Chapter 23

Saturday October 11th 2014

The quiet sound of his timer woke him. There was a tension in the air, a terrible threat that wasn't there when he had gone to bed. Hidden from view, he tightened his grip on the knife under his pillow.

"That's the wimpiest alarm ever," Lady Kali whispered the soft words into the silent room.

She watched from the table well back from his bed. "Bad things happen to people who draw attention on the street."

Her eyes softened. "How long did you live like that?"

"Still living like that." The statement was flat. He could talk about the street, but he resented being asked about it.

"Not all women like bad boys." Lady Kali's voice was more leading than he liked.

"How did your night with Viktor go?" The sarcastic bite said more than he wanted.

Lady Kali winced at the pointed question. "Anastasia's young, it's not that she doesn't like you …"

Cesare cut her off. "That she chose a guy like Blaez says all that needs saying." That Lady Kali had spent the night with Viktor said all he needed to know about Lady Kali too. "Even if she felt anything for me, it would never work. She wants position and power. I want to own."

"When you're young, you see a beautiful body and a tough attitude. It's fun and if it doesn't work, there are always others. You don't know how to look beyond the muscles and charm at that age," Lady Kali said.

Cesare slipped on his newly repaired shoes, gray and shiny with duct tape. He wore his best jeans, the three rips along the right leg stitched together with glossy black thread. Freshly washed, his threadbare hoodie smelled of cheap soap.

Lady Kali was dressed in cyber punk chic. Black jeans, artfully torn and distressed, molded to her ass and legs. The tight blue t-shirt's black letters crossed her chest, "Training to beat Goku … or at least Krillin." Clinging to her athletic body, it outlined her small, perfectly shaped breasts.

Like her daughter, she emanated a dark sexuality. But in Lady Kali it was terrifyingly powerful, a weight pressing against his soul, its monstrous strength felt even when its still. Slipping into his mind, he heard its whispering of forbidden things, summoning horrific hungers hidden in the blessed temples of flesh. Diseased perversions glided through the ebony waters of his soul as the ripples of its words moved across the stillness.

Wanton creatures rose from the ocean, hungering for humiliation. They were titans born and gorged on pain, the stygian gods of appetites both dark and corrupt. Desire's throbbed under his skin, to bleed, hurt, take, and possess. The hooked chains of the civilized loosened, steel bright barbs corroding under the corrupting touch of cruel needs.

Cesare had seen the aura in action. Students turned into stuttering idiots, slaved by their desires, consumed by a power beyond them. They were conquered by a look, their own hungers betraying them to the whims of horrors birthed in corruption. And that was when Anastasia wasn't trying.

"Why are you here? Shouldn't you be sleeping off last night?" Cesare shot over his shoulder as he gathered the weapons for a final check.

Laughing, she shrugged off the dig at her sexcapades. "Something's are worth getting up early for." So special she spent the night fucking Viktor.

Words are easy to bend and twist, to shape with poisonous precision into what you need to get what you want. He'd be a fool to think she hadn't mastered that art long before his ancestors had prayed to dark gods.

"How come you and Anastasia don't look alike?" Cesare asked, fingers running over the claymore discs, looking for breaks in the mold.

"She's not my biological daughter." Cesare's hands froze. "She was left on my doorstep when she was a baby. My race descends from me, but our connection is thousands of years in the past. It doesn't matter to us, I love her as if I'd held her in my womb." She traced a finger over the table. "Even my biological daughters don't look like me. Every Harab Serapel is an individual, both in its true form and the Mendacium. While cambion share the genetic traits of their parents, true Harab Serapel are always unique and female," Lady Kali said.

"I thought you were an akatharton?" Cesare asked.

"All Harab Serapel are akatharton, but not all akatharton are Harab Serapel. Baboons and marmosets are both monkeys, but no one would say they're the same," Lady Kali said.

"Then all of you share the same last name?"

Lady Kali laughed. "No. I'm the first. I willed myself into life and form. All Harab Serapel come from me but only those brithed from my womb bear my name." She gave Cesare a long look. "And Anastasia."

"You've noticed I look Asian?" Lady Kali turned back to his original question.

"Yeah." Almond-shaped eyes, long black hair and pale porcelain skin that shone like sun caught snow. "I'd say Japanese."

"Akatharton are different from the rest of the Umbrae Lunae. We're born unique. We have nothing in common with any other akatharton, not even our parents." She lifted the black queen from the chessboard, meditatively rolling it between her fingers.

"I remember when we got the Mendacium—the so-called God's Gift. Not many of us used them back then. It was a lie we refused to embrace. Now, it's different. Umbrae Lunae grow up in their Mendacium, their true forms hidden in darkness. Even among their own kind, it's rare to see Umbrae Lunae in their birth form." She set the queen down before taking up a pawn.

