Iron Prince: A Progression Sci-Fi Epic (Warformed: Stormweaver Book 1)

by Bryce O'Connor

  The tunnels swallowed him, claiming much of the sound of Viv and Benaly’s match. Rei regretted that he wouldn’t be able to see the end of the fight, but he was honestly more relieved to find that Warren didn’t share the hall he descended into, having either lingered a bit longer with her “friends” or more likely taken another stairwell down. Thinking it best they not run into each other if it could be helped, Rei turned left instead of right, heading north up the tunnel as the smart-glass panes along the walls flickered and faded in and out of life when he passed.

  As he walked, he fought back the worry.

  Mateus Selleck had gotten through both his first and second matches. They’d been advantageous pairings for him, but the fact remained that he was now in the top thirty-two fighters in the winner’s bracket, halfway to qualifying for Sectionals undefeated. Logan Grant, meanwhile, had performed as expected the day before, following up Catcher’s win with an utter domination of poor Casey Foreman, who couldn’t seem to get a break. Grant might have lost his first match against Aria—and even that not without an impressive fight—but there was little doubt he would be ripping through the losers bracket to qualify. Tad Emble had lost his match the previous day, knocking him into the losers, but even this Rei knew would only be a small comfort until he stood victorious over Warren.

  If he fell now, he suspected he would never have the same chance to impress on Grant or Selleck, or any of his other doubters, that he deserved his place within the walls of Galens, and had deserved it from the very start.

  The first of the eastern professional locker rooms came into view as the tunnel straightened out from its bend out of the south end of the stands. Ordinarily kept barred from access by the cadets, the chambers had been set to unlock for use from noon to 1700 every day while the Intra-Schools were going on. Most students, funny enough, had still preferred the longer trek down to the subbasement to change in more familiar settings before they fought. Rei had been one of them the week before, but he was curious, and decided not wanting to run into Warren made a perfect excuse for a change of scenery. The pros had to have it better than the student’s subterranean locker rooms, right?

  As soon as he stepped under the sensor, letting the single steel door slide open for him with a hiss, Rei knew he wasn’t likely to be disappointed.

  The chamber was smaller than the subbasement’s—a lot smaller—but that made sense. There were a good number of such upper-level locker rooms built for the pros who visited on the not-infrequent occasions Galens hosted a major tournament, and had been designed so that squads prepping for Team Battle and Wargame matches could do any last-minute prep and pepping separate from the other groups. What was more, Rei got the impression that each of the rooms was probably individually decorated.

  It was hard to imagine a dozen such identical spaces lining the underbelly of the stands.

  The theme looked to be Victorian red and black, complete with a pair of wide, burgundy sofas taking up the middle of the chamber. On either side of this handsome seating arrangement a row of lockers gleamed crimson under several ornate solar lights that each hung with dark crystal, like small, gothic chandeliers. The back wall of the room looked to be entirely comprised of smart-glass, displaying the image of a massive fish-tank painted black. This might have been odd, except it made it easier to show off the rippling, incandescent forms of several long, glow-in-the-dark inhabitants awash with blueish light along slow-moving fins and tails.

  Then Rei made out the gentle blub-blub-blub of air circulating through water, and realized abruptly that the “image” was no image at all.

  He decided then that saying the pros “had it better” was something of an understatement.

  A notification blinked into Rei’s vision, the courtesy reminder that 5 minutes of his allotted 15 had passed since his summoning to the Arena floor. With a curse he hurried to the nearest row of lockers to pull open the first he reached. In quick order he’d stripped out of his uniform, hanging everything in the anti-grav compartment, then slipped into his combat suit. As it zipped itself up for him automatically, he realized the fabric was starting to feel a little tight around his thighs, shoulders, and other—more concerning—places. He made a note for himself to talk to the quartermaster about getting resized again soon. According to his checkups he’d gained nearly an additional half-inch, and in another couple weeks he was probably going to push over the 5’7” mark.

