Song of the Seraphim, Book Three
Bolero
Chapter One
Questions...
Sanguis Falaris in one hand, Spiritus Falis in the other, Trent jogged forward. Kardis, seeming to sense the opposing energy, lanced out jagged forks of her crimson lightning. The combined might of the dark and light swords wove a circular shield around him that not even She could pierce. Standing before the pit and the altar, he tightened his grip, summoning every shred of energy within him. "Deed...Tess...Zelas...I'm coming."
Grinning ferally, he leapt into the air, falling towards the dark altar. For the first time, he roared as he fell to combat; the whisper quiet assassin gone for a moment.
That final clash was a thing of awe. A last, desperate barrier had been erected between the dark elf and the altar; Kardis would not be fully reborn until the souls of the elves belonged within her. The twin swords unloosed their full energies in an unstoppable torrent of force; incandescent and violet, like tongues of chain lightning. The two energies surged wildly, focused under Trent's single-minded command; finish Her off.
On the one side, a fallen, hibernating goddess of insanity and destruction.
On the other a half-mad assassin dark elf wielding two weapons of godly power.
In the end, destruction turned in on itself.
Without the last surge of the barrier's power, the two swords ripped savagely into the ethereal barrens holding Kardis, laying waste to what lay beneath. The mere presence of the two swords's full energies rippled the air like black sand mirages, churning their wake into a pillar of pearlescent light.
A light that stretched beyond worlds, spun filigreed from darkness.
He smiled as he fell through the shield, only to gasp in shock as his senses proved him wrong; she had survived, and not even the Swords bathed in the essences of two opposing gods would be enough.
Snarling under his breath, the assassin raised his hand, channeling the power. To speak the words, to name those Seven Gods would be his death sentence; he knew that already. It was simply a question of which he valued more; his own life, or the lives of the three women who were to be devoured.
It was a matter of little thought.
Raising his hand, he channeled the forces of the seven elements, weaving the spirits of the gods into a gate. Gate into chaos, gate into his own death, but gate into their lives...
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Trent gasped as he awoke, sitting bolt upright in bed. Panting raggedly, he turned to stare at his alarm clock. 4:38 AM. Groaning to himself, he slumped forward, his head resting on his hands. "Again." Hoisting his lanky, six foot frame off the futon, he turned to enter the tiny kitchen of his flat. He knew from experience that sleep would not be coming back any time soon, and by the time it did, he'd have to be ready for school.
Setting the saucepan on the gas burner, he waited for the water to boil. He could have just knuckled under and bought a tea kettle, but this was cheaper, and really, what difference did it make? He slumped into the chair at the small table, staring at the blue gas flames under the water. This night brought the total up to forty two nights. Forty two nights he'd woken up from impossibly real dreams; dreams of himself, but someone else.
They'd started out strangely enough; he'd somehow decided he was an elf of some kind, playing Greensleeves on a carved bamboo flute as he perched in a tree. Those usually ended with him finishing the song, and had been chalked up as simply odd; he'd read the Dragon's Lance chronicles too many times, or something like that, and his subconscious was manifesting the material in his sleep. Had it ended at that, he wouldn't have given it a second thought.
But the dreams had continued. One in particular that kept scaring him, shaking him out of sleep in absolute shock. Not terror, not a fear of any kind, but having had his perceptions badly shaken. It always started the same; him running through a cave, using some kind of claymore to fight off these wraiths that kept trying to stop him. Next, he'd found the cavern leading to a huge chamber, where some figure in black armor had been trying to fight off a wizard of some kind. The two had managed to kill the wizard, but then they tried fighting each other.
The wizard came back for an instant, not quite dead, and tried to kill the black-armored man. He'd distracted him long enough to finish him off, but the man had collapsed, dead or unconscious, Trent didn't know.
Then was the part that kept shaking him. Gripping the other man's sword alongside his own, he'd charged some kind of altar, and apparently killed Something Big to save these two elves. Odd, but it shouldn't have lasted.
What frightened him (he'd admit it) about that dream wasn't that it was so real, or that he nearly died every time, or even that it kept reoccuring. What frightened him was the emotions. Normally, his dreams were attributed as the products of his own over-active imagination, nothing more. These were something else; he FELT for the women. He wasn't sure, but he had a disquieting feeling that in the dreams, he was in love with the two women, and it drove him to distraction. How could he love a figment of his own imagination? It wasn't possible.
He looked up from his musings as the water started bubbling. Dragging himself out of his chair, he pulled down a mug and tea bag, letting it steep. He'd only recently started to actually enjoy drinking this odd stuff; green tea.
Knowing it would take a few minutes to steep (he preferred it strong), and even longer before it would be at the desired temperature, he fell back into thought. About three weeks ago, new dreams had started; dreams of the same elf, but fighting a new opponent. Some weird blonde who glowed in the dark; literally, considering that his body looked like it was made out of neon yellow light while his body was surrounded by some kind of living darkness. Trent had used a spell of all things, to suck the guy into another world and kill him. Then he'd lingered just long enough for someone new to come, another woman with the strangest shade of pale lavender hair he'd ever seen. And once again, he'd felt honest to goodness love for her, confessed only in that instant of his death.
This last week had been the worst; first had been all those dreams about dragons. The white-haired prince riding a bat-like white one, that ugly, green, brontosaurus-looking one, the red one the size of a 747, the gold one that fought the black one...and then the last two. One looked like someone had taken a panther's body, given it the scales, head, neck, and tail of a dragon, then added on graceful wings, and molded the whole thing from pure silver. The other...
He shook his head. That last was just plain impossible. A creature CAN NOT grow that large and maintain homeostasis; it would have to eat a pod of whales a day just to stay alive.
And now this. A merger of the two dreams of women he claimed to love.
Deciding he needed the tea more than an unburnt tongue, he picked up the ceramic mug, taking a sip. Sighing as the hot, slightly bitter liquid started clearing the muzziness, he leaned back and stared up at the ceiling.
He was almost ready to go right out and find a decent psychiatrist, but he REALLY didn't want to waste his money on a guy who'd decide that he had unfulfilled passions regarding his mother, or that he was suppressing memories of being molested by his dog, or something equally deranged.
He just wished he could understand; why now?
--------
He'd been awake for an hour and a half, just vegetating, when he finally brought himself to getting ready for the day. Muttering to himself about nothing in particular, he grabbed a towel and headed for the shower.
He reflected on nothing in particular as he cleaned off; mostly speculation on who would attack who at school first today, followed by wonder as to what principle Todo would come up with to try and make school more interesting. He shook his head as he continued working the shampoo into his long, silver hair. He'd always heard that the Asian school systems were far more rigorous than those you could expect in other places, but Daimon was apparently an acception to the rule. To his knowledge, it was the only place where club membership was based on martial and combative skill rather than actual competence in the subject.
Turning off the water, he wrung out the waist-length mass of white hair, grinning slightly in memory. The principle had been ready to sick the kendo club on him (claiming it to be a test of their accuracy to see who could successfully cut his hair while he ran without harming him) before he'd finally threatened to start a School Bagpipes Enthusiast Club. Todo was many things, but a complete fool he was not. He knew only too well how easily seemingly idiotic things like that would become popular at school, and the last thing he wanted was a bunch of amateur would-be bagpipe virtuosos serenading the rest of the school.
Trent MacRae shook his head. He wasn't completely sure WHY he'd been sent to school half a planet away, but he reflected that Scotish teenagers in Japan were something of a rarity.
He winced again as he came to his closet; pretty simple stuff, really. Two sets of school uniforms, and about a week's worth of casual clothing; mostly jeans and casual trousers with either t-shirts or button-down shirts. He didn't particularly mind a uniform; school back home had it to, after all, but he sincerely disliked the Japanese uniforms. Mostly because very few people bothered to cater to six foot one, tall and gangly.
Finishing gathering his books and such, he stuffed them in the briefcase- like bookbag, tied back his hair in a ponytail, and headed for school, intent on trying to get there before one of the more non-combatant clubs decided he needed to join.
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Trent looked around for a moment, and shook his head sadly. "Every single day." Fumbling in his bookbag, he pulled out a wooden board; a half inch thick, roughly ten by fourteen inches. He paused as he watched Ryoko maim the ninjutsu club severely, then calmly brought the board up to catch an errant shuriken. Plucking the four-pointed throwing knife off the board, he tossed it to the side and started for the door.
During his first week of school, he'd nearly been blinded by a mis-thrown, dart-like throwing knife. He'd managed to duck, but if he'd been half a second slower, they'd be calling him Patch. As such, he now took that little board with him every day for deflection of errant weaponry.
"Hey, Trent!"
He smiled as his current (and only) friend arrived. "Hey Kim. Anything new happen?"
Kim was one of the only other transfer students who'd had the misfortune to end up in Daimon's precincts. Worse, he was a Korean; as Trent understood, the relations between the Japanese and Korean were kind of like the relationship you'd expect between Germany and Poland; the latter had spent a big part of their history being little more than a place to conveniently re-conquer when you needed to boost the economy. Nice guy though; he never let anyone get him mad, and had the sense to stay out of trouble with any given chance.
