Fourteen: Demons' Blight

            (Per the advice written by my mother and step-father, I held off on reading her book and what papers they saved for me. Instead, I opened up to the others and tried growing. For the weeks to follow the High Priestess giving me a hint of what this place truly was, I tried connecting to the other cubs. Not right away, however, for they assumed that canines act differently from the felines. The first feline around my age to connect to me, was the one occupying the bed to the left of mine.

(This cub, a golden leopard, told me, “My mother died from smoke inhalation taking its toll. My father was killed in action, serving the military. A colleague of his recommended to take me here."

(I replied, “Both my mother and step-father died protecting me from criminals." I had given the High Priestess all details. Not counting her, this cub is the first I to whom I gave the full story.

(The leopard cub, named Kivan, commented, “Suddenly I feel like my story is nothing compared to yours."

(I just wiped my tears before I responded, “I understand that you all feel sympathy fer one another. I know enough to see that as not the proper way of being social." I look to him, to continue, “I knew another wolf cub back in Highcond. He is dead. I never made another friend."

(Kivan tried to smile, stating, “You have one now."

(I gave smile just as wry, and asked, “So, whot wos yer life like back in… Dahalo…?" I listened with interest to what Kivan had to say.)

-----

            Barely a breath of rest before boarding the train to Subroot. I napped for a part of the ride in the carriage that provided refreshments, though not meat, of course. When I woke from that nap, I could not help but think that someone watches me right now. I have had that feeling since I entered the station from where I departed. I just know that Lieven will not go down easily. I would not be surprised if he holds grudges.

The sunset is not as beautiful here as it is in most places. On the outdoor track, I can see terrible clouds seeming to have come from the smoke from factory chimneys. The clouds with tinges of imperial purple coming from the orange of the setting sun look to me like the smog poisoning the borough infamous for having the most illness cases. It is more than the factories that run from dawn to dusk that make for the diseases.

“Joshua Derrickson. Mink. He could be called many things. Broker. Holder. Keeper. My men call him the Warden, for what Giffard pays him to do: storage manager, exclusively for Giffard's merchandise. With the Lowell House fortunes, a factory was bought out and converted to a storage house. Ever since, there has been a massive cache for the clan's weapons, drugs, and even victims of his trafficking operation. However, he is not working alone. There are factory owners, a son of a Vezdan and his wife, known to buy the cheapest slaves from Derrickson. That slaver's name is Aldous Kohut. Go see his son. He will be glad to aid you."

I put the pages back in my suitcase, the paragraphs mentioning those I've already killed with wide X's. It is at one of the townhouses where I have rented a room. I head outside that house, and there it is again: the hint that I have been shadowed. There is a scent that I should know, but it smells like… me! I swiftly turn around, taking someone with me to a gap between two rows of townhouses—

And it is the cat from the brothel—or what is left of it—in Manusdale. I scowl at the calico. I tell her bluntly, “You could be in trouble from following the wrong wolf."

“That is why I followed you", the cat replies. “I know you will be good to me." She knows who I am.

I imply, “You followed me to a train and boarded it, just for me t-protect you."

“Everyone heard that fight in Frances's office. And you burnt the place down. I just knew that my liberator could also be my protector."

I take my hands off of her. She is helpless. In this cat, I see the same cat that I tried to help. I say plainly, “I cannot help everyone."

I start to walk away, but she grabs my wrist, and begs, “Please. I need someone. I cannot fight for my life like you do."

I look behind, seeing the cat's eyes now glassy. I object, “I am sorry, June, but I have other business. I owe favours to somebody, even if he says otherwise."

I can just see the pain in her expression even when I walk away, having taken my wrist out of her grip. I end up running, expecting her to not catch up with me easily.

Where I run to, is at a pub, which is connected to a long flat that seems abandoned. To indicate otherwise, the outer walls are clean. That house is made completely of bricks and has two metal chimneys, one on each end. The pub is all wood with only a large window on each side as it is on the corner of the block. The metal frame is polished and has the name Knight of Clovich. Upon entering, I find the place to be packed. It looks, sounds, and feels much livelier than the outside. The tables and the bar have all seats occupied. The crowd consists of canines, felines, and a few ursine. At the opposite end of the door, there is a group playing throwing game with a wooden bull head mounted. Adjacent to the doorway is a group deep in a card game. Before the bar is a musical trio: a fiddler, a violinist, and a guitarist. I pass two other groups taking their dice games seriously.

