Morituri Te Salutamus
an excerpt

She could feel the heat from the sun-soaked sand, even through her leather sandals. A moment of blindness as she stepped into the light, and then she could see the hundreds filling the benches of the arena, all cheering – cheering for bloodshed.

She strode to the center of the circle, where her opponent already stood. The other was a man half a head taller than she was, lanky – retiarius, net and trident. A derisive sneer was set on his brutish face as he glanced at her – weaponless, wearing simple leather armour and a heavy collar with a short chain, broad-shouldered and stocky, her dark hair cropped short. She could hear him muttering – "A girl, and not even pretty" – as they turned to face the lone canopied box among the spectators.

The man held his trident in the air before him, and she only her hand, held like a claw, as if ready to strike. "We who are about to die salute you!" She barked out the phrase for what felt like the thousandth time, the sounds memorized since long before she had understood a word of the language.

A stately figure in the highest seat of the canopied box nodded to them, and they drew apart to face each other – he grinning as if he'd already won, swinging his weighted net in lazy arcs around his arm; she merely crouching, ready.

The signal to start – the retiarius lunged forward with a yell, flinging his net towards her and starting after it, trident held ready. She sidestepped the whirling mass of rope and rocks, then the man as he charged her with the three-pronged weapon. He snorted in annoyance, whirling to face her once again. His net was already gone, thrown too far in his self-assurance.

Only a few feet from her, he thrust again with the trident, hoping to catch her full in the chest. But once again she moved away, not a moment to soon. A frustrated snarl from the man, as in desperation he swung the whole trident in her direction, meaning to club her with it if he couldn't stab her.

She snarled back at him, and he halted, startled, in mid-swing. The sound was deeper, fiercer than any he would have expected, less human than animal. For the first time, she smiled. Taking advantage of his surprise, she dropped from her crouch to all fours. Then she felt the change begin.

The dark hair spread down her neck, across her shoulders, along her arms, until she was completely covered in coarse fur. At the same time, her face lengthened into growling jaws, claws grew on her hands and feet, her back arched upward.

The crowd had been growing louder since she'd begun to shift, and the roar of cheering reached a peak as the metamorphosis was completed. The retiarius gaped at the bear that stood before him, stretching to accustom herself to the change, settling into the different shape. Hadn't been expecting that, had he? She grinned as much as she could with her bear's muzzle. He'd think twice about underestimating his opponent next time.

Not that there would be a next time for him.

The man set his jaw grimly, trident held out before him. Resigned, but not about to go down without a fight.

With a roar to shake Jupiter from his throne, the bear leapt forward to the sound of the crowd's screams of excitement.

Sand tossed up into her fur, flying around her.

The trident grazing her foreleg, snapping beneath her paw.

Fangs buried in flesh, cracking bone, coppery heat in her mouth.

Hot blood on hot sand.