FSE

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[i]Author's Note:[/i]** **[i]This chapter is a very stark contrast from the previous entry in Feilan's saga. There isn't a lot of spice to this one except toward the end. Our little charr-turned-puppy has plenty more "training" ahead, but it's less of a focus here.[/i]

[i]This story also features some mind magic that plays a bit loose with consent, so if that isn't your cup of tea, be warned.[/i]

---

Feilan had no idea what to expect the day his dam brought him to the fahrar.

The faces of the other charr cubs surrounding him looked just as bewildered. Some wore fierce scowls and others fright, but none showed any hint of comfort or familiarity with their surroundings. How could they? They'd all been left here by their parents after a single year of life—just long enough for them to figure out how to walk, talk, and hunt.

All Feilan's mother had told him was that his strange place would be his home, these strangers his family, and that he wouldn't see her again. Then, she ruffled the fur on his head and nudged him toward a scarred charr wearing a steel war-mask. The next time he turned around, she was gone.

The large metal room the man sent him two held about twenty other cubs, and another three dozen trickled in over the next half-hour. Such was a long time for a bunch of young charr to wait without entertainment, and some turned to easing their boredom through conflict.

“A runt like you? A legionnaire?" A gray-furred charr boy shoved a girl with honey fur.

The girl stumbled back, but didn't fall. Her golden eyes narrowed as she growled. “Why not? The strongest should be the boss."

“Yeah. They should." The gray charr advanced, matching her growl with a snarl.

Light glistened off a pointed tooth as she curled the corner of her muzzle into a smirk. Right after his second step, she roared and pounced. They tumbled to the ground as she clawed at his face.

Feilan stood and watched along with the others as the two cubs battled. He might be young, but he was still charr. His blood and instincts knew well that strength was their first tongue, and one did not go about interrupting conversations without reason.

“Cubs! Stand down!" The masked charr adult, it seemed, had a reason.

The gray-furred boy hesitated at the command. His opponent didn't. He yelped as she sunk her fangs into his shoulder.

“I gave you an order, soldier!" With a growl, the masked man grabbed the honey-furred girl by the scruff of her neck and ripped her off the other cub.

She hissed, clawing and flailing at nothing as she dangled in the air. “Come on, I almost had him!"

The man's growl rose to a snarl, aimed straight at her ear, and the girl ceased her thrashing—though the same couldn't be said of her fierce glare. “You'll fight when you're told, cub. Not before. Got it?"

Silence, a scowl, and then an answer. “. . . Yes."

“That's 'Yes, Primus.'"

“Yes, Primus." The words were exact, but she made them sound more like a curse.

The masked charr snorted, then flung her aside. He looked around at the gathered cubs. “Listen up. Do all you runts know what you are?"

“Yes, Primus!" Feilan shouted in unison with all the others.

“And what are you?"

“Charr, sir!"

“Wrong!" Beneath the Primus's war-mask, Feilan caught a glimpse of a toothy grin. “You're beasts." He nodded at the honey-furred girl as she picked herself up off the floor. “Charr have discipline. Respect. Strength. Someone has to knock that into you, and that's why the Legions have me."

The sea of children parted as the man marched over to a dais at the front of the room. “Soldier. Warband. Legion. They all have meaning, and each of you will either leave here knowing damn well what those mean, or you'll be leaving as a gladium." The Primus glared at a group of Iron Legion engineers in the back corner. “Raise them!"

The floor rumbled with the sound of chains and gears, and six mechanical platforms rose from the floor. Some cubs found themselves on one of them as they rose, while others backed away. The din of machinery stopped.

“You have 30 seconds to get on a platform," said the Primus. “Anyone who isn't by the time I stop counting gets an early lesson in physical conditioning."

The Primus barked out his count, and the cubs scrambled. Feilan didn't know what conditioning meant, but his dam had warned him to listen to his primus, so he did so. The nearest platform was straight ahead of him, and he charged toward it. His claws scraped against metal as he climbed.

Twenty seconds passed before Feilan reached the top. Four others stood there by the time he did so, and a tan-furred boy reached the top right after Feilan. A few more seconds passed, and over the edge, Feilan heard a series of grunts, yelps, and snarls.

“Get off me, kit!" That was the gray-furred boy's voice.

The honey-furred girl answered. “Then get out of my way, runt!"

“Twenty-five! Twenty-six! Twenty-seven!" shouted the Primus.

A gray-furred hand reached the top. Then there was a dull thud and a grunt as it slipped off, and the girl's paw replaced it.

“Twenty-eight!"

She pulled her upper body onto the platform, then stalled. She glared back behind her. “Let go!" Another blow rang out, and then a thud near the ground.

“Twenty-nine!"

The honey-furred girl pulled herself the rest of the way up.

“Thirty! Alright, you laggards on the ground! You all know what push-ups are?"

A handful of voices, including the gray-furred boy's, answered. “Yes, Primus!"

“Good! And you all know how to count to a hundred?"

“Yes, Primus!"

“Excellent." Even from the top of the platform, Feilan could hear the masked charr's amused growl. “Do both of those. Then again twice more."

