Rockets, missiles, shells, and brilliant energy rays came from the Resistance's ranks, resembling a sudden starfall raining upon the defenders from the dark cosmos. Beams splattered upon the force shield, fizzling out; physical projectiles sent waves across the protective screen, but it held as more and more munitions slammed into it. The entire enemy force disappeared, hidden by the vast tide of flames dancing outside of the safe zone. Aranea picked up scents of smoke and ozone from the complex, wondering how the soldiers near to the humming field must've felt, watching the inevitable death bouncing off the sphere before them. Spheres of crackling lightning rolled from the enemy, detonating mines and collapsing underground passages.

Then the Reclamation Army's batteries talked back. In the roar of battle, Aranea was unsure if the artillery crews had noticed the troops approaching because the Command had received updates from radars or if maybe a soldier had simply panicked and the rest had followed. She didn't hear the command.

But the hellish haze was torn asunder by the massive shells flying past the shield, as if it had never existed to begin with. Following the artillery leads, missiles streaked from the crawlers, skirting around the mountains and plummeting into the last known hostile locations, sending skyward eruptions of overheated steam droplets of overheated liquid, used to melt its way through raised force fields to deliver the catastrophic payload straight into the unexpected masses. Its potent heat could've burnt even a warlord, and as fresh swirling clouds of dust and ashes joined the darkness in the air, Aranea dared to imagine the rebels recoiling in horror at their losses and surging away in disorganized retreat…

And yet, even through this infernal cacophony, she sensed the strange tremors, gaining in strength, never stopping. Blinding sparks composed of explosions, hissing rays, and smoke enveloped the shield as the foes continued to fire in vain. The state's terminals discerned materials and directions, permitting the allied munitions to pass unopposed while hardening the field to block the rapidly flying ammunition.

In it lay its advantage and weakness. There was a reason why her nose could smell the scents from the outside. Radio chatter delivered news about the enemy's advance. They marched through the landscape full of fresh craters; their boots broke vitrified sand, and above them raged the state's artillery, unable to break through their shield carriers. Here and there, an occasional shot penetrated the weakened section, maiming and killing living beings. And still they marched, assisting their comrades to their feet and sending the wounded to relative safety, and ignoring the loss of friends or the rare explosion of a missed mine. It didn't sit right with Aranea, not after the massacres she had witnessed. Whatever it might've been, these people weren't cowards.

A text message flashed on her display.

Sorry about acting assholish. If I end up croaking, burn my body in the hottest pyre, and tell Mom and Dad that I love them. And keep an eye on my pack. They'll blossom soon. Stay safe, Ari.

You too, Oles. Replied Aranea. If I'll bite one for the team, bury or vaporize me, but don't let me go in the old way!

You too, heh? Yeah, got it. No shaman will dine on us. Ciao! We'll compare our scores later.

How are you, Oles? She asked, but her friend didn't answer.

When the smaller shields of the mobile carriers touched the force field, loud buzzing and static noises drowned out most of the sounds. Even with the ongoing barrages, the ensuing light show in the spots where different energy sources came into contact produced a series of flashes brighter than anything else on the field. The spots where the enemy soldiers marched through reminded Aranea of when she, other cubs, and Olesya had idiotic competitions to find out who could stare at the sun the longest. The machine bulks pushed themselves through the first obstacle. Several of them went up in ashes, ruined by the concentrated fire after their generators overloaded, but the majority went on, and the Resistance reformed its ranks, closing around them.

The Bento cyborgs bore the brunt of the retaliation; their first row lost limbs, had deep gashes in their torsos, or even lost heads. They kept marching, joining their distorted cheers to the loud encouragement of less cyberized soldiers in the rear. Together they advanced toward the center of the Reclamation Army, converging at the spot where Janine made her stand.