  The thought made Rei pause, and as his suit sealed close behind the nape of his neck he brought his arms up to take them in. A black hair tie—borrowed from Viv—ringed one wrist above Shido’s band, but aside from that…

  No new scars.

  It was strange to think about, strange to consider. It wasn’t something he was used to. Shido had gotten control of his fibrodysplasia faster than any of them—even the optimistic Lieutenant Colonel Mayd—had been willing to hope. The old markings were still there, pocking and lining his skin like the healed battle wounds of an old life.

  An old life…

  Rei smirked at himself, then snorted out loud as he let his arms drop. What was he worried about, in the long run? So what if he fell? So what if Warren managed to take him down today? Had he started down this path—this strange, wonderful, excruciatingly difficult path the MIND had offered him—to prove himself to a bunch of ISCM cadets? Of course not. Rei was after bigger game. He was aware of that, now. Ever since he’d hit C0, he’d been aware of that. Seventeen ranks, he climbed. Seventeen, from the day he’d stepped within the borders of the Institute. Shido had slowed down a bit when he’d hit the Ds—and he had no doubt the CAD would do the same as he pressed into the Cs—but it all made no difference. His trajectory was higher, much higher.

  So what if he fell?

  Rei’s smirk turned into a grin. He knew he’d kick himself for a fool later if he actually lost, but in the moment coming to terms with the reality of his situation was exactly what he needed. If he fell, he’d probably spend the next couple of months hot around the collar and unable to meet Logan Grant’s black-red eyes for disappointed embarrassment.

  But then the day would come where Rei would pass the Mauler’s Rank, and he was pretty sure a slip-up of the past would be pretty quickly forgotten.

  The weight of concern lifting of his chest, Rei stood straight, closing the locker he’d claimed to move with purpose out of the chamber and once more down the south hall. As he did he tugged the borrowed hair tie from his wrist to bind the top and back of his white locks—which had grown long in the months since school started—into a tail behind his head. Fortunately he’d be called to report to the east side of the field, just like during his match with Jiang, so there was no risk of meeting Warren until they faced each other now.

  But then again… What did it matter?

  Still grinning, Rei finished gathering his hair up as he reached the ramp he was looking for. Pulling the tail once to make sure no loose strands would fall into his eyes during the match, he turned right, and a few seconds later emerged from the underworks onto the Arena’s main field.

  The fight happening now was no longer Viv and Benaly’s. With guilty disappointment Rei peered up at the suspended field to make out none other than Kay taking on a Duelist from 1-C he was pretty sure was called Ashely Renton. Kay had won her opening week’s match, Rei recalled, which made this fight a battle for who would claim the second of the four wins the two girls would need to qualify right out of the gate.

  Unfortunately for Ashley Renton, however, the fight looked already largely well-decided.

  While he’d only ever had minimal opportunity to see Kay fight during cross-training days, what Rei had witnessed had been more than enough to call her out as a likely shoo-in for Sectionals. One of the summer training group, she’d consistently demonstrated a scary aptitude for the long-spear that formed the weapon of her Lancer-Type Device. The CAD—funny enough—was a blue-and-purple lined with red vysetrium, almost perfectly matched Kay’s own hai
r. At the moment, she was streaking through a Woodlands variation on armored legs, chasing the green-and-grey retreating form of Renton, spear slashing left and right. The weapon had a long, wide crimson blade, trailing bright arcs through the canopy-shaded air with every swing. Where it made contact with a tree there was always an explosion of splintered wood, and judging by the respectable amount of kindling that littered the field—and not a few felled saplings—Kay had been doing everything she could to clear her vicinity of obstructions everywhere she went, refusing to allow her reach to be limited. Renton, it appeared, wasn’t willing to play her game, and kept withdrawing into a new part of the forest, denying any engagement as she did her best to force Kay into an advantageous position. It was entertaining for a minute.

  After two, Rei was more bored than impressed.

