Chapter 59: Chapter 53: Warlord Valerye’s First Mystery 

Aranea bisected the head of the first creature before it could spit acid at her. Her claws struck out, following more of a training routine than her own thoughts. Slash the head. Follow up with a kick, ensuring the body will crush the attackers behind it.

The wolf hag reigned herself in, not allowing herself to advance on the enemies, taking a stand over the wounded soldier instead. She faced another greenie with a thrust of her claws, tearing off his throat. She blocked the slow-looking attempt of another creature to open her side and landed an elbow hit against its head. The greenie fell, the dent in its head reaching all the way to its lower jaw. Three other creatures tried to jump at Aranea, aiming to reach for her throat, spit acid in her face, and slice off the tendons in her arms.

The spit harmlessly fell on the ruined house behind the wolf hag when she lunged forward, biting away the incoming ugly face of a greenie. It and her fangs collided, two gaping maws ready to bite into flesh. Her fangs ended up being stronger, the grip of her jaws overpowered the meagre maw of the greenie, and the wolf hag felt the flesh and disgusting blood of the creature in her mouth. Whatever passed for bones cracked beneath her fangs, and Aranea tore away a large chunk of the enemy’s head.

The greenie who tried to spit at her found its head caught beneath her armpit. She pressed the grip slightly, collapsing its head like a rotten fruit. The last greenie charged past her, aiming for a wounded soldier. The soldier armed with the shardgun shot the foe before himself and jumped in front of a greenie to protect the wounded comrade. The creature’s claws tore through his weapon, aiming to reach for the man’s neck.

The greenie only managed to barely scratch the man’s neck before its upper body was gone, slashed away when Aranea made a roundhouse kick, turning to her allies. She gave a nod to him and turned to face the remaining creatures who charged at Sly.

The male wolfkin had the portable terminal in the crook of his left arm. Today he was no longer equipped with his power armor nor his additional mechanical limbs. By all rights, he should have stepped back, saving the terminal and exposing his fellow soldier to the enemy attack. The whole mission hinged on the safety of this device.

Instead, he met the attackers head on. The first greenie to attack him was kicked in the knee. Sly grabbed the creature by its shoulder, pulling it toward himself and throwing it off balance. In the Wolf Tribe, males had far weaker fangs and claws, even compared to a female warrior, a male’s claws were brittle. Sly fully knew about it and didn’t try to bite or slash his opponent. He shifted his paw mid-fall of the enemy, putting it at the back of the creature’s head and shattered its head against his own knee. Sly grunted from pain when the ugly head half-exploded against his knee, and the two last greenies rushed to him.

Without thinking, Aranea charged at them. Her claws found their neck, sliced through their head, weaving an exquisitely deadly pattern of cuts down their backs, severing the spines in several places and finally stopping at the tips of their fingers, ripping the tendons and veins all the way across their arms. She didn’t think, she didn’t rely on her crimson eye, she forced back the panicked thought of allowing one more member of her pack to be killed. Aranea simply focused on doing the butcher’s job and found herself standing before Sly with her arms spread wide and casting her shadow on the smaller wolfkin.

"Sly," Aranea spat out the greenie's flesh before continuing, "Where the abyss did you learn how to fight in melee?" Behind her, two greenies slumped on the ground, still twitching while their life ran from their bodies alongside their blood.

"I asked Lucendra to show me some moves," Sly grabbed the back of his head and let out a nervous laugh. Without power armor, even a single greenie was a dangerous opponent to a low-ranked male or female wolfkin. And Sly took one down in a moment, "I wanted to be… you know, someone Yuki would be proud of."

"Ah, so this was the source of your bruises recently. Lucendra did a number on you." Aranea nodded, knowing full well that she should chastise him for risking the terminal and yet finding no heart for it.

"Actually, it was Annie," Seeing the surprise in Aranea’s eyes, Sly added, "Lucendra only showed me the moves, she refused to go into full contact with me, cause she was worried that people might think that she was still salty about our sparring. Annie had no such reservation when I asked her to train me."

"Oh, Sly," Aranea shook her head while turning to the warlord, "Just… stay alive, ok? And keep the terminal safe."

Chort’s leg moved him down the tree, taking him around the trunk in a spiral. Valerye stood on one knee, her body trembling ever so slightly. The pistol fell from her weakened paw, while the warlord loudly sucked in air. The mercenary laughed, keeping his hands in the pockets.