"It's humanity's greatest victory. They took our identity, stripped us of our bodies and gave us theirs as the ideal. Humanity owns beauty, only shame fills us when we change into our true selves. Ugly, disgusting things of forgotten gods. It's all my race is left with." She was fighting for her races' identity, wanting them to hold on to some sense of themselves in a sea of change that was drowning them.

"What's your favorite ice cream?" Cesare asked.

Lady Kali laughed at the change of topic. He wondered how long it had been since she'd been asked something normal. "Depends on my mood. I think it's every woman's right to change her mind about something so important. Not to be cliché, but my go to is chocolate."

He rolled his eyes. "Of course, you do."

Cesare inspected the bottles of chlorine gas with the impact explosives in them. They should explode when they're thrown hard enough, but that meant they were delicate. It was a tight rope between use and danger. They needed to be delicate enough to explode, but not so fragile as to detonate while being carried.

"I envy your freedom," Lady Kali said.

"Being a goddess a tough job? Let me guess, shit for benefits, right?" Cesare said with a laugh.

"Don't get me wrong. I love the money and power, but I remember a time when the world was new and mysterious. When I could leave a campsite and walk away without everyone running to follow me. I used to love to travel. Seeing the world with my own eyes, meeting its people, walking land that had never touched my feet. Every day was new and exciting, before imperiums and glass cities. When the world seemed infinite, instead of the small place it's become. When harems were hunting packs instead of glorified servants, demanding to help with arrogant eyes."

"You're Kali the fucking Destroyer. Why would you need their help?" She'd destroyed cities and civilizations. For her, genocide was a verb. What was the harem going to help her with?

"Because I'm Kali the Destroyer. Back then, I was just Kali. When I knew the world as the Crossroads, connecting to the realms of a thousand gods and an ever growing insanity of dimensions. The war of the gods poured oceans of blood into the realms of blessed darkness and diseased light. Armies, both fey and monstrous, boiling out from the rifts torn in reality. Only the strongest made it past childhood, and all but the Immortals were enslaved to a god's army. It was a savage time, but it was free in a way the world has never been since. Now, all anyone sees is Kali the Destroyer. Kali the person was swallowed by the myth centuries ago." She paused, her voice turning whisper quiet, "Don't get me wrong. I glory in my dominance, gleefully taking what I want, knowing nothing dares deny me. Power isn't happiness, but it rents by the month from where I stand. But your freedom makes me smell the price I paid."

"Maybe. But I don't have a family. There's no one to come home to or even a home to go to … no bed to sleep in or people to care if I make it home. I eat out of dumpsters and sleep under garbage to keep warm in winter. You've created your own prison cell. You have the freedom you want … you just won't take it." He was focused on the blasting cap, Anastasia was fucked if even one didn't detonate.

She was so quiet he had to strain to hear her. "I don't have anyone to come home to except my kids. More than enough people want to fuck me, but no one wants to sleep with me. No one wants to snuggle on the couch and watch TV. No one babies me when I'm sick."

The door opened and closed behind him. With his head down over the claymore, it was a few minutes before he turned to look. Elizabeth glared at Lady Kali from the threshold. Taking a seat at the table, Lady Kali arranged the pieces on the chessboard before quirking an eyebrow at the other woman.

Elizabeth wore a crushed velvet dress that hung an inch above the ground, black as midnight, it gleamed in the shadowed light, a beacon to nights glory. A corset of crimson was tied up the sides with black velvet straps, the lace along the top playing peek-a-boo with her cleavage. Fine traceries of blue veins threaded the pale skin of her shoulders. Her lips were a wet scarlet wound, the color of life's blood. Shimmering red eye shadow deepened her dark eyes, making them voids of mystery. Still damp from the shower, her black hair shone with dark radiance.

"Tea?" Elizabeth asked, already making for the teapot. He'd watched her do this dance every night he'd stayed over and yet, each time, was like the first time ... captivating. She gathered their cups after setting the teapot on her small stove. The rune inscribed cupboard was opened with fey reverence, black containers chosen with the knowing few would own. Each cup was an experience never repeated, a taste impossible to reproduce. She poured the boiling water over the loose leaves before setting it down on the worktable with a private smile for him. Only after he had his did she prepare her cup.

Elizabeth took her place at the table and started the game with Lady Kali. They didn't talk, choosing instead to focus on the game. This was a different animal than the casual games Cesare played.

Chess is the ultimate game of deception. There are no tricks to win, no secret strategies or hidden pieces. Every piece is seen, every strategy laid bare and raw to the eye. The trick is to know your opponent's plan while concealing your own. Some think defense wins, but a good player knows how to hide the blade. It is betrayal in thought and deed.

