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!!!!CAUTION!!!!

The following story has graphically described sequences of violence, contains blood and gore, all in graphic detail. If this is not your thing then leave. You've been warned and I shall not be held responsible if you disregard said warning.

Another thing is that this is my first attempt had hand-to-hand, sword and generally melee style of combat writing. Throughout this series I'm hoping to become better at describing this style of combat. A small update along with this story: my college finals are this and luckily I have only one more I need to take. I'll be on Christmas (that's right, I said Christmas, don't like it, fuck you) break for the next month or so starting this Saturday so hopefully I'll be able to write more and continue on with my MechWarrior series and Brother's Best Friend.

With that said, enjoy, hope you like. If anyone spots missing words or whatnot please let me know. I seem to have dyslexia when I write and type lol.

Jason knelt in the tunnel, shield on his back, sword in it's sheathe, spear laying on the ground next to him. As he knelt he listened to the crowd's roar, cheer, jeer, and applaud. Furs hungry for blood to be shed for their sheer amusement. Others wanted certain blood to be shed for profit. A select few watched for actual skill. Those who caught that eye were swept away to either a new arena, or to war. As for those whose blood was to be spilled, they fought for their own reasons. Some fought because it was their vocation. They did it for their next payday. Many were criminals, thieves and murderers who were taking up space in the prison. Those who couldn't pay their taxes were thrown into the pit to fight. Most were slaves, sent to fight for no reason other than to fight for the amusement of their mistress and the general public. Many mistress bet on their slave fighters, only hoping that they live long enough for them to turn a profit off them.

He prayed to the Gods as his name was announced. He grabbed his spear and walked out into the glaring light, the sand amplifying the mid-day sun ten fold. He walked to the center of the arena and stood, looking around at the crowd until he met the eyes of his mistress, a vixen who reveled in watching gladiators die by his sword and spear and paw. He raised his spear and loosed a feral-like "Raawl" as part of his traditional salute.

He then turned, facing the gate from which his opponents would step through. As he waited, he stabbed his spear into the ground and flexed his cougar claws, examining them. He was one of the few fighters who would use his claws if it came down to it. Most saw it as too primal, but he found a sense of release in it. One could lose a spear or a blade, one could not lose their claws and fangs. So he, unlike many of his comrades, utilized every weapon at his disposal. Because of this, as a gladiator, he was loved. As a fur, he was distrusted and even despised.

His ears twitched in every direction, no sound truly standing out in particular except for the announcers. The crowd became a single monotonous roar. He closed his eyes and bowed his head for a moment as his enemy's gate was opened. He pinned his ears back, tail flicking about at the loose sand under his footpaws. This was his world. This was his home. He lost himself in his world, let go of his self and gave into instinct. His feet planted, hand gripping his spear firmly. The fight began.

His opponents wasted no time in beginning their attack. The first charged, no tact what so ever. He could hear the clunking of his armor. Plate. His spear would useless against the majority of his opponent. As his opponent neared he moved in a blur of motion, taking a few steps to one side, hand still on his spear, and leaped. He spun around the spear with one arm, dodging his foe's attack and drawing his blade. He came around the staff too fast for the bear to track him and planted both of his feet into the back of his head, sending the fighter stumbling forward, his helmet pushed up. Jason let go of the staff, flying forward and landing on his foe's back, sword poised and ready. He plunged the blade into his enemies neck.

He wasted no time, withdrawing his blade and spinning around, both feet still planted on his fallen foe's armored back. He returned the blade to it's sheathe before taking in his remaining enemies. Another bear, and a pair of boars. All heavily armored and wielding an assortment of weapons, bladed, blunted, and tipped. He stood, stepping off the body of the bear to his spear withdrawing it from the ground and spinning it around, the tip pointing at his next victim, the second bear. He stopped, and knelt once again maybe fifty paces from his target. All three charged him, a boar on either side of the bear. As each boar came near him he dove and rolled, dodging them without touching them until he was near muzzle to muzzle with the bear. The bear swung his battle-ax and hit only the earth as Jason was already in mid air over the bear, his feline muscles propelling high enough to leap over the fighter. He came down in a crouching position, spinning around and using the force to thrust the spear forward. As the bear turned, his weapon raised high, he was met to the tip of a spear driving through his jaw and barely piercing the top of his skull. Jason twisted the spear one way, then another before releasing it, his opponent falling back, the loose sand under him flying into the air upon his impact.

