The blurring of light around my enclosed eyelids caused them to flutter slightly, jerking my consciousness back from my slumber. My body, which felt as cold as usual, was being dragged along some kind of floor, knees scraping against its surface as two figures to either side pulled me along by one of my arms each. Brillant.

I might’ve been able to focus on my surroundings if it didn’t feel like a vat of flesh-eating acid had been forced into both my throat and stomach; mind churning at the pain and revulsion I felt.

There was a musty scent of stone and dry wood around me but above I could catch a whiff of the familiar tells; food and rot. None of that mattered though, the pain took priority. I tried to yank my hands away to hold my stomach but the two carrying me maintained unafflicted iron grips, leading me forward to god knows where.

It hurt, it hurt so much.

Sweat dripped down my forehead despite my body being ice cold and unexhausted. My teeth chattered and yearned for just a morsel of sustenance that might settle the craving I felt. Every bump across the road sent a wave up my spine, reminding me of feeling again and causing me to gulp and wretch at the dryness and acid reflux of my throat.

“Looks like this one’s feisty.” One of the two men dragging me jeered.

“The assessment say’s his mental fortitude is adept.” The other replied.

“Do you think we should tell the guards?”

“Oh please, look at the runt. What’s he gonna do, kill them with puppy eyes?”

They joked with each other more but never ceased to drag me forward. Eventually, they stopped and after the familiar clicking of a lock mechanism, I was thrown forward without warning. My body crashed against a pile of what seemed to be hay, laid out like I was a prisoner of a keep or trapped within a dungeon of some kind.

With hands now freed I caressed my throat and stomach hoping to soothe over the pain of hunger; which it did not. The room around me was no bigger than five cubic metres, hosting a pile of hay and four white walls, crafted of a refined and glossy stone.

I thought they would wake me up, guess this is what goes for courtesy. It’s just what a Fangless deserves. I have no merit for respect or treatment better than this.

In my imagination they would have called for us, then brought us out and led us to where the Blood Rite was taking place. If anything, my misinterpretation showed exactly the relationship I had with my kin. I knew factually most of what I needed about them, but having said that I still understood very, very little. The air around me was stale and stiff, the sound of raging roars reverberating from above along with the clash of metal.

So it’s already started.

A bittersweet conclusion to come to. On one hand, the moment of my impending judgement was closing in, on the other I hadn’t felt the pain one should when losing a member of their coven. Hopefully, that meant some of them had already survived the Rite and been chosen by either their sire or another interested party. A nice thought to hold onto.

Thus, I was forced to wait.

The slow ticking of time was maddening and my gnawing hunger didn’t help the loosening grip on my own sanity. Seconds felt like minutes, minutes became hours and hours developed into eternity.

Like the end of a symphony a metallic crack resounded and then a thud of something falling onto the ground. Like that, the roaring turned into a frenzy erupting in cheers so vibrant I could swear they shook the room around me. Chaos enveloped in a frenzy above me.

This is barbaric.

But there was nothing I could do to stop, no way to help any of those who were fighting to the death for the entertainment of others. Should I even want to help them though? These people had become Fangless knowing their demise was an open possibility. It was their choice… was it not? I didn’t particularly have any drive to help them nor the desire.

But I should, right?

Steps starting down the hallway and echoing towards me brought my pondering to a halt. They slowly etched closer and closer to inevitable, ending just outside my door before the locking mechanism clicked again.

The door opened to a keeper, obscuring his face with a hood that seemed to contort the shadows themselves around it. His entire person was covered in a long brown robe and the only thing that stood out about him was how lithe the hands that extended from his sleeves were. He smelled of…

“You. Come. Time. Earn. Life.”

I hesitantly stood, staring him down. Perhaps, suspecting my unwillingness, chain’s that glistened in a polished light emerged from his sleeve. Just seeing them I felt my body shiver as I hissed at the silver.

“Come. Walk. Or. Drag. Chain.”

With that ultimatum in mind, I made my way towards him, unsure of what exactly to expect. The hallways towards my destination were long and yet our trip seemed so short as fear and anticipation cast my mind in disarray. The hunger too, didn’t make it any easier to deal with my slowly crumbling psyche.

We arrived at a large, twenty by twenty-metre room with a large metal gate at the other end, an assortment of pulley systems much like a drawbridge placed above it with a chain leading away diagonally. Two long wooden racks to either side of me held a much less varied but still extensive assortment of armaments, all the way from halberds to knives. The ground had changed from glossy white brick to soil and dirt so barren it resembled the sands common among Darrow’s dunes. A kind of dull colour between yellow and brown. Orange perhaps? Something like that.

I felt the prying eyes peeking through the giant steel gates, many square hole’s, uniform across its surface as well as smell the thick scent of rot and death that surrounded this area. This was a place of death, that sentiment resonated through my bones.

