Chapter 35: Chapter 29

"Sorry, ma’am." Chochmingwu heard the voices of two doggies who had fought against her before. Carty put her on the ground and the bento could only see the skies filled with smoke clouds above her. Her body was shattered, nothing that she tried worked. Everything went dark for good: legs, communication systems, even sensors on her body. She felt a creeping horror, lying on the stone ground, unable to either speak or at least make a gesture that she was still alive.

"I gave you a task and you passed with flying colors. Remind me to throw a party for everyone, once the mission is done," Chochmingwu saw how Carty turned toward the water processing facility and whistled, "Another task, boys. Do save the people inside, please. If the commander allows, of course."

"Of course," Tiny quickly said, shouting her own commands to the troops. Chochmingwu saw how Sly loomed over the bento’s ruined body, checking something within her remains. She felt burning shame, while he was puling aside once elegant net machine work, tearing away whole broken gears and looking at them, "Sly, put your helmet on, we are in the combat zone!" Tiny commanded, "Is it… she? He? Is this human alive?"

Chochmingwu struggled to say something, to move the stuck camera on her brain jar, while the doggie lifted the brain jar from the ruined body, looking at it from all sides. All she could feel was fear. She could not force herself to speak, nor show in any way that she was alive. Alive, but utterly immobilized, sustained by reserve batteries installed within her brain and nutrient solution within her jar. What if they take me for dead and throw me into the junk pile? How long will it take for me to die? Can they even keep me alive? Chochmingwu felt that she was about to go mad. Only once before was she so scared. It was one thing to die in battle, to feel your brains being crushed beneath the steel foot of the enemy, but to slowly wither and die in the trash heap, while feeling how...

"She is alive," Sly said, holding the brain jar in his arms, slowly turning it, "She should be able to speak, the dynamics are intact and even powered. Only the camera is slightly damaged."

"We found some injured soldiers, scout Tiny," Chochmingwu heard the voice of another doggie, "Seems like it could be her handiwork. The soldiers said that someone worked with her. Could explain her stubborn silence."

"Yes, Sonya, this could be true. Send someone to deliver this… person to the rear forces, they’ll sort her out." Tiny said.

****

Itu came into the palace, looking at how the frightening guards were taking their positions. The people were scared, but they were intending to sell their lives fighting. He noticed three elite guards of Yasen, one of their number, Lalo, was now bald, his neck a tapestry of badly healed scars, but there was a certain conviction in his eyes, an eagerness to fight to the bitter end. Good, they will all need to give everything they can if they are to turn the situation around.

The palace itself was built after the regulators won against the previous owners of the city. Large statues made of bronze were previously depicting the group of original regulators, meant to inspire locals. The once glorious figures were now only a few feet tall, their upper bodies destroyed during one of the shelling and the wide square in front of the palace was covered in craters.

Itu turned his head to the side, hearing children's cries. Many families ran to this place in the hope of finding a safe place. The reclaimers were seemingly intended to wipe out the defenders however, even now, dust was falling from the ceiling and the building was trembling slightly, enduring hits of the enemy’s artillery. To be completely honest, Itu had no idea why they were still fighting here, he could see through the barred walls how the enemy’s forces were closing on the palace. But, according to commander Katriana, Yasen boasted that he had a perfect plan to permanently cripple the enemy presence, so Katriana was gathering the remaining hover tanks to join in one last desperate stand against the enemy. Itu was supposed to…

"Civilians are herded into the bunkers." Upon hearing Yasen’s voice, Itu’s hand froze on the door handle leading to the mayor’s room. Now this room was used by Yasen and his officers. With all the soldiers at the barricades, no guards were standing near this room.

"Good, we can use them to stall for time. Are you sure that the idiots will release the poison?" A new voice asked. King’s voice. Itu frowned, unsure of what to make of it. King wasn’t supposed to be here.

"They needed a little more... persuasion, but yes, W-venom is about to be released," Yasen chuckled, "And the Reclaimers are about to lose a large portion of their precious military."

W-venom? Itu managed to think in confusion when the wood of the door cracked and a bone shard pierced him between the ribs, reaching all the way to his spine. His body slumped before the Return worked and whisked him away to another safe place. He opened his eyes, looking at the ceiling of the warehouse, way beyond the front lines. He marked this place prior to the battle, workshop owner and his family had already escaped, making this place a perfect spot for his use.

Itu stood up, not a trail of blood on him, intending to contact Katriana. Something fishy was going on and the soultakers had better be prepared for the worst.

****

Chort broke through the door, looking around the hallway for any traces of the dead person. Behind him in the room, Yasen was looking at him in surprise, while images of King loomed over the regulator, looking massive even on the terminal's screen.

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"There was someone here." Chort hissed, still looking around.

"Irrelevant," King said, raising his metal gauntlet, "Chort, Yasen, it is high time for you to evacuate from this place. The warlord is coming. I will open the portal soon."

"Is it she?" Chort demanded to know from King, and Yasen laughed.

"Chort, my friend, don’t you worry about her! Once venom is released, even she…" Yasen fell silent when Chort darted toward him, grabbing the regulator by his neck.

