Alkalians

by Caleb S. Bugai

  Matt, a bit flustered by her changing of topic, replies, “Uh, I don’t know. I’d rather not head back outside for awhile, with guys trying to force me to fight them. Anything else we could do?”

  “Hmm. How about we head to our study hall? We could chill out there, just you and me.”

  “Oh, uh, okay.” Leaving the table, Matt and Lyn exit the library together, side-by-side, and stroll along the main hall. Something bothers Matt as they walk, and soon he decides to discuss it. “Hey, Lyn.”

  “Yes, Matt?”

  “Is it just me, or are Beast-type Alkalians the strongest kind of all Alkalians?”

  Lyn giggles, and then says, “Any kind of Alkalian can be the best or worst. Throughout history, and even today, there are examples of different Alkalian types being the most powerful. Blade wielders who can cut down any number of foes they face. Those whose guns can annihilate anything before them. Magicians or Elementals whose attacks are just as fierce as nature’s fury. And, as you may have noticed, animal morphs who can unleash supreme primal rage. May I ask what made you consider Beasts?”

  “Ah, three examples I’ve learned about in the past few days. Your dad, that Snake Dark Warrior, and Nicholas Narqailein.”

  “Nicholas? So, those rumors about him fighting you are true?”

  “Yes, they are. And, I beat him.”

  “You defeated Nicholas!? Matt, that’s amazing! Congratulations!”

  Blushing at her praise, Matt says, “Hehe, thanks, but let’s not linger on that matter. I don’t want word of me defeating him going around, or things might get really crazy for me. Anyway, the three I mentioned made me feel like Beasts could be the toughest fighters, since they seem so formidable.”

  “Well, those three also use magic, which adds to the overall potential strength of their battle morphs. Like I said, anyone could be an elite Alkalian in their own way.”

  “Uh huh. Obviously, I now know that Nicholas uses water magic, but what about your father?”

  “Lightning and ice, with some clone spells, the same as me. He emphasizes on the lightning magic more, though.”

  “Oh, okay. And, that Shadow Core terrorist. My dad didn’t say much about what she did spell-wise, just that she was swift and had poisonous bites.”

  “Uh huh, my father mentioned that, too. But she also used clones, and a few earth and fire spells.”

  “Really? Most Beast Alkalians don’t use magic, right?”

  “Correct. If they do, it could either be from family genetics or drug enhancement.”

  “Ah, right. Just wanted to make sure.” They both chuckle, and walk along in silence for a moment. Coming to the door of the reserved study hall, Matt says, “Well, here we are.”

  “Yep, so we are. Hey, Matt, there’s something I’ve, wanted to ask you, for awhile.”

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  “Well, I’ll tell you, once we’re in the study, alone.” Lyn is the one blushing this time, with Matt looking puzzled, while she gets out a card key to open the lock on the door. Before she can, however, the placid quiet in the hall around them is broken by the sounds of feet pounding the floor, and a cry of “Lyn! Lyn, there you are!” They whirl around to see Amelia slowing to a stop before them, panting as she may have been running for awhile. “Amelia?” Lyn asks. “What’s wrong? What is it?”

  Amelia takes a moment to catch her breath before replying between inhales, “Irene, it’s, Irene. She’s, preying upon lower classmen, interrupting their fights and stealing their wins. I came looking for you, as fast as I could.”

  In sudden anger, Lyn cusses, “Fire Spirit burn that bitch! Where is she?”

  “She, she was by the casino, the last I know of. The others didn’t engage her, not without you being there, yet.”

  “Alright.” She turns back to a confused Matt, saying, “Sorry, Matt, but duty calls,” and then tells Amelia, “You stay here with Matt, to keep him company until he decides to go back to the cabins.” Amelia nods before Lyn takes off in a sprint down the hallway, leaving the two behind by the door.

  When they are the ones alone, Matt blinks at Amelia, asking, “Um, what’s going on?”

