Slayer's Vengeance

by Jago-Dakari

A meeting between a yautja huntress and a human marine turned vengefull slayer will shake the very foundation of both races in this story of adventure, love and loss.

19. Interlude: School Days

To all my devoted fans.

sorry about the long wait but you know have something new to read. this isn't continuing Slayers Vengeance but is a little sidestory about Alaric. you may remember about him being something of a loner as school, well, this is the account of his first ever day at a civilian school.

This has character development, universe background and, lets not forget, lots of action as Alaric tries to cope with the prospect of going to school and dealing with problems as they come. Even if the problem that arises is an old one.

(the timeline, if anyone is wondering, that i follow is a mix of all the major events of the Aliens and Predators universes, the movies, comics and video games.)

I will be adding the final part to this little peice at a later date and i may possibly do a peiece about Ja'anya's childhood after her father's death. who else here wants to rad about that?

but enough of me blabbing, READ AWAY!

---

The classroom was abuzz with activity… non-learning that is. The teenage students were messing around, gossiping about the latest fads, or trying to study in the chaos. It was the beginning of a new year and old students had graduated and new students had enrolled in this recently recovered institute.

It had been several decades since the Xenomorph Infestation of Earth and the titanic struggle to eradicate the bugs from the human homeworld. Much of the planet was still in a state of ruin and most of the environment, already frail from the expansive industry and population boom of the 20th and 21st century, was hived and assimilated and much of the Earth's population was dead. However, most of the major nations and corporations, including the infamous Weyland Yutani Corp, had survived the horrific war and formed a new global government, The United Earth Federation. Efforts to cleanse the world have since been met with good results with most of the major continents purged of all bugs but the Earth was still a long way from complete restoration.

And, as for the ones responsible for that nightmare? Suffice to say, they were now branded traitors to their own race.

The students were a mixture of all groups on Earth, being of different religions, social and ethnic groups. The xenomorphs taught the necessity of putting grievances aside and working together to survive, although there are some who still cling onto old hatreds. And such things are not tolerated if it leads to disruption of the fragile peace by law. The factions, who refused to band together, be it religious, racial or political, were wiped out by the xenomorphs.

The door opened and the students quickly rushed to their seats as the teacher, a smartly dressed and rather tall, middle thirties woman, walked in with a folder in her arm.

"Settle down. Settle down." She called out.

The teacher walked up to the front desk, the holographic projector showing her name upon entering, Ms Verlyse, and turned to the class. Some of the students were still mucking about. A sharp quick shoe heel to the desk that made the holographics flicker, brought their attention.

"Welcome back to Pennsylvania high." She greeted. "I trust all of you had a good winter break?"

A combination of 'meh', 'ditto' and various indistinguishable words of neutrality sounded. Sounded like winter break was a mixed bag, considering the state the Earth was in. In some places, the snow made the ruins even worse.

"Well, I'm sure that the holidays are getting gradually better in the coming years." She added. "Now, before we start the class, I have something to tell you all." She continued, sitting on her desk. "We're going to be having a new student with us this year."

The students spoke up at this news.

"Who?" asked one of the girl students, whose dark makeup marked her out as a Goth, asked. "What are they like?"

"Well, I haven't been informed much about him." She answered, looking into the folder she was carrying. "I only just got this file today. But, what I know is that he hasn't been to school before, exactly."

"Is he a home schooled kid?" another student, a boy in miner's clothing asked.

"No, he wasn't homeschooled as such. Mind you, with his background, 'Homeschooled' is stretching it a bit."

A sharp series of knocks was heard from the door.

"Ah, that must be him now." Verlyse said. "Come on in, Alaric."

"Alaric?" a student, who looked more akin to a 1920's gangster, said with oddity. "What a weird name."

A couple of the students snickered at that.

The door opened and the mystery student was revealed to the class.

Alaric stepped through the door and the class looked at him as he entered. For a thirteen year old, Alaric was well developed, coming in at 5ft 6. His body and muscles were honed and he had a conditioned, strong constitution. His long, sweptback, jet black hair came down past his shoulders, forming a mane of spikes. He was dressed in practical military clothing, consisting of full urban configuration camouflaged marine fatigues with short sleeves that showed off his biceps, fingerless gloves and reinforced combat boots. He also wore a utility pattern flak vest with pockets lining the front and a set of dog tags around his neck. His large, solid, and unusually bulky marine issue backpack was slung over one shoulder.

The one thing that really caught the student's attention was his dark, ruby red eyes. This added to his already stern features as he shut the door behind him. Some of the students murmured to each other. They were getting the impression that Alaric wasn't one to be casually messed with.

"You shouldn't have said he had a weird name" a student whispered to the previous one, who was now loosening his collar nervously.

Alaric heard that but he didn't pay it any heed. He didn't let insults get to him unless they got really personal. And it was never wise push Alaric that far.

"Alaric, come up to the front of the class, please." Verlyse ordered.

Alaric walked up to the front down the central aisle of the class, his boots thumping heavily on the floor. Some of the girl students began whispering to each other when they saw his physique up close, and admiration was already prevalent. Alaric walked up to the teacher and turned to the class.

"This is Alaric. He will be joining us this year to complete his education." Verlyse said, before looking down at Alaric. "Would you like to tell us a bit about yourself, Alaric?" She asked.

Alaric surveyed the class, getting a good layout of the students with his ruby eyes.

"My name is Alaric Ce'tarn." Alaric said, curtly and to the point. "I'm thirteen. And, I am a member of the Colonial Marines and British SAS."

The students murmured as they heard Alaric talk about himself. Alaric was in the marines at his age? They knew that legally, you couldn't join the armed forces until your eighteenth year or at least join the cadets at fifteen.

Weren't child soldiers illegal?

That was when they thought that Alaric was just messing with them.

"Oh, yeah… pull the other one." A student said, not believing Alaric's introduction.

Verlyse then showed the class an official document, detailing Alaric as a full member of the Corps and the agreement for his educational transfer to a civilian school.

"Alaric here has received his primary education in the armed forces, his wards, and has been… well… persuaded to start his secondary education, in a civilian setting. Our school has been chosen to enroll him" Verlyse stated, clarifying Alaric's background and putting the document back into the folder. "Alaric has never been with other children much, so don't be to put off by him or his mannerisms. Now I'm sure that we'll all do our best to make sure he fits right in. Just make sure that you don't do anything to antagonize or upset him." She looked to Alaric. "Alaric, take a seat anywhere you want."

Alaric's ruby eyes looked around the class, seeing some of the girl students clear space so that Alaric could sit next to them. Alaric, much to their disappointment, moved to a corner in the back that wasn't in use, or near any of the other students, and dumped his bag on the table with a notable thud before sitting down next to it. He instinctively sat up straight and waited patiently for the teacher to continue.

Some students sneaked a look at the Marine Corps emblem on his vest's back and the two chevrons on his both sleeves, adding more proof to his claims.

"Right. Well, let's begin the class by solving some simple equations." The teacher said turning to the holographic board behind her and activating it. "These shouldn't be that hard."

The students went about getting their exercise books as the teacher wrote out some simple problems that gradually became more difficult. Alaric had his books out before anyone else did, having planned his bag's contents thoroughly before hand. He reached into a vest pocket and pulled out an antiquated fountain pen.

Alaric had a preference for simple, nostalgic, but practical objects and he liked seeing the ink flow onto the paper. Some of the students looked at it with surprise and curiosity. Most people had never seen items from the past before and in this day and age, such things were incredibly hard to acquire in a functional state.

When the teacher wrote out twenty such equations, she told the class to proceed while she went through Alaric's file. The students then started either working in silence, messing around or trying to cheat off one another. Alaric didn't make any noise as he silently worked.

It wasn't long after the class started that Alaric had finished all of the questions and just sat there, waiting patiently and flicking through a book on ancient warfare he'd brought, flicking through the Persian-Greek wars while waiting for the next part of the class to begin.

---

It was lunchtime and Alaric was sitting by himself on a bench outside, under one of the large pine trees growing on the outskirts of the school. Much of the surroundings were redeveloped to what they were before the infestation but the scars of the horrific time were still there. Abandoned buildings of old Pennsylvania, bearing remnants of xenomorph hives were still standing in the distance as a reminder and in centre of the park there was a memorial, a statue of marines battling the xenomorphs, dedicated to those who had lost their lives in the defense of the human homeworld.

Alaric was busy munching on a ration bar from his pack with one hand, a canteen of water in the other hand and just staring into space. He didn't pay attention to the other children who were playing sports in the fields or just making up games on the spot.
None of these things really interested him, unless it was beneficial towards improving his combat skills. Plus, there was the fact that he could often get rougher then he intended. He was offered a place in a game of rugby that was going on but he declined.

He would have mowed down, and sidelined half the opposing team before half time even sounded.

Before he had been dropped off, he had been instructed to not use his training unless in self defense. Alaric sort of agreed to this because he knew that school kids and the other civilians wouldn't be much of a threat. But then, he was not one to be lulled into a sense of security and be caught off guard should things go to hell in a hurry.

He bit into his bar before reaching for his canteen and taking a swig of water. He then looked to his bag that was resting under the bench. He had been constantly keeping an eye on his pack ever since he was dropped off at the school.

So far, civilian school wasn't living up to his expectations. All he had so far was math and English, which he already understood at a higher level than that being taught here. He wanted to do more of the practical subjects like metalworking or carpentry, something that involved all of his body and not just the mind.

A mind cannot live without a body and a body cannot live without a mind, as Mikeal once said.

Alaric then quickly blotted out the memory of his seventh year. He still didn't want to relive that most painful day when his foster family was brutally slaughtered by Yautja hunters. It was just over six years since that incident but to Alaric with his perfect memory, it seemed like it happened yesterday.

He reached out to a pouch on his belt and pulled out an old photograph. On it was his foster family, his father's own marine squad by a Marine Corps dropship with Alaric's father in the middle. He looked at each one with a hint of sadness in his eyes before he put the photo back in its pouch.

'I'll find you one day Dad,' he thought. 'Dead or alive, I will find you.'

It was then that Alaric heard steps coming towards him but made no sign of noticing. A shadow loomed over him and a pair of shoes came into view before he looked up.

It was a scrawny kid, with short scruffy hair and a nervous expression, from his class. He was dressed in a combination of worn utilitarian dungarees, shirt, and a synthetic fabric jacket. He had a rucksack in one hand and his lunchbox in the other.

