A loud click and the creak of the large wooden door at the end of the hall woke all of us. Dim florescent light flooded into the dungeon causing small hisses, whines, and whimpers of discomfort. Some began stirring in hopes of food but I knew it wasn't so. The one who came to feed us was a nice woman and immediately you could feel her kind presence when she entered. This human's demeanor was cold and cruel. Someone was going to be called for a fight. Heavy footsteps followed suite causing everyone to immediately become alert and practically hold their breath in fright. The faint sounds of anxious shuffling and chains clinking against concrete was all that reached my ears. Clomp, clomp, clomp. Louder and louder grew those footsteps until they stopped directly in front of my cage. I could feel the fear silently flooding out of everyone and relief mixed with joy replacing it. It wasn't them summoned. No, it was me.
Somewhere in-between the collective fear and relief, I felt Luke's hand intertwine with mine from the cage over. His eyes were on me, I knew, but I couldn't bring myself to look at him. If I did, it would just make things that much harder. We both knew that. The conflicting feeling of the cold metal bar of our linked cages on my knuckles and his warmer than average skin in my palm caused goosebumps to dot my skin. The guard's dark stare felt like it was boring a hole right through me. "You're up, mutt," he said gruffly. His large, oily fingers dangled a ring of keys teasingly. He had the power here, not me. Rubbing that fact in my face, even so subtly, gave him such great satisfaction that it was sickening.
Quietly, my cell door was opened and the shackles around my arms and legs removed. Out of habit, my free hands went to my now loose ankles and rubbed them gingerly. There were large red rings around my wrists and ankles where the shackles had been tightly clamped. Everything ached so moving was a chore but I'd have to get over that soon. The guard stood there impatiently while I collected myself. A fight needed the right mentality and establishing it was sometimes difficult even for a veteran like me. One would think after so many years in this Hell, I'd be used to it by now. I don't think, no matter what the old ones say, someone ever gets used to this.
When he decided I was taking too long, his hand grabbed the length of my arm roughly. I was hoisted to my feet and my fingers were harshly ripped from Luke's. His sapphire eyes narrowed dangerously and his nostrils flared in anger. A guttural growl was added as I was taken further and further away from him. In a voice so quiet and hoarse I almost couldn't believe was mine, I said "Temper, temper," with a small smile. See, Luke losing his temper wasn't a good thing. He was a werewolf. If he got too roused up he would go through a rage-induced transformation and that was never pleasant for anyone. It was painful for him and painful for me to watch. Then it caused a commotion and guards would have to come and sedate him which they did as harshly as possible to teach us all a lesson. Be quiet, be obedient, and you'll be fine.
My tiny words seemed to calm Luke instantly. Saddness took the place of his rage and I watched him slump against his cell as his fingers curled around the enchanted steel bars. The cages here were enchanted with some kind of destruction magic that just made trying to escape by force a painful and, often times, a traumatizing experience. Most learned after the first attempt that there was no escape. Yet still, we tried to help each other out as much as possible emotionally, mentally, and, in some cases, physically. Luke had me and I had him. He felt helpless when he couldn't protect me. It was the same for me whenever he was taken for a fight. I think that we all felt a little helpless when someone was dragged out. At least I didn't make any fuss. Too many newcomers screamed and pleaded and it hurt us all because it just reminded us veterans how hopeless our situation is.
As I walked along with the guard keeping a firm hold on me, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a old, broken mirror tossed aside in a corner like trash. Like us. Even in the dim light, I could make out every detail of myself. My once glossy silver hair, ears, and tail were a grimy beige color. Former golden and bright eyes looked dull and dead. The claws on the end of my fingers were long and untamed. The rest of my humanoid body and features were sunken in and bruised. I could see most, if not all, of my ribcage. I wished that woman wasn't me but I long since stopped trying to deny it. I was once a proud wolf demon running free and owned by no one. Now I was nothing more than a dog whipped into submission by human "masters" to fight for their twisted entertainment.
It wasn't long before I was dragged out of the dungeon and to a set of familiar ginormous metal double doors. They were large enough to fit giants through which sometimes was necessary with how big us demons could get. "Your orders are to make it interesting. The master has betted on you winning like usual but give the others a little hope. Win, but not too easily since you're the underdog-" A chuckle stopped him, briefly, because how clever. A pun about how I'm a canine demon. Like I haven't heard it a million times before. "in this fight. Give them a show they'll talk about for weeks. Got it?" I said nothing, only stared ahead with a stony expression and gave a stiff nod.
"Good," was the last word he uttered before the deafening rumbling started. It was like an earthquake as the mechanically driven doors ever so gradually opened. I could feel the vibrations all through my body and it distracted me from my surroundings. That was a mistake. A shove jumpstarted my instincts as I was thrown into the blinding arena. Spotlights glared down on me from every direction and it took my eyes longer than I would have liked to adjust. Spots of color began forming in my vision but I was already running into combat. I could feel the heavy breathing of my opponent and knew immediately it was much larger than me. That didn't matter though. What did matter was that it was already prepared to strike.
Every second was the difference between life and death and I couldn't afford to waste time. That's how simple it is during a fight. You live or you die. Only, in my mind, I didn't have an option. I had to live.
Mon Feb 27, 2012 12:40 am
