Wednesday March 25th 2015
Leaving Tamlin's class, Cesare rolled his shoulders, trying to stretch the threatening cramp out. It felt like he was always running, the only breaks being when he collapsed into his bed and having tea with Elizabeth. One thing the constant race did, was keep the darkness at bay, poisonous thoughts fell silent under bone deep exhaustion.
Taking the stairs, Cesare flexed his arm, feeling the fleshy heat of the Enochian Blade nestled along his arm. Maybe he was paranoid, but Cesare didn’t think the girls wiping the floor with the dragon had scared the other predators away.
The students slipped away from him, a corridor opening for his dark form. The constant workouts, sparring, and death matches, had burned away any trace of softness from his body. Beth had taken the last of his humanity, reshaping him to its whims. Slim as a blade and liquid smooth, Cesare moved with a grace that separated him from the herd. He swam through the schools of fish like the black shark he was. Singular and alone, both his supporters and those that hated him, flinched away from the brutal aura that threaded the air around him.
Blaez cut through the crowd, making for Cesare. The students didn’t recoil from the wolf, they were used to his brand of monster. Strong, arrogant, but most of all, he followed the rules. They knew where they stood with him, while Cesare was a bomb with an unsteady fuse. It wasn’t just the rumors swirling around Cesare, he was an agent of change, tearing down what was steady and true in an orgy of violence.
Blaez walked into Cesare’s space with a smile tightening the scars that mapped his face. Deep trenches of burns and cuts, the discolored flesh gave his face a disjointed, unsteady look. He'd never be pretty; he’d only ever inspire fear or disgust. Knowing that was the best part of Cesare's day.
“Since we’re going the same way, I thought I’d walk with you.” Blaez said, smile widening in what used to be a charming way but now looked like a constipated serial killer.
Cesare nodded slowly, Blaez usually arrived at the Ludus Noctis shortly after Cesare. It made sense for the boy to walk with Cesare, except for two points. No one beside the Furies ever walked beside him, and no one liked Cesare. If he was walking with him, it was because Blaez wanted something.
Walking down the hallway, Cesare looked at the wolf beside him. “Why'd you back me?”
Blaez met his eyes for a brief second before looking away. “You were my last stop. I went to Jerold first, he was the one overseeing the Thagirion, and he’d led the group before. I asked him for help, he told me I had to figure it out on my own, that it was part of becoming a man.” Glaring, the wolf spat in disgust. “Fucking cocksucker, this is my fucking life, not a lesson on how to dress. I knew Abraxas was a dead end, that cold bastard wouldn’t raise a hand to save his cock. That left you, the one person who had every reason to say no, the man that didn't owe me shit. But you said yes, even took a beating for me when no one gave a damn.”
Cesare looked away from Blaez’s questioning look, he’d already explained his reasons and he wasn’t looking to have a touchy-feely moment with the dog. The guards at the entrance to the Ludus Noctis gave Cesare a nod of respect.
It was a growing problem that was slowly coming to a head. The gladiators in the courtyard watched them pass, eyes stilling the two. They'd never accept Cesare. But his damnati status allowed them to overlook his trespass. He was nothing in their world, without status, family, clan or standing. No matter what he did, he would never be someone.
Blaez wasn’t an anomaly, he wasn’t a damnati. The werewolf was an elite Umbrae Lunae, from a family of power and money. Strong, deadly, and a mean son of a bitch, he wasn't wanted here. Blaez was a dominant monster, if he wanted to take their area, there was nothing they could do about it.
It was that threat that wound around their hearts and minds. Jerold was the one in charge, and in a normal world, he'd never allow Blaez to take it from the gladiators. But this place was founded on strength, it was the one rule that all other rules bowed too, how they lived, what they'd die for, it formed the bedrock of who they were. If the werewolf claimed it, the gladiators would have to give it up.
Cesare’s students made a line along the outside of the gray ring. Their bodies hid the wolves woven into the fighting ring, he could just pick out the tip of a nose, a paw, or the side of a tumbling wolf. It was a work of art used as a fighting ring, not a fighting ring that was a piece of art.
Breaking from his side, Blaez took up his spot at the end of the line. The students relaxed when he settled into his normal place. The werewolf scared them. They were worried he'd take this time from them, that with his coming, they'd lose the personal instruction they loved. While this place was Cesare’s to share with who he wanted, it was still the only special they had.
When you only had one good thing, you went through life waiting for someone to take it. Girl, place, or thing, it didn't matter what it was, only that it made you feel that you were something more than a waste of space. For these kids, this place was that thing. Cesare could see it in their eyes when they met him in the ring, the set of their shoulders, and the work they put into getting better, even when he wasn’t around.
