“I somehow doubt you are incapable of such a thing. I’ve heard, and seen, you get rather carried away in fighting a female student. Perhaps you may have gone too far, last night?”
“Well, uh, okay, sometimes I do, but I didn’t even see Irene anywhere, last night!” He reconsiders his statement under the eagle eye of Dante, and tries again. “Okay, I did see her, of course. But only at the casino, I swear! Just ask the other officers, they’ll vouch for me.”
“That would be a waste of my time. Ever since Matt’s revolution began, most student officers run when they see me coming. I heard that my sister had wounds on her that suggested she had been cut or stabbed. And, if I recall correctly, your battle morph uses blades, doesn’t it?”
“You, you’re not accusing me of that, are you!? I’m telling you, I was nowhere near the scene, last night. It wasn’t me!”
“That’s hard to claim, since it was among the senior cabins and you are senior. I can see it now. Irene wandering back to her cabin in the middle of the night, with you stalking her. You stop her outside her apartment, challenge her to a fight, she accepts. You somehow overwhelm and defeat her, but you are so crazed over fighting a member of the opposite sex you forgot to stop your swinging when she demorphed. And when it was over, you just left her there, went to your cabin, and called it a night.”
Ryan is speechless, gaping at him, before he objects, “Are you serious here!? Even I wouldn’t believe that! How could I defeat Irene, one of the most feared fighters around here, in a duel?”
“Simple. She was intoxicated. That’s the most logical reason of how you would have pulled it off, and why you were so confident in confronting her. When she morphed, she couldn’t fight, and you just had your way with her. That sound right to you?”
“Gah, I, I, no, of course not! For the last time, man, I did nothing to your damned sister. It wasn’t me!!”
“I’m afraid, with that kind of tone and attitude, you are failing to convince me, Ryan. Besides, who else here on campus would have any reason to treat a woman so savagely, like that? All the evidence is right there, and it all points to you. I suppose there’s nothing more to discuss, then. I’ll just be on my way to the university, and report what I suspect to an officer or professor. Perhaps Professor Serpanz may be in the gym yet.”
Panic and desperation glaze over Ryan’s eyes. Flicking on his sunglasses, he snarls, “Oh no, you’re not going anywhere to be falsely accusing me, Dante Goros! No matter how much you care for that wretched sister of yours, or how much you believe me, I know I am innocent of her bloodshed!” He steps up in front of Dante to block him off, then morphing into his tall, blue-armored, four-armed Shiva Swordsman, rapiers and cutlasses sprouting from his hands, and waves them defiantly as he roars, “Rather than the authorities, you’ll be going to the infirmary, instead!”
***
When Ryan morphed and challenged him, the door opens, and the backdraft, Dante’s inferno, breaks out in a blaze when he morphs and attacks Ryan without warning, dashing forward and leaping up to cut a few times through his left knee with the fiery orange katana in his right hand before kicking off him with another thrust of air balance. Ryan, unprepared for such a swift response, can only fall over grunting with his crippled knee while Dante back-flips and sticks a landing a few yards away. Sitting up to glare back at the smaller Swordsman, he then, rather than trying to stand, remains sitting, his legs crossed before him, hovers a few feet above the ground on air balance, and propels himself at Dante, his four sabers prepared to stab and slash.
When the blades meet him, swinging and stroking past each other in fluid, mesmerizing coordination, they try to catch and shred him. However, as swift as they are, Dante is swifter, parrying the rapiers, jumping over the cutlasses, overall weaving and dodging the flurry with agile use of his air balance. Ryan, ever furious, presses on in his assault, confident that if he keeps the pressure on him he wouldn’t be able to counter him and eventually trip up to become wounded by his swords.
Instead, to his surprise, Dante suddenly lashes out with a rising stroke of his sword, and a powerful gust of wind crashes into him, not dealing any damage but otherwise flinging him up and away. At the peak of his launch, Ryan is baffled of how Dante did that when he sees him appear above him, and he looks stupefied as the katana slices over his chest, leaving streaks of green wounds, before another thrust of air stomps him, bashing his body back into the ground.
