings, thank you, and welcome,” The shaman left the markings on both people, turning to Ulrica, “By my calculation, your clans are losing tokens in this deal. You can’t just take an item that costs thirty tokens and sell it for one and claim profit out of it.”

“That’s because you are keeping your head to the ground and have no idea how the state’s business works at large,” The wolfkin in crimson interjected, reaching out to take Chochmingwu by the hand. With a graceful movement, he lowered himself on one knee, kissing the fingertips. “I am Soros Sunblade, of the honorable…”

“Be silent, male, can’t you see the females are talking?” Earless One bared her fangs.

“Actually, in our lands, males and females are equal.” Ulrica said quickly. “The knight captain is in charge of this mission, Earless One.”

“You allow your males to take charge?” The shaman shook her head. “Barbarians.”

“Barbarians?” In a single fluid motion, Soros rose from the ground, looking up into the shaman’s eyes. “You dare to utter such profanity? I am not the one who is meeting guests dressed in rags.”

“Indeed, male. You came in the desert in a business suit,” Earless One’s finger touched Soros’ shoulder, knocking off some dust and making his guard visibly annoyed. “Which shows a lack of basic research. Not only are you a barbarian, but you are also stupid.”

“Apologize for your words,” The man’s eyes narrowed, his voice still even and pleasant sounding. “Or I will open cheap stores in each of your villages just to spite you, shaman Earless One.”

“Go ahead, this will prove that you are a shit businessman.”

“Kin or no, keep this up, and I will send you to sleep for insulting my honor!” The man’s gloved paws twitched.

“Knew that you would try to cheat on Csonka at the first opportunity,” The shaman never broke eye contact, somehow managing to sound both threatening and bored at the same time. “All ice fangs are the same.”

“I made no implication of any copulation with you, desert dweller!” Soros took a breath, calming himself. “And for your knowledge, lady Csonka, and yes, she is a lady for the likes of you, and you will address her as such, ignorant savage. Where was I? Ah, my precious lady hasn’t made her decision about allowing me to become her soulmate…”

“Is this a subtle proposition?” Earless One laughed, seeing the newborn fury in Soros’ eyes. “Fine, fine. Tell Csonka that she is free to choose whoever she wants to. I’ll settle things with Alpha. Change is part of life, after all. Is this all? If so, begone off from our lands, cousin. Your stench is not welcome here, Soros.”

“This is not for you to decide, Earless One,” The man hissed into her face, “Call lady Aranea Wintersong. At once!”

“Now, now, Soros, let us not start something that we all…” The other wolfkin spoke nervously.

“Be calm, sweetest Nofre, the Sunblade Household acts in the best interests of your house,” Soros bowed to the man, immediately turning back to the shaman, pointing a finger at her. “I know that my honorable kin is here. You took in a gentle and scared girl, abused her, beat her, tried to turn her into a savage, and now you’ve named her a warlord in a gesture of cruel mockery! For too long, the Ice Fang order has let this mockery continue. No more! I, Soros Sunblade, will do what should have been done from the start! Release my poor kin, or we will search through this village and liberate her ourselves!”

“Twenty-four soldiers and one peacock,” Earless One leaned forward. “You are truly an idiot to make threats to us with such numbers. And none mocks warlord Aranea. We took her in because your kin had made her mother ascend, your kin had killed her father and tried to kill her.”

“How dare you,” Soros pulled a glove off his paw. “I see words are wasted on you. I challenge you, shaman.”

With these words, he slapped Earless One across the face, moving so fast that Chochmingwu failed to see anything but a blur. The shaman did not try to guard herself, a loud slap across her face caused her no discomfort. Saying nothing, she reached out to Chochmingwu and tore off a metal gauntlet off her hand, slamming Soros back in the same way he hit her, sending his head into a spin and drawing blood.

The male kept his footing, raising an arm to stop the knights. Licking off blood from his lips, he met Earless One’s gaze.

The challenge is thrown, the challenge is taken. 

