Alkalians

by Caleb S. Bugai

  “Oh, uh, and to you, too, Dante.” Dante nods before stepping away, going to join Sean and Cynthia at their end of the lockers. He was still wondering over the relationship between him and Irene, and what that was like, having a sibling to worry for, when Matt gets more company. Lyn has put on a happy face as she appears by him with Amelia in tow.

  “Well, Matt, how are you holding up?” she asks, leaning her shoulder into the locker beside him, her ample cleavage in clear view.

  “Hmm? Oh, fine! I’m fine, as fine as I could be, when I’m about to fight with an arena full of spectators watching me.”

  Both Lyn and Amelia laugh at him before she replies, “That’s no surprise, with this being your first time. It’s not so bad, though, trust me. Just focus on your opponent, and you’ll forget you have an audience soon enough.”

  “Yeah, if you say so. Um, so how exactly will this tournament play out? Before we weren’t supposed to fight our own colors, but now we will?”

  “Right,” Amelia responds. “The four highest scoring students of each color go through semifinal knockouts, and the winners of each color will face off in a three-way final battle for the championship.”

  “Uh huh. I see. Which means…” He looks eye-to-eye with Lyn. “I’ll end up fighting you?”

  “Ah, maybe.”

  “Maybe? What do you mean?”

  “Well, Matt, there’s a nice twist to this tournament. Instead of one student representing each color in the finals, two do. Which means if we’re lucky in the random assortment, we won’t fight each other, and instead fight together in the finals!”

  “Really? Hah, that sounds great! I mean, I guess it does.” Matt remembers something else when he looks to Amelia. “But then, we could end up fighting you, in the finals.”

  “Yes, unfortunately,” Amelia nods. “But there are usually temporary truces formed between like-minded competitors at the start of the match. Which means if Cain and/or Irene happen to make it to the finals, too, we can team up and take them down, first.”

  “Ah, okay. Hey, speaking of Irene, what do you two think about what happened to her? I couldn’t help but notice how you were both giving bad looks at her.”

  The senior women glance at each other, briefly hesitant, before Lyn shrugs with a frown, saying, “What’s there to think? She’s a cold, cruel, reckless excuse of a senior student, a disgrace to her noble family and state of Saratu.”

  “Well, yeah, maybe. But aren’t you somewhat concerned about how she was attacked, out-of-morph, the other night? Who would do that to her, with her being a student here?”

  Again the women exchange glances, and Amelia replies, “I, we don’t know, really, but we have a theory or two as to why someone would do that. I mean, I do, at least.”

  “Really? Why’s that?”

  Before Amelia tells him, to Matt’s surprise, Lyn interjects, “Amelia, you don’t have to tell him! He doesn’t need to know, nobody needs to know that.”

  “Lyn, it’s too late for that, the rumors have already been going around, before she was attacked. I might as well tell him myself, before he hears it from someone else.” Taking a deep breath, she looks down to an ever curious Matt, explaining in a lowered voice, “You see, Matt, a few nights ago, the night before she was attacked, in fact, she and I happened to be at the same party, and we, we slept together.”

  Matt’s eyes go wide, briefly struck dumb by images flashing through his head, before he asks, “You, you’re serious?”

  “But it’s not like Amelia wanted to!” Lyn adds in her defense, also whispering. “You have to understand, Matt, that Irene’s been known to become very reckless in her flirtatious, and even vicious, behavior. At that party, she, she…”

  “I’ll tell him, Lyn,” Amelia informs her, to which she sadly nods. She goes on to Matt, spite in her tone rather than sorrow, “It was an all-girls party at one of the senior cabins, and Irene had rudely invited herself. She quickly got drunk, started making passes at some of the other girls, and when no one was naturally responding in kind she threatened to get violent, in her battle morph. No one, especially me, wanted anyone, even her, to get in the huge kind of trouble fighting within a cabin causes, so I, I stepped up to calm her down and, well, satisfy her. So we went to a bedroom, and we, we did what she wanted, until she passed out.”