There was something about him which told Alaric that this kid was at the bottom of the school's social ladder.

"Excuse me." He nervously asked. "Mind if I sit here?"

Alaric looked at the boy for a moment before cocking his head in acknowledgement. The kid then sat down next to him, somewhat hesitantly, and opened his lunchbox. Alaric in the meantime shuffled away from the boy, who interpreted the move as a negative reaction from his presence.

"What? Did I offend you just sitting down?" the boy asked, hurt at Alaric's response.

Alaric turned to him, his red eyes showing that he wasn't looking for friends nor did he want to offend anyone.

"I don't get close to people." Alaric explained before turning his head. "It's nothing personal."

He then finished his ration bar, putting the wrapper in his pocket before heaving his bag up.

'Everyone I get close to ends up dead,' he thought sadly.

"My name is Devon." The boy introduced, intending to make conversation.

Alaric mumbled in acknowledgement, rummaging in his bag for another bar. Devon shut his lunchbox when he brought up a question that he had in his head when Alaric introduced himself to the class.

"If you don't mind me asking, what kind of name is Alaric?" Devon asked.

Alaric looked to him.

"It's the name I was born with." Alaric stated, rummaging some more before pulling a bar out. "I get that a lot, people wondering about my name."

He saw that Devon had his eyes to the ground in anxiety. It looked like he was expecting Alaric to beat him up for implying that his name was funny sounding. Alaric then cleared the air between them.

"Don't be so nervous. I'm not going to maul you to death, so don't worry about it." Alaric assured. "I don't tend fight people weaker than me."

But Alaric would soon meet some people who would.

At that point, a stone went flying through the air and hit Devon in the head with a sharp thud. He yelped and clutched his head, his lunchbox clattering to the ground. Alaric saw that blood was instantly starting to run from between Devon's fingers, looked at the stone in question and saw that it had been deliberately sharpened.

He then heard a mass of footsteps and looked up.

Three older boys, in a grade one or two levels higher, in sports clothing came walking up in a dignified manner. Alaric noticed that Devon was squirming nervously as they approached. These three easily towered over both Alaric and Devon.

"Hey Devon!" the boy in the middle shouted. "It's collection time."

This boy looked as pompous as he was confidant with his short blond hair and smug grin. No doubt he was the leader and the other two were his cronies. They stopped short of Devon, enough to make him back into the tree scared. They didn't pay any attention to Alaric, only giving him a nasty leer as a warning to stay out of their way.

Alaric wasn't intimidated in the slightest.

"Leave me alone, Eric!" Devon protested. "You already took my lunch money!"

Eric loomed over him.

"We decided to charge interest for the holidays." Eric stated, stepping forward and grabbing Devon by the collar. "Starting, now."

Eric lifted Devon up until he was just barely on his toes. Alaric looked on with anger and contempt brewing behind his eyes.

'Earth is barely back on her feet and this prick cares about money?!' Alaric thought in disgust.

"What do you think you're doing?" Alaric demanded calmly.

Eric looked at Alaric with a nasty grimace on his face.

"Fuck off, Bitch!" Eric ordered. "We'll get to you later."

Alaric was taken aback by this casual act of dominance. Eric, for no reason at all, had called him a bitch. Except maybe to make himself feel tough and important.

'Well,' Alaric thought. 'That's talk coming from someone who picks on people smaller then himself.'

Eric then turned his attention back to Devon who was now trembling.

"Well?" he questioned, shaking Devon in his clutches. "Where's my money?"

"I haven't got any more!" Devon cried. "Leave me alone!"

Eric looked to his cronies with a smug grin.

"What do you say, shall we beat it out of him?" he asked, making himself sound imposing. "Give him a little incentive?"

He got several replies of encouragement.

Alaric, disgusted beyond his limit at this point, stepped in. He dropped his ration bar, stepped up as Eric was about to punch Devon and, with a mighty shove, he pushed Eric hard into the ground. Eric, taken completely by surprise, landed face first into the dirt as Devon landed on his feet, and Eric's cronies stopped their goading when they saw their leader face down in the dirt.

"Leave him alone." Alaric defiantly told the bully.

Eric spat dirt out of his mouth and reared up to Alaric. The new kid would dare to push him?!

"What?" He asked, annoyance lacing his voice. "What did you say to me?!"

"Leave him alone." Alaric ordered, more firmly this time. "Pick on someone your own size, coward."

Eric looked at Alaric for a moment, then to Devon who immediately scampered behind the tree. He resumed to his gaze to Alaric, who merely stood his ground with defiance in his eyes.

"Oh, I see what's going on." Eric said, getting up. "The new kid wants to be first." He dusted himself off. "Jacob, see to it."

Alaric rolled his eyes.

'Great,' he thought. 'I'm surrounded by morons.'

One of the other bullies, a lad with a sizable girth and a nasty leer on his round bulbous face, approached Alaric while Eric walked behind Alaric. No doubt this was Eric's 'heavyweight'. Alaric's eyes looked over the older boy, taking in every detail.

'This is supposed to be threatening?' He thought in pure cynicism. 'He'd be lucky to run a full three miles without fainting in the first five hundred yards.'

He shook his head.

"I won't fight you." He said.

Jacob put on a victorious pose with his fists on his hips like a superhero.

"Ha! All talk and no guts." Jacob mocked. "That's what it is, isn't it?"

Alaric simply shook his head.

"No." Alaric corrected "It's because you won't last one minute in a fight against me. And, let's face it; your girth is hardly suited for a fight."

He looked to the second bully, a lad who had a slight unmistakable resemblance to a Neanderthal with a prominent brow and large hands.
Likely all muscle and no brain.

"And you wouldn't be able to think ahead in a fight." He added.

Unbeknownst to him, Eric had sneaked to Alaric's bag and was rummaging through it for anything of value to goad Alaric. It wasn't long until he picked one of the worst items to steal from Alaric.

"Oh, look at this." Eric said; pick pocketing something from Alaric's bag.

Alaric spun round and saw that Eric had in his grasp one of Alaric's most treasured items. The tome of his family's lineage. Alaric's eyes widened as Eric juggled the old leather bound book in his hand without caring if it got damaged.

"Look at this, the new kid is a book worm." Eric said before flicking it open. "What's in it, porn?"

His eyes immediately showed puzzlement when he saw the runes and illustrations. He flipped it around with disappointment and confusion in his eyes.

"What is this written in, Gibberish?" Eric questioned. "It's like retarded chickens scribbled in this."

Alaric was silently fuming at the breaking point at this disrespect towards his most precious belonging.

How dare they insult his ancestors?!

"Give me my tome back." Alaric demanded, rearing to the bully.

Eric now thought he had a way of provoking a reaction from Alaric and decided to rub it in a bit more to see what Alaric would do. Only the reaction he would get was far from what he wanted. He shut the book and grinned as he dangled it in front of Alaric's eyes.

"You want it? Try and..." Eric started.

Before he could finish his taunt, Alaric swiped a hand out and grabbed his tome before Eric even saw it coming. Alaric placed his treasured possession into a large pouch on his belt, shutting it securely.

'...Take it." Eric finished in surprise.

Alaric had all he could take from these bullies. Now, he was going to give them one final chance to walk away. While they could still walk, that is.

Alaric cracked his knuckles as a warning. His dog tags jingled and glinted as he flexed his arms and chest. He would not have this insolence any longer.

"You have five seconds to push off." Alaric demanded. "I suggest you take it while your mentally challenged brains tell you to."

Eric now had enough of being humiliated in front of his friends, first by that sudden push and now for this humiliating insult to his authority, and decided to put Alaric in his place. He ushered his goons to clear space while he reared himself at Alaric.

"You just had to make it harder on yourself." Eric said, cracking his knuckles. "Well, now you're gonna get it.

Eric swiped a fist at Alaric. Alaric deftly dodged it without even steeping out of place.

"One." Alaric counted, holding up a finger.

The bully swiped again and Alaric expertly blocked it, along with all the attempts that followed. And all the while, Alaric was casually counting to five.

"Hit him! Knock his lights out, Eric!" the other bullies goaded.

Devon watched from behind the tree as he saw Eric struggling to lay a finger on Alaric. Alaric looked like he was hardly even trying. Alaric even mockingly yawned to illustrate that this fight was hardly worth his time.

Alaric blocked Eric's rather shallow attempt at a nutshot. Alaric, in his head, was somewhat insulted and amused by the lack of discipline in these attacks. Clearly, Eric had never been in a real fight before.

"Three" Alaric said. "Tick. Tock. Seconds are wasting."

Eric tried to slap his hands into Alaric's ears but Alaric blocked the attempt before slapping Eric around the ears with a loud clap. Eric was slightly thrown off by the sudden counterattack. He panted as he continued to try and get at Alaric, indicating that he was getting tired, frustrated, and even more sloppy.

"Four." Alaric counted, with a tad more clarity. "Last chance."

Eric yelled in frustration before swiping another fist at Alaric. Alaric, somewhat mockingly, then pretended to get hit by the punch and did a fluid backwards flip before landing deftly on his feet. Eric and his goons were stunned by Alaric's sudden flair of acrobatics.

And that was about to cost them dearly.

"Five!" Alaric roared.

Alaric ducked the fist coming over him and delivered a powerful blow to the gut, knocking the wind out of the older boy's lungs. Eric bent over in pain, struggling for breath in ragged heaves and Alaric then bought an elbow to the back of the head, sending the bully face first into the dirt again.

Eric's cronies stopped rooting when they saw him hit the ground. He got up to his knees, spitting dirt from his mouth and taking in long but painful breaths as he cradled his stomach. Alaric turned to the other bullies.

"You think I'm just wearing this clothing for looks?" Alaric questioned them. "I am a Marine full and proper." He pointed at Eric, who had now got to his knees. "Now, I suggest you lot go away while you can still walk." He warned. "And take your piece of shit leader with you."

Eric, at this time, regained his composure and pulled from his pocket a penknife. He flicked it out and lunged at Alaric's turned back. Alaric, having heard the faint click from the knife, evaded the clumsy attack and caught Eric in an arm lock. Alaric then rolled, bringing Eric over his shoulder before he slammed the bully hard into the ground.

"Pathetic." Alaric spat in disgust. "Attacking me while my back was turned? How nobly brave!"