  “Warning: Match Violation.”

  The Arena’s voice chimed in, and immediately everything within the boundary of the field froze like time itself had come to a standstill. There was a flickering of the projection, then the whole thing turned transparent, leaving barely the ghost of the forest’s outline suspended in the air around the two girls, who were less statuesque than the rest of the area only in the fact that they appeared still-able to turn their heads.

  And turn them they did, facing as one the north end of the ring, where Dyrk Reese and John Marcus—the day’s commentator—stood atop the observation platform.

  “Cadet Renton, I find you in violation of combat etiquette.” Major Reese’s voice rumbled, amplified, and his tone was one that had no one mistaking him for any sort of pleased. “I assign you a penalty for excessive flight. Should you suffer a second penalty, I will assign you a match loss. Is that clear?”

  With her head turned away from him, Rei couldn’t tell the kind of expression Renton was making. Her sullen answer, however, was enough to tell she wasn’t thrilled with the situation.

  “Yes, sir. It won’t happen again, sir.”

  “No. It won’t.”

  And then, on that threatening note, Reese’s eye flared, and the field blinked into opacity once more. Almost at once Rei made out a floating red number 5—the same markers they used in their parameter testing days—appear before both Kay and Renton as the two faced each other again.

  “Combat resumption initiated,” the Arena announced calmly. “Countdown begins… now.”

  The 5 flicked to a 4, then a 3.

  When it hit 0, the projected field resumed all motion without arrest, like no interruption had occurred. Both Kay and Renton stumbled a little as momentum that had only been temporarily suspended reclaimed their bodies. Kay was the first to recover, but she’d chased the Duelist into a thick knot of young maples, and so her priority became opening the area for herself to keep from getting her spear stuck against a tree when she tried to close in for the killing blow. Narrow trunks exploded around her with every step she took, the Lancer chopping at everything and anything that came into range. Splinters and bark sprayed across the air, serving a dual purpose now. For one, it wasn’t more than a few breaths before Kay had managed to cut herself a miniature sort of clearing for herself within the copse.

  Second, the timber shrapnel made it hard for Renton, who had finally halted in her flight, to close the distance between the two of them without covering her eyes for fear of being blinded.

  Rei found himself disappointed, when the real fighting finally began. The Duelist was no match for Kay—that had been obvious from the go—but she was hardly unskilled, and put up an excellent show for herself once the pair of them finally engaged. She was never allowed within range to strike with either of her blades, but nor did she provide Kay with anything like an easy target, slipping and sliding between the Lancer’s thrusts and slashes with a fluidity that was nearly as impressive as Viv’s grace. Had she been willing to engage from the start, Rei was pretty sure no one would have had cause to think less of the girl.

  Instead, he wasn’t the only one to sport a frown along the east wall of the Arena floor, shared with the other first years who were preparing for their own fights.

  In the end, Kay resorted to playing dirty, turning the tables so fast on the Duelist the end of the match came in a flash. The volleying of strikes were one-sided, the Lancer’s longer weapon a snaking blur as she whirled it expertly through both hands, about her body, and even around her neck and waist on several separate occasions. Her movement was without pause, the red vysetrium of her spear a constant streak in the shadows of the greater trees at the edge of the space the pair were battling it out in. It screamed through the air, joining in the clanging and shrieks of steel on steel. A trio of movements slammed at Renton from both sides, then down in a ripping chop at the girl’s head. She caught the blade in both her own, shoving it up and away. Kay went with the momentum, tucking the weapon close and making to lance the blunt end of it at the Duelist’s gut. Renton dodged back, blades ready to parry a follow-up slash.

  Unfortunately for her, that was the exact moment she stepped into the trap set by the feint.

  Instead of driving forward with the butt of the spear, Kay swung down and let the blade tear into the earth beneath the trampled grass and shattered wood at her feet. The ground erupted in a small explosion of dirt and splinters, spraying Renton full in the face before the Duelist could think to shield herself. She reeled, hacking at what must have been a mouthful of earth, rubbing at her eyes with the back of one hand in an attempt to clear her vision. For Kay, it was more than enough time to lunge, spear thrust forward to its fullest extent.