It didn't hurt at all that he was also a member of one of the three clubs Trent had some membership in, namely the Hiking Club (they were currently trying to figure out ways to adapt steel-toe boots and mountaineering pickaxes into something useful in the school K-fight system).
Kim shook his head. "Listen, something dangerous is coming up."
Trent frowned. "How so?"
The shorter Korean rolled his eyes. "Daisaku and the principle are worrying that Ryoko might be loosing her edge."
Trent stared at Kim shortly, then turned calmly to regard the remains of the ninjutsu club, the fencing club (european as opposed to kendo) swiftly adding to their ranks of the wounded. "You call that loosing her edge?"
"They figure that if she keeps having to fight wimps like this, she's going to get sloppy and careless. They think she needs a more challenging fighter to go up against."
Trent shook his head. Kim was a member of the Hiking Club and the Tae Kwon Do club; a decent fighter, but not in the 'heavy hitters' league. Actually, no one in the hiking club was. Trent on the other hand was a member of the Hiking Club, the Kyudo (archery) club, and the Kendo club, in that order. "Kim, I watch Ryoko practice twice a week. Her definition of a light work-out is beating the rest of us into a moaning pulp. That girl's so conditioned to train in swordplay and combat that she's going to need gene therapy to get comfortable with the CONCEPT of losing her edge."
Kim shrugged helplessly. "I agree, but you know how Todo is. If the fights don't get more exciting for him, he finds out new ways to MAKE them interesting. Just to warn you." He turned to leave, then paused. "Oh yeah, one other thing. We're getting three new students today; three sophomores." He smiled. "One of them's quite the hotty."
Trent shook his head, chuckling lightly. "Keep looking. Who knows, someday you might find one who cares enough to actually concede to going out with you."
Kim winced comically. "Low blow."
Trent just smiled. So he had weird dreams. The rest of his life seemed to be going pretty nicely.
--------
Yuzuriha looked around. She'd grown up mostly around the shrine, and for the most part wasn't all that used to having to deal with large groups of new people. Still, she could get all kinds of friends here. With all the unusual people here, who knew? Maybe she'd finally find someone with...sensitivity.
She smiled briefly down at Inuki. She wondered how he'd deal with the new classes. At her old school he'd just sleep through them, sometimes going off to have a quick run on his own, but with all the fights here, sleeping would probably be a little bit harder.
The principle stood at the podium. Odd man; she couldn't decide if he looked more like a retired mob-boss or a prize fighter. Considering what she'd heard about him, either one might be correct.
Turning back, she took aen you needd at her three fellow transfer students. Both were boys, but they didn't really look all that similar. The one on her left had an insufferably bored look on his face, as though the entire world at large was beneath him. Although considering that he was pretty cute, maybe he'd let that go to his head. Deep down, he might be a decent guy; she'd have to wait and see.
The boy on her left looked MUCH nicer. He wasn't quite as cute, but he was getting there. Somewhat taller, his haircut was a pretty simple thing, his face open and honest. All in all, looked to her like a chronic nice guy. She wondered what there names were.
Todo smiled as he walked over. Once this introduction was over, he had a simply WONDERFUL announcement. "Hello everyone. We have several announcements to get out of the way. First of all, we have a number of new arrivals; three new students, and a new addition to our teaching staff." He gestured for each to introduce themselves.
The boy on her left stepped forward, smiling pleasantly. "Amaru Ryudo. Nice to meet you."
Yuzuriha skipped forward, giving a slight bow as she greeted her new school. "Yuzuriha Nekoi, age 16. Pleased to meet you."
The last simply glanced up, though he did take the effort to wipe the contempt off his face. "Kamui Shiro."
The priestess in training stiffened somewhat.
Todo stepped forward again. "Oddly enough, our teaching assistant is from one of our student's families." Again, the bow and gesture for introduction.
Yuzuriha looked back up; Kamui struck her as being pretty easy to pick out of a crowd, so she'd probably be able to find him later. If he was 'the' Kamui, at least. Besides, she probably needed to be able to find out who the teachers were.
She was glad she had in a few moments. The teacher to stand proved to be breath-takingly handsome, in a more mature way. He bowed formally, with a pleasant smile. "Hajime Ryudo. I'll be teaching business and history, as well as helping out in the Kendo Club."
Todo nodded as Hajime sat down. "And lastly, I have a rather...interesting announcement regarding the club funding situation." He waited for the murmurs to die down somewhat. "First, it has come to my attention that the K-fight system established by the missing Mr. Kusanagi has been proving to be a bit...monotonous. More to the point," he added, emotion starting to swell in his words, "the challengers of our current champion, Miss Ryoko Mitsurugi..."
In the audience, the red-headed samurai girl winced. She was starting to get irritated with all the fight challenges; at least the ones that weren't actual work-outs.
Todo continued. "...have lost the spirit of the K-fight. It has simply become some ridiculous exercise to see which club finally produces someone who can defeat the kendo club. As such, a new motivation is needed." He pumped a fist in the air as he yanked the microphone from its stand. "So now hear this! After school today, there will be a gigantic K-fight, tournament style! Any and all challengers welcome! And to the winnner..." he paused dramatically, "...TEN TIMES THE FUNDING AS ANY OTHER CLUB! AND THE FIGHTER HIMSELF RECEIVES A FULLY PAID, ONE WEEK CARIBBEAN CRUISE FOR TWO!"
Yuzuriha felt herself sweat-drop at the roars. The school was fully as weird as the rumors had said. Shaking her head, she thought at Inuki,
In the audience, Kim grinned at Trent. "Told you she was a hotty."
Trent frowned in thought. She WAS pretty cute; still, there were some things that seemed confusing. "Is she blind or something?"
Kim paused in his cheering to stare at his friend in confusion. "Blind? What the hell brought that up?"
Trent looked up, and blinked in confusion. "Oh, sorry. Thought I saw something up there next to her. My mistake." Still shrugging, he turned to leave. Neither the Kendo Club nor the Kyudo club would need him; he was considered the fifth worst in Kendo, although in archery he was one of the best. Still, archery itself wouldn't be all that useful, and the captain also studied naginata. He shook his head; only in Daimon did you have blackbelts as a requirement for leadership.
The Hiking Club wasn't going to be getting much out of this mess.
Ignoring the sudden chill that accompanied that thought, he exited the auditorium. In hindsight, that was probably a mistake.
--------
"Please, Trent?"
The scot stared at the fifteen or so members of his favorite club. "Please tell me this is some kind of crude joke. Or an assassination attempt of some kind. Just DON'T tell me you're doing this because you're serious." Kim winced as he continued pleading. "Trent, you're our only hope; you HAVE to represent us in this tournament."
The white-haired senior looked at them for a few moments, then calmly walked over to the nearest wall and started thumping his head against it, half in jest, half in earnest. After a good thirty seconds of this, he looked back. Sighing, he sank to one of the nearby comfortable rocks. Considering their subject, the club had chosen to meet outdoors in the woods at the edge of campus. "Let me get this straight. Our rather openly non-combative club has decided that the chance for ten times the normal funding was too good to pass up. As such, rather than doing the sane thing and simply figuring out the best way to spend our regular funding, you've decided to actually fight in this K-tournament. And for reasons that as yet make no sense, have elected ME our lovely little sacrificial lamb. Do I have everything covered?"
Nods accompanied that. "Yeah." "Pretty much." "You can do it."
Trent groaned, rubbing his temples. "Why, precisely, do you think I'm the best choice? Why not Kim?"
Kim spoke up without hesitation. "You're better than I am; I'm pretty low ranked in the tae kwon do club, and you've seen how often the captain gets his clock cleaned by Mitsurugi. You at least have some experience with her."
Trent scoffed. "Experience? Yeah, experience getting pounded into the ground like a tent stake. Honestly, why me? Getting rid of the gaijin?"
Kim's pleading look was replaced by faint anger. "That was unnecessary, you know."
Trent sighed. "I know, I know, sorry. It's just, I'm NOT very happy about this. I mean, I'm barely ranked in kendo in the first place, my archery skills are going to do me squat, and the best I can hope for in this fight is that Ryoko decides to take mercy on me and knocks me out before she can cause any serious pain. How ELSE am I supposed to react to this?"
Kim slung a companionable arm around his shoulders. "It could be worse; at least this way, your bravery in the face of utter defeat might FINALLY score you a girlfriend."
Trent rolled his eyes. "Near death that might make me popular? You have GOT to get your priorities straight."
Kim just grinned. His best friend was straight, he knew that much. He just seemed to suffer from a constant belief that women weren't ever interested. He needed to change that.
[Having written that (and knowing some things you don't), the Author collapses at his computer in a fit of utter hysterics.]
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The Tae Kwon Do team had been slaughtered. The Karate team was currently in transit to the nurse's office. The Rugby team had tried using human wall techniques on her, and had found that she was surprisingly good at cutting down walls.
And so it continued. Kyudo, Muay Thai, Tai Chi, Wushu, Boxing, Drunken Boxing, Hapkido, Jeet Kun Do, Soccer, Bowling...the clubs rose in defiance and were calmly beaten within an inch of their lives.
Trent shook his head remorsefully. "How many teams are their left?"
