Chapter Three: Juices Like Wine
So... this is one of the darkest chapters.
It doesn't go beyond a 'T' rating, and in my opinion it doesn't get any worse than what happens in canon. Still, there is plenty of horror left to the imagination.
Just a general warning for blood and executions.
Ze'ev's mother, Maha Kesley, had always been fascinated by the quirks of Earthen language that were still in use on Luna. Phrases that didn't technically apply on a moon, but had been carried over by settlers anyway.
She particularly liked the ones relating to time. Technically, a Lunar day was over twenty seven Earth days: it took twenty seven periods where Lunars slept until sunlight came around. But in everyday language, the time with sunlight was referred to as 'long days', and the cycle of sleep and work were casually called 'days'.
Whether referring to Earth days or long days, however, Ze'ev didn't have a strong grasp of how many had passed. No hint of sunlight ever reached the underground lava tubes in Artemisia, and he had never thought to count his sleep cycles.
He noticed when the modifications became more prominent. More muscle, sharper reflexes, advanced senses, and a steadily growing bloodlust coursed through him.
Some part of Ze'ev wondered how much of the changes were from the operation, and how many of them were from the training. He guessed it was a mixture of both. Sometimes the thought that he was being trained into a monster terrified him more than the idea it was artificially implanted during surgery, but in general he was mostly resigned.
His pack members might have been vicious, but they still undeniably had souls. As long as he didn't go through the next level of surgery, Ze'ev thought he might be okay with being an operative like them.
It was somewhere between five long days and five months after Ze'ev first joined the Queen's Army that Jael's pack were chosen for a special training exercise.
At breakfast, Ze'ev looked around curiously. He was sitting out of the way, trying to snatch a decent meal without getting any bigger-than-usual injuries. Beta Gibbous Troya had bitten him on the shoulder the day before — biting was actually surprisingly rare amongst the pack, with Ze'ev only having been bitten three times before — and he was trying to avoid jolting the injury.
Normally, it would have been easy enough for him to at least appease his hunger without getting hurt, if not entirely satisfy his stomach. Ze'ev had begun to develop a knack for dodging, darting around his opponents until he got a chance to deliver a few cutting blows. Unfortunately, the meal was more bloodthirsty than usual, with Alpha Brock actually starting off a howl during a brawl. Ze'ev was able to get a few small slivers of meat, but got more bruises than mouthfuls.
By contrast, several of the pack members were alarmingly silent. It was common to see Beta Eclipse Garson avoiding the mealtime bloodbath, but more unusual to see Beta Alex Rafe sit next to him, playing with a strip of meat without even eating it. Beta Vanya Volkov had also turned to scavenging instead of actively fighting, while for the first time since Ze'ev had arrived, Beta Huang Liu deliberately picked a fight with someone higher on the hierarchy (Beta Tristan Wynn, who easily wiped the floor with him).
"What's going on today?" Ze'ev asked Beta José Lobo, who sat next to him.
José gave him a smile, fangs gleaming. "Why, we have a field trip today to the arena."
"Uh-huh. And this is making everyone more violent than usual why?" Ze'ev asked, trying to focus on José.
Behind Beta Lobo, Omega Sherazi (he had been demoted since Ze'ev joined – several times, actually; he and Katona switched repeatedly) was being violently hammered into the floor by Beta Tsukino.
"You haven't had an arena training yet, have you?" José said.
"I've been in the arena before," Ze'ev said, still distracted.
Alpha Brock had gone to interfere before Beta Tsukino permanently hurt Omega Sherazi. Crater Brock punched Masaru Tsukino in the shoulder, knocking him off the semi-conscious omega.
"Yeah, but not for an execution," José said, glancing behind him to see what Ze'ev was looking at.
It took a moment for what José had said to sink in.
"What?" Ze'ev gaped.
José grinned. "Executions," he repeated.
Ze'ev stared at him. After a moment when José didn't elaborate, Ze'ev swallowed. "Executions," he repeated. "What's being executed?"
"Traitors to the crown," José said flippantly.
José's eyes brightened abruptly, and he turned up the table. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to grab a balanced breakfast," he said, moving off to an unguarded piece of choice meat.
Beta Lobo threw himself into the battle.
Ze'ev sat stunned.
After a moment someone sat next to him. Ze'ev instinctively tensed, prepared for Beta Alex Rafe to try to snatch the slim piece of steak he'd managed to get, but Alex waved a hand.
"You okay?"
"What did José mean, traitors to the crown?" Ze'ev knew that Beta Rafe had heard every word. It was entirely possible to miss conversations in the violence that was the dining hall, but if Alex hadn't been listening he wouldn't have come over the moment José left.
"People who broke the law," Alex answered. He rested his head in his hand, elbow on the table. "Ran a rebellion, tried to keep their shell kids, tried to flee to Earth – no idea what the details are. It's not really our place to ask."
"Then what are we supposed to do?"
Alex looked at Ze'ev if he couldn't believe anyone could be that dumb. "You can't train a soldier that has only ever killed mannequins."