Alaric knelt up and gave Eric's arm a good hard tug. A loud crack was heard coming from every joint in Eric's arm. Eric let out a loud yelp as Alaric let go and the bully was left cradling his useless arm, his knife falling out of his limp fingers. Alaric got up, picked up the pen knife and then promptly threw over his shoulder where it impaled itself into the tree.

Devon's eyes went wide at this feat.

"My arm!" Eric screeched. "Look at my arm!"

"Be thankful it wasn't your neck." Alaric said, roughly grabbing Eric by the collar and shoving him away. "Now, for the last time… piss off!"

Eric rolled into the ground before looking to his friends. He resolved himself quite quickly in fear of losing his standing in the school. If it got out that he had his ass kicked by a new kid, he would never live it down.

"Don't just stand there, get him!" He ordered.

His friends dumped their bags, cracked their knuckles, and readied themselves for a fight.

"You're dead, you little runt!" Jacob said. "What do you think, Matt?"

"I'll grind him into pudding." Matt declared.

Alaric casually got into a fighting stance, crouching slightly with his left foot forward, left hand out and right hand close to his chest. It would seem that they would need more than a dislocated arm to discourage them.

"Come on then." Alaric offered. "Show me that you've got at least one pair between the three of you."

Jacob and Matt then charged at Alaric, who simply grinned.

Suffice to say, these two had even less skill in fighting then Eric. Alaric wasn't even so much as breaking a sweat. Alaric was seeing their moves way ahead of the time it took them to do them.

"Hit him!" Eric demanded. 'What are you doing, you idiots! Hit him!"

Alaric decided to toy with them as he effortlessly dodged each attack. He would even position himself so that when they attacked, he would dodge and they would end up hitting each other. This fight was starting to become a three stooges production from the way that the bullies were failing to harm Alaric.

"Missed." Alaric pointed out, ducking under Matt's swinging fist which resulted in Jacob copping a punch to the nose. "Not even close!"

Jacob then tried to body slam Alaric to the ground but Alaric deftly rolled out of the way and Jacob ended up slamming the ground. Matt lunged at Alaric, who deftly countered the charge with a well timed roll, his legs lashing out and tripping Matt who fell on Jacob and bounced off.

Devon quietly snickered at the sight.

Jacob got back up and lunged at Alaric again. And Alaric dodged the clumsy move again, delivering a jarring kick to his knee. Jacob limped a few paces and grunted in pain as he gingerly rubbed his knee.

Suddenly, Alaric was grabbed from behind by Matt into a bear hug, pinning his arms to his sides.

"I got you now!" Matt cackled.

Alaric, mockingly, feigned trying to escape.

Jacob reached for his baseball bat from his bag. Eric was still cradling his arm, fashioning a makeshift sling with his jacket as he stood up, his confidence and smug look back now that Alaric was under control.

Eric came walking up with his smug grin back on his face. He clenched his good fist in anticipation at beating Alaric to a pulp. He leered at Devon, who had now hid further behind the tree with only his eyes peeping out.

Alaric cocked his head in mock fright.

"Any last words before I pummel you back into diapers?" Eric asked in a malevolent tone.

Alaric grinned.

"To you I bequeath… a boot to the head." Alaric said cryptically.

Before Eric could even think about what the phrase meant, Alaric then literally showed him the meaning. Alaric lashed out with both feet and kicked Eric dead centre in the face. A loud crack and crunch came from Eric's face and he was sent flying backwards and landed on his back. He immediately clasped his face with his good hand which already had blood streaming from his nose and he was grunting and, embarrassingly, squeaking in absolute and barely contained pain.

Jacob and Matt went momentarily slack jawed from that feat. Devon meanwhile cringed when he heard the bones in Eric's face crack.

"Old comedies." Alaric said reverently. "You just can't beat the humor in them."

Eric heaved himself up, only one eye open because of the intense pain pulsing in his head. He looked like he was about to become emotionally shattered.

"Show him what happens when you fuck with us!" Eric shouted, nearly on the verge of tears.

"With pleasure." Jacob agreed, hefting his bat.

Alaric knew what to do in this situation.

Alaric, with minimal effort, freed his arms and drove both elbows into Matt's gut, making the bully lose his grip with a retch, and ducked as the bat went whizzing over his head. The aluminum bat smacked Matt right in the ribcage with a loud crack and he fell to the ground yelling in pain.

Alaric then lunged, grabbed the bat and fluidly twisted it out of Jacob's grasp before the bully could recover. Before Jacob had any time to think, Alaric deftly clubbed him around the head with it, not hard enough to hurt but enough to throw him off balance, cradling his head.

Alaric held the bat in his hands and he promptly bent it into a right angle over his knee with loud crumple of metal. This made everyone's mouth gape.

"Bringing a weapon into a fist fight?" Alaric said with disgust, tossing the useless scrap of metal to the side. "Pathetic."

Jacob snapped out of his stupor and charged at Alaric with a yell. Alaric deftly counterattacked, evading the clumsy attempt and sticking a leg out. Jacob tripped as a result and faceplanted into the ground with a notable bounce. He got up, rubbing his bruised face and lunged at Alaric again.

What Alaric said about girth not being suited to a fight was true. Jacob was just too imbalanced to fight Alaric, who was exploiting this fact to perfection.

Alaric tackled Jacob to the ground, using the older boy's more considerable weight against him. Alaric quickly rolled to his feet as Jacob lashed an arm after him. Alaric grabbed the limb and then rolled to the ground catching the bully into an arm and head lock with both arms and squeezed.

Jacob started to choke, gasping and spluttering for breath as he felt his airway fold in on itself. He flailed around trying to get Alaric off but Alaric wasn't budging an inch. Jacob's eyes started to roll to the back of his head and he was starting to go purple from lack of oxygen.

"I can snap your neck like a twig should I choose to." Alaric warned before releasing Jacob's neck. "Remember that."

Alaric tugged hard on Jacob's arm, forcing him into submission. It only after Jacob started yelping, after holding out stubbornly for a few moments, that Alaric let go. Alaric got up and that was when Jacob tried to tackle him from behind again. Alaric hopped out of the way and then promptly delivered a hard pile driving kick right in his side. Jacob yelled out as he clutched his side, likely nursing a bruised kidney before falling to the ground in pain.

Matt, who got back up after getting air back in his lungs, saw that Alaric had his back turned to him, still focusing on Jacob. He took his chance and charged at Alaric.
Alaric turned when he heard the pounding footsteps.

Matt punched Alaric right in the jaw with a loud crack that knocked Alaric's head to the side. Now, Matt was expecting to have decked Alaric with a punch that hard but Alaric was still standing. Alaric turned to Matt, blood trickling down his lip.

Jacob and Eric couldn't believe what they saw. No one in the school could stand after being hit like that.

"How did you..." Matt asked, not believing that Alaric was still standing. "What the hell are you?!"

Alaric then rolled his eyes in exasperation. That punch hardly did any damage, he wasn't even slightly dazed.

"That's not how you deck someone." Alaric said, condescendingly.

Before Matt had time to even react, Alaric delivered a crippling roundhouse kick to Matt's face with a loud crack. The kick had enough force behind it to send Matt flipping head over heels before landing face down into the dirt.

"That's how you deck someone." Alaric finished. "And, to answer your question, I am a Spartan."

Matt feebly crawled off, nursing a swollen, bleeding and possibly cracked jaw, and picking himself up as Jacob and Eric hobbled after him, regrouping. Alaric stood off against them, daring them to strike first.

This fight had been one sided since it began and the advantage wasn't to the bullies. They may have had numbers but Alaric was a far better fighter then all three of them combined. They had taken a lot more damage; having sprained limbs, bruised faces, black eyes and grazes all over them. Alaric in the meantime only had a cut lip and his clothing was slightly scuffed from rolling on the ground.

Alaric took a step towards them and the three of them feverishly stepped back. Alaric then semi lunged at them with a playful roar, causing them to stumble back. That was all it took. The three bullies finally did the first smart thing in this fight. They fled, tripping over their own feet, trying to get as far from Alaric as they could. Alaric lowered his stance, brushing himself off.

"Get away from us, you freak!" Eric screamed.

"Cowards!" Alaric called after in disgust. "Not so tough when someone fights back, are you?!"

Alaric wiped the blood that trickled from his lip as he watched them flee and, from the way they were hobbling, doing their best trying not to show tears to bystanders who watched with puzzlement. He saw Matt stumble over a few times, calling for his 'friends' not to leave him behind.

"They just had to keep pushing." Alaric uttered to himself as he sat back down on the bench and reached for his canteen. "They can dish it but they can't take it."

He gulped down some water before he splashed the rest onto his face and scrubbed his face. The liquid dripped of his face and trickled to the dirt below.

"That was amazing!" Devon praised, coming out from his hiding place.

Alaric sat down on the bench and looked up to him.

"That wasn't even a workout." Alaric stated. "Those three are the worst fighters I've seen yet."

"They ganged up on you and you just threw them away like they were nothing." Devon added sitting down next to him. "Where did you learn stuff like that? Do you think you could teach me?"

Alaric brushed some dirt off his fatigues.

"Not really. Needless to say, you gotta learn this stuff young." Alaric answered. "And when I say young, I mean really young."

Devon was taken aback that answer but he quickly came up with another question he wanted answered.

"Weren't you even scared?" Devon asked.

Alaric scoffed at the accusation.

"Scared?" Alaric questioned. "I've seen things that would make a veteran soldier cringe."

He then addressed Devon like a teacher would to a student.

"My father had a saying: Those who prey on the weak are weak themselves." Alaric told him. "They become soft and complacent, expecting everything to go their way." He picked up a twig that was lying near his feet. "The trick is not let them roll over you and give them what they want. And when they do, like a parasite, they'll keep coming back for more." He then started to bend the twig and it flexed in his grip. "Sooner or later, you gotta purge them." He then snapped the twig with a loud crack and then tossed the pieces away. "I don't think they'll be bullying you anytime soon."

Alaric then noticed that Devon's hair was starting to drip blood. The stone must have cut a vein and his hair was acting like a sponge. Devon didn't notice it until Alaric mentioned it. He held a hand to his head and felt the cut in his head with a twinge. He then saw his fingers were smeared in red.

"You're bleeding." Alaric said. "Come here."

Alaric reached into his bag and pulled out a first aid kit. He had packed this in case of an emergency and he had been right in his judgment. He motioned Devon to sit in front of him and Alaric went about patching his head up.

"Stay still." Alaric said, grabbing an antiseptic swab and wiping Devon's head clean for a better look. "The cut is deep. I'll have to suture it."

