"CLAWS IN ME!" Illando roared with every scrap of breath in his lungs, his powerful voice rising above the storm of Savage Fire chants.

Like water from canals the hoard of rag-robed figures came charging out of the depths. Now he knew why the scouts had seen no mass exodus of cult followers. The Savage Fire had never left. They'd been hidden down in some lower level this entire time, just waiting for Kendris's call.

Galvanised by his voice, the enforcers pulled in around him, forming a tight ring, bristling with weapons. Kappsi and her brothers, along with those wolfkin wounded by the falling gantry, took refuge in the centre of the circle. A couple of cacophonous seconds crashed through Illando's ears as he watched the tide surging towards him. A blizzard of tattooed faces and crimson-painted maws bore down on them.

He bared his teeth. If they wanted savagery, he would give it to them.

"Fire at will!" he roared, raising his armbow and shooting one foe in the chest. A volley of bolts flew in all directions; more bodies fell.

Then the first wave of cultists slammed into them from all sides, like meat being thrown onto a bandsaw. Illando took two of them with a single swing of his club, the spikes tearing through the skull of one and carrying on straight into the neck of a second. His muscles bulged as he ripped the weapon loose, sidestepped a thrusting spear and opened the throat of a third cultist with a swipe of his bladed gauntlet. A couple of spaces down the line, Gensher threw himself into the cultists and in seconds was surrounded by a blizzard blood and gore.

The first clash was a brief, violent flurry that left more than a score of cultists dead before they regrouped. Chants in the brutal, long-dead language of the cult rose afresh; armbows clattered to the fore of their ranks.

"Take them out!" Illando bellowed over the chanting. "The bows first!"

Things may have looked bleak, but the fight-or-flight instinct of Wildhearth's enforcers weighed heavily towards fight. Before the first cultists could loose their bolts, Illando's troops fired again. Robed bodies went flailing back into the mass; some armbows fired off in wild directions: into ceiling or even into their own people.

Sheer numbers evened the odds. Even as their comrades fell screaming, more cultists raced forward, firing home-made armbows into the tight circle of wolfkin. Without much room for manoeuvre Illando caught one bolt in the side where it split apart against his armour. Others weren't so lucky. He saw one enforcer go reeling backwards, clutching a wooden shaft protruding from their leg.

"Ferrow, with me!" Illando yelled. "Bite, bite, bite!"

The order shot through the circle of enforcers, and every second wolfkin suddenly burst out of their rank, flinging themselves into the mass of cultists. They struck with controlled ferocity, tearing into the front ranks and targeting the cultists carrying bows first. Illando broke the neck of one burly vulkin with a crushing blow of his club.

As quickly as they'd struck, the wolfkin danced back into line, leaving more bodies in their wake.

Illando realised too late that it might have been a mistake to strike out like that. As he slotted back into his place in line, a hellish, screaming chorus rose up from the massed ranks of cultists. Weapons rose in a shaking clatter, and a refrain shook the rafters.

KENDRIS! KENDRIS! KENDRIS!

"Think we kicked a nest," Gensher spat, flicking a spray of blood from his gauntlet. "Doesn't look like we're walking out of this one, so I think I'll take that apology now."

"Sorry," Illando bit out, just before the hoard of the Savage Fire charged.

A swell of bitterness engulfed him. So this was it, this was how he died. Buried by a crazed cult in abandoned factory in the middle of nowhere. How could he have let this happen? Why, oh why, had he agreed to lead the enforcers. Thanks to him, all of Wildhearth would soon be in jeopardy.

At least he wouldn't have much time to dwell on it, as the first rank of cultists slammed into the wolfkin line.

It wasn't long before the factory floor became slick with blood underpaw as bodies piled up. The battle-hardened enforcers slaughtered droves of their berserk assailants, but the cultists kept coming, insane courage propelling them onto the claws and blades of Illando's soldiers. Wolfkin began to fall, one by one, overwhelmed by the crush of robed bodies. The circle tightened, meter by meter.

Ferrow went down with a barbed spearhead jammed in her stomach. Illando let out a howl of rage, breaking a jaw with a backhanded swing of his gauntlet and launching himself towards her. He ducked another enemy, planting a shoulder into their midriff and flipping them head over tail without breaking stride. A swing of his club caved in the chest of another, killing them on the spot.

"Ferrow!"

He reached her, just in time for the life to leave her eyes. She went limp, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling of the factory.

A howl of rage rose from the pit of his stomach, so loud that even the cultists nearby faltered for an instant, heads drawn towards him. In that instant, he gripped the spear in one paw, yanked it from Ferrow's body, and then launched it into their massed ranks.

At this range he couldn't miss. The nearest unfortunate foe took the spear in the chest, and the sheer force behind the throw carried them back into their comrades. Then the red mist fell and Illando descended upon the cultists screaming, his spiked club rising and falling in brutal arcs, breaking bones and shattering skulls. Blades and bolts came for him; his armour was pierced in a dozen places, but he barely noticed. Soon he was lathered in gore, his gauntlet lodged in the sternum of one cultist, his jaws clamped tight around the windpipe of another and he dragged them both to the ground, ripping, tearing and roaring like a thing possessed.