His laughter was cut short the moment Valerye charged forward, aiming to crush into him when his legs stood on the ground. The mercenary faced the incoming attack with open palms, aiming to use the same technique that nearly stopped Valerye before. But this time, the warlord grabbed him by the wrists, crushing them and kicking with her left leg. Chort darted to the side, evading the kick that missed his right side by a hair. He nervously smiled the moment he felt how the air pressure created by the warlord’s kick crushed a good dozen trees behind him. Their trunks simply snapped while the air pressure was moving on and on, breaking more and more trees and painting the stone ground with a tapestry made out of new cracks.

The nervous smile disappeared, and Chort vomited blood onto Valerye’s helmet. With widened eyes, Aranea noticed how his right side became bent, the flesh was pushed inside his body.

"Just with air pressure?" Chort forced the words out of himself, speaking in a rasping voice, "You… weren’t that strong the last time we fought… But that is how it should be. If you failed to even make my blood boil, you wouldn’t be able to be a worthy addition to my legacy."

"Legacy, huh? Such a pathetic goal, fitting for a miser like you." Valerye told him in a clean voice. If the stream of blood that was slowly coming from the side of her cracked helmet even bothered her, she did not show it.

"Be silent, cur! I am Chort, the greatest mercenary in all the Ravaged Lands! None will dare forget the swath of bodies that I left in my wake! Now die and become a footnote in the foundation of my legacy!"

Chort jerked back, leaving his hands in Valerye’s embrace. New bones shot from the stumps of his wrists, wielding them like spears, he pushed them into the warlord’s shoulders, piercing the armor and flesh beneath. Valerye only grunted, aiming to break his arms. Chort made a low kick, throwing the warlord off balance and sending her flying away from himself. And turned to look at the soldiers. His eyes briefly glanced down to look at the dead greenies.

"You are in luck, whore, duty calls. Say your prayers while you can," The mercenary leaped toward Sly, "Give me the terminal, boy!"

Aranea pushed Sly aside with one paw, and the mercenary landed before her. He was a bit shorter than her, his form was still that of a human, flesh was running across the bones, forming a new set of hands. A wounded prey, one that was meant to be taken down easily. In theory. In practice, all that she felt was pure terror.

Without saying a single word, Chort made a thrust with his left arm, his index finger changing shape to turn into a knife made of bone. So fast. So unbelievably fast. Sly was still yet to land because of Aranea’s push, she was still yet to fully turn to face the mercenary and his weapon was already scratching her neck.

While his eyes looked into hers. This was the first time he had seen Aranea without a helm. The mercenary hesitated, and his black pupils enlarged, almost fully covering the green.

"Could it be…" Aranea finally understood the expression in his eyes. It was not curiosity, he could give less of a shit about her crimson eye. No, it was fear, fear that changed to eager anticipation and genuine happiness in his eyes, "What luck! Two for the price of one!"

The bone pierced her flesh… And left an ugly cut on Aranea’s neck, failing to cut any deeper when Valerye crushed into Chort, kicking him in the hip and sending the mercenary backward. Aranea grasped the wound on her neck, checking if she was seriously injured or not, while two fighters crashed a good twenty steps from the soldiers.

Chort’s hips were gone. A single kick from Valerye was more like a slash of a halberd, even declawed, she almost bisected the mercenary, turning any bones in its path into dust and liquidating muscles. The mercenary rolled to the side, two parts of his body connecting via a thin layer of flesh. Impossibly, he managed to stand up, facing incoming punches with his metal blades.

The two created a whole storm in their fight. Even nearly cut in two, Chort fought Valerye blow for blow, his blades leaving deep cuts in her armor and blood pouring from her shoulder wounds. But this time, the warlord intended to put an end to their conflict once and for all. Her retracted claws slid onto her fists, blocking the bone sword. Under the mere touch of her punches, whole pieces of bone, covered in flesh, flew from the mercenary’s arms while the warlord circled around him, utilizing her working legs, while Chort desperately struggled to keep at least some semblance of control over his. In desperation, the mercenary made a thrust with a bone blade, aiming directly for the warlord’s neck, and she met the attack with her own steel claws.

The sonic boom that came into existence from a clash between the two foes deafened Aranea. Or so she thought, she no longer heard any sounds of battle from the mercenary and the warlord. They were still hacking and punching and clawing at each other, but not a single sound was made. And then the wolf hag understood what had happened when she felt an actual pull coming from the two. Their clash forced all the air around them to fly aside, creating a temporal vacuum between the two, vacuum that was now filled with air anew.

The moment the warlord ended up behind the mercenary, she kicked him at the back side of his right leg, sending his whole knee like a bullet into the trees. The bone flew and flew, creating torn holes in the trunks, while the mercenary fell on one knee, howling from pain. His howl turned to a cough when retracted claws pierced his neck, keeping him in place. The warlord aimed at the back of the mercenary’s head, but at the last moment, Chort shifted his body anew.

