After cleaning off as best he could with the bucket and sponge, Cesare slipped into a change of clothes before taking up the mantle of the Furies. The liquid black jacket settled over his shoulders, cool, silky fabric caressing down his starved body. He’d missed the stygian jacket with its flowing black folds and heavyweight. Running his hand through the wolf’s fur, his satisfaction was mirrored in the wolf.

The students watched him pass in the hallway. His latest brush with the strange had only deepened their feelings. People hated what didn’t fit, in a world of squares and circles, Cesare was a triangle. Wariness, curiosity, and naked hostility branded the faces of the people he passed. But they all stepped aside, he was a pariah, no matter if he was diseased or deadly.

The gladiators were already past their warm-ups when Cesare walked into the courtyard. Grunts of effort punctuated by the cracking of wood resounded through the Ludus Noctis. It would be a simple thing for a swing to slip and a live blade to find his back. It wouldn't take more than a few of them to take him out, there'd be hell to pay, but he’d still be dead.

The Cherries waited for him. Lined up in the dirt, they watched him with the hopeful, hurt looks, of the abandoned. He'd worked to make them into what they wanted to be, and they’d devoured it as the starving things they were. The world didn’t care about what they wanted to be, it butchered them into what it wanted.

“They said you were taken by the Hounds.” Half statement and all question, it came from the group. No matter who voiced it, the question was on everyone’s face.

“They said you fought Andras Two Souled.” This time the others turned on the boy with disbelieving looks. “Well, they did.”

Cesare took in the questioning looks. “I was on a mission with Viktor.” The student’s eyes went wide at the admission. To them, Viktor Blood was a great man, not the piece of shit Cesare knew. “It went south, and Viktor left me.”

The kids looked at each other, each waiting for someone else to ask what they all wanted to know. “How?” The word was born from the group, without any real source.

“Because I had no choice.” His voice gathered them in with the rawness of a bloody steak cut from a howling cow. “When you enter a fight, you burn away all compassion, all restraint, every shred of empathy. You fashion yourself into a single flame that burns with one desire, to survive. Every fight's fought first in the heart. If you won’t do anything to win, you'll lose to a person who will. I won because I'd do anything to come back.” It was the bloody truth of fighting, stripped of honor, fair, or pretty. It was mean, cruel, and spiteful, exposing the animal chained beneath civilizations sickly sweet smile.

The kids parted for him, his words moving through them with claws and talons, tearing and killing the ideals they’d clung to. It took up roost inside their hearts, where it could look down on the carnage it had wrecked and caw savage satisfaction.

They came into the circle one at a time, and Cesare broke them, shaping them with his fists, pain was the one great fire that forged every soul. He tore away their fear of pain, carving out the flinching weakness of civilization. Each strike was a hammer blow on soft metal, shards of agony flying as steel resisted the shaping, even as it begged to be a sword.

He wasn’t making good, they'd never be fighters or gladiators. He was butchering them from kids to killers, giving them what they begged for. They lusted for the blessing of pain, to bow to no man, to know the twisted pathways of agony. Who they were when they stood up from its barbed alter would be a question they'd have to answer.

Each left with blood stained teeth, staggering to their feet with pain filled eyes and satisfied smiles. They were changing, it was only a little every day, but when you’ve hated yourself for so long that little meant the world. Cesare was midwife to their new strength, birthing it out of the broken bones and ruined flesh of who they’d been.

Cesare watched Sampson as the last student hit the ground. The raw-boned boy walked across the courtyard with the power and authority of a man with his own army. That army formed up around him, in drips and drabs, Cerberusarraying themselves into ranks behind their leader. Each mean sonofabitch waiting for the word to paint the courtyard in blood.

As the numbers hit double digits, Cesare stopped counting, who wanted to know how many boots were coming to stomp your face? Cerberus had a look, it didn't matter if you were male or female, you were going to fit the mold even if they had to cut strips of flesh off to make it happen. Short hair, tough bodies trained to fight, flesh wedded to hard work, fever bright eyes of fanatics.

