"If you had just bowed your head to us months ago, none of this would have happened." Metallic clanking accompanied Janine Ironjaw's speech as she addressed a bowing Normie.

The man's tattered anti-heat suit barely did anything to prevent the scent of sweat and blood from reaching Aranea's nostrils. Not a regular occurrence, for no matter how poor one was, no one in their right mind would keep their most important attire in such a state of disrepair. Then again, there was little normal about the situation.

A year ago, the Regulators settlers had moved into ruins that remained from the Old World. Harsh sandstorms had toppled the chrome pillars once rising above the clouds, and the ancient catastrophe had split the city into four parts. One part had sunk underground, two more had been reduced to ashes, but there was a sector containing buildings that were partially intact until recently.

Folks of the Old World crafted stuff to last for ages, and machines capable of producing nutrient batons, clean water, and electricity still worked. Besides the precious discovery, mountains surrounded the place, shielding it from the worst of nature's wrath. Geologists had quickly dismissed these formations as natural, summarizing that a series of explosions had raised the hills in the past, literally bulging them out to form the uneven crater.

No wonder that so many hurried to settle here and had been toiling diligently, sending food and material tithes to the north and leading excavation works, and the town swiftly swelled to a population of several thousand. They had rejected the integration offer, sticking to their oath of loyalty given to the Regulators, and assured that the Resistance would protect this place from the Reclamation Army and the horrors of the Ravaged Lands… not all of them survived until today.

Indeed, the Resistance paid a visit to this place. The group comprised the Regulators, mechanical horrors, and a rabble formed of various gangs and raiders. They had taken everything of value, treating their own no better than outsiders and stripping the place bare.

Lathes, grinding machines, excavator equipment, spare parts, the entire food and water production chambers, animals, anything that could be used in industry—all was taken away, alongside the citizens' wealth and even ammunition. The previous mayor had tried to argue against this injustice, even threatening to call King. Now, he and those who had tried to resist were no longer in this world.

The new elder contacted the Reclamation Army using a concealed radio and proposed joining without conditions. Warlord Janine arrived with her pack to establish control. A piece of gore fell from her axe, unnerving the anxious townsmen. Undefended locations couldn't survive in the Ravaged Lands, and the warlord single-handedly swatted aside a small marauder group staging a slaving raid.

Even from the ruined entrance, Aranea could see the consequences of their misguided choice. Streaks of smoke poured from the buildings. The loyalty built over a generation was destroyed in a single night. Not much time had passed since Wyrm Lord's declaration, and the similar patterns repeated themselves. The border towns, villages, and farms suffered from the Resistance's looting, puzzling Aranea. Weren't the locals part of the rival nation? What possible gain could there be in mindless cruelty?

"We apologize," the man whispered, and the scout sensed pain, not just physical, in his voice. He cherished this place and was anguished by the ashes and death that had befallen it. "Take my life if it will amend our insult. Just save…"

"Be silent, citizen." Janine's metal jaw snapped.

She had refused the vat-grown cloned organs, stating offhandedly that the skinwalker had blessed her with its grace. A flamecaster had been installed in place of her lost paw. The weapon's long barrel featured three inlaid rings of a strange alloy. Each ring contained a red ruby, with one above the barrel and two below. A cybernetic jaw replaced the warlord's lower jaw. When she was silent, that slab wholly covered her snout up to her nose. The newer version of power armor resembled skin-tight clothing, but no one was insane enough to mock her appearance, as no longer hindered by the bulky plates, the warlord was free to utilize her speed in full, ending up being a death incarnate on battlefields. She rested the axe on her shoulder and continued:

"We are here to drop supplies for you to last several days. A more serious force will arrive in two, three days tops. They will establish a perimeter, ensure security, provide an abundance of food, and formally accept the people into the state. Until then, you are on your own when we are not around. Is this understood?" The metal jaw clicked at the end of her question.

"Yes." The man repeated the bow, letting go of tension. Without water, his community would not last a day around here.

