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One. Vasily

"You need anything else?" Vasily's accent as usual thick on the words of his question. His boss, Larry Elwin, shakes his head in the negative.

"Nah, we're good. Go on home, Vas. See you tomorrow." He shakes the big man's hand and starts to turn back to the pile of paperwork on his desk. "Oh! Nearly forgot, big guy. There were a couple of fellas lookin' for you earlier. I told 'em you were workin' out back, and they said they'd track you down later."

A puzzled look crosses Vasily's face. "Did they give names? I do not know many here yet."

"Nope, said they were 'friends of a friend' though." Larry sipped his cooling coffee. "You're not in trouble or something, are you?"

"Nyet... No. Not that I know. Is likely nothing. See you tomorrow then." Vasily rubs his head as he makes his way out of the lumberyard, shrugging off the odd information. Fall had arrived with a vengeance, leaves swirling on the ground in the sharply-chill breeze. He pulled his faded jean jacket tighter about him, thinking that more winter-suitable clothing would be needed soon. Hungry, he heads toward's Bill's Tavern, a little beer and burger place; recent experience has taught that he can't ignore his hunger anymore.

The door creaks lightly as he enters, his eyes quickly adjusting to the dim lighting within. He'd found Bill's while he'd been job-hunting, and the combination of price and portion-size appealed to him. That, and it seemed as quiet a place as you could find with a werewolf owner. He sits at the bar, briefly scanning the menu before ordering a pair of burger-plates with a beer. Resting his elbows on the bartop, he watches the flickering television mounted above. The news is on, Bill apparently not being a sports-fan; the usual parade of foreign violence, weather reports and celebrity commentary serves as reasonable distraction.

While the news is nothing special, it does serve to mask the opening and closing of the tavern door. A moment later Vasily senses people behind him, and turns. Two men are there; both wolves, his nose tells him. The taller one black-haired and apparently in charge, the shorter blond and possessed of the overconfidence of a bully. They're dressed decently, but something about them puts Vasily on edge.

The taller of the two, definitely Canadian by his accent, speaks. "You're Vasily, right?" He pronounces it 'Va-silly'. His companion stays silent, sneering.

"It is Vasily." He focuses on the taller man. "What do you want?"

"Now that's a good question. I don't want anything. But I bet we know of something YOU want." He glances at his shorter companion. "I'm Lex, this is Mickey. We know a couple of people who know you, Vasily."

There is a clink as Vasily's dinner is set behind him; the bartender, sensing things could be about to go really wrong, quickly gets back out of sight. The rest of the bar is nearly empty as well, the few who'd been inside when he'd arrived now gone. He glances back at the food, unconcernedly taking a bite of one of the sandwiches. Swallowing, he says, "Not many know of me here. You are friends of Hayden?"

Lex twitches a little, and Mickey's smirk twists more into a glower. "Not exactly. We know him, of course. Hard not to know that one." He forcibly relaxes his stance, knowing that attitude is unwise with wolves. "No, these are a couple of your old friends, from Moscow."

Vasily finishes the first burger, swilling down half his beer after. "Then you are mistaken. And foolish. I had few friends, and most are dead. So who are these people who you know, ah?"

"One of them... Wants to be a surprise. The other? A little fellow named Pavel." Lex smiled.

Just for the barest moment, Vas stiffens. Then he picks up the remaining sandwich and takes a bite, leaning his back against the bar. "Pavel is very common name in Russia. You have point to make?"

Mickey finally pipes up. "He says he knows you, big guy," the interjection earning him a quick glare from his partner.

"Pavel Mendelev. You know him." Lex catches the eye of the bartender, who'd returned with the lack of violence. "Beer me. Molsun." Returning his focus to Vasily he says, "Little guy. Brown hair, did a couple years for fraud and petty theft. Says you were buddies, that you'd gotten each other out of jams. Though looking at you, I don't know how the fuck he could have done anything."

Vasily's eyes go wolf; crystal blue inhuman orbs looking out at the two invaders. He finishes his beer and orders a second while both men edge back; a wolf that close to the surface is dangerous. "I know him. Da, he did things to help me, I helped him when Igor died. Big mess. Twelve years ago now. So he is here?"

