This chapter may be a bit less savage, or brutal. I'm unsure as I can actually write this now. This chapter was also meant to be up earlier today, but do to complications it had to wait. As an apology to those that enjoy this fiction, I will rush to add a second chapter after this today, and two chapters for tomorrow. Assuming nothing arises that requires my attention that is.

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The day we received our weapons, and earned our first true battle scars was glorious beyond compare to each of the cubs. Even I was having trouble restraining a grin while the blood slowly dripping off of me and into the sand. Oddly, the blood and gore that coated our weapons of choice seemed to soak into them. A quirk of the Blood Forged weapons no doubt meant to aid them in growing stronger. "Evolving" as the instructor had said.

In fact, he noticed a minor change in his gauntlets, his sickle extensions had a red line going down the center, and the gauntlet portion had gained claws where once blunt fingers had been. It had changed to be more fit at piercing and slashing without relying solely on the sickles. The red in the sickles though was a mystery. Even the other cubs had gained minute changes, though none seemed as interesting as his. Just a tracing of blood red here and there.

The changes were noticed on the second day of the week. This was the day they had been promised an increase in slaves to slaughter, by double the initial fifty. Unknown to them was that these slaves were gladiator survivors from the area above, and had experience in combat with full fledged berserkers. They were warriors that had survived the initial charges of the Pridelings shock troops through various means. Again, they were all humans and orcs. But they were also within the range to allow growth without slaughtering new potential needlessly.

When they had lined up for their instructor, they were met by a block of these slaves. Each was battle hardened, and carrying shields along with swords and spears. The cubs were silently shocked, no element of surprise would be with them today. The Instructor spoke from the side as the cubs soaked in the sight. "This is the lesson today. You will fight these hundred without losing yourself to your rage. The first one to lose control, dies, and by the order of the Blood Father, you all die from the weaklings mistake." He allowed us a moment to absorb that, before roaring "BEGIN!!"

The block of slaves created a shield wall, and promptly began moving forward at a crawl. They would not underestimate the nine children. They knew what they were, and what they would grow to be. I was at a loss, we were outnumbered, if not necessarily out manned. Each Prideling child of a year of age, as they were, contained the physical strength of an adult human, or orc. Which was the reason behind them being pitted against them no doubt.

I had to think fast, a weak point, a weak point in the shield. There sides. Maybe if he'd had another ten cubs...No, no doubts. Instinct screamed it was the belly of the "beast" so to speak. Motioning for Anvil, and Forge to join him he spoke quietly. "You two are the calmest of us all, the least likely to lose control. I need you with me. The three of us are going to take the entire brunt of that block of slaves. They are solid, but everything has a breaking point. Distract them. Keep their entire focus on us. Forge, you shield grew larger, and so did the blades did they not?" Forges deep voice responded slowly. "yes, by two inches." Anvil held up his maces, small protrusions could be seen growing from the previously blunt weapons. "Good, Cruelty, Envy, Bitter, Hate, curse, each of you will move off to the left, and come in from the rear and side. We will find a way to keep them focused. Kill them all, but do not roar. We cannot afford to have them turn, or regain composure."

With there little planning done, piss poor job I had to admit, but without numbers and with their death penalty they had to be reckless. Moving forward with Anvil, and Forge flanking me I began to trot toward the mass of slaves before full blown sprinting, no fear at the concept of death showing. Only the promise of battle without being lost to my name sake.When I met with the direct center of their block, roaring with all the might and air my tiny chest could muster, the roar being met and increase by the two larger cubs behind me. I lashed out with my new weapons, the claws, and it shred through the first shield. Piercing into the screaming green face behind it. My fingers delved into his eye, and the left portion of his skull, piercing his brain causing death shortly after. Forge simply bashed his shield head on into the enemy before him. The strength of his larger frame cause two to fly back, and the other compensate, while Anvil simply use sheer brute force to batter his twin maces in a staccato against their shield, rending them from arms, breaking bone, and weapon with abandon.

