Hearing the command to stand down, Ashbringer unclenched her paw, and the body fell. The woman's face resembled a blur of recently heated wax; part of her lower jaw was missing. The warlord spat, ripped free the sword lodged in her armor, dropped it, and leveled a flamethrower at the remaining rabble. They turned off their crackling hammers and holstered their weapons, much to her profound disappointment.
"Ashbringer Pack, cease hostilities," she ordered. "Those grievously injured... Yes, I see you, Malcolm!" A male Wolfkin holding his spilled entrails twitched, no longer trying to retreat into the darkness. "To the doctors with you. The rest…" The flamethrower spat a burst of flame, heating her gauntlet, and she pressed the red-hot surface to the cut on her cheek, cauterizing it. "Step forth and claim your reward."
One by one, ninety Wolfkins approached her, proudly displaying their minor injuries and grinning foolishly at the hiss of cooked flesh as the vambrace kissed them. Ashbringer invented this ritual as a method of deception. Where more foolish warlords such as Martyshkina and Janine had to order their troops to visit the medics, and where the brutal cusacks like Alpha threw their weight around, terrifying their troops into submission, Ashbringer operated with both a claw and milk, inventing a tradition that could last long after the warlord was gone.
Burns soon disappeared from the Wolfkins as their natural regeneration cleaned up the damaged spots. But the incentive of participating in what they considered a sacred tradition prompted the hotheads to think twice about how to win without serious harm, to earn the dubious honor of having the most fire touches on them. The top ten called themselves the Braziers and had the privilege of being at the warlord's side in combat. Both the lower ranks and the shamans competed fiercely for this honor, often employing unusual innovations.
Ashbringer moved the vambrace over Lying One's neck laceration, wondering why it mattered so much to her troops. In her youth as a scout, she preferred not to waste precious freedom on stupid rituals and spent it on more worthwhile pursuits: copulating, bonding with her first soulmate, and asking mothers how to properly raise cubs.
And out of a stubborn sense of fair play, the injured went to the infirmary on their own accord, heads hung low. It freed her paw to concentrate on the few troublemakers willing to bend the established rules and keep them alive.
"Leave your weapons. They belong to me. Then take your own lot and tend to them," Ashbringer growled to the hordemen. The body on her feet convulsed, pawing at her leg and gurgling. "Better treat her first, or…"
"Mark… Me…" Widowmaker said, and Ashbringer kicked her away in disgust. "Why? It was… superb!"
Sorry, Arruda. She closed her eyes, breathing slowly. I failed to avenge you.
****
A blooming flower of sharp crimson sticks stopped short of Alpha. Manifested blades, hooks, and talons retracted into the bubbling fiery mass, and a blackened arm thrust through, dragging the rest of the skeletal body with it. Horkhudagh stopped, brazenly showing his sliced core to her gigantic claws, and shrugged.
"Tch," he said. "Almost." He looked at the battlefield, examining his dying leader and teasing her with his vulnerability. "We can still finish it if you want. Hit me and let us continue."
She couldn't. The order to stop all fighting was an absolute command, and Alpha had no way of resisting it. But he didn't need to know about it.
Their conflict had caused a large section of the wall to sink, sending friend and foe alike scattering to save themselves as the molten rivers poured down the walls from the uneven, crescent-shaped recess. Red-hot, steaming edges covered the whole place, and the arriving troops cursed, stepping carefully over the slippery, unstable surface and keeping their distance from the destroyed artillery out of worry of being caught in an accidental explosion of the munition.
"I'm tired of death," she lied. "Will we have a problem?"
"With me? No." Horkhudagh crossed the battlements and held out his arms, letting the approaching soldiers handcuff him. "What a lousy legend it turned out to be."
"War rarely produces anything else. Try creating another during peace." Alpha advised him.
****
Janine opened her eyes to the murmur of voices, her head splintering in pain, as if an unseen stonemason was slowly chiseling at it. She lifted her torso, finding herself carried on a specialized, reinforced stretcher through what remained of the western throughway. Her paws twitched reflexively, calming upon finding the trusting Taleteller next to her. Two Orais huffed, carrying her massive weight rather easily.
"Of course. She wakes up and immediately searches for a murder toy," snorted a field medic in a familiar voice. He shined a flashlight in her eyes without stopping the procession. Janine recognized Maxence through the visor before she noticed his artificial arm. "You're lucky, Janine. Numerous fractures. Occipital and parietal bones are sticking out, but damage to the brain matter itself is negligible." He jabbed a syringe into her neck, and the murky fog that clouded her vision dissipated a bit. "Your healing coma slowed down the heartbeat long enough for the body to recover and for us to perform blood transfusions and treat the worst of your injuries. Otherwise, you would have been dead. We need to get you out of this tomb and assess the extent of the damage to your internal organs."
"How…" she asked with a sore throat. "How long has it been… Anissa! Pack, Impatient One, Martyshkina, Jacomie!"