****

Earless One rushed into the stone hill, piercing the slope with her paws, and climbed up. Soros followed her, hands behind his back, using only the fingers on his legs to climb up, jumping nimbly from falling stone to falling stone in the ravine that appeared in the wake of the stubborn fool’s advance.

So many wasteful movements. The knight captain looked with disapproval at the larger form above him, never once losing sight of the falling stones. The wolfkins were perfection given form, and instead of honing this fact, the Wolf Tribe chose to pursue a singular path of maximum aggression. Dearest Csonka and her people were exceptions, of course, but when hard pressed in the training halls, even she unleashed her inner beast, becoming unmatched in her cruel beauty of maximum violence.

He jumped atop the hill after the shaman, keeping the same three-step distance between them from the start of their run. It wasn’t required, but one had to entertain himself somehow when dealing with an uneducated brute. A tired sigh left his lips when Earless One leaped off the hill, charging forward to this supposed “duel spot”. This whole climb was meaningless.

He followed her, running across the overheated sands and stones, looking around for anything of note. Not a thing. Scorched lands, filled with dunes as far as the eye could see. Nothing to feel proud for, nothing to live for. Small wonder his kin became self-indulgent in violence, this place was driving him to boredom just by existing!

“We are here.” The shaman finally said, stopping in a circle made of nine stone blocks.

“This? We travel over ten miles for this?!” Soros looked around with disbelief. He expected anything at this point—an ambush, a knife to the side—anything from this boredom! “This place looks and smells exactly the same as everything else in this scorched wasteland!”

His disgust almost caused him to reach for the sword strapped to his back. Back in the order, a duel was an honorable thing, held only within the gilded halls under the supervision of a sage. Both sides were cheered on by their respective units, medics were nearby to ensure the safety of everyone involved. There was glory to be had in these battles! Here… What they possibly have achieved here, facing each other in the middle of nowhere with no one to see their skills and dedication?

“Barbarian.” Earless One thrown, taking off the rag that served her as clothes and leaving herself fully naked, except for the impressive fur coat. Slowly, she cracked each of her fingers, including ones on her legs.

“Maybe so, but this title is fitting this time,” Soros took four fingers from his left paw and brought them all the way back to his left wrist before doing the same with his left thumb. He repeated the process with the other paw. “Because I will be the one to introduce your snout to the ground, Earless One. Worry not, I bring you back in one piece, nothing will threaten your dignity, oh foolish foe.”

Before leaving for the duel, Soros changed his outfit to a pitch-black tracksuit that left his paws and feet open. One knight had offered to give him her power armor, but the knight captain refused this generous offer, taking only his two-handed sword.

Generally speaking, his excellency First always advises all knight captains against challenging any shamans. These women were strong beyond all measure, but not unmanageable. Forcing a ranged fight on them could earn a victory, but at the cost of a kin’s life. And both groups had agreed on one thing: no more ending each other. Sages were meant to respond to a challenge should any shaman be foolish enough to encroach on the Ice Fang order’s honor. And to be fair, no shaman ever broke the peace between two sides.

But he is Soros Sunblade! Great-grandson of First, the only one of his countless offspring whose sclera had a royal golden color hidden among the white. A ghost of divinity nestled in his very bones, in his very soul. On this day, he will educate this ingrate about the privilege that has been beholden to her. The privilege of seeing him in action.

“Talk is cheap, pipsqueak.” Earless One threw a punch with her left paw.

Soros met her punch with his own right paw, never once trying to match her with force. His fist slid beneath hers, the fingers spread and grabbed the foolish woman by the wrist, jerking her forward just as his right leg knocked Earless One’s left leg off the ground.

The shaman lost her balance and started falling to the ground. Like a halberd, her right leg rose in the air, aiming for his snout. Soros’s eyes saw everything, to him, the difference in their speeds was negligible. After all, a human in general is weaker than an insectoid, yet a skilled hunter is never in danger of one. And so he met her leg with his own left palm, dissipating the mighty kick, and grabbed her by the ankle. He tried to throw the stubborn woman away when his own foothold was robbed of him.