Jason stood, drawing the sword and shield from their resting places at his hip and back respectively. The shield was a simple, metal buckler. The sword was of Greek design, and was also simple. No artistry in either's creation, but they both did their jobs and did their jobs well. He also wore no armor. His clothing consisted of a cloth skirt of drab color, and a vest made of the same. Armor merely held him down, made him heavier and less maneuverable. Even his shield was designed to not hinder him. A new way of forging the metal made it lighter but just as strong. The sword, though Greek in design, was forged the same way. One could easily, if they had the know how, throw it a hundred feet accurately and knock an opponent flat on their back.

The sandy brown fur on the back of his stood on end as he stared down the two boars. Each wielded a sword and an axe. Each one as heavily armored as the bears. Each porcine warrior snorted before bellowing out and charging.

Jason smirked. He let go of his shield, letting it slide down his arm and grabbing the edge of it. He waited patiently for the right distance and then spun, flinging the shield at the hooves of the nearest boar and then charged the second. He saw the shield connect with it's target, taking the pig off it's hooves, dust and dirt and sand flying up as he hit the ground. He turned his attention to the second boar. As he neared he hunkered down a bit, giving a smaller target. He leaped at the pig who had swung both weapons at head level, but Jason tucked down and rolled under the swings, sliding to a halt. The boar ran past him and his fallen commode, who was still struggling to stand. Jason smirked again as he charged the boar. As he ran he passed his knocked down opponent, spinning in mid stride to slash his neck. The boar's grunts silenced, and his life essence spurting out onto to the ground causing an area to become rust colored. The final boar snorted angrily, infuriated at how easily his comrades had been dispatched. He charged again, brandishing his weapons. He would not be fooled again. The two charged each other, Jason leading with his shield, the porcine gladiator leading with his face.

'Fool' Jason thought. As the two connected, Jason swung his shield across, blocking the axe, and brought up his sword to block the blade of the pig. He followed through on the shield swing, spinning around to strike at the pig's legs. He attack was deflected as he raised his shield to block the incoming ax, protecting his head from being split in two. He pushed up with his shield, throwing his opponent off balance slightly and took that moment to attack. He swung his shield, smacking the boar in the face with the rim of his shield and followed through once again, spinning and bringing his sword down to slice into the porcine's arm. With a squeal, the pig dropped his ax. He snorted, taking a second to look at his wound before charging back at Jason, brandishing his sword wildly. Jason blocked, blade to blade before pushing up with his sword and then upper cutting the gladiator with his shield, knocking off his opponents helmet. The blow dazed him and Jason spared no time, smacking the head of the boar again with the rim off his shield he heard a crack. The pig fell to the ground, severely wounded but not dead. His blade no longer resting in his paw. Jason looked to their ruler for a short moment, not waiting for an order, then stabbed his blade through the pigs throat. He removed the blade after a moment, wiping the blood of his foe on his skirt before re-sheathing. Then he walked back towards the tunnel from whence he had come, ignoring the cheers and roars and thunderous applause coming from the crowds.

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Leeane's muzzle held a single expression the entire fight. A greedy grin. The fights were her favorite form of entertainment, and also a good source of income. Even though he never lost a fight, there were many who bet against her Jason in the hopes of the greatest victory they had ever had. But time and time again their best were bested by her cougar. In her eyes, he was unstoppable. Only one thing concerned her, and it was the fact that he was unstoppable. He had never made an attempt, but she feared that if he was not kept under close watch he would disappear one night or worse, she feared that she would not wake one morning. She didn't let any of this show or be known to anyone but her closest guard, who were with her and him at all times.

After the fight was over her grin grew wider as he walked off the field of battle.

"Thank you gentleman for your generosity" she said, standing to collect her winnings from those gamblers around her. "I don't know how I would survive without your charitable contributions". She chuckled as she left her seat and headed to the collector where she would get the rest of her money. Once collected she would return home with Jason.

