Chapter Text
By the time Kaiba finally left the hospital, his leather bag slung over his shoulder and white doctor’s coat draped over his tall thin frame, the full moon hung high in the inky void of the night sky.
As he walked alone through alleys lit dimly by flickering streetlights, long fingers pulled a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket. Shaking one out, he returned the pack to his pocket in favor of retrieving a lighter. It was an old thing. Dented and tarnished, shine remaining only around the flint wheel and the engraving on the side that had been lovingly worried by cold fingers over many, many years.
With practiced ease, Kaiba lit the cigarette and brought it to his lips. It was a long-lived habit; one he had never managed to give up despite the futility of the practice. Or perhaps that was precisely why he continued. The thin stick between his fingers provided some sort of nostalgic comfort to him, but none of the harm usually associated with such a vice. Still an addiction, of sorts. But at least a victimless one.
It had been a long shift, as those on the full moon always seemed to be, in hospitals. Patients acting oddly, unexpected trauma cases, even the computer systems seemed unwilling to cooperate. He’d even heard his coworkers whispering about a young man and his sister coming for a surgical consult, and offering to pay up front with a duffle bag full of cash like some kind of mobster. Were he but a simple man, Kaiba might have been utterly exhausted by it all. But luckily, he was not a simple man.
Under the moonlight, the deep sapphire of his eyes gave way to crimson. The contacts that masked Kaiba’s true appearance during the day could hide his true nature no longer, finally burned away by the natural venom that flowed through his body. They never lasted long, the contacts. Twelve hours at most. They were something he had to keep a stockpile of, sometimes having to keep two or even three spare pairs in his pockets for particularly long shifts. But fleeting as the effect was, it allowed Kaiba to walk among the masses relatively unquestioned. It was just one of many benefits of choosing to adapt to modern technology rather than scorn it, as many of his ilk tended to.
Many of Kaiba’s colleagues complained that long hours spent in the sterile, windowless operating rooms caused time to warp around them. Without the sunlight, they were unable to tell day from night, three hours from thirteen, and the days were marked by the flow of patients in and out. But for Kaiba, to whom time was but a suggestion, it was ideal. He could keep himself busy, mentally stimulated, for days on end without arousing suspicion. To the rest of the world he just seemed like a surgeon dedicated to his work, never complaining about overnights or twenty-four hour on-calls. No one batted an eye when he was brought on, asking for an office without any windows. As long as Kaiba’s work saved lives, no one cared how he spent his time, or even thought twice about it. Everyone was always too busy looking after their own patients to care much about the personal lives of fellow providers.
Kaiba exhaled a swirling breath of smoke into the cool night air, continuing his walk. He was nearly at his destination now, and he began to pick up on the tell-tale smell that accompanied his ‘night job’. The homeless people scattered amongst the abandoned alleys in this forgotten corner of the city paid Kaiba little mind as he passed them, heels of his oxfords clicking on the dilapidated concrete, deftly avoiding puddles of stagnant water and scattered refuse. The glow of buzzing neon signs, advertising everything from cheap beer to topless girls marked his way, but Kaiba could traverse this path blind and backwards if he needed to. By now, it was as familiar to him as not breathing.
Finally, he came to an inconspicuous and unmarked staircase, hidden next to a ‘restaurant’. The sign was always lit, giving the appearance of a legitimate business, but in fact had never once served food to anyone. A single sigil, painted crudely on the inner wall of the stair in fading ink was hardly noticeable, unless one was explicitly in search of it. Kaiba stubbed out his cigarette on the wall, letting it fall carelessly to the ground, before ascending.
At the bottom of the stair was a single door with a faded brass handle. It turned soundlessly in Kaiba’s hand, and when he slipped past the threshold, he was greeted by a smoky hallway covered in faded, peeling wallpaper. At the very end of the hall, a single figure lounged behind the dented, crooked desk.
Kaiba approached without a word, making for the next door at its right, but was stopped by a smooth, deep voice.
“I was wondering when you’d get here. Tired from an honest day’s work, Kaiba?”
The young man - or what had the appearance of one, sat back in his rickety wooden chair, grinning at Kaiba. Wild shocks of golden hair framed his angular face, and sharp, vermillion eyes narrowed in friendly mirth. What gave him away, though, were the obsidian horns that curved elegantly up from the crown of his head, sharp ridges highlighted in the dull, hazy light that radiated from the single uncovered bulb that hung from the ceiling above.