Earless One grabbed him by the knee, using the momentum that he had tried to give her to jerk him off his feet. Both of them fell on the ground, but the shaman landed first, recovering herself just in time to mount him and bring down all the fury of her tribe upon his forearms.

This is what lady Aranea had to suffer through. Soros clenched his fangs, feeling the stone behind him crack, enduring the brutal pummeling. No elegance, no clear follow-up plan—just punch, punch, and punch again, beating him deeper and deeper into the ground, causing him to bounce off the stone again and again.

This situation enraged him. Not because of the pain, no. Soros killed thousands in his life and lived through worse indignities. As a child, he had his fangs beaten down into his throat by his sister in a sparring match that went wrong. He once lost an arm during an ambush. Csonka introduced him to a whole new spectrum of pain, landing a clear kick at his crotch, even causing a female instructor to give up a pitiful groan.

No, his cold arrogance changed to fury at the thought of young Aranea being subjected to this. He saw blood on the lady cyborg, he knew that this blood most likely belonged to one of the cubs, a poor soul with no proper guidance to numb the worst impulses. First should have made the Wolf Tribe bend a knee to the order long ago for their own sake, or at least come directly for his kin.

What a sword saint says must come true, or a sword saint will have to step down. This led to sword saints always choosing their wording carefully. And lady Camelia Wintersong had promised a safe life to Aranea. The broken promise might lead to her stepping down once Aranea’s survival becomes fully known to the entire order. For the Wintersong family and for the order, Soros will bring Aranea back, safe and sound.

His blood boiling, Soros felt swelling appear on his forearms and knew that he could no longer continue being on the defensive. The shaman almost made a hole with his body, leaving him with less and less room for maneuver. At the same time, her brutish nature made her predictable. Catching a rhythm behind the assault, Soros saw the change in her posture, saw that punch with the right that was supposed to knock him out, and moved forth, grabbing the woman by the ears and landing a bone-crushing headbutt into her snout.

Her punch has slithered across his left ear, nearly tearing the skin, and gotten buried in the stone all the way to the elbow, causing a new crack to appear on the ground. Soros heard a crunching sound of bones breaking under his own attack, the hold on his waist loosen just for a moment, but it was enough for him to throw her off herself and hit the shaman with an elbow straight into her neck. Impossibly, the woman followed up with a slash, tearing off pieces of stone and narrowly lacerating his face with scars. Soros had to jump away, spinning in the air, to avoid the gruesome fate.

Landing on both feet, he touched his head. A new road appeared among his hair, a swath of hair and fur was gone, left on Earless One’s claw. The woman stood up as well, unleashing the claws for the first time.

“This hairstyle cost five thousand tokens each month to grow and maintain this beautiful mix between white and golden.”

“I am afraid I don’t have the tokens to recompense,” The shaman chuckled, hunching low. “Take out your sword and make me pay with my life, kin Soros.”

“Worry not, kin, these are just tokens,” He let the knives slide from underneath, four into each paw, held between fingers. Ice fangs had weaker claws and fangs, true. For this reason, they improvise. “And you hadn’t yet earned a kiss of my Bless. I will extract payment with lesser tools.”

They came at each other, knives against claws. And Soros found himself hard-pressed anew. Weaving a net of slices and cuts with the knives, he had planned to chip away at his opponent’s claws before breaking them outright and going for her throat. To his astonishment, Earless One held up against his advance just fine. He heard the rumors, of course, of the unnaturally tough claws of their kin, but he had always dismissed this as an exaggeration. He was wielding military-grade weapons for new breeds, these knives can open a tank’s armor with ease… And they failed to cripple his foe.

Earless One pressed on her advantage, sensing his confusion. Soros snapped from his thoughts going on the offensive as her head leaned closer, jaws snapping to take away his ear. Before he realized what he was doing, one of his knives had already moved to her neck, a deadly attack that was blocked by a raised claw, sending the knife across her jawline. The metal scratched against the bone and fangs with an ugly sound, giving the shaman another fierce leer.

