Ruda glanced around the corner and nodded to Chernogor. The main road leading to the second gate out of the city remained open, save for a small group of mercenaries hastily fleeing the city. They were transporting slaves held in enormous iron cages. Apparently, their masters feared potential civil strife far more than the effects of the elements on their property.

  As the commander had predicted, Draz’s main forces had relocated to other points. They only had to travel a short distance—a quarter of a kilometer—then slip through the tunnel, and they would be free.

  “Should we go straight ahead?” Ruda suggested. “Let’s fall in behind the mercenaries. They’re probably not the only ones fleeing the burning junkyard.”

  “That should work,” Ney agreed. “The boys will play along; we’ll take their weapons for a while...”

  “Worst-case scenario, we’ll bribe the guards.” Bahran’s needles emitted a melodic ringing as he shrugged.

  “We can’t wait,” Chernogor finally declared. He took the first step, then grabbed his pistol and turned, shooting past Farrin’s head.

  The bullet slashed across the woman’s helmet, soared toward the sky, and pierced the stomach of a figure rising above the ledge. The figure clutched himself and fell to the roof. Shards of breastplate rained down.

  “Ambush!” Chernogor barked.

  Without waiting for further instructions, Ruda grabbed the two nearest civilians, throwing them into a small alley leading to a dead end, hearing the rumble of activating generators on the other side. The Planet guided her hand, and a moment later, an electric whip cut through the wall of the house, scratching the retreating man’s eyebrow but stopping short of his skull.

  Ney fired from the hip into the gaping hole in the wall, eliciting a storm of curses from within. The stone barrier collapsed, covering the defenders in dust. Three dozen heavily armed raiders spilled out onto the street like a gray avalanche.

  Not allowing them to raise their machine guns, Ruda lashed out with the pincer, severing the first bastard’s fingers at the gauntlet joints. Then she plunged the pincer’s tip into the gap between the gorget and the helmet, passing through the rubberized layer, cutting through the servo-muscles, and piercing the soft neck. The enemy grunted, trying to retreat, but his own allies pushed the unfortunate moron forward, to his death. Ruda kicked him with her hoof, leaving a deep dent in the plate and sending the corpse flying back onto two soldiers.

  Raising her pistol, she opened fire, pumping bullets into the armor joints of the stumbling bandits. A shot from an armor-piercing rifle knocked shrapnel from her pauldron, spinning Ruda straight into an oncoming hammer blow that was about to split her head. Ney saved her life, parrying the heavy blow with his sword. The weapon cracked, holding the blow long enough for the crusader to fire into the bastard’s visor and turn his battle-heated, battle-wracked face, twisted with the anticipation of victory, into shreds of red flesh.

  Three foes pounced on her at once, knocking Ruda to the ground. She heard the scrape of knives cutting through a narrow section of armor near her back and the ricochet of shots shaking the generator.

  With a wave of his hand, Bahran swept two of them off the crusader, sending them flying back a couple of steps. The unusual ally leaned forward, grunting as the shot tore his hide near the base of his neck. The needles on the exposed patches of the mutant’s body fluttered like rye bending in a cheerful gust of morning wind. But unlike the rye, each sharp tip aimed at its target without rustling and flew out of the mutant’s body, descending upon its attackers like a dark cloud.

  Most of the biological bombardment’s projectiles lodged in the metal, but Ruda heard desperate cries, the jammed clicks of weapons, and the explosions of grenades pinned to hands. Her remaining opponent mounted her, holding her arms with his legs, and stabbed her in the visor with a knife, almost reaching her eye when the blast wave knocked him off balance. Freeing her pistol hand, Ruda fired two shots under his ribs. The armor stopped the first bullet, but the second pierced the plate, and the man groaned and rolled to the side. A sword thrust finished off the wounded man as she ripped the knife from her visor.

  Ney grabbed the slain opponent’s hammer with both hands, replacing his broken sword. Even now, caught in an unexpected ambush, he fought with the dignity of a nobleman. Each of his movements flowed smoothly into the next, without exposing the fighter. Splitting the enemy’s faceplate with a powerful thrust of the pommel, he shoved the gray-armored guard back a step, finishing the move with a crushing overhead strike with the hammer’s head, breaking both the woman’s skull and the vile fiery maw on her pauldron. Before the hammer had even cleared the mess of wires and leaking fluids, Ney had already gripped it with one hand, firing three shots into the chest of a guard aiming for Farrin, who was struggling to survive. The breastplate refused to split, but the recoil delayed the enemy long enough for a horizontal hammer strike that broke his arm.

  Chaos reigned everywhere. Chernogor fought against an opponent armed with a rifle and the crackling electric whip. The slightest touch of this weapon burned gashes in the walls, and four bandit allies already lay dead, with traces of soot and charred flesh on their exposed necks and arms.

  Assessing the danger, the commander engaged the enemy in close combat, walking over the corpses of two guards and denying the foe the opportunity to take advantage of the whip’s length. He knocked the rifle’s muzzle away with his pistol and fired, killing a raider pressing on a civilian without even turning his head away from the opponent, whom Ruda recognized as Swift.

