Shavneral

Chapter 1 - Kakarot

Today. I knew it would be today. I could smell it in the air; the fetid, suffocating stench of terror, sweat and blood. I felt a shiver of anticipation – not fear, never fear – rattle the taut chains attached to the cuffs fastened on my wrists, shoulders and neck. To get an early taste for the bloodshed soon to come, I sank one of my enlarged canine teeth into my lower lip and licked away the bead of red that appeared there.

"Kakarot!" someone shouted. I ignored the voice of the approaching man, stilling my lashing tail.

The man was careful to lift the hand carrying a heavy, coiled whip up a few inches – showing me the weapon without actually showing me - before unlocking the door to my cage. He was threatening me in the most offhand way, reminding me of my place. As if I needed reminding.

I kept my gaze on the floor as he entered my cell, I didn't need to meet his gaze and he didn't expect it; I was nothing but an animal to him, and so I was expected to act like one. The man dropped a metal dish on the floor at my feet. I smelled raw meat and curled my lip; ignoring the proffered food in favor of sneaking a glance at him. His face was boring except for a scar across the bridge of his nose and a gold nose ring that I probably could have disregarded. Ugly human, I thought mutinously, dropping my gaze back to the ground, just like all the rest.

The man shifted his weight; that was all the warning I got before he slashed his whip across my shoulders. I winced as burning, crawling pain blossomed over my skin.

"Pay attention!" he snapped. I looked up at him, at his ugly, moss-green eyes narrowed in irritation.

"What did I do?" I growled; my voice almost animal in its rasping, grinding timbre.

The whip cracked across my skin again and my shoulders buckled.

"I did not give you permission to speak!"

I snorted doubtfully, he'd expected me to question him, and he'd expected me to speak. He just wanted to have an excuse to beat me. Not today. He would not break me today. I bit my tongue to silence myself.

"Now eat, you need your strength for today," he sneered.

I glanced at the lumps of flesh that could be classified as either meat or a failed experiment. Revolting.

I pointedly refused the dish and its contents, turning my head as far as it would go with the cuff around my neck.

I expected the man to whip me again, but he just laughed humorlessly.

"Suit yourself," he muttered, still not looking at me, "But you may regret it when you see the line-up today."

I blew my bangs out of my face indifferently; my opponents were always weak. They were literally animals; dogs, bulls, wolves, boars, lions, whatever they could smuggle into the ring – which, let's not lie, was actually just a pit – whatever they could pump full of testosterone and convince to fight to the death. I hadn't been beaten yet and I presumed I never would. I didn't need drugs and whips to persuade me to fight; I always entered the ring with eagerness and bloodlust, ready to kill.

The man snapped his whip at his side, threatening me again without making contact.

"It's time to go, Kakarot; don't try anything or I will skin you alive and feed you to the dogs," he said, not without malice.

I held still as he removed the heavy cuff from around my neck, breathing through my teeth as the metal left my skin with a chill. The man's dirty green eyes never left my coal black ones as he took my right wrist in his grip and unclipped the shackle slowly. The distrust was so heavy in the air I could smell it. He took off the other handcuff and stood away as I got to my feet, relieving the stiffness in my muscles by tensing and relaxing them, swishing the kinks out of my tail and wrapping it around my waist defensively. I kept my head low, a gesture of submission that was completely fabricated, just enough to convince the man I wasn't about to attack him. Yet.

My reputation in this place, a dogfighting, cockfighting, bullfighting….. I could go on….. facility known as "Shavneral" – don't ask me what it means, I don't have a clue – was something of legendary. When I step into the ring, a hush always fell over the crowd; whether because they'd seen me fight before and knew what I could do, or because I looked so very like them, like humans, and I was – without a doubt – a disturbing spectacle.

It was enough that I wore only a black loincloth with gold fastenings, so that a lot of scarred, chiseled muscle was revealed even before my "opponents" shredded the cloth; I was also just as comfortable walking on all fours as on two legs, and either way I was lithe and wild, terrifying. And in addition to that, there were the alterations that had been made to my body for convenience and appearance alike.

Early on, my ears had been "cropped" so that they were less of a target for claws and teeth; the lobes and the outer shell had been almost completely removed, leaving just enough of the appendages to retain my hearing. The very tip of my nose had met a similar fate when I had very nearly gotten the whole thing sliced off by the tusk of a boar; the small section of skin and cartilage was seen as too risky to keep. The men would probably cut off my tail if I didn't keep it guarded around my waist, out of harm's way.

