Sous wad unaware hust how well the centaurs were fairing especially in the North. After she had toppled the Alpha up there and staked her claim, the centaurs came from the south of Nadia to assist the ones in Canas.
The centaurs were easy to align with once they saw her as an ally. What really helped was centaurs from her time at Hacate recognizing her. They remembered the little Alpha walking in the woods with a wagon filled with apples. They remembered a little Alpha trying to learn how to hunt with her friend, Randali.
Sous stood on top of a fortress that stood in one of the now liberated ghettos. She looked out yonder watched the centaurs converse amongst themselves regarding their next moves.
She jumped down from the fortress and pulled out the map. Slowly but surely Canas was being reclaimed. And with help from thr centaurs, their numbers growing thanks to the ones in Nadia, it would be a matter of time.
Flap, flap!
Her wings began to fluttered as she rose to the sky. The centaurs bowed their heads to her. It was already made who would go where. Sous would go to the next ghetto and a dozen or so centaurs who were capable of fighting would go with her.
Swoosh!
She shot up into the air.
...
Doureena and Zhiliary sat out on the beach front of Doureena and Monica's beach home. The Alpha was older now, in her seventies along with Monica but Doureena unlike the Omega was slowing down. It was like her body was coming apart.
Doureena sat in a wooden chair at the beach front. Her Alpha legs were spread out in front of her. She had on linen pants and a loose blouse. Her gray hair was braided and then wrapped up into a bun.
Her hands shook as she lifted the glass of whiskey to her lips. She spilled some on her wrinkled skin as her fingers twitched uncontrollably before settling down again. The taste of the whiskey was bitter but she swallowed it with a grimace.
She felt a dull ache spread through her legs, starting from her knees and creeping up to her thighs. It felt like a thousand tiny needles were pricking her skin from the inside. Her back was stiff, and she could barely turn her head without feeling a sharp pain shoot down her spine. Her joints creaked like old wooden floorboards whenever she moved.
Her hands shook again as she tried to set the glass down on the small table beside her. The trembling fingers made it difficult to grip anything properly. The glass clattered against the wood, barely missing the edge. Her breath was shallow, and she could feel her heart thumping unevenly in her chest. It was as if her body was slowly shutting down, piece by piece. This...this was old age.
Zhiliary looked at the Alpha. Not much was said between them these days not with the way Doureena was coming along. Some of the last conversations they had was Doureena telling Zhiliary she was going to lose this war, for Sous was united with Kara and Sous was united with Tany.
Zhiliary had shaken her head then, saying she had the power from another witch, one in Grim, but Doureena wasn't hearing it. She lacked the interest. The Alpha had simply waved her hand up and out.
Monica on the other hand looked amazing for her age. So beautiful that Zhiliary found herself getting aroused when near the Omega, but that would be the ultimate betrayal to Doureena.
Zhiliary turned her attention from Doureena to Monica who was walking barefoot in the sand wearing a silk dress that clung to her curves. The Omega was seventy-five but didn't look a day over fifty. Her hair was long, silver, and flowing in the wind. Her skin was smooth, her body toned and strong. She moved with the grace of a woman half her age.
Monica bent down and picked up a shell, examining it with a curious tilt of her head. Her fingers were steady, her grip firm. She tossed the shell into the ocean with a flick of her wrist, watching it skip across the waves before disappearing beneath the surface. She stretched her arms above her head, her muscles flexing beneath her skin.
The Omega walked along the shoreline, her feet leaving faint prints in the damp sand. The wind played with her silver hair, sending it dancing around her shoulders. She moved with effortless grace, her hips swaying slightly with each step. The silk dress clung to her body, outlining every curve, every line of muscle beneath her skin. She looked like a goddess walking among mortals, untouched by time. This...this was the magae of a witch. They were often timeless.
Monica looked up and saw the lustful eyes Zhiliary gave her. The hybrid witch simply shook her head, disgusted. Wolves could be so disgusting at times.
It was difficult to make love during a war but Sous made it work. Whenever she got the chance to see Kara, they would do what they could but quickly and then both would rush off to whatever station they were supposed to be at.
Sous stood in the center of a ghetto. Blood at her feet as she heard the cries of the humans and even wolves who were being slaughter by centaurs at Sous' command.
The humans didn't die quick, but slowly and painfully. The centaurs used spears, axes, swords, arrows, and even their bare hands to kill them. The humans tried to flee, but the centaurs were faster and stronger. They caught them easily and dragged them back to the center where Sous stood. Some begged for mercy, others cursed her name, but none were spared.
Bodies piled up around her feet like discarded toys. Blood pooled beneath them, soaking into the dirt until it turned black. The screams echoed off the walls of crumbling buildings, bouncing back until they became indistinguishable from one another, just noise now, just background static in this symphony of death.
Once liberated, they marched out.
The centaurs moved in formation through the shattered streets of the ghetto, their hooves kicking up dust mingled with the iron scent of spilled blood. Sous followed, her wings folded tightly against her back, each step deliberate as she navigated the carnage. The bodies left in their wake were not just corpses, they were messages.
Skulls cracked open like overripe fruit, limbs twisted into unnatural angles, torsos split clean down the middle. The air thickened with the stench of bile and ruptured organs, clinging to the back of her throat.
Sous' talons clicked against the cobblestones as she stepped over a severed hand still twitching, some poor soul's final reflex. A centaur stallion paused to piss on a headless torso, the steaming stream turning the pooled blood into frothy pink swirls. She watched dispassionately as a five-year-old's corpse was trampled into the mud, tiny ribcage collapsing like wet parchment under iron-shod hooves.
"Tsk," she said. They, the human guards, had their familes here. They brought their families to live in ghettos like it was normal. Sous shook her head. Disgusting.