It wasn't long before the door opened again, Anastasia stopping uncertainly just outside the room. The harems of both akathartons jockeyed for position behind her, trying to look inside. Wolves and pups, killers and pets, the wet workers would kill the children if the boy toys weren't careful. Dressed in designer clothes, Lady Kali's toys looked like models on a holiday instead of lethal weapons hungry for flesh. They were the real thing: deadly, beautiful, and elite. Anastasia's harem was never anything more than disposable.

Keeping tight to her back, Anastasia's harem crowded into her space. Fleeing the killers, they hungered for the safety of the cottage. Elizabeth stepped in before even one boy laid a foot in her domain. "You're welcome Anastasia, but the harems stay outside." The door closed on the angry faces of the slaves.

"Anastasia." The girl walked toward him, stiff and uncertain, fear skittering through her eyes. "Let's get you geared up."

He picked up the black rope he'd been working on. "We're going to create a rig for you, a harness to hang your weapons from." Anastasia slipped the black Thagirion coat from her shoulders, scarlet hair reaching out to caress his hands as he walked up behind her.

He looped the rope around her waist as red hair eagerly traced his face. Anastasia's breath caught as he tied the rope. "This is the root of the harness. Everything is anchored from this point."

"Is this why I had to learn how to throw from those weird angles?" Anastasia's voice shook, nerves tearing her down from the inside.

Cesare kept his tone casual. "Yep. All your weapons will be in the same spot you're used to throwing from. Each one has a pull release. Just yank, and it'll come off." He'd spent hours testing each knot to make sure they'd release at the right amount of pressure.

Gliding his hands up to her shoulders, he watched the hair move aside for the rope even as it drifted across his hands. Reaching around to her front, he had to run the rope down her side and along the outer edge of her breasts. She grinned at him over her shoulder. "You know if you wanted a free handful, all you had to do was ask?" He enjoyed the playful smile, even if he flushed at the joke.

"Good to know, but I think Blaez would rip my intestines out through my nose if I touched his girl." Her smile snapped into a black glare.

"I don't belong to him," Anastasia said hotly.

He connected the straps to the belt with a series of knots. "Belong? No. Off limits? Absolutely. I wouldn't like someone creeping on my girl, and I won't creep on another man's girl either."

"If you had fewer morals, you'd have more fun."

"And if I did, you'd be dead." The flat tone sent Elizabeth and Kali stepping back, torn between wanting to see what he was doing and wanting no part of the argument.

Anastasia quit talking and focused instead on standing still as his hands moved over her body. He inspected each weapon as he connected them to her rig. The taped together liter bottles went onto her hip. "Chlorine gas … pull here to release. Remember, they're impact explosives. You want to throw them hard."

He hooked up the Frisbees. "Claymore Frisbees. They'll be heavier than normal, but as long as you get them within twenty feet, you're gold. Make sure he's inside the triangle kill zone and that you're as far away as you can get."

He tied on holder for the soda can flash bombs. "Flash grenade … remember, even if you have your sunglasses on, closing your eyes isn't a bad idea." He handed over the bag of thermate. "This is your big one. It's Plan A. They have a saying when you sky dive, 'slow is fast'. Hit him right with this, and you're done."

Anastasia looked at him, eyes wide, a slight tremble in her limbs. She was holding her shit together by the narrowest of margins, inches from coming unglued. If she went in like this, she wouldn't walk out.

Cesare looked beyond her at the two women. Kali's hands were balled into white-knuckled fists, fear stripping her face bare. She was another one that needed comfort, but she wasn't the one fighting today.

"Can I meet you at the box?" Cesare asked.

Kali opened her mouth, eyes flashing violently with anger. Cesare met the Dark Mother's anger. This wasn't about Kali. She was worried and scared, but she'd live no matter what happened today. That couldn't be said for Anastasia. And she'd rather lose her life than the cruel dreams she suckled. This was her one shot to birth a name for herself from the sea of shit and mediocrity, by doing what only a handful had done.

Anger drained from Kali's face as she met his eyes for a long minute. "Sweetie, I'll be there. I won't let … I'll be there." Facing Cesare, her back to her mother, Anastasia nodded as tears ran down her face. She didn't want her mother to see her cry.

Anastasia launched herself into Cesare's arms as the door shut behind the two women. Cesare was careful where he put his hands. She was armed with enough killing to take out a small army. With his luck, he'd go to feel her up and set off the whole damn thing.

She tucked her head into his shoulder, crimson tendrils playing across his face. Cesare kissed the top of her head, a cloud of jasmine rolling over him. Muffled against his shoulder, her voice was barely a whispers ghost. "I'm sorry. I was being a bitch."

"Don't. You have nothing to be sorry for." He ran his hand down her waterfall of blazing hair. It tangled and wove around his fingers, playing across his skin with gleeful joy. He knew this wasn't right, it should be Blaez holding her. But Cesare wouldn't let her get torn apart.