"Wanna me to break your arm anew?" Chort laughed, coughing up blood, and bones came from the back of his shoulders, closing in on Valerye’s arm like a trap. The edges of the bones were starting to become thinner and thinner, aiming to bite away the whole arm.

"Here’s a lesson. Never play with your prey." Valerye said and flame came from within the vambrace of her power armor. It poured forward, melting its way into the holes in Chort’s neck, a searing hot flame, unleashed by some sort of weapon within Valerye’s armor, hidden until the very last moment.

The mercenary screamed, thrashing in pain, reaching for the claws and pushing himself away. His screams were cut short the moment fire started coming from his mouth and his eyes exploded, allowing tongues of flame to burn away his eyelids. Chort was still clawing at his face, trying madly to somehow stop the flame and save himself. The mercenary even managed to stand up, the torn knee reformed itself before Aranea’s very eyes, but the mercenary never managed to take even a single step.

The warlord ran into him, working with her claws. Her body was a single line of crimson, and the cuts before her resembled a dome of trembling air. The mercenary was too much in pain and shock to even try to defend himself. His entire body was bisected and turned to pieces of flesh, burning in the air when Valerye charged through him, stopping before Aranea, the cloth of her cape untouched by the flame. Cinders were dying around her armor, giving her a short-lived flame aura.

Valerye Red Streak, was briefly reborn to finish off the enemy of the Wolf Tribe and the state. Even without her natural claws, one of the strongest warlords left nothing from her foe.Chort was, finally, dead for good.

The front of Valerye’s helmet fell, and for a second, Aranea saw her, right before the warlord grabbed her face. It was just a second, but the image of what Aranea saw burned into her memory.

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The warlord had a face. Not a snout. Her left eye was amber in color, shining brightly like the eye of any warlord. Her right pupil was brown and had a shape like that of a normie, not even a hint of light was within this eye. The skin on her face was deadly pale, almost like it had never been exposed to the sun for years, the crimson fur stopped on her neck. Her nose was small. Her right nostril was gone, torn away, most likely by Alpha, leaving an ugly scar behind. Instead of a nostril, Valerye had an elegant augment installed on her nose, allowing her to breathe through both her natural and mechanical nostrils. Her lips were a pale red color. The warlord’s right cheek was open all the way to the ear by the ugly scar, giving her an eternal leer and showing the small teeth of a normie, so unlike the brute sharp instruments like the fangs of the Wolf Tribe. The whole skin of her face looked smooth and gentle in a few places, but was covered by countless scars that forever marked any beauty that this woman might have had.

"Wolf hag," Valerye strictly said, "My helmet, please. Sly, ensure the connection is stable, I am leaving."

"Warlord?" Aranea asked in confusion, when Valerye snatched the steel mask from her paws, pressing it toward the broken helmet. The warlord bent the metal of her own armor, keeping the parody of the helmet in place.

"We have a badly wounded soldier in need of medical assistance. I am taking her back to the base."

****

"…This concludes my report, oh King" Yoliyamanitzin bowed to King, and he folded his arms across his chest.

"So, Camaxtli is no longer reliable…" He mused, annoyed at sending the arrogant youth to pick up Wohali. Both of them came back alive, luckily, but the flesh carver no longer courted King for his favor, instead spending time healing the wounded and keeping his ego in check. Admirable self-improvement at any other time, but right now King felt that he had just lost a potential tool to swing the Bento tribe in the right direction.

He and Yoliyamanitzin were in the rich hall that King made his temporal command center. A table in the middle of the room was covered with maps, illustrating the potential retreat and advance routes, missives with the latest information, and video chips with a recording of the enemy’s movement. From around the edges of the stone hall proudly stood various exquisitely made items from the Old World that he and his allies found in the ruins, from simple vases to intricately made power suits, lacking a proper energy source to power them up.

King himself sat on the throne made of black onyx, on a wall behind him was a symbol of the Resistance, the shadow that fell from it always kept him in the shadows. Yoliyamanitzin, the flesh carver who was currently mounting a frame of a steel centipede, with the head made in the form of a steel human torso, held a report in her elegantly made humanoid arms. Her blue lenses looked directly at King, eager to follow his every word. And he loved her for this loyalty, sharing many technological marvels from the Old World with her. But loyal as she was, Yoliyamanitzin was still just a single person, and her knowledge had its limits.