Sensing pain, Soros saw a claw of her left paw sticking into his abdomen. Earless One held back the attack, it only went finger-deep at best, but the knight captain still felt tearing pain when he jumped back, gaining the distance between the two fighters. Letting his weapons fall, he pressed his left palm against the wound, feeling hot blood between his fingers.

“A proper choice, distant kin,” Earless One licked off the blood. “Tell me, what are you feeling?”

“This jolt of pain, mixed with adrenaline, that speared my mind… I like it, lady Earless One,” Soros admitted with a smile, straightening his shoulders. This was so unlike a regular battlefield or the honored halls. They were alone, unbound by any rules… Csonka tried to teach him, but the difference in might between them was far too great for him to understand fully. “I sense no animosity behind any of your attacks, but rather the rage of combat and dedication to your craft. You are honoring me in your own way, lady.”

“You aren’t completely lost, kin Soros,” The shaman responded with approval. “It may seem that I have been wrong about your scent not belonging with us. Blood is not water after all. Come at me with all your soul, with an intention to kill, and I’ll respond in kind. Abandon all these silly notions of self-restraint, and I will guide you across the road of fury and self-understanding. Or give up now and be welcome in our home. The choice is yours, my distant brother.”

Soros accepted the challenge, of course. What knight would spit in the face of such an honest being by retreating? But he would win on his own terms. Shaking his left shoulder, the knight captain has turned off the maglocks that held his Bless within the sheath. Like a bullet, the sword shot out, only to be caught by his paw. Lifting the weapon high, he allowed the illuminating energies hidden behind the steel alloy to cast new light on this day.

Saluting his opponent, Soros allowed the blade to rest at his left wrist, pointing the tip at Earless One’s face. This time he was the first to lead the charge, making a straight thrust and wielding his weapon like a spear. Just like he predicted, Earless One had darted to the left, and the knight captain has gripped Bless’ handle with both paws, bringing the full blade on her shoulder. No doubt the shaman expected no mercy from him, but he would show restraint, slowing the blade once it cut the skin. The Ice Fang order and Wolf Tribe. Two philosophies faced off on equal footing. Both honoring each other in their own way. This was Soros’ way of combat.

It was a perfect strike, one that would end this fight. Bless shone brightly, spilling out the light that was meant to blind the foe better than any flashbang could. And Soros’ eyes could withstand it. He should have won.

Only his foe was nowhere close anymore, her leap had carried her far further than Soros had anticipated, and now her claws aimed for his back. Spinning around, the knight captain met the assault with his blade, finding himself retreating step after step under the fierce, never-ending assault of countless claws that tried to sneak past his steady defense.

She held back on me too! Soros smiled, retreating in a circle. The shaman now moved in bursts, all semblance of order or predictability had gone from her movements. A sudden kick here, a blindingly fast swipe there—each attack is aimed to either blind, maim, or outright kill him. It was almost as if he was facing off against a feral beast…

Until Soros noticed that the small hole that Earless One had made with his body was now located almost behind him. This façade of animalistic fury was nothing but a feint, her every move was controlled by restrained intelligence guiding the deadly attacks. Soros evaded the hole and found his back pressed against the stone. The moment he dodged to the left, Earless One kicked off the stone’s foundation, sending the car-sized chunk into him. The knight captain cleaved through the stone and almost had his ear taken off by the shaman’s advance.

They fought for minutes. Then for an hour. Even so, both held. The sun had gone to sleep behind the horizon eight hours ago, leaving two warriors fighting in the light of Bless’ light and sparks from times when claws ran against the steel surface of Soros’ blade. They fought and fought, Soros had stopped weaving exquisite patterns in the air and went on the defensive, hoping to outlast his opponent. His arms felt heavy, the wound had somewhat healed, but the bloodstain marked his entire lower half. New lacerated cuts appeared on his arms, a lethal gift from Earless One for making mistakes in their dance of steel and bone.