They formed a semi-circle surrounding Cesare’s corner of cast off's. Sampson hadn’t changed in the past months, over six feet of raw muscle slapped onto a frame of heavy bone, it spoke of hard earned strength and brutal fights. He was big and mean, used to tossing the dice with his flesh on the line. The sweat stained leather pants and bare chest made him into the soldier’s everyman. But the aura of command draped around his scarred shoulders singled him out as the shot caller.

“You escaped Hounds led by Andras Two Souled,” Cerberus went still at Sampson’s words, violence pulling the threads of the moment tight.

Looking at the gathered gang, Cesare smirked at Sampson. “You brought a lot of people just to hear yourself talk.”

Faces flushed, anger spiking along the gang’s assault line. Lips twitching, Sampson ignored the comment. “I'd like to know how you escaped from the man no one's escapes from.”

“I’d like a nubile yoga girl and a shot of Absinthe, you happen to have that on you?” Cesare asked with a raised eyebrow, Cherries burst into laughter behind him.

Cerberus rose up on the balls of their feet like dogs straining at the leash. Sighing, Sampson looked over his people before turning his eyes back to Cesare. “We don’t like each other; I get that, but this isn’t about us. This is about our people; the ones out there just trying to get by. The information you have could save lives. Even if it only saves one life, isn’t it worth giving me five minutes?”

“I don’t see how nameless people are my problem,” Cesare said, tracking the gangs restless shifting.

“You’re the most selfish man I’ve ever met and I’ve known some real son's a bitches. You were one of those faceless people wanting a hand up. Here’s your chance to give someone what you always wanted,” Sampson said, body weight lowering, foot sliding across the ground, anchoring him for a charge.

“I’m helping people, in my way, on my terms. This isn’t about helping people, it’s about your war,” Cesare said, locking eyes with Sampson as the man stepped forward angrily.

“It’s not my war, it's our war. There are no bystanders,” the man growled, muscles bunching along his shoulders.

“Funny, I think the raping bastards in Darfur had the same slogan.” Caustic disgust dripped off Cesare's words.

They measured each other for a long minute under the furious eyes of Cerberus. Violent tides ebbed and flowed between them, swamping the students that huddled behind Cesare.

“I could make you,” Sampson said quietly, a low growl rumbling from his waiting flunkies.

Smiling tightly Cesare bared his teeth. “You ain’t got what it takes to win that game. But I do, and there’s no end to the fun I’ll have with your boys.” The words washed the violence aside with casual hate, naked malevolence saturating the air around Cesare. The sudden change shocked the gang, they'd come for a fight, not a war.

A slow, reluctant smile cut across Samsons face. “You got more balls than brains, and are the meanest mother fucker I know, but I like you. How about a trade?”

Everyone stilled at the boy’s words, even Cerberus taken off guard by the sudden change. Sampson didn't make deals; he took what he wanted. If you thought different, he’d run you over and you’d end up doing what he wanted anyway, just with a few more bruises.

But Cesare wasn’t like anyone. Rumors swirled around him, of blood baths and eviscerations, immortals and death, savagery that shocked even the monstrous. Throwing them around as jokes, they were tall tales to laugh at, but the shade of those stories clung to Cesare, making him something more than a kid to beat an answer out of.

“I’m listening.” The gang traded uneasy looks at the casual way Cesare took the place of an equal. The shocking part was Sampson allowing it, an unspoken understanding between dangerous boy's that neither was the kind to be fucked with.

“You tell me what you feel comfortable telling me, and I’ll owe you,” Sampson offered.

It was a good deal, not just for now but setting a foundation that could be built on. Sampson commanded a trained force, if Cesare wanted to control the school, he had to kill Cerberus or own it.

“Follow me out,” Cesare said.