  The allied raiders held their ground thanks to their durable armor, but, unaccustomed to the protection of allies, they left their freed helpers unprotected, and many of the bandits rescued from the arena perished under blades or gunfire in the narrow passage. The smartest of them leaped behind Bahran and Farrin’s soldiers; few had the foresight to take advantage of such cover.

  True to his word, the Insectone held Rustam in his arms as he retreated through the archway. He hesitated, noticing how the jagged blade sliced ??through a civilian’s arm, also lopping off the armored hand of the little girl the man was holding. Time slowed for Ruda. The screams died down, leaving only her and the stump of a power sleeve, with sparking wires dangling from it. Components clicked inside, and then a slow trickle of blood poured out, carrying away cut, tanned fingers with broken nails.

  The child’s pain-filled cry awakened something within the crusader. Cold sweat broke out on her body, brought on by the reminder of her own past, but now she didn’t mind the tightening of her muscles, straining as she transformed. Ruda leaped forward, crushing the helmet of an enemy fighting Farrin with her hoof. Landing like a comet, her legs shattered the concrete, and the pincer sank full length into the soldier’s side, breaking his spine and scraping against the inside of his chest plate on the other side.

  Ruda tossed the corpse aside.

  “Tourniquet, now!” she barked at Farrin.

  “Right,” the shocked bandit agreed, moving toward the wounded girl.

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  “Anyone itching to die, step forward!” Ruda’s vision blurred for a moment, taking on an unusual brightness. She caught sight of her eyes in the reflection of a guard’s visor, two vertical onyx pupils swimming in pools of gray.

  Sweat or tears? Damn it. With one upward, diagonal swing, she sliced ??the guard open with the ease of opening a tin can, forcing the dead man’s feet off the ground. Strength filled her limbs, and with a kick, she folded the other machine gunner’s arm in three, following the screaming cripple past the falling body.

  “Sariant! Roof and Yeshua! Ney will hold this part of the fight!” Chernogor shouted.

  “Yes, Sir!”

  Ruda spun around, letting out a low, booming roar of rage, more reminiscent of a clogged toilet flush than the proud cry of a crusader. A guard leaped down, aiming his shotgun at Farrin, threatening to hit Rustam with his shot. Ruda threw herself into the line of fire, shielding everyone with her body, just as another dark shadow joined the fray, pushing her unexpected ally back and catching the pincer strike with her claws.

  “You...” Ruda breathed, recognizing the elongated muzzle, the tight suit torn at the shoulder, the amber eyes, the rifle dangling from his sling, and the mocking grin filled with snow-white fangs. “Die.”

  The sword darted from the claws to the exposed neck, missing due to the dodge. Ruda tried to kick the scoundrel, but the Wolfkin blocked the blow with her own knee, slamming her knuckles into the crusader’s shoulders.

  “Are we destined to approach and recede like the moon and the earth, my beautiful friend?” Davinia sang, unafraid of Chernogor’s shot, which knocked her ally over. “Ah, your exquisite fury does me honor. Black and blue create such lovely patterns, reminiscent of rivers gliding through the mountainous landscape. How lovely! No, no, don’t clench your charming fangs; be proud of them!”

  “I will fashion a chamber pot out of your skull and hang your pelt in the trophy hall!” Ruda’s shot missed the Wolfkin, hitting the wounded guard.

  Sword met claws in a maelstrom of attacks, counterattacks, feints, and parries. A surge of strength somewhat evened the gap between the combatants, but Davinia’s experience far exceeded Ruda’s. She leaned just enough to let the sword pass her, maintaining her balance, keeping a close eye on the battlefield, and guiding the Crusader. Passing her fighting allies, Ruda pierced the guards’ exposed backs, using the Wolfkin as an involuntary shield.

  Is it really that involuntary? As she picked up the pace of the fight, she realized her inferiority. Davinia was toying with the brute, possessing equal physical strength, coupled with the agility and speed necessary for victory. When the amber eye glanced to the left, Ruda understood, easing her pressure.

  I still won’t ask you for Rustam. Ruda thought stubbornly, hitting Davinia with her shoulder, knocking her down, and advancing ahead.

  Cut off from his allies, Yeshua took up a position at the end of the street, methodically dispatching four guards. Unlike his fighting siblings, the sariant relied on a pistol, firing at the seams of armor and weakening his opponents before swiftly finishing them off with slashes from his cleaver. Those who managed to deflect the blade were met with bullets, and the raiders, hesitating and unwilling to die, gave the sariant the opportunity to calmly reload.

  Yeshua looked up, hearing a howl that answered the question that had been tormenting Ruda. Their crowd was a motley, disorganized rabble, but the trained crusaders had ensured there were no tracks or even the slightest sounds that could lead a pursuer to them. Nevertheless, the guards not only caught up with them but also prepared an ambush, positioning themselves in the houses and turning off the generators. If not for the impatient soldier who peeked out, they would have succeeded in striking the soft center, consisting of civilians, instead of directly engaging the fighters in front and behind.