I approach the counter of the bar, at the far end. I have to wait a few minutes before the barwoman notes me and comes my way. This barwoman is a Striped Hyaena dressed like a working man, with the addition of an apron. I speak, “Knightsedge is said to be the borough where the best brews are dealt."

The hyaena seems to roll her eyes before states, “Brews are brews. As long as you feel some-ting to give a tingle. I expect y-want a drink."

She knows what I get at, even though she might tire of the codes. I say, “Double shot of Aurus Whiskey." The hyaena nods and heads to the back, to get a glass. I wait on her, though I need not. She returns in practically a second. Presenting what could be a small bucket with dull-yellow fluid, she leans close to me. She rasps in my ear, “Pray that I do not take out your other eye, Wolf. State your business."

I whisper back, “MacNiadh sends 'is regards. Specifically for Cecilia Lagorio." I gulp the contents of the small bucket, which burns only when I swallow it, but still is bitter. Not the worst whiskey I have tasted.

The hyaena tells me, standing behind the counter again, “It is on the house. And if y-prefer the brews in Knightsedge, walk there." She gestures with her head, indicating the direction to go.

I tread the floorboards, my footsteps drowned out by the chatter of the other patrons and the possible criminals relying on this particular pub for a resting area. The group playing the throwing game pay me no heed. The hidden door that I take is not to outside, but to the connected house. I hurry inside, but quietly close the door. No one needs to know.

Inside is the house is a completely different atmosphere. The floor and walls are all tiled. Against the walls are long tables occupied by machines laying idle. The space of the table next to me is filled by metal boxes; I already know what they contain. The light is dim. A generator in the corner whirs, emitting a pale-blue light and two rods protruding from adjacent sides buzz with electricity. I could only have entered the laboratory of a mad scientist, but it is not.

A black cat with glossy fur, clad in a white linen jacket, smoke-grey tweed trousers, a white business shirt and a bright yellow tie bringing out her jade eyes in front of which she has oval spectacles, enters. She speaks, “Jack told me he was sending a wolf. I was-a not told she would have only one eye-a."

I reply, approaching her, “If you knew his best friend, you would know why she wears an eyepatch."

She holds out a hand, saying, “Doctor Cecilia Lagorio." I shake her hand. She tells me, “Did Jack tell you of recent events 'ere?"

“I wos on other business", I answer.

The black cat leads me to where the metal boxes are. She opens the one to which she is nearest, undoing the latches and lifting the side. The contents are automatic rifles, which show signs of burns. She speaks, “These-a guns were returned to us yesterday by… an unhappy client… He told me that they failed. The guns-a jammed and exploded."

I draw a finger across the row of boxes, asking, “And these ones?"

“All returned by the same client."

I look at her intently, asking, “Whot is your real job? Apart from keeping guns stored."

“Medicine is my profession", she answered bitterly. “Not that it does-a me good. It should make me rich as medicine is taken seriously, but there wos always-a someone to cock up my research. Before that, I wos fired from the hospital under the bollocks excuse about the workplace not meant-a fer women. Really, my male boss wos jealous-a, especially over the surgeons committing to sanitary conditions."

“I still fail to understand", I tell her as I follow her around the storage space, a few machines having my interest.

“I steel work in a hospital as lead-a nurse, petitioning for sanitary conditions, but that is not enough. I turned to Jack fer work. He promised-a to fund medical research at that hospital and a workshop just fer me. In return, he wanted it to be storage-a for 'is merchandise."

I pick up a board with block fastened by bolts, asking, “And devices such as this?"

“Experimental weapons", she utters bluntly. “I lead a regular team in building items that could be-a useful." Out of the small devices scattered about, I wonder which ones are components something that could be revolutionary. However, I note the signs of screws being stripped out and signs of burns. I speak, “Recent siege?"

The cat expresses stupefaction when asking back, “How d-you know?"

I sigh. Without looking back, I explain, “I wos in Agnarge Asylum… I saw Giffard… and his sister… She said that 'the vigilante' wos expected 'ere."

“Quite accurate", the cat remarks. She approaches me, to stand next to me, and she continues, “Somehow they knew where we were; Derrickson's men-a stormed on us. They came in, somehow knowing of our experiment, and hurled an explosive. It destroyed our first prototype of that weapon, nigh-complete, and killed two of the technicians."