Kim winced as the sumo captain was launched out of the ring. "Just us and the Flower Arrangement Club."
Trent shuddered. When he'd first arrived, he'd considered asking out Azumi Kirabiyashi out. She'd shot him down mercifully, resulting in a mope that had lasted for weeks. THEN he'd found out that she was some kind of freaking lunatic, Mad Noblewoman Laugh (TM) and all.
He'd gotten better with surprising speed.
Standing, he hefted his weapon of choice. "Well, may as well get this out of the way. I don't think I'd forgive myself if I beat Ryoko AFTER Azumi got through with her." Shouldering his way through the rings, he approached the only surviving team.
Azumi smiled beautifically as she prepared her entrance, when she felt a tap on her shoulder. "Excuse me, Miss Kirabiyashi? Do you mind if I go before you?"
She blinked in surprise, for all that her smile never wavered. She'd been planning to be the last anyway, so she had no objections. Turning, she paused, looking up somewhat until she reached the taller man's face. "Oh...MacRae, isn't it?" Trent nodded. "I sincerely doubt this will take long, so if you don't mind?"
Azumi sweeped a mocking bow at the carefully polite young man. "Go right ahead."
Sighing in both relief and resignation (he wouldn't have minded quite that much if Azumi had refused to let him go), he turned to the ring.
"Excuse me?"
He paused, turning at the voice. Surprise was evident on his face as he noticed the new girl. "Oh...Um, I feel kind of bad, but what was your name? I can never seem to remember them."
Yuzuriha grinned. "Yuzuriha Nekoi. Good luck."
Trent blink-blinked in confusion, then allowed a rueful smile across his lips. he thought. "Thanks. Let's hope that it's good enough." Gripping the elastic cords, he was about to swing in when a thought came to him. "Nekoi means cat, right?" At her nod, he shook his head. "It doesn't really suit you; are you sure you aren't Inu, or something?" Not waiting for an answer, he levered himself into the ring.
"Well, well, I was right," came a voice from behind her.
Startled, Yuzuriha spun to spy the slightly taller boy. "Excuse me?"
Kim just grinned winsomely. "Kim Dong Hwan. Trent's a friend of mine."
Yuzuriha nodded distractedly, turning back to watch the fight. She felt excitement build in her. Maybe...
--------
Ryoko stared. "Huh? Don't I know you?"
Trent nodded tiredly. "Trent MacRae, senior. We've fought before in practice."
Ryoko stared at him, sweat-dropping. "Why are you here; aren't you already in the kendo club?"
Trent sighed, tapping his sword against a shoulder. "Not all that seriously; I'm representing the hiking club."
Ryoko's sweat-drop turned into several smaller ones. "Uh...I didn't know there WAS a hiking club."
Trent shrugged helplessly. "No surprise; we don't start fights very often. I STILL don't understand why I'm here."
Ryoko shook her head. "Well, let's get this over with then." She didn't mind fighting, but against someone who was little challenge wasn't going to be any real challenge (1), what was the point. She took her own stance, but paused. "Uh...what's that thing?"
Trent regarded the one inch thick four foot dowel rod in his hand. "Hmmm? Oh, I thought I'd try something new." Not bothering with further speech, he decided to save his breath for the eventual mad dodging sure to occur. He took his own stance; two hands on the sword, tip pointing at his opponent, haft and hands on the right side of his face. A perfect stance for stabbing and rushes. Ironic really, considering that he was bound and determined to fight defensively.
--------
Hajime slouched against the doorway, watching the fight. He wasn't too terribly impressed with his students; they all seemed more interested in either dating him (in the case of some of the more guy-hungry female populace) or defeating him in brutal hand-to-hand combat.
The dates he could understand; guys like him (mature, poised, and not overtly homicidal) didn't seem like they'd be that common around here. He still wasn't quite sure why all the assaults.
Still, while he took pride in teaching, that wasn't his real purpose here; he was there to find the Fourth. Tsuzuku's powers had been giving him more and clearer information as they got closer. At first they'd only known to look for someone who WASN'T asian. Then they'd realized that it meant a gaijin somewhere in Asia. As they'd gotten closer, it got more narrowly defined. European, rather than American, Australian, or perhaps Russian. That got things a bit easier still. Then they were told to search Japan. And finally, Tokyo.
Now they were in Tokyo, and the parameters were about as clear as they were likely to get.
Hajime just hoped that Fungsahn remembered his dignity soon, otherwise this fight would be pretty boring.
--------
Trent forced himself to stand his ground as Ryoko charged in for an overhead strike. At the last minute, he ducked and pivoted out of the way, his longer sword swinging in a full circle to slash at her legs. Seemingly startled, Ryoko quickly dove over his slower attack to land back on her feet and charge again.
Realizing that an almost-on-the-ground position was very bad when fighting someone who liked to use downward strokes hard enough to shatter rock, Trent leapt to his feet, abandoning his earlier stance to set his bokken up in front of him defensively. Through a combination of almost drunken- looking dodges, desperate counter-strikes, and jumping backwards in a frantic attempt to stay out of the smaller girl's reach, Trent was able to avoid getting hit even once.
Panting as he fell back, he was torn between apprehension of her next assault and a sense of wonder that he'd lasted through the first ten seconds. Switching his sword to a vertical guard at the side of his head, he decided on a whim to actually see how an assault went against her.
He shot forward, his sword in a vertical cut that she easily met and blocked. Their swords set against each other, she smiled at him through the blades. It was getting to be more fun than she'd expected; he was better with this long sword than he was a standard bokken. The grin turned to startlement as Trent lowered his center of gravity and shoved forcefully forward, throwing her off balance.
Realizing that he probably wouldn't get another chance at this, he again slipped back to his original thrusting stance, his feet sliding forward as he thrust at her.
Unfortunately, Ryoko wasn't just arbitrarily called the best fighter at Daimon; she'd EARNED the title. By the time Trent had started his new attack she'd already regained her balance, blocking his thrust to the side and bringing her own sword at Trent in a vicious overhand blow.
The scot belated realized his gaff. Trying to shift from forward to backwards motion instantly, he brought his sword back, grabbing it further along its length, using it to block as though he were fighting with a short bo or cane instead of a sword. Not even remotely set for the attack, he staggered under the force of her strike, falling to the ground. Managing to turn it into a clumsy roll, he spun his legs at her in an on-the-spot attempt at the technique he'd watched members of the Capoirea club used. He had considerable lower body strength, and most of his height came from his legs. It wasn't particularly clean, but it was JUST impressive enough to make Ryoko dance back long enough for Trent to get back on his feet. Rather than attack immediately however, his opponent chose to just stand there, assessing him. Glad for the short respite, Trent just stared right back at her.
Okay, resource check. Advantages: greater physical strength in terms of sheer lifting power, greater reach in just body, greater reach of weapon. None of which would do him any good against an opponent who was faster and who while weaker, could actually hit harder than he could. While he could have theoretically used his reach to keep her at arms length and tried to pick her apart with a sword, he didn't HAVE a real sword, and he'd need to get in one solid blow if he was going to have any chance of winning.
He paused as he noticed the new teacher standing in the back, a look of fierce attention to the fight in his eyes. Strange eyes. Glittered...with strange lights...strange menace...air of command...
For her part, Ryoko's estimation of her opponent was going up by leaps and bounds. When they'd fought in practice, it had been under the fairly strict rules and straight-forward forms of kendo. Here, he wasn't limiting himself to any rules of any kind; he had no problem trying to hamstring her early, and he wasn't limiting himself to sword-work. So while he was apparently a mediocre if not bad kendoist (and considering that it was by Daimon High's standards she was measuring him, he was probably better elsewhere), he was actually a better FIGHTER, at least in the ring of a K- fight. She smiled, and setting herself, charged.
Trent blinked back in confusion. The teacher's eyes had been...strange, to say the least. He'd felt like they were trying to reach into him and pull out...something. It was so odd; they felt like 1000 watt lights flaring on his face. He frowned as he heard some kind of dull roaring in his ears. Returning his attention to the fight, he was startled to see Ryoko charge him as though in slow motion. What was stranger was that she had nearly hit him, and somehow his body had taken over completely. He'd snapped his sword up to deflect her strike to the side, and in the same motion was bringing the blade of his weapon around to strike as she charged.
His attention snapped into focus as he realized in some horror that he had instinctively aimed for the spot on her neck where a man's adam's apple would have bulged; his subconscious was trying to crush her larynx. Eyes widening in shock, he yanked the sword out of the way, spinning to get out of her path.
Ryoko had seen the strike from he rown vantage speed; it was as though Trent had abruptly gotten almost three times as fast as her, blocked, and set up for a kill strike in a single motion. He'd aborted it, but it still shook her severely enough that she lost some of her balance as she spun wildly to face him again. Trent frowned slightly as Ryoko charged. It was like he was drunk or something; at least that would have been his assumption (he was allergic to alcohol; not something considered particularly fun by his fellow Scots). As she'd shot past him, it had been at what he would have considered normal speed, but now as she spun to face him, she was slowing down again. Deciding not to question the strangeness, Trent decided to let his subconscious take over again, but fixed it firmly in his mind that he wanted to beat her, NOT kill or seriously injure.
