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Kage walked away from the fire pit with an odd sense of detachment. He recognized that, in two hours when Solus set and Belluosus dawned, he would begin a fight that could easily end with his death. Someone pressed a rough, flat edged stone into his hand, and he idle sharpened his claws as he watched Solus's cold descent. Kage was the Runt of his clan, but that meant more than just physical weakness. His entire life, he'd been insignificant. Useless. He'd been taught to weave, cook, and tan leather, jobs which were reserved for too old, frail, or cowardly to be of use. He was the butt of every joke and the errand boy for everyone in the whole village. He wasn't even taught how to fight. The other StripeHides reasoned that if the survival of their clan came down to how well their Runt could fight, they were already doomed. He grimaced at how he'd gotten himself sent on a suicide mission, but he had no other option at the time.

As expected, growing up as the runt of the clan was tough, but what he hated most about his life was Viscernus. Viz was the StripeHide Chieftain's son, and he made it his life's goal to torment Kage whenever he could. He'd punch him when his back was turned, trip him wherever he walked, and generally made Kage's life a living hell at every possible turn. Kage hated him, but harsh words and anger only brought more punishment, so he learned to keep silent. He learned to turn his face into a mask, blank of all emotion regardless of how his heart burned with anger. Eventually, Viz became more occupied with hunting and fighting to go out of his way to bother Kage, and that won the young Runt some level of freedom. He wasn't allowed to train with the other warriors, but that didn't stop him from watching though. Whenever he had wasn't carrying firewood or hauling water, or any of the other dozens of degrading tasks he was saddle with, he stole down to the training field and watched the other wolves his age learn to fight. He watched, and he memorized everything they said: Where and when to step, how to tell a feint from a strike, and most importantly, how to tell if your enemy was weak enough to kill.

For several years, Kage would watch them fight, then, after Belluosus had set, he'd steal off to some dark clearing and try to replicate the graceful slashes the other warriors had so easily performed. Needless to say, he could not. So instead, he tried to better himself. Long sprints through the forest, struggling with heavy weights of firewood, anything that could make him stronger or faster, he did. Over years, he managed to achieve what could be called, at best, sub-par strength, decent stamina, and slightly above average agility. He was still a weakling, no doubt, but he held fast to the hope that his weakness was something he would grow out of, and if not, then he'd work twice as hard to overcome his limitations through sheer thick headedness.

All this time, Viz looked on with growing hatred. He wasn't anywhere near as good a fighter as his friends, and his own ineptitude soon became apparent. Between Kage's slow growth and his own shortcomings, some of the older wolves asked if they really knew who was the runt of the clan, much to their enjoyment and his humiliation. Kage became an emblem for everything he hated, and his bullying increased to the point of torture. Kage took the matter directly to the chieftain, only to receive a cold glare in return.

"If you have troubles with my son, settle them yourself. No one will hold your hand in battle, why should we do so now?"

Kage didn't want to pick a fight, especially if it was one he thought he would lose. He was fast even if not strong, so he quickly learned how to escape his pursuer and hide afterwards. He'd learned how to track, and he applied that knowledge to sprint through the forest without leaving a trail Viz could follow, and as he got better at running and hiding, life moved from being torturous to tolerable. He was fast approaching the age where he would become a man, and his determination to improve himself had earned him the grudging respect of several of the older wolves. He was giddy with anticipation for the big day, but as the ceremony approached Viz became dangerously hateful. He relentlessly pursued Kage for hours eventually stumbling upon him by sheer luck. Kage outran him again, but he knew within him that he couldn't keep running forever. All of a sudden, Viz stopped chasing him, going only so far as to glare daggers at the runt. Kage wasn't sure exactly what it meant, but he dreaded that the older wolf had something planned.

His coming of age arrived, and the ceremony was everything that he had hoped it would be. His father had died long ago, in the last battles of the clan wars, but several of the gray muzzled elders volunteered to serve the role, and he had his pick of which was his favorite. The absolute moment Kage was adorned with the ceremonial war paint, Viz stood up and started screaming slander of the worst kind. He cursed Kage with every foul word under the sun, to such an extent that the training master began to stand to say something. His mouth was half open to rebuke Viz when the Chieftan's hand came down hard on the old wolf's shoulder. He maintained the pressure until the trainer had resumed his seat, and all the while he stared at Kage. There was no hatred in his eyes, but there was a cold disdain. The entire clan watched as Viz continued his tirade, but all eyes were on the chief. With his cold eyes, he spoke volumes without ever opening his mouth. With a touch of imagination, Kage could even hear him.

