Chapter 25 The Education
POV: Callum Brennan
Location: Supernatural Prison, Month Two
Time: Eight Weeks In
I've been in the Cage for eight weeks. I've lost thirty pounds. My ribs show through my skin. My hands shake constantly from silver poisoning. And I can't remember what it feels like to not be in pain.
But I'm still alive. That's more than most wolves in here can say.
I'm in the exercise yard when Kristoff approaches. Kristoff's the cellblock boss. Alpha wolf who's been in the Cage for three years. Survived by being meaner than anyone else. Vampire guards respect him because he keeps order.
"Brennan. You're fighting tonight."
"Fighting what?"
"Who. Prison fighting pits. Wolves versus wolves for vampire entertainment." Kristoff looks me over. "You're scrawny but you've got training. Pack wolf background. Might be worth betting on."
"I don't want to fight."
"Wasn't a question. Guards assigned you. You fight or you go to the Black Chamber for a week." Kristoff grins. Teeth missing from previous fights. "At least in the pits you've got a chance."
The prison fighting pits are in the basement. Every Friday night, vampires gather to watch wolves tear each other apart. They bet on outcomes, drink blood, treat it like a sport.
Wolves who win get better food rations. Wolves who lose get medical bills and permanent damage. Wolves who die get sold to necromancers.
It's entertainment for vampires and survival for us.
Kristoff leads me to a corner of the yard. "You've got six hours before the fight. I'm going to teach you how to not die."
"I know how to fight. Pack training."
"Pack training teaches you honor. Fair fights. Rules of engagement." Kristoff spits. "That shit will get you killed here. Prison fighting has one rule: survive. Everything else is negotiable."
"What do you mean?"
"Eyes, throat, groin. Those are your targets. Don't waste time on body shots. Go for what disables fast." Kristoff demonstrates on a training dummy. "Bite the throat if you can. Rip it out if you're desperate. Claw the eyes. Kick the balls. Whatever works."
"That's not fighting. That's just violence."
"Violence is fighting. The pretty version you learned in pack training is performance. This is survival." Kristoff grabs my arm. "Your opponent tonight doesn't care about your honor. Doesn't care about fair play. He wants to win so he gets better food. And he'll kill you to get it."
I spend the next six hours learning dirty tactics. How to gouge eyes. How to bite properly. How to use claws to disable instead of just wound. Everything my pack training said was dishonorable.
Kristoff's right though. Honor doesn't matter when you're starving and desperate.
The fighting pit is concrete floor, chain-link fence, overhead lights. Maybe two hundred vampires in the stands. Wealthy ones, bored ones, all looking for entertainment.
My opponent is a wolf named Viktor. Huge, probably two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle. He's fought in the pits before. I can tell from the scars covering his torso and arms.
The vampire referee explains rules. "Fight until submission or death. No weapons. No outside interference. Bets are final."
I look at the crowd. Vampires are placing bets. Some on Viktor. A few on me, probably long shots hoping for an upset.
The referee signals start.
Viktor charges immediately. I barely dodge. He's fast for his size. Crashes into the fence where I was standing.
I try what Kristoff taught me. Go for the eyes. But Viktor blocks. Grabs my arm. Twists it behind my back. I feel the joint straining.
I bite his hand. Hard. Taste blood. Viktor yells and releases me.
We circle each other. Viktor is angry now. Charges again. This time I'm ready. I drop low, slash at his legs with my claws. Open wounds on his thigh.
Viktor stumbles. I jump on his back. Try to get my arm around his throat. But Viktor is stronger. He throws me off. I hit the fence hard.
The fight lasts twelve minutes. Viktor dominates. Beats me down methodically. I'm losing blood, losing consciousness, losing the fight.
The referee calls it. "Submission. Winner: Viktor."
Vampires collect their bets. I lie on the concrete bleeding. Guards drag me to medical. They patch me enough that I won't die. Then they throw me back in my cell.
Kristoff visits that night. "You fought honorably. That's why you lost."
"I did what you taught me."
"You tried. But you held back. Didn't commit to the violence. Still fighting like you've got something to lose." Kristoff sits on the floor beside my cot. "Next fight's in three days. You'll do better."