Taking this into consideration, his subconscious mind accelerated him at stunning speed as he attacked. Spinning twice as he approached, he accelerated once more as he reached Ryoko, his make-shift sword meeting hers with a sold THWACK! powerful enough to send her flying into the ring's confining bands.
Ryoko gasped in shock at the force of impact. NO ONE hit her that hard. Instinct and well-honed reflexes had been enough to keep her sword in front of her, her hands still firmly gripped around the haft, but that was about it. The only reason she didn't loose right then and there was that Trent wasn't counter-attacking.
For his part, the scottish swordsman was blinking owlishly, shaking his head lightly. He was feeling kind of dizzy, slightly feverish. He could have attributed it to the school lunch, but he somewhat doubted it. He had a sinking feeling that the source of his current skill and instincts, as well as the troubling dreams of the past month and a half, were contributing in different ways to his current malaise.
As such, he was barely able to sway partially out of the way as Ryoko attacked all out, her attack of choice a vicious stab.
Had it connected, it likely would have crushed his ribs, possibly even caving in a lung (he wasn't Shizuma; HE couldn't absorb blows with the same force and momentum as a speeding eighteen-wheel truck and live to tell about it). With the spin he'd put on the attack, he managed to survive the strike, taking it where arm met shoulder.
Through a combination of the pain and the strange sense of malaise that had slowed him down so badly, he lost consciousness almost instantly. Lucky to, as the pain he would have felt from his newly dislocated shoulder would likely have set him howling in agony on the floor.
In the stands below, Yuzuriha felt a stab of sympathy for the boy; it was kind of obvious that his arm wasn't supposed to bend like that. Though no small part of her concern lay with the fact that an injury like that might have something to do with his quip about how her name should have meant 'dog.'
Hajime smiled slightly.
Further up in the audience, two other figures were watching the match; one a solemn if attractive young woman looking to be about seventeen years old. She was dressed in the uniform of a highschool girl; sailor-style seifuku, but it looked wrong on her. She had a classical beauty and statuesque quality that made her look as though hakama or a yukata would have been more suitable.
Her companion was a tall, somewhat muscular young man, equally serious- faced. Blond, he scowled as he watched those below him. "(blue dragon) Gakkei seems rather interested in him."
Arashi nodded. "I do not think him to be the one that we search for, but perhaps the Ryudo brothers have found their target?"
Daisuke snorted. "I don't think so, but I'll make sure."
Arashi frowned at him. "Is that wise? Considering his current injury, such an attack could well kill him."
Daisuke shrugged. "I won't if I don't have to, but we have to know."
Arashi sighed. "Daisuke, I'm aware of your grief with the Kings, but don't do anything rash. If Hajime is wrong, don't do anything foolish." She turned to leave. "We have our own last to find."
--------
"Finally awake?"
The sound of a careful baritone voice was the first thing Trent noticed. The second was the stabbing ache in his shoulder. Carefully favoring his left arm, he raised himself out of bed. He frowned across the bed. "Fuma? What are you doing here?"
He didn't even bother to shrug. "I'm on infirmary duty this week. Feeling better?"
Trent winced as he slowly swung his legs around the cot. "All things considered, I guess. I passed out; how badly was I actually injured?"
"Dislocated shoulder," Fuma replied. "The nurse reset it, but warned that it would still probably ache for a week or so. Though she did mention something about not trying any Houdini's."
Trent smiled in relief. "Really? Better than I'd hoped for."
Fuma cocked his head to the side in slight curiousity. "What did she mean by that?"
Trent chuckled dryly as he noticed his 'claymore' set next to his bookbag. "Houdini was a famous escape artist. According to urban myth, he did it by dislocating joints. What she's saying is not to try it; I hope that means that the dislocation should reset as good as original, and that it won't pop out again."
Fuma looked at him calmly, then nodded. "Will you be able to get home on your own?"
Trent nodded, easing himself up completely. "I should be." Still favoring his left arm, he looped the ties of his sword carrier through the handle of his bookbag and swung it over his shoulder. "Thanks for staying."
Fuma just nodded as he collected his own things to leave. "It was nothing."
Trent didn't bother trying for further conversation as they walked towards their seperate homes. The Togakushi Shrine Fuma lived at was in the same vague direction as Trent's apartment, so they ended up walking alongside each other for a few blocks. After a while though, they parted as Trent turned into the less picturesque areas of town. He'd been walking for almost half an hour before anything happened.
He paused as he noticed the guy wearing the military-style high school uniform in front of him, staring unblinkingly at him. Looking around slowly to check his surroundings and finding no one else, he turned to the tall blonde. "Did you need something?"
Daisuke pushed away from the wall to walk closer. Slowly walking around the white-haired scot, he began examining him slowly, as though looking for weak points. Trent COULD have felt offended and that he was being challenged, but his fairly well-honed instinct for social (and other forms) of survival was screaming at him "DON'T PROVOKE!"
Daisuke finally finished, shaking his head. "You seem pretty ordinary to me." Trent sweat-dropped. "Uh...so I've been told. I always kind of thought I acted kind of strangely."
Daisuke snorted in disdain. "What could they see in you? Is it the white hair? If THAT'S all that matters, what's the point?"
Trent continued to look at him for a solid minute of silence. Finally, he spoke. "Okay, I'm getting confused. What the bleep is this about?"
Daisuke paused (he was wondering why Trent had actually said 'bleep' instead of a real curse word). "You actually don't know?"
Taking a deep breath, he let it out. "No, not particularly. I have no clue who you are, who 'they' are, and why the fact that I have white hair should make any kind of difference. What, are 'they' a modeling agency or something trying to cater to the 'mature' crowd and think gray hair makes me look older? What?"
Daisuke smiled grimly. "I don't think you'll find out. The thing is, most of the time it's the ones who seem pretty ordinary that end up in the shoes of giants."
"That's 'stood on the shoulders of giants,'" Trent corrected. "Issac Newton said that about his accomplishments, that the only reason he'd been the one to find all that stuff out was that he had 'stood on the shoulders of giants,' meaning people like Galileo, Da Vinci, and Pythagoras."
Daisuke's smile faded. "The point is, you don't look like much to me. Still, you might be what they need, so I suppose it's up to me to try and find out for sure." Raising a hand, he did SOMETHING, somehow causing the wind to swirl around his hand in an eighteen inch ring. "So let's try and find out."
Trent wasn't quite sure what it was that prompted him (other than the fact that ordinary guys don't usually start making wind sculptures in front of you), but he dove to his right, dropping wooden sword and book bag to get the HOOT (hell out of there). It proved to be the most intelligent move as Daisuke made a kind of clawing gesture at him, sending some kind of cutting burst at him.
Trent had seen Ryoko use something like that once when she'd fought Shizuma, but hers hadn't cut steel as smooth as a laser. Wishing fervently he still had the full use of both arms (mainly as he could dodge and roll a LOT better with a second arm), he headed for the nearest alley at a dead run. The same prickle he'd felt earlier returned, and acting on something he didn't quite understand, he jumped into the air, turning his body sideways. Again, an excellent move as two Wind Razors shot past him, one at what would have been head height, the other level with his calves.
Unfortunately, he'd jumped in such a way that he was falling towards his left side. He desperately twisted in the air, and managed to get enough that rather than taking his full body weight on his still-aching left shoulder, he was able to catch himself on both arms. Still, it proved to be too much as his arm collapsed under him.
"What. the. hell. are. you. doing."
Daisuke turned to the cold, angry voice just as some kind of wave of force slammed him into a brick wall. He groaned as he lay there, embedded in the red stone. "You..."
Hajime sheathed his sword. "I don't know why you're doing this. And quite frankly, I don't care. Attack this man again, and you die."
Trent tried to play dead on the pavement. There was something...compelling about Hajime's voice. It gave him a bad case of the chills; he didn't doubt for a second that he would go through with his threat.
Hajime smiled wanly as he somehow made the sword disappear. "I know you're still conscious; it would take more than that to knock you out." Getting no answer, he sighed tiredly. "Listen, what if I told you that I can answer at least SOME of the questions you have? Namely, why this fool attacked you? Would you be willing to listen?"
Trent winced, but got up. "I was kind of hoping I was more convincing."Hajime shrugged. "It would have been a convincing act for anyone but you. I know you too well; you wouldn't let something as piddling as that stop you, particularly not a wind attack. You're better than him."
Trent winced as he rose to his feet. "Thank you for adding to the question list. I met you today when you introduced yourself to the whole school, and this is the first time we met. So how precisely do you know me?"
Hajime smiled. "Follow me. There is a LOT you don't know, and need to learn."
To be continued...
(1) - That's what's called, 'fore-shadowing.' It can also be referred to as a dramatic irony.
Author's Notes: Hoo boy. Well, Trent seems to be attracting all KINDS of new problems, not the least of which is the 'fairer gender.' Don't ask about his love life, I have no intention of teling that for a LONG time. As for his powers, or who those three are, I reccomend pasting the address to your browser. Not many people I know have even HEARD of Sohryuden, but I think it's a cool series, and dragon based, so appropriate for Trent.