The figure in the blue armor marched before the Bentos. The shell pierced the shield above her and struck directly under her legs. As the dust cleared, Aranea saw that Jekaterina had barely noticed this explosion, walking without hurrying or slowing her pace, holding the scythe in both hands. Joined by her royal guards, she approached the first trenches, faced with plasma, laser beams, grenades, and bullets… Everything was tried and failed, as the towering cyborgs emitted their personal portable force fields, overlapping several of them in a bubble around Jekaterina and themselves.

Like the tip of a spear, they charged, replacing their slow and steady advance with a rapid dash. The Reaper of Lies swung too fast for Aranea to notice, shearing bodies in half, slicing through metal and bones without halting, and leaving corpses in Jekaterina's wake. She never stopped, seemingly uncaring about any foes trying to stop her, not even bothering to mock or shout a battle cry. She sliced through a bunker's wall, entering inside for a breath. And at that moment, all foreign life inside of it stilled forever, and she exited through another breach.

An entrenched tank took aim and fired. A single swing of the scythe parted the shell in two, and the cyborgs closed on it, punching the tank through the viewing window hard enough to kill a soldier and shove the vehicle back. Next came the second slash of the sharpest scythe, dividing the tank at the middle. The third never came. Jekaterina heeded the pleas for mercy and resumed her walk as the halves fell behind her and the troops were captured. Those in the trenches who surrendered remained unharmed and were often ignored while their comrades were torn apart by mechanical arms crumpling exoskeletons.

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Drones swooped in to support the hard-pressed troops; however, the heavy assault team raised their soulless fists, unleashing a web of electricity that caught the drones and jumped from one to another, overloading and exploding them. The front will fall. Should have fallen.

Janine's growl whipped away any uncertainty and fear. It was not a growl of infuriation or mindless rage, but rather, a grunt of anticipation. At long last, the warlord spotted a target worthy of her personal attention on the battlefield. Bareheaded, her large form covered the distance with vast strides, outpacing her entourage without exposing herself. Jekaterina acted like a dagger, lodged in a vulnerable spot between the plates, pushing deeper and widening the breach to collapse the coordinated efforts of the opposition. While other places held on, none could stand against her.

No longer. Two of Jekaterina's guards leapt ahead of her, copies of the giant whose might Aranea knew all too well. To the warlord they were nothing, flies to swat aside, and a single slash of her axe opened their chests, reaching to the brains hidden within, just as Jekaterina turned to face her challenger.

The cyborgs were still falling when the Taleteller crashed against the Reaper of Lies. Two weapons from the bygone era collided, and neither broke nor bent. Not even a notch appeared. An incoming sonic boom raced through the front line, sending corpses flying. The rest of the cyborgs were shoved backward, drawing lines in the sand with their legs. They recovered fast, while Jekaterina and Janine remained locked in an intense standoff, testing their might. The cyborgs surrounded the warlord, seeking to strike at her while she was distracted, and backed off, faced with ten shamans joining the carnage.

A cyborg unleashed the familiar electrical net, and Lying One shoved her paw through it, stabbing at its head and tearing it away. Undaunted, the cyborg kneed the shaman in the chest, pulling out his spine sword. Smaller cyborgs closed in, attempting to capitalize on the distraction. But to the ancient veterans, they were mere ants to be crushed underfoot. And crushed they were, both by the shamans and by the pack of Janine Forty-Seventh, who closed in during the commotion. The wolf hag herself carried a shoulder missile launcher and fired it from up close, escaping a swipe of a gigantic fist by riding an explosion that tore away an arm and exposed the hissing wires of a heavy assault team member.

Lying One and her sisters pressed on, clashing with the mechanical golems, and neither side backed down. Blood, oil, and sparks splashed in every side, accompanied by the noises of tearing metal, hisses, and desperate gasps for air.

In the midst of it, the Soultakers' leader confronted Janine. The Taleteller spoke its tale, only to be blocked by the Reaper of Lies. Each swing was matched by a counter hit from the warlord, and each incoming cleaving strike found no way past Jekaterina. Aranea refused to believe her eyes. The two were evenly matched.