Another female voice speaks, “And she wos not alone."

I turn around, whispering, “Holly." There the black-spotted grey cat is, but it is her green eye and blue eye that familiarise me with her.

Hearing that, Lagorio speaks, “She told-a me she knows the vigilante."

I approach the spotted cat, but to ask, “What the hell are doing here?"

She answers plainly, “First mission."

“But your old addiction"-

She interrupts, “Lagorio is testing my restraint."

“But how"- I pause, thinking about the explanation. It could be as simple as the High Priestess knowing my connection, which Holly has asked of her, which has led her here, in this workshop in Subroot. I get a good look at her. She wears a long-sleeve sky-blue business dress with a white vine pattern on the shoulders and the collar unbuttoned. I change the subject. “You must hate being dressed like that."

Holly remarks, “Better than being a whore." She adds nonchalantly, “I am thankful, though, for you showing me who I truly prefer." I believe more that I made her desire a woman, which I perfectly understand as one who once had difficulty trusting men.

I imply, “You actually insisted upon being ready fer yer first mission as an operative. However, you are not the first woman who was once a prostitute trusted by the High Priestess."

Holly infers, “And she accepted my decision t-join in yer cause. Y-need not be protective of me."

I scowl, confessing, “Hard not to. You are still a cub compared to me." I turn to Lagorio, who I see fiddling with her bits and bobs. I tell her, “I assume you know of one Aldous Kohut."

“Oll too well-a", she answers bitterly.

Holly weighs in, “I know 'im now, too. Beastly plonker."

The doctor turns around, the sternness brought out by her glasses. She explains, “An immigrant from the Vezdan Empire. He is wed to another immigrant-a that he met in Tympark, which made-a for the reason he wanted-a no involvement with 'is father. Only two years ago, he bought a factory that he named-a Coalshand Brewer. Machines are operated by children."

That cannot be the full story, for Jack's mention of Kohut's son. I state bluntly, “I want to know if you kin set me up with 'is son."

“Consider it done", Lagorio replies. “I can do it now if y-like."

“Please do", I respond.

While the doctor heads to the other chamber of the flat, Holly gets a hold of my arm and asks, “Is that it? You plan to just kill Kohut, and then Derrickson, and go? Whot about the children? And the slaves?"

I look away from her, muttering, “They know that the streets are better."

She presses, “That is not whot y-told me before you destroyed The Dented Shield."

“The fact that you made it to the Sanctuary might be a fluke. The last prostitute I tried ter 'elp killed 'imself."

She dashes to stand in front of me, staring intently. “Why would this be about David?" I manage to conceal surprise that she knows. She must have read his letter in the news. Who else knows, apart from everyone in Solmil? Holly continues, “That was just bad luck, Death. He did not die because of you."

I retort, “You know, then, that he used opiates and that he had some inner fight on which he gave up." That is hard to believe now.

Holly backs up, looking at me sternly. She speaks, “I wos eleven when I wos sold to the Lowell House. Fer three years, I took abuse while cleaning up after ungrateful sods. I wos fourteen when put to work at The Dented Shield. Not long after, I 'ad my first, an' took a beating after refusing ter 'and over the pay. Over the five years before I met you, I wos used by man after man fer their sexual frustration. Your liberation wos the best thing ter 'appen t-me."

I slowly shake my head, still believing that it was a fluke. If I try to protect the calico, June, she will only be in more danger. However, something dawns upon me: the crest. I look down at Holly's right forearm, where the crest has been burnt beyond recognition. Just when my mind is set on finding her before Joshua Derrickson's men do, Lagorio comes back, announcing, “I got off-a the telephone with Durward. He is willing to talk t-you."

I call as I head out the front door, “Bring 'im here. I will come back." Before either cat objects, I am out the front door.

By the time I am distant, from the pub and flat, I howl randomly, and Michi glides down toward me. I have him land on my forearm. I tell him, “Mike neko mitsuke. Konohodo!" He caws, already knowing to which calico I refer. He likely still ate Frances whilst her brothel was ablaze. He had to have seen the slaves fleeing. I dash to the house where I am staying, to change into my blue suit and don my mask. I also take my Khopeshes with me.