  The scent was the answer. Latke’s dog stood against the smoke-filled night sky, its green eyes gleaming. The darkness obscured the color of its red hide, leaving only its outline. The hound had picked up their scent at their first encounter and calmly awaited its opportunity. Hearing the whistle, the animal’s mouth bristled in a mixture of a smile and a bloodthirsty grin.

  “Mistress! Please refrain; do not put yourself or your pet in danger!” Davinia wailed from the ground. “Allow the unworthy to prove their usefulness.”

  The claws didn’t scratch Ruda’s leg as she ran past.

  The dog dove, bouncing off the wall of the building to avoid Yeshua’s shot. The hound soared over the crusader, latching onto the allied raider’s throat and ripping out his trachea. Yeshua’s bullet struck the resilient hide, ricocheting harmlessly, and the beast turned toward Yeshua. All his speed wasn’t enough to fend off the powerful leap that knocked him off his feet. Holding his cleaver horizontally, blade first, Yeshua used it as a barrier to keep the snapping jaws at bay while he grabbed the back of the beast’s head and lower jaw, unsuccessfully attempting to rip its head off.

  The cleaver cracked.

  Ruda made it at the last second, plunging her sharp pincer between the hound’s ribs. She only scratched the incredibly resilient skin, but the hound yelped, breaking free and dragging Yeshua’s shoulder pad with it.

  “Thanks, I owe you one,” said Yeshua and hit his savior on the legs. Ruda fell backward, hearing the roar of the starting chainsaw and the crash of pebbles against her carapace.

  Blades passed over her, continually circling the guide bar mounted on the limb of the mechanical walker, which had rammed a straight path through the house, causing the unfortunate owners, hiding in the basement, to scream in terror. Each chainsaw blade was longer than a human palm, and their combined movements merged into a single, blurred oval.

  Ruda had encountered walkers before. They mostly consisted of a pilot’s cabin with limbs extending from it. These bulky machines were used to transport cargo over uneven terrain unsuitable for conventional transport, in mining operations, and occasionally to assist Normies in remote factories, in situations where the physical strength of conventional exoskeletons was insufficient for routine operations and trained Abnormals were unavailable. Due to their size, relative vulnerability, and the difficulty of emergency repairs, most armies deemed walkers unsuitable for combat use, relying instead on tried-and-true APCs and tanks.

  This model resembled a crouching human. The brown colossus’ legs ended in flat feet, its right arm held an industrial chainsaw, and its left limb ended in a three-fingered claw. A generator hung over the cabin, giving the walker a hunched appearance. The pilot, clad in heavy gray armor, hung in the center of the walker, his hands on the controls and her deep-set eyes peering at the crusaders through a narrow visor. Latke clearly didn’t care what military theorists thought.

  “Even,” Ruda said, jumping to her feet.

  “All are even in death,” Latke said. The walker’s claw moved with a hiss, stopping in front of the pilot’s face and blocking the shot from the rising Yeshua. “That’s sad. I was starting to think Latif had some smart guys; he even gave your kiddo some advice...”

  “And now you’re ready to kill him.” Ruda tensed.

  “Of course. You lied. The governor wants to know who you are.”

  “We’re willing to clear up the misunderstanding for a reasonable reward...”

  “Shut up,” Latke interrupted Yeshua. “I’m a simple person. I care nothing for conspiracies, torture, betrayal, or intrigue. Anyone who dares to stand in the boss’ way I eradicate without a second thought. This is the most effective way to survive. Stand still and die quickly, or resist and suffer. That’s your only remaining choice.”

  The walker took a step, shaking the ground with its weight, and drew an arc in the air with its chainsaw, turning Ruda’s weapon into a pile of broken rubble with one blow. Yeshua pushed her back, ducking under the chainsaw, and approached Latke, firing several shots at her legs. The first bullets shattered on her greaves, then the pincer shifted, protecting the pilot, and suddenly shot forward with tremendous speed, grabbing the crusader and slamming him into the house on the left, causing cracks to run across the solid surface of the walls. Yeshua freed his right hand, grabbed the approaching hound by the neck, and tried to push the beast away.

  Ruda hurried to his aid, receiving a blow from the walker’s right elbow that sent her flying five meters, while Latke brought the chainsaw down on Yeshua’s shoulder.

  “Please!” someone shouted from behind Ruda. A kick to the back of the head brought the woman back to her feet. “Mistress, step back! Don’t do anything stupid! It’s too dangerous here!”

  She wasn’t saying this to Latke. Ruda realized it when the claws sank into her shoulder pad, spinning the crusader to face Davinia, whose usually calm, teasing eyes were now tense. The Wolfkin jumped, reaching for her rifle, and Ruda rolled back instead of firing at the Abnormal’s exposed underbelly, praying to the Planet that her instincts were correct.