  Matt blinks, still dumbstruck by what Amelia says happened with her and Irene, before he gets out, “So, that means Irene’s, um, isn’t there a word for it? Loving the same gender, rather than the opposite?”

  “Yes. Homosexual.” Lyn growls, “But she’s worse than that, Matt, she’s bisexual. Notice how she was with James, over there? Remember when Amelia told us that she was preying on weaker students in unfair fights, the other day? We later found out that’s because she’s allied with James now, not Cain, and they got their high scores in the royale because they were snatching from the lower classmen. And knowing James’ reputation with his lady friends, you can be sure they’ve done it a few times since they joined up.” She points to the corner of the locker room, to the bathroom, adding, “I bet you they’re doing it right now, back there, as we speak!”

  Matt looks with shock at the mention of it, then back to them. “Well, one could hope not, with all of us here and a tournament about to start! But, does Dante know any of this?”

  The women consider that concern, shrug, and Amelia answers, “Maybe, maybe not. Either way, we probably shouldn’t tell him. He cares so much for that sister of his, he could become quite upset if he learned about, ah, her and me. And trust us, when you’ve seen Dante get upset, you never forget it.”

  “Ah. Okay.” Matt settles down, somehow, when he shakes his head and says, “Well, good luck in the tournament, Amelia and Lyn. Let’s hope to see each other at the end!”

  Matt’s clearing head becomes clouded again when Lyn says, “Yes, let’s hope!” before giving him a quick kiss on the cheek and walking back to the other lockers, while Amelia smiles, nods with a wink, and brushes back her lovely brown hair when she turns and follows.

  ***

  Matt stares after his two lady friends, his hand rubbing the cheek Lyn left a kiss on, and wonders about the kiss and the wink before he gets a sudden slug to his shoulder. Jolting from the hit, he whirls to Buster glaring down at him, getting out, “Hey, what was that for?”

  “Heh, what do ya think? For cramming a cork down Nicholas’ blow hole without me being there to see it!” He laughs while Rose steps into view from behind him, claps Matt on the same shoulder, making him wince, and says, “Damn, Matt, that’s amazing, how you beat Nicholas in a duel. Not even I have pulled that off, yet! Come on, tell me what happened, how did you do it?”

  Stumbling for words to reply, Matt glances to Rose, who shrugs, and answers, “Well, I, I guess I just realized at some point I had to take him out with one shot. If I had never attempted it or missed, then I’m sure I would have lost.”

  “Hmm, a convenient moment of desperate inspiration? Yeah, I get ya. Happens to the best of us, sometimes. Hopefully, it will happen to some of us in this tournament coming up!” Buster growls, his fingers anxiously flexing. “Gah, I can’t wait anymore! I gotta have some smack talk with my fellow blues before we start, and consider how each of them could benefit me as a partner. Ah, there’s James, now! Hey, James!!” He lunges away from Matt and Rose, yanking a surprised Sean by the neck of his jacket, and crosses the locker room in big strides towards James and Irene, who rolls her eyes and sulks out of the way.

  Watching a moment longer as Buster shoves Sean into James, then whistles and beckons an amused Amelia over to join them, Matt shakes his head, slightly frowning. “Wow, he’s really excited about this, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah, he could barely contain himself while talking to me.” Rose has a small smirk on her as she watches Sean squirming in the company of three seniors around him, and looks to Matt. “What about you? Are you excited?”

  “Heheh, um, I suppose I am, a little. And you?�
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  “Well, to be honest, I’m incredibly nervous. I’ve told myself to expect getting to this point at some time in my career, but I wasn’t expecting to be here in my first year at college!”

  “Hah, yeah, me too. Well, about the whole being here part. Actually, I’m nervous, too. And not just a little. A lot.”

  Rose chuckles. “Of course.” She leans back into a locker next to Matt, her arms hanging by her sides, and suggests, “Wouldn’t it be nice if you and I were the two in the finals, for our red division?”

  “Ah, yes. I guess.” He glances in the direction of Lyn before turning back to Rose. “But I could also wind up with Lyn, you know?”