Lex swallows. He'd been warned to not antagonize Vasily, and here the big wolf was right on the edge. "Um. Yeah. He's here. He'd like to see you." He edges back, getting himself a nice clean path to the door; Mickey'd be on his own.

Vas blinks, his eyes returning to human just that quickly. "You will take me to him, I think." He stands, rolling his shoulders as he does. Belying his calm attitude, the knuckles of his closed right hand pop like walnuts being crushed.

Lex looks at the mountain now standing before him, and swallows again. "Uh... I can't do that. I..."

Before the sentence is finished, Vasily's massive fist suddenly slams into Mickey's face, lifting him off the ground and into one of the booths; he never saw it coming, and is out cold before he finishes slumping to the floor. Lex yells in shock, and the next thing he knows he's against a wall and off the floor by at least a foot, Vasily's face inches from his own.

"I do not know you, little dog. I do not like you, either. You have my friend; you are right in that. But you do not know ME if you think playing games was good idea." Vasily's left hand is around Lex's throat, and the right suddenly slams into the smaller man's gut. Even ready for it, he feels something pop.

"You will tell me now what you want. Or, I will kill you and ask your little friend. Understand?" There is nothing nice or friendly left in the Russian's expression, and is voice is low and gravelly with violent intent.

Lex looks to his friend, who isn't moving. There is blood on Mickey's face, and what looks like several teeth on the floor. His eyes flick back to Vasily, and he struggles until the big man starts to squeeze. His eyes bug from the pressure, and he stops. Vasily lets the pressure up enough that Lex can inhale. He drags several sobbing breaths, until Vas shakes him. "Answers now. Breathe later. IF you give answers."

Stars flittering before his eyes, Lex manages to choke out, "Boss. Tournament. You fight, we'll... Let him go." He gasps for a while as Vasily takes the information in.

"So. I fight in little contest, you make money, my friend go free. Ha. You must think I'm stupid. I was VORY, little dog. I know how game is played. You I will keep. The little one there," he gestures to Mickey with his free hand, "will take message. I will tell your boss I will fight. I will keep YOU for insurance policy. If things go wrong... Well. Too bad for you."

Vasily stares into his drink; the little 'problem' that he was facing bothered him. He'd dealt with Lex- the idiot was in Hayden's tender care for the moment. The old wolf had been quite interested in Vasily's tale, and identified both Lex and Mickey as being Ulfnedar. Mickey, after he finally woke up had delivered the message; Pavel's shirt had been brought to him thereafter, proving that his old friend was indeed in town. Lex and Mickey had both sworn that they had no idea where Pavel was being held.

The boss that the hapless pair worked for was named Dmitri. He was apparently the other person that Vasily 'knew', but he had no idea who he was. He'd never had a friend, nor an enemy for that matter, named Dmitri.

To save Pavel, Vasily had agreed to fight; Dmitri better hope that the little con man remains unharmed. All that is left now is the tournament. And vengeance.

Two. Autumn

Clouds cover the sky in grey, and the wind had finally died down from the past few days. The cold, still air carried the scent of snow, early in the year for the white stuff. Leaves lay in mounds along the curbs of the streets, and the few people outside were bundled up and almost unrecognizable. The light reaching the streets lacked the warmth of the sun, and Autumn knew that the potential for a harsh, long winter was there.

She pulls her coat a little tighter, thinking about her upcoming performance- she wasn't worried, but her playing had been lacking something recently. Those who she'd asked said they hadn't noticed anything, but she knew. Maybe all the changes of late were catching up to her; not the least of which was this so-called 'Tournament' the Lycaon were sponsoring. A disaster in the making, she thought. "Anyways, I'm not going to have any part of it, so, not my problem."

Her shoes click along the sidewalk, mixing with the myriad of other sounds on the street; a couple whispering together, a little boy laughing, the tinkle of bells as someone left a shop. Another such jingling sounded as she entered her own destination, the craft store. Savoring the warmth of the shop and enveloped by potpurri scents, Autumn smiles back as the shopkeeper waves to her.

"Well hello there, Autumn! After anything particular today?" The woman's perpetually-cheery voice surrounded her as effectively as the potpurri.