Bolero
Chapter One
Questions...
Sanguis Falaris in one hand, Spiritus Falis in the other, Trent jogged forward. Kardis, seeming to sense the opposing energy, lanced out jagged forks of her crimson lightning. The combined might of the dark and light swords wove a circular shield around him that not even She could pierce. Standing before the pit and the altar, he tightened his grip, summoning every shred of energy within him. "Deed...Tess...Zelas...I'm coming."
Grinning ferally, he leapt into the air, falling towards the dark altar. For the first time, he roared as he fell to combat; the whisper quiet assassin gone for a moment.
That final clash was a thing of awe. A last, desperate barrier had been erected between the dark elf and the altar; Kardis would not be fully reborn until the souls of the elves belonged within her. The twin swords unloosed their full energies in an unstoppable torrent of force; incandescent and violet, like tongues of chain lightning. The two energies surged wildly, focused under Trent's single-minded command; finish Her off.
On the one side, a fallen, hibernating goddess of insanity and destruction.
On the other a half-mad assassin dark elf wielding two weapons of godly power.
In the end, destruction turned in on itself.
Without the last surge of the barrier's power, the two swords ripped savagely into the ethereal barrens holding Kardis, laying waste to what lay beneath. The mere presence of the two swords's full energies rippled the air like black sand mirages, churning their wake into a pillar of pearlescent light.
A light that stretched beyond worlds, spun filigreed from darkness.
He smiled as he fell through the shield, only to gasp in shock as his senses proved him wrong; she had survived, and not even the Swords bathed in the essences of two opposing gods would be enough.
Snarling under his breath, the assassin raised his hand, channeling the power. To speak the words, to name those Seven Gods would be his death sentence; he knew that already. It was simply a question of which he valued more; his own life, or the lives of the three women who were to be devoured.
It was a matter of little thought.
Raising his hand, he channeled the forces of the seven elements, weaving the spirits of the gods into a gate. Gate into chaos, gate into his own death, but gate into their lives...
--------
Trent gasped as he awoke, sitting bolt upright in bed. Panting raggedly, he turned to stare at his alarm clock. 4:38 AM. Groaning to himself, he slumped forward, his head resting on his hands. "Again." Hoisting his lanky, six foot frame off the futon, he turned to enter the tiny kitchen of his flat. He knew from experience that sleep would not be coming back any time soon, and by the time it did, he'd have to be ready for school.
Setting the saucepan on the gas burner, he waited for the water to boil. He could have just knuckled under and bought a tea kettle, but this was cheaper, and really, what difference did it make? He slumped into the chair at the small table, staring at the blue gas flames under the water. This night brought the total up to forty two nights. Forty two nights he'd woken up from impossibly real dreams; dreams of himself, but someone else.
They'd started out strangely enough; he'd somehow decided he was an elf of some kind, playing Greensleeves on a carved bamboo flute as he perched in a tree. Those usually ended with him finishing the song, and had been chalked up as simply odd; he'd read the Dragon's Lance chronicles too many times, or something like that, and his subconscious was manifesting the material in his sleep. Had it ended at that, he wouldn't have given it a second thought.
But the dreams had continued. One in particular that kept scaring him, shaking him out of sleep in absolute shock. Not terror, not a fear of any kind, but having had his perceptions badly shaken. It always started the same; him running through a cave, using some kind of claymore to fight off these wraiths that kept trying to stop him. Next, he'd found the cavern leading to a huge chamber, where some figure in black armor had been trying to fight off a wizard of some kind. The two had managed to kill the wizard, but then they tried fighting each other.
The wizard came back for an instant, not quite dead, and tried to kill the black-armored man. He'd distracted him long enough to finish him off, but the man had collapsed, dead or unconscious, Trent didn't know.
Then was the part that kept shaking him. Gripping the other man's sword alongside his own, he'd charged some kind of altar, and apparently killed Something Big to save these two elves. Odd, but it shouldn't have lasted.
What frightened him (he'd admit it) about that dream wasn't that it was so real, or that he nearly died every time, or even that it kept reoccuring. What frightened him was the emotions. Normally, his dreams were attributed as the products of his own over-active imagination, nothing more. These were something else; he FELT for the women. He wasn't sure, but he had a disquieting feeling that in the dreams, he was in love with the two women, and it drove him to distraction. How could he love a figment of his own imagination? It wasn't possible.
He looked up from his musings as the water started bubbling. Dragging himself out of his chair, he pulled down a mug and tea bag, letting it steep. He'd only recently started to actually enjoy drinking this odd stuff; green tea.
Knowing it would take a few minutes to steep (he preferred it strong), and even longer before it would be at the desired temperature, he fell back into thought. About three weeks ago, new dreams had started; dreams of the same elf, but fighting a new opponent. Some weird blonde who glowed in the dark; literally, considering that his body looked like it was made out of neon yellow light while his body was surrounded by some kind of living darkness. Trent had used a spell of all things, to suck the guy into another world and kill him. Then he'd lingered just long enough for someone new to come, another woman with the strangest shade of pale lavender hair he'd ever seen. And once again, he'd felt honest to goodness love for her, confessed only in that instant of his death.
This last week had been the worst; first had been all those dreams about dragons. The white-haired prince riding a bat-like white one, that ugly, green, brontosaurus-looking one, the red one the size of a 747, the gold one that fought the black one...and then the last two. One looked like someone had taken a panther's body, given it the scales, head, neck, and tail of a dragon, then added on graceful wings, and molded the whole thing from pure silver. The other...
He shook his head. That last was just plain impossible. A creature CAN NOT grow that large and maintain homeostasis; it would have to eat a pod of whales a day just to stay alive.
And now this. A merger of the two dreams of women he claimed to love.
Deciding he needed the tea more than an unburnt tongue, he picked up the ceramic mug, taking a sip. Sighing as the hot, slightly bitter liquid started clearing the muzziness, he leaned back and stared up at the ceiling.
He was almost ready to go right out and find a decent psychiatrist, but he REALLY didn't want to waste his money on a guy who'd decide that he had unfulfilled passions regarding his mother, or that he was suppressing memories of being molested by his dog, or something equally deranged.
He just wished he could understand; why now?
--------
He'd been awake for an hour and a half, just vegetating, when he finally brought himself to getting ready for the day. Muttering to himself about nothing in particular, he grabbed a towel and headed for the shower.
He reflected on nothing in particular as he cleaned off; mostly speculation on who would attack who at school first today, followed by wonder as to what principle Todo would come up with to try and make school more interesting. He shook his head as he continued working the shampoo into his long, silver hair. He'd always heard that the Asian school systems were far more rigorous than those you could expect in other places, but Daimon was apparently an acception to the rule. To his knowledge, it was the only place where club membership was based on martial and combative skill rather than actual competence in the subject.
Turning off the water, he wrung out the waist-length mass of white hair, grinning slightly in memory. The principle had been ready to sick the kendo club on him (claiming it to be a test of their accuracy to see who could successfully cut his hair while he ran without harming him) before he'd finally threatened to start a School Bagpipes Enthusiast Club. Todo was many things, but a complete fool he was not. He knew only too well how easily seemingly idiotic things like that would become popular at school, and the last thing he wanted was a bunch of amateur would-be bagpipe virtuosos serenading the rest of the school.
Trent MacRae shook his head. He wasn't completely sure WHY he'd been sent to school half a planet away, but he reflected that Scotish teenagers in Japan were something of a rarity.
He winced again as he came to his closet; pretty simple stuff, really. Two sets of school uniforms, and about a week's worth of casual clothing; mostly jeans and casual trousers with either t-shirts or button-down shirts. He didn't particularly mind a uniform; school back home had it to, after all, but he sincerely disliked the Japanese uniforms. Mostly because very few people bothered to cater to six foot one, tall and gangly.
Finishing gathering his books and such, he stuffed them in the briefcase- like bookbag, tied back his hair in a ponytail, and headed for school, intent on trying to get there before one of the more non-combatant clubs decided he needed to join.
--------
Trent looked around for a moment, and shook his head sadly. "Every single day." Fumbling in his bookbag, he pulled out a wooden board; a half inch thick, roughly ten by fourteen inches. He paused as he watched Ryoko maim the ninjutsu club severely, then calmly brought the board up to catch an errant shuriken. Plucking the four-pointed throwing knife off the board, he tossed it to the side and started for the door.
During his first week of school, he'd nearly been blinded by a mis-thrown, dart-like throwing knife. He'd managed to duck, but if he'd been half a second slower, they'd be calling him Patch. As such, he now took that little board with him every day for deflection of errant weaponry.
"Hey, Trent!"
He smiled as his current (and only) friend arrived. "Hey Kim. Anything new happen?"
Kim was one of the only other transfer students who'd had the misfortune to end up in Daimon's precincts. Worse, he was a Korean; as Trent understood, the relations between the Japanese and Korean were kind of like the relationship you'd expect between Germany and Poland; the latter had spent a big part of their history being little more than a place to conveniently re-conquer when you needed to boost the economy. Nice guy though; he never let anyone get him mad, and had the sense to stay out of trouble with any given chance.
