Location in the Forgotten, Present Day
Alfred watched as Allistor paced around with a feeling of importance. His mission was always important, always there. It was necessary, it was of vital importance to their cause. He could believe in the cause. The cause was always right.
"You need to be perfect," Allistor stated clearly, accent as present as ever. "Everyone knows you there. You must act the same, but report to me."
"I know, Allistor," Alfred said scathingly. They had been over this a half-dozen times, and it was irking him that Allistor had no faith. He knew what had to be done, and he would do it to the best of his ability. His fighting skills were perfect, and so was he.
"Good," Allistor replied. "Then I will send you back immediately. Remember, they will act familiarly with you. Matthew, the blond boy I told you about, he is your brother. You must be prepared to endure physical contact without retaliation."
He set a hand on Alfred's shoulder, his yellow eyes burning with an intensity Alfred knew he could never match. Allistor was hundreds, perhaps thousands of years old. He had seen bloodshed and death, and his mind was perhaps forever scarred by what he had seen. Alfred nodded and watched Allistor.
The Fire Portal came in a flash, igniting the room in shades of gold and crimson. Allistor's hair looked flaming and his eyes glinted. Alfred stepped through the Portal, sword strapped to his back, and waited for the world he knew to vanish.
XXXXX
Kitsune Academy, Present Day
Matthew watched as Ivan and Gilbert argued about something. Arthur was strutting ahead of them, gathering appreciative looks like a magnet- and discarding them like torn and dirty clothing he didn't want.
The warm air was nice, but there was a thick fog that lay around the Academy like a snake. They could barely see three feet in front of their faces in the mist, and it was a foolish thing to try and navigate it- Kitune's fog was legendary for leading someone astray.
He couldn't stop thinking about his brother- it worried him that Alfred could be literally anywhere in the realms- but it reassured him to know Alfred would never go down in a fight. He remembered how Alfred had fought off that Vetala years ago- and cringed when the memory returned full force.
The floor was bloodstained, the vampire done with Sam Williams' body. Matthew cowered in a corner, ashamed to be doing so but scared out of his mind. Alfred was sprawled in the center of the room, unconscious but still breathing. Matthew didn't know that.
All he knew was that his father and brother were dead. The Vetala turned and stared at him.
"What I wouldn't give to kill you too, little bird," it smirked, the bloody red of it's mouth glistening in the moonlight. Matthew whimpered.
And then Alfred attacked. He slammed a board into its temple, rising from the floor like a demon possessed. Matthew screamed. The Vetala crumpled, bruised from the force-
"Matthew? Matthew!" a voice said near him. Matthew blinked in the light, and he realized he was lying on the floor, spread-eagled. His back ached. Francis stared down, a concerned look on his face.
The Vetala would be back- and he was covered in blood too, his father's, his brother's, he hurt so bad. His arm seemed split-
"He just passed out, is he alright?" a worried Gilbert asked. Katyusha emerged from the horde around him and pressed a gentle hand to his neck.
"He's breathing," she said calmly. Arthur exhaled from his position by Matthew's hip. "Thank god."
"All right, everyone, clear out! Nothing to see here!" Ivan shooed everyone away save for Matthew's friends. People grumbled but eventually dispersed.
"What happened?" Matthew croaked out. Visions of scarlet liquid flashed in his mind. He pushed himself up woozily.
"You collapsed, right out of the blue," Katyusha replied, still serene and calm. Matthew groaned.
"Goddammit, not again."
"Again?!" Arthur nearly yelled. "You collapse suddenly often?"
"Yes," Matthew said sheepishly. "It's not anything to worry about."
This time it was Ivan who spoke. "Yes, it is. If you mysteriously collapse, then something is wrong. Do you have a disease? Memories of things you don't want? It's not uncommon."
"The second one," Matthew said quietly. Francis stared at him before speaking.
"You have traumatic memories? That's horrible! You should try and 'unlock' them, it's an effective method."
"Nah," a familiar, yet-not voice said by them. "That's what makes people like Mattie here go insane."
Matthew started. Standing behind them was Alfred, grinning like an idiot and just seeming off. His sword was strapped to his back. Arthur lunged at the Sylph and pinned him to the floor with his thighs.
"Where the hell have you been, you bloody wanker? You really think you could just come here all 'nah' and get away with it?"
Arthur swung at Alfred wildly. Matthew snorted. That was just like his brother, appearing suddenly and acting like he didn't give everyone he knew a heart attack. Alfred blocked the punch and shoved Arthur off. And Matthew realized what was wrong about Alfred.
His brother didn't wear black leather that looked more like armor than clothing.
His brother didn't have a tattoo of an wolf on his right wrist and the saying secretum liberum animum.
His brother didn't wear a sword across his back. He always said it was harder to get to than on the waist.
His brother didn't smile like that, a smile that looked like it belonged to a predator.
Whoever this was, this wasn't his brother. And that startled Matthew. He stared at this person, one that looked precisely like his brother but not. He lunged and shoved this Alfred to the wall.
"Who the hell are you? Where is my brother?"
"Chill, dude," Alfred yelled, eyes wide. He held out his hands in a gesture of peace. "I'm Alfred F. Williams-Jones, born on July 4th. You're my brother, Matthew Alexandre Williams-Jones, born July 1st. Our father died when we were seven and our mother when we were three. A nurse named Julie tried to sell you on the black market when we were eleven."