He tightened his arms around her as she cried and trembled in fear. He'd done all he could to help her. She was as ready as he could make her, and yet, he still didn't want to let her go out there.

"We have to go, princess," Cesare said quietly.

She looked up at him, face so close they breathed the same air, her scarlet hair a halo of tentacles reaching for him. "You'll be there if I need you?" Something inside him twisted at the scared voice.

"Always. So will your mother and Elizabeth," Cesare said.

"But you'll be there?" Anastasia pressed. It was important, she didn't think she could go out there if he wasn't there. If he wasn't watching over her.

His hands moved to those hips he'd held so many times. "I'm not leaving you."

She took a deep breath. "Can I win?"

"I wouldn't let you go if I didn't know you'd win." He locked eyes with her, needing her to believe. "You trained your ass for this. You're stronger, faster, and more lethal than you've ever been. You'll win." He was as sure of that as he was of anything in life.

Only a handful of inches separated their lips. And while he wanted those lips with everything in him, he couldn't do it. He wouldn't try to win another man's woman. Some lines crossed couldn't be undone, ravaging your life into a before and after. Cheating on a lover, beating a child, killing, torture … these are moral lines that exact their pound of flesh. You become less for each doorway you walk through, morally deformed by the pieces of your honor you gave away. He didn't have much of himself left. He'd bartered and sold off too many pieces to survive. What he had, he wanted to keep.

She licked her lips, searching his eyes with her own, both of them standing on the edge of something. And both knowing they wouldn't jump. They moved apart, her hair tangling in frustration.

Anastasia cast her eyes down. "Will you walk me to the arena?"

He smiled. "Just try to stop me."

Anastasia's harem waited for them outside, their eyes darted to where they held hands with a rage that demanded blood. Walking through the campus was surreal. She'd never walked close to him where others might see. But here and now, they walked hand in hand. But the campus was deserted, showing the lie of her gesture. It cost her nothing to do it, her status as perfect untainted by his touch.

She directed him to an archway built into the arena. Darkness held the stairs, pulling reluctantly back from the suns searing light, grudgingly giving ground to its cruel touch. The harem stopped at the entrance sullenly, glaring impotently down the stairs. With a pleading look, Anastasia pulled him through the archway. Their shoulders touched as they walked side by side, fingers tightly intertwined.

Twisted roots of stygian black, as thick as an arm and as small as a finger, had woven themselves into steps. Life in the raw, its face ripped off, veins pulsing with eldritch wonder, the woven walls were the beauty found only in hidden places. Pencil-thin, brown roots swarmed out of the earth by the thousands, braiding around thigh-thick grey ones that flowed up and along walls. Rivers of black, roots thicker than trees broke from the mass of twisting roots and ran unbroken until disappearing back into the tapestry of wood. Melding into each other, the veins of the arena merged, colors bleeding into each other before separating.

Here was the secret power of the cathedral above them. These roots nourished the living forest that made up the avatar of the wood. Thousands of trees intermingled, tied together into a massive organism that lived as one.

The stands and the seats, the graceful arching banisters, the walls and steps, these roots were the bedrock it was built on. It was a living testament to harmony, beings existing together, loving and supporting each other without losing themselves. It was a symbol, a lesson and philosophy given wild flesh.

It hit him there, walking through the walls of roots, in the heart of a life form that didn't … couldn't ... exist in the human world. This place was only possible with Elizabeth's magic, the interweaving of thousands of trees into a symbiotic creature greater than the sum of its parts. Her artistic soul had given it life. That she could birth a goddess out of her soul was humbling when he'd birthed only maimed things of violence.

Small, florescent lights dotted the ceiling, obscene violations in this world of fey beauty. He could only imagine Elizabeth's angry tirade on being forced to put them in. Her artistic soul recoiling from the coarse things being part of her art. She'd said this was her place of power. Seeing it splayed out for him like this, burned the knowledge into bone. You'd have to be mad to attack her here.

The door was woven of roots, twisting around each other, they formed a wooden thing stronger than the corpses of their kin could ever be. Anastasia took a deep breath before she opened the door into the domain of the Thagirion.

Abraxas meditated cross legged against the far wall. His eyes opened at the sound of the door, the coldness of a serpent glaring out at the world from the meat of a human. The dragon watched them for a long second before closing his eyes in dismissal. Pantagruel straddled a bench with a muscle magazine spread out in front of him. Blaez had been passing the lockers with long feral strides, needy with blood hunger, eyes threaded with yellow. The werewolf froze, eyes locked on the two of them. Rage drew his muscles taught, threads of black corruption writhing across his face while fists clenched.