Soros had no fear of dying. He was the one initiating the challenge, this way, there should be no trouble between the two groups or any problem for Earless One. Before leaving, he appointed new people to replace him in his executive position, and the order no doubt had officers aplenty. First will keep Csonka safe and away from this… madness. No, the knight captain had a goal—an attempt to save his kin—and he refused to back down.

Besides, he was enjoying it. All his life, he was sandbagging when it came to fighting. Martial arts, fire discipline—everything came too easily for him. As a child, he could shoot a target a few kilometers away from a pistol with no training. His keen mind allowed him to predict most of the foes and stay on top of his group. In time, it bored him, and he started losing on purpose. Being perfect is a lonely fate, and Soros refused to be alone. He helped others reach his level, trying to inspire them with words. Soon enough, he found a new passion in making money for the order and abandoned the training all together. There could only be one sword saint in the house, and there was no way for Soros to out-duel his great-grandfather.

But now… Now he wanted to defeat this foe. Not out of malice or envy, no. He knew he could reach her level. And this inspired him. Yes, he could never be at First level, but he could be so much better, he could match against so many interesting opponents! Why had I never thought of this before? Thank you, lady, for reigniting my passion. Now lose, so we may spar again later. He made a slice across her chest, surprised to see that it cut.

His training being true, Soros stopped the blade before it could go any deeper than her left breast. Earless One lifted a finger to her lips, and Soros listened. A boom sounded somewhere on the horizon. Followed by a violent tremor that sent their small battlefield trembling. A blinding flash in the distance appeared to be the work of an artillery unit. Something flew past the knight captain so fast that he never saw it and crashed into the stone hill behind him. And finally, a new sound came. A sound of artillery rounds screaming through the air.

The shaman tossed him aside, and a black body came crashing into the center of the arena, creating a whole new crater in the ground. Soros saw how the figure stood—a towering pillar of might that made both him and Earless One look small. A helmet fell from the head, showing the wolfkin head with one crimson and one amber eye. Aranea!

Her power armor was damaged, the cape behind her was torn and ragged. Saying nothing, Aranea lifted two rail guns and fired at something in the sky. In the next moment, a pale shadow landed, bigger than even Aranea. The warlord fired once more, only for the beast before her to weave aside from the firing line and slam an elbow into Aranea’s chest. The beast who attacked Aranea had the furless, distorted body of a wolfkin, her jaws were spread wide, showing two rows of fangs within, its amber eyes shone like projectors.

Aranea rolled backward, losing one rail gun, and the beast was on her. Soros stood up to help, but the shaman grabbed him, not allowing him to make a step.

“Not your fight, kin. You asked for Aranea, and I brought you to her. Now wait. It won’t be long.” Earless One gasped.

The beast swung her oversized paw, and a blade slid from underneath Aranea’s vambrace, taking away the monster’s paw at a wrist. With an ear-piercing howl that flowed into giggling laughter, the beast advanced on Aranea, forcing a close fight between the two. Soros proudly noticed that Aranea did not give in to the panic and took attacks on her vambraces rather than try to aim her remaining rail gun in vain.

Both turned blurry to his eyes. Their violent attacks turned a nearby stone into shards, and the pieces almost froze in the air while two fighters kept on fighting. Aranea kept a cool head, trying to retreat and use her blade, as her foe gained distance, trying to cast the warlord against the ground and bring about the mighty jaws. Soros observed his kin carefully, noticing several unrefined movements. Aranea lacked the elegance of a sword saint, but her speed was on par, and the sheer ferocity with which the smaller wolfkin met the towering beast filled his heart with pride. If only she had stayed in the order!

Another blade slid from Aranea’s other vambrace, and with desperate movement, the warlord went on the offensive. Her blades hit an afterimage, and she herself had been sent cartwheeling backward by a mighty kick. The kick splattered her across the stone hill, and the next kick sent her through the entire hill, collapsing it in the process. The beast spread her arms behind herself, her posture started to resemble that of an arrow, and she darted, circling around the stone hill and catching Aranea’s body on the other side before the warlord could even fully leave the stone.