Devon flinched as he felt the stinging jab to his nerves.

"Pain is temporary, Glory is forever." Alaric said, stopping when he cleaned up as best he could.

Alaric reached to the kit and pulled out anesthetic gel, a needle, and thread.

"You carry a lot of stuff." Devon said, raising a hand to rub his head. "I don't think I've seen anyone carrying a first aid kit.'

"Don't touch." Alaric ordered, grabbing and lowering Devon's hand down.

Alaric threaded the needle, unwound the thread and Devon fidgeted nervously.

"I don't like needles." He objected.

Alaric then frowned at Devon.

"Devon, I'm not going to hurt you. I've had lots of practice." Alaric assured, rubbing the gel into his cut. "Now, hold still."

Alaric then deftly and thoroughly sutured Devon's head. Devon cringed as he felt the needle tug and go through his scalp, the gel numbing most of the pain. All the while, Alaric was reassuring him. After five minutes, the cut was sealed; Alaric then disposed of the needle and remaining thread and wrapped a bandage around the boy's head to keep the sutures from harm.

"There." Alaric said, tying the bandage off and wiping his bloodied hands on a cleansing wipe. "Try not to touch it and it'll heal in two or three days."

Alaric then reached down and picked up Devon's lunchbox and handed it to him. Alaric then reached into his bag and picked up his ration bar.

"God, I'm hungry." Devon muttered to himself.

"Now, where were we?" Alaric questioned trivially, acting like the skirmish between Eric and his goons never happened.

But before he could even open the wrapper, he heard more footsteps come towards him. He muttered as he thought those three bullies had come back with more goons by their side. Not that it would matter because he would just level them into the ground too. He looked up and saw that it wasn't them.

A teacher, a man in his early thirties and in mechanics overalls, came walking up to Alaric. Alaric lowered his ration bar when the teacher arrived.

"Alaric. You're to go straight to the principal's office, now." The teacher ordered.

"What for?" Alaric asked.

"Physical conflict with other students."

Alaric now knew what this was about. Those three bullies must have ratted out on him, saying what he did to them with possible over exaggeration and crocodile tears thrown in for added sympathy. This was going to do nothing for Alaric's take on the incident.

"That?" Alaric asked, not concerned about what they might have been saying. "Well, those bullies deserved everything they got."

The teacher was shocked by the casualness of Alaric's answer.

"What they deserved?" the teacher questioned. "Those three had injuries that you would only get in a UFC fight!"

He then saw the bandage that Devon had wrapped around his head.

"Did you attack him as well?" the teacher demanded.

"Eric threw a stone at me and hit me with it." Devon answered in Alaric's defense. "It cut my head bad and Alaric helped me."

The teacher resumed his attention to Alaric.

"Alaric, you are under detention until this matter is resolved." He said.

Alaric was incensed by this order. He was being punished for defending himself against bullies.

"I haven't done anything wrong! They attacked me and I defended myself!" Alaric stated.

The teacher was not interested in his plea.

"Alaric, you are going to the principal's office, right now." He ordered, more forcefully this time.

Alaric, deciding not to get into more trouble then necessary and seeing that he had little say in the matter, muttered in his family's tongue; which sounded like a combination of ancient Greek and something else that couldn't be identified. He picked up his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and walked off with the teacher following behind.

Devon remained seated as he watched Alaric being ushered away. Other students were watching him as he walked past and talked about what they thought was going to happen to Alaric. Would he be expelled for this?

Devon looked down at his lunchbox. He flicked it open, seeing his knocked about lunch inside before he had a second thought.

"I'm not that hungry anymore." He muttered, closing his lunchbox and wondering what would happen to Alaric.

Alaric wasn't aware of it, but Devon now considered him to be a friend.

---

Alaric sat cross legged and arms crossed on a bench outside the principal's office. His bag was laying next to him as he muttered angrily to himself in his family's tongue. He didn't pay any mind to other students or teachers passing by. Some students snickered at his predicament but Alaric ignored them.

This wasn't fair. He was just trying to stay out of trouble but trouble always seemed to find him, one way or another. And now he was being punished for defending himself.
He preferred the military's way of doing things. Getting right down to the source of the problem and dealing with it, not going through so many regulations and loopholes as in the civilian sector that criminals can get off with a lighter sentence, only to commit more crimes as soon as the sentence was done.

The door opened and the principal leaned out. The principal was a portly man, bearded and in his fifties. His neatly worn suit was embellished with a six pointed star badge on his lapel, signifying that he was Jewish and he had the kippah cap on his head for further clarification.

"Alaric, come in." He ordered.

Alaric got up, picked up his bag and walked into the office. The principal shut the door behind him. The office was what you would expect in a principal's office. There were bookshelves full of folders and books. Filing cabinets were behind his desk and his desk was made of Terran Oak, a rarity these days, with personal affects and a computer system was integrated into it. A mixture of organic and mechanical. The principal's name was projected via holographic as Mr. Arnold Klein.

Alaric also saw that his file was already open on the desk. No doubt the principal had been going through it while Alaric was outside.

"Sit down." Klein told Alaric.

Alaric sat down in the chair that was facing the principal's desk, dumping his bag next to it. Klein moved around the desk and sat down in his seat which creaked under his weight. He then flicked though Alaric's file as Alaric waited. Klein muttered to himself as he saw Alaric's list of combat specialties, medical details, and psychological analysis.

"I had severe reservations about this proposal and they've just been proven." Klein said.

He looked to Alaric as he shut the file.

"This is something that I had hoped wouldn't happen." He said. "First day here and you've already caused trouble." He then tapped his finger on the desk in thought. "I was hoping there wouldn't be any problems for a week at least."

He paused, waiting for Alaric to answer. All he got was a silent stare, as Alaric was waiting for the principal to continue. Klein coughed curtly before he continued.

"From what I have been told, you picked a fight with students older than you are and beat them to a pulp." Klein added. "And not just beat them up, you basically mutilated them. Eric will be lucky if he retains his sense of smell or can even use his arm fully after this."

Rubbish, Alaric thought with contempt. Those bullies are exaggerating their injuries for attention.

"Have you anything to say about that in your defense?" Klein asked.

"They deserved it." Alaric bluntly answered.

Klein was taken by Alaric's answer.

"They 'deserved' it?"

Alaric straightened himself as he gave his view on the incident.

"They were the antagonists who started the whole fight, and drew first blood with a rock to Devon's head and I stepped to his defense." Alaric stated. "They then decided to gang up on me and I defended myself after warning them to leave several times. And it's not my fault that they chose the wrong target. Besides, I've had much worse injuries than that. A dislocated arm and a broken nose is nothing."

Klein looked in Alaric's folder again, flicking to a relevant page.

"Ah, yes." He said, pointing a finger at the relevant paragraph. "You managed to fracture both your legs during a training exercise, and continued regardless of it. Literally 'breaking' the pain barrier."

Klein looked to Alaric.

"Regardless, you should have come to a teacher, or member of staff, and reported them." Klein stated. "There was no need to take it into your own hands. A school is no place for corporal punishment."

Alaric scoffed at the principal's advice.

"I'm not one to let people like them go around and pillage other people." He said.

"I can understand that but we have rules here and they must be followed." Klein lectured.

"Rules mean nothing unless you intend to enforce them." Alaric lectured back. "From the way they acted when they swaggered up to me, they couldn't care less if you suspended them."

"That doesn't mean that you could just pummel fellow students into pulp..." Klein said before being interrupted by Alaric.

"They're cowards, plain and simple. They prey on weaker kids because they're too cowardly to pick on other targets, and now one has intervened to stop them." Alaric declared, anger slowly rising in his voice "The way they tried to attack me showed that they have never been in a real fight in their lives. The only thing I got out of their only hit was a split lip."

Klein looked down at Alaric's folder again and flicked a few pages. He had read about Alaric's supposed mood swings about certain subjects. But to see them was different from reading about them. Alaric could be quite passionate about things he held dear.

And the principal was about to foolishly intrude on one.

"Anger isn't from your deceased mother, that's for sure." The principal said, tracing his finger on Alaric's folder. "Obviously, these violent tendencies come from your absent father."

That casual remark struck a nerve in Alaric.

"Don't you dare say a word about my father!" Alaric roared, slamming his fist onto the desk and making the principal recoil in surprise.

A loud crack came from the desk and as Alaric removed his fist, a large crack was clearly visible in the hard wood. Alaric then cracked his hand by using the other, the bones shifting back into place and not showing any pain. Klein now knew that talking about Alaric's parents in such a way wasn't a wise thing to do.

"Did your parents divorce or separate before you were born?" Klein asked, in a slightly hesitant way.

Alaric gave an annoyed look. This was the question he always got regarding his parents.

"My mother died giving birth to me and my father went missing in action beforehand, fighting bugs while you were safely here, teaching despicable cowards like those three a bunch of useless lessons." Alaric told the principal, what he felt was the thousandth time, as he sat back down.

Alaric crossed his arms and waited for the principal to continue.

"Right… this must be what they meant by not getting personal." Klein muttered to himself before addressing Alaric. "Still there is the matter of the infractions you have committed. Inflicting bodily harm on other students, in such a way, that could affect their later lives."

Oh great, Alaric thought. Don't take my view into consideration.

Alaric was clearly not impressed and his grimaced face betrayed that fact.

"Look Alaric, I don't make the rules." Klein explained. "I just enforce them."

"No you don't, but I enforce mine." Alaric interjected. "Nothing you can say or do will deter what I believe in."

Alaric sat back into his chair with his arms cross. He was clearly not concerned about what would happen to him.

"So, if you want to punish me instead of punishing the true instigators, because it's easier, then go right ahead." Alaric said. "Frankly, I don't care what you do. I'd rather be back in the Corps. At least there people are honest about things."

Klein sat there wondering what to say. Alaric's outburst had cast a shadow of doubt over him. And it was evident that Alaric wasn't going to see things from his point of view. It was clear that he was stubbornly set in his ways.

Alaric would require some special treatment.

"Well, if it was up to me..." Klein started.

At that moment, somewhat in Alaric's favor, an alarm was sounded, a sharp continuous drone that ripped through the air.

"What in the name of God?" Klein said in puzzlement and then in annoyance. "This better not be another prank like last time."

At that point, emergency shutters loudly slammed down over the windows and locked with a click, making Klein jump in his seat. Security shutters are now a standard thing in schools these days.

