Part Two.

I don’t open my eyes at all during the fight. What I hear is bad enough.

The crowd roars as the fighters take to the court. The fighters jeer at each other and at the crowd. They use words I have never heard before, but at the context it is not difficult to guess what the words mean. I make up my mind that I will use a few of them before the day’s out.

The Leader stands, and then there is silence. The hundreds of yelling Erasers silence as if all have suddenly gone mute. There is only the shuffling of feet, the occasional cough and the whisper of the hot, dry wind. “My fellow Erasers!” The leader calls. All around there is one short burst of deafening howling, a hundred voices as one. Then the Leader speaks again. “Today we see these, your fellow pack, fight for their prize. Cheer them on, for only the best shall receive. Take your places!” he yells.

Fight for their prize, fight for us.

Only the fifteen on the court make any noise, snarling and snapping at each other as they move around the court, readying themselves, morphing, stretching. The anticipation builds, I can smell it in the air.

“Fight!” The Leader yells, and then there is chaos. The crowd howls, the Erasers on the court howl and scream in fury and pain. Fists and claws strike flesh, bodies slam into the wooden floor. Bones break. Still I don’t open my eyes. My sisters gasp from beside me, a slight sound in the echoing noise of the courts, but I don’t look around. I can’t. I’ve helped them this far, but I can’t help them any further. They’ll have to look after themselves now.

It seems like an age before the leader yells ‘cease’ and the noise begins to die down. Slowly this time, among whispers and shifting. Erasers groan from the courts and the smell of blood covers all others. I feel sick.

“The Winner!” the leader yells. “The winner is Skint!” I open my eyes as the second most ugly Eraser I have ever seen, behind, of course, the Leader steps up to the court area in front of the dais. The crowd cheer. Maybe they have ugly as a necessary trait for their heroes and leaders, I don’t know. Maybe it’s a good thing that I am not as pretty as my sisters

The court is a warzone, blood stains the floor and the bodies of many of the unfortunate losers lie crumpled amongst each other. I don’t know how many are dead, but the sickening cracks of bone breaking haunt my mind as I look at them. There is fear, the winners are those who will kill their own. And then there is the thrill of power. They have killed for me. Because I made it so. If only I could keep this control…but I know that I can’t. I’ll have to wait until I know more to make my move.

“ Second place!” announces the leader, “Goes to Knife!” Another cheer and ‘my champion’ steps up to the dais a little behind the one known as Skint. Not equal of course, then I realize that this has changed, by just a little, the power distribution of the Pack. Maybe I have done more than I realize. “Third Place is Deimos!” The third place winner is almost as big as Skint, but not so ugly, and even more stupid looking.

“Skint, which of these lovelies would you like to play with?” The Leader asks quietly enough so only those who need to hear do. I get the feeling that the others don’t care about this, all they wanted was the fight. Some even begin to leave the courts through the big doors.

Skint thanks the leader and points to Thera. Her minder yanks her up and shoves her towards Skint, who grabs her arm. Thera yanks away from the Eraser who has won her, and almost casually he backhands her across the face with one paw. My sister drops to the floor, before Skint half-carries, half-drags her from the room. One of the last images I have of Thera alive – eyes open and glassy, face pale, and her curly brown hair dragged through a blood pool, leaving streaks across the floor.

Sparta almost sobs, but doesn’t quite. She knows that it would be bad for her.

“Knife?”

Knife gives me a very long look, weighing me up, drawing out the suspense. Then he lifts up a massive paw and points. “Her.” He grunts. Shock and fury boil up inside me, what the hell? He’s pointed at my sister. He didn’t choose me, not even after what I’d said. He’s ruined my plan. Most of all, thoughm I am angry at myself for putting my fate in someone else’s hands entirely and for not coming up with a backup plan. Damn Knife

I stare at him hatefully, and he just smirks and grabs at Sparta as she’s pushed off the dais towards him. She doesn’t even react, numb with terror. Knife flicks me a half-bow and turns and drags her away. I gasp. That he was lying, deceitful… that’s one thing, but mocking me… I will make him pay.

“Looks like you get Little Red, Deimos.” Says the Leader, breaking me from my thoughts. I am pushed from the dais towards the last Eraser, who I have not looked at before properly. Deimos is brick-wall-face ugly and scarred, and stupid looking. Maybe just too stupid for me to manipulate him, which means I have nothing.

He’s not as big as Skint, but he dwarfs me. Half my arm disappears into his huge paw as he grabs hold of me. My arm feels like it’s being ground into powder, so I don’t resist as he drags me out of the way to one side of the Leader’s group. That group gets up and sweeps towards the crowd by the doors. The loyal subjects make way for their grandly monstrous king.