Ryan, for a moment lying sprawled on his back, is more confused than angry at what happened. Since when had Dante gotten so good with air balance? Sitting up, he spots him again a few yards away, the amber katana held before him in his ruby armor, his ivory face stone-cold and his golden eyes on fire. Shaking his baffled thoughts out of his head, he growls while resetting his hovering air balance, and shouts, “Okay, wise guy, let’s see you dance past this!” With his sapphire energy blades, all four then shaped as double-edged glaives, he sends himself into a wild spin, becoming an azure, razor-sharp twister closing in upon Dante.
As fearsome and ferocious as his twister attack is, it is also brief when Ryan has to stop himself after a few seconds, his eyes blinking and helmed head bobbing as he fights off dizziness. Once recovered he looks around, enraged that he had again failed to wound, even scratch, him, but can’t find Dante anywhere. Puzzled for a moment, trying to figure out where he could have gone, the answer hits him just as Dante does, dropping down from above and behind him with great speed and force, his katana ripping through Ryan’s spine in a gush of yellow energy.
Brought down to the ground from the heavy slash, Ryan gawks from the severe damage, feeling the vital wound thrumming up-and-down him like a harp’s string, and is again not ready for more of Dante’s attacks when he launches himself airborne, his blade rising to sever Ryan’s two left arms cleanly, drifts and turns around above him, and drops again to chop through the two right arms.
Even more stunned, and horrified, by the loss of his arms, Ryan knows he is as good as beaten and should demorph then. But before he can, Dante mutters, “Seppuku,” before driving his katana, reverse-gripped in his left hand, into Ryan’s abdomen, spins to tear him open in a burst of dark orange energy, enlarges the sword between two hands, thrusts backwards into the open wound, Ryan bending over from the deep stab while the wound bled red, and pulls it out in the same motion as the demorph flash blooming behind him.
***
Falling over on his side, his numb arms reaching for his clenched abdomen, Ryan grimaces through labored breaths, horrified of how he had been ripped apart. After he gets up to his knees, the hot sweat that streaks his brow turns cold when the katana of energy stops short of his neck, holding him in place as he flinches and looks over his askew glasses to Dante looming before him.
His facial expression as reserved as ever, Dante’s quiet voice floats over Ryan, but anger is yet present in the tone of his words. “Whether or not your gossip about her is true, I won’t believe any of it until my sister tells me herself. And as for last night, you can forget about it.” When Ryan’s look of fear becomes quizzical, he reiterates, “Yes, you heard me right. I’ve thought it over, and perhaps you are telling the truth. You don’t have to worry about me accusing you of harming Irene. Now, go, and be on your way. You may want to head for the infirmary and get a bed before it’s crowded, this evening.” Still with a puzzled expression, Ryan nonetheless nods, gets back on his feet, and trots away from Dante still in morph, across the field towards the university far in the distance.
Only when his beaten opponent becomes a speck in the distance does Dante demorph, yet staring at the speck while he broods over what he had, and would later, do. What could be a better way to give him up as the scapegoat for his sister’s attack the other night than to convince him he wouldn’t turn him in? True enough, he wouldn’t turn him in, as he had told him. But that doesn’t mean someone else won’t.
A few words from his colleagues would be all it would take to get the whole campus bu
zzing about the possibility that Ryan was the culprit, and then it wouldn’t be long before officials came for him. His arrest should effectively kill off any more rumors or concerns over his sister, thus allowing the student community to focus again on the conflict between Matt and Cain. That’s what he was hoping would happen, at least.
A light gust blows leaves off the tree nearby, and when the different colors of them drift by Dante grabs the first yellow leaf that crosses him. He stares at the leaf for a moment, having his many feelings and thoughts at the moment pressed down into it. Then, with one last emotion weighing his heart, Dante uses his lighter rune to set the leaf aflame, the golden yellow turning to ashen black when it burns like paper down to his fingers.