"Yes, actually. I'm out of two blue acrylics; I know where they are." She zips her coat open as the warmth of the shop eliminates the last of her chill. The paint is quickly found, as are some new brushes. She wanders through the shop, smiling, selecting a few canvases as well as other odds and ends, til she finally reaches the register with vastly more than she'd planned to get.

The clerk laughs quietly. "I was going to ask if you'd found everything, but I see that you have!" Autumn nods a bit ruefully as she sets her burdens down.

"I don't think anyone goes into a store for 'just one thing' and makes it out without browsing." Autumn says, looking out the window as her purchases are tallied. Something fast flashes past her line of sight, but she doesn't get a good view. A person, maybe. Her art-binge paid for, she waves and slips back out into the chill. She doesn't see any sign of whatever she thought she saw, and starts for home.

Feeling good, Autumn looks up at the leaden clouds; with luck, she'll be inside before whatever they were holding started coming down. Snow would definitely be an improvement over the sodden leaves lining the gutters. A smell is in the air- strong and getting stronger as she approaches- antiseptic, almost clinical. She wrinkles her nose and tries to ignore it, but the intensity bypasses even the numbing effect of the chill air.

Something sharp whips into her leg, stinging. She gasps, but can't see what it was due to her packages. Then it starts to burn in a horribly familiar way- silver. Her leg buckles, but before she hits the sidewalk she's caught by someone. "Are you alright, miss?" A male voice. Her wolf starts to snarl, but the world is spinning. Then something sharp strikes her neck. Everything goes to stars and black, with the last thing she hears being, "that's right. Time to sleep..."

Darkness. Shadows flicking impossibly in the dark, nightmarish echoes of childhood horrors rattled through her for God knows how long. She struggles to move, a pins-and-needles burning starts to spread through her. She forces her eyes opens, confusion driving panic. She's lying on a white floor, thick white paint over some kind of metal.

A safe room. Did she lose control?

That same horrid stink of disinfectant covers her, and she's naked. Shocked, she sits up, and that turns out to be a mistake. Her head spins and it is all she can do to not vomit. Panting, she rests until her stomach stops roiling, looking at nothing but the white, white floor. It has been repainted many times, she notes, and there are old, deep gouges from claws. She spread her hand across one set... MUCH bigger than hers were when she changed.

Feeling like she can move again, she slowly sits up and looks around. The room is a roughly four-meter cube, with few features. Walls, floor and ceiling are all the same white latex paint, and if not for the horrid antiseptic reek she suspects that she'd smell the most recent coat. Three walls have tiny slit-viewports, currently closed, and the fourth has a heavy metal door, apparently one massive slab of steel. It too has the ominous viewing slit. Light comes from multiple deeply-recessed LED spotlights.

In a corner, she sees something that gives a brief hope- her clothes are roughly piled there. Standing unsteadily, she's still feeling the aftereffects of whatever bizarre drug she'd been given. Her leg and neck are burning as if from silver. The pain jogs her rambling thoughts, and she remembers. She'd been drugged, and from the looks of it, kidnapped.

"Hello? Is there anyone there?" Autumn didn't expect an answer, but that didn't mean she shouldn't try. "What do you want?" Silence.

With nothing else to do, and wanting the illusion of protection Autumn gathers her clothes and dresses. Her coat is missing, as is her purse. Nothing in her few pockets, either. Everything has that same, uniform antiseptic stink- someone doesn't want her using her nose.

That means they don't want HER to identify them... Maybe she'll be freed! That little hope helps her, getting her spirit up; either she'd get out, or someone would save her. Hayden, smug bastard that he is, certainly would view this as 'poaching'.

"My god. There's going to be a bloodbath," she mutters. Hayden might even invite 'friends' to the party. Her wolf, agitated, is pacing back and forth under her skin; not good. She knows that control is her friend here; rationality might get her out if she is ready. Time to look her prison over more closely.

The door is one solid slab of steel. No bolts or bands, just one huge smoothly-cut piece. Any features of the door's function must be be on the other side. The inner side doesn't even have a keyhole. The eyeslits are about six inches wide, two inches high, and aren't painted- she can see the slightly tarnished silver. Likewise the recessed lights- silver with slight tarnish lining each.