  The vysetrium blade vanished into the grey of Renton’s tunic, running her through the sternum with almost impeccable precision as the Duelist went stiff in a spasm of pain and confusion.

  “Fatal Damage Accrued. Winner: Kay Sandree.”

  The scattered cheering from the limited spectators that had been in the stands was a little muffled from his lower place against the wall, but Rei himself made sure to clap as loud as he dared when the Lancer and her defeated opponent drifted down to the projection plating. Kay gave him a smile when she caught sight of him. Once she touched down and turned her back to him—recalling her Device to see about helping a prone Ashley Renton to her feet—Rei finally took a moment to pull up his NOED, crafting out a quick message to Aria.

  Viv?

  He didn’t have to wait too long for a reply.

  I’ll tell you after the match. Focus.

  Rei snorted, supposing he shouldn’t have been surprised.

  What was more, Aria was right. He did need to focus.

  After Kay took her leave of the floor—passing with a quick thumbs up to him for good luck—the three matches before his own went by in a flash. He was pleased to see Sense take down a Mauler from 1-D named Emanuel Ramir, but the bald Brawler had come in from the west side of the stadium, and didn’t notice Rei before or after the match. After that it was a winner’s bout between Conrad Fae and Misha Fethers—with the Brawler Fethers taking out the Lancer in rather quick order—followed by Gillian North against one of the 1-B Phalanxes, Oscar Colt. After North finally walked away from the match the victor—leaving Colt trembling on unsteady legs after having been cut in two by the girl’s massive axe—Rei felt his mouth start to go dry.

  “A solid fight with a satisfying end,” John Marcus—in a rather unenthusiastic voice for an announcer—intoned. “Congratulations to Cadet North as she moves on to the next round. Next up, we’ve got Reidon Ward versus Camilla Warren. Cadets, approach the field.”

  Rei might have imagined it, but it felt like an unusual number of eyes followed him as he stepped away from the wall and made for the east edge of the Dueling area. Reese’s glare he could have sensed from a mile away, he was sure, and Marcus’ eyes moved from him to where he knew Warren would be paralleling him on the other side of the floor, but just those two wouldn’t have made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end like they were now. If he’d looked around, Rei would have bet anything al
most every face in the stands would have been turned on him, rather than his opponent.

  It seemed the school as a whole, too, felt like there was something for him to lose in this match.

  Feeling a little of that earlier resolve not to care crack a bit, Rei focused all his energy on holding his confidence together as he made the edge of the field, turning inward. Across from him Warren looked to have reached her waiting spot a second before, because she was already glaring over the plating when he met her orange eyes. She wasn’t smirking, though. She wasn’t even leering. Indeed, she seemed like she was anything but keen on the position she’d found herself in, as though she would have rather been anywhere else in that moment than standing opposite him on the field of battle.

  For some reason, this—more than anything else—turned out to be what Rei’s shaking self-assurance was in need of, because with the warmth of satisfaction at the sight of her glowering face he found himself able to smile at the girl with ease.

  He thought he heard more than one laugh from the stands as Warren’s expression darkened.

  “Combatants, take position.”

  Dyrk Reese, as ever, was nothing other than professionally clean-cut when he gave the command, as though nothing in particular was out of the ordinary regarding this specific fight. Rei and Warren together did as they were told, moving as one towards the mirrored circles of red that had appeared at the officer’s words.

  “This is as an official Duel.” The major—infuriatingly—had returned to his full rendition of the combat consent as soon as the first years had started their second week. “It will therefore be subject to regulation ruling. Once the field is formed, you will be ordered to call, then engage. Premature Device manifestation will result in a penalty. Premature approach, attack, or the like will result in a match loss. Is that understood?”