Yoshisune was the first to step in the ring. The kid held the knife low, slightly hidden by his body, creating a tight, bladed profile. Cesare had kept his eye on the kid over the past weeks, both in and out of training. Yoshisune was still hanging around with the drug dealing gladiators, taking extra lessons on the side with Greg. It was the long game and Cesare knew it. Greg was sinking hooks in deep, pushing them into the kids flesh a little at a time for the time when the dealer would call in the boys debt.
That wasn’t Cesare’s problem. Yoshisune was his own man, he’d been on the street and knew a pusher when he saw one. The kid had lived alongside pimps, whores, and needles, if Yoshisune wanted to make a deal with the devil, that was his business. If it went south and Greg pushed it too far … well, then it would be Cesare’s problem.
Darting in, Yoshisune hid the angle of his knife from Cesare’s view. Naturally quick, the boy had a feel for knife work. Side stepping, Cesare worked the kid, dodging out of the way with simple movements that left the wooden blade cutting air. Straight as blades, Cesare's fingers dug into soft tissue, leaving bruises behind.
Cesare wasn’t exploiting an opening; he was correcting positions that didn’t offer angles for blade work. A knife fighter had to be dedicated to killing, willing to be cut, beaten, and broken, for that one chance to sheathe his blade in flesh. A knife fighters’ mission was to push through pain and get the blade close.
By the end, the boy was drenched in sweat, stumbling with every step taken. Cesare slammed a palm strike into the boy’s chest. With an explosion of breath, the boy hit the ground, feet collapsing under him with the force of the strike. He’d gotten better, but Yoshisune lacked killer instinct, the innate sadism that drove the truly lethal.
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Taking his hand, the boy allowed Cesare to pull him up. “You have to want to hurt me.” The words were quiet, sharp enough to reach the others. “It has to burn in your heart as deeply as your need for a woman, as important as breath.” Yoshisune nodded, absorbing the words like gospel.
The others came at him, souls bared to his eyes. Some were good, others sucked, but it wasn’t about how good they were with wooden weapons. It was about the fire in their eyes, the need to hurt, to win, and conquer. The commitment to doing anything, enduring anything, as long as it got them closer. They might never be able to take a gladiator, but they’d be tougher, harder, stronger, in mind and spirit. The gladiators were learning to fight; Cesare’s students were learning to survive.
When the last one left the ring, Blaez walked in. He’d left his clothes hanging on the fence, knowing Cesare would make him change into the Kveldulf. The scars that stretched across his face dipped and wove along his shoulders and chest. Deep burns sectioned off by jagged trenches of ropy tissue.
A low whine burst from the boy as his body warped grotesquely. Flesh split along his shoulders, wet red muscle glistening in the sunlight, human skin peeled off in slabs of rotting meat. Bones broke in jerking movements, tearing free from muscle with explosive force, starkly white in the glaring light of day. A monster was born out of a crucible of torturous, agonizing madness.
Holding still, Cesare watched the change. Man and wolf battling across the soul they shared, clawing and struggling against each other in an orgy of atavistic hate. It never changed; Blaez the man overcame Blaez the wolf. Only when the boy had taken the reins of power, dominated the wolf inside himself, broken its back and forced it down into its bed of shit and vomit, did he allow the thing to control the body they shared. Blaez never let the wolf come out and take control of the body, he always dominated it. That first time when he’d lost control had scared the shit out of the werewolf.
The eyes cleared of battle, the wolf looking at Cesare in confusion before sight and scent brought him into the moment. Orienting itself, the wolf looked around at the silently still Cherries, the kids caught between wonder and terror. Not many got to see a werewolf in Kveldulf this close and not have to worry about having their limbs torn off.
Dismissing the kids with a snort, the nine-foot-tall thing focused on Cesare, bounding forward with a bark of joy. Laughing, Cesare moved around the killing machine, punches streaking out to tag the wolf as he danced under its scythe like claws. Yipping, it tried to pivot on spindly legs, but momentum had other ideas. Tripping over itself, the wolf tumbled to the ground in a mass of meat, temper, and confusion. Scrambling up, it charged Cesare, mouth wide, drools spraying out across its chest.
Cesare dipped, touching the ground with one hand, using the added stability to jump to the side. Stopping, the wolf looked at him with a low whine of confusion at the strange move. Fluidly, Cesare did it again, this time with the other hand. It didn’t help him, all he was doing was touching the ground, but it could revolutionize the monster’s movement.
A low whine came from the wolf as it ponderously walked forward, ducking its head to sniff at Cesare. This close, the thing eclipsed Cesare in its shadow. The smell of wildness threaded with the pungent odor of a dog left outside too long enfolded him. The wolf wasn’t insane; it just wasn't civilized.