Alaric stood up and walked to the door to investigate.

"Alaric, don't step outside until I find out what is going on." Klein ordered, sitting back up and reaching for his intercom. "Admin, what is going on?" he asked.

Only static filled the air.

"Admin?" he asked again.

The door was suddenly flung open, Alaric dodging the swinging panel of metal, and a janitor rushed inside. The janitor then feverishly shut the door and ran towards the principal. As he turned, Alaric and Klein saw that one side of his overalls and terrified face were covered in blood.

Not his own blood.

"Principal Klein!" the janitor sputtered. "We've got an emergency!"

The principal's eyes were wide at the state that the janitor was in.

"What is it, Willis?" Klein asked. "What the hell happened to you?!"

"Xeno Extremists!" Willis said, getting his breath back.

Those two words struck fear into any who heard them. Especially those who had the luck to survive them.

"What?!" Klein gasped "How did they even get in the school?! How did they even get on Earth?!"

"They came in by posing as board officials with credentials, fancy suits, everything. It wasn't until that they brandished their daggers, and slashed Corbin's throat that the truth was out."

"You didn't set the alarm off?!"

"No, it was them. One of them set off the master switch and sealed the school off to stop us from escaping. They've taken the juniors hostage in the assembly hall. They're going to turn them into hosts for bugs!"

Alaric, and in fact most of humanity, knew about Xeno Extremists. They were groups of deranged religious fanatics who believed that the xenomorphs are divine beings, God's true messiahs, and strived to spread them though out the universe to bring about perfect harmony. The first Xeno Extremists, led by a man named Salvaje, which became another word for traitor, nearly cost humanity Earth from the first xenomorph infestation. Extremists are characterized by having full body tattoos of various xenomorphs on their bodies, and wearing a combination of robes and underlying bodysuits that mimic xenomorph physiology, the higher caste extremists having suits and tattoos that befit a xenomorph praetorian or a queen depending on their role.

Extremists, under Federation law, are traitors to be executed without trial and without mercy.

The principal reached for his desk's phone and held it to his ear. He was about to dial for help when he noticed that there was no dial tone.

"The lines are down." He said with horror. "They must have severed the connections too. We're cut off."

The janitor was busy trying to get the blood off his face, wrenching tissues from their box on Klein's desk.

"What do we do?" he asked, rubbing his face furiously.

"Hide and hope we don't get caught when they probe around for hosts." Klein declared, getting out of his chair and going under his desk.

Alaric watched as the principal and the janitor tried to hide under the desk. The principal's girth meant that it was very difficult for the both of them to conceal themselves as one wrong move would send one or both of them tumbling out. And all the while they were bickering.

Alaric, on the other hand, had no intention of hiding. There were fanatical maniacs out there who needed to be stopped before they turned the school into a hive by using mere kids as hosts.

"Oh for the love of..." Alaric said, waking over and reaching for his bag. "How many extremists are there?" he asked the janitor.

"Four, as far as I could tell." Willis answered, having just managed to hide under the desk. "What are you doing?"

Alaric unzipped his bag and was retrieving something the size of his fist from within. It was a USCMC Spec Ops distress beacon. He flipped it open and punched in some keys, encoding the Xeno Extremist distress call and dialing in to Pennsylvania's communication's grid. He then hit the transmit button and placed it on the desk. The beacon flashed a red light as it worked and Alaric placed a folder over it to conceal it.

Another thing he'd had the foresight of packing.

"There." Alaric said, resuming his bag rummaging. "It'll take a while for the authorities to get here but I can't let these bastards get a foothold in the meantime."

He then rummaged around in his bag again.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Klein asked, his movements sending Willis crashing out from the desk.

"My birthright." Alaric said. "I'm going out there to stop those fanatics."

"You can't go out there! Those are trained killers!"

Alaric scoffed at his warning.

I survived predators when I was seven, he thought. These cultists are nothing in comparison.

"Maybe." Alaric said. "But they're not proper warriors. They're murderers."

Alaric pulled a large case, a meter in length and two feet wide, from his bag and put it on the desk with a notable thud.

"I, on the other hand, am a Spartan warrior." He clarified.

He entered a code on the electronic lock and clicked it open. The principal and janitor were expecting Alaric to be pulling out military weaponry but what was inside was something they didn't expect. Inside was a very ornate one handed axe with a broad and masterfully crafted blade with an arrow-headed spike at the back of the head on a shaft of metal that was two and a half feet long. On the head was an emblazoned angular rune of an up pointing arrow and chevrons. Alaric picked up his weapon and cracked a grin as he delicately thumbed the blade.

The principal's and janitor's eyes went wide and jaws dropped when they saw the axe.

"Oh you think this is big?" Alaric said, sensing their reaction. "I have a doubled headed axe that's five feet long."

"Bringing weapons into school?!" Klein exclaimed in shock. "I'll have you expelled for this!"

Alaric looked back to the principal and janitor hiding under the desk as he gave his axe a practiced flourish, demonstrating his skill. He then reached behind him and placed his tome into his bag for safe keeping. He didn't want to risk it getting damaged.

"Just stay here and be quiet." Alaric told them as he walked out of the office, shutting the door behind him.

---

Alaric crept along the deserted corridors with practiced precision, making as little noise as he could. He knew that the best chance of taking out the extremists would be to stay hidden and then pick them off one by one.

Standing his ground against three bullies is nothing compared to Xeno Extremists.

Alaric cautiously checked every room that he came across, seeing if there were any people inside. Most of the classrooms were empty, meaning that the occupants had fled during the chaos and escaped in time or were hiding. Some had a few students and teachers cowering inside or who were busy trying to force their way out of the windows. Alaric didn't have time to search each room.

He came across the body of the slain janitor that Willis talked about right by the main school control and power systems. The man's throat was sliced right open and a large puddle of blood had formed around him. From his evaluation of the wound, Alaric concluded that the attack caught the janitor totally by surprise. The wide eyes on the dead man's face proved that. Alaric muttered a short prayer and looked at the instruments.

The controls and interfaces were set to lockdown the entire school and were then destroyed so that it could not be countermanded. Alaric was paying attention to the grooves that the extremist's had inflicted. They in groups of four and Alaric was sure that they weren't caused by tools. He dragged his fingers across the sparking grooves. He then quickly guessed that these marks were made by claws or a close grouping of bladed implements.

Alaric quickly left the area before any extremists came wandering into him.

Alaric had not seen any of the extremists so far. He postulated they must all be in the assembly hall. At least they would be easy to locate. But he had to be sure that they didn't know that he was loose in the school and to take care of any sentries who would otherwise give his position away.

Alaric then thought that it would be much safer to use the air vents to move around undetected. Using the extremist's 'divine messiahs' own tactics, so to speak. Traveling down the corridor was exposing him to detection. Alaric came across the nearest vent grate, carefully climbing into the lockers. After a quick examination, he deftly opened the grate and looked inside. The vents were just big enough for him to get inside in a crouch and that was all he needed.

Alaric heaved himself through the opened vent, sifted around and then pulled the grating back in place. No sooner did he slide the grate back with a click, that did he hear footsteps. Alaric stayed still; making sure his axe was out of the light to prevent reflection.

From the sound of the footsteps, this wasn't a student or a teacher. And when the mystery walker came into view, he saw that it was one of the enemies.

Coming down the hall was a Xeno Extremist. A large burly man clothed in a mixture of a business suit disguise and the form fitting bodysuit that mimicked the xenomorph physique. He was rubbing his round hard face with a cloth and when the cloth was lowered for a second, Alaric could see the defining feature of the extremists. Partial tattoos of xenomorphs were on the cultist's bald head and face. Alaric could see that the tattoos were in fact covered in convincing makeup.

Alaric watched as the cultist cleared the rest of his face, revealing more of the organic tattooing and chucked the cloth over his shoulder. He then went about tearing the rest of the suit off, having served its purpose. Around his girth on a sinewy belt and scabbard was a wicked looking dagger with the twelve inch blade made in the shape of a xenomorph's tail and the pommel a xenomorph's head. There were also various pouches and pockets that contained a myriad of items.

"Right." The cultist said to himself. "Time to find some more Chosen to join us."

The cultist then looked around, thinking where he could find more students. He then cracked a grin when he noticed the girl's changing room. He walked in, drawing his dagger. Alaric followed after him in the vents, quickly gaining his bearings as he shuffled through.

When Alaric got into the vents above the girl's changing rooms, he could hear frightened screaming coming from inside, along with sinister cackling. Alaric shuffled carefully up towards the nearest grate. Looking down the grating, Alaric could see that the cheerleader team, about six of them, was cornered in the showers. The cultist had the way out blocked with his girth.

"Well, this is a nice surprise." the cultist said with a tone of lust. "You lot will make fine additions to our cause."

Alaric, knowing full well what the cultist was intending, had now carefully lifted the grate up and leaned through.

"But I think I have time for a little fun before the ritual." The cultist decided licking his lips. "Now, don't even think of trying to resist."

He stepped closer towards them, his hands reaching down to his groin and causing the cheerleaders to start screaming.

But, this fate it seemed was not to be.

Before the cultist even had time to so much as loosen his belt, his body jerked as a sharp slice was heard from behind him and he suddenly choked and sputtered. Blood streamed from his mouth, and a large red stain was seeping from his chest. The cheerleaders exclaimed in shock from that display. The cultist looked down to his chest, gave one last rasp before falling forwards into the shower floor with a loud thump, stone dead. A large ornate axe head was sticking out of his back.

The cheerleaders gasped when they saw the weapon sticking out of his back and the blood that seeped out of his body and towards the drain.

Alaric then dropped down from the air vent in a calculated flip. He walked over and ripped his axe out of the still warm corpse.

"That's one." He counted, flourishing his axe. "Three more to go."

He looked to the cheerleaders.

"I suggest finding a better hiding spot." He said, grabbing the corpse. "Cheerleaders in a shower are too obvious, and too cliché."

He then, with remarkable strength, unceremoniously dumped the dead cultist into a cubicle, provoking a gasp from the cheerleaders, and shut the door before switching the showers on to wash away the blood. He holstered his axe back on his back and jumped back up to the vent. He grabbed on and pulled himself up.

"Stay quiet and be one with the shadows." He told the cheerleaders, before sealing the grate.