Ze'ev's stomach twisted.
"They use us to kill?" Ze'ev asked, higher-pitched than usual.
Beta Rille Baines slid along the bench to be a little closer to Ze'ev and Alex. "We're serving the queen," Baines said, running his finger along a trickle of blood left by one of the raw steaks. "It's an honour to help Luna in any way we can."
"I – I don't – they can't –"
"Oh, don't worry, kid; it won't be you doing anything," Vanya Volkov said with mock cheerfulness. "Completely under Master Jael's control the whole time. Just mindless flesh-eating monsters who slaughter anyone who dares to think the queen is unfair for having a thousand mindless flesh-eating monsters."
"Beta Volkov!" Beta Baines protested, his eyes growing wide. He glanced around.
Vanya folded his arms, leaning back. "Oh, like they care what we say? Unless our lovely queen has a listening device-"
"Quiet," Beta Baines said.
"Or you'll make me?"
"If I have to."
This was a side to Vanya that Ze'ev hadn't seen before. He was still learning the other members of the pack, and had only picked up on the superficial aspects. Vanya Volkov tended to joke, to play, to tease. He was as much of a fighter as any of them, but was predominately a clown. Self-loathing was a new joke, one that Ze'ev didn't particularly like. Vanya was bordering on treason.
There was a long moment when Betas Volkov and Baines glowered at each other.
"Too much violence in a day sours my appetite," Vanya grumbled, relaxing slowly. He kept his eyes on Rille, clearly prepared in case the other operative attacked first, but lowered his arms to prove that he wasn't intending on fighting.
Baines sat back. He nodded once at Volkov, who shrugged.
Alex Rafe turned to Ze'ev, sighing. "It'll be okay. Just don't think about it while it's happening."
"Right," Ze'ev said faintly.
For the first time in weeks, Ze'ev didn't feel hungry.
The arena was the biggest room in the facility. It had enough space for up to fifteen packs to train without interrupting each other, and all fifty operative packs would fit with plenty of room.
Ze'ev had been in it a hundred times before. He was fairly certain that one of the many permanent bloodstains was from Alpha Brock introducing his palm to Ze'ev's nose. Still, he was terrified to step in it this time. There was a scent of strangers inside.
Jael's pack milled around the entrance. Gibbous Troya was nearly bouncing from eagerness; Crater Brock had the biggest smile Ze'ev had ever seen him wear; Eclipse Garson had turned a shade of green that probably wasn't healthy.
No-one spoke. Ze'ev shifted continually, unable to get comfortable. The bite on his shoulder had stopped aching, but he was acutely aware of his own pointed teeth.
After a few minutes, Jael arrived. He didn't glance at his pack, expecting – rightly – that they would follow him inside obediently.
Ze'ev tried to keep his gaze focused ahead, but couldn't help himself. His eyes flicked over to the corner, where a group of at least thirty men and women stood.
The people were dressed in ragged clothes, and looked exhausted. Ze'ev could smell hints of sickness amongst them. The strongest few stood at the front, spread out in an attempt to shield the others.
With a thrill of horror, Ze'ev realised some of the prisoners standing at the back were younger than he was.
Beta Baines nudged Ze'ev sharply. Ze'ev instantly turned back to the front, fitting into formation with the ease of practise.
Jael stepped in front of the pack, facing the ragged group at the other end of the arena. "Welcome to the Queen's training facility," Jael said almost courteously.
The group bunched together even tighter. The strongest few tensed. One bared her teeth. Ze'ev wondered if she was the alpha, or if it was the man in the middle who stood out as the first line of defence.
It didn't occur to Ze'ev that only packs had alphas.
"You have been brought here today in order to honour your country-" Jael continued.
"There is no honour on the filthy Queen's rock!" the woman who had bared her teeth shouted.
Jael gave her an irritated glance.
The woman collapsed to the ground, clutching her head as if it would protect her mind from the thaumaturge.
"You stand before me accused of treason," Jael continued, paying no attention to the woman as she writhed on the ground. "You have betrayed Luna, but the queen is merciful. Your death will balance your treachery, as you help train our prized soldiers."
Ze'ev struggled to keep his face blank. Someone in the back of the huddle let out a wail.
The woman on the ground abruptly stopped gasping, and sat up. She touched her head tenderly, and then glowered at Jael, who didn't acknowledge her whatsoever. Then she scrambled back into line, determined to defend her own pack.
Ze'ev didn't check what the other's reactions were, but he heard a quiet hum of approval from Gibbous Troya.
"I encourage you to fight your best. Your work will be useful."
The prisoners glared at Jael, but didn't reply. The thaumaturge calmly turned on his heel and walked out of the way, leaving the line of operatives standing at attention and facing the prisoners.
"Pack?" Jael called, leaning almost casually against the arena wall. "Kill them."
"Yes, Master Jael," the pack chanted. It was an instinctive reply to any order.
For a moment they hesitated, still in formation. Ze'ev had no objection to the delay, but he wondered why everyone held back when so many were eager for blood.
