Wereball Serie - Along Came A Mate

In wereball, werewolf universities, like ours, compete against each other over the course of the season. A team also represents a particular pack. Sometimes the smaller packs are absorbed by a large one, as they cannot afford their own teams. Since my pack is massive, we have our own team.

The competition is beyond intense, almost ridiculous. Honour and pack pride are deeply involved.

The game is similar to American football, though slightly adapted for werewolves, containing a few key differences. The absence of protective gears is one.

Wereball does not require the usage of any safety items. Sure, players can wear helmets, pads, and gloves, and so on, but the majority choose not to.

It is not manly enough, not to mention the crowd often mocks the rare player wearing gear. Hence, most of the players wear no equipment to showcase their strong, manly features.

As I pointed out, stupid.

The arena of wereball transports you back in time to the days of the gladiators.

Crazed crowds scream all the time, as if possessed by spirits of people who had died in madhouses. The players are among the strongest members of the werewolf packs. Some of them are so gigantic they might as well belong to a different species.

Post-game brawls are normal. Indeed, the more a game is ‘beautiful’ and exciting, the more bloody the post-game fights.

Aside from the absence of safety equipment, the main detail that would catch the attention of a human eye is the presence of two huge wolves in the field. Their intent? Knock out players, regardless of which team they belong to, and create destruction during the first part of the game.

Oh, and most importantly, there is one rule:

No rules.

The players were are allowed to punch, kick, trip, hacke, tackle, and wrestle with each other in an effort designed to heavily injure, tire, or slow the opponents and break through their defences. Often descending into a real fight.

Welcome to the wereball’s world.

##

A typical wereball stadium was divided into three streams. The one reserved for the host team’s fans was in the north wing, the one reserved for the visiting team in the south wing, placing a safety distance between the supporters, and then there was the one reserved for all the others, in the middle. Usually that was filled with people from nearby packs, or from the same pack members of one of the teams who did not want to get too involved in the turmoil or were afraid of the aftergame ‘hustle and bustle’.

Usually each team had their own club of “Ultras” or wolves who technically were the most fanatic and enthusiastic fans, but, in reality, they were mainly there to intimidate and attack supporters of rival teams. Actions ranged from simple taunting and spitting, to throw objects at opposing fans, including stones, bricks, branches, and broken car parts.

Hand-to-hand combat with sports bats, glass bottles, machetes, and firearms usually took place after the wereball match.

Humans called these phenomena “hooliganism”. Personally, I called it primitiveness. However, it was so ingrained in our culture that we just got used to it.

Thanks to the Goddess, wereball players were gifted with hard heads, difficult to break.

Some Ultras clubs had long standing rivalries.

The club of my pack, of which Tiziano was the president or ‘the first in charge’ to mention his words, claimed that the Comet Club equally hated all the other clubs. Deep down everyone knew they had reserved a special spot for the Dark Diamond Ultras Club, whose president was spoken of in the same horrible way as the Terminator.

I did not know his name as Tiziano and co used to call the poor guy with rather colourful nicknames. But apparently the werewolf was a despicable and number one rabid bastard, who would smile innocently and then stab you in the back, the moment you turned. Then he would show everyone the knife smeared with your blood, with a malicious smile.

That day, the score was 32-21, indicating that we were winning with some advantage. The crowd was wild, delirious, which made sense considering they were all fiery werewolves.

Shouts, death threats, cheers, animal snarls, air horns. These were the sounds that echoed through the packed stadium. The typical wereball game sounds.

My father and Tiziano were probably two of the biggest contributors to this turmoil. I shook my head with a smirk at my huge tattooed father. Perceived as utterly frightening by most, only few had known his burlesque side, ever fewer had the honor of receiving his affection, my dad had commanded with his Alpha voice to cheer louder and growl more menacingly. And the Ultras and members of the pack all followed suit. From that moment, they became more violent than ever, encouraged by their own leader sitting among them.