We wait for the crowd to move away, back through the doors and along the corridors to the Hall. Erasers come up on all sides and congratulate Deimos on his win. Some of them don’t take their hungry eyes off me. They tell jokes that make me feel sick inside, and more than one makes a comment to me about ‘how they hope Deimos does me proper like the bitch I am.’ I squash down the sick feeling and the fury and stay blank faced, say nothing. I must plan for what happens next. I have to get away, but I can’t. There are erasers everywhere, and Deimos’s hand is tight around my arm. I must wait, and I hate it.

The crowd thins enough for his liking, and without warning the hand around my wrist drags me forwards. “Where I can see you, bitch.” He sneers. “Wouldn’t want to get lost before I get what I paid in blood for.”

I’m steered through the corridors like a puppet. Erasers stop and call out comments, but I ignore them, and Deimos does too, for the most part. He’s almost drooling, his hot breath wafting on my neck and cheek. Up ahead there are a bunch of Erasers gathering around a tall Eraser, the winner of the fight, who clutches Thera. They’re jeering in their deep, morph-roughened voices, and in high counterpoint I hear Thera’s whimpers. She doesn’t see me.

Deimos pushes through the crowd, and Skint calls out for his audience to clear off, he’s busy. He’s being a showman, relishing his newfound power and command. He opens a door, shoves Thera through it, turns back to the crowd and with very deliberate motions unbuckles his belt. The crowd cheer, and begin to disperse as Skint steps back through the door.

“This is what you’re gonna be in for, bitch, so listen carefully.” Deimos hisses in my ear, breath hot against my neck, his excitement obvious in his voice. “I’m gonna make you scream.” He reaches around and tugs the elastic band of my underwear, letting it snap back painfully against my skin. I close my eyes and shudder.

There’s the sickening sound of a body hitting something solid hard, and then a deep male grunt. Thera screams, a horrible, piercing sound that goes on and on and on. I block it out, block out the pain, block it out. I open my eyes, and the first Eraser I see is watching me and touching himself. He licks his lips, and breathes heavily. Deimos chuckles, and steers me away, down another corridor. I ignore my feelings and concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. I begin to get control of my fear.

We reach a dingy, badly lit corridor where two Erasers talk. They stop when they see me and Deimos arrive, and look me up and down. Deimos grins at both, and loosens the grip on my arm, to reach out and grab a broken doorknob. One of the others comments on something, probably me, and Deimos answers with what could be called a playful growl for someone eighty pounds lighter and ten times less deadly.

He opens the door and shoves me in unceremoniously. I still hear Thera’s screams from here and I try and shut them out again. I hope that Sparta is better of with Knife, but I doubt it, the lying, cheating, backstabbing, son of an incontinent bitch and a cross-eyed poodle. The room that Deimos has for himself and now me is smelly and dank. There is only a small grubby window set high in the wall and covered with bars. No escape there. I wish I hadn’t waited, but i know that there was no other time to try.

A mattress lies on the floor and it is stained yellow with age and who knows what else. I don’t want to look at it, but my eyes are drawn to it like magnets. The blankets that don’t come close to covering it have the texture of cloth sacks and there are clothes strewn over the floor. Personal Hygiene, not surprisingly, is not high on his list of priorities.

I realise that if I stay here, I will die of infection from even a small injury. This place will make me sick. So I won’t stay here. I’ll think of something, and I won’t end up like Thera. I can’t, I just can’t.

There is suddenly silence from the corridor where Deimos has been bragging about his new possession and what he has planned for me in the filthiest terms possible. I feel grateful almost that I don’t know what most of it means. I peer through a crack in the broken door as two Erasers, smaller in size than the average, walk up the corridor, grouped behind a dark haired Eraser with a grim face.

“Oh, look fellas! It’s Bird-boy!” Deimos taunts the newcomer boss. His pair of cronies chuckle trollishly.

“Oh, look fellas!” The newcomer parrots, “It’s Diapers!”

Deimos snarls and I hide a giggle in the sleeve of my jumpsuit. This new guy has guts, and quite frankly need the laugh.

“What the hell do you want, birdie?”My captor growls out as he starts morphing in what I know is just posturing. Deimos has already fought a fight today; he’s in no condition to fight another battle against Erasers who are no doubt much faster than he is even on a good day. And smarter, since what little I’ve seen suggests that he has the intelligence of undernourished toilet bacteria.

The newcomer responds to the challenge by morphing himself. His friends do too, and at this point I realise that there’s another standing in the dim light, blocking the other entrance to the corridor with a pair of wicked-sharp looking knives. “I think,” the newcomer says, “I think that I owe you a little payback for what you did to Clash.”

The mention of this Clash sends a jolt through Deimos and his buddies. They snarl and rush forward at the newcomer group who meet them in kind, snarling, snapping claws out and teeth bared. Corridor-Blocker rushes forward at the Deimos’ exposed back.

While no-one’s watching, too busy fighting, I slip out of the room, across the hallway into the cronies’ room. I am at least a little safer here, and I feel a little better that this fight is not over me. But, I am once again uncertain of what’s coming next. I have no doubt that Deimos is going to end up dead – these others are out for blood, and they have the upper hand. I’m not sad, just uncertain, and unsettled by the death that i have seen today, more than all the other days combined. I’m furious and worried for my sisters. I feel so much, and I don’t want to. I’ll learn not to.