  Having slowed to take easier breaths at last, Amelia explains, “Irene Goros is causing havoc among the lower classmen yet fighting for points. She waits around while they fight, and then at the opportune moment jumps in and defeats them, granting neither student points for winning while she may get some, instead. Some of us call such a thing ‘score snatching’, others simply call it cheating.”

  “Oh. I guess that is a bad thing, yeah. Why would she be doing that?”

  “Eh, usually for the simple reason that it’s easier than fighting someone fairly, and therefore an easier way to score points. She’s not the only one who’s done it, over the years. It’s a flaw in the Royale Project’s dynamics that no one’s been able to fix yet.”

  “Uh huh. So, are you okay, Amelia?”

  She leans her shoulder against the wall in exhaustion, wiping back some hair from her brow while nodding. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Phew, too bad I couldn’t be morphed here in the college. I haven’t run this much in a long time!”

  Matt finds himself staring at the sweat beading upon the cleavage of her chest before clearing his throat and saying, “Ah, really? You don’t have gym class, with Professor Serpanz?”

  “Nope, not for my senior year. Didn’t feel like being bossed around by her anymore. As a consequence, seems I’ve gotten a bit out of shape, haha.”

  Matt laughs, too, and replies, “Oh, you don’t look that bad to me.” After he says it, he realizes what it implied, and is embarrassed. “Gah, um, I’m sorry, Amelia, I meant…”

  “No, no, you’re fine, Matt. Compliment accepted.” She has on that warm, alluring smile of hers as she straightens before asking, “So, what shall we do, in the study here?”

  “Um, well, if you wouldn’t mind, we could…” Matt hesitates with a gulp, and dares to ask, “Do it again, maybe?”

  “I wouldn’t mind at all, Matt. I would love to, actually.” After taking out her card key and opening the door, Amelia flashes her smile at him, at which he smiles in return, and he follows her into the study, the door closing and locking behind them.

  ***

  Later that evening, long after the sun has set and there are no more battles going on, Irene strolls along across the fields, a bit unsteady on her feet as she sways left-and-right. Chuckling to herself, her face blushing and eyes twinkling like the stars above, she is clearly drunk.

  After her fun with the lower classmen, as well as her shooting up Lyn’s gang when they tried stopping her, was interrupted by the Wolf herself, she retreated into the casino, staying there the rest of the day. While she had her good time drinking and dancing, plus bullying or flirting with other students, man or woman, it wasn’t as eventful as the one party she had been at the previous night, where she had an especially pleasurable encounter with another woman.

  This night, though, the only thing on Irene’s befuddled mind is getting back to her cabin for a long, hot shower and a good night’s sleep. Whether she was alone to give herself pleasure, or if she could convince one of her cabin mates to join her if they were still awake, would satisfy her appetite either way. Soon enough, she reaches the plot for the senior cabins, spinning around in a daze for a moment as she tries finding her own cabin.

  Once she spots the cabin she believes is hers, Irene smirks while pointing at it, mumbling out, “There you are,” before shambling over, almost stumbling when she goes up the few steps to the door. She tries to open the door, but it doesn’t budge. For the next several seconds, she pulls on or shoves into the door, muttering curses and obscenities at it under her breath. Finally stepping back to calm down and slow her huffing breath, she is glaring at the defiant door when she pauses, then turns around, scanning the clearing behind her.

  Amidst the patches of light provided by the cabins and the shadows sown between them, Irene sees nothing. Her blurry
vision blending the light and darkness into a mess, she blinks in puzzlement, sure she had just heard something, before she then remembers another thing. Guffawing, she turns back to the door, reaching into her pocket to take out the card key to unlock it.

  With the card in her hand, Irene smirks at it, about to put it through the slot by the door, when a sharp object flies into her hand, the card falling out of her flinching fingers while she recoils with a gasp. Staring at her hand, where a shuriken pierced it, her face goes from drunk red to pale white as she watches the blood, her blood, streaming down her arm from the wounds. Her clouded mind yet trying to make sense of it, someone grabs her from behind, a hand clamping over her mouth to mute her shriek while a blade is held by her neck. Trembling like a quill in the unsteady hand of a poet, Irene’s eyes are wide open in terror, twitching when the blade’s edge traced a thin cut across her throat, before a voice whispers into her ear. “Now you know what fear feels like.”