During a wereball match, Alphas and Betas mingled in the crowd. Titles and lineages collapsed. It was a rare opportunity to punch another pack’s Gamma or spit at the rival Alpha and not get punished or initiate a war.

My father, however, was an exception. More irritable than ever since mom left, he seemed possessed that day. No one would ever dare meet his glare, let alone try to insult him, wereball or not.

The classic “High-land-er! Go-Smash-Them!” chant vibrated through our wing, while watching the quarterback pull off yet another dazzling display of athleticism.

Lachlan was on fire that afternoon, dodging two of the opponents and then one of the Jokers (the two wolves that caused chaos during the game, to both teams), with skills that an Alpha would envy. Soon after, he leapt into the air, threw his massive arm back and catapulted it forward, throwing the ball far, strategically towards Caius. The latter, ran like lightning and with an impressive momentum, grabbed the ball, knocked two players, and managed to make a touchdown.

I did not cheer. I flinched as two rivals tackled my brother, starting to punch him, in the face and on the stomach.

“Come on, Highlander!!!” My father roared at his son. “Get rid of them and smash those empty skulls! Show them the real Alpha!”

Crowds spontaneously erupt, especially after hearing their own Alpha’s shouts.

“High-land-er! Go-Smash-Them!”

In a swift move, my brother, currently tackled by six massive players, managed to break two’s noses with two synchronized blows with his elbows and kicked another in the belly, which probably saw all the stars and planets. Right after, Lachlan threw another player at one of the Jokers who was passing by. The last opponent was thrown away by one of our men who had run to help my brother.

Meanwhile, after our touchdown, the rival quarterback wasted no time and was trying to score himself. When he crossed the line of defence, my tutor, Alex, hit him like a bullet train, while a rival player began punching him from behind. Alex, with a grunt, kicked the ball to my brother who was trying to free himself from two opponents. I gasped covering my mouth as I noticed the amount of scratches and bites that decorated his chest. Some wounds definitely needed to be disinfected while others needed to be stitched up. Luckily, I had brought my emergency kit.

They were playing in just a pair of tight shorts.

No shoes, no protections of any kind. Just their muscles, claws and whatever the Moon Goddess had gifted them with. If the madness of wereball was not already enough, the most proud and confident players used to grease themselves with a special gel. It was a cream that did not allow to heal from cuts and injuries. Putting on this absurd cream was considered a pride for your pack, a mockery of the opponent and a display of superiority. My brother had some on his chest, that was too much in my opinion, considering most of the players applied only a little or not at all.

I had heard that the Terminator showered in that gel before a game, but that might be an exaggeration.

Dropping the ball, Lachlan skilfully kicked it towards Caius who managed to get close to another touchdown before three players started kicking and biting him mercilessly, between grunts and insults.

“Come on you, donkey!” Makena suddenly yelled from behind me, hands cupped around her mouth to intensify her scream. “Get out of there!”

Somehow Caius managed to hear her amid all the noise and violence, between punches and bites. Something passed through them when their eyes met. A moment later, he freed himself from the attack, jumped onto one of the player’s shoulders, using him as a support to kick the other two right in the face.

“Yesss!” My screaming friend broke my eardrum. I grinned to myself, happy that the two, for once, weren’t hating each other or trying to pulverize the other with venomous looks.

“He’s looking at you again, Iva!” Tiziano stroked my head, using his special nickname. “Who?” I asked, frowning. Following the direction of his playful eyes, I immediately understood who he meant.

“Our sexy tutor, or should I say hot walking beef and our team’s best defender?”

When Alex realized I had noticed his intense staring, he turned quickly ... was it a blush, a rash or a bloodstain that appeared on his cheeks?