I make short howls, just knowing that my friend can hear me anywhere. Before long, I hear the cawing. There is something about his cawing to resonate me, as if it is a piano note told apart from all other notes. I jog as if chasing smoke. The only way to catch smoke is with a jar, but it still dissipates inside. In this borough, or any borough for the matter, there could be anyone in danger from criminals and diseases. The cawing still gets louder, and I head the direction I hear it. I scale a building in the process of catching up with my guiding friend. I howl again as I jog along a shingle roof, and hear the caw again.

Upon spotting my friend, he glides in circles. I howl, “June!" There can be no problem at the moment; all that I smell is the pollution from the factories running day and night. I climb down the townhouse nearest Michi. On the sidewalk, there the calico is. She is blatantly gobsmacked about why someone calls her name. Now, she knows, upon seeing the masked she-wolf.

I stride toward her, and place both hands upon her shoulders. I tell her, “I need you to come with me. Now."

She replies hastily, “I trust you." Ace. She is not afraid of me. However, she is unappreciative of how fast I move, for she cannot keep up. So, we eventually slow to a stride.

            When entering the brick flat through the front door again, there a black bear and a female grizzly are, to add to Holly and Lagorio. Addressing the black bear—wearing a pale-green work shirt, blue pants with suspenders, and a faded black blazer—I speak, “You must be Durward Kohut." I bring the calico up to Holly, to whom I whisper, “Is there anything here to distort the crest on her?"

“There might be", she whispers back. She looks at June's arms, and then turns her around, making June awkward. She quickly leans to me again, to add, “I will take care of it right now." As hastily, she leads June to the stairs, leading in turn down to the real workshop.

I sit down adjacent to the two bears in a wooden chair at the vast table and speak, “I believe you've information t-give me."

The black bear asks, “Why is that?"

“A white fox with one blue eye knows that I need something in return for doing you a favour."

The black bear scoffs, “You must've 'erd about my father, then." He pauses, pulling out a book. Upon setting it on the table, he continues, “My father left his home country the Vezdan Empire, expecting a better life. It was not for only the dictatorship, but also to get away from my grandfather." He pulls out a pair of half-circle spectacles from his blazer, which rests upon his muzzle. “Here are a few notes on my grandfather that my father put in his book. 'Every day, I was in the middle of an argument between my parents. To decide who has the last word, my mother was the one to persuade and my father was the one to bribe or threaten me.'"—he looked through several pages before reading another entry— “'Working for my father was the worst thing I ever did. I would hear other employees of his call him out on his demeanour, which he would dismiss.'"—Durward flipped several pages again—“'I made countless suggestions on how the workspace could be improved, but he would never listen.'"—he paused again before he spoke another note—“'I tried to get out of my father's shadow by leaving his business, but he would never accept my resignation. After fifteen years, I made him accept it by clawing his left eye out. However, others would see only my father in me as much as I denounce him.'"

Durward looks like he could cry. The female grizzly rubs his back with one hand. I can read the title of that book upside-down: Kogot Kohut, The Warden of My Prison. I understand with his implications. I guess, “You are afraid that you will be like your father, as he is like his."

Durward looks up, his eyes cleared. He speaks, “It is more than that. My grandfather wos a gangster back in the Vezdan Empire. He had an empire of 'is own: illegal wares. My father became a criminal 'imself, now relying on cubs to operate the machines at Coalshand Brewer." There is even more that I have ignored in my rush to make sure that June is safe, for he brings up a large bottle of beer and three small tin cups. Durward continues as he opens the bottle and pours the black liquid into the cups, “There wos a mill in the east side of the borough. After a workers' uprising, the massive furnace that it was to power oll o' Subroot wos closed down and disconnected from the power supply. We've a new factory fer providing electricity, run by more competent people." He makes sure that the large bottle is closed tightly before handing me one of the cups, the black liquid smelling worse than horse piss… on a decomposing corpse. “My father used his inheritance from my grandfather to buy the old mill and re-purpose it into his own beer brewery. This is his product." I reluctantly take the tin cup. The two bears do as well. Almost at the exact-same moment, we gulp from the cups—

And it is the absolute most ghastly thing I ever put in my mouth. This is not beer; it is a crime against civilisation. This putrid fluid is worse than bitter; it tastes as if blood and piss were mixed into remnants of burnt paper. Durward states, “I am amazed that you got it down. Only bears can seem to drink it, but not without cringing."

I imply, “This is about more than that Aldous has child slaves."