Some alterations were the product of injury. I lost the first digit of my left thumb to the jaws of a wolf years ago, the manager (I was forced to call him "master") of Shavneral designed a weapon to replace it. Outside the ring I was left with nothing but a stump where once a fully functional finger was; but just before a fight, a wickedly sharpened "spur" of steel was slid over the stub like a claw. It was sharp enough to rend cloth, skin, and flesh.

But I digress; getting caught up in the past when there's a fight at hand. Today. I knew it would be today. The man that had come to my cell and released me stood back and I exited the cage for the first time in weeks. I hadn't had a decent fight in a long time; lately the fights between the animals had either gone on too long to allow for my time in the arena, or something had come up – an dog that was unwilling to fight, people videotaping when it wasn't permitted, blah, blah, blah, the usual. I can't say I've enjoyed my years at Shavneral; frankly it was nothing more than a prison and I hated it with a burning passion; but when they refused to let me fight, it was literally hell.

I waited impatiently while another man - technically he was my "handler" but all humans were the same to me – fitted the glinting steel spur onto the stump that remained of my left thumb, murmuring in my ear soothingly the whole time like I was a spooked horse. His litany was meaningless to me and I shrugged him off as soon as the blade was attached. I probably should have been grateful for his kindness, but in this place there was no room for it.

I was forced to wait another few, dragging minutes before the peal of a bell sounded and the gate in front of me opened with a bang. I knew the noise was meant to startle and anger the animals, but for me it was just sound. Might as well give the people a show, I thought with a shrug. After all, Shavneral was a business as well as a prison, and if I was going to do anything, I should do it right.

I leapt into the pit with a feral snarl, landing on my hands and knees and hunching my shoulders like a wildcat. My eyes flitted to the audience, watching me watch them with expectant awe. A smirk flickered across my lips and I threw my head back, roaring as loudly as I could. The raucous, guttural scream reverberated off the walls and shook the very foundation of the room. Ringing silence fell.

Beat that. I thought with a satisfied nod to myself. There was a bang as the gate on the other side of the ring unleashed my opponent. I waited for an animal to come charging into the pit, I waited for a snarling, spitting creature to attack me with thorn-sharp claws and teeth.

Nothing happened.

Maybe they're having trouble getting it out of its cage. I probably scared it to death. I smirked confidently.

Then a figure appeared in the gateway; a very human-like figure. Did one of the handlers get lost or something? The figure advanced and I hesitated. I'd been trained to the bone to never raise a hand against humans, but this person was in my ring. That made it my opponent, right? Perplexed, still on all fours, mouth slightly ajar, I watched the figure approach until the light caught on its features. Usually I didn't pay any mind to human faces, but something about this one caught my attention. Smoldering black eyes. I'd never seen a human with eyes like that. The person was male, with a dark flame of spiked hair and a – I stared – a tail. Swallowing my unease, I stood up and faced my "opponent", my blood still singing with adrenaline. But there was something about this man. Something about the way he looked at me, the knowledge in his ebon eyes and the careless swing of his tail. I looked at this man and I saw myself.

"Kakarot?" the man spoke in a low baritone, tentative, yet assertive, "Kakarot, is that you?"

How did he know my name? I'd never seen him before in my life.

I ignored the audience of confused humans and took a step towards this strange person, brandishing my spur threateningly in case he attacked.

"Who are you?" I demanded in the gravelly sandpaper that was my voice.

The man visibly tensed, "Kakarot, it's me; Vegeta. I –"

"Did you come to fight?" I snapped impatiently.

"I came to rescue you."

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously, "How do you know who I am?"

"I've known you almost your whole life, I am your prince." The man called Vegeta said discordantly.

I snorted, "Impossible, I would have remembered you. Besides, I've lived here for as long as I can remember, so –"

"I am your prince!" Vegeta repeated, as if trying to convince himself as much as me.

I bared my teeth, frustrated, "Why should I believe you? I don't even know you!" I dropped my grating voice a few octaves and added with a sneer, "You're in my ring, you came in through my opponent's gate, so you're going to fight me whether you like it or not."

Vegeta's face fell dejectedly, "I don't know you anymore, Kakarot."

I didn't bother responding. Adrenaline raced through my veins, I was itching for a fight, and I wasn't going to waste any more time talking. I attacked the man, leaping onto his shoulders and pinning him to the ground. He shot me one last, despairing glance before retaliating; jumping to his feet and aiming a punch at my ribs. I caught his fist with my left hand, letting the sharpened spur on my thumb drag across his gloved wrist, slitting open the leather and cutting his skin. Vegeta pounced, feinting to the right and attacking on the left with a well-placed kick. I grinned savagely and aimed a blow at his face.

I was used to fighting mindless animals; this was a battle strategist, a challenge at last.

And for the first time, I wasn't just eager for a fight; I was excited.

TBC