"You're a man now. No one will come to your aid, and no one should. This is between you and Viz. Settle it yourself."

So, Kage had done the only thing he could in the face of such verbal assault. He had challenged Viz to a duel of honor...

"Hey kid, time's up. The sun is rising soon, you need to take your place so we can proceed with the rites."

An older wolf's stern voice startled Kage from his thoughts, and he looked up in confusion. His memories from before seemed so similar to what was happening now. A fellow warrior, fetching the challenger to the arena. Kage's memories overlapped with reality, and he stood and walked forwards with a sense of detachment as he silently followed the gray wolf to the arena. So many things were just as they had been before. There was the cheering of the crowd, screaming for blood regardless of whose it was. There was circle of bare earth, lined with torches. His opponent knelt in the northern half, waiting for the sun to rise. Kage took his place, and knelt opposite him. Mordecai stood between them and spoke the ancient rites just as the StripeHide chief had done for him, scant days earlier.

"We gather here for a duel of honor. A dispute has begun that may only be settled by the oldest of ways, in a fight to the death."

Like before, the people screamed their excitement. Their words could not be discerned, but the message was clear. After the noise had died, Mordecai strode over to Kage and placed his palm upon the young wolf's shoulder.

"Challenger. State your name."

Kage swallowed his apprehension, and spoke in a voice that did not waver.

"I am called Khaejiran, of the StripeHide clan."

"Khaejiran, what offense has been committed, that it must be solved with blood?"

"I have been called Weak. I have been called Worthless. I have been called Runt. I stand here to challenge any who would speak such slander against me, that I may prove my strength."

"Khaejiran, the gods recognize your challenge. May your claws be swift and may your mind, sharp."

Mordekai turned then, and spoke to Saccularius.

"You who would answer this challenge for all of the ShadowPelt clan. State your name."

"I am called Saccularius, of the ShadowPelt clan."

The wolf's voice was clear and resonant, with just a hint of arrogance that lent his words persuasion. As he and the chief spoke through the ritual, Kage looked carefully over his opponent. He was in flawless fighting trim, with muscles like steel cables and claws that looked sharp enough to shred hardened leather armor. As before, with his duel with Viz, Kage knew that there was no way he could win in a fair fight. That meant Kage could only do what he did best. Cheat the rules, beat the system, and be the last one standing no matter what. In the moments before the duel, a plan formed in his mind. It was a long shot, but it was his only hope.

"With what weapons shall you fight?"

"We shall fight with nothing but out teeth and claws."

"What term shall decide the victor?"

"This pup has the arrogance to call himself a warrior. We fight to the death."

He had broken from tradition, intentionally, and Mordekai frowned even as the gathered clan cheered. Mordekai turned back to Kage, who stood, trembling slightly.

"Young Khaejiran of the StripeHide clan. Would you make your challenge even with the knowledge that it might result in your death?"

Kage was dead even if he backed out, no sense in getting cold feet now. Still, the words angered him, as if he had a choice in this matter. Deciding to follow Saccularius's lead, he went for drama rather than tradition.

"Death is the way of the wilds. The strong live, and the weak die. I will see any who stand against me proven weak."

It was a calculated insult, and Saccularius burned with anger as he heard it. Anger was good. Anger made for recklessness

Mordecai should have concluded the rites, so the duel could start, but instead of speaking the final words and leaving the arena, he strode to the center of the pit. He too was breaking tradition now, and Kage could only wonder what would follow. The other ShadowPelts were talking in hushed tones, but as they watched Mordecai stare them down, they quickly quieted. Once all noise had ceased, Mordecai spoke.

"There is more at stake on this duel than personal honor. The StripeHides have sent a Runt to be their ambassador. Slander of this degree is an insult that will not be swallowed. We march to war in a week's time."

Kage's heart fell and the people began to shout and scream, eager to bring the StripeHides to answer.

"Unless."

Mordecai's voice cut through the throng, and silence fell immediately.