“He's bin buyin' child slaves as they cost the least", he infers. “Children of those unfortunate enough to be under control of the Lowell House, if not other criminals lookin' fer servants themselves." He continues factually, “When my grandfather passed, he left thirty thousand pounds as an inheritance. Half of it went to my father. The other half went to me. And he wos right. My brother wos on the warpath with a divorce at the time and my sister is wasting away at a brothel."

I interrupt, “Where is she?"

Knowing to whom I refer, Durward says, “Don't bother. She is too far gone to be helped." He continues his story. “My father asked if I wanted to own half a business and I told 'im, 'You don't know how to run a business and I have my own dreams.' He went on anyway. When he was in debt a year into running his distillery, I learned that my inheritance wos stolen. My father invested my whole inheritance. My money!" He whips out a page, a bank statement as he lays it out to me. “That tells me that my money wos joined with my father's, but it was not rightfully his." He snatches up the page, to rip it. “So, this tells me nothing. I could have sued him, but he is broke. He stole both my dreams and my wife's and has dragged us into a failing business. He treats me like shit and thinks that everything is about him. And my mother is a puppet willing to be on his strings."

Not phased by his outburst, I state, “I can see the only way to end it, and I will do it."

“I cannot promise much in return", he says, taking his glasses off, and trembling, his mate having an arm over his shoulder.

“You can provide me information about Joshua Derrickson."

As Durward cannot seem to find his voice, his mate states, “He can give you the information y-need. Durward and Aldous both know 'im oll too well."

Addressing the book, I stand up as I think aloud, “Criminals deserve no legacy."

I head down the stairs to the real workshop, and there the cats still are. They seem to have only been talking. I see that the crest on June's shoulder has been distorted by burning that patch of skin again, this time at the price of fur it seems. I approach the two cats, at one end of the dimly-lit room, where a massive freezer is. The tables are occupied beakers and jars with various contents. The table where the cats are has only the gauze rolls and jars of medicines.

I ask Holly, “Are you sure about being a doctor's assistant?"

The grey cat answers, “I think she told you I don't trust myself to handle the chemicals or compounds. I 'ave only bin keeping the burned patch cold."

I tell her, “I still think that I did the wrong thing."

Holly objects, “We are but two of several 'undred slaves. No criminal will miss us. If there is only mention of the house crest, whoever expects a bounty is not told the species or other details."

“Both of you are still very young, and inexperienced with fighting. All the more reason to worry fer you."

Holly takes both my hands, her green eye and blue eye looking into mine. She utters, “I assure you, we will both be oll right 'ere, Death. Go and do what you do." She is right: I have people to seek and to kill. I give her a quick kiss on her crown of fur before heading back up the stairs.

-----

            (Things seemed to look up for me, bar the fact that curiosity still gnawed at me, to read the letters that were left for me. I was able to focus on my studies, and the teachers were very patient with how well I progressed in language. I had learned to read more complex words and was able to get through a book. I participated in class, wanting to show off how well I learned. The change was like night to day.

(I sat with my leopard friend along with two other leopards who I had gotten to know well. These leopards were of Dahalan descent, though their names fooled me there. Kivan and his two friends were fine with me joining them. Thanks to the cuisines that were preferred, I had now taken a liking for rice to add to their spiced meat. Kivan commented, “You sounded like you had a lot to say."

(I shrugged. “I guess."

(One of the leopards, Fareed, stated, “I thought you were mute once. Now I know your voice."

(The third, Bilal, jested, “Probably from thinking so much that you burst." Even I had to laugh. I liked these boys, for making me laugh and smile. I had taken my lessons very seriously, but I also was willing to get to know these cubs.

(Now, I was still not as open to these cubs as I had been to Gaston. So, I just listened to the leopards tell each other jokes. Almost immediately when attending the classes, my interest had piqued in the Ancient Dahalan lore. So, that was the topic of my own thoughts as I ate my lunch. Particularly, my interest was in the role of the god of the undead, Kumhep…

(My thinking was interrupted when Kivan spoke, “Didn't you listen, Wolf?" Everyone was aware by then that I claimed to have no name. “Bilal has been telling a funny story."

(I listened to the cub continue, “So, the cicada was still there, on the tree trunk and I seemed to be the only one noticing. My curiosity remained…" He continued with enthusiasm despite the sense of vulgarity. Then again, that was one charm of being a cub.)