Kaiba snorted derisively. “As if you’ve ever known honesty a day in your god-forsaken life. You’re lucky I even bother with this, Atem.”
The demon - Atem - simply laughed. “We both know you can’t give it up. You can’t sit still, Kaiba, and an eternity is a long time. Gotta fill it with something.”
“Hn.” Kaiba huffed, but did not refute Atem’s claim. They both knew the truth. Kaiba brushed past the desk, hand on the doorknob.
“You should watch, tonight. I think it’ll get interesting.”
Kaiba raised an eyebrow, but did not turn around. Atem rarely commented on the matches, he simply ran the show without opinions one way or the other, so long as he got paid and no one started any real trouble. Perhaps tonight he’d finally see something entertaining.
Leaving Atem behind, he opened the door and slipped into the room beyond.
The scent of sweat and pipe smoke was almost overwhelming here, and Kaiba wrinkled his nose in distaste. He much preferred the sharp chemical sterility of the operating room, the polished, spotless surfaces and bright, artificial light. But here, he could see a visible layer of dust and grime coating almost every surface, perpetuated by the unsavory individuals that frequented the establishment.
The volume of the crowd inside was enough to make Kaiba’s eye twitch in displeasure. Throngs of bodies packed the underground warehouse, cheering, jeering, and waving tickets in the air. Off to the side, queues formed to place bets, fistfuls of money changing hands quickly through a small window. All manner of creatures gathered here - demons, ghosts, yokai of all kinds, even a few humans. All present for the spectacle taking place in the center of the massive room.
An old boxing ring, currently empty, rose above the crowd. The floor was stained from years - decades even – of use; of blood, sweat and tears being ground into the canvas. By the look of it, it was mostly blood. Aging, frayed rope cables encircled the large ring, but these were thicker than standard, almost fifteen centimeters in diameter. They were anchored at each corner by massive iron pylons, rusted, and, in some places, dented where bodies had the misfortune of connecting with them.
As the crowds continued to gather around the ring, anxious for the matches to start, Kaiba stuck close to the edge of the room as he made his way to the hallway at the opposite end, all but unnoticed. Turning the corner, he swept into a darkened and vacant passage, lined with doors and a few benches. His was the last door on the left, marked only by a digital clock that was hung above the double doors. Red, glowing numerals indicated that it was a quarter to one. Almost time.
Kaiba reached into the neck of his scrubs, and withdrew a chain, weighed down with a single tarnished key. He slipped it over his head, and unlocked one of the two metal doors. He stepped inside, fingers finding the light switch with practiced accuracy. One at a time, the overhead lights came to life, illuminating a makeshift infirmary. A row of treatment tables lined the walls, padded leather surfaces splitting to reveal the yellowing foam underneath. At the far wall, a counter contained a few sinks and all manner of cabinets, containing everything from gauze and forceps to boxes of scalpel blades and needles. Flasks and test tubes also littered the counter, most of them clustered around a Bunsen burner whose flame was used for sterilization now, rather than experiments.
It was a far cry from the state-of-the-art hospital facilities Kaiba enjoyed during the day. But for the clientele here… this was more than decent enough.
Setting his bag on the counter, Kaiba approached the small fridge in the corner of the room. He’d worked through his lunch break, not just today, but for the past three, and a familiar itch was starting to settle under his alabaster skin, urging him to find sustenance. Luckily, Atem was occasionally kind enough to provide partial payment in such a form. He pulled the door open with a soft ‘ whoosh ’ and surveyed his options. Supply was running low – only three bags of the crimson fluid remained, laid out on the middle shelf. The demon must not have made any contracts recently… But no matter, this would allow him to avoid the hospital’s stores for another week. Kaiba reached forth, plucking the nearest bag from its chilled confines. Even through the thick plastic he could smell it – knew it likely came from some low life street rat, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
He sunk his teeth into the bag without a second thought, whole body settling with relief as the first drops of blood hit his tongue. He drank quickly, the taste far from something he wanted to savour, taking long, quick gulps. The bag drained within a minute, and Kaiba tore it from his lips with a small gasp. Already he could feel fatigue fading from his muscles as he licked the last vestiges of blood from his fangs.
