Chapter 131: Chapter 124: Price of Heroism

Brood Lord charged into the stampede as Marco shook Tilden’s paws off him, shoving the other boy into the tunnel instead of saving himself. From its depths, four arms grabbed his shoulders, and Gregor and Tilden tried to pull him to safety. It was too late. The blade struck in a great arc, creating an afterimage as it passed through the air. Wires hissed. Marco screamed at the top of his lungs, his legs taken above his knees, his severed limbs spasming on the floor as he tried to escape.

Throughout his agony, Marco never hesitated. His instincts kicked in; he was a Wolfkin, and his kind tried to survive anything the world could throw at them. Claws slipped from his fingers, piercing the walls of the ventilation shaft, and he pushed himself in, narrowly avoiding the following lazy swing and a snap of pincers that threatened to disembowel the cub.

A humanoid hand pushed into the tunnel after the children, bulging its sides, and eager fingers reached for the boy’s ribs, breaking several with a touch. Tilden sunk his fangs into Marco’s shoulder, ripping him away before the grip could close, leaving a hunk of fur-covered skin in Brood Lord’s hand. The khan stabbed at it with his sword, scratching Gregor’s nose, and Tilden raised the pistol in his unsteady paws, screaming in horror.

The bullet bounced off Brood Lord’s chin, bloodying it as the lower part of his helmet opened to reveal his lips forming an “O” letter. He spat his venom and the bubbling stream landed on Marco’s face, eliciting another scream of pain from him. His gentle, kind, honest, precious eyes disappeared, dissolved in the acid that almost blinded his mother.

Tilden and Gregor dragged the boy away, heading to the ruined restroom, while he bled like a cusack, screaming and thrashing. Janine saw it; the camera on her son still worked, and the sight of it broke something in her.

The warlord’s paw caught the shaft of the glaive as she stepped into Iron Lord’s close range. She heard herself ordering her troops to secure the area near the cubs’ approximate exit, and everything flowed. The khan before her spoke, perhaps a question or a taunt; it mattered not. She stood, knowing how far his field of destruction would reach, her every instinct heightened to an impossible degree, and the warlord reached the peak of her abilities, stepping into the same legendary territory where Zero and Predaig had tread. And she would willingly give it up and be selfishly killed if it meant that her boy, the cub she had failed, would be fine.

Alas, that would not be so, and so those responsible for this crime had to die, and soon. She expected to feel sorrow, but it and fear retreated into the corners of her conscience, unlocking every door. And rage rose.

The claws broke through her gauntlet, followed by the unbelievably swift blow of the Taleteller that banished the air away from the two fighters as it connected with Iron Lord’s side. The man reeled; a gash opened in his plates, and the warlord kicked, biting a chunk of metal from his helmet. She slashed gouging lines and advanced under the blow. Again! Once again, she was unable to save her cub! So strong and so powerless!

“We must run!” Tilden yelled in the restroom.

“No!” the other boy stopped him. “He’ll bleed out. Your belt!”

“Right, tourniquets.” Tilden swallowed, unbuckled his belt, took off his shirt, then tore it off to use as bandages. “I don’t remember a thing from the medical class. Too scared, Gregor.”

“So am I! Don’t worry; just copy me, and everything will be fine.”

“Right. Orais see, Orais do…” the boy muttered.

Together they tended to Marco’s wounds to the best of their ability as he rocked back and forth, oblivious to their encouraging whispers. The little one tried—oh, how he tried—to hide his pain, to keep his mother from worrying. Somewhere Brood Lord was busy bulldozing his way through the Academy grounds, knocking over walls and laughing maniacally. His steps caused tremors, and the warlord wondered if that bastard would find the defenseless cubs ahead of the rescue.

No. A voice older than her, the voice of the Blessed Mother, spoke into her mind. It isn’t over until it is over, girl. We tough out whatever comes.

Why are you not here, Blessed Mother? Where are you?

Broken. Shattered. Not whole. Dangerous. In your darkest hour, I’ll be by your side to claw us a light. The warlord wasn’t sure if she had hallucinated the message or if the Progenitor had actually communicated with her, but she heeded the advice.

Marco. Yennifer. Ignacy. Anissa. They expected her to survive.

“Marco. My cubs,” Janine briefly resurfaced, “I love you.” It was better to say something and appear weak than to remain silent and regret a missed opportunity for eternity. Weakness could be eradicated with training. Regret not so much.