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As Jason was escorted away from the arena and into a holding area, he was stripped of his blade and shield. A belt was placed around his waist and cuffs were attached to his wrists, a chain connecting the belt to the wrist cuffs ensured he would not be able to strike with his claws. It didn't matter how often he ensured the guards and his mistress he would not attack any one of them, it was precaution that he understood. Even if he did find it unnecessary and in fact somewhat insulting.

As these restraints were placed upon him he sighed. Normally there were only three guards with him after a battle. There were six today. There was truly only one thing that, as far as he knew, that would cause such a change. He would be riding with his mistress today instead of walking behind. This could bode both well and ill, but he would have to wait and see which it was.

As he was escorted outside the arena by the six guards he was led to his mistress's coach, which was escorted by another four armed men. Only because it was in is training, he sized up each man. His height, weight, weapons, and armor. Their skill was hard to judge but considering they were of his mistress's personal guard they must have at least an inkling of knowledge about combat.

As he approached the coach the door was opened for him. He stopped for a moment to glance at on the guards before stepping inside. He looked around the inside for a moment before resting his on his mistress. He didn't allow his muzzle portray the curiosity or confusion that he felt, rather he took on a stoic expression as he looked his mistress in the eyes, something was forbidden for a slave to do. He had always been defiant, but not violently. The vixen that owned him found it amusing.

"An impressive performance today Jason, as always".

Jason simply bowed his head slightly, not speaking a word.

They were silent for a few minutes longer as the coach began to move, each one staring into the other's eyes as if they were trying to communicate in thought, playing mind games.

After so long Leeane finally spoke, "I've decided to free you from your slave bonds". She noticed Jason's ear twitch and perk up, but before he could speak she rose her paw and said, "But I'm conscripting into the service of my army. You're too train my new recruits in any way you see fit. I'm granting you the rank of Captain and you will be given your own quarters within the military compound. You will report directly to me and my Generals." She paused a moment to examine Jason's reaction to this news. His initial excitement at being freed had died away and he had taken back the stoic look, but she could tell he was disappointed. Granted he was no longer a slave, but being a soldier who reported directly to someone and was still subservient, from what she could gather from him, was almost the same as being enslaved. She could detect a tinge of joy in having fully furnished quarters and the ability to command and train new warriors in his ways.

"My Generals know who you are and what you once were, but they also know you're combat prowess and ability". She grinned deviously for a moment before saying, "Each has bet against several times and I'm happy to say that each has lost those bets. By the way, I would like to extend my thanks for all those bets I won. You've helped my financial wealth grow quite a bit since I purchased you, and now I hope you can help my wealth grow once again, not only monetarily, but in land as well". She paused again to observe his reaction. He'd never before fought for a cause other than to survive, now he was being forced to fight for a Lady in war. She wondered how well he would take such a change.

"So, Captain. What do you say?"

Jason looked long and hard into her eyes before bowing his head for a moment and replying, "When do I get to see my new recruits?"

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The next day he was properly introduced to the other officers, one of whom was now deceased after challenging Jason to a duel. Earlier in the day, when he had been shown his quarters in the barracks, he'd taken a look at the uniform and clothing he'd been given and scoffed at it. He turned to his new aide, who was essentially a paid slave and said, "Go into the market and purchase several tunics and matching pairs of pants. Keep then simple in appearance. I want nothing bright or that stands out. The purse of coin they gave is sitting over on the desk there", pointing in the direction of the desk.

The young boy had looked at Jason and nodded, figuring he would just get better versions of what the cougar was already wearing. He had thought it a strange request, but did as he had been told and left to go to the market in town.

Afterwards he was taken to the armory where he was to be fitted for armor and to take his choice of weapons. He allowed the smiths to take his measurements but declined to have any armor crafted for him. He still wore only a simple tunic and pants. He decided that if he was going to train and command troops, he was going to be honest of his past and where he came from. He wasn't going to deceive anyone, and he wasn't going to lie to anyone either. As he inspected the weapons picked out a sword, shield, and a thrusting spear that were similar to what he had used in the arena, but had them sent to his room. He asked if his troops were armed, and after told that they were he decided he wouldn't need weapons of his own. To prove a point, he'd just use theirs if needed.