Chapter 12
A Mixing of Finalists
***
The next day marks the end of the Royale Project. After school hours, students flock in the halls of the university to deliver their final scores to volunteering school staff at counters. If any got one hundred or more points, they pass with perfection, and the four highest scorers of each badge color would enter the tournament finals. Many of the students are excited and anxious to know who the finalists will be, with rumors, predictions, and boasts already echoing through the college’s corridors.
In one corner of the building, the green badge students are giving their scores to three professors, Kaystone, Malkia, and Serpanz. They record the students’ scores by each of them taking a badge and the student’s name, entering the name on a computer monitor and scanning the badge, and the total points in the badge are automatically entered with the student’s data. The work process is going along casually until the crowd of youths scatter to allow one man through. Nicholas Narqailien strides up to the professors in a quiet demeanor while all around him hush and hold their breath in his presence.
He hands his badge to Prof. Kaystone and confesses his name. Kaystone brings up Nicholas on the computer and scans the badge. He’s about to thank and congratulate Nicholas for his efforts when he double takes a glance at the computer’s screen with confusion. “Uh, Nicholas,” he says. “Either this computer, the badge, or I might be mistaken, but your score looks like, um, one hundred and twenty-six points.” The professor has known Nicholas enough that he gets a huge high score in the Royale Project. The students all know it, too, as ripples of shock and disbelief go through the crowd of them.
“Neither of the latter has an error,” Nicholas replies. “That is my honest score made for this year.”
The mass of students around him begin to whisper their awes or doubts about it while the professors still have trouble comprehending his confession. Prof. Malkia looks worried, and Kaystone and Serpanz glance at each other unsurely. Serpanz then asks him, “Are you sure this is correct, Mr. Narqailein? Could you have accidentally misplaced your badge with someone else’s?”
“I am sure that is my badge, professor. If you will excuse me, I have other places to be.” With no more delay, in prompt military fashion, he turns around and walks away from the astonished students and teachers.
Once he is gone beyond the crowd of students, Kaystone sighs as he taps a few buttons on his computer and says, “Well, I hope he is aware this score is nowhere near the high scores of this year. This will be the first, and last, time Nicholas doesn’t advance to the Royale Project finals.”
As this statement spreads through the students like a shockwave, one of them, alone in the hall’s shadow, is greatly unsettled. Cain had always made sure that, every year since Nicholas’ rise to dominance, he had the same badge color as him. Now, however, he has lost this source of insurance for the tournament, and he realizes he’ll have to beat Matt the hard way as he creeps away from the scene, arguing with his own whispers.
***
The next few days pass without any sort of major event as the student community recovers from its battle royale, except for the sudden arrest of Ryan Gertruiken. On the second day after the end of the project, college officers confronted him at the casino over rumors that he had been the one responsible for harming Irene out of her morph the few nights ago. When his behavior in response was anything but calm and honest denial, they took him into custody for further interrogation and suspension from further college studies or events, which included his participation in the tournament coming up. There was no more time for any gossip around that event, as well as Irene, to spread, for the next day, the first of the weekend, the tournament portion of the Royale Project begins.
All the students on campus and the school faculty gather in the college’s gymnasium, then acting as host to the major event. An audience eager to watch intense battles in the arena below fills the coliseum’s rows of seats, their bodies a sea of miscellaneous colors and their cacophony of voices in countless conversations filling the air. It has already been announced which students made it to the finals for their badge color. The blue had consisted of Sean, Buster, Ryan, and James initially, but with Ryan’s arrest a runner-up was selected to take his place, Amelia. Meanwhile, the green sponsors Dante, Cynthia, Irene, and Cain, and the red features Matt, Rose, Tony, and Lyn.