I couldn’t have said it.

~~~~~~~

My brother’s teammates lifted him onto their shoulders as our pack cheered and bellowed from the stands. Meanwhile, the rival fans began to boil as some rocks were hurled. Werewolves were sore loser losers and wereball did not boast rules on the behavior of cheering either.

Like a swarm, fans from the two packs began to enter the stadium.

Here it comes...

And soon after, Golden Fur and Comet collied.

Tiziano growled loudly, avoiding a baseball bat that had been thrown at him, all his joy was gone. With a quick move, he shifted into his wolf and with a mighty leap, catapulted himself towards one of the rival Ultras, who had shouted vulgarities at my twin during the whole game. Tiziano never forgave, especially when it came to me or Lachlan. With one last glance at the ‘war’ in front of me, down the field, I pulled a book out of my bag.

Since I was stuck here, I might as well exploit the time ... Amaia mirrored my action. The girl had come to the game, surprising everyone.

The truth was she cared about my brother, at times I even suspected they were mates.

I snorted when someone was slammed into the seat next to mine, his head hit the iron hard. Fighting was a necessity for werewolves, and we were all used to it before, during or after a game.

Wereball was an escape from modern society. An excuse to go back to the origin, to be wild, to truly unleash yourself. An excuse to destroy the future Beta of a pack or to yell at an Alpha.

When a rock hit Amaia on the shoulder, she growled, shutting her book with a sharp move. Removing her glasses, tossing them to me without a care, she threw the precious book at a girl from the rival team, hitting her right in the forehead. I gasped in shock.

Never in a million years I could have imagined Amaia throwing a book.

A BOOK! Her best friend!

“Fuck it” She snarled, popping her knuckles. “I’m going in” Saying that she joined the bloody crowd.

With a grin, I began to read again, occasionally lowering my head, or moving to the right to dodge various objects of various dimensions.

“Alpha Highness! Are you too superior to fight?” Some rival wolves mocked me from the field. “Or are you just a coward Alpha daddy’s girl?”

Without even sparing a glance, I simply ignored the group of witches, turning a page of my book.

Out of the blue, someone threw a seat at me. My jaw twitched as the same group was snickering. The laughter disappeared as I caught the seat, with one hand.

My reflexes allowed me to dodge anything that thrown at me. My strength to block and counterattack.

Showing my fangs, my nostrils flaring wildly, I glared at one of them. Without averting my burning stare, I flung the seat to her friend, standing right next to her. Gasps and a whimper escaped their surprised mouths as the girl plummeted to the ground, with the seat crushing her.

After that, I rubbed my hands and sat down again as nothing happened.

I noticed that my father was with Lachlan, with his hand placed on his arm. The two were chatting cheerfully amid the commotion and hell. No one dared do anything.

At one point the Golden Fur’s quarterback approached to shake hands with Lachlan. The latter agreed but before he could, Tiziano, my brother’s personal guardian, attacked from behind, probably not trusting his intentions.

Soon after, a group of wolves began fighting each other in a ball of fur, claws, and fangs, while Lachlan and Dad continued to talk about the match nonchalantly.

I stood up, to go and hug my brother as well as check his wounds, when a familiar voice came from the stands, just below.

“Hey Ivy”

And there he was, an almost naked player, wearing only scanty shorts that left little to the imagination, full of scratches, a black eye, and a broken nose, which probably needed fixing.

Alex.

He was scratching the back of his neck, his arms swelled even more.

Realizing that I stared at him for too long without an answer, I blinked. Before I could speak, I squatted to avoid a medium size rock that hit someone behind me with a painful thud.

“Hi Alex, great game!” I complimented, feeling a burning stare on the side of my face.

My brother and father were glaring.

“Thanks...” He trailed off, gazing at the brick-like book in my hand. “You never waste a second, hey!” He chuckled nervously, in a sexy tone that most likely made his female students swoon.

“I was wondering,” He cleared his throat, “would you like to have a drink with me?”

#

AN/ Do you like the sport?

Would you play it?! ;)

Next update on Wednesday! Please write a review <3