The examination of her environs takes far too little time, leaving her pacing with nervous energy. She wants to get out, to just go home; her wolf wants OUT. NOW. And that is hard to deal with. Finally, her time-sense already utterly skewed, she looks directly into one of the viewports.

As soon as she does, the port snaps open and a jet of pepper-spray blasts into her eyes and mouth. She gags on a scream, staggering back and pawing at her face. Eyes streaming tears, blind as she trips and falls. Gasping, she tries to calm down, but that isn't working at all. With an unheard roar, her wolf takes over.

The roaring howl becomes a whine as she shifts, the burning becoming a thousand times worse; she slaps at her face, eyes no longer tearing as efficiently as her human orbs, and her nose streams uncontrollably. She snarls, madly clawing at the viewport, only to yip in pain as the silver beneath the paint is exposed. She retreats and huddles in the center of the cell. Blinking and snuffling, she's unable to do anything until the spray wears off.

Finally... It lessens. If anything, the lingering scent of the pepper-spray has made the stink of the antiseptic even worse, and now her clothes are ruined. Her wolf doesn't care, but Autumn has lost that defense.

All the wolf can do is pace and snarl; but with nobody to threaten or intimidate, it isn't any help. Unmollified, she finally lies down in the center of the room.

Time passes, and the sheer lack-of-action after the attack takes it's toll. She dozes, then starts to fall asleep. The moment her breathing evens out, sirens sound LOUDLY around her, and stinging darts spray from the eyeslits. She yelps in panic, the wolf still solidly in ascendence and unable to flee from the assault. The needles do no real harm, but they burn with some kind of chemical. She tries to flee, clawing at walls, slits and door, only to be burned and repelled by the silver. The sound and darts stop as quickly as they began, leaving her dazed in the echoing silence.

She lies back down, panting in panic, the whites of her eyes showing. You can't fight an enemy that isn't there, so the wolf is stymied. Without wanting to, she does again find sleep... But not for long.

She wakes again to the horns and darts, having returned to human during the far-too-short rest. She shouts, eyes streaming with tears and nearly begging for relief... And it stops again.

Days go by. The lighting never changes, so she isn't sure how much time passes. But days seem right. She's filthy and dressed in tatters, and every time she rests she is blasted with the darts and sound. If she gets too close to the slits, the pepper spray comes. She's learning the rules... But her mind isn't coping.

She knows that she's shifted several times, but she's lost track. She's so hungry she can't see straight. Water was provided- it appeared in bottles during one or more of her periods of dozing, but no food. No food at all. Something dark is in her, she can feel it. Something like her wolf, but unfamiliar; her wolf is uneasy, but strangely welcoming of it as well. She squats in the center of the cell, holding her knees to her chest and rocking- little comfort, but it's all she has.

The door opens. Past the barrier is blackness, but after the unending light the dark is her friend. She moves, hesitantly, towards it, fearing that it will slam shut to deny her.

It remains open.

Heart pounding, she darts through the passage in a mad scramble, only to slam hard into a wall within the dark. She yowls in frustration and hate, and behind her... The door slams shut. She feels movement, but she feels something else moving too- inside her. It boils in a black roil through her soul til it bursts from her, body shifting and changing as she lets out a hideous, keening howl.

Autumn is gone. What is left is simply hunger.

Three. Showtime

It is the second day of the so-called 'tournament', and Vasily is already utterly sick of it. Bleachers filled with screaming morons jacked to the gills on bloodlust and alcohol, and conflicts that were more cockfight than proper contests. He snorts a breath, scuffing his bare feet in the sand on the floor of the ring- at least they replaced it between bouts. This would be the first fight of the day for him- he'd had three before in the previous days, and had won them all. It was the second bout that still bothered him. The crazy bastard he'd fought had gotten on his back and tore him up good before he'd gotten him loose. The healed gouges were itching ferociously.

He has no idea what he'll be facing, though there'd been some rumors of a monster of some kind. No matter. He really didn't care- he wanted it over and to get Pavel loose. Everything else was just annoying. Hell, most of the people here weren't fighters, just like everywhere else. Being a wolf didn't instantly make you a warrior- that was a combination of skill, drive and attitude.