Submitting the dominant role, Sampson sent his troops back to their groups, but even he couldn't stop the whispers Cerberus traded at the strange encounter. Falling into step with him, Sampson listened as Cesare talked. He was free with how it started and the make-up of the pack, more than willing to give Sampson a blow by blow account of the fight while Viktor was with him. After that, Cesare skipped to the end with Beast, unwilling to give up his tricks.

“It wasn’t casual, that was operation,” Sampson said, eyeing him sidelong. “And they had inside information. They had to know where you were and that you were with Viktor. That means someone at Primrose told them.”

Cesare nodded with a shrug. “It’s the only way they could have planned the ambush.”

“Do you know who it is?” Sampson asked with the intensity of an Wolfhound tracking deer.

“No, but even if I did, I wouldn’t share it with you,” Cesare said.

Sampson grunted in disgust. “You've given me more than we've gotten from anyone else. I won't lie, this will buy me credit with the higher ups. We don’t get many after action reports against the Hounds, usually they kill everyone.”

By this time, they’d reached the corridor leading out of the of the courtyard, Sampson clasped Cesare in a warrior’s handshake, forearm to forearm. It meant something; the boy’s offer to join Cerberus suddenly taking on new meaning.

“What would it take for you to back me?” Cesare asked, holding the boy’s forearm tightly as gladiators stopped and watched.

“Get rid of the vampire, and Cerberus is yours,” Sampson said without hesitation.

Meeting the boy’s eyes, Cesare let him see the steel that wound around his core. “Never going to happen.”

Grimacing, Sampson spat to the side. “Cerberus won’t support you while she rides your shadow. That you even put her there made them call for your head.”

Cesare held the boy’s eyes. “I’m not asking Cerberus to support me, I want yours.” Sampson sucked in his breath. “I'll come to power, with or without your help. You can have a seat at the table or be the meat I feed. The times of personal armies is ending. The only people will be those with me and the dead. You can be part of making a new home for your people or the dead wood we build it with.”

Troubled, Sampson stepped back. “Why me? You haven’t approached other groups?”

“The others wait to take advantage of the fight between the Furies and Thagirion. You’re an asshole, but your honest, if you say you got my back, I believe you.” It was a simplicity that only a gutter rat would understand.

The weight of the gladiator’s stares settled on them, a pressure of expectations and raw calculation. “I like you, Cesare. You've punked me more times than I like to think of, and if I thought I could get away with fucking you up, I'd have already kicked your teeth in. More than anything, I respect you. No one gave you shit, everything you got, you bled for. I cheered when you fucked Greg and Dan up, and I respect you as a fighter.” Opening his mouth, the boy closed it before shaking his head and walking away, unable to promise anything.

Cesare watched the boy for a minute before leaving. Planting the seed had to be enough for now. Cerberus was only one of the gangs that squirmed under the skin of Primrose. The others waited in the shadows, watching, plotting, each betting their time would come.

It was the first time the Thagirion had been challenged in centuries, it was a once in a lifetime chance to take a little more of the pie. They wouldn't back the Furies until they had something to offer the jackals.

It wasn’t a warm day and most kids were inside. It was strange how things changed. This place had overwhelmed him with its open spaces, ancient trees, and elegant grounds. Now, he found his eyes looking at the soil, checking for weeds, and wincing at fallen branches. He’d worked this land, sweated and bleed to keep it nice, it brought a sense of ownership.

The girls waited outside Raven's Rest, falling into step with him as he walked past. He stopped just inside the clearing, staring at the changes with the girls.

“She must have been more worried than I’d thought.” Cesare breathed into the silence.

Only the grass with its violet flowers dotting the green had stayed. New bamboo men replaced the army of green brothers. No two faces the same, mean, hopeful, angry, or frightened, each exquisitely sculpted, they were people instead of targets. Pale green flesh peeked out from clothes fashioned of bark and leaves, each bearing a unique style as changeable as any group. Standing, walking, crouched, or slouching, they looked like they'd uproot and walk away at any moment. Two runes twisted and writhed in scintillating colors on their chests.