“No!” Soros shouted, seeing how the beast held Aranea with one paw, her missing paw growing before his very eyes.

Aranea’s broken lips said some words, silenced by the torrent of a falling stone. Whatever she said, it caused a thoughtful expression to come onto the horrible monster’s snout. She tilted her head to the side before unleashing a giggling laugh aimed at the skies above. With one smooth gesture, the beast pile driven the warlord into the ground and jumped away, disappearing into the night, moving too fast for Soros to even hope to see where she went.

“Still not strong enough. No matter, a day will come,” Came groaning from a newly made crater the size of a building. The groan was followed by a sniff. “Earless One? And…”

“Soros Sunblade, our distant brother from the order. The gallant boy has come to save you, warlord.” The shaman laughed.

A new explosion rocketed the ground as the warlord jumped from the crater, landing before the knight captain. Bless illuminated Aranea’s body, allowing Soros to see her in person. Surprisingly, her face was nearly clear of all scars, aside from one long scar. Numerous cuts and bruises healed before his very eyes, leaving no damage afterwards. A small stone shard was pulled on its own out of a wounded amber eye. The warlord’s armor hissed and spat on sparks, several power cords stuck out, one blade got broken. The warlord trembled and lowered herself on one knee, straining to stand because of torrents of blood coming from the cracks in her thick armor.

“Soros Sunblade…” Aranea spoke slowly, sniffing the air. “Now I know your smell. Leave and never return, insulter of my tribe.”

“I beg your pardon?” Soros dared to speak against. Aranea did not exactly give the same regal pressure that the sword saints emanated or the sheer rage of a proper warlord. But there was something in her—something that demanded obedience even from him. “Have we ever spoken?” What animosity do you have against me?"

“Don’t lie!” She snapped at him, spilling drool. “We spoke during the war! And you insult my tribe!”

“We…” Soros pressed a finger to his lips. A rage came upon him, a rage that made him shout into the night, causing Aranea to blink. “That elderly bastard! Just how many times did he use my name… Lady Aranea, I am deeply sorry for anything that you might have heard from this supposed ‘me’, but I assure you that I have never intended to insult your tribe or you in any way. In fact, I have brought the guitar that you ordered with us as a gift!”

“Oh great, she’ll fill the night with these sounds of the abyss again,” The shaman grumbled. “I was so happy when the last one broke.”

“Suppose I trust you,” Aranea said after a pause, managing to stand up. “In this case, I ask forgiveness for my words. I would like to know just what in the abyss’ name happened here, but this will have to wait. How is Keyl?”

“Knight captain Keyl Winterson is almost out of the hospital,” Soros responded quickly. “His wounds have almost healed, but the doctors intend to keep him for a week or two more, just to be safe. He asked to come with us, but…”

“It’s better if I visit him myself,” Aranea grinned. “Each time your kind visit our lands, it ends up with blood and injuries. Speaking of injuries, Olesya, how was your hunt?”

“I’ve got a leg!” A cheerful leg shouted from the skies, and a new, tall figure landed on the ground. This wolfkin was covered in cracked power armor, her visor was broken, showing the mangled and smiling face beneath. The lips on the left side were torn away, showing fangs beneath, one arm dangled like a rope, but in her other arm, the woman carried an oversized leg. “The bitch kicked my ass again and let me live, but I still got her leg. You?”

“Just a paw this time.”

“Great! I made a promise, now let’s commit to it!” Olesya threw the leg before herself, and Aranea joined her, carrying the severed paw. “Spirits! We thank you for this humble midnight snack!”

“Surely you aren’t planning to cook this?” Soros asked with dismay.

“Cook?” Aranea tilted her head, looking at Olesya. “I mean, it’s a solid idea…”

“But we are too damn tired.” The second woman said.

“Fresh it is, then.” To Soros’ horror, Aranea sank her fangs into the severed paw, tearing off the meat.

“Come, brother.” The shaman slapped him across the back. “It is time to rest and recover. And I have a song to compose about a knight captain who managed to last for hours against a shaman.”