  Irene is sure she was going to die. She still thinks it when she feels herself twisted around and flung off the steps, slammed into the ground face first. In the brief moment after impact, her injured hand smearing the dewy grass red with blood, she realizes she can morph and defend herself. She does so, up on her feet in a morphing flash, her left arm a rifle jabbing around her frantically as she looks for her assailant.

  In her drunken panic, however, Irene forgot an important thing. If she was still drunk, her battle morph’s senses would be screwed up. Blinking in numb confusion, lights and shadows swimming and swirling in her eyes, her body moves slowly and erratically, and her attempts to air balance only make a gust rush through her, almost blowing her over.

  Irene still struggles to get control over her morph when the assailant jumps on her from behind, dragging her down to her knees as a dagger dives deep between her shoulder and neck, green wound energy spouting out of her. Left gasping from the strike, Irene tries flailing to free herself and get away, her legs kicking at the slick ground, but her incapacitation allows the foe to dot her with darkening wounds through another dagger, stabbing or tearing into her back, side, and chest. Once her wounds are ruby red like the bloody grass, she feels the first dagger at last exit her torso, but only for the second one to slice open her neck, more wound energy pouring out of her before she demorphs.

  Both her body and mind traumatized from the assault, Irene is breathless, her hands reaching blindly to her neck and chest, before she gets pulled back by her hair, sprawled out beneath her assailant. At last, she sees the face of the foe, but all she can see is a steely expression, with hair as scarlet as blood, and some kind of leafy crown or head band over where the eyes would be. She can’t see the eyes, but she can feel their stare, piercing her more deeply than the daggers, and she inhales a sharp breath, more afraid for her life than ever.

  The assailant raises the dagger in its right hand, the dark of the leaf-like blade eclipsing the bright moon above, casting its shadow over Irene’s face gleaming with tears. For the longest instant, the deathly leaf hangs from its sinister branch in the moonlight before it swiftly falls in a black breeze.

  ***

  Rather than her heart or head, the blade buries itself in the soft ground next to Irene’s face, but she still flinches as if it struck her. After staring into the masked face of the assailant, she, either from the trauma to her body or the distress to her mind, faints with a final breath released out of her. As for the assailant, it stays still for a moment before it picks up Irene’s unconscious form and sets her back on the stairs before the cabin’s door. Briefly in the light, the figure turns out to be feminine in frame before she ducks back into the shadows, leaving her victim where she laid her and others would find her later.

  The only thing left behind that could have tied her to the scene of the crime, the leaf dagger planted in the ground, vanishes in the same instant she demorphs behind the cabin. The leafy shuriken earlier is gone, too, erased when Irene herself had morphed. Rose Alamence strokes back some hair from her forehead, her green eyes the only hint of light on her in the darkness.

  Instead of her usual attire, she wears a suit of black, skin-tight leather, completely covering her from the neck down, and her red hair blends well with the dark to become near unnoticeable. She has nothing else on her, except her clan’s amulet pressed against her beneath her suit, and her badge for collecting points on the belt around her waist. Plucking it off the belt and checking the back of it, she sees she had made a high score in that last encounter. Forty-four points, out of the fifty possible.

  Rose finds that convenient, having killed two birds with one knife, and puts the badge back before crouching and stalking off through the cabin plots, incredibly swift and silent, while staying in the shadows so that nobody who may be out could have known she was ever there.

  ***

  The darkness departs as the next day dawns, and with it the final day of the Royale Project. It is the last chance for students to get points, and after school hours about every individual student is out in the fields across campus, at the pit arena in the casino, or even at the court with the rune pillars to the northeast, to get in as many battles as they can. All, except for Dante.

