The moon was full, as it was every fight night. A violent silence filled the air, thickening the night sky into a soup of tension. The contestants fed in full view of the audience, as was custom. The reigning champion tore into a large elk, the nearest contender ripped the flesh off a deer, and the newcomer shred the meat from a pile of dead rats.
All three of these creatures were the victim of different variations of the same curse. Lycanthropy was a disease, spread to a mortal from the bite of a demon-wolf. The oldest of the three, Doge, was the crowd favorite. Her strength was unmatched by her counterparts, and had survived and thrived from one contestant to another. Shib, a young werewolf had risen through the ranks, finally being accepted into the greatest of tournaments. Then there was the newcomer. Most in the audience had never even hear the name Hoge before, but the scrappy mutt earned his spot amongst the larger and faster kin.
During the last tournament, one year ago, Doge slaughtered the competition. Unfortunately for the musclebound canine, this vacuum did not remain, but instead nurtured the growth of a new breed of dog-soldier. A vicious breed indeed. Shib was an apprentice for many months before breaking off on it's own. Many fell before Shib's great paws and powerful jaws. Finally there was Hoge. The newcomer and underdog in the fight, Hoge lived off of the crowd cheers alone; strength, speed, and skill were not it's focus. Family and community were all it cared for.
The food was removed from the arena, but not without injury to those responsible for prying meat from the contestants. When the last scrap was relocated outside of the main stage, a large bell was rung. Doge, Shib, and Hoge charged one another, clashing in the center to the crowd's emphatic cheers. The ground shook, teeth gnashed, and claws tore.
Only one would survive the day. But which one?
Which one indeed...