And then suddenly, his thoughts disappeared. Every fear, every worry, every hint of guilt or panic or regret – gone.
In their place was a starving, violent hunger. Not for food, really, but for the taste of blood.
Ze'ev was still coherent enough to realise it was Jael inside his head, twisting his bioelectricity. He knew that the thaumaturge was the only logical reason behind his desperate longing to hunt.
He didn't care.
He wanted to kill. He wanted to rip his teeth into flesh, to hear screams of pain as he crushed someone, to soak his hands red.
As one, the pack started to prowl forwards. The protective boundary tensed.
He could see every throat. Instinctively he aimed at the smallest ones, the weakest links to kill, but then changed course. He was in a pack, he would only improve his standing by killing a warrior.
But no, other pack members had already chosen the warriors. His desire to fight was only focused on the non-pack people cowering against the walls. He had no interest in attacking either his brothers or the man watching the hunt.
All he wanted was the prey.
He lunged into the fight. He aimed for one of the smaller prisoners, who was dripping with the stench of fear, but one of the non-pack's fighters threw him away. The blow jarred his shoulder badly, and caught his previous bite wound from something immaterial.
He snarled at the non-pack fighter, ready to lunge at it instead, but one of his pack brothers had already knocked it to the ground. The stench of the fighter's blood only wet his appetite further.
He turned back to the huddle. They had broken ranks, trying to flee around the area. That was good. Running prey was the best prey. This was his pack's territory – the non-pack would not escape.
He chose a target and sprinted forward on two legs, then he bunched up and tackled the non-pack thing. The prey screamed and kicked. He liked it struggling, but he couldn't let it continue. He bit and finally tasted blood.
The alpha howled. Around him, the rest of the pack lifted their heads and joined the howl, shouting out their victory.
He joined instantly. He howled his bloodlust, his pleasure at the kill, his desire for more kills, and his belonging in the pack. The operative howled, and ignored the screaming of the boy he was normally, trapped somewhere inside his head.
"I killed at least five of them."
"Liar."
"It's true," Beta Liu argued. "I have five different types of blood on me."
"Of course you do, the whole arena was soaked in blood," Beta Lobo said. "The fact you stepped on someone else's kill doesn't mean you killed them."
The pack was in the barracks, chatting about the exercise. Ze'ev sat on his bed, numb.
He wasn't the only one not celebrating. Beta Eclipse Garson ran to the bathroom the moment they reached the barracks. Beta Alex Rafe was leaning on the wall with his arms crossed, glaring at the air. Beta Vanya Volkov continually wiped at his lips, although his hands were probably bloodier.
"I gotta admit," Beta Gibbous Troya said, "That girl was pretty impressive. Standing up to Master Jael like that and then getting back into position without hesitating? She's everything I hope I'd be if I hadn't been chosen for the army."
"A traitor?" Beta Baines asked.
Beta Troya paused. "Alright, maybe not entirely. I'm just saying that what she did was strong for a normal Lunar, even a traitor. I'm glad I was able to give her a good death."
"You're mistaken," Beta Tsukino said. "She was my kill."
"Want me to add you to the list of people I've defeated today?" Beta Troya challenged. "She was mine."
"You mildly inconvenienced her, but her defeat-"
Troya snarled, lunging forwards. Tsukino was bigger, but that didn't stop him from falling under the tackle. Of course, he soon retaliated.
Silently, Ze'ev got up from his bed, feeling sick. The pack was too focused on the brawl to notice as the newest recruit slipped into the bathroom.
Eclipse Garson was kneeling in the corner, praying. Ze'ev could hear him begging for forgiveness, and asking that the souls of the dead would be saved.
"While you're asking for forgiveness, could you ask for some for me, too?" Ze'ev asked without even thinking about it, turning on the tap.
Eclipse didn't move, but added Ze'ev's name to the prayer. After a moment, he listed off the entire pack, and then added Master Jael and even Queen Levana.
Ze'ev thought that Eclipse Garson must have been a much better person than he was, in order to pray that the royal court would be forgiven for a sin they probably didn't recognise as such.
Instead, Ze'ev started scrubbing his hands under the tap, and tried to wash out his mouth.
The bathroom didn't have mirrors, like any area in Artemisia. Ze'ev had no way of knowing whether he'd gotten all the blood off his face, and so kept scrubbing until his skin was raw.
Even then, the smell of blood lingered. Ze'ev kept scrubbing.
In Cress, it interested me how Wolf insisted that he knew what Levana would do to traitors, considering that his own abuse was because of conscription and not treason.
There were two paths I could take from that -
a) Wolf was not being entirely literal/logical when discussing the fact that the woman who earned the title 'Evil Queen' had captured the person he cared about most, and so forgot that there was no reason for Scarlet to suffer the same thing he did, or
b) he had knowledge of how traitors were punished that was far more intimate than simply watching heavily censored queen-approved reports when he was twelve.
One of them is more logical, but this was more fun to write.
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