A chorus of groans rang from the ground level, and then an assortment of numbers as they began counting.

“As for the rest of you," the Primus continued, “Look around on your platforms."

Feilan did so. His eyes locked with the honey-furred girl's. Her gaze remained as fierce as it'd been earlier, a raging blaze of golden fire.

“This is your warband. Your family. For the rest of your lives, you'll live together, train together, fight together, die together. Forget your sires, your dams. Those around you right now? That's your only blood." The Primus's laughing growl returned again, and he looked at the girl. “Now, you rowdy bunch were right about one thing. Only the strongest, the most capable, lead. Raise them again!"

Machinery whirred again. The platforms they stood on shook, and the center portion of each raised up to form two progressively taller tiers. The top-most tier was narrow, barely large enough to fit even two cubs of their size. Behind the Primus, a large steel clock began to tick.

“Five minutes! Whoever stands at the top when it ends is your first legionnaire."

Feilan and the other cubs looked around at each other. His eyes again locked with the girl's, and then they both took off, scrambling up the wall to the second tier. One of the other cubs followed behind him, grabbing at his leg, but Feilan shook him off with a kick.

He reached the second tier at the same time as the honey-furred charr. They glared at each other again, and then they ran for the top platform. Both of them paused as a spotted girl sprinted past them both. “Keep up, slow-tails!" the newcomer shouted.

The spotted charr's taunt was fitting, as Feilan managed to get a hand on her tail as she passed. She yelped as he yanked it backward, then sprung over her as she fell. He looked ahead, and saw a flash of honey fur halfway up to the top.

Her golden eyes twinkled as she looked back and stuck out her tongue at him. “Gotta be faster than that if you want to be one of my troops!"

With a growl, Feilan charged after her. Her head start got her to the top first, giving her ample opportunity to slash at him with her claws as he climbed over the top. He ducked his head under the first and, upon seeing a long-whiskered boy pulling himself up on the other side of the top ring, retreated back a foot. Feilan waited for the girl's shout, then resumed his climb while she was distracted with the other contender.

She threw the long-whiskered charr off just as Feilan got to his feet. He rushed her before she could turn around and pushed her down after her previous opponent."Hey! Not fair!" she shouted as she fell.

Feilan chuckled. “Gotta pay more attention if you want to be one of my troops!" He returned her taunting gesture from earlier.

She came up again a minute later. This time, they had a proper match, and Feilan was the one with a bruise on his rear as he was knocked down to the lower levels. He came at her again with the same result, and then, just as the clock hit the halfway mark, he succeeded in knocking her down on his third attempt. Their back-and-forth continued as the clock ticked down, with only the occasional interruption from one of their warband's other combatants.

Another tumble sent pain up Feilan's back. By now, he'd lost count of how many bouts the two of them had fought. Despite his bruises and exhaustion, however, he was up for one more, and he ran for the upper platform once more.

Just as his hand reached the top, the ticking clock stopped. A loud clang shook the room, and Feilan's grip slipped. A honey-furred paw caught his wrist.

“Time's up," said the Primus. “Congratulate your new legionnaires, cubs."

The girl pulled Feilan up. Both of them collapsed to the platform, out of breath. She looked at him from the ground. “You know your way around a fight. I'm Chara."

“I'm Feilan. Good fight, Chara."

The smuggest smile he'd ever seen spread across her muzzle. “That's Legionnaire Chara to you.

---

The clatter of the Black Citadel's machines roaring to life startled Feilan from his dreams. As he jolted upright, his head struck metal.

He'd woken in a cage. Not a prison cage, but more the type of thing a warclaw trainer might use. It had just enough height for him to move around on all fours, but standing on two legs was out of the question.

Though his surroundings had a hint of familiarity to them, Feilan didn't recognize them. He was in an officer's room in one of the canton's, that much was obvious—a legionnaire's, he assumed, given the size and modest furnishings. Better than bunks, but still far from luxury.

Loud snoring drew his attention to the bed on the opposite wall from his cage. A charr woman with golden-orange fur laid sprawled atop it, completely nude. She stank of sex—or at least, Feilan thought she did. It was hard to tell, given that he smelled even more so. He couldn't recall doing anything of the sort, though, and he doubted that he had. He never would've dared, not so soon after Chara's cruel death.

The charr in the bed mumbled and tossed in her sleep, and as she shifted onto her back, her foot—and its “Your Head Here" tattoo came into view. Feilan remembered then. Melia, that legionnaire he'd met at Gladium Canton. She'd offered him a spot in her warband, and he'd accepted. The details were fuzzy, but he remembered that she'd introduced him to the rest of the squad the previous day, and they'd welcomed him. He also remembered thinking at one point that she looked like Chara, but staring at her now, he couldn't see the resemblance. He'd known Chara his whole life; well enough to know that there was nobody else like her in the world.

She groaned and stirred. Modesty didn't seem to be a concern for her as she rolled out of bed and walked over to his cage, without even the slightest attempt to cover herself in any way. “Morning, Wrathtail."

“Wrathtail?"