Anastasia's thoughts blinded her to the others. She was barely treading water, any more weight, and she'd go under. Cesare pulled her over to the wall, his arms enclosing her soft body. She burrowed into his warm bulk, soaking up the comfort he offered, molding her body's length along his. Cesare met Blaez's furious eyes over her shoulder. The werewolf wouldn't let the insult stand, he'd need blood to make it right.

"So, come here often?" Cesare whispered into Anastasia's ear. Laughing quietly, she wormed closer, armoring her soul with the feel of him.

"You can't be here," Anastasia's words were soft. They pulled privacy around themselves, a world of two … just like they did when they trained. The others might hear them, but that didn't matter. It was about hearts beating in tune with each other.

"You know, I get that a lot," he said wryly.

Anastasia laughed into his old hoodie. "You just like breaking rules."

"Not me. I love rules." Knowing the rules let you know how people would respond, they bound the weak for slaughter.

"Elizabeth's going to be worried."

"She'll understand," Cesare told her.

The humor was stripped from her laugh, leaving only a raw sound. "No, she won't. Not even a little." After a short pause, she quietly continued, "She doesn't like me."

"She doesn't. But this isn't about her not liking you. It's about you needing me. I'd never let anything, or anyone, get between us."

She changed the subject. "Mom likes you." There wasn't much he could say to that. "You're all she talks about. She wanted to know everything, not just the training but … everything ..." There was a question in there that he wasn't touching.

Pushing open the door, Jerold saved him from having to answer. With his perfect white skin, black slacks, and pressed shirt, he was a mannequin come to life. Surprise flashed in his eyes when he noticed Cesare and Anastasia. Pressed against his chest, she didn't know or care that Jerold had arrived.

"You need to leave," Jerold said.

Anastasia gave a small hurt sound, pushing into Cesare's chest. "Or what?" Cesare asked, curiously.

Jerold frowned slightly. "What do you mean? Only the Thagirion are allowed here."

"Got that. So there has to be a penalty, right? So, what is it?" Keeping it casual was the key. He needed to turn this into a negotiation, not a fight.

Jerold looked over at the other Thagirion. Blaez watched with lethally intent eyes, but he was the only one. "Usually, they would ... address it." Blaez begged Abraxas with his eyes, but the dragon was deep in his meditation, unwilling to leave its depths for the wants of a dog.

Cesare's hand never stopped its caress of Anastasia's hair. The other hand rested on the small of Anastasia's back, holding her flush against him. "Fine, when this is over, they can do what they do. But I'm not leaving unless you plan to throw me out." He met Jerold's eyes. For one moment, they understood each other. It would be a long, drag-out, no-holds-barred fight to make Cesare leave.

"Pantagruel, you're up," Jerold said, turning away from Cesare. The giant stood up—and up. At over seven feet of musclebound meat, he made the room small.

"Time to stomp some uppity fuckers," he said with a grin.

Tension tightened Anastasia's muscles, her arms cinching around him in fear. In another time and place he'd soak it in, suck the marrow from the moments bones and lap up the kills blood. But she was going into an arena where she'd face off against an abomination that scared vampires.

"Anastasia." It was the same tone he used when they trained. Fear was a great servant, but it made a poor master. "Me and you, princess. No tomorrow, no yesterday, only today. Only the now. Feel my arms and hear my voice." Smooth silk, the worlds flowed from his lips, darkness and moonlight, blood on white roses, and pain that cut to the soul. Lies of calm slipping into flesh, serenity promised at the end of a needle.

Cesare built with his words. Each word was a brick laid with care, cemented with peace, saturated with solitude, a place for them. Fear was chained in a room alone, with only itself to sate its insane hunger. Anxiety was cast down into a hole, dark and fathomless, falling into gibbering madness without anything to obsess about. Worry, bound so tightly to the future, withered and died in this fortress where no future existed.

Tension slowly bled out of Anastasia, her arms coming to rest around him. Raw need transformed into a desire to be held. Her breathing deepened, calm flowing into the empty place where demons had raged. The world faded away, leaving only his voice and the palace of serenity he'd created for her.

Pantagruel slammed open the door, a naked mass of bulbous muscles. Silver dollar shaped wounds dotted his legs, torn flesh weeping blood in steams along the etched lines of his muscles. Swiping up a dirty rag with one hand, he wiped off the blood absently.

"Blaez, you're up," Jerold said from the doorway.

"I'm the second-string bitch?" Blaez scowled as he stripped out of his sweats.

"Anastasia's the big event," Jerold said with a look to the girl. "I think if they could get away with it, they'd make it the final fight."

Blaez grimaced as he walked out the door with Jerold. Anastasia pulled back just enough to look into Cesare's eyes. "I'm okay now." The hair that had wrapped around him with longing now brushed his face and shoulders with languid desire.

"If that's what you want." You either trust someone or you don't. It didn't matter if he thought he should stay, only that she thought she was okay.