  With the faint sounds and stirred dust of fighting far behind him, he is alone in the fields, approaching a single tree among the plain. Autumn leaves have covered the ground around the tree, some blown farther about by the gentle wind, and it stands as one of few places of peace and tranquility that day on the campus.

  Dante picks up two leaves, one bright yellow and the other dark orange. Glancing at each, he puts them into the same hand, letting them lay side-by-side. After a moment of gazing at them, he crushes them in his grip as he thinks of his relationship between himself and his sister.

  It was between classes in the halls that he had first gotten wind of the latest buzz, how Irene had been found unconscious and bloodied outside her cabin that morning. She was sent to the infirmary, where the nurses assured everyone that she would be fine with enough rest, but it wasn’t the physical damage to her that had him worried. He believes somewhere, somehow, his sister had crossed the line in her scandalous behavior, and someone had informed her of this through vicious violence.

  As Dante wonders what exactly happened to his sister, what she may have done to deserve it, and who could have done such a thing to her, a sneering voice cuts into the solemn peace around him. “Hello, Dante Goros. How’s it going?” He turns around to face a man with black sunglasses, a purple-colored officer suit, and smooth beard-and-side-burn hair trim. He looks cocky with his arms crossed and a big grin on his face. “Shouldn’t you be fighting somebody for points?”

  Dante, opening his hand to let the wind blow away the leaf bits he drops, replies, “I don’t think that is any of your business, Ryan. I’ve been competing hard in the last few days, and today I wanted a small break.”

  “Aw, don’t get grouchy, Dante, I was just asking. Hey, how about we duke it out ourselves? I’ve got a blue badge, you’ve got green. It won’t take long, I’m sure.”

  “No thanks. I’ve got enough of a high score. Four hundred and eighty-five, to be exact.” Dante walks over to the tree, sits down, and gets out his utensils to begin smoking.

  Ryan, frowning, shrugs and stands there for a moment. He then tries a different topic, removing his glasses to reveal his blue eyes and saying, “So, I bet you’ve heard about Irene, right? The new rumor going around?”

  Dante gets aggressive at Ryan’s statement about his sister, but hides it with a monotone response. “Of course. She was found on the doorstep of her cabin, beaten and bloodied by some unknown assailant.”

  “Oh, no, no, not that piece of news. I mean, everyone should know about that! I’m talking about a different kind of rumor.”

  “…Then no, I can’t say I have. The only rumors I’ve heard have been ones involving Matt or Cain.”

  “Ah, right, of course. You’re probably really busy in that area. Okay, I’ll tell you it myself.
It seems that a few nights ago, just before last night, in fact, Irene got a little frisky. Too frisky.”

  Dante isn’t too surprised or concerned, puffing out smoke from his nostrils when he remarks, “What was it this time, abusive drinking, wild flirting, or rowdy behavior? I already know she’s doing them.”

  “Ah, but this time,” Ryan explains, “she did all three, to the extreme! Apparently, she was at a party that night, an all girl’s party, when she got rather rough in her flirting, suggesting some, heh, naughty things to the other girls. And then, she convinced one of them to get naughty with her, if you know what I mean.”

  Dante’s heart skips a beat, his action to inhale a puff of his cigarette stopped half-way. His eyes wide and voice cracking, he asks, “She did what?”

  “Yes, yes, I know you can’t conceive your sweet sister doing such a thing, but I got this news from reliable sources. As much as I would like imagining it, I couldn’t know for sure what she and her partner did the rest of the evening. But I’m sure it would have been delightful to watch!”

  Through great struggle, Dante manages to withdraw most of his emotions, except for the sense of a backdraft behind a door, waiting for the door to open and be released. He finishes his smoking in silence, stands up, drops the cigarette and rubs it out, and then says, “Ryan. May I ask where you were, last night?”

  “Last night? Uh, I was at the casino for some time, sexually harassing some girls, before…! Whoa, whoa, hang on, I know what you’re asking here. I assure you, I had nothing to do with what happened to your sister, nothing! I mean, I like having my way with the women, you know, but I would never, never do anything to them like someone did to Irene!”