  “Hmm. Yeah, that is true.”

  “Yeah. Oh, wait. What if it was me and Tony together in the finals!?”

  “Hah, now wouldn’t that get everyone cawing like crows. The heroic freshman teaming up with the tyrannical senior’s lackey!” She shakes her head and lets Matt know, “I’m pretty sure between me, you, or Lyn that Tony won’t be getting any further in this competition.”

  Matt thinks about that, and then nods. “Yeah, I guess you’re right, there.” He and Rose find themselves at a loss for words, to either continue or change the subject, until he says, “We’ve gone through a lot here in college, haven’t we?”

  “Yeah, and we’re not even half-way through our first year, yet.”

  “Mhmm. So, what have you liked about it, so far?”

  “Hmm. Well, I guess making new friends, advancing my studies, and improving on my fighting abilities. What have you liked?”

  “Um, the same, more or less. As to what I have not liked, this whole conflict between me and Cain. When I came to college this year, it was the last thing I expected myself to get caught up in.”

  “Yeah, same here. It’s all drama, trauma, and pointless politics for us students when we are supposed to be more concerned with our studies and building, not corrupting, our relations with others.”

  “Right. But you know what the one thing I don’t regret about college this year is?”

  “What?”

  Matt looks directly to her, smiling. “Becoming friends with you, Rose.”

  Rose deeply blushes, glancing away, but is soon smiling, as well. “Yeah. You know what? I feel the same way about you, Matt.” Before he could reply, her hand finds its way to his and grasps it, causing him to blush in turn before they are both smiling at each other, their joined hands squeezing another sign of their bonding.

  Chapter 13

  Glory in the Arena: Brawling Blues

  ***

  Soon, the tournament finally begins as the first two competitors enter the coliseum under a shower of claps and cheers from all around them. James, wearing his rich suit that seems woven from opal, his long hair a similar shade, strolls out across the smooth, stone floor, well composed in the eyes of many as he waves to them, smirking especially at some women while sniping them with winks.

  Sean, in his casual suit of rustic brown, tries to follow James’ example, but is quite the opposite as his grin is forced, his eyes are wide with imminent panic, and every step he takes augments the trembling in his figure. The two walk in opposite directions, putting distance between them, until they are about thirty yards apart within the center of the arena, and they turn back to face each other, sizing up the other in their silent stares.

  James is the one to break the silence between them while the audience around them calms down, sharpening his smirk and saying, “Alas, we meet each other as foes again, Sean Wyseinburg. It seems fate agrees that I should get another chance to put you back in your place, as a failed freshman.”

  Sean, gulping and scratching his neck, sputters, “Heheh, you sound awfully confident, James. James Iroshen! How are we to know what fate wants?”

  “Because, as fate would have it, Dante won’t be here to help you. If I remember correctly, in fact, you sacrificed your own morph just to weaken me so Dante, not you, could defeat me. Therefore, that means you cannot defeat me alone.”

  “Meh, that’s true, I wasn’t good enough to outmatch you alone. But that was before, and this is now! Now, I’m going to prove how much stronger and skilled I’ve become, by taking your classy, crassy, casanova character and beating it into the ground!” That’s what Sean hopes he would be able to do, trying to convince himself with how boldly he declares it.

  James, his long hair swaying as he shakes his head, isn’t convinced. “And I’m the one who’s awfully confident, hah. I will admit, you must have improved somewhat significantly, getting into these semifinals and such, but there’s one significant detail you seem to have forgotten.”

  “Oh? And what’s that?”

  “You see, that first time we fought, my battle morph was split into two forms, and thus my power was halved. This time, you will be fighting my true battle morph, in one piece and with full power.”

  Sean’s face pales as that fact tears apart some of his optimism. “Ah, I see. Um, I, uh, oh, wait! You seem to be forgetting something, too!”

  “Really? What?”

  “Well, if you claim that you’ve got fate on your side, then I’ve got luck on mine!”

  James can’t help but chuckle, a palm meeting his forehead. “And just how does that make a difference here?”