"She won’t die that easily. Even if this whole city is going to melt, she will survive," Chort threw the regulator away and took a remote device from the table. He looked at the image of King, "You said that you will open a portal soon. Then I still have the time to give a measure of horror to our enemies." He turned around and left the room, going directly to the main entrance.

His blood was boiling. Valerye Foulsnout. By marking his face, she signed her own death warrant. His hands twitched, while the muscles beneath his skin grew thicker, the bones strengthened themselves. He needed to kill her. He already ended one warlord, another one will fall just as easily once he is focused enough. He already could have seen the flaws in her combat style, had he been more concentrated during their previous encounter, she would have been dead. No matter. He smiled, pushing aside the guards before the massive iron doors leading into the palace.

A single kick was all it took to break them, causing them to slam into the outer doors. The fools screamed something to him, but Chort ignored the bleating of this rabble, walking outside without haste, almost lazily coming across the ruined stone stairs.

The reclaimers were already coming toward the square. Chort’s smile widened, showing his teeth when he saw the enemies. A mix of doggies and normies. He walked toward them, and the moment they threw their weapons, aiming at him, he leaped from the place, becoming a figure made of blur, appearing amidst the enemy’s ranks.

It didn't matter if they were doggies or normal humans, his powerful arms pierced through their steel armor, breaking skulls, piercing necks, and leaving dead bodies in their wake.T he bodies of his enemies began to fall around him one by one, painting the stone ground red with blood.No more artillery strikes were coming, not with the infantry of the reclaimers here. Fools. Chort thought, tearing away the head of one of the doggies with one hand and bisecting a man next to the doggy with another hand. He killed and killed, creating a small hill made of bodies around him, his arms were morphing into bone blades sharp enough to slice through the armor or cruel whips capable of breaking through armor on the fly, following his will. The enemy soldiers tried to retreat, trying to gain distance away from him and form ranks.

He refused to allow this, following in their wake, using his superior speed and reflexes to force close-range combat against them. One of the doggies tried to use her claws against him, and he punched them back into her arm before kicking away her head. With a dead body still slumping to the ground, he spun around, hearing the sound of a heavy vehicle. A tank crashed through the half-ruined street, taking aim at him. Chort smirked, noticing a faint light inside the barrel, before charging forward. The tanks of the reclaimers had double main cannons and were armed with additional flamethrowers instead of the usual machineguns. The mercenary dodged one tank shell that was fired at him, blocking the next one by turning his right arm into a bone shield. No normal bone could withstand the impact of this heavy weapon, but Chort was far from normal. The shell's impact barely slowed him as he closed in on the tank, jumping on it and ripping open the hatch. With a leer on his face, he dropped a grenade into the opening, jumping away in search of a new prey while the explosion caused the machine behind him to shiver.

One of the crude enemy’s mechs tried to take aim at him, and the mercenary disappeared again, leaving cracked ground in his wake. Like a bullet, he charged toward the mech, appearing before the machine and slicing away both barrels of long-range weapons mounted on top of the mech. Still spinning in place, he kicked, throwing the machine backward a good dozen steps. Having not bothered to check on the fallen foe, Chort moved on, his kick bent the metal, smashing the pilot against the back of the mech. Whoever the pilot was, now this person is dead.

He spun around again, chasing after the retreating reclaimers, claiming five lives before being forced backward by a revolver shot. He cursed in anger, sensing how the skin of his arm had become torn, meanwhile a crater, not that much unlike those craters that appear after the shelling from the enemy artillery, appeared in the place where he had just stood. The mercenary turned to face the tall figure coming from the street. Not Valerye, but this one will also add to his legacy.

"Not once, but twice you injured me. Your luck is astonishing," Chort smiled to the warlord, "Let me put this abnormal trail of coincidences to rest. Today, Chort will add the head of another warlord to his tally."

"Feel free to try and die." Martyshkina replied to him, reloading her gun with a fluid, elegant motion, unbecoming of such a large body.

The mercenary smiled at her and charged at the warlord, evading the incoming bullet. In terms of firepower, her pistols resemble more portable artillery cannons, even for him, it was impossible to outrun these bullets. But Chort trusted his instincts, he had lived long enough by believing in himself and by studying the enemy. After his humiliation, Chort swallowed his pride and learned all he could about the warlords, watching every recorded video about how they fight. He knew Martyshkina now and knew the way she fought. He closed the distance between them, relying only on dodging based on the aim of his opponent.

The warlord deflected a bone blade that came from his right arm with the barrel of her revolver. The bone blade that easily bisected the weapons of the enemy’s mech now failed to leave even a scratch on the warlord’s weapon. Chort only smiled at this, leaving a deep cut on her chest armor with his left hand. Quick as a thought, the warlord lifted her left arm, firing right into Chort’s face. He jerked his head to the side, a moment too late, and the bullet left a bloody trail against his cheek, slicing his ear in two and exploding like a cannon ball against the palace’s walls.

The mercenary grunted, seeing blood coming from the warlord’s chest plate. The dance had only started.

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