As Kaiba tossed the bag into a nearby trash can, moving back to the counter to prep his station for the night, a roar rose up from the ring, reaching his infirmary in a muffled echo. He recalled Atem’s words.
“You should watch tonight. I think it’ll get interesting.”
Kaiba frowned to himself. He almost never watched the matches, not caring for the base brutality that came with the sport. He treated the competitors, bandaged and stitched wounds, got them ready for the next fight. That was all.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing through his teeth. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, curiosity was getting the better of him. ‘Interesting’ taunted him, so rarely these days was it something he encountered. Even the thrill of a new case in the OR had long since worn off, patients and days and weeks and months bleeding together in a monotonous blur.
Damn Atem. He always knew how to push his buttons.
He swept from the infirmary, coat flapping around his thighs. As he approached the ring, the shouts of the crowd intensified, and with it, came the telltale heavy thud of impact, of thick leather gloves making contact with skin.
Well. Skin and fur.
The occupants of the ring were clearly visible above the spectators, currently circling one another. Two massive werewolves, one grey, the other a mottled brown, glared each other down with gloved fists raised to jab. The grey one looked a little worse for wear, a trickle of blood dripping from his taped jaws, fur ruffled and crushed across his chest where he’d clearly taken multiple hits.
With a muffled snarl, his opponent lunged, clearly tired of waiting for the other to make a move. He swung high, meaning to connect with the skull, but the other barely dodged out of the way in time to land a quick jab to his ribs. But his victory didn’t last long, as the brown wolf, spurred on by pain and rage, pivoted on a large paw to land a strong kick to the side of the grey one’s neck, eyes flashing a sickly, glowing gold.
The grey wolf went down, sprawling on the canvas as his eyes rolled back in his head. The onlookers both booed and howled their approval, jeering at the loser as the brown wolf paced in front of his competitor, waiting for him to rise. But the referee that had scurried into the ring threw his hand down on the mat, declaring a K.O.
“In just three short rounds, the Tomb Keeper has made quick work of Ghost for a knockout win!” From somewhere in the room, the announcer verified the official result to the raucous spectators.
The brown wolf – Tomb Keeper, apparently – met the one who must have been his handler at the side of the ring - a small, blond man in a faded purple crop top - just long enough to have the tape removed from his muzzle so that he could howl his victory to the crowd, honed muscles flexing under wiry fur as he threw his head back under the bright lights.
Ghost, now at least somewhat conscious, limped to the ringside and slipped under the cables with the help of two handlers. Kaiba knew he’d have to tend to him soon, they were heading straight for his infirmary, after all, but something possessed him to stay. So far, this had been standard fare. Bets were placed, wolves fought, gamblers and handlers reaped the reward. Nothing ‘interesting’ yet.
In the aftermath of the first fight, the crowd settled somewhat, yelling lessening to loud, excited chatter as they waited for the next match to start. The previous was the first of many that would be taking place tonight; Kaiba couldn’t remember a full moon when the schedule wasn’t completely full. He was just about to retreat to his lab, when the announcer stepped back into the ring.
“For this next match, we got something special lined up. A brand-new face to bet on!”
A wave of excited murmuring washed over the room, as all eyes turned to the center stage. Kaiba’s eyes narrowed. He was almost certain that ‘special’ was an overstatement.
“Fighting in the red corner, our first competitor needs no introduction,” the announcer began, and as he spoke, a mottled mass of grey and tawny threw itself over the ropes, landing with an echoing thud on the canvas. This wolf was as tall as Tomb Keeper, and while not quite as thick with muscle, had the same confident, violent gleam in his eye.
“Weighing in at six hundred and sixty pounds, many have fallen to the crushing power of Bandit! Let’s see how our newest challenger holds up…”
Bandit began to pace the ropes, growling deep and muffled as he eyed the opposite corner, waiting.
“And now for our challenger! In his maiden match, let’s hope he can hold his own for at least a few rounds… fighting in the blue corner, weighing in at just five hundred and thirty three pounds, our contender, Blondie !”
Unlike Bandit, the wolf that stepped up into the blue corner did so without the fanfare or fuss, even as the crowd jeered at his lack of showmanship.