With a smile, Anastasia slid around him until she was in his spot against the wall. "Thanks for ... well, everything."

Anastasia fished out her phone, quickly finding one of the meditations he'd recorded for her. Leaning against the wall, she slipped her earbuds into place with her eyes closed. Cesare watched for a minute as she fell deeper into herself with each breath. He placed a feather-light kiss on the top of her head. A self-indulgence, and one he'd pay for later, but sometimes you have to take something for yourself despite the cost.

The visitor sections had filled early, people coming from across the globe—needing to see the fight between Anastasia and Hoarfrost. They packed the student bleachers to capacity and then some. It forced students to find any spot to watch from whether it was sitting on the stairs or leaning against a wall. Dotting the crowd were Anastasia's fan club, easily picked out by the black shirts emblazoned with a picture of Anastasia in that first fight, Thagirion coat blown back with the inferno burning behind her.

The only place with open seats was Elizabeth's box. All he had to do was face the gauntlet of degradation to get to it. The students pulled back sharply in disgust as he walked past, letting insults slip as he passed. "Shit head." "Loser." "Limp dick butt slut." Flinching would only make it worse, pain drew them like chum in the water, they'd rip him apart if they thought it hurt.

Elizabeth's box was a sea of calm in an ocean of malice. Gated in gleaming wood, delicate whirls and curves flowed across the sun warmed wood. She'd extended the canopy of branches with a screen of feathered leaves, adding to the air of private seclusion. Nzinga stood at the gate with the rest of the harem spread out around the box. Eyes lit with homicidal need leashed by a fraying string, she was murder looking for a reason. The bouda shifted just enough for him to turn sideways and slid into the box.

Kali was up as soon as he entered the box. "Is she okay? Does she need me? She wants to call this off? Well, just give me a second and I'll ..."

Cesare laid a tentative hand on Lady Kali's shoulder. "She just had a freak-out, that's all. She doesn't want to call it off. Anastasia doesn't want you to see her like that. She wants you to be proud ..."

He took his seat next to Elizabeth. It wasn't chance that put him between the two titans. "I wiped her ass when she was young and taught her how to use tampons, and she's worried that I might see her scared of a fucking wendigo!" Kali said incredulously.

It was her daughter that was going out there to fight this nightmare. She'd have to watch while her daughter fought for her life against a creature that relished killing.

Cesare laid a hand over Lady Kali's clenched fist as it sat on the armrest. "She'll win." Her knuckles popped as her fist tightened in rage.

"And I should trust you?" She lashed out scornfully.

"You already trust me," Cesare said, tightening his hand over the ball of fury her fist had become. "You know I'd never let Anastasia go in there if she couldn't win."

"She could die." Rage burned in her dark eyes—a rage that had sentenced cities to death.

"She won't." Cesare asserted.

"I could stop this."

"You could. You could grab Anastasia and take her. No one could stop you." Her hand unclenched one solitary muscle at a time. "But you'll break Anastasia's trust and you'll never get that back. I'm not much, but I care enough to support her dreams. You can't swoop in when things go wrong. She has the right to make her own choices and her own mistakes."

The rage faded, leaving what had fueled it—naked terror. "I can't lose her, Cesare. I'd rather have her hate me."

She listened even as she readied herself to maim the world to save her daughter. "She won't die. She's going to win. You can trust her, or you can shatter her dreams. But you can't do both," Cesare said.

She slumped into her chair, the fight draining out of her … for now. It wasn't over. No mother was going to let it go that easily. Lady Kali would never be okay with her daughter's head on the chopping block. What kind of mother would she be otherwise? Not one that he'd want for Anastasia.

Blaez swaggered out of the entrance in a cloud of arrogance. Surging to their feet, the students chanted his name. Raising his hands, he basked in the crowd's adulation. In mid-step his body changed. Skin ripped, spraying blood across the grass. Bones distorted, twisting under skin, ripping through flesh in their drive to transform. Slabs of rotting human flesh hit the ground as new skin flowed over raw meat.

Birthed out of the meat of a man was a thing of demented imaginings, nine feet of killing intent covered in dark brown fur. A ruff of fur stood up along his back, from his ass to his neck, naked aggression poised to fight. The lower half was only a shadow of the muscled fury of the werewolf's upper body. Its thin, spindly legs, looked too small to support its massive bulk.

Freakishly built, the curved spine moved its center-of-gravity forward. Claws twitched with wanton hunger, the scything bone blades dangling below its knees. Torn lips peeled back from crooked teeth, a maw of grotesqueness sawing through its mouth. Globs of blood-soaked saliva slid down its muzzle, soaking into its chest.

Walking from the other side was an already changed werewolf. A few inches smaller than Blaez, it was his twin in everything but height. It walked with the unsteady steps of a monster born for slaughter. Howling a challenge in a spray of blood, it leaned forward in a charge.