While the audience settles into the gymnasium, an overhead speaker announces the statistics of the tournament. Unlike in the first part of the Royale Project, the competitors would be fighting those of the same color, and whoever wins their divisionary tournament would advance to the Alkalian College Championship match. The rules for combat are fight until one forfeits by demorph, and to not get the audience caught in the crossfire. If a competitor does anything uncivil, or attacks a demorphed opponent or the spectators, he or she is automatically disqualified. The speaker finishes by wishing luck to the competitors and informing that the blue division would play out first.
In the few minutes left before the preliminary matches kick-off, the fighters themselves are gathered in the women’s locker room, then serving as the waiting room before the arena. Thanks to the wide space of the locker room, with the lockers themselves bordering the walls, the bathroom, and the showering area out-of-sight behind a corner, the twelve students within have plenty of room to divide themselves evenly about, either in small groups of two or three for small chat or to be alone.
Being one of the latter in the scattering of the students, Matt is near a side of the room by himself, leaning against one of the lockers, trying hard to keep control over his habitual nervousness. He would be composed if it weren’t for the wide pupils of his eyes darting about the room, the rapid tapping of his foot, and the jackhammer that has replaced his heart in his chest. He tries to look past the other students, some his allies, some his enemies, but everywhere he looks he focuses on them for the briefest of agonizing moments.
James and Irene are off in a corner of the room by themselves, quietly conversing and trading smirks and shrugs between each other. Lyn and Amelia are almost opposite him across the room, speaking in hushed tones while glancing with scorn at Irene or tenderness at him. Rose and Buster are further along the lockers to his left, Buster clearly so eager he can’t stand still and shut up while Rose laughs or shakes her head. And Sean and Cynthia are on his right, the dazzling damsel clinging to and trying to console the rather anxious freshman.
Beyond the pairs of his fellow competitors, Matt then notices Cain. He finds himself surprised to realize it had only been about two months since they actually met, and yet so much had happened involving them. Oddly enough, his gaze settles on him, because unlike the others, Cain is alone. Furthest away, in a darker corner of the locker room, his back is to everyone as it seems like he keeps rambling off under his breath to himself.
His curious stare at his sworn enemy is broken when Matt jumps at a familiar, calm tone addressing him. “Very convenient, don’t you think?” He turns to his side, seeing Dante there, who goes on with his arms crossed, “The most of the big players in this conflict between you and Cain, gathered into one room, to soon duke it out in the arena. A writer couldn’t have set it up any better.”
“Ah, ye
ah, I suppose.” Matt sighs. “Where did you go?”
Dante raises an eye brow at him before replying, “The bathroom.” Matt blinks, nods, and looks away before he adds, “Had an interesting conversation with Tony in there.”
“Tony?” When he turns back, Matt spots Tony emerge from the bathroom, a scowl on his face while he skulks past the couples to find his own spot on a wall around the room. “What did you guys talk about?”
“Oh, nothing much. Just that even his own lackeys aren’t fond of Cain anymore.” He aims his sharp gaze at the senior in the shadows of the room. “But not because they hate him, too. More because they feel something’s wrong about him. He seems to be in his own little world half the time, and whenever he does respond to others, it’s always in a furious lashing out, like a vicious dog pulling at its chain. If it weren’t for this conflict finally being resolved after this tournament, as it should be, Tony tells me he would have dropped out of Cain’s entourage awhile ago. Even he’s worried that, at anytime, that chain is going to break.”
“Uh huh. I wonder if he knows about it, too.”
“About what?”
Matt twitches, realizing what he almost let slip. “Oh, nothing! Nothing important.” Dante bores into him a moment more with his intimidating eyes before he shrugs and looks away, silently staring at his sister with James across the room. Noticing this, Matt asks, “You still worried about her, after what happened to her that one night?”
“Always. I always worry for her, Matt. It’s one of the curses that love puts upon you.” He continues staring at Irene until she notices it, upon which she fidgets, grabs an unprepared James, and takes him with her into the bathroom. Dante then looks back to Matt and says, “Good luck to you in the tournament, Matt.”
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