---

Alaric wasn't crawling in the vents for too long when he heard shouting coming from below. He thought it was someone who had been discovered by the extremists but the tone and annoyance he heard proved otherwise. Alaric crawled to the nearest grate and looked out. There was another extremist further up the hall, a gaunter and spindly looking one then the big brute Alaric had taken down. This one was more akin to the xenomorphs they revere.

"Kelloth." The cultist called into a comm-unit in his hand "Kelloth? Kelloth, you better not be indulging your perverse tastes again."

Alaric, judging from the direction the cultist was walking from, guessed that this one was investigating into his fellow's disappearance. Alaric estimated where the cultist was walking and silently moved after him.

"Kelloth, you're supposed to bring back Chosen, undefiled." The cultist called in his comms. "You keep your libido in your underwear or the Patriarch will cut it off."

Alaric, predicting where the cultist was going, moved up ahead of him to an overhead grate and waited until the cultist walked under the vent before he struck. Alaric dropped out of the vent and landed feet down onto the cultist's shoulders. The unexpected impact was enough to force the cultist on his knees and Alaric stomped on his head, sending him into the floor with a loud thud as his head connected to the linoleum. Alaric rolled off and readied his axe and the cultist struggled to his feet, holding his head.

"You're dead, whoever you are!" he cursed, reaching for his dagger and getting to his feet.

The cultist was surprised to see that his ambusher was a student, an oddly dressed student at that. He didn't think military clothing was a current fad in schools these days. He then saw Alaric's hair spikes and ruby eyes and was confused from what he was seeing.

"Wait a second." The cultist said, puzzled from what he was seeing. "You look oddly familiar."

Then he saw the axe in Alaric's hand and the pieces fell into place.

"You?!" he exclaimed in hated surprise. "You're must be Darius' son! So, he did have children."

Alaric held his axe up onto his shoulder and he quickly remembered stories that Razeal and his squad had told him about previous battles. And he definitely remembered the LV-326 infestation and how Xeno Extremists had nearly succeeded. Darius and the Squad had supposedly wiped out every last extremist.

"Razeal told me of extremists he and my father fought." He recalled. "I thought you lot were all dead."

The cultist hawked and then spat on the floor at the mere mention of Razeal's name.

"My cabal had been destroyed by Darius and his heathens. Only four of us, out of a six thousand congregation, remain." The cultist said, rearing up his dagger. "But now, with God's blessings, we will rise again stronger then before!"

He then gave a wicked smile which foreshadowed his intentions.

"Our Patriarch will reward me greatly with your death!" he declared, raising his dagger.
Alaric cocked his head, like he wasn't taking the extremist seriously.

"You couldn't fight my father before, what makes you think you can fight me?" Alaric asked, his axe still resting on his shoulder.

"You're just a kid." The cultist declared.

The cultist charged as Alaric, aiming his knife for Alaric's neck. However, as the cultist lunged, Alaric fluidly counterattacked with expert precision.

Alaric stepped to the side and, with a flourish; his axe tore through the cultist's throat in a showering arc of crimson blood. The cultist skidded to his knees, dagger clattering to the floor, instinctively clasping his eviscerated neck in a futile attempt to stem the flow that was gushing forth. Alaric walked in front of him, flipping his axe around and the arrow spike glinted in the light.

"I am a Spartan." Alaric corrected.

Alaric then finished the cultist off with his axe's rear spike to the forehead. The spike penetrated the skull and brain with a crack, killing the cultist instantly. The cultist's hands dropped down and dangled lifelessly, apart from slight twitches as the nervous system crashed, before Alaric then gave the kneeling corpse a kick, sending it onto the floor with a thud with an arc of blood spraying from his neck, and freeing his axe.

The cultist was killed just like a xenomorph's victim.

How ironic.

"That's two." Alaric counted, holstering his axe. "By my ancestors, these cultists are easy."

Alaric rolled the cultist onto his back and started scavenging for anything of use. He soon found a pilot's license along with a school inspector's certificate. He then examined each in turn carefully before he dumped them back on the cultist.

"They spent a lot of credits to get fake IDs this convincing." He said. "No wonder they got in so easily."

He then found a few USB chips in a secure case. He removed them and placed them in one of his belt pouches before putting the case back. Maybe there was some useful information on them, such as other Xeno Extremist cells and contacts.

Alaric got up, planning his next move to hunt down the next extremist as he grabbed the body by the legs to hide it.

That was when he heard fast running footsteps coming from up ahead. He looked up ahead and he saw another extremist dart around the corner, stopping when he saw Alaric and his dead fellow cultist. Alaric could see that this one was armed with not only a dagger in its scabbard but also with a military grade handgun.

"Shit!" Alaric cursed, dropping the legs and darting away from the scene.

A shot was fired and it whizzed past Alaric as he darted around a corner. The advantage was now in the extremist's favor.

"I found the intruder!" the cultist shouted as he chased after Alaric. "Judicah is dead, I'm pursuing!"

Alaric ran as fast as he could, darting around corners to try and lose the cultist, who was tenaciously homing on his tail. Another shot whizzed past him, impacting the wall with a loud ping and a shower of dust. Alaric lost count of how many corners he dived behind and corridors he sprinted down. He had even jumped through a door window in an attempt to shake the cultist off. And a few students or teachers emerged to see what was going on, only for Alaric to yell at them to hide.

After several frenzied minutes of dodging bullets and skidding into walls and lockers more times then he cared to count, Alaric stopped running as he came to a set of double doors that led to the craft and technical block. He caught his breath as he looked back. He couldn't see the cultist chasing after him.

Finally lost him, he thought as shook his hair clear of glass chips.

How wrong was he?

Alaric was suddenly smashed hard to the floor with zero warning from behind. Alaric looked up and he saw that the cultist had in fact chased him from the opposite direction. And Alaric had fallen right into the trap.

"Shit!" Alaric cursed.

The cultist then grabbed Alaric hard by the neck in a crushing grip before he could move, wrenching his axe from his back and raised him up and off the ground before slamming him into the hard wall. Alaric saw that the left half of the cultist's face was a cybernetic mask, adding an imposing visage to an already nasty looking individual with praetorian xenomorph tattoos.

No doubt a souvenir from Alaric' father.

The extremist looked at the axe and Alaric's face in turn. He leaned his head closer to Alaric's face, taking in his ruby eyes.

"So, it is true." The cultist said, his disgust not even disguised. "Darius, that heathen, did have a son."

Alaric was then dumped unceremoniously to the ground hard and then the cultist gave him a hard kick in the gut. The air was forced out of Alaric's lungs from the blow and he retched in barely suppressed pain.

"The resemblance is unmistakable." He finished picking Alaric up by the hair before opening the door and hurling Alaric through.

Alaric went crashing into the corridor beyond and before he got to his knees, the cultist was on him again. Alaric lashed out with his fists but the cultist had him at a good distance so Alaric was lashing air when the cultist grabbed him by the hair and hoisted him up.

"Stubborn too." The cultist added as he opened the nearest door.

Alaric was tossed into the carpentry and crafts section of the school, the machinery still operating from the sudden evacuation, crashing into a large bin full of scrap wood. The metal tub capsized from the impact and a deluge of sharp splinters washed over him. Alaric hastily burst out of heap, shaking the splinters out of his clothing, hair and arms.

The cultist walked in carrying Alaric's axe in hand. He then tossed it over his shoulder where the heirloom clattered onto a pile of scrap metal. He also holstered his pistol.

"Darius was supposed to be the best fighter in the Earth's entire Marine Corps." The cultist said. "Well, I'd like to see how well his son lives up to his reputation."

Alaric got up looking for something to use as a weapon. He soon found an iron bar propped up against the wall. He grabbed and hefted it up ready for defending himself.

The cultist unsheathed his dagger and cracked his knuckles.

"Ready yourself boy, here I come!" the cultist roared.

Alaric readied himself as the cultist charged. The dagger met the iron bar with a clang and the fight began. Alaric went onto the defensive as the cultist unleashed a flurry of swipes and stabs, testing Alaric's abilities.

It was apparent that this cultist didn't earn his praetorian tattoos for nothing. This extremist was an experienced fighter. And he was bringing that experience into play. Alaric was holding up but it was only a matter of time before the cultist outmaneuvered him.

The cultist lashed out at Alaric with his dagger and Alaric parried with the bar. However, it become lodged into the notch at the base of the blade and with a twist, the cultist flicked it out of Alaric's grasp. Alaric then ducked under the dagger and grabbed the cultist's arm, trying to force him to the ground. The cultist counterattacked and Alaric received a backhand across the face.

Alaric tried to deliver a roundhouse kick but the cultist caught his leg and brutally slammed him to the ground. Alaric was then grabbed by the neck and then shoved hard into a wall. Alaric lashed out with his feet, landing a few blows on the cultist.

"You are just like Darius." The cultist said, not even concerned about Alaric's attempt. "Stubborn enough to stand against anything that came against him. And it was that stubbornness that cost me and my brethren everything."

The cultist then punched Alaric hard in the gut. Alaric retched from the impact to his stomach.

"Well, a messiah born from you will be a great asset." The cultist considered.

"Fuck you!" Alaric defiantly grunted through clenched teeth.

Alaric was then hurled into a shelf unit with a loud crash of breaking timber and clattering tools. The entire shelving unit collapsed on top of him, provoking a shout of suppressed pain and shock from Alaric.

Alaric forced himself out from under the shelves, now more battered then before. The cultist was on him in an instant, pinning him on his back with the dagger to Alaric's throat. He then proceeded to choke Alaric into submission. Alaric grabbed the cultist's fists and tried to wrench free.

The cultist chuckled in a sinister fashion as he lowered face to face with Alaric.
"Darius had planted his seed in the wrong whore." "What a weak and pathetic legacy you left your father. Just a frail little child."

Slurring against Alaric's parents would prove to be a fatal mistake.

"I'm not a child!" Alaric declared as his eyes flashed crimson. "I am a Spartan!"

The cultist's grin left his face in shock at this sight and his fingers loosened. And Alaric had his chance.

"Impossi..." the cultist stammered before Alaric retaliated.

Alaric curled backwards, his boots on his opponent's chest and gave a shove of surprising strength that sent the cultist reeling back and Alaric followed suit. The cultist landed on his back and Alaric proceeded to repeatedly punch the fanatic in the face in a frenzy of blows. By the time cultist manage to smash Alaric aside, his nose had been broken into a heap, several teeth were missing, and a large gash was prevalent over his good eye.
The cultist drew his dagger and rushed up to Alaric. Alaric received a hard kick to the face and was dragged to a pile of planks and was dumped hard onto them.