‘Blondie… how appropriate… ’ thought Kaiba. Under the bright arena lights, the wolf’s golden fur almost seemed to glow, giving him a haloed effect from ears to tail. Like the other competitors, his jaws were taped, and he wore old, fraying boxing gloves secured haphazardly around his wrists with sports tape. He stood in his corner, glancing around at the crowd, without so much as a flicker of his tail, awaiting the announcer’s call.
What really drew Kaiba’s attention, though, was the wolf’s eyes. Unlike the others, who glared hungrily at their opponents or the crowd with wild, glowing golden eyes, this one surveyed his environment with an intelligent, deep amber gaze. He had an air of awareness that Kaiba had not yet seen before in any who stepped into the ring, and true to Atem’s word it did pique his intrigue. As he looked past the wolf, to the space behind the corner on the outside of the ropes, he noticed that there was no handler present, either. How very odd…
“Fighters! Meet in the middle and touch gloves!”
Rolling his shoulders, Blondie advanced, meeting Bandit eye to eye in the center of the ring. Bandit, rather than a simple tap, swung his gloves down hard on top of his opponents, and Blondie just barely withdrew his own in time. Bandit snarled, jaw flexing hard as his teeth ground together.
The announcer, whether on purpose or because he just didn’t care, ignored the blatant act of aggression.
“Boxers ready?”
The crowd quieted, their collective breath held in anticipation.
“...Fight!”
The two wolves began to circle each other, eyes locked on one another and ears turned forward. Fists raised, each waited for the other to make a move, but to Kaiba’s surprise, it was Blondie that acted first. Though he wasn’t as large as Bandit, he could certainly move with speed, and he darted forward towards the other, landing a triple jab in the center of his chest.
Though it wasn’t enough to knock him back, it caused Bandit to step out of balance as he swung hard for Blondie’s cheek, missing by only a hairbreadth. The crowd hollered as he swung, urging the two on.
They danced around each other for a moment more, Blondie somehow looking light on his heavy paws, before he struck again, but this time he was not as successful, missing entirely. Bandit, however, was ready, and was already punching hard before his opponent could dodge away. His gloved fist landed hard into Blondie’s left shoulder, and he staggered back, ears flattening from the pain.
Kaiba found himself unconsciously clenching his fist as the watched the smaller wolf get backed against the ropes, Bandit relentless in his assault. Lips curling around a snarl under the tape, he landed punch after punch against his golden adversary, until Blondie was slumping down against the pylon, arms raised in front of his face in his best attempt at a guard. Before yet another punch landed against his ribs, Blondie managed to duck out from under Bandit’s arm, using his slighter stature to his advantage.
Before the other wolf could turn, Blondie wheeled around with unexpected speed, and kicked out hard at the side of Bandit’s head. His hindpaw connected with a sickening thud, and Bandit fell to a knee, pawing at his right ear. When his glove came away, it was shiny with blood. Bandit flung himself back to his feet, but before he could advance, a bell rang, signalling the end of the round.
The crowd was roaring now as the two wolves retreated to their corners. Bandit’s handler dabbed roughly at his ear with a towel, while Blondie, without anyone in his corner, simply stood, chest heaving and eyes wide. He seemed like he hadn’t expected to make it past the first round, or even still be standing by this point.
Given the break, spectators began to swarm the betting booths once more, now having seen the new challenger in action. They jostled Kaiba as they moved, and he narrowed his eyes in displeasure.
I’ve had enough of his rabblerousing…
Turning away from the ring, Kaiba retreated back to the quiet of the lab, the noise of the ring tempering once more to a quiet rumble behind the double doors. As he prepared his needles and sutures and gauzes for the patch jobs that were sure to start making their way in in the next hour, his mind drifted back to the match he’d just watched.
Those amber eyes… They stuck to the surface of Kaiba’s memories, unwilling to fade away. But however bright, however intelligent those eyes had been, that wasn’t what won in the ring. Without the brute force and adrenaline fueled aggression that the other wolves possessed, Blondie likely wouldn’t survive the month. Just another victim, chewed up and spit out by this place.
Minutes turned to almost an hour, and Kaiba was shaken out of his preparations by the creak of the laboratory door swinging open.
Standing before Kaiba, bloodied and haggard looking, but standing nonetheless, was the golden wolf.