-----

            I meet another delay in beginning the slave liberation. There is another thing that I want to know. For information on criminals, there is no place better than fight clubs. However, that is not the only reason. I enter through a doorway of an ordinary house. The chamber used for all daily purposes and has only wood for the floor and walls is not where the real action happens. It has a short flight of stairs leading down to a place under the noses of many other residents.

The sub-surface chamber also has planks for the walls matching the floorboards. The chamber is crowded with various predatory mammals, dressed like the workers that they most likely are. I have to nudge several aside as I make my way to the manager, a dog clad in an average business suit. It might be dusty, but is far from ragged. The dog speaks, “How can I help yeh?"

I present him a tenner and tell him, “I wish to partake in a tournament. Ten quid on myself."

He chuckles, “Y-must be daft, especially when 'aving only one eye." The dog continues sincerely, “But this is simply out of curiosity."

            I still have to wait before a few other fights are finished. In the process of one of them, I see a familiar face: brown muzzle, white ears, and red eyes… I wonder if he has seen me like this and recognises my image. When the first match is to begin, how surprised the crowd and the fighters are that a lady with an eyepatch is in the ring, made crudely of dusty planks.

The first two fighters that I have to face are probably considering to get me naked and bonk me. I will let no man take me by force. I hear the bell chime and the two weasels leap upon me. I can easily evade them, but I do not. I let them tackle me to the ground, begetting a few boos from the crowd. I punch the one to the left of me as I expect him to think that he can get away with tearing my eye out. I roll to the side, taking the other weasel with me. I have a hold of his throat as I punch his face repeatedly. Then, the other weasel pounces upon me. After he successfully tackles me, I shove him away. I stand up and then await his next move. He pounces to me again, and I throw a straight jab, which lands hard in his nose. He goes down, bleeding, but none too badly. I care not for breaking a muzzle.

Seeing as neither weasel is unable to fight further, the round is over. The manager canine barks, “Will you fight on?"

“I will", I bark back.

There are another two fighters to enter the ring, and rather quickly. These ones are a chestnut-hued deer and a rottweiler. Both of them have well-defined muscles. I expect them to not go down easily. Against my expectation to charge, the deer casual strides to me, throwing repeated jabs, which I back up from. Let them think that I am cornered. However, the rottweiler interrupts him, whilst I back up, by sweeping his leg, but he regains his balance easily. He turns around, to kick him in the midsection twice. I do not interrupt in turn. However, I have another idea. Just when the deer faces me again, I drop to one knee—

And punch him where it hurts. I punch him twice more in the same area, to maximise the pain. I then swiftly rise, delivering an uppercut, making him stumble backwards. Again, I do not deliver a blow as hard as I can. However, he will be incapacitated. As for the rottweiler, I let him perform a series of jabs and hooks, before I counter. I grab him by an arm and elbow him in the jaw. That blow is followed by a light jab. He can still stand, but his punches become sloppy. I shift sideways until I align myself and the dog with the deer. Then, I use him to charge into the deer, knocking them both down.

That causes murmurs among the crowd. The manager dog repeats, “Will you fight on?"

“I will", I bark.

That leads to the bell chiming after the two unconscious men are taken out of the ring. The two men to enter for the fight are another deer—this one with slightly-defined muscle—and a raccoon. The two men look at each other before looking at me. I act reckless now, dashing up to the raccoon. I am about to grab him when the deer takes a hold of both my arms. The raccoon then moves to punch my midsection repeatedly. I do not fight back, and I let them think that I go down easily. Releasing me, I prove is a mistake that the deer makes. I grab both his legs and then yank them, making him fall hard. I then focus on the raccoon, who I punch squarely in the muzzle, much to his irritation. He leaps toward me, but I stop him with a slap. That is when a grizzly bear enters the ring. He slowly approaches me, but helps the raccoon up. I can just sense that the deer is right behind me, as I still am on one knee. I roll aside to evade the deer's downward double fist. I focus on the raccoon again. However, I have to expect the others to move on me. The bear is the one to walk up to me. It is when he just begins his first punch, I dash past him, grabbing the raccoon by the throat. I make sure to deliver light punches to his muzzle to avoid killing him. Believe me, a large mammal can bludgeon a smaller one to death with their fists. When he is down for the count, I can focus on the other two. The deer is the next to get to me, delivering two hooks, followed by a straight kick. I have no time to counter, for the bear relies on his large fists to take me down, but I take that satisfaction from him. I then punch his midsection repeatedly, before I uppercut to his jaw. I never know how much stamina bears have until seeing them fight. Now, I know about this bear. I focus on the deer, to deliver a ruthless barrage of kicks and punches. With him incapacitated, I grab his muzzle with my right hand. I move to the bear, taking as much of his muzzle as I can in my left hand, and slam their heads together.