She'd grown a table from the ground, roots twisting around each other, weaving themselves into a perfectly level thing of rough black roots. Oversized chairs lined the sides, wide enough to accommodate even fat bottomed girls with ease. Leaves grew from the seats, cushions layered for softness.

The spot Anastasia used for meditation sported a small landing of interlaced white roots, pristine, delicate strands, they wrapped around each other, creating something that breathed beauty. Small leaves sprouted from the top, interlaced with flowers of purple and gold, leaves a fairy’s delight. Elegantly simple, it bore the hallmarks of Elizabeth’s art.

Even the sparring area had a face lift. She'd smoothed out the torn ground, carpeting it in a layer of green grass, bursting with life, it was a dream of grass, too green and perfect for the world. Elizabeth had erected a fence of black and white roots, weaving them into shapes that teased the eye and fooled the imagination into vistas of beauty that existed in the mind of the watcher. It was a work of art, one that drew you to it over and over as new meaning blossomed in the mind.

The girls were awed by the changes. Elizabeth left any place she went better than it had been, more than it was. It was a gift separate from her power; she gave to the world in a way that was hers alone. She was a finer person than he was, gentler, nicer, one of the special ones the world threw away so easily.

“Well, she didn’t do this for us to look at,” Cesare said, leading Anastasia over to the white landing. The leafy cushion was as comfortable as it looked. Setting the headphones on her ears, Cesare gave her a minute to get into the meditation before heading for the sparring cage.

Still as death, Alexandra waited for him, tracking him with a hungry, needy look. Her face withered like skin left under flame, parchment thin flesh stretching across her skull. A bloodless grin cut across her face, joined by a low hiss of tortured air passing the gauntlet of pearlescent fangs. She had a terrible beauty, famine in all its gut clenching, sadistic reality.

Aleph rushed over him in a flood of ruthless reality, strength boiled into his veins as his Root Chakra opened with a snap, flooding him with crimson power. Cesare was moving before thought formed, instinct running faster than meat, the moment ripping through him with biting cold.

Alexandra's darting movement would have been a blur to his eyes, she struck with a quick jab that danced around and through his guard, rocking his head back. Stumbling, Cesare kept his feet by the thinnest of threads, guard staying up by instinct. Shifting, Alexandra threw a hooked punch. Snaking under it, Cesare's fist rammed into her ribs, steel slats under velvet skin thrumming from the force.

She followed him as he sidestepped, power pooling in her feet, running up her legs and into hips as she powered down in a punch at his shoulder. Rolling out of the way, he struck upward, a wildly off balanced punch for anyone but him. Cesare's spine twisted in ways that would snap a normal person's, but came as natural as breathing to him. Hammering into her chin, Alexandra’s head slammed back from the blow.

Her leg was already snapping forward in a kick powered by blood and temper, light years beyond Cesare's ability to match. Leaning back, knees bending, Cesare went horizontal, the kick swishing over face and body. Flashing up, his own kick unfurled in a sweep, impact rolling up his leg as he tore her anchor leg out from under her.

They danced around the arena, his killing patience taking its pound of flesh. He never attacked, offering her the initiative. Sen beat in the air around him, its rhythm throbbing in his bones, arousing the predator that waited. Each time she missed, there was a flash of an opening and he tore into that window with precise attacks. Biting and nipping, always moving, forcing her to chase after him.

Frustration and anger heated her face, eyes narrowing in furious thought. He was taking her apart piece by piece and she knew it, but there wasn’t anything she could do. He was ahead of her, directing the fight to a cadence that kept her one beat behind. He knew where she'd attack before she did, because he was the one that lead her there.

Backing away, she nodded in rage soaked acknowledgment of his win. They never kept score, not with her overwhelming win ratio, but she admitted that this spar, today, was his. It wouldn't be as easy next time. He’d caught her off guard with the new technique, that wouldn’t happen again. He might be able to pull off a win in a spar, but she'd butcher him in a fight.

“You’ve changed. You’ve grasped the idea of Go no Sen,” Alexandra said, rubbing her chin where he’d gotten in more than one punch, amazement shadowing fey pride in her eyes.