"Chicapalli should never have put us in direct conflict with the Desolation… But what’s done is done. Yoliyamanitzin, dear, sweet, loyal Yoliyamanitzin, I have news that Iterna sends some of its agents into the Desolation. Can you… persuade Chicapalli to follow after them and take them into custody?" King inquired, sitting back on his throne. He felt angry that Iterna had managed to stop the team he hired to liberate Twister. He had spent considerable resources trying to locate this maniac and even more to find a team capable enough to break him out, not to mention all the planning. Iterna ought to pay.

His wounds were healed, and he enjoyed the protection of his armored suit anew. He felt almost naked without its mighty armored plates that surrounded his disgusting bulk.

"Of course, my liege." The flesh carver sang sweetly, and King smiled beneath his helmet. The task was rather easy, elder Chicapalli liked battle like no one else. And the desolation provided ample opportunity to find strong foes.

"And make sure that Camaxtli will accompany him. After all, it would be unfitting for the elder to go on an expedition without at least one flesh carver. Who knows, the sight of battle might reignite his passion for… Argh…" King grasped his chest, leaning forward and nearly falling off his throne.

It happened again! He felt a jolt of energy running down his entire, his heart was beating with the power of a working engine all of the sudden. His vision blackened and he felt his blood pulsating in his temples. The feeling of overflowing energy was… unbearable. King jumped on his feet, making a punch in the air that collapsed a vase on the other side of the room.

"Chort! My dear friend, oh Chort…" King said, trying to put a lid on his emotions.

"My liege, are you…"

"Go! You have your task," King told her, sitting back on the throne and feeling how the blood pressure in his body was getting slower when his armor injected medicaments into his body. The armor sent a warning sight, recommending he visit a medic, but he knew his body well enough. He can take it. Instead, he calmly looked at how the flesh carver was walking out of the room on twelve needle-like legs. The moment the doors closed behind her, he took off his gauntlets, lifting his horrid trembling hands and praying that she didn’t notice a thing, "Soon," he whispered, "All is coming together." This was partially true. He failed to befriend Twister. But all the other parts of his plan were coming together.

"I must only endure." He smiled happily, sensing the anger and grief of his other self. Like before, King told him to shut up. He was acting in their interests, after all.

****

It took Aranea quite a while to understand what exactly the black wyrm was sending to the fortress. It was not a virus, or a command to self-destruct the place. No, instead he sent them fake information about the movements of his own forces, pretending to send this data from the Resistance’s headquarters. The moment the enemy hover tanks came to hunt the "state’s forces", they came under artillery fire. The artillery ended up destroying most of the hover tanks and forcing the rest to surrender. With Chort missing and with their main force destroyed, the remaining forces within the forces were faced with pure chaos when greenies went feral. Amidst all of this, Ofelia teleported a group of the state’s soldiers within the walls of the fortress. All the remaining blues, all six of them, immediately surrendered.

The officer in charge of the Bloodmoon Bastion was ready to offer his life in exchange for the safety of his soldiers, but Scorpio assured the men that it was unnecessary, giving the order to treat the prisoners with respect.

Ofelia brought a squad of soldiers and medics with her, popping out of existence amidst the destroyed house shortly after the warlord left. After bringing Aranea up to speed, the strange woman teleported again, trying to catch up with the warlord.

Aranea tore through the rubble leading to the basement and stepped inside, ignoring the smell of the rotten greenies. Much to her relief, the basement endured the fighting above. The wolf hag ignored the scared gasps of the regulators, walking directly to the captured blue, half-surprised that the creature was still alive and sane.

"Your creator is dead," She told the creature bluntly, "With his death, the greenies in the Bloodmoon Bastion went feral."

"That’s… sounds about right. My green kin were not really sentient to begin with. With the boss dead, no wonder they turn on everything in sight." The creature said, breathing heavily. Its limbs were swollen, and the effect of the painkillers was slowly stopping.

"You plan on killing the human race or something?" Aranea asked, allowing one claw to slide out and starting to observe it. She hesitated. Killing prisoners was punished by a law in the state. But she had seen the carnage that greenies wrought upon the fortress. If this creature…

"Miska," The creature coughed, "Is this farm of yours in need of any spare hands?"

"Yes." One of the regulators weakly said.

"Then no. I have something far more interesting to do, you ugly mutt."

"There is nothing interesting about raising and slaughtering cusacks, you stupid dolt."

"Miska! You are missing the big picture! We don’t have to always keep on doing the same, we can always raise some other beasts, or just take off for greener pastures."

"I don’t think that the farm owner will agree to leave his family business so easily."

"Eh, you leave it to me and my bros and sis, we’ll find a way to convince him! It’s all about tokens anyway!

"Good enough for me," Aranea smiled, removing her claws, she turned around, allowing the prisoners to keep bickering among themselves, "Medics! We have wounded in here!"

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