Gazing at the throng, he felt little but disgust. He smiles grimly, a fleeting image of dragging the worst of the lot screaming through the silver bars of the cage running through his head. His eyes go wolf, his other half calming him; he needs to get out of here before he starts thinking like that again.

A furor towards the cage-door causes him to shift his attention. A large metal box is being rolled up, and something is inside; something that howls like a damned soul. Vasily readies himself; it 's showtime.

With the appearance of the strange box the crowd goes silent; this isn't the usual bout where the opponent walks in or is summarily shoved. The hideous, distorted sounds coming from within elicit shivers as well. With no provision for this kind of delivery, the box is simply shoved within the cage to the center of the sanded fighting area. Its handlers retreating rapidly out the quickly-closed gate. A single heavy padlock hangs unsecured from the hasp, and for a moment the box goes quiet.

Yells from the crowd start again, and their volume quickly rises- they want a fight, not some silly box. The container suddenly shudders, rocking with a sudden internal blow; this is followed by another, and this causes it to tip and fall on it's side- the lock pops free, and the door drops open with a thud against the sand.

Vasily starts his change the moment the box is rolled within; such strange precautions indicate something far more dangerous than the usual opponent, and the sounds within aren't like anything he's heard before. He stretches his altered form as something snuffles the air within the box, slowly moving into the harsh light of the fighting cage. A black nose sniffs the air, followed by the sleek, rust-furred head it's attached to. The eyes are open wide, jet black and empty, the ears large and pinned back. No usual wolf is this thing. Its jaws are agape, the points of its upper fangs nearly reaching its chin. Hesitantly it inches into the light, slinking with apprehension into the view of the assembled. Hate and fear are writ large upon it's tail-tucked stance, and it looks with apparent shock at the cage and crowd.

Shock is on Vasily's face as well- he's never seen anything like this creature. Its lean form seems designed for violence and terror. Scents reach him from the box and it's contents, the animal scent of the creature utterly overwhelmed by the stink of disinfectants and pepper-spray. Anger is in the scents too, and fear. His eyes follow the men who'd shoved the box into the cage, and he saw them settle right up next to the bars.

The announcer's voice rings out, slightly quieting the crowd. "In his name, Lycaon, King of Wolves, we offer unto Him this tribute of blood! May He bless us with his strength, wisdom and cunning, and one day grace us with his presence once again! To you, O King of Wolves we present Vasily Polykov and Autumn Isen of Versipellis!

A cold feeling sinks into Vasily's stomach. This... Thing, was Autumn? He'd thought her a nice girl, pleasant enough in their brief meetings. God forgive, what has she become? He starts to carefully circle, getting a good look at the men who had delivered her. Something terrible had been done- of this he was certain. A return of such terrible things was thus in order. As he moves, he plans.

The cringing thing that was once Autumn snarls at the audience, the sound an almost-feline whine from between its daggerlike fangs. The scent of the audience seems to draw it forward out of its haven/prison, the tension in its form apparent to all. Hunger is in its lean form, and with Vasily's motion it whirls to face the closest prey. Like lightning it springs at him, claws extended and jaws wide.

Vasily waits until the last possible moment then grabs the creature's reaching limbs, flinging her against the wall behind him. Backpedaling as soon as he let her loose, he gets the box behind him. This close the stench of disinfectant and fear is almost overpowering, and he wonders what they'd done to her.

With a bark of surprise, Autumn was thrown to the wall. However, she's far quicker than Vasily, and catches herself easily against the surface, vaulting back at the the huge wolf. She overshoots, landing on the box, but a moment later she's on his back, biting and tearing.

"Damn, not the back AGAIN!" The thought rolls through his head, the the unspoken words replaced by a vicious snarl. He shakes, but she's dug in like a tick, and he feels her teeth and claws worrying in deeper. Knowing he has to get her off as fast as possible, he leaps to the lip of the pit then spins, slamming her against the silvered bars.