Now, the crowd is not just murmuring as the manager dog poses his question. I hear them chant, “Final round! Final round!"

I bark, “I will continue!"

However, that decision seems ruinous. It is not for the Shephard, the Bloodhound, or the beefy deer. Joining them is the black wolf with the red eyes. He looks at me curiously, but for the sake of seeing what I can do, he takes on the deer. That leaves me with the two dogs, who have muscles like brutes. How appropriate. I stay where I am as the two dogs spread out. The dogs seem to await my move, having grown aware of my method. For the first time in a while, I am hesitant. These two dogs are the rock and the hard place. I have to choose… And I go with the Shephard. The Bloodhound, as I expect follows. I roll aside, and I give them no time to spread again. I lunge toward them. I jab the Bloodhound in the midsection, then sweep the Shephard, then hook the Bloodhound, then stamp the chest of the Shephard. However, the Shephard recovers. I duck from his punch, leading to an uppercut on the Shephard's jaw, then a knee in the Bloodhound's midsection, followed by a straight kick. I get between the dogs, holding their arms, before elbowing their sides. I make them bend over. I grab their necks, to slam their heads together. By that time, the mercenary is just waiting for me. He wants me. What would it mean if I concede?

I walk up to him, looking into his blood-red eyes. He has to be here for money. Why other reason is there? I am the one to engage. I throw two jabs, which he blocks effortlessly. I throw two hooks. The first he blocks, but he counters the second by jabbing my midsection. Oddly enough, not as hard as I remember. I kick to his shin, but shows no response. However, he stamps my foot, and then grabs me, to butt my head, his skull blatantly denser than mine. I grab his throat and sweep one leg, bringing him down. Sloppily, I punch at his muzzle repeatedly. He just blocks with his arms. So, I grab his arms. I pull at them as I have my foot on his throat. However, he rolls, taking me with him. I get up—

And he punches my muzzle. I just go down. It is simply to avoid wasting energy, I choose to not get up. The voice of the manager speaks, “We seem ter 'ave a champion." I see the dog raise the mercenary's arm, and the crowd boos the mercenary.

It is not a complete loss. My winnings are in the form of the wagers made by fighters on themselves and by the audience. However, the manager gets a cut. Even still, I get a right fair amount. Whilst I am still here, I request, “I have a question—not regarding your policy."

“Okay", the manager replies, observant.

“What know you of a badger named Lieven?"

The manager dog narrows his eyes at that. I can see his hackles raise as well. “I hear many rumours about that blighter", he says bitterly. “I've seen 'im come in 'ere, seeking additional muscle."

“You never interacted with 'im in any way?" I ask.

He explains, “Only to ask fer recommendations. I've 'erd how he treats others. The bugger 'as a short temper. When he does get angry, he threatens to rip people, but 'e also gives some 'ard bludgeons."

“Thank you", I say plainly. I know that he wants to not talk about that badger. Maybe I just expect him, knowing that the mercenary is here. I depart from the fight club.

However, the second I am outside the front door, I hear a gentlemanly voice speak, “I saw more potential in someone that can beat me." It is the red-eyed black wolf.

I ask, “Did you follow me, just to condescend?"

“No. Just to try to understand." He is clearly in no mood to fight right now. “You could 'ave done worse t-yer opponents there."

I begin walking, but he follows. I ask, “What reason have I fer breaking a worker's muzzle?"

“There are more than workers in the rings; there are muggers and mercs", the red-eyed wolf explains. “You are not the only one to remember methods, Miss." And yet, he relies on brute force. “You were holding back."

“I won't repeat myself", I say irritably.

The mercenary has a hand on my arm, so he can look at me. He says, “I know how people fight. So, why not do worse?"

I tell him crossly, “That is not your business. Now, leave me be. I've me own business." He lets go of me. I need not look back, to know that he watches me as I walk off, to the streets.