In truth, the only reason they were not simply swallowed and slaughtered in the mass of slaves was because that even as gladiators, they were the weakest. Which meant the least food, and the worst equipment. Training or no, they simply were not up to snuff to do something so coordinated without a real leader, which none of them were. They were broken toys, nothing more. So they roared their outrage at three children of their slavers, and the center formation broke down as each tried to turn it into badly coordinated assaults with there brother slaves. The flanks trying to circle around, all their attention focused on the bleeding, and tiring cubs. Even as slave after slave fell to their onslaught, forcing the cubs to go back to back in a three pronged circle. Wounds apparent upon their gore covered bodies.

Around that time, the other cubs had struck from the rear, slicing a bloody swath through the consumed slaves without sustaining any true injuries, a few cuts and wounds from a few intelligent ones that had the sense to realize the press at their backs was lessening, only to realize there were only three in front of them. But it was too late to shout a warning. Most dying, and there screams muffled by the roar of outrage from those in front, there own death throes, and the constant roar of their leader, Rage.

The cubs were lucky, when all was said and done. They knew it, but victory was victory. And when so badly overwhelmed, they would take it. The injuries were minor as well. Anvil had lost his pinky from a shield bash, and half his left ear. He would be sporting a new wound where they had been forced to pull a sword out of his stomach. Each began to appreciate the training they received with that whip every day for a year. They survived most fatal wounds. Luckily. Forge had lost his right eye, and had about three spears stuck lightly into the massive muscles in his back, they were pulled out and his eye bandaged. For myself, I'd managed to avoid losing parts, but my body was littered with new wounds to match the spear hole in his gut that had turned to scar the night before. A sword slash across his chest, his shoulder had been pinned by a spear, his left knee shattered, and right arm bent at an odd angle. It would all heal, but it hurt like a bitch in the mean time.

The other six were the luckiest, they received what amounted to paper cuts, but had dealt their own share of death, likely more than the three for they had spread out and cut down everyone from behind.

While they bandaged their respective wounds, and I force my arm straight, and splinted by knee with some arm bones of one of the slaves the six none injured were stripping of flesh to devour. There instructor came toward them, eyeing each with disdain, he no doubt felt there act weak, and cowardly. But they were outnumbered. They had used cunning, and he could not fault success. Much as he seemed to wish too. "Tomorrow, it will be two hundred. The Blood father has instructed that would will be allowed to turn into your adolescent leonine self's. But you are denied your rage." With that, he growled without abandon at them, gripping his whip before turning on his heel and leaving.

When the instructor had left, the dead that were not cleared were being devoured with greed by the nine cubs. A victory, and a meal. I felt the Orc tasted better than human, but enjoyed mixing the plump thigh muscles together. The texture and taste of the combination was divine. I also learned I had a taste for eyes, and hearts. Bitter was the only one who enjoyed the brains. Strange female.

By the time we had finished devouring the corpses, and were breaking the bones apart for the sweet marrow within, I had regained full use of my broken arm, my knee was taking longer, but it had taken the most damage, but he no longer needed his bone splint, and taking it off I began breaking the bone for it's marrow.

When all was said and done, they had survived, a few seemed to have gained something from it, power, or an increase in physical strength. Tomorrow would show the full changes, and like before. There weapons had absorbed the blood, and gore left on them.

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Sadly, I did not make this as long as I wished, but I'm also doing this on my phone at work while not busy, haha. I will attempt to have the third chapter of the day in an hour. I hope you enjoy this one, and for those wondering, no. The cubs themselves are not truly "evolving" but there blood is shaping their bodies to be harder to damage, and getting them ready for the second stages of growth. Brutal, and barbaric is sexy damnit!

But I digress, thank you again for everyone who has read my fiction, reached almost 100 views one each chapter released. May seem small, but it has me giddy. And to the new followers, thank you, and the two who Favorited this fiction, thank you as well. Till later.