“Pick. Weapon. Await. Call.” The keeper said, urging me towards the wooden racks.

My stomach churned as I passed the weapons with fresh blood on them. Blood that smelled of rot and offered no allure at all. Fangless blood, that of my kin. Still, I tried my best to sort through the various blades and bows, finding one that felt right for me.

This is probably the most comfortable a weapon will feel in my hands.

I thought, swinging with light strokes, a short sword with a one sided curved edge clearly meant for slashing. The blade shined in a brilliant lustre for being made of normal steel unlike the weapons Vale offered, with a slightly pointed cross guard and wrapped black leather hilt. Even the pommel was edged back to mirror the blade.

Giving it a good hard think I decided that I lacked the dexterity and split focus to wield two blades, so I stuck with the one, knowing if it came down to it my claws would be a more effective combination.

Soft and steady breath escaped my mouth as I tried to calm my nerves, standing in attention while I waited for the gate to be hoisted up.

“I’m okay, it’s going to be okay. Just focus.” I told myself.

Anticipation held me on the edge of my metaphorical seat until eventually with a gruelling clank, the gears above started to churn, pulling the chains higher and raising the gate up. Small clouds of dust kicked up from either side as I stepped forward into the area.

Seeing the crowd that surrounded committed to complete uproar stunned me a little and hurt my ears even if I knew it was coming. To be so bombarded by sound was something I hoped I never got used to. No, there were so many people around me, it was downright suffocating.

The crowds above were filled with so many different colours, smells and sounds that I for a moment was completely overwhelmed, almost falling to my feet. Only by doing my best to tune out and dilate all my senses was I saved from toppling over as the many figures in the crowd began to blur into one for my own benefit.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we sincerely hope you enjoyed the last bout and miss Emma’s stunning performance. A fresh lily ripe for the plucking wouldn’t agree?” The crowd roared in response, some of the more masculine guest’s getting a little too excited. “Deadly and exquisite, her sire is a lucky man indeed to find such a rose. Let’s just hope those thorns don’t prick him.”

The joke garnered a fair amount of hearty chuckles and some giggles.

So that last fight was Emma… good to know she's alright.

It brought me some form of comfort to know at least one of my coven were okay as I strode onto the large hexagon ring with a shaky shortsword in hand. Just imagining the Emma I knew slaughtering someone was a bizarre mental image, but not exactly out of her character. Across the way Grisile too stepped onto the area, spear in hand with a calm and almost eager expression.

“But now, esteemed Ladies and gentlemen, we have a battle sure to be eye catching. A Sanguine of the Velkren clan duking it out against an albeit small, but unknown and mysterious stray.”

The commentator knew how to draw out the audience’s attention like moths to a flame, eyes looking at Grisile with envy and me with interest. Not once had my status as a stray been flipped into a good thing so I genuinely wasn’t sure how to digest it.

Grisile didn’t waste time performing a short and almost rehearsed bow, showing his thanks to those watching for the applause like some showmen but his movement retained the stiff practice of nobles and their etiquette. Forget nervous, the Sanguine was relishing all the attention in spite of being treated like some circus animal.

Usually, I felt it wasn’t my place to judge, but considering he could very well kill me in the coming minutes I inwardly commented on how sad it was.

“Let’s not keep these two waiting, but a reminder before they do battle for all those unaware or simply forgetting. Our Blood Rite is split into three rounds, the first two of which are ruled as non-lethal. The round will end when one Fangless is capable of killing their opponent. On the third round though ladies and gents, let's just say our more bloodthirsty side shows. No rules other than put on a good show and make yourself shine in the bath of your enemies blood.”

“Without further adieu, begin.”

A light began to run from beneath me through the hexagon, starting at all its edging and sparkling straight towards the middle in a straight line, making the air itself feel like it weighed me down and emphasising the start of this parlay. Though I had envisioned him rushing straight ahead I was reminded once again that Grisile was very sound of mind, watching him begin to lurk around the area’s edge while slowly etching inwards.

Although my body insisted on charging at the prey behind, I mirrored his movements, not letting the stalking predator out of my sight. Scary how natural it felt to sink into the role of a beast-like thing waiting in a prod of patience for the slightest of exploitable hiccups. Despite my efforts, I couldn’t stop my front hand holding the blade in a semi guard from shaking and my breath was quickening at a noticeable pace.

Calm down, he hasn’t-

One point of distraction, that's all it took. What must have been ten plus metres of space crossed in an instant, his spear now more clearly defined as a glaive that traced an arc down towards my spine with so much built-up inertia kicked up a breeze. The glaive’s blade was touching my neck before I even had time to react, drawing a little bit of blood and for a moment making the hunger become all the more maddening.