Computer took a crap on me so I'm using my phone to get this segment out. I hope you enjoy.

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The night before had been filled with the surviving members of his "pride" discussing the weapons they would choose. Most seemed to lean toward dual axes, or maxes for maximum damage dealing power. One seemed inclined toward the sword, another wanted a shield, he was the largest and heaviest built of them all so it fit, and one wanted a bastard sword. For myself, I did not partake. They could have what little fun they could, I would focus on my future. This pit would not end me, even if it meant slaughtering every single living thing in this pit and on my way out. I would feel the real sun upon my pale skin, or die trying.

Morning, or what could only be assumed as morning, came quickly. They had lined up in the center of the pit before their instructor had arrived, ready to begin their day. For the others they would gain weapons, and a name, instead of being called by numbers. For me, it was the promise of new strength and knowledge.

When the instructor came out, he was followed by multiple slaves. A few orces, several humans, and an elf with golden skin. Pairs of them carried racks of weapons between them. Dozens of them, along with roughly twenty four extra slaves, each human. A total of fifty slaves. Behind them, came the Blood Father. His skin was jet black, like obsidian. His body covered in scars, most would kill a normal person. He was not normal. The only true flaw was his missing left eye, but the right showed a cold detachment, and made him feel like prey.

When he spoke, it held depth and power, and instilled fear into them all, slave, instructor, and cubs. "You have passed your threshold trials, I will name the eight of you without them, and then you will pick your weapons, before putting them to use."

A simple speech, it spoke volumes. He walked up to them, beginning with the young female. "Bitter, Forge, Anvil, Hate, Envy, Curse, Hydra, Cruelty. These are your names. Grow into them, or die."

They remained stoic, smart. I knew first hand how frightening the Blood Father could be. Vague memories surfacing that made his knees shake.

When they were allowed, each went up and began picking a weapon. Bitter chose a sword, curved and beautiful. A scimitar, fitting. Forge chose a shield, it was shaped like a leaf with sharp blades that could eject and be used as a form of sword. Anvil choice two blunt maces, the crushing power would be useful. Hate chose a massive long sword almost as big as himself. He'd grow to it. Envy chose twin axes for herself, francesca ' I believe. Curse picked a normal straight sword. Hydra chose a segmented wipe blade. It fit his name well. Cruelty picked a very wicked looking dagger. It had more edges and sides than I could easily count.

When it was my turn, I walked slowly, trying to not let my fear show through as the Blood Father stared at me, and me alone. It was unnerving, and I imagine that was the point. When I arrived, the weapons, none of them appealed, so I went to where the armour was, where Forge retrieved his shield, and chose a pair of black gauntlets, each reach to my elbow, with long sickle like blades reaching back and curving outward from them. Placing them on, they seemed a perfect fit. When I returned to the line, we were told an interesting fact.

"These are blood forged, they will evolve much the way our blood does to suit you as you grow and survive each battle. They will not break, they will not be too small, and they will be the single reason you live or die for the next five years." There instructor bellowed. Turning toward the Blood Father he took a knee, and lowered his eyes, a very passive and submissive gesture.

There Lord (calling him this for the rest of it) stared at the instructor with his head cock ed to the side as if in puzzlement. Then turned toward us, taking all our attention with his sudden, and violent realism of energy. The blood luster was almost palpable. As if you could reach out and touch it. All of us almost fell right there, but we were too frozen to even do that. Then, he spoke. "Now, you nine will fight for your life's against these slaves. For those that survive, we will double their amount everyday, for a week until I deem you are ready for stronger prey. Proof me correct by slaughtering them all and losing none, for I do not come to each pathetic whelp naming. Show me you're worth my time. Kill them, knowing I even one of you falls at anytime this week, I'll slaughter you all personally and feed you to the sorry excuses for mothers that birthed you." Turning with a flourish, he left the pit slowly. Each slave rushing the the weapon rack, they had been promised freedom, not knowing that freedom for the Pridelings for a slave, was death.

Squaring off, the Cubs had already managed to stop from piss in themselves though he smelled urine, he had no idea of knowing who from. He been given permission to release his anger, they all had. No more control, no more pain. Now they could inflict it, it was like candy upon the tongue. I didn't even wait to be told to begin, none did. They all surged forth, the slaves still fighting over weapons, before the Cubs half formed roars echoed out of human looking children's throats. It was a troubling sound, unnatural, there amber eyes gaining a red tinge as they gave unto their rage, their power. By the time the slaves truly understood, one had turned half way, only to have his skull crushed by one of Anvils maces, an eyeball flying into my mouth mid roar before I gnashed my fangs upon it, brain and skull matter flying everywhere, and then we nine were upon them, slaying without mercy, weak slaves had been provided for their first battle, it allowed them a true chance to survive and teach them to use there weapons, which oddly they had not realms ed and we're using with reckless abandon.

Roughly three minutes had passed, and already they had slain twenty of the slaves, the other thirty fleeing with weapons and trying to form some sort of defence. When the last of the twenty slaves we had killed fell, we were met in our charge by their wall of weapon, and we jumped into them with joy, being cut and sliced, pierced and pinned. We didn't care. I hacked the spear that had embedded itself into my stomach with my left gauntlet, breaking it, while using my right to stop a sword cut cold, and continued on my rampage, using the sickle extensions to deadly purpose by decapitation as many as I could. I didn't care if they were friend or foe at this point. It was glorious, it was beautiful. They had become death incarnate to these pitiful slaves.

High above the pit, the Blood Father looked down upon his nine berserkers, while around him four other pits of the same size and depth beneath the arena floor were going through the same exercise, though not with the same death condition. He had a plan, oh yes, his little Rage would grow stronger, he'd already managed to isolate the gene to ensure more like him. But until he proofed his worth, it could wait. He watched passively, as Rage decapitated the last slave and roared his triumph with the others. So weak, but promise showed. None had died in their reckless charge. Each held wound that would let them evolve and grow stronger. Soon, it would be only a matter of time before the years passed, and he could implement the next stage of his plan. He could barely hold his excitement at the promise of dominating the country they currently were forced to work for, but he could wait. He'd waited centuries for this one cub, a few more decades was nothing....he walked away from the pits, his guard falling in line with a disturbing in grin upon his lips.

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Surprise folks, another will be done today as well. But I got bored, would have been sooner but my computer fried, phone power to the rescue.

Again, thank you those that newly followed, and the previous commenters. You've made this truly enjoyable. There first battle, let there power grow. More carnage in the next chapter.