Wrong. A cold shiver ran down her spine. A tide of all-encompassing blue pressed on, with a streak of oil flashing in it, trying to bite from every conceivable direction. Janine resembled a lone rock about to be swallowed whole. A series of jabs came at her snout, done with the scythe's sharp butt. None even scratched the skin, and suddenly Jekaterina spun her weapon, landing an overhead strike at the axe's shaft, and it moved Janine backwards, plowing gouges with her boots to an approving growl.

Stronger. With a two-handed grip, Jekaterina was physically stronger.

The warrior in blue stopped. Her left hand removed the helmet, placing it on the belt, revealing the long blonde hair gathered into a tight knot and held by several clamps. Jekaterina's face still had the same cold beauty, unspoiled by age, sweat, or injury. The gesture puzzled the warlord, and she tilted her head, observing how Jekaterina took the scythe in her right hand, abandoning the double grip, and the icy eyes met the amber gaze.

A challenge. Nearby Normies aimed at Jekaterina, but the scythe's afterimage hovered over their weapons as they dropped in several parts. The cyborg broke away from his battle with Lying One and raised the sword, slashing at the warlord's nape. Janine whirled, shattering the blade with a single blow, not committing the killing strike, and stomped on the cleaved wreckage. Jekaterina had the opportunity to injure her opponent but stood still, waiting for her to turn back.

Without further instructions, a circle formed around the leaders as they faced each other, with mirroring stances, wielding their two-handed weapons with a single paw. They remained unmoving statues, ignoring the bouts around them, their eyes searching for the slightest flaw, an opening to exploit.

Not finding any, they attacked. Even to Aranea's crimson eye, the movement seemed to be instantaneous. Two tornadoes of metal merged—one black, one blue—sending out a wave of air that carried away smaller cyborgs, several Wolfkins, and Normies. Violence honed over centuries faced the dispassionate perfection of Jekaterina. Janine was excited at the prospect of facing an equal opponent, yet there was only boredom on her opponent's face.

Each merciless slash of the axe was parried or blocked; the scythe's hook penetrated deeper into Janine's defense, notching her armor. With just one arm, Jekaterina matched the warlord blow for blow; the Reaper of Lies and the Taleteller failed to determine a victor. Janine threw her left arm up to douse the opponent with a stream of searing heat. Two rings moved on the barrel. Jekaterina grabbed Janine by the wrist, pointing the flamecaster aside. The weapons locked again, keeping the warlord far enough for her to be unable to bite.

With a growl, Janine strained herself and shoved Jekaterina a step back. The jaws spread wide, unleashing an intense howl full of bloodthirst into the Soultaker's face, and she squinted to preserve her eyes as vessels popped up in them. Not surrendering, she returned the push, sending Janine two steps back, and in the resulting distance, both fighters had enough space to wield their weapons again.

Jekaterina was powerful. Aranea had never imagined meeting someone of her caliber here. Was it a result of her power?

Kate told you about her ability. This is the limit of her physiology. A rare mutation gave her many gifts, and she polished her skills to use them to their fullest. A combination of innate talent, persistent training, and a physical anomaly produced such an incredible result. The wolf hag wondered if even legendary warlords Alpha or Foulsnout could match this physical strength.

Sure, the shamans claimed it to be true, but Janine had been training her right arm every day; she had been fighting since birth in far more violent centuries. What Jekaterina was doing was boggling her mind; it should have been possible. Before, Janine had met two people capable of ignoring her full swings: Ravager and Mad Hatter.

Could today be the day she found the third? Aranea's heart pounded in her chest with concern for her leader.

Jekaterina shifted her grip on the scythe, bringing it closer to the blade and using it as a short blade, and still stubbornly refused to use her left hand.

Meanwhile, the Soultakers' assault slowed down. Initially, their hover tanks used their mobility to run circles around the defenders, using their weaponry to sow bedlam and pave the way for their infantry. The state's soldiers refused to break and fell back to the second line, supported by the artillery fire and reinforced by allied heavy armor. UAVs descended, taking advantage of the absence of any air forces in the Resistance's army.

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