It didn't hurt at all that he was also a member of one of the three clubs Trent had some membership in, namely the Hiking Club (they were currently trying to figure out ways to adapt steel-toe boots and mountaineering pickaxes into something useful in the school K-fight system).
Kim shook his head. "Listen, something dangerous is coming up."
Trent frowned. "How so?"
The shorter Korean rolled his eyes. "Daisaku and the principle are worrying that Ryoko might be loosing her edge."
Trent stared at Kim shortly, then turned calmly to regard the remains of the ninjutsu club, the fencing club (european as opposed to kendo) swiftly adding to their ranks of the wounded. "You call that loosing her edge?"
"They figure that if she keeps having to fight wimps like this, she's going to get sloppy and careless. They think she needs a more challenging fighter to go up against."
Trent shook his head. Kim was a member of the Hiking Club and the Tae Kwon Do club; a decent fighter, but not in the 'heavy hitters' league. Actually, no one in the hiking club was. Trent on the other hand was a member of the Hiking Club, the Kyudo (archery) club, and the Kendo club, in that order. "Kim, I watch Ryoko practice twice a week. Her definition of a light work-out is beating the rest of us into a moaning pulp. That girl's so conditioned to train in swordplay and combat that she's going to need gene therapy to get comfortable with the CONCEPT of losing her edge."
Kim shrugged helplessly. "I agree, but you know how Todo is. If the fights don't get more exciting for him, he finds out new ways to MAKE them interesting. Just to warn you." He turned to leave, then paused. "Oh yeah, one other thing. We're getting three new students today; three sophomores." He smiled. "One of them's quite the hotty."
Trent shook his head, chuckling lightly. "Keep looking. Who knows, someday you might find one who cares enough to actually concede to going out with you."
Kim winced comically. "Low blow."
Trent just smiled. So he had weird dreams. The rest of his life seemed to be going pretty nicely.
--------
Yuzuriha looked around. She'd grown up mostly around the shrine, and for the most part wasn't all that used to having to deal with large groups of new people. Still, she could get all kinds of friends here. With all the unusual people here, who knew? Maybe she'd finally find someone with...sensitivity.
She smiled briefly down at Inuki. She wondered how he'd deal with the new classes. At her old school he'd just sleep through them, sometimes going off to have a quick run on his own, but with all the fights here, sleeping would probably be a little bit harder.
The principle stood at the podium. Odd man; she couldn't decide if he looked more like a retired mob-boss or a prize fighter. Considering what she'd heard about him, either one might be correct.
Turning back, she took aen you needd at her three fellow transfer students. Both were boys, but they didn't really look all that similar. The one on her left had an insufferably bored look on his face, as though the entire world at large was beneath him. Although considering that he was pretty cute, maybe he'd let that go to his head. Deep down, he might be a decent guy; she'd have to wait and see.
The boy on her left looked MUCH nicer. He wasn't quite as cute, but he was getting there. Somewhat taller, his haircut was a pretty simple thing, his face open and honest. All in all, looked to her like a chronic nice guy. She wondered what there names were.
Todo smiled as he walked over. Once this introduction was over, he had a simply WONDERFUL announcement. "Hello everyone. We have several announcements to get out of the way. First of all, we have a number of new arrivals; three new students, and a new addition to our teaching staff." He gestured for each to introduce themselves.
The boy on her left stepped forward, smiling pleasantly. "Amaru Ryudo. Nice to meet you."
Yuzuriha skipped forward, giving a slight bow as she greeted her new school. "Yuzuriha Nekoi, age 16. Pleased to meet you."
The last simply glanced up, though he did take the effort to wipe the contempt off his face. "Kamui Shiro."
The priestess in training stiffened somewhat.
Todo stepped forward again. "Oddly enough, our teaching assistant is from one of our student's families." Again, the bow and gesture for introduction.
Yuzuriha looked back up; Kamui struck her as being pretty easy to pick out of a crowd, so she'd probably be able to find him later. If he was 'the' Kamui, at least. Besides, she probably needed to be able to find out who the teachers were.
She was glad she had in a few moments. The teacher to stand proved to be breath-takingly handsome, in a more mature way. He bowed formally, with a pleasant smile. "Hajime Ryudo. I'll be teaching business and history, as well as helping out in the Kendo Club."
Todo nodded as Hajime sat down. "And lastly, I have a rather...interesting announcement regarding the club funding situation." He waited for the murmurs to die down somewhat. "First, it has come to my attention that the K-fight system established by the missing Mr. Kusanagi has been proving to be a bit...monotonous. More to the point," he added, emotion starting to swell in his words, "the challengers of our current champion, Miss Ryoko Mitsurugi..."
In the audience, the red-headed samurai girl winced. She was starting to get irritated with all the fight challenges; at least the ones that weren't actual work-outs.
Todo continued. "...have lost the spirit of the K-fight. It has simply become some ridiculous exercise to see which club finally produces someone who can defeat the kendo club. As such, a new motivation is needed." He pumped a fist in the air as he yanked the microphone from its stand. "So now hear this! After school today, there will be a gigantic K-fight, tournament style! Any and all challengers welcome! And to the winnner..." he paused dramatically, "...TEN TIMES THE FUNDING AS ANY OTHER CLUB! AND THE FIGHTER HIMSELF RECEIVES A FULLY PAID, ONE WEEK CARIBBEAN CRUISE FOR TWO!"
Yuzuriha felt herself sweat-drop at the roars. The school was fully as weird as the rumors had said. Shaking her head, she thought at Inuki,
In the audience, Kim grinned at Trent. "Told you she was a hotty."
Trent frowned in thought. She WAS pretty cute; still, there were some things that seemed confusing. "Is she blind or something?"
Kim paused in his cheering to stare at his friend in confusion. "Blind? What the hell brought that up?"
Trent looked up, and blinked in confusion. "Oh, sorry. Thought I saw something up there next to her. My mistake." Still shrugging, he turned to leave. Neither the Kendo Club nor the Kyudo club would need him; he was considered the fifth worst in Kendo, although in archery he was one of the best. Still, archery itself wouldn't be all that useful, and the captain also studied naginata. He shook his head; only in Daimon did you have blackbelts as a requirement for leadership.
The Hiking Club wasn't going to be getting much out of this mess.
Ignoring the sudden chill that accompanied that thought, he exited the auditorium. In hindsight, that was probably a mistake.
--------
"Please, Trent?"
The scot stared at the fifteen or so members of his favorite club. "Please tell me this is some kind of crude joke. Or an assassination attempt of some kind. Just DON'T tell me you're doing this because you're serious." Kim winced as he continued pleading. "Trent, you're our only hope; you HAVE to represent us in this tournament."
The white-haired senior looked at them for a few moments, then calmly walked over to the nearest wall and started thumping his head against it, half in jest, half in earnest. After a good thirty seconds of this, he looked back. Sighing, he sank to one of the nearby comfortable rocks. Considering their subject, the club had chosen to meet outdoors in the woods at the edge of campus. "Let me get this straight. Our rather openly non-combative club has decided that the chance for ten times the normal funding was too good to pass up. As such, rather than doing the sane thing and simply figuring out the best way to spend our regular funding, you've decided to actually fight in this K-tournament. And for reasons that as yet make no sense, have elected ME our lovely little sacrificial lamb. Do I have everything covered?"
Nods accompanied that. "Yeah." "Pretty much." "You can do it."
Trent groaned, rubbing his temples. "Why, precisely, do you think I'm the best choice? Why not Kim?"
Kim spoke up without hesitation. "You're better than I am; I'm pretty low ranked in the tae kwon do club, and you've seen how often the captain gets his clock cleaned by Mitsurugi. You at least have some experience with her."
Trent scoffed. "Experience? Yeah, experience getting pounded into the ground like a tent stake. Honestly, why me? Getting rid of the gaijin?"
Kim's pleading look was replaced by faint anger. "That was unnecessary, you know."
Trent sighed. "I know, I know, sorry. It's just, I'm NOT very happy about this. I mean, I'm barely ranked in kendo in the first place, my archery skills are going to do me squat, and the best I can hope for in this fight is that Ryoko decides to take mercy on me and knocks me out before she can cause any serious pain. How ELSE am I supposed to react to this?"
Kim slung a companionable arm around his shoulders. "It could be worse; at least this way, your bravery in the face of utter defeat might FINALLY score you a girlfriend."
Trent rolled his eyes. "Near death that might make me popular? You have GOT to get your priorities straight."
Kim just grinned. His best friend was straight, he knew that much. He just seemed to suffer from a constant belief that women weren't ever interested. He needed to change that.
[Having written that (and knowing some things you don't), the Author collapses at his computer in a fit of utter hysterics.]
--------
The Tae Kwon Do team had been slaughtered. The Karate team was currently in transit to the nurse's office. The Rugby team had tried using human wall techniques on her, and had found that she was surprisingly good at cutting down walls.
And so it continued. Kyudo, Muay Thai, Tai Chi, Wushu, Boxing, Drunken Boxing, Hapkido, Jeet Kun Do, Soccer, Bowling...the clubs rose in defiance and were calmly beaten within an inch of their lives.
Trent shook his head remorsefully. "How many teams are their left?"