I watch through the crack between the door and frame. First one crony falls, neck broken. Then the other, clutching a gaping wound in his side. The floor is slick with their blood, and Deimos makes the fatal mistake, he slips and falls. They’re on him in an instant, tearing him to pieces.

By the time they finish with him, he’s an unrecognizable mess of blood and torn flesh. To identify him they’d have to do a DNA match, and I doubt they’d bother just for an Eraser. Birdboy spits on Deimos, stands and gestures for his friends to do the same. One pulls off his shirt as they de-morph and wipes off some of the blood with it, then offers it to the others. Birdboy takes it, and makes some joke. They laugh, and talk for a while. One of them takes the boots off the feet of one of the cronies, swapping them for his own well-worn ones.

It’s at this point that they finally realise that something is missing. “Hey where’s Diapers’ bitch?” one of them asks. I tense. Damnit. I focus and do the curious mind-relax thing that always works, even if it’s hard, and slowly but surely, I begin to morph. It took me months in secret to learn, and I couldn’t always get it quite right, but my wolf-genes answer my call.

The one closest to Deimos’ door yanks it open, looking for me, and recoils at the smell. “Hell, I wouldn’t let even one of those damned flocker fuckers live in this!”

“No kidding!” the first agrees, waving a hand in front of his nose. “I’m surprised that Dipey here wasn’t dead months ago.” I’m amused that someone shares my opinion on Deimos’ lack of personal hygiene.

“He probably wasn’t ever here much – too busy being Leader’s whore.” Says the one at the door. “Y’know I heard that bossman really don’t actually like the pretty little girlies. Well, i hears he got a taste for taking a crap on this Diaper.” They all chuckle.

“Ain’t it a bad idea killin’ off Leader’s playtoy then?” one of them asks Birdboy.

Birdboy chuckles. “Yeah, do you think he’s going to admit that he’s been playing with his men instead of that precious Jewel of his?”

The one by the door finally has something resembling a brainwave, and in one move, barrels across the corridor and sweeps the door open with one crashing fist. Half morphed, I snarl and try to back into the room, but he’s there and yanks me out into the corridor before I realise what’s happening and have time to fight back. The others cheer and close in.

“Look what i found fellas!” he jeers, holding me up for them to see, and I’d guess I’m the first female Eraser they’ve seen up close. My captor lets go of my wrist with his other hand to pinch my cheek. That’s his mistake, not holding me tightly enough. I yank my legs up, letting him take my weight as I spin one arm around to strike his and make him let me go. He does – in surprise mostly, I’m not strong and I kick out, catching him in a very sensitive area, before backpedalling away from them.

They recover from their shock at my surprise and surprising attack, and start to close in, remorphing again. I snarl in warning. Birdboy suddenly gestures for his boys to back off, which they do, grudgingly. We watch each other for a moment, before the leader de-morphs.

“I’m Raven,” he says by way of introduction, trying to put me at ease, “And you are like no girl I have seen before. It’s rather attractive.” He cocks his head and takes a step forward. I take a step back and growl deep in my throat. At least he’s honest. “Ursula, isn’t it?” He takes another step forward, and raises his hand in a gesture of reassurance as I make to step backwards. “Look,” he begins. “You can fight. And then the others will kill you. You’ve seen it, I’d say.”

I nod sharply. “What do you care?”

“Pack law says we killed him,” Raven spits again on Deimos’ bloodied body, “So we own you. But I gotta feeling you’d and the others would object to that, and you can do something about it. So how about we do you a deal. You get our protection and our hideaway, we teach you a thing or two about fighting.” He steps forwards again.

“And in return?” I spit out.

“You’ve got a brain, I see. Some new ideas wouldn’t go amiss. And of course, a little favour for us now and then.” Raven shrugs as I growl and shake my head in disagreement. “Does it matter that much? We won’t treat you as bad as the others will. Don’t think you’d let us, yeah?” His friends shuffle around in the corridor. “Well, do you want to get back at Knife or not?” I gasp in surprise. Raven smirks. “I saw the look you gave him.”

I’m well aware that this deal is weighted heavily in my favour, so there must be more than he’s telling me. “Do you speak for them?” I ask, flicking one hand at the others.

Raven grins, and points out his cronies. “That’s Dusty,” he points to corridor-blocker, “Flash,” the one who I kicked, “And Skid.” The last Eraser is the one who’d agreed with me on Deimos’ lack of hygiene. All three give me looks, ones that aren’t the wanting ones I’ve seen today, though I don’t doubt that it’s in the back of their minds. Instead these looks are sizing me up, trying to guess what I’m capable of.

One after another, they agree. Raven turns back to me. “Do we got a deal?”

I think it through again. It’s my best option, and even then not a great one. “Fine, then.” I agree. “We’ve got a deal.”