  “Easily, actually! See, lately I’ve come to notice that the same kind of luck I have in my gambling has been showing up in my battles. That, or I’m just so crazy with my combos that nobody’s prepared for them. Which, in a way, makes me lucky! That’s how it’s gonna make a difference, I’m sure.”

  “Right. Then we’ll just put this ‘luck’ of yours to the test.” The overhead speaker above them begins the loud countdown to the fight, and the crowd hushes while the fighters prepare themselves, a cold demeanor on James’ face and Sean grimacing under squinting eyes. The countdown’s end coincides with the blast of an air horn, and the duelists morph.

  ***

  Sean looks on at the true form of James’ morph, and what he sees makes him sure that his luck just crumpled up and died. It was the archetype of his twin morphs. The gray wings are massive in span and feathers, unfurling like mighty sails off his back. His amethyst-colored armor has a gothic design to it, thick and heavy with curved edges and trim and sinister shapes flavoring his gauntlets and spaulders. The raptor talons for his feet are armored, as well, the claws long and razor sharp, and his weapon, the scythe, consists of an iron rod rather than a wooden pole, with a monstrous, wickedly-shaped sickle set on its end.

  There’s another big difference in this single morph that Sean notices. All over his armor, on his scythe’s blade, and even on his face, James is painted with runes, those on his face like tattoos and the rest on his armor and weapon being daunting designs. Compared to his meager, mud brown, lamellar-and-mail battle suit, Sean is sure he must look small and inferior compared to the Reaper in the eyes of their audience.

  James makes the first move, hefting and swinging his weapon up and forward, the tip of his blade scraping the floor to send a splitting, spitting trail of sparks towards his foe. Sean doesn’t know what those sparks are, but he has sense enough to get out of the way when he reverses and flips on a burst of air balance, avoiding the sparks. In the vicinity of where he had stood, the magical sparks suddenly condense, then explode, in a fierce flash of flames.

  For the next several seconds, Sean finds himself on the run with James continuing to fling magical attacks at him as he spins past thunderbolts, dives under arcane cannonballs, and leaps over more fiery eruptions. As he does so, however, he is preparing a counterattack in his acrobatic dodging. Once he has suppressed enough energy through air balance, he then takes aim and fires himself at James like a rocket, closing the great distance in his insane speed.

  Despite Sean’s sudden air thrust at him, James is ready for him, smirking devilishly. He makes another slash with his scythe before him, and the tear in the air becomes manifest by a suspended surge of crackling black energy. Having
no time to alter his approach, Sean flies right into this energy, and in the next instance, with his expression gone stupefied, crashes into a wall of the arena far away from James. A moment later, he falls back out of the crater left from the impact, not harmed since he hit it with his armored shoulder instead of his head, but nonetheless dazed, not just from the impact but also the wonder of what just happened.

  The audience shares in Sean’s sense of surprise, but neither would get an answer to what happened when he hears the distinct sounds of large wings in flight behind him. He whirls to see James swooping upon him, his huge talons reaching for his face. With a twist of his body, backwards and down, Sean barely dodges the claws, closing on nothing but air, and springs himself away on air balance to avoid the sweep of James’ scythe.

  Grinding across the ground to a stop, he focuses on James as he landed, unsure of how he is going to get close without being harmed or repelled, and watches him cut the air again, forming that odd black magic before him. His focus switches to the magic rip, afraid of what else it might do to him, and so he does not notice the Reaper’s large figure vanish behind it. By the time he does, it is too late as the sickle emerges in his abdomen, bright green energy splashing from the wound.

  The crowd in the gym’s stands, as well as Sean, gasps after James had instantly appeared behind him, swinging the scythe down into him. But he isn’t done with his assault. Some of the runes upon his body and blade activate, glowing an electric blue, and volts of energy spill out of them and soak Sean, still stuck on the blade. With a mighty swing, he then launches him away, high through the air, and takes his right hand off his scythe’s rod to clench it in a fist. In response, the static magic in Sean discharges, zapping him in mid-air before he hits the floor limp.