"Enough!" the cultist declared, rearing up his dagger "You die now!"

The cultist brought the dagger down hard towards Alaric's face. But Alaric took this situation into consideration and planned for it, even to the point of being dumped on the planks.

Alaric grabbed a piece of planking and blocked the dagger, it's blade punching through and just barely nicking his cheek. Alaric gave a kick to the cultist's knee and twisted the dagger away from him. He then gave a fierce smash to the face with the plank with enough force to break the plank into pieces and the dagger went flying to the other side of the area and clattering to the floor. The cultist reeled from that impact, yelling as more of his face cracked as Alaric scampered for the dagger. The cultist managed to recover to his feet in time to see Alaric grab the dagger and he drew his handgun.
Alaric grabbed the dagger and rolled to his feet. He was greeted by the firing of a gun and the impact of a bullet hitting his chest. His flak vest managed to catch the bullet but the force of it was enough to make Alaric reel backwards and the ballistics mesh and padding ruptured in a cloud. The cultist cursed, the concussion throwing off his aim, as he lined up to take another shot, hoping for a more lethal aim.

Alaric knew he had to close the gap fast and he pushed his bruised body to do it.
Alaric charged at the cultist as the shot whizzed past his right arm, tearing a deep gash into his shoulder. Alaric didn't have time to worry about it as the distance between him and the cultist shrank. The cultist missed the next shot as Alaric ducked at the last second and tackled the cultist to the ground, smacking the butt of the dagger to the side of his head. The cultist abandoned his pistol, unwillingly as Alaric smashed it away, and focused on trying to get Alaric off him with his free left arm. Alaric grappled the arm, giving an unbelievably hard twist and with a flick of the wrist, snapped the cultist's wrist.

The cultist yelled in pain but was then was silenced as Alaric drove his boot into the cultist's face. Several more teeth went flying out of his mouth before Alaric dragged the momentarily dazed cultist by the neck to the nearest machine's conveyer belt.

Alaric repeatedly smashed the cultists head into the conveyer belts' frame several times in a frenzy, a large red stain growing larger with every impact. Alaric then heaved the cultist up onto the belt, whose face was now a bloody and slightly misshapen mess, and head butted him, stunning him for a moment. But that moment was all Alaric needed.

Alaric shoved the cultist up flat onto the belt and drove the dagger deep into his good hand, the steel blade slicing through flesh, bone and the reinforced belt before bending as it hit the internal workings beneath. The cultist was now thoroughly nailed onto the conveyer belt and was dragged along with it. The cultist only gave a load grunt of pain and anger before reaching for his dagger with his crippled hand.

Alaric held his head as he watched the cultist get dragged along, his feet trying to halt his advance.

"When I get free, you're dead!" the cultist declared in anger, trying to wrench his dagger out. "You'll pay for this humiliation!"

Alaric then pointed further down the conveyer belt with a rather sinister grin on his blood streaked face.

"Better hurry then." Alaric recommended as he stepped back. "Or you'll lose more than your pride."

The cultist, following Alaric's finger, looked further down and realized that the conveyer belt was heading straight for a sawbench's protruding disk blade. And it was operating! The cultist struggled to get free, cursing aloud when he saw that his dagger was not shifting at all and his fractured wrist was preventing him from getting a firm grip on his dagger. And the whirring bladed disk was inching closer and closer, towards his abdomen. The cultist's efforts became increasingly desperate and he was now resorting to having to wrench his hand through the dagger's blade.

Alaric wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to see what was going to happen but thought it would make a good occupational hazard example.

The cultist screamed in terror and then in pain when he finally contacted the saw. The tungsten edged blade effortlessly tore through his flesh and bones, drowning out his screams until it severed him in twain. Blood and tearing flesh sprayed through the air in messy arcs, painting the immediate area in a deep crimson shade. Alaric took another step back to avoid getting sprayed, not before getting a good splattering of blood in his eyes. It took a few seconds of rending flesh and severing spine before the saw passed through. The cultist's legs dropped to the ground, spilling what was left of his bowels while his major organs squelched out of his body cavity in a torrent of gore. The cultist gave out a last rasping groan before shock, blood loss and trauma claimed his life and his head dropped down with a thud.

Alaric wiped his eyes, saw the resulting carnage with was like the set of a b-movie horror film and went to turn the saw off, it's gore slicked teeth dripping with life's essence as it slowed and stopped. He then moved over to the remains, being careful not to slip over on the now slippery floor and had a quick look.

"Well, the cult now has two half brothers." He said, giving the legs a prod with his boot.

He felt the gash in his shoulder; barely flinching as he touched the bleeding ruptured flesh which blood had now trickled down past his elbow. He then went about searching for a first aid kit. With luck, he found the medical locker with an advanced medical kit inside. Obviously this kit was designed for any accident that could occur in this workshop.

Not that the cultist could be helped one bit by this.

Alaric gathered a needle and thread, bandages and antiseptic swabs and sat down on a bench. He threaded the needle with some thread, tied it off and then reached for an antiseptic swab. He thoroughly swabbed his shoulder, gritting his teeth as a sharp tingle spread from his open wound as he repeated the procedure again. Disposing of the bloodied swabs, Alaric took the needle in hand and relaxed his shoulder. Alaric then jabbed the needle into his flesh, suppressing the pain as he pulled the needle through, bring the edges of the wound together. He then deftly stitched up his shoulder, making sure it was sealed up before he bandaged it up.

He took this moment to get his breath back before the final push towards the last cultist.

He then heard a bleep coming from the bisected cultist's chest and Alaric investigated. He soon found a comm-unit in one of the bodysuit's pockets. It was miraculous that it wasn't damaged in the fight, aside from a dented casing. He held it and clicked the relevant button.

"Where are you, Mel'kior?!" A voice with a theocratic and learned accent demanded. "Have you eliminated the intruder, yet?! Answer me!"

Alaric coughed quietly as he put on a gruff voice as he replied.

"If you want to speak to your subordinate, you'll have to have to consult a psychic for that." Alaric said, keeping a straight face.

A pause was apparent as the cultist on the other side processed this information.

"Who is this?!" it questioned. "What have you done with my Brethren?!"

"You'll be joining them soon enough." Alaric answered. "Death is coming for you next."

Alaric then dropped the comm-unit and thoroughly stomped on it. The piece of tech exploded under his boot in a shower of sparks and a wisp of smoke. He strode through the war torn workshop and retrieved his axe.

Well, he thought as he holstered his axe on his back. Next stop, the assembly hall.

Alaric looked the cultist's torso that was still nailed to the conveyer belt.

I suppose I better return his cronies, he added. Might give him a little incentive to surrender.

He reached over and wrenched the dagger free before tossing the useless implement away. Alaric then dragged the dissected torso off the belt and plopped it down by its legs. All the while, he tried not to trip over the offal and excrement that lay sprawled on the floor or get nauseated. He then drag both of them clear of the bench saw and laid them together haphazardly, scooping the organs back in place with a nearby dustpan, before setting off to gather some things.

"Right." Alaric said, gathering up some twine and a crudely fashioned needle from nearby. "Time to reunite these bastards, in death."

---

The last extremist, the Patriarch of this cult, was guarding his chosen sacrifices. An imposing seven foot tall man, he paced up and down in front of the 'chosen', his long black robes, with intricate xenomorph patterns decorating the cloth, flowing behind him. He also wore a ceremonial mask over his eyes and forehead that mimicked the eyeless visage of the xenomorphs. Several dozen students and several teachers were bound and kneeling in front of him in the eastern wall of the assembly hall.

The Patriarch was definitely into middle age as shown by a single long graying braid of hair that went down his back and down to the floor. His attire and tattoos marked him as the cult leader, having a queen mother transcribed into his flesh on robes. He also bore cybernetic arms from the elbows down that had been fashioned into xenomorph claws with razor sharp talons with he held together in the sign of prayer. His ornate ceremonial dagger was hanging in its scabbard at his waist, its xenomorph head pommel shining in the light.

The claws are the reminder of his previous defeat at the hands of Alaric's father.

The Patriarch was in a somewhat joyous mood, although this was likely a front considering the setback with the unexpected resistance. He was addressing them like they were new converts.

"You lot should be honored to be carrying the divine creatures of our lord." He addressed the hostages with pride, not caring in the slightest if they thought otherwise. "You will have a fragment of God within you, nurtured by your flesh. And from the sacrifice of your mortal forms, this universe will be reborn."

The Patriarch then pointed to the body of a janitor that was lying in the centre of the hall in a large pool of blood, his throat sliced wide open.

"This one was unwilling to pay the price and resisted." He showed. "So he died for nothing. This is the fate of those who lack the faith to give their lives for God, know that it is a waste. "

He walked away from them and stopped by a cargo crate, one of many that were piled up in the hall at the opposite western wall.

There was something odd about the way the Patriarch walked. There was a distinctive sound of metal rapping against the floor and the posture, which was much more animalistic, from the way he stood suggested that there was something wrong with his legs.

"When this little thorn in my side appears, he will regret standing in my way." The Patriarch declared to himself. "None can stand before the faithful."

He then carefully grabbed a crate and carried it to the centre of the hall. He placed it on the floor and then caressed it reverently before anger filled him.

"Saljave, our founding father, offered salvation to us and what did you do?" he asked his captives.

There was no answer from his hostages. So he told them what the answer was. In a loud and threateningly condescendingly manner that made most of the hostages cower.

"You cast that gift away and killed our god's messiahs!" he roared "You defied God's will!"

He then quickly composed himself as he relinquished his hold on the crate.

"We, and many of our brethren, intend to continue his great work and will not rest until all are in paradise." He declared with pious devotion. "And to do so, we need willing volunteers."

The Patriarch then strode towards the hostages stopping a meter from them. He surveyed the mass of innocents before him, no doubt deciding who will be the first to be 'blessed' with a xenomorph. He soon found a small girl who looked like the epitome of innocence with bright eyes in her tear streaked face.

He then crouched down right next to the girl who turned away in fright while other hostages shuffled away from the Patriarch. The Patriarch then clasped her face with a claw and brought her face back to him, careful enough not to damage her face with his talons.

"Don't be frightened, Child." He said softly and comfortingly. "God you take you into his loving embrace when you depart this mortal realm.

The girl was hardly convinced as she wrenched her head away, managing to avoid tearing her face. The Patriarch then clasped her shoulder and went about ushering her towards the crate. She on the other hand resisted as hard as she could.