Snuffling at Cesare, the big killer pushed its head against him. Smiling, Cesare rubbed along its ears. Going through the dodging over and over, Cesare watched the wolf circle him. When it stepped back in understanding, Cesare stood up and gave a low growl, an order and a question in one.
Growling back, the thing copied Cesare’s movement. What had been a parody for Cesare was groundbreaking for the wolf. Dropping one arm to the ground, the thing became right. With its long arms, it didn’t have to bend that far forward, a body that was ungainly on two feet looked was transformed into a streamlined predator of murderous need at the change. Even the exaggerated upper body made sense when you factored in the power to use that muscle to change direction.
Cesare gave a low, base growl of approval, reaching out to run his hands over the things head in affection. Closing its eyes, the wolf luxuriated in the touch, Cesare didn’t know if anyone had ever touched it to make it feel anything other than pain. He gave the monster its prideful moment before dancing away with a taunting bark.
Pushing off with its hand, the killer dashed at him with a happy bark of its own. Moving around it, Cesare worked on smoothing out the movement. It wasn’t made to be on all fours, but it was meant to use those arms for something beyond opening a man’s guts. It could pivot and turn without having to slow down, a quick grab at the ground let it get a powerful boost to its dash. Quicker and more maneuverable, the thing fell into the new way of moving with the ease of the natural.
Eagerly the wolf chased him around the cage, barking in excitement when it got close, growling in frustration as Cesare slipped away. Stepping close, Cesare laid his hand on the monster’s head, stopping it in mid grab. Growling low in his throat, Cesare talked to the monster with touch and tone. It was trust and feeling, a gut reaction that humans had discarded for lofty words. As old as time, Cesare spoke of freedom and life, a place that wasn’t a cage.
Slowly, the monsters growl harmonized with Cesare, a deeper note to the song he created. The sound gathered the wildness of the woods and plains, the longing of the hunt, and the clean feel of the earth under your feet. Quieting, the monster settled, allowing Blaez to take the reins while it retreated calmly back into the darkness of their soul.
Flesh fell in heaps to the ground, mounds of rapidly decomposing meat. Bones snapped into the shape of a man. Muscles ripped off shattered bones, hitting the ground with wet sounds of dead flesh. Blaez rode the maelstrom of agony with a low whine of tortured pain, held by powers he could only endure.
The boy slumped to the ground in a quivering, naked mass of human flesh. Flesh rotted and disappeared around him, leaving only a weak, mewling boy fighting for breath. In some ways, it was awe inspiring to see how much the boy went through just to be himself. Going through that torture over and over again was enough to break a man’s mind.
Cesare snatched the water bottle as it arched through air. Squatting down, he waited for the werewolf to catch his breath. It was always like this, the effort of changing and the mental strain breaking the boy down to the bedrock, leaving only truth behind.
Turning onto his back, Blaez lifted a trembling hand for the water. Taking the bottle, he dumped it over his upturned face before swallowing a sip. “I’ve never held the form this long. Each time I go into it, I know I’ll never come out, that the wolf will take my soul and leave me howling in the dark.” He looked over at Cesare, something nameless moving in his eye. “Yet each time I come back. It shouldn’t be possible; the Beast never let’s go once it has control.”
His eyes darkened with memories. “I’ve seen what happens when the wolf takes power. They kill and kill until their put down. There's no talking to it, no reasoning with the Beast, all it knows is killing and need. It'll kill its own children and feast on their screaming flesh.”
Cesare's words were quiet. “You make it that way. A wolf isn’t a dog to be left at home while you go to work. Its wild, free, and clean in a way that me and you will never be. You turn it into a beast, a nightmare to be feared, by chaining it up and feeding it shit. You and your kind drown it to an ocean of hate and spite, everything beautiful stripped away in your fear of what you are.”
Blaez never lifted his stare from Cesare. “I’ve had teachers my whole life. They all say the same, we have to cut the Beast away from the man to save ourselves. Only by controlling it can we take the parts we want without being overwhelmed. The Beast would never let a man be a man.”
Taking the bottle of water, Cesare swallowed a mouthful as he mulled over Blaez's words. “A wolf will never give up a dominate position. It’s not in their nature to give up authority,” Cesare said as he looked around. “But a wolf's loyal and true, you could have been its friend instead of its tormentor. You're the wolf, or you were the wolf. Instead of embracing that part of yourself, you ripped it from your soul like a cancer. Now you’re left with a war you can’t win.”
Taking Cesare’s offered hand, Blaez let Cesare boost him onto his feet, walking with him to the side of the ring. Leaning on the fence, the werewolf sipped his water, unconcerned that his dangling bits swayed in the air. Maybe it had something to do with being a werewolf or maybe it was that Blaez had the chiseled body of a model. Certainly, Cesare’s female students didn’t seem to mind the show.