"Deliver the crates. Clear the rubble. Locate the wounded and drag them to the doctors. Count the dead." Janine ordered the three wolf hags, with Sonya standing among them.

Shamans were supposed to guard Janine, but the warlord had split her forces to cover every hit village and town, regardless of whether or not they had called for aid. Wyrm Lord commanded that aid be given to all victims of recent raids, and the warlord selected the weakest members for her personal guard. As the wolf hags hurried to carry out the assignments, Janine stood guard at the ruined city gates, tilting her head and watching intently the mountain range visible in the crater's gap around the city.

Aranea's pack was tasked with checking the northern part of town and delivering a situation report on the hastily set up camp belonging to the Free World, an anarchist organization known for providing medical help to anyone. The Reclamation Army disliked their chaotic methods and tried not to associate with them in any measure, only donating meager scraps as a gesture of gratitude for treating their wounded soldiers.

"So why are we helping them now?" Aranea asked herself, opening the door of another building.

She had been checking the place for an hour, finding dead remains inside and outside. The house—more of a shack the size of a single room, clinging to a former factory—smelled of a recent fire. Broken furniture—wooden spoons, clay bowls, and a single porcelain plate painted with blue circles—lay scattered and broken on the floor. The pillagers broke open a chest, ripped apart a sleeping bag, and torched a painting to ashes, rendering its subject unrecognizable. An elderly man lay by the wall, his head smashed in and half of his body burned. When she turned him onto his back, she found a fragile figure underneath him. The girl had no scratches, but her face was blue, and her heart no longer beat. The child had choked to death. Aranea nodded, marking the spot and recording the ransacked house.

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"Why doesn't this bother me?" Her glance returned to the dead. "Should I not feel anger? Disgust? Hate? Sadness? What is wrong with me?" Aranea recalled the shocked looks on the Wolfkins' snouts. Mom and Dad taught her better, too. So why was she calm? What was so flawed about her? Was it not human to be sad about the loss of life?

I can at least fake being affected by it. Aranea decided. Her parents would've wanted at least this much from her. She picked up the deceased, carrying them to the desecrated church, to a ritual spot dedicated to burning the remains, releasing the souls onto a new journey, and freeing the locals from worrying about insectoids creeping to feast in the cemetery. Someone from the Resistance had hanged two priests, and their naked bodies flapped in the wind. Aranea hoped they had broken their necks when the pillagers shoved them out the window.

The price of resisting the Regulators. Red paint on the second floor spelled out these words. No priests were in sight. Aranea could guess their fate.

"What… what do they hope to achieve with this?" Aranea asked aloud.

The inability to find logic in the insurrectionists' actions hurt more than the actual cruelty. She set down her burden, climbed onto a wall, sinking the claws into the stone. With a swipe, she freed the dead men and called a nearby Wolfkin to carry the bodies to the pile. Surely their opponents' cruelty pursued an unknown objective. But what exactly?

Aranea decided that she had had enough wondering about the motives of the madmen and headed to the Free World's camp. They placed their tents near the broken wall. The stubborn bastards ignored the warlord's order to relocate to a safer part, stating that their patients might not survive transportation. As she approached, an alert appeared on her display.

Warlord Janine sent a video feed alerting the pack to an unknown approach. She denied the wolf hags' offer to investigate and broke into a gallop, covering vast distances with every stride. The identification system of her helmet pinpointed movement on a dune two clicks away, and Aranea stopped, ready to charge and assist, regardless of command.

Like a thunderbolt, the warlord crashed into the dune, scattering its middle, and two bodies were flung in the air, losing their binoculars. A downpour of sand turned into the cloud, enveloping a panicking group huddled around six cars and a rusted, steel-sheeted truck. The driver of the leading vehicle floored the pedal too late; Janine's foot had already landed on the buggy's hood, raising its rear ever so slightly. One of the passengers raised a hand, stopping the rest of his group as the burning lenses focused on him.

"Collectors!" The man forced out the words. Twin horns of keratinized skin protruded from under his helmet, and he nervously licked his lips with a forked tongue. "Roch's the name. Not slavers!"