“Feilan Wrathtail. You know the rules. New warband, new name. A hunter like you should make a good rear guard." She stifled a chuckle, though Feilan didn't get the joke.

“Works well enough." He shook the locked door of his crate. “Now why the fuck am I in this thing?"

Melia laughed. “Things got rowdy last night. New warband member brings out more ale and whisky than usual, you know how it is. Better watch your liquor next time—don't want to make any more bets you'll regret."

“Bet?" Feilan couldn't remember a thing. “What bet?"

The corner of her muzzle curled upward, and she squatted down to get closer to eye level with him. “You and I made a little wager. A quick sparring match. If you won, you got my warclaw." She pat the top of his crate. “If I won, I got a new pet."

Her closer proximity gave Feilan a better whiff of her scent. Though he couldn't smell himself on her at all, hers was all over him. Though it all seemed unbelievable, he couldn't deny the evidence of his own senses. In his mind, he saw Chara, her golden eyes dull with judgment and betrayal. His stomach churned. “For how long?" he asked.

Her smirk widened. “How long, indeed. We never worked that out beforehand, but I was intending to hand over my warclaw permanently had I lost. I assumed you meant the same."

[i]Burn me, this isn't happening.[/i] “Y-you can't be serious."

“I mean, that's I assumed we were agreeing to." Melia leaned closer to the bars. “But I tell you what, lets just say we'll keep this going until I get bored of you. And don't worry. You're still part of the 'band. You'll still be out there hunting Flame Legion scum with the rest of us. You just have some extra off-duty work to take care of, that's all."

Her reassuring statements didn't sound all that reassuring, though Feilan supposed he could live with it if it meant his chance at avenging Chara and the rest of his old warband. “Like what?"

Her smile returned again. Malicious. Predatory. “Don't you worry about that, [i]pup.[/i]"

That last word echoed in his brain, and his senses turned hazy. He saw flashes of the previous night—the collar tightening around his neck, her paw guiding him in forced worship, her face blending with Chara's. The memories grew clearer as it all came back. His new warband passing him around between them, and himself letting it happen. No, not just letting it happen. It had excited him.

As his cock hardened at the thought, the chill of steel brought his attention to the second cage he'd been locked in. He remembered getting off despite it at least once, from no more than the strap-on that one striped charr had used on him. The thought only made the cage feel even tighter.

The lock on the crate clicked, and Melia swung the door open. She returned to the bed, laid down, and pat the space next to her. “Come here, pup."

That echo, again. Feilan crawled out from the cage. Even once he had the headroom to stand, he remained on all fours as he crossed the room. Any doubts or resistance felt miles away, nothing more than the tiniest of whispers in the back of his head. He climbed onto the bed and sat where directed.

“You're gonna fix this mess from last night. Groom me."

He didn't need to ask with what. His mind already knew, and it commanded he move at once. Dried cum and musk hit his senses as he ran his tongue over her chest.

Her chest, her arms, her legs, her paws. Melia seemed to take particular enjoyment in that last one, ordering him to lay on his back so she could but his face underneath her tattoo as he licked at her pawpads. She had him do the same with the other, and then he was directed to her stomach. Then lower, and lower again until a hand shoved his snout against her slick crotch.

A firm grip around the dark fur atop his head kept him in place as she ground her folds all over his face. “Mmm, yeah, that's the stuff. Use your tongue, pup."

Echoes demanded, and Feilan listened. He swirled his tongue around her clit, then dragged it lower and plunged it into her, lapping at her like a kitten with a bowl of milk. She howled, spasmed, and then her scent freshly marked his face again, his muzzle slick with her juices.

Melia pulled him away. “Oh, fuck yeah." She took a minute to catch her breath, and then her paw clenched around his head fur again. “Look at that, boy. You clean up once mess and make another." Her free hand pointed beneath his crotch, where a pool of pre had started to soak into the sheets. She forced him around and shoved his head into it. “Take care of that."

Once he'd licked up what he could, a gentler touch pat his had. “Good boy. [i]Time to go out.[/i]"

The echo returned again, but this time, memories and sensations didn't come with it. Instead, Feilan's mind emptied.

He blinked. What happened? Why was he sitting on the side of the bed, with both Melia's and his own taste on his tongue? Last he remembered, he was still in the cage, listening to his new legionnaire talk about the wager they'd made, and—

“Clean yourself up, Wrathtail. We've got a mission to head out to today."

Melia threw her robes over her shoulder and walked out the room toward the showers, still not bothering to make any effort at concealing herself. Feilan watched her go.

Again he felt Chara's disapproving glare, and again his stomach sank. But what could he do? He'd made a dumb bet, and the charr he'd made it with was the one with the power to bring his vengeance to a grinding halt. [i]That's right, she mentioned a mission. Focus on that.[/i] For a moment, he saw the wastes of Ascalon. He saw that infernal cauldron and the shaman chanting next to it. The sky burned, Chara screamed, and then smoke faded to leave naught but ghosts and ash. [i]Just kill every last one of those Flame Legion bastards. Nothing else matters.[/i]