"If Khaejiran succeeds in a duel to the death against one of our greatest warriors and mightiest hunters, then he will have proven his strength, and there can be no offense."

This statement confused everyone, except for the runt, who laughed under his breath. "Clever bastard..." he whispered. Victory in a duel against an able bodied hunter would prove his strength. He'd have earned the right to live, as well as the right to act as an ambassador for his clan. There was every chance that the clan might reject such grounds, and Kage heard many angry mutters from those gathered, but none could deny the justice of what Mordecai had said. The noise died down, and Mordecai exited the circular pit of sand that would serve as an arena.

"Challenger, Challenged, do both of you accept these terms?"

Kage and Saccularius answered in unison

"As it was spoken, as we agree. There will be blood."

"Warriors! Prepare for glory!"

Saccularius snorted in derision, earning him a wrathful glance from Mordecai. There was neither honor nor glory in killing a Runt, and Saccularius wanted to make it clear that he knew this. He didn't even bother to look at Kage, for the first few seconds, instead choosing to meet Mordecai's glare with a sneer. Still, the duel had to be fought, and Saccularius turned to face his opponent.

Kage watched Saccularius assume a picture perfect fighting stance: Legs apart for balance. Feet at right angles to each other for maximum stability. Front arm held up to protect his face, where it could easily be turned into a lightning fast rake across an opponent's opening. Back arm low and at an angle, where he could bring it across for a savage slash. Kage had exactly one chance to kill him. If he messed it up, Saccularius wouldn't give him another chance, and Kage would die within minutes, if not seconds. Slowly, he rose to his feet and adopted a rather unorthodox fighting stance. The watching crowd sniggered, and Saccularius went so far as to bark in laugher. Mordecai simply frowned, disappointed that the runt's tough talk seemed to be empty.

Kage put his right leg forwards and crouched over it, leaving his left trailing straight out behind him. He'd twisted his foot completely around, so that his toes pointed behind him. He held his arms up before him, crossed at the wrist. It was wrong and flawed in every traditional sense of the word. It was a mockery of fighting that would have been easy to dismantle. Kage had one thing going for him though. He'd watched others fight long before he actually tried to fight himself. That meant he knew every stance and strike, but more than that, he saw the holes in traditional fighting. He saw gaps and imperfections that could be exploited by someone not bound by traditional fighting form. Saccularius looked like he was having a hard time believing this was how the Runt meant to fight, so to add to the effect, Kage growled as menacingly as he could.

Kage's growl was, at best, unflattering. At worst, it had been called downright adorable, which was the single greatest insult he'd ever received, especially because it was true. This provoked unencumbered laughter from the crowd, and Mordecai just rubbed his temples in dejection. Kage didn't care about the crowd, and at that moment, he didn't even care about Mordecai. What he cared about was Saccularius , and in his opponent, Kage saw the desired effect take place. Saccularius laughed, and visibly relaxed. He was still well balanced, but her wasn't quite as wary. He began to edge closer to Kage, clearly looking for an easy kill.

Closer... Closer... come on, just a few more inches... THERE!

Kage reversed one of his arms so that his claws faced outwards and leaned over further still to gain a few more inches of range on the strike. Realistically, Kage and Saccularius both knew the blow had no chance of ever hitting the experienced wolf, much less doing any damage. Saccularius casually batted Kage's arm out of the way, which was exactly the reaction Kage had hoped to inspire. Kage thrust up hard with his right leg, dragging his left across the ground as he did so. In a feat of acrobatic flexibility that Kage had practiced for a solid week before using in his duel with Viz, he leaned back and brought his left foot high, throwing an entire paw's worth of dirt into Saccularius's face. The dry earth was mixed with ash from previous fires, and it burned his eyes as if he'd been lit ablaze. Saccularius shouted in surprised pain, and reflexively brought his hands up to cover his face.

One.

It would only take a moment for him to overcome his surprise, but that one moment was all that Kage needed. When breaking small branches for firewood, most braced a branch against their knee and hauled backwards to snap a limb in two, but Kage had learned a different method to overcome his lack of strength. By propping a branch against a tree, he could stomp down on it and shatter it cleanly through the middle. He couldn't explicitly explain that the torque generated at the ends added enough force to break the wood, he simply knew that with gravity and his foot together, he could do just as much damage. He used the same principle now as he did then. He pivoted about his right foot, leaned forwards, then slammed his left foot down squarely against the inside of Saccularius's front knee. He thrust down and to the side, and bone splintered with an audible crunch. Just like firewood. Saccularius came down on his right knee, his left was bent out at an odd angle, screaming in pain.