"Collectors. Huh. You mean scavengers," Janine said.

"Well, call it how you like," Roch agreed in a high-pitched voice. "Our profession is ancient and respectable. It's a crime to let valuable loot go to waste when so many souls are in need of it, agreed?"

"And willing to pay for it, I hazard a guess." Janine's head moved to the left and right, showing the pack the ragtag group armed mostly with low-caliber rifles and geared in mismatched pieces of gear welded together.

"We take certain compensation for our efforts, yeah." Roch gulped. "We heard about the hit and decided to come, thinking: maybe there are people in trouble…"

"Heard. Not from her, I wonder?" The flamecaster tapped the head dangling from a chain on the warlord's belt, and Roch paled.

"N-no, certainly not! Never saw the lass before!"

"And the weapons?"

"For self-defense! The roads are dangerous!"

Janine sniffed him. Aranea speculated the warlord was searching for traces of foreign bodily fluids, blood, and rotten skin to determine if the moron was a scavenger or a marauder. Personally, she thought him to be the former. Marauders would have opened fire by now and were never shy about riding straight into a settlement, ready to suppress any opposition.

"Suppose I believe you," Janine said at last, and Roch exhaled, visibly relaxed. Several men and women nearby smiled nervously and fell to their knees. "So you acted out your neighbor's goodwill?"

"Бале!" Aranea didn't know the term. "Purely!" the man stammered.

"Then you won't mind being drafted into a rescue operation." The warlord stepped from the car. "Come. There is much helping to be done. Let's discuss what's required of you. And how we may compensate you for it." Roch's sour expression broke into a hopeful smile.

With the incident resolved, Aranea found Kate and Kostya handing out packaged food to a crowd of children outside of the doctors' camp. Five empty crates stood next to them.

"Now scram, you stupid bastards." Kate bristled, raising her empty paws. "No food anymore. Go find a place to hide, you useless sacks of shit."

"Will Mom be fine? Where's Da? We are hungry! What should I do?" the children asked.

"First, pull on your cowl," Kostya advised the boy, helping the little one to adjust his clothes. "Listen to the adults. They'll guide you."

"Everyone died." The boy's fingers tightened around the package. "Who do I listen to?"

"No need to talk so rudely to the kids," a doctor said to Kate, stepping from a tent. He wore a dirty white overcoat over his suit. He pulled the hood off his tanned face and reached for a cigarette with trembling fingers, blinking away the sleep.

"I said scram!" Kate opened her jaws wide and slammed her paw on a crate, sending the children scurrying away in panic. Then she faced the doctor, breathing angrily. "That's precisely how I should talk to them. Half of them have rags instead of anti-heat suits. They'd better hide in a building before they get heatstroke."

"Not a reason to be a jerk…" The doctor took a drag with pleasure.

"Idiot. The blonde cub had her parents killed yesterday. The male little one with the black eye saw his grandmother torn apart. Have you even talked with them? They don't have anyone." Kate stepped up to the doctor.

"What does that have to do with anything?" he calmly asked. "If anything, the kids need comfort after these horrific events."

"What they need is to stay afraid. We are here for what, a day? Come tomorrow, you'll be helpless. Who will save them if the bastards come back? You? You are a pussy who doesn't even use weapons. The locals? With what? What if the insectoids sneak in and the cubs think they are harmless toys? Fear can be conquered over time, but for now, it's better for them to be on edge and horrified. Higher chances of their survival that way." Kate pressed her forehead to the man's. He showed no fear, exhaling the smoke away. "Sure, they probably should be cared for. By whom? You are so overworked that you can barely stand. I am a walking curse, a bringer of misfortune. Much good will I do for them. Neither of us can help. Get it into your thick skull, you miserable…"

"Enough. Kate, you will not speak to our allies with disrespect," Aranea said, breaking the argument.

"My apologies, useful ally," Kate said venomously, and the doctor amiably nodded. "Scout Aranea, the supplies have been delivered and distributed. May I have some spare time?" The scout reached into her armor and found the prayer beads, rolling them between her knuckles.

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