Paws milled around him; voices chanted. Orders from the surviving pack-leaders battled through the din. Illando wrenched loose of the dead cultists and brought his club swinging up into a bearkin that stood over him with a long axe.

The spikes slammed up beneath the bearkin's jaw, driven up through bone and tissue into the brain. Illando yanked himself loose, even as a spear ripped across his flank. He roared in agony and turned, catching hold of the shaft and bringing his club around in the other paw for another lethal blow.

Coughing, he tugged the spear out.

Then someone grabbed him by the collar of his armour and wrenched him backwards with shocking force.

"Get back in line, sir!" Gensher growled. "Still a lot of killing to be done."

The familiar voice cut through his animal fury. Stumbling and twisting, Illando eventually regained his balance and allowed himself to be hauled back into position. As the mist cleared from his eyes, he saw the mess of bodies he'd left behind, a space of several meters that he'd cleared between his troops and their attackers. Illando spat out blood and planted his feet, and the Savage Fire charged again.

The first that came at him charged with fearsome speed, aiming a modified boathook at his heart. He twisted awkwardly, dodging the strike, but unable to land a killing blow of his own as his assailant hurtled past. Illando managed to jam an elbow into the spine of the cultist, sending them stumbling, but they carried on, straight towards the others hunkering down in the centre of the shrinking circle.

He opened his mouth to shout a warning, but to his surprise, he saw Kappsi leap forward with a wild shriek. Before the cultist could regain his balance, the otterkin girl came flying forward and ran him through with the enforcer dirk she carried. The foxkin jerked to a choking halt, squirming weakly for a moment before she wrenched the blade free and let his body drop.

Satisfied that she could look after herself, Illando turned back to the fight, and kept on killing.

*

Kappsi stared at the dead cultist for a moment, shock rooting her to the spot. She swallowed hard, trying to fight down the urge to vomit, and ignore the fact she was spattered with blood. Another cultist came clattering through a gap in the ailing wolfkin line, only for a bolt from Haarm's heavy armbow to catch them in the gut. They went down, squealing and writhing.

"Y'alright, sis?" her brother barked, frantically reloading his armbow.

"I... I'm fine," she stammered. Her paws trembled, but she shook her head, exhaling a sharp breath. If it came to fighting or dying, she was going to fight. Squaring her shoulders, she edged forward towards the ailing enforcer line. Another enemy came at her, a red-toothed deerkin letting out a hellish, screeching bray. She parried the questing stab of a longclaw dagger, and punched the cultist hard in the snout.

As her enemy staggered away, Kappsi took a powerful stride forward and rammed the dirk through their heart.

Don't think, don't think, don't think.

She leapt back, averting her eyes as the cultist fell, unable to look. This was not her, but right now she didn't have a choice. She hadn't come this far to let herself be torn to pieces by Kendris's zealots.

Skoppa moved up alongside her. They traded looks; an unspoken agreement.

With Haarm moving behind them, they flung themselves into the fray to plug the gap in the enforcer line. There was a brief glimmer of surprise from enforcers to either side of them, but right now the wolfkin weren't in a position to be choosy about their help.

Kappsi might not have been trained, but she was more than strong enough to look after herself. She launched one cultist back with a kick to the chest, and twisted to smack away the blade of a swinging axe. She swayed around the blade and lashed her dirk upward. It was an awkward strike, but it opened the cult fighter's face from lip to eye, and sent her screaming backwards, clutching her face.

Grappling with a third attacker, she just managed to sway her hips to avoid a knife aimed at her gut, instead catching the blade across the side of her ribs. Kappsi hissed in pain and butted the quillkin attacker hard. The cultist staggered, then Skoppa swung his axe into the back of the quillkin's neck. Kappsi gasped with relief and let the body drop.

Relief turned to surprise an instant later however, when she spotted a face.

Somehow, in the sea of screaming, gnashing fangs she saw her. Brickle. The otterkin's face was lathered in tattoos and her teeth painted red, but it was her. Kappsi could've picked her friend's features out of an inkwell. She hesitated for an instant.

But only an instant.

If Brickle met one of the enforcers she was dead meat. This might have been a losing battle, but the enforcers were extracting a horrific toll from the cult. There was only one thing that might keep her friend alive.

Kappsi gathered her nerve, and rushed forward.

"SIS!"

Skoppa's panicked yelp cut into her ears, but she ignored it, barrelling forward and lowering her shoulder. The first enemy was taken off guard and she slammed into him, sending him crashing back into two more cultists, and all three went down in a mess of limbs. Kappsi hurdled them in a single bound, slashing at another foe as she landed and cutting the chest of a deerkin warrior open.

They fell, and she continued her mad dash until she came face to face with Brickle.

She opened her mouth, but before she could say a word, she had to block the vicious swing of a rust-headed axe. Metal clanged on metal as she caught it against the flat of her dirk and shoved the axe away.