Two.

Kage was low to the ground and inside the guard of an opponent screaming in pain. His left arm shot forwards and grabbed Saccularius by the fur on his scalp. He yanked Saccularius's head back, exposing his soft throat to his waiting fangs, and he wasted no time in sinking his teeth into the jugular. He flexed and pulled, then, tore his throat right out. Blood sprayed from the severed arteries, painting Kage's tan hide crimson in the early dawn light. Saccularius's corpse fell to the ground and lay unmoving as his blood stained the sand as it had Kage's fur.

Three. I win.

The raw blood of a fresh kill tasted ambrosial to him, and he had to fight against his instincts to jump down and feast on the corpse. He spat to the side to then, mouth clear, he threw back his head and shoulders and howled into the sky. Between the battle fever and the invigorating taste of blood on his throat, he actually managed a fairly savage cry, and the nearest in the crowd reflexively took a step back. Silence followed in its wake, as the gathered throng stared, dumbstruck. Mordecai's face was an unreadable mask as he stepped forwards, holding the clan's ceremonial sacrificial knife. He didn't even glance downwards at the still warm corpse, he only looked Kage dead in the eye. Kage might have been reading meaning into that look that wasn't there, but he almost heard a voice dictating exactly what the greying wolf was thinking.

Finish the job. Eat his heart. Claim his strength. It is your due reward.

Invigorated by the blood lust and dulled from exhaustion, he didn't even question the idea. He knelt by Saccularius's corpse and started to tear it apart with his claws.

When any sentient being died, his or her soul returned to Belluosus, to heal their wounded god. The courageous and valiant souls were burned fiercely, while the weak and cowardly burned not at all. It was believed that the heart was the residing place of the soul, and that by eating the heart of one slain in battle, another warrior could gain a portion of his strength. It was a ritual that the Primary beings had started, and rumor held that if a Prime ate another prime's heart, the concentration of his soul increased to give him the capacity to cast real magic, as Belluosus did. Many felt that the ritual was unnecessary and savage, and there were doubts as to how true it was. It had swiftly died out within the first few generations, but Kage was willing to do anything he could to stack the deck in his favor. He had felled a strong champion, and by eating his heart, he might yet gain a warrior's strength. An entire lifetime of being a Runt might be negated by one single act.

He was famished, and once again, the urge to commit cannibalism and feast on Saccularius's flesh was great, but whole hearted cannibalism was a step further, and it would surely get him executed. Instead, he concentrated on his task, and on his dream of achieving real strength. Slice the stomach open. Remove the stomach, the intestines, the liver, everything that blocked the way to the heart. Reach through the body cavity up to the heart. Cut away all the arteries. Claim your right.

His black and silver striped fur was painted crimson, and he stared at the inert lump for just a moment before he closed his eyes and tore off a bloody chunk. with his teeth. He chewed swiftly, swallowed, then returned for a second bite. For the third, he pushed all that remained into his mouth. The hot blood and warm muscle awoke a savage joy within him that he hadn't known existed. It was the thrill of the hunt, and the primal exultation of victory. It was the hungry bloodlust, the feeling of a successful hunt. It was power. It was strength. It was his. This done, the long hours of the day caught up to him, and he collapsed to the earth, dazed. He was only a runt after all. Weak. Pitiful.

Not anymore.

He had beaten Saccularius, the best fighter in the ShadowPelt clan. He'd cheated, but he'd won. He'd claimed a warrior's strength and was recognized by the ShadowPelt chief. He could do whatever he wanted now. He lay in the sand, and closed his eyes, sighing with content. He debated opening his eye, rolling over, and getting up to go clean himself off, but at the moment, it sounded like too much effort. He'd run hard since nightfall to reach the ShadowPelt camp before the burning heat of day, and once the physical and emotional high of what he'd just done faded, he realized exactly how exhausted he was. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and fell asleep as the greedy earth joined him in drinking deep of Saccularius's blood.