I don't do better. I fight twice more over the next week. Lose both times. Different opponents, same result. I'm too hesitant. Too trained in honor to really commit to brutality.
After the third loss, Kristoff gets serious. "You want to survive? Then you need to stop being Callum Brennan, pack Beta, born wolf with honor. That person doesn't exist here. That person's going to get you killed."
"Who am I supposed to be?"
"Nobody. Just another wolf trying to live through the day." Kristoff's voice is harsh. "Your brother framed you. Your pack abandoned you. The system destroyed you. You don't owe anyone honor. You owe yourself survival."
The fourth fight is different. My opponent's smaller than me. Quicker though. And desperate. He's been losing weight faster than anyone. I can see his ribs through his skin.
The fight starts. This time I don't hesitate. I go straight for his eyes. Claw them hard. He screams and stumbles back.
I don't stop. Bite his throat. Not enough to kill. Just enough to make him submit. But he doesn't submit. Keeps fighting despite the damage.
So I bite harder. Rip. Feel flesh tear. Taste blood flooding my mouth.
The wolf collapses. Bleeding out on the concrete. The referee doesn't call it. The fight continues until someone submits or dies.
The wolf dies. Forty seconds later. Drowning in his own blood while vampires cheer.
I won. My first win. And I killed someone to get it.
Guards take the body away. I stand there covered in blood that's not mine. Trying to process what just happened.
I killed someone. Murdered another wolf over food rations and survival.
I stumble to the side of the pit and vomit. Can't stop. The blood, the violence, the realization of what I've become. It's too much.
Kristoff's there when I finish. "Good fight. You learned the lesson."
"I killed him."
"He would have killed you. That's how this works." Kristoff hands me a towel. "You feel sick now. That's normal. First kill always hits hard. But you'll get used to it."
"I don't want to get used to killing."
"Then you'll die. Those are your options. Become a killer or become a corpse." Kristoff walks away. "You're learning. That's good. Keep learning and you might survive your full sentence."
I befriend a wolf named Pavel three days later. Pavel's older, maybe fifty, been in the Cage for eighteen months. He's got connections. Knows people. Trades information for favors.
"You're Callum Brennan," Pavel says. We're in the exercise yard. "Born wolf from the Brennan pack. Framed by your twin brother. Convicted in rigged trial."
"How do you know that?"
"I know everything. That's how I survive. Information's currency." Pavel lights a cigarette. Contraband, but guards don't care if you can pay them. "I work with someone on the outside. Guy named Silas. Body trader in the Rookeries. He tracks supernaturals, documents everything."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because Silas wants me to. He's been following your case. Thinks you might be useful when you get out." Pavel blows smoke. "You're going to the Rookeries after release. Packless status means no other options. Silas runs operations there. He'll have work for you if you survive."
"What kind of work?"
"Depends what skills you have. You can fight now. That's something. Silas always needs fighters." Pavel looks at me carefully. "How many fights you won?"
"One."
"How many you killed?"
"One."
"That'll go up. Everyone who survives the pits has a body count. Mine's seven. Kristoff's is twenty-three." Pavel finishes his cigarette. "The Cage breaks pack wolves. Makes them into something else. Something harder. Silas likes hiring broken wolves. They're desperate enough to do anything."
"I'm not desperate."
"Not yet. But you've got four more months here. You'll be desperate before the end." Pavel stands. "When you get released, find Silas. Shadwell warehouse near the docks. Tell him Pavel sent you. He'll have work."
Pavel walks away. I'm left thinking about the Rookeries. That's where I'm going after this. Packless, alone, desperate. Working for body traders and criminals because I have no other options.
My brother destroyed me. The system convicted me. And the Cage is turning me into something unrecognizable.
I look at my hands. Still stained with blood from the fight three days ago. I killed a wolf. Tore his throat out. And according to Kristoff, I'll kill more before this is over.
The pack wolf I was, the Beta who supported his brother, the person who believed in honor and justice, that Callum's dying. Being replaced by whoever this new person is. Someone who fights dirty. Who kills to survive. Who's learning that honor gets you killed.
I don't know if I like this new person. But I'm alive. That has to count for something.
Even if survival costs my soul.