Blaez answered with a wet howl of his own, instantly falling into a dead run. Greg hadn't even started the match, but there'd be no stopping them. And really, who cared? Slaughter was the reason for being here.

Blood lust raced from person to person, the stadium exploding with sound, everyone springing to their feet. The Bakkheia took up a frenzied song. It plucked the nerves with searing hooks, flaying the mind until it lit with pain turned to wanton rage, speaking of long-gone days of blood smeared orgies. Only the three of them stayed in their seats.

With a meaty crash, the two wolves slammed into each other. Blaez sank his claws into the other wolf's guts, howling his glee at the rush of blood that soaked his arms and washed the ground crimson. The other wolf buried its claws into Blaez's back and shoulders, jaws sinking into Blaez's neck with a howl of triumph.

Feet braced, their claws dug deep, each wolf muscling forward, using their weight to push the other back. Dragging its claws across Blaez's back, the wolf flayed it open. Biting deep, it chewed its way through the muscle of Blaez's neck, wet snarling sounds weaving through the frenzied blood song of the Bakkheia.

Blaez screamed, ripping his claws out in a spray of blood soaked flesh. Biting down on the smaller wolf's shoulder joint, Blaez chewed through muscled meat, gulping it down in a frenzy of hunger.

Shivering in pain and horror, ripples of agony spread down the wolf's body as Blaez devoured writhing hunks of still healing flesh. It ripped its teeth from Blaez's neck with a howl of agony that sawed across the arena. Blaez surged forward, his opponent's small legs crumpling under the renewed assault. Pinning the werewolf to the ground, Blaez ripped through the last of the flesh with a gleeful snarl, tearing its arm off. His howl of triumph was drowned out by the scream of agony from the dismembered wolf on the ground.

Head thrown back in a howl of glory, Blaez soaked in the crowd's worship. The other wolf's wet scream of agony gurgled and died under him. Jerold and the medical team bolted out to the maimed werewolf, dragging it off the field with frantic speed. Whether he'd live or die would depend on just how great a wolf's regeneration really was.

Soon it would be Anastasia's turn. "Elizabeth, can you protect Anastasia while Kali deals with the wendigo?"

Elizabeth smiled. "You've seen the underworld? This is my land. I can secure her protection. You want me to wait for your cue?"

"Yes," Cesare said, turning to Lady Kali. "Do you have a problem with me calling the shots?'

Lady Kali faced Elizabeth. "You know if you do this the repercussions will be … severe. They'd never dare challenge me, but you won't have that protection."

Elizabeth's eyes grew hard and unforgiving. "You underestimate how important I am to this school. I'm the Imperatrix Terra. This land is mine and responds to my will. While the Mistress is unstoppable in single combat, she can't be everywhere. Whereas, my power is the forest and earth that birthed it. What can they do, hate me more? Take away my students?" Without breaking eye contact with Lady Kali, Elizabeth laid her hand on his. "Today, I stand with Cesare."

Warmth rushed through him at her words. It was everything he'd wanted, someone to stand by him. Maybe it was only for this fight, but he'd soak it up while he could.

Lady Kali leaned back, taking them in carefully. "What would my role be?"

Cesare could see the difference in her. This was Lady Kali the mother, she'd kill anything, do anything, to see her daughter live. But it was also Lady Kali the Destroyer, the monster that had crossed oceans of blood to survive centuries of killing.

"Elizabeth will protect Anastasia if it goes bad. When I give the word, you nuke the guy," Cesare said, meeting her eyes.

"And by nuke?" Kali asked.

"Incinerate him. It's easier to tell a story when there's only one narrative. Without him to fight his side and you backing the story …"

"The thing's fast. If I target it alone, there's a chance it could escape. I would need to ... nuke ... the entire field." Kali looked at Elizabeth in question.

Supremely unconcerned, Elizabeth shrugged. "I'll have the ground give out under her and fill the hole with roots. You can nuke the entire field down ten feet and it won't make a difference."

Kali nodded thoughtfully as she gave Cesare a measuring look. "Why do you get to decide when we attack?"

"Elizabeth doesn't like your daughter, so she's out. You're out because your too invested. You'd call it as soon as she got cut without giving her the chance to win. You're too close to this while I'm enough of an asshole to wait and see."

Kali watched the field while she weighed his words. She could screw up any chance Anastasia had of getting a shot at winning the fight. If she didn't agree to trust him, she'd jump the gun and Anastasia would never get another chance. But he was asking her to trust her daughter's life to him.

Kali looked sideways at Elizabeth. "You won't follow my orders?"

Elizabeth smiled. "I'm here for him." If this were just Kali and Anastasia needing help, Elizabeth wouldn't give a damn. They'd never stood for her, and she wouldn't stand for them.

