The Fallen Alpha

The shifters filled every last seat of the fighting arena, and the place was overcrowded with eager spectators. It was a rare sight for the wolves of the Feral Bane pack to watch their alpha fight in a cage. Alpha Cillian was six feet five inches of a beast in human form. His dark blond hair was immaculately short on sides and back, slightly longer on top, and deadly grey eyes were a pure terror for his opponent. His shoulders were twice the size of the regular shifters, and his strength was unmatched. Rightly known as the King of Alphas, his features were regal, but his stride was powerful.  The man ruled the southern and eastern territories with an iron fist and consolidated himself the most powerful and fearful leader of the largest pack.  The air throbbed with excitement as he abandoned his robe and revealed his muscular structure that would put the Greek Gods to shame. Cillian climbed into the cage as the crowd hooted and cheered with applause. His opponent inside the cage was no less than him when it came to physical attributes, but it was the ferocity in Alpha’s eyes that held all the power and advantage. Of course, Cillian was ruthless in his own right. A guard closed the door to the cage, indicating for the fight to commence. Unlike organized fights, there were no rules except for the one that it wasn’t a fight to the death. But it was highly doubtful if the opponent would be able to walk out of his cage once Cillian was done with him.  Cillian eyed his opponent, stole a fleeting glance at his footwork, and smirked. Then, he simply lifted his fists before beckoning him forward. And his opponent was stupid enough to take the bait.  With a roar, he charged at him like a bull, and all he had to do was dodge the punch. He kept throwing his fists at him, letting him overexert and studied his footwork. The second his fist slowed as he drew in a breath, Cillian’s arm curled back, and his fist collided with his nose. Taking this opportunity, he grabbed his shoulder and rammed his knee into his left side twice in quick succession. Whatever little air left in his lungs was beginning to deplete.  The second round was more or less the same. The opponent would try and fight back with renewed energy only to have himself staggering into the cage. All in all, he lasted longer than expected. But the kicks and punches became brutal as beastly adrenaline pumped into Cillian’s veins. He finally brought him down by locking his arms around his neck as he began to choke and turn red. His strength weakened, breathing laboured as he weekly patted the floor. And at last, gave up. The howling pierced through the roof as he yanked the door of the cage and prepared to leave the arena to make his way back to the office room. Cillian was utterly unfazed by the tributes or cheers showered on him because he was not fighting to prove something. Instead, he was fighting to expel the pent anger aggression that he was born with.  Alpha Cillian, if not anything, was eternally savage in every sense of the word.