The thought drives out any riling of the gut as I pull along the cervical spine to reach the brainstem. Claws unneeded, clever human fingers shift to take their place.

​

With this, I’ll be able to stand my own against the other fighters of Dracrei. I’ll be able to win the Emperor’s tourney.

​

In naught but my sealskin skivvies, I rip the knot of slick, soft gray matter from its protected cove and bring it to my grinning maw. I don’t need it intact.

​

It’s hot in my mouth, with a texture like liver or gizzard -- really, unlike anything except the last brainstem I pulled from the nape of a cougar nearly a year ago now.

​

The cheering crowd above is nothing but smear and white noise as I delve into the steaming abdominal cavity for good measure, pulling pink muscle and pale fat from the shredded stomach walls and scarfing down my fill, waiting for something deep in my gut, mind and my own spine to click into place.

​

When it does, the feeling is electric, and the scream of a human woman rips out of my lungs.

​

The arena screams back, roaring its approval, their awe, as the shift begins to ripple through me.

​

Limbs twist and muscles squirm, and my skin dances as shaggy, white hair prickles its way out of darkening flesh. The form is loose on me in comparison to both human and cougar, almost a thousand pounds of sturdy bone, heavy muscle and loose fat. Larger lungs, duller eyes, teeth and claws meant to shred skin and crack ice.

​

My fur is cleaner than my conquered foe; my build filled out, full grown.

​

In me, the starved and thin-worn bear is reborn, stronger, healthier, freer.

​

I stand, ten feet tall, and the crowd above rises with me, roaring their approval as though they themselves won this battle.

​

My black maw splits, and I bellow back.

​

“Hell fucking yeah!” rings out a cheer at my back, and all nine-hundred pounds of me hits the ground. I round, beady eyes watching a comparatively miniscule brown figure streak across the ring. His grin is ear-to-ear as he sprints to meet me, arms spread wide. As he crashes into my chest, Jacobin crows, “That’s what I’m talking about, wild thing!”

​

Spindly arms wrap around my neck, pulling away after a beat to take my head by the mandible. We’re eye to eye when I remain on all fours.

​

“Diabolical,” he barks as he feels the weight, juggling my skull and ruffling the fur like he’s greeting an exuberant, goliath hound. I rumble in response, a deep-belly noise that could shake rafters, and let my tongue loll out to complete the picture. Jacobin laughs, noogie-ing a knuckle between my brows. His look swings towards pride. “You’ve got this in the bag, Teo,” he says, quieter. Then, “With some help to come, that is.”

​

A thrill runs up my meter-long spine at the words. A sponsor?

​

He reads the stillness, the sharp look, correctly. He nods, jittering in place with his own excitement. “They came to the antechamber looking for you.” He glances towards my rump, wry look returning. “Mind helping me clear the field, though, you absolute beast?” 

​

The bear’s great jaw clicks in a bite that misses by a mile, and I grumble through the motion of dragging the yellowing scruff of the carcass.