Kim winced as the sumo captain was launched out of the ring. "Just us and the Flower Arrangement Club."
Trent shuddered. When he'd first arrived, he'd considered asking out Azumi Kirabiyashi out. She'd shot him down mercifully, resulting in a mope that had lasted for weeks. THEN he'd found out that she was some kind of freaking lunatic, Mad Noblewoman Laugh (TM) and all.
He'd gotten better with surprising speed.
Standing, he hefted his weapon of choice. "Well, may as well get this out of the way. I don't think I'd forgive myself if I beat Ryoko AFTER Azumi got through with her." Shouldering his way through the rings, he approached the only surviving team.
Azumi smiled beautifically as she prepared her entrance, when she felt a tap on her shoulder. "Excuse me, Miss Kirabiyashi? Do you mind if I go before you?"
She blinked in surprise, for all that her smile never wavered. She'd been planning to be the last anyway, so she had no objections. Turning, she paused, looking up somewhat until she reached the taller man's face. "Oh...MacRae, isn't it?" Trent nodded. "I sincerely doubt this will take long, so if you don't mind?"
Azumi sweeped a mocking bow at the carefully polite young man. "Go right ahead."
Sighing in both relief and resignation (he wouldn't have minded quite that much if Azumi had refused to let him go), he turned to the ring.
"Excuse me?"
He paused, turning at the voice. Surprise was evident on his face as he noticed the new girl. "Oh...Um, I feel kind of bad, but what was your name? I can never seem to remember them."
Yuzuriha grinned. "Yuzuriha Nekoi. Good luck."
Trent blink-blinked in confusion, then allowed a rueful smile across his lips. he thought. "Thanks. Let's hope that it's good enough." Gripping the elastic cords, he was about to swing in when a thought came to him. "Nekoi means cat, right?" At her nod, he shook his head. "It doesn't really suit you; are you sure you aren't Inu, or something?" Not waiting for an answer, he levered himself into the ring.
"Well, well, I was right," came a voice from behind her.
Startled, Yuzuriha spun to spy the slightly taller boy. "Excuse me?"
Kim just grinned winsomely. "Kim Dong Hwan. Trent's a friend of mine."
Yuzuriha nodded distractedly, turning back to watch the fight. She felt excitement build in her. Maybe...
--------
Ryoko stared. "Huh? Don't I know you?"
Trent nodded tiredly. "Trent MacRae, senior. We've fought before in practice."
Ryoko stared at him, sweat-dropping. "Why are you here; aren't you already in the kendo club?"
Trent sighed, tapping his sword against a shoulder. "Not all that seriously; I'm representing the hiking club."
Ryoko's sweat-drop turned into several smaller ones. "Uh...I didn't know there WAS a hiking club."
Trent shrugged helplessly. "No surprise; we don't start fights very often. I STILL don't understand why I'm here."
Ryoko shook her head. "Well, let's get this over with then." She didn't mind fighting, but against someone who was little challenge wasn't going to be any real challenge (1), what was the point. She took her own stance, but paused. "Uh...what's that thing?"
Trent regarded the one inch thick four foot dowel rod in his hand. "Hmmm? Oh, I thought I'd try something new." Not bothering with further speech, he decided to save his breath for the eventual mad dodging sure to occur. He took his own stance; two hands on the sword, tip pointing at his opponent, haft and hands on the right side of his face. A perfect stance for stabbing and rushes. Ironic really, considering that he was bound and determined to fight defensively.
--------
Hajime slouched against the doorway, watching the fight. He wasn't too terribly impressed with his students; they all seemed more interested in either dating him (in the case of some of the more guy-hungry female populace) or defeating him in brutal hand-to-hand combat.
The dates he could understand; guys like him (mature, poised, and not overtly homicidal) didn't seem like they'd be that common around here. He still wasn't quite sure why all the assaults.
Still, while he took pride in teaching, that wasn't his real purpose here; he was there to find the Fourth. Tsuzuku's powers had been giving him more and clearer information as they got closer. At first they'd only known to look for someone who WASN'T asian. Then they'd realized that it meant a gaijin somewhere in Asia. As they'd gotten closer, it got more narrowly defined. European, rather than American, Australian, or perhaps Russian. That got things a bit easier still. Then they were told to search Japan. And finally, Tokyo.
Now they were in Tokyo, and the parameters were about as clear as they were likely to get.
Hajime just hoped that Fungsahn remembered his dignity soon, otherwise this fight would be pretty boring.
--------
Trent forced himself to stand his ground as Ryoko charged in for an overhead strike. At the last minute, he ducked and pivoted out of the way, his longer sword swinging in a full circle to slash at her legs. Seemingly startled, Ryoko quickly dove over his slower attack to land back on her feet and charge again.
Realizing that an almost-on-the-ground position was very bad when fighting someone who liked to use downward strokes hard enough to shatter rock, Trent leapt to his feet, abandoning his earlier stance to set his bokken up in front of him defensively. Through a combination of almost drunken- looking dodges, desperate counter-strikes, and jumping backwards in a frantic attempt to stay out of the smaller girl's reach, Trent was able to avoid getting hit even once.
Panting as he fell back, he was torn between apprehension of her next assault and a sense of wonder that he'd lasted through the first ten seconds. Switching his sword to a vertical guard at the side of his head, he decided on a whim to actually see how an assault went against her.
He shot forward, his sword in a vertical cut that she easily met and blocked. Their swords set against each other, she smiled at him through the blades. It was getting to be more fun than she'd expected; he was better with this long sword than he was a standard bokken. The grin turned to startlement as Trent lowered his center of gravity and shoved forcefully forward, throwing her off balance.
Realizing that he probably wouldn't get another chance at this, he again slipped back to his original thrusting stance, his feet sliding forward as he thrust at her.
Unfortunately, Ryoko wasn't just arbitrarily called the best fighter at Daimon; she'd EARNED the title. By the time Trent had started his new attack she'd already regained her balance, blocking his thrust to the side and bringing her own sword at Trent in a vicious overhand blow.
The scot belated realized his gaff. Trying to shift from forward to backwards motion instantly, he brought his sword back, grabbing it further along its length, using it to block as though he were fighting with a short bo or cane instead of a sword. Not even remotely set for the attack, he staggered under the force of her strike, falling to the ground. Managing to turn it into a clumsy roll, he spun his legs at her in an on-the-spot attempt at the technique he'd watched members of the Capoirea club used. He had considerable lower body strength, and most of his height came from his legs. It wasn't particularly clean, but it was JUST impressive enough to make Ryoko dance back long enough for Trent to get back on his feet. Rather than attack immediately however, his opponent chose to just stand there, assessing him. Glad for the short respite, Trent just stared right back at her.
Okay, resource check. Advantages: greater physical strength in terms of sheer lifting power, greater reach in just body, greater reach of weapon. None of which would do him any good against an opponent who was faster and who while weaker, could actually hit harder than he could. While he could have theoretically used his reach to keep her at arms length and tried to pick her apart with a sword, he didn't HAVE a real sword, and he'd need to get in one solid blow if he was going to have any chance of winning.
He paused as he noticed the new teacher standing in the back, a look of fierce attention to the fight in his eyes. Strange eyes. Glittered...with strange lights...strange menace...air of command...
For her part, Ryoko's estimation of her opponent was going up by leaps and bounds. When they'd fought in practice, it had been under the fairly strict rules and straight-forward forms of kendo. Here, he wasn't limiting himself to any rules of any kind; he had no problem trying to hamstring her early, and he wasn't limiting himself to sword-work. So while he was apparently a mediocre if not bad kendoist (and considering that it was by Daimon High's standards she was measuring him, he was probably better elsewhere), he was actually a better FIGHTER, at least in the ring of a K- fight. She smiled, and setting herself, charged.
Trent blinked back in confusion. The teacher's eyes had been...strange, to say the least. He'd felt like they were trying to reach into him and pull out...something. It was so odd; they felt like 1000 watt lights flaring on his face. He frowned as he heard some kind of dull roaring in his ears. Returning his attention to the fight, he was startled to see Ryoko charge him as though in slow motion. What was stranger was that she had nearly hit him, and somehow his body had taken over completely. He'd snapped his sword up to deflect her strike to the side, and in the same motion was bringing the blade of his weapon around to strike as she charged.
His attention snapped into focus as he realized in some horror that he had instinctively aimed for the spot on her neck where a man's adam's apple would have bulged; his subconscious was trying to crush her larynx. Eyes widening in shock, he yanked the sword out of the way, spinning to get out of her path.
Ryoko had seen the strike from he rown vantage speed; it was as though Trent had abruptly gotten almost three times as fast as her, blocked, and set up for a kill strike in a single motion. He'd aborted it, but it still shook her severely enough that she lost some of her balance as she spun wildly to face him again. Trent frowned slightly as Ryoko charged. It was like he was drunk or something; at least that would have been his assumption (he was allergic to alcohol; not something considered particularly fun by his fellow Scots). As she'd shot past him, it had been at what he would have considered normal speed, but now as she spun to face him, she was slowing down again. Deciding not to question the strangeness, Trent decided to let his subconscious take over again, but fixed it firmly in his mind that he wanted to beat her, NOT kill or seriously injure.