"Alive," Maxence reassured her, his artificial limb whining as he tried to keep her seated. "Not in the best condition, but Zero saved Anissa and Impatient One. The survivors of your pack are flocking to Ravager; the rest are scattered throughout the infirmaries. Jacomie has temporarily assumed command while Cristobo negotiates with the Horde leader. I suppose the war is over. You've been out less than half an hour. We are carrying you to join Lacerated One in the crawler. I had to saw through the bastard's arm that went through her when she killed him. Martyshkina is with her, winded to the point of immobility."
"Chak." Janine forcibly stopped the trembling in her paw. "In the battle, I received a report…"
"Sadly, it was accurate. Chak is no longer with us."
"And Anissa?"
"At the city hall, representing your pack in your absence."
"Then my place is there."
She brushed past his desperate efforts to restrain her, shrugging off the Orais' grip with ease. A single growl convinced both soldiers to step aside, and Janine attempted to mount the Taleteller on her back, only to fall as the magnetic clamps failed to activate due to the dead reactor. A broken piece of a window painted the thick bandages on her head and fresh stitches on her jaw and lips. She gave Maxence a nod of apology, collected her weapon, and headed for the source of the voices, navigating her way through Houstad.
It no longer resembled the glorious monument to the Reclamation Army's efforts. Rubble clogged the alleys, and entire streets had collapsed, exposing the broken pipes that ran beneath the roads. Smoking ruins replaced several tall skyscrapers, and a thick, shiny layer of scattered glass reflected the bright sun's rays, highlighting the gaping holes of shattered walls and broken windows.
Maxence refused to let her go alone. The man was on the verge of falling from exhaustion, and even his exoskeleton did little to support him. Janine picked him up unceremoniously, surprised at how heavy his small weight felt on her arm. Instead of jumping through a wide pool of water splashing in the crater ahead, Janine walked around the edge, accepting the sudden weakness and examining the devastation, ready to rush in and help.
Fortunately, the situation didn't require additional backup. Hundreds of specialized teams scoured the ruins, with the Third's instructors and seasoned veterans expertly warning the greener recruits of potential building collapses. Their former enemies, the hordemen, toiled by their side.
A Malformed with mouths on his shoulders dug himself through a pile of broken beams, eating himself a path to the trapped troops below, scooping them into his arms. He used the slabs of his own muscle to shield the people from the falling debris, stirred by his dive as he extracted his prize. An instructor kicked the giant for such recklessness and reluctantly praised the prisoner for his cleverness. Then he warned him of the dangers, pointing to the ruins and explaining how they could have buried the nearby crew. Heeding the veteran's advice, the unlikely allies slowed their efforts and methodically cleared the area to rescue a group of snipers.
To her surprise, there were several teams composed entirely of civilians. Maxence told Janine that they had come from the surrounding regions, telling the absolutely nonsensical stories of how Ravager had rescued them. The army had assigned them to help in the relatively safer neighborhoods near the Oathtakers' embassy.
"…Want to venerate me? Help with the restoration! Don't give me baubles that your flock can ill afford. Concentrate on their well-being! And the Spirits have nothing in common with the Planet. I am not your divinity! The next one who calls me a saint will be a eunuch!" Janine doubled her speed, hearing the Blessed Mother's voice.
They found Ravager on the main square, surrounded by the Sword Saints, warlords, and several wolf hags. Most injuries had disappeared from her, leaving only the exposed ribs, but her flesh moved like water, trying to close around the holes and restore the integrity of godlike perfection. On her shoulders was a scaled cloak of the Second, once worn by Devourer and, if the rumors spoke true, fashioned from his own shed skin. The faint symbol of a coiled serpent on it was still visible beneath the painted hare.
Dozens of officers and several civilian officials formed a temporary control center inside the city hall to assist the Inevitable's crew. Based on the three hordemen and two interpreters present in the hall, Janine assumed they were also trying to contact the occupied zone and mediate a surrender. That shouldn't be too difficult. Mad Hatter was the main unifying element of the Gilded Horde, and regardless of whether she was dead or alive, her defeat sent ripples that shook the confidence of her minions. Sure, it would be nice to murder those responsible for enslaving and killing, but that also meant potential deaths among the troops led by the Dynast and the approaching First and Second armies.
Meanwhile, Ravager was busy answering the petitioners, and in response to the aggression emanating from her, snouts peered out from the nearby streets. Anissa stood at a respectable distance from the warlords, using a cane to help her stand. Impatient One had a broken arm, and the tapestry of prayers on her ancient armor had been ruined in the battle.
Her furious snap whipped the Wolfkins into a laborious frenzy, and they practically tore apart a fallen skyscraper like a swarm of insectoids, finding bodies and a couple of survivors. Ravager's foot flattened an ornate platinum amulet offered to her by the grateful priest of the Planet. The man stood, bowing dignifiedly, his eyes gleaming. He turned to his group and, in a clear voice, ordered the ordinands and faithful to join the rescue workers in the north.