"Brickle, it's me!" she hollered.

"The Fire will cleanse," Brickle spat back through her crimson teeth. There was no hint of recognition in those glazed, glassy eyes. She swung again, forcing Kappsi to hop back. She skipped out of reach, eyes wide as she tried to think.

"Brickle, this ain't you," she forced out. "C'mon, y'really wanna gut your old barge-mate in this place?"

"If you're not with us, you're against us." Brickle advanced, raising the axe. "You follow the Peace. You follow traitors."

Hearing those words come out of her friend's mouth was almost more than Kappsi could handle. How could this be right? How could Kendris take someone so full of life and laughter and turn them into... this?

She wouldn't let it happen. She wouldn't let the Savage Fire win. Not today – not now.

"Then do it," Kappsi panted. "If you got the guts for it."

The flicker of indecision on Brickle's face was so swift that she almost missed it, but not quite. A slight narrowing of the eyes; a twitch in the jaw; the faintest falter of her forward steps. It wasn't much – gone as quickly as it came – but it was enough for Kappsi to know she couldn't give up.

Brickle swung. Kappsi twisted sideways and the axe-head whistled down in front of her face, so close she felt the wind of the blade. Her stomach lurched into her throat, her knees trembling, but she had a tiny window of opportunity. She swivelled back, and swung with both paws, cracking Brickle across the temple with the pommel of her dirk.

The clunk of metal on bone made her stomach lurch, and for a moment she thought she might have killed her friend right there. The other otterkin collapsed in a heap, and Kappsi dropped down beside her.

"Brickle!" she squealed, but relief flashed through her when she saw her friend's chest rising and falling. She was alive.

"Sis!"

The bark made her look up sharply, to find a cultist swinging a hammer at her head. A yelp escaped her lips as she fell back, the heavy metal whooshing past just inches from her skull. The cultist raised his weapon with a scream, but an axe came swinging through above her and buried itself in his chest. Blood sprayed from the fatal strike; the cultist dropped like a felled tree.

"Kappsi, get back!" Skoppa growled, grabbing her by the scruff of her neck and hauling her upright, swiping wildly with the axe in his free paw. He was limping, his thigh drenched with blood from a deep cut, but he didn't pay it any mind, trying to drag her away from the baying cultists.

"Wait!" Kappsi screamed, wrenching herself loose and scrambling back towards Brickle's prone form. "Help me!"

"Kappsi, get over here!"

"HELP ME!"

Bodies milled all around, threatening to trample Brickle to death. Kappsi ploughed forward, ramming them aside and lashing out left and right with her dirk until she was close enough to grab Brickle by the robe.

Desperation strangled her as she tried to heave her friend backwards, defending herself clumsily with the dirk in her free paw, but their enemies closed in around them. She screamed with frustration, pain and anger as a spear cut her shoulder, before punching out and stabbing her attacker in the hip.

Then right in front of her, three cultists collapsed for no apparent reason. It took her a couple of seconds to realise that there were armbow bolts sticking out of them. Kappsi's jaw dropped open in confusion and she hesitated, trying to make sense of what was going on. More robed figures started falling all around them, and her mind spun. Then she heard a deep voice thunder through the factory, rising above the clash of weapons.

"Suppressing volleys!" the voice boomed. "Fire at will!"

Kappsi looked up.

She couldn't quite believe what she found there.

Although the main gantry level had been obliterated by Kendris's trap, there were dozens of smaller balconies and walkways that littered the upper levels, and all of them were suddenly filled with watchguards, fully armed and armoured. More bolts came scything down from the heights, and cultists fell in droves, taken totally by surprise.

The seething mass of robed, snarling bodies dithered for a moment in the face of this new threat. It gave Kappsi the few seconds she needed to grab Brickle's unconscious form under the arms and drag her backwards as the enforcers reformed their battle line. She could see on their faces that her wolfkin comrades were just as surprised.

"That who I think it is?" Haarm exclaimed.

"Thank the Peace'n'Fire," Kappsi almost laughed with relief. "Watchguards, Haarm! Bloody watchguards!"

From behind them a deafening rattle of explosions rang in her ears and she wrenched her head around to look, still dragging Brickle with her. Dust billowed around one of the entrances that had been blocked off by Kendris's trap, and through the haze she saw the heavy metal grate that had been barring their way fall inward, blown out of its housing by a series of charges. It struck the ground with an echoing clang, and more watchguards came charging through the gap.

The leader was a towering specimen, his fur black and brown, and he carried an enormous double-pawed staff, both ends weighted with small spheres of metal – spheres that crackled and fizzed with violent energy.

A watchguard riot-pike.

The guards closest to him carried them too, and at a single nod from the officer they rushed forward. The long poles lashed out, blasting anyone who got to close with a violent jolt of energy. With the cover from the shooters on the high gantries, the battalion of vulkin quickly opened a corridor in the mass of cultists.

"Illando!" the vulkin officer bellowed, raising his riot-pike high. "This way!"