Taking her eyes off the field where they were washing the blood off the grass, Lady Kali nodded. "Fine. I'll follow your plan."

"Thanks," he said flatly, removing his hand from hers. She was only allowing him control because she couldn't take it from him.

She took his hand back, interlacing their fingers. "I've done this for centuries, Cesare. You're gifted, I won't deny that, but I've held power by trusting myself. I'd kill everyone in this stadium to see her safe, and you're asking me to trust you with her life." She smiled, knowing she'd just told him she'd kill him if it was necessary. "Sex is sex and love is love, but family is forever. I won't lose this fight. I'd rather the operation was under my command, but Elizabeth killed that." She shook her head at Elizabeth's poor choice.

She was an ancient crocodile, killing her way through the centuries. Apex predators only cared about what they couldn't kill, everything else was food. It didn't help that he could see shades of himself in her. He knew just how fucked up he was. Hell, he wouldn't want him on his side. Kali would do anything to see her daughter safe, even if she had to kill everyone here to do it. At any time, she could say fuck it and do her own thing.

She was a nuke waiting to annihilate his plans. It wasn't if she'd explode, but when. They shared goals, but that meant nothing. Cesare shared a look with Elizabeth, both knowing Lady Kali couldn't be depended on.

They'd been three people with one objective … her power play had changed that. Cesare and Elizabeth were a team working with Kali. If this went sideways, Cesare and Elizabeth would be on one side with the myth facing them down.

"I think you're making more of this than you need to." Kali's smooth voice tried to ease the bloom of tension in the air—tension that, even now, was drawing looks from her harem.

"Trust is never a small thing. You'll play by your rules. The only chance I have of getting this done is if I do it your way," Cesare said.

"This doesn't have to change anything between us." His anger butchered the hopefulness in her voice.

"No more than when your daughter kicked the shit out of me. Or her supporting the Thagirion even after they'd ordered my beatings three times a week." Lady Kali's eyes darkened with thought at the jab. "There are only two sides in this world, my side and everyone else's. Trust is the line between them."

"Now for the main event!" Greg announced. "The Scion of Lady Kali! Pride of Primrose! The Lady of the Ruin!" Anastasia walked out of the arch in the field. "The nightmare! The legend! The Horror from the North! Lord of Hunger and Ice! Hoarfrost!"

As much as he wanted to look at the wendigo, it was Anastasia who'd decide who'd die today. The crowd chanted her name, a base stomp of thousands of feet throbbing through the bones. "Anastasia! Anastasia! Anastasia!" A ready looseness owned her shoulders, the roll in her hips turning each step into a slow strut.

Cesare relaxed, stress evaporating like water hitting a blast furnace. Only when it had gone did he realize how worried he'd been. Damn, these girls would be the death of him. Leaning back, his words were more for himself than the others. "She's got this. It's a win."

"Looks like our Lady of Ruin likes to listen to jam when she's kicking ass. Any bets on what she listens too?" Ear buds firmly in place, she'd left the meditation on. She'd done the next best thing to having him with her.

"What's she listening to?" Lady Kali asked, turning to Cesare.

He answered despite wanting to tell her to fuck off. "A meditation I made to help her train."

Lady Kali shook her head in disbelief. "You've no idea how much you've changed her. She was born with monstrous potential, but I could never pull it out of her. As much as she'd done in mastering the Ebon Flame, she's capable of so much more. You've gotten further than I ever did."

"You did more than you know. All I did was support her."

"You did more than that. You can't give someone their dream. They have to bleed for it. The world doesn't care how much you want it. It only cares if you can take it. If you have the smarts to kill the monsters keeping you from it. You're showing her that path. Hell, your carving the path for her. Do you think all this …"? Her gesture took in the chanting stadium. "…would have happened if the first fight hadn't been a spectacle? I just hope someday she appreciates it."

"Friends don't owe friends." Even if Anastasia wasn't his friend, he was still hers.

If a werewolf was a war hammer: brutal, blunt, and savage, then the wendigo was a saber: elegant, precise, and beautiful. It stood over seven feet, with a covering of understated gray fur that would blend in anywhere. Lean muscle rippled with each step. Flowing across the grass, its steps were balanced readiness. Silver fur fringed its muzzle and the tips of its ears.

Born with the grace of a predator, it was a perfect blending of man and wolf. Hoarfrost studied Anastasia without a look for the loud meat bleating from the stands. It was here to kill—not show off. Dead air radiated from it, a void in life, an absence of being.

Cesare flashed back to last night and his encounter with the thing. The dead coldness that stared at him from the abyss of its soul. No one cared where a burger came from, no one wanted to know the torture of a chicken, compassion was for the things we didn't eat. Everything was food to the wendigo. There was no redemption for this monster. It had to die, a nightmare from a bygone era that had outlived its time.