Taking this into consideration, his subconscious mind accelerated him at stunning speed as he attacked. Spinning twice as he approached, he accelerated once more as he reached Ryoko, his make-shift sword meeting hers with a sold THWACK! powerful enough to send her flying into the ring's confining bands.
Ryoko gasped in shock at the force of impact. NO ONE hit her that hard. Instinct and well-honed reflexes had been enough to keep her sword in front of her, her hands still firmly gripped around the haft, but that was about it. The only reason she didn't loose right then and there was that Trent wasn't counter-attacking.
For his part, the scottish swordsman was blinking owlishly, shaking his head lightly. He was feeling kind of dizzy, slightly feverish. He could have attributed it to the school lunch, but he somewhat doubted it. He had a sinking feeling that the source of his current skill and instincts, as well as the troubling dreams of the past month and a half, were contributing in different ways to his current malaise.
As such, he was barely able to sway partially out of the way as Ryoko attacked all out, her attack of choice a vicious stab.
Had it connected, it likely would have crushed his ribs, possibly even caving in a lung (he wasn't Shizuma; HE couldn't absorb blows with the same force and momentum as a speeding eighteen-wheel truck and live to tell about it). With the spin he'd put on the attack, he managed to survive the strike, taking it where arm met shoulder.
Through a combination of the pain and the strange sense of malaise that had slowed him down so badly, he lost consciousness almost instantly. Lucky to, as the pain he would have felt from his newly dislocated shoulder would likely have set him howling in agony on the floor.
In the stands below, Yuzuriha felt a stab of sympathy for the boy; it was kind of obvious that his arm wasn't supposed to bend like that. Though no small part of her concern lay with the fact that an injury like that might have something to do with his quip about how her name should have meant 'dog.'
Hajime smiled slightly.
Further up in the audience, two other figures were watching the match; one a solemn if attractive young woman looking to be about seventeen years old. She was dressed in the uniform of a highschool girl; sailor-style seifuku, but it looked wrong on her. She had a classical beauty and statuesque quality that made her look as though hakama or a yukata would have been more suitable.
Her companion was a tall, somewhat muscular young man, equally serious- faced. Blond, he scowled as he watched those below him. "(blue dragon) Gakkei seems rather interested in him."
Arashi nodded. "I do not think him to be the one that we search for, but perhaps the Ryudo brothers have found their target?"
Daisuke snorted. "I don't think so, but I'll make sure."
Arashi frowned at him. "Is that wise? Considering his current injury, such an attack could well kill him."
Daisuke shrugged. "I won't if I don't have to, but we have to know."
Arashi sighed. "Daisuke, I'm aware of your grief with the Kings, but don't do anything rash. If Hajime is wrong, don't do anything foolish." She turned to leave. "We have our own last to find."
--------
"Finally awake?"
The sound of a careful baritone voice was the first thing Trent noticed. The second was the stabbing ache in his shoulder. Carefully favoring his left arm, he raised himself out of bed. He frowned across the bed. "Fuma? What are you doing here?"
He didn't even bother to shrug. "I'm on infirmary duty this week. Feeling better?"
Trent winced as he slowly swung his legs around the cot. "All things considered, I guess. I passed out; how badly was I actually injured?"
"Dislocated shoulder," Fuma replied. "The nurse reset it, but warned that it would still probably ache for a week or so. Though she did mention something about not trying any Houdini's."
Trent smiled in relief. "Really? Better than I'd hoped for."
Fuma cocked his head to the side in slight curiousity. "What did she mean by that?"
Trent chuckled dryly as he noticed his 'claymore' set next to his bookbag. "Houdini was a famous escape artist. According to urban myth, he did it by dislocating joints. What she's saying is not to try it; I hope that means that the dislocation should reset as good as original, and that it won't pop out again."
Fuma looked at him calmly, then nodded. "Will you be able to get home on your own?"
Trent nodded, easing himself up completely. "I should be." Still favoring his left arm, he looped the ties of his sword carrier through the handle of his bookbag and swung it over his shoulder. "Thanks for staying."
Fuma just nodded as he collected his own things to leave. "It was nothing."
Trent didn't bother trying for further conversation as they walked towards their seperate homes. The Togakushi Shrine Fuma lived at was in the same vague direction as Trent's apartment, so they ended up walking alongside each other for a few blocks. After a while though, they parted as Trent turned into the less picturesque areas of town. He'd been walking for almost half an hour before anything happened.
He paused as he noticed the guy wearing the military-style high school uniform in front of him, staring unblinkingly at him. Looking around slowly to check his surroundings and finding no one else, he turned to the tall blonde. "Did you need something?"
Daisuke pushed away from the wall to walk closer. Slowly walking around the white-haired scot, he began examining him slowly, as though looking for weak points. Trent COULD have felt offended and that he was being challenged, but his fairly well-honed instinct for social (and other forms) of survival was screaming at him "DON'T PROVOKE!"
Daisuke finally finished, shaking his head. "You seem pretty ordinary to me." Trent sweat-dropped. "Uh...so I've been told. I always kind of thought I acted kind of strangely."
Daisuke snorted in disdain. "What could they see in you? Is it the white hair? If THAT'S all that matters, what's the point?"
Trent continued to look at him for a solid minute of silence. Finally, he spoke. "Okay, I'm getting confused. What the bleep is this about?"
Daisuke paused (he was wondering why Trent had actually said 'bleep' instead of a real curse word). "You actually don't know?"
Taking a deep breath, he let it out. "No, not particularly. I have no clue who you are, who 'they' are, and why the fact that I have white hair should make any kind of difference. What, are 'they' a modeling agency or something trying to cater to the 'mature' crowd and think gray hair makes me look older? What?"
Daisuke smiled grimly. "I don't think you'll find out. The thing is, most of the time it's the ones who seem pretty ordinary that end up in the shoes of giants."
"That's 'stood on the shoulders of giants,'" Trent corrected. "Issac Newton said that about his accomplishments, that the only reason he'd been the one to find all that stuff out was that he had 'stood on the shoulders of giants,' meaning people like Galileo, Da Vinci, and Pythagoras."
Daisuke's smile faded. "The point is, you don't look like much to me. Still, you might be what they need, so I suppose it's up to me to try and find out for sure." Raising a hand, he did SOMETHING, somehow causing the wind to swirl around his hand in an eighteen inch ring. "So let's try and find out."
Trent wasn't quite sure what it was that prompted him (other than the fact that ordinary guys don't usually start making wind sculptures in front of you), but he dove to his right, dropping wooden sword and book bag to get the HOOT (hell out of there). It proved to be the most intelligent move as Daisuke made a kind of clawing gesture at him, sending some kind of cutting burst at him.
Trent had seen Ryoko use something like that once when she'd fought Shizuma, but hers hadn't cut steel as smooth as a laser. Wishing fervently he still had the full use of both arms (mainly as he could dodge and roll a LOT better with a second arm), he headed for the nearest alley at a dead run. The same prickle he'd felt earlier returned, and acting on something he didn't quite understand, he jumped into the air, turning his body sideways. Again, an excellent move as two Wind Razors shot past him, one at what would have been head height, the other level with his calves.
Unfortunately, he'd jumped in such a way that he was falling towards his left side. He desperately twisted in the air, and managed to get enough that rather than taking his full body weight on his still-aching left shoulder, he was able to catch himself on both arms. Still, it proved to be too much as his arm collapsed under him.
"What. the. hell. are. you. doing."
Daisuke turned to the cold, angry voice just as some kind of wave of force slammed him into a brick wall. He groaned as he lay there, embedded in the red stone. "You..."
Hajime sheathed his sword. "I don't know why you're doing this. And quite frankly, I don't care. Attack this man again, and you die."
Trent tried to play dead on the pavement. There was something...compelling about Hajime's voice. It gave him a bad case of the chills; he didn't doubt for a second that he would go through with his threat.
Hajime smiled wanly as he somehow made the sword disappear. "I know you're still conscious; it would take more than that to knock you out." Getting no answer, he sighed tiredly. "Listen, what if I told you that I can answer at least SOME of the questions you have? Namely, why this fool attacked you? Would you be willing to listen?"
Trent winced, but got up. "I was kind of hoping I was more convincing."Hajime shrugged. "It would have been a convincing act for anyone but you. I know you too well; you wouldn't let something as piddling as that stop you, particularly not a wind attack. You're better than him."
Trent winced as he rose to his feet. "Thank you for adding to the question list. I met you today when you introduced yourself to the whole school, and this is the first time we met. So how precisely do you know me?"
Hajime smiled. "Follow me. There is a LOT you don't know, and need to learn."
To be continued...
(1) - That's what's called, 'fore-shadowing.' It can also be referred to as a dramatic irony.
Author's Notes: Hoo boy. Well, Trent seems to be attracting all KINDS of new problems, not the least of which is the 'fairer gender.' Don't ask about his love life, I have no intention of teling that for a LONG time. As for his powers, or who those three are, I reccomend pasting the address to your browser. Not many people I know have even HEARD of Sohryuden, but I think it's a cool series, and dragon based, so appropriate for Trent.