There is a hideous hiss as Autumn's altered flesh burns from the toxic metal, and her grip starts to loosen. He drops off the ledge, his perch precarious regardless and strips the weakened thing from his back. The wounds are already closing, but they'd itch like insanity in the morning. Backing away, he keeps his eyes on her- he knows she won't recover instantly, but there is something so utterly wrong that he's past leaving things to chance. She's far, far faster than he, but despite the freakish form she's nowhere near as strong; he sees that she's not quite thinking in her actions either.

The Autumn-thing whines, wisps of smoke rising from the burns on her back. Strength slowly returning , the creature rises to all fours and shakes itself, orienting itself on its prey once again. She charges Vasily again, only to stop short, hackles raised in threat against the much larger wolf. She's gone to more primitive tactics, those of a true-wolf on the hunt. Eyes black as onyx watch Vasily, the beast circling unsteadily and working to create an opening.

Vasily, though seemingly focussed on the foe has also been scanning the crowd. He relocates the men who brought the box into the cage, and his jaws open in a vicious, lupine grin. "Got you," he thinks, starting to sidle backwards, closer to his real prey. The keening whines from the Autumn-thing prevent him from losing sight of the threat at hand, however. She is moving a bit more intelligently, perhaps the shock of the silver has given her some of her mind back? He can't be certain, and it is obvious that she's still out for his blood.

The crowd had quieted just before Vasily's leap to the pit-rim; now it rose again, a roar battering at the hearing of both within the arena. They wanted blood, having had a taste and now wanting more. The stink of sweat, lust and alcohol is a haze in the air, driving the crowd to lean forward almost as one with the tableau within the pit. The white wolf, who'd so far cut a swath of pain through all comers seemed to be on the defensive against the berserker who had once been Autumn. Would he fall today?

Autumn made another feinting sally towards Vasily; however, he doesn't flinch; instead, he leaps once again to the pit-rim, his left arm shooting between the bars to sink claws deeply into the chest of his chosen target! The man screams, his companion going white as Vasily's fur as the prey is slammed back into the bars, which bend at the violence of the act. Vasily snarls as he hooks his scarred right arm through the bars, flesh singeing again at the silvery touch, but this gives the leverage he needs. With a screech of tearing metal the bars give, and he flings the bloodied, once-human pile into the ring before his opponent.

He takes the time to leer at the man's terrified partner; he smells the piss from the man, and the fear. With a look of promise for what will come later, Vasily turns back to the ring. The crowd, finally, is silent.

Autumn, startled by the sudden leap follows the action, then is utterly absorbed by the bloodsmell coming from Vasily's offering. The man, barely alive doesn't last long- she tears his still beating heart from his chest mere moments later.

From the pit rim, Vasily watches. He doesn't care that the man is dead; he'd have died one way or the other. As soon as Autumn is thoroughly engrossed with the gory wreck on the sand, Vasily drops on top of her. Mercilessly, he pounds his massive, scarred fists into her, driving her form into the bloody mass beneath her. Blow after blow lands, bones breaking and flesh yielding until the berserker moves no more.

Panting, he looks at the silenced crowd. They know what he's thinking. That one day he might come for THEM. Vasily waits for the tenders to come. Though they try to dissuade him, he accompanies the pair as they carry Autumn's beaten form out of the ring.

By the time the safe room has been reached, Autumn has reverted to human. Vasily sighs, almost a whine before reverting himself. He snatches some of the sweats on-hand before turning to the tenders. "I will take her out of here."

"No can do, big guy. Against the rules." Despite the words, the man edges back.

"You heard name? She is Autumn Isen. I will get her to safe place. She did not come willingly to this." A growl is in Vasily's voice. "Fine. You will call Hayden. That name you should know. He will take care of her. I have number."

The man blinks at the name. "Yeah. Yeah, I can do that." he pulls out a cellphone, making the call and glad to be rid of the problem.

Vasily goes back out to the arena. The crowd is still talking about the fight, the groomers cleaning the corpse and gore from the sandy floor. They go still with the reappearance of the big man, who stands still and alone in the center of the ring. He waits for a moment, anger outlined in his entire form.

"WHO WILL FIGHT VASILY NOW?" He roars, answered by silence. He walks away then, leaving the silence in his wake.