Everything wasn’t lost. A sharp spike thrust from under Iron Lord’s bracer and sliced through the warlord during her headbutt. The spike cut through the helmet and nearly pierced her eyes as she grabbed his arm and kicked him again, slashing at his bulk with the Taleteller. He will break. Already the first cubs showed out from the entrance used by Marco and were escorted to the transports, shielded by the defenders. Amazingly, the Horde soldiers ignored them completely, at the behest of Iron Lord’s daughter.

The mission was a success. They…

The door to the bathroom opened, and two figures stepped softly and silently in, the clowns working for Brood Lord, carrying daggers in their hands.

“Children,” Heika said.

“Take the useless dust dweller and run!” Tilden jumped to his feet and fired the pistol. Adonis’ blade parried the bullet. “I-I’ll figure out a way out! I am destined for greatness; you are not! I won’t die! Can’t die!” The boy fired again to the same effect.

“Our employer wants the dark-furred,” Adonis sang.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“And we should oblige?” Heika said.

“Please!” Tilden squeaked. “My uncle is rich. We-he can pay for our safety!”

“Business is business, sweetest sister.” Adonis took a step. “But this is hardly sporting.”

“I would even say insulting, dearest brother,” Heika added. “I see nothing.”

“Well then, we are of the same mind. I hear nothing. Shall we…”

Spirits. Never again will I dare to presume to know better or to doubt the traditions. Save us. An explosion of stone interrupted the warlord’s wordless prayer, and a large, black-clad form landed in front of the cubs, ready for combat. The figure rose, smirking at first. Then its crimson lenses found Marco, and Kalaisa’s smug grin faded into a flat line, and the warlord imagined the woman’s shadow morphing into a large and terrifying beast at her back, but perhaps that was the result of a faulty camera. The lenses caught the steam rising from the boy’s tightly closed eyes—streaks of crimson mingled with the steam. The wolf hag glanced at the shortened legs and turned to the assassins.

“Did you do this?” Kalaisa demanded to know in a calm voice that promised death.

“Perhaps.” Smirked Adonis.

Kalaisa looked up for a second; the helmet fully closed around her head, giving her time to send an encrypted message, and then it opened itself around her snout, letting the fangs shine. The wolf hag moved her fingers and bent her knees into a crouch.

“You are dead meat,” she promised, bellowing a howl of challenge.

Musical laughter met her proclamation, and Adonis dropped himself into a low stance, mimicking Kalaisa’s. The glaive went down, briefly distracting the warlord as she dodged the wide swings, pushing him further away from the academy.

Eight thunder bulls lay dead, and six of the khan’s bodyguards joined their steeds in the afterlife. Too few. Fifteen still drew breath. Twenty-three of her own Tribe had been trampled, perforated, shot, or gored. The Ice Fangs fared little better, sacrificing a third of their combat force. Their ammunition was running low, inviting the inevitable all-out melee ever closer. The warlord snarled, dissatisfied with that option after an iron-clad simply snapped a scout’s arm like a twig and elbowed her so hard that the woman began to choke on her own blood. If it hadn’t been for Kirk, the following stomp would have ended the scout. Marty can match it. Bertruda too, but even together they won’t last.

On her orders, the males hurried to pick up the pulse rifles, turning the Horde’s prized weapons against them. The defenders extracted the wounded instructor from the shaft, but they had to break both of his shoulders to pull him to freedom. No matter. Broken bones mend. The biggest concern was Brood Lord. She expected him to pursue the cubs to twist the knife in her heart. Where was he?

“Impatient One. Break from the battle and watch over the cubs,” Janine returned to herself, sacrificing animalistic fury for clear mind and frowning from the pain in the arm she had used to stop the glaive. Even muscles had their limits. “Albert, keep me updated. The secondary prey is here.”

“Secondary…” Iron Lord stopped, his remaining lens focused on the building.

“If you lay a finger on the little ones…”

“What value in them? It is you who’ll die, mutant.” He raised his glaive. “Patience thirsts.”

“Taleteller will record your last breath,” Janine replied.

Adonis acted first. Janine saw his body oddly stretching, transforming into a multicolored streak of blur, but calmed herself, recalling how well Kalaisa had handled the similar situation back in Houstad without her armor. Parry both daggers and engage in a prolonged melee…

Not blocking, Kalaisa attacked, planning to split the clown in half with two mighty sweeps, and Adonis twisted his body, slipping under the raised arm and cutting through the armor plate with disgusting ease. His blade, coated in the same poison that had incapacitated Anji, sliced through the hide and bone growths beneath, finally scraping across the ribs and forcing the wolf hag to gasp for air.