He walked out the armory door and into the training area where his men stood lolling around and chatting. He walked out, not saying a word, waiting for one to take notice. None did. 'Fools' he thought. Because of the garb he wore, they all thought him to a servant or slave. None had any idea. Something prickled on the back of his neck and his eyes shot to a balcony. It seemed Leeane had decided to come observe, undoubtedly expecting a show. He would give her one.

As he walked through the crowd of soldiers he kept his head raised high, looking any fur who glanced at him in eye. He waited for one male to strike at him. Striking a superior was punishable by death, but striking a slave or servant was expected and overlooked. Jason certainly looked like the latter. After the third look he got his wish.

"Hey! Scum! Have you forgotten your place?" a wolf belted. "Your eyes are supposed to be on the ground in the presence of your superiors!"

Jason watched, almost in slow motion as the canid approached, weight proportioned inappropriately. He watched as the canid's paw form a fist and begin to move for Jason's face. He smirked, knowing he would enjoy this probably too much, as he raised his hands to catch the arm of the canid, placed himself properly and broke the arm of the wolf. He followed up by dropping low and made a sweeping kick, knocking the canine to the ground. He came up to his feet and, not sparing any time, dropped, putting all his weight into his next strike, and drove his knee into the canine's throat. There was an audible 'whump' and 'crack'. The wolf's neck most likely cracked or broken, wind pipe crushed. He stayed there, knee resting in the fur's neck for a moment, before standing. The attackers' comrades standing around, staring in disbelief. They watched their fellow man wreathe on the ground as he struggled for air, the only sound coming from his body as it kicked and rolled on the ground, until he finally went still.

Jason stood over the body for a time before saying, "My name is Jason. I was once a slave and gladiatorial combatant to our mistress. I am now your Captain. I have been tasked with training you all the combat skills you will need to defend yourself, your home, your mistress, and when called upon, to be able to destroy your enemies and all they hold dear. What you have just seen is a small testament to what I can do. If you feel the need to challenge me further, please do so and do not hold back. Use whatever weapons you wish."

Jason stood at almost perfect attention, but his ears were ever on a swivel, scanning and waiting to detect and hint of sound that would define the movement of an attacker. His muscles were loose, his body relaxed, tail flicking aimlessly at the dirt under his footpaws. He began to look from one male to the next, and then back. When no one moved he nodded.

"Wise decision. Now, strip".

He got confused looks from them all. One, a coyote, spoke up. "Excuse me, what did you ask us to do".

Jason sighed, "I do not like to repeat myself. I do not make a habit of it, but I will make an exception this once." He took a step towards the coyote in question, got within an inch of his muzzle and said, "Strip. This means take your armor off. Question me again, and I'll kill you".

He turned to walk back to his previous position, next to the body of the wolf, and smiled to himself as he heard the sounds of armor falling to the ground. He turned and spoke.

"As you can see, I myself wear no armor, even though I was offered to have some crafted just for me. I chose not to take it for several reasons. The first was because I hold on to my past and where I came from. The second was because it would clearly define my stance. I wouldn't have had to prove what I was. Wearing the clothing I arrived in, and then killing one of your comrades unarmed, showed my status. A much more effective way to demonstrate my position, rather than showing by flashy armor." He paused long enough for the men to gather their thoughts and realize the totality of their situation, and watched them, like proper soldiers, fall into ranks. He smiled and nodded, "Good boys". He approached them, standing a few feet in front of the group, centered.

"I'm sure you've had some kind of training in combat, mostly with arms. I will show you how to fight without weapons, and how to take the weapons of your opponents. Throughout this training I will randomly give out weapons to half of you. The other half will have only his paws." He looked up and down the ranks of furs, and took stock. There were nineteen left. "Today you will all get weapons and will attack me in either pairs. The last man gets to face me one on one".

He watched their faces show a mix of delight at the chances to avenge their fallen brother, and fear at the possibility of being killed during training. He took a look up at the balcony and noticed his vixen mistress standing, watching, and grinning that devious grin of hers. He looked back to his men and nodded.

"So. Who's first?"