“It’s only a part of what he wants to teach me. I can lead my opponent to a place where they’re open from a failed strike, see the moment take shape and move into that space. But I can’t see the other two,” Cesare said.

“Something changed,” Alexandra said, a question riding under the surface of her statement.

“Andras and one of his men worked with me.” Cesare smiled at Alexandra’s eyebrows snapping up. “It was strange but sparring with them helped me realize where I wanted to go with my style.”

Alexandra shook her head in amazement. “I’ve never heard anyone call him by his first name, and I don’t know of anyone that’s ever sparred with him.” Pride filled her eyes, a dark, feral thing, born of lacerated flesh and screaming slaughter. “I would've skinned Viktor alive and made a shroud of his body to lay at your grave,” Alexandra said without a hint of a smile. She couldn’t think of that time without black rage consuming her in a storm of hate at Viktor’s betrayal.

Meeting her wild, insane eyes, a cruel smile stretched across Cesare’s face. The connection between them flared into cold, burning fire. His body shifted, a low, mean growl rumbling through the air. Instinctively responding to the challenge, Alexandra's feet slid across the ground, an intense hiss of anger slicing the air.

Arrogantly confident, he grasped Alexandra’s bruised chin, delighting in the flare of pain that lit her eyes as he tilted her face to him. That low hiss dropped, moving from surface temper into a lethal place. Holding her rabid eyes, Cesare leaned forward with an almost insolent show of power, his lips brushing her corpse cold ones. Alexandra's lips were soft as spring, thin as razors, burning icicles with needle points searing his hot lips.

Alexandra’s body locked in surprise at the kiss, staring in disbelief. She’d never been kissed, never had anyone that wasn’t disgusted by her psychotic soul. As he broke the kiss, the vampire touched her lips with disbelief, teetering between going for his throat and crying.

!Cesare pulled her head into his chest, arms wrapping around her as she gave a low, hurt sound. “You can’t die. You’re all I have, Cesare. Only you and God think I’m worth anything. Only you touch me, you’re the only shadow in the desert of my life.” The words were muffled by his chest. “I thought you were dead. I thought that filthy heretic had left you behind for some weak boy that's nothing but meat to me. You helped me climb out of the abys, and now someone was kicking me back in. I can’t … I won’t go back.”

Nothing was more painful than hope when you'd lived years without it. Years spent going comfortably numb, the cold darkness spreading through blood and heart, transforming the world into an arctic thing. No one could hurt what had no heart, they couldn’t draw blood from a statue of ice. Treacherously, hope violated that icy paradise, warming limbs into pain filled things of fire, breaking down blessed numbness, allowing blood to flow into dead meat.

The day comes when hope delivered all the things you secretly wanted. When you feel more alive and happy then you've ever felt. In that blissful state, when the world is sunshine and rainbows, that’s when hope betrays you. The rose rots on the vine, love cheats and schemes turning into the painted whore we call lust, ruin kicks your door in with a grin. You realize hope is just another word for fantasy. He’d been there, taken that lesson deep into himself and let it ravage his soul.

Tilting her head up, Cesare captured her lips, relishing the coldness of the grave that clung to her cadaverous flesh. He held the kiss for a second, desire, lust, and a feeling that was the blood splattered psychotic twin of both pulsing wetly between them. Meeting his lips eagerly, she held him in an embrace he couldn’t break if he’d wanted to. It was the old saying, it would be great to ride a lion, but how do you get off. Cesare smiled into the kiss, the answer coming easily to him, who would want to get off?

Meeting his eyes in raw challenge, she tightened her arms in a naked show of dominance. Smiling down into her victorious face, he had the pleasure of watching victory turn to consternation as his blades naked light shone between them. Resting under her arm, perfectly placed for a thrust to lung and heart, the phurba burned with cascading fields of white energy.

Grinning, Alexandra nodded acceptance of the tie. She would have won, they both knew that, but he would've made her pay for it.