Laughter accompanied his movements, echoing through the empty corridors and confusing Janine. She could barely comprehend what had happened. How? How could Kalaisa commit such an obvious mistake?

The answer came a second later. The ceiling above Adonis broke at the start of his somersault, and his sister screamed a warning, too late to do anything about it. Stuck in the air, the nimble assassin had no chance to escape as legs locked around his neck and claws pierced his wrists, rupturing arteries. Kalaisa spun in a burst of violence, lunging at Adonis with all her speed and biting deep into his chest, burrowing through the bones to swallow the heart. Anissa snapped the man’s neck and blocked the thrown dagger aimed at her fellow wolf hag. The two tossed the bloody remains to Heika like a bag of garbage.

“And that’s how… how… the cookie crumbles…” Kalaisa drooled; saliva ran down her chin, and her spasmodic paws missed the shardgun.

“Adonis…” Heika picked up the bloodied mask and broke it in half, pressing one side over her own to create the image of a half-scowling, half-grinning clown. “The last of our home. Oh, brother, why you and not me? I will get you for this. I’ll hunt you down for eternity if needed! His life was mine to take, and mine was his!”

“Ready to kill, unready to die. Sucks to be you, coward,” Kalaisa laughed and fired.

The shards missed Heika, who retreated away, weaving around them like a ghost. She fled through the open door.

“Marco.” Anissa approached her brother, ignoring the shocked cubs, and checked his bandages, nodding approvingly after a sniff. “Praise be the Spirits, not poisoned!” She took him in her arms and rocked him, trying to lick away the acid in his eyes, but he screamed and tried to close them tighter. Distraught, the wolf hag gathered herself. “You are a hero, Marco. Dumb and stubborn as a cusack, but a hero. We’ll fix you; the state can fix anyone. Hold on. Please. For me, Ignacy, and… Yennifer. Grab my thighs.” She addressed the boys. “Grab them as tight as you can; we are leaving.”

“Will he survive?” asked Gregor. “I-I am sorry. We were taught how to treat injuries, but never like these, and we didn’t have a med kit, nor was there anything to clean the wounds and…”

“Shhhh, little one, hush your fears; no fault on you, brave knights of the Order. He’ll survive,” promised Anissa. “He is a tough cub. Tougher than anyone I know at times, but so mischievous. You did well, both of you. No, don’t use your fingers to hold on, let the claws go, don’t worry about hurting me,” she instructed them and looked at Kalaisa. “Gotta say that was some insane plan. Heroic even. Did a skinwalker replace you while I wasn’t looking?”

“Fuck off, Anissa.” Kalaisa vomited. “I am going to deck you in the snout after the mission.”

“In your dreams. Thanks for the help. Wouldn’t be able to do it alone, Kali. Now that you are properly irritated, imagine choking me and wrapping your arms around my neck. I will carry you all out of here.”

“Go. I can survive on my own,” Kalaisa tried to refuse, and Anissa growled.

“My brother is injured, and we both have packs to lead, you insufferable bitch! Do you think your family and soldiers won’t worry if you don’t show up for the transports?” Kalaisa froze, and her own growl stopped in her throat. “Swallow your damn pride and accept help for once!”

“Sorry,” Kalaisa mumbled. She stumbled, nearly fell, but finally found hold. “Heh-heh. Reminds me of how Mommy and Daddy used to carry me when they were alive. Kangaroo, we called it.”

“Don’t you hallucinate on me, you delirious idiot! Concentrate on choking me; imagine I called you weak or insulted your honor!” Anissa grunted in appreciation after the metal around her neck whimpered a bit, losing to Kalaisa’s paws. “Good. Lock your suit and shut it down, just to be safe. Since you saved my bro, simply mention it, and I’ll carry you similarly atop any mountain.”

“I’d sooner die,” Kalaisa coughed out blood. “Spirits, really feeling like dying. Can’t see shit. Sis? If you hear me, should I die, you are in charge. Make them proud.”

“Cut the drama. We’ll get out alive. I have a brother to heal and slap for insubordination later!” Anissa grinned and kissed the unconscious Marco on the forehead.