Matthew let up, releasing Alfred and backing away. His eyes narrowed. "What's with the tattoo?"
"I decided to get it, ya know? Freedom, right?" Alfred laughed a little nervously under Matthew's glare. Arthur pressed a comforting palm to the Halcyon's shoulder.
"Calm down, Matthew, that's Alfred. If he decided to get a tattoo, then it's fine."
Matthew exhaled and stepped backward again. "Whatever, Al."
Alfred looked relieved and swallowed noticably. Matthew sighed as he remembered that he himself had a tattoo, and within its feathers was written a quote: "War does not determine who is right- only who is left". It was etched in a elegant black script, swirling lines spelling out the words.
"So," Alfred said, "I'm starving, anyone wanna go on a food run?"
And they did. They raided the supply of candy a demon kept on hand (given for a price), ordered a ridiculous amount of food from the cafeteria, set up a war stand in the gymnasium, and raised hell in general.
It was the most fun Matthew could remember having.
They made forts from rubber mats and armed themselves with food. They partnered together, Katyusha their reluctant referee. Ivan and Gilbert paired together- and utterly destroyed the four others.
Arthur had to strip off his jacket and gloves while Alfred lauched a volley of pancakes at Matthew and Francis, who were arming themselves with scrambled eggs from a tray.
Matthew was a warrior with maple syrup, soaking every enemy he encountered. His pancakes were no gentle throws either, smacking down Arthur with one hit to the face and Ivan with a well-aimed throw to the shoulder.
Gilbert constructed a fort of dummies and foam good enough to stop an arrow. He kept up a steady stream of egg fire while Ivan took down people on the battlefield. Arthur was dueling Francis with a baguette, the latter grabbing a tray and defending himself.
All the while, Matthew watched his brother. He didn't know what it was, but Alfred wasn't Alfred, for lack of a better word. He was an unknown entity, something to be wary of and cautious about touching lest it poison them all.
He watched Alfred, who seemed just different. Not himself. He would find it out later.
The Breakfast War split a few hours later, covered in syrup, eggs, and generally breakfast-y food. Matthew trailed after the others, still watching Alfred curiously. And then he saw it- Alfred had a small mirror hanging from his waist. And from that mirror, a face was looking out.
Matthew stared after them, feeling apprehensive. If this wasn't Alfred, then who was it? A shapeshifter? A Magia? A warlock? The possiblities were endless, and it frightened him. He didn't realize he had stopped until Arthur looked over at him, green and blond hair mussed, and yelled at him to hurry up.
The dorms were silent, and Matthew was wondering when they had gotten there. His limbs ached, and he just wanted to shower and sleep. But that wasn't possible just yet.
Alfred was already in the shower, so Matthew waited. He thought about the mirror, what is could mean. A horrible possibility came to mind. Perhaps Alfred was dead and that was a ghost possessing him. He chuckled quietly. That was ridiculous.
Alfred emerged a few minutes later, dressed in skinny jeans and a white t-shirt. He gave Matthew a weird look. "Aren't ya gonna shower?"
Matthew nodded awkwardly and went into the bathroom. As he undressed, he thought further about the mirror. Maybe it was a Looking Glass, magical materials enchanted to be used as a way to spy and watch things.
He stepped under the warm spray of water and kept thinking. When at last he shut it off and toweled off, he dressed quickly and pressed an ear to the door. There were multiple voices. One was Alfred's, yet not.
Alfred's voice was cold, and he was discussing the missing people like slabs of meat, used and abused at their buyer's whim. There was another voice, rough yet lilting with a thick Scottish accent.
"Don't mess it all up," the Scottish man said. Matthew heard Alfred snort.
"I won't, capturing him should be as easy as pie. I'll get 'em by this evening."
"Good," the Scot replied. "You bungled that one mission, don't screw up this one."
"I won't, Allistor," Alfred retorted derisively. And that was when Matthew opened the door, trying not to act like he was listening just a moment before.
Quick as a flash, Alfred slipped the mirror under his pillow and smiled brightly. Matthew glared.
"What have you done with my brother?"
Alfred laughed. It was long and cold and so unlike Alfred that it chilled Matthew's blood. "I see you heard what we were talking about. My mistake."
Matthew crossed his arms over his chest. "Yes, I did. And I'm going to get my brother back."
"I am your brother, idiot," Alfred said languidly, stretching. "Just better. Not broken. I have been put in a mold and emerged perfect."
"No, you're not perfect," Matthew retorted, stepping closer. Alfred tensed slightly.
"So what if I'm not," Alfred challenged. And he attacked, the sword he had been hiding swinging through the air. Matthew dodged.
"Alfred, this isn't you!"
"Yes, it is," Alfred roared, stabbing at Matthew. The latter felt the blade pierce his skin slightly and the pain brought him into focus. This was just gym class, and he was facing off against an opponent.
Matthew rolled to the side, snatching up a amethyst sword he had borrowed from the gym. He blocked Alfred's slashes and stabs, returning them with equal force. Alfred, in what seemed like desperation, threw himself behind Matthew.
The latter turned just in time to feel the butt of a sword smash against his skull. He crumpled, and the last thing he knew was Alfred smirking above him.