The Patriarch then picked her up by her arms and hoisted her off the floor. She yelped in fright as he moved his masked visage towards her face. His pallid skin, almost corpse-like in its appearance, suggested that there was something else wrong with him, other than his cybernetics.

"Dying is nothing to be afraid of." He told her. "It is something that all things are destined to do."

Little did he know that at point, retribution was nigh.

The lights in the assembly hall suddenly shut off. Some of the students exclaimed in fright while others curled into balls for protection. Emergency lights activated moments later casting everything in a dim glow. Only the hall's exits and the centre of the hall were fully lit to a degree.

The Patriarch dropped the girl and she landed with a thud back on the floor before huddling up to the other students.

"What is this?" he demanded, looking around.

"Police?" a student whispered. "The army?"

The Patriarch had now drawn his pistol out, crafted aesthetically like xenomorph chitin and modified to accommodate his claws, and was aiming around him, waiting for his mystery problem to appear. He had no doubt surmised that the intruder had shut the power off to the hall in order to try and surprise him.

But he had no intention being scared by the tactics used by his divine messiahs.

"Police are of no use here." He clarified to the hostages as he moved to the centre of the hall. "This school has been cut off from all contact with the outside world. No one is going to stop me from carrying God's will and bringing forth paradise."

Then he heard something that would put his plans of zealous grandeur on permanent hiatus.

"Paradise?" The gruff voice questioned, echoing throughout the entire hall like a god. "Hell is what the bugs bring."

The Patriarch was slightly taken back that mystery attacker had infiltrated this close. He looked around, trying to find the intruder.

"You finally came." The Patriarch said, looking around him. "Face me so that I can smite you down!"

"Death is coming for you and Death cannot be defeated." The voice warned.

A loud thud was heard from the far end of the hall, the sound of a body hitting the floor. The Patriarch fired a round in that direction, the bullet ricocheting in the distance. Several more thuds were heard, one having more density then those previous. The Patriarch fired the whole magazine in a spread pattern, trying to hit whatever was in the shadows. He heard some on the rounds hit flesh and then heard another thud.

It would appear that he had gotten his intruder with less effort then he intended.

The Patriarch scoffed in disappointment as he lowered his pistol.

"Well, that was less than engaging." He said, turning back to the hostages. "He was right about death. Only that death claimed him instead of me."

However, the voice started to chuckle in a sinister fashion from where the Patriarch had been shooting. The Patriarch stopped in mid-step in unexpected shock before turning back around.

"Hey, coward." The voice said. "You are a lousy shot. And in a warzone, you'd be dead before the spent casing hit the ground."

The Patriarch quickly reloaded his pistol. He hadn't shot the intruder like he first thought.

"Show yourself!" he demanded. "Are you too cowardly to face one of God's chosen?"

"Are you too cowardly to stare Death in the face and smile?" the voice countered.

The mystery voice revealed itself and it was a shock for all.

Alaric stepped out of the shadows under one of the lights at the far end of the hall, dragging something behind him. Dried blood was streaked on his tattered clothing, bruised face, hair, and hands. He had his axe in one hand and with the other he clutched a rope line which dragged the lifeless bodies of the three other extremists behind him, each in varying degrees of mutilation with added bullet holes when the lighting revealed them. The reaction from the Patriarch and the hostages were of a mixture of horrific surprise and nausea as the bodies left a red streak behind Alaric as he approached. One of the more frail hostages retched at the back.

The large cultist was soaked in his own blood with only a ragged gash in his back. The gaunt cultist had much more trauma inflicted with his throat torn open and a jagged blood encrusted hole in his skull. And, the praetorian extremist looked like a serial killer's version of a piñata, beaten to a pulp, sliced in half and hastily but thoroughly sewed back together.

"Sorry about not arriving earlier, but it was difficult pulling them through the vents." Alaric apologized, pointing his axe at the large corpse. "Especially this large bastard, here."

The Patriarch couldn't believe what he was seeing. The mystery slayer of his brethren was a child? An oddly dressed child at that, but a child never the less.

"What the?!" The Patriarch said in confusion and disbelief. "You're a mere boy?!"

Alaric cocked his head to one head in thought.

"Kid?" Alaric quizzed. "Hardly… not anymore."

Alaric dragged the corpses out in line, displaying each in turn.

"As you can see, your cronies were little match against me." Alaric said, pointing to each corpse in turn. "He lost his heart. He lost his voice. And he, the only challenge among them, lost his guts."

He then lifted up his shirt sleeve, showing off the bandage on his shoulder.

"Aside from some pathetic scratches and bruises, this was the only significant wound they inflicted." He indicated.

The Patriarch, having just registered Alaric's hair, eyes and blood stained axe, realized who Alaric was. And it was like a spitting image of his nemesis was standing in front of him.

"The son of Darius." He said in disgusted realization. "Only you could have done this."

"Heard that before." Alaric casually reminded. "Your goons said that to me just before I killed them."

The Patriarch holstered his pistol.

"It seems God has blessed me indeed." He said. "The last remnant of that heathen is standing in front of me and retribution is at hand."

Alaric dragged the rope line to one side of the hall and left the bodies there before walking back. He wasn't at all threatened by what the Patriarch had in store for his 'retribution'. And he cleared the battlefield of the dead Janitor, with respect and care, so no obstructions would hinder him.

"I thought you had been killed when his squad was wiped out." The Patriarch pointed out

That remark made Alaric stop dead in his tracks. That memory briefly entered his head, seeing the deaths of Razeal, Mills and all the others at the hands of a sadistic Yautja hunter flash before him. He forced it back to the depths as he faced the Patriarch.

"How could you have survived that when you were only seven years old?" The Patriarch questioned. "Hunters aren't ones to leave any witnesses behind."

Alaric didn't answer as he hefted his axe, his eyes down. His fingers gripped his weapon tightly, making his knuckles crack.

"Ah, a touchy subject." The Patriarch said in a malevolent tone.

Alaric looked up at the Patriarch.

"How did you find out?" Alaric demanded, anger slowly seeping into his speech.

"Oh, I have contacts who keep me informed of significant events." The Patriarch boasted. "It seemed prudent to know about galactic affairs while recovering."

Alaric thought about the USB drives that he had recovered from the gaunt cultist. It is possible that those might have the contacts that the Patriarch was referring to.

"Razeal told me about your attacks on LV-326." Alaric said. "Biggest attack by Extremists since Earth."

"Your father destroyed my cabal after we had unleashed paradise into the colony." The Patriarch explained with venom lacing his voice. "He and that wretched squad of his in particular ruined our ascent to paradise, slaughtered us for doing God's work."

"Slaughtering innocents as God's work?" Alaric questioned cynically, pointing his axe to the dead janitor. "The most used excuse in existence. And the excuse used by power mad tyrants."

The Patriarch was unrepentant.

"Sacrifices must be made to bring about Paradise." He dictated.

Alaric scoffed at the Patriarch's reasoning.

History had shown that religion had been the cause for much death and suffering over the centuries. Despite it being a way of understanding the world and the purpose of life, it was easily corrupted as an excuse to commit horrific acts. Entire peoples were massacred under the pretence that it was God's will to do so. Innocent people were tortured and executed by the Inquisition, witch hunters and other such groups, if they had even the slightest difference in view in either philosophical or scientific subjects or whether they just despised them to begin with.

In a sense, religion in the wrong hands became tyranny in another form.

"Paradise?" Alaric questioned. "What bugs do to worlds is not Paradise. It is hell incarnate."

"Only to the unworthy." The Patriarch pointed out.

Alaric had questions for the Patriarch, questions that relate to these events.

"How was it you survived all those years ago?" Alaric questioned.

"Survived?" the Patriarch said, showing off his claws "I not only survived, I have become stronger. Darius had, unknowingly, cast my humanity off so I can be more like the divine messiahs. With that very axe you now wield."

Sounds like Father had lopped off half his brain too, Alaric thought.

"My most loyal followers managed to evade the massacre and brought me back from the brink of death. Since then we have been biding our time and waiting for a sign from God to continue Salvaje's work. Starting here."

Alaric rolled his eyes.

"But first, given the circumstance, there is the matter of vengeance." The Patriarch declared. "Vengeance against Darius. But since he is no longer around, you will have to pay the price in his stead."

Alaric simply hefted his axe into a battle ready stance.

"Your move." Alaric declared.

The Patriarch laughed at Alaric's response. It wasn't in a mocking way but rather a pleased and content manner.

"Bravery against overwhelming odds." He said. "Just like your father."

He then got serious.

"Only one of us will be leaving this hall alive." The Patriarch declared as he clasped the hem of his robes. "This time, I will be the victor."

Oh great, is he gonna flash me to death, Alaric thought.

The patriarch then unfurled his robes, the priestly vestige falling to the floor, revealing something that made Alaric's eyes go wide. It wasn't just cybernetic arms that the Patriarch had. His legs were also cybernetic from the hip down and they were made into xenomorph legs. And like the claws, they were tipped with wickedly curved and razor sharp talons.

It was like the patriarch had suddenly transformed into one of the xenomorphs that he and his kind revered.

Alaric, in a first for him, nervously gripped his axe as he saw those blades glint.

Okay, he thought in apprehension. This is going to be tough. At least he hasn't got the tail, too.

The Patriarch then drew his dagger, its bloodstained blade shining maliciously in the light.

"Come, boy." He said; flourishing his dagger and flexing his free claw. "Let's see if you can do your father justice?"

Then with horrific speed, the patriarch charged at Alaric. Alaric barely had time to ready his axe when the Patriarch unleashed a vicious backhand at his face. Alaric was smashed clear off his feet, landing several feet away in a heap. The hostages exclaimed in terror when Alaric hit the ground.

Alaric heaved himself up, shaking his head and looking up. He saw the Patriarch pounce towards him and barely managing to roll out of the way as the talons on his cybernetic feet dug into the hardwood floor, making ragged splinters rise up from his weight. Alaric rolled away, lashing his axe at the Patriarch's leg, scraping the metal in a shower of sparks.

The Patriarch laughed at Alaric's attempt as Alaric gripped his axe and rose up. Alaric had little time to react as the Patriarch lashed out at him. Alaric parried the claws and dagger with his axe and dodged as hard as he could.

"What's the matter?" The Patriarch asked. "Are you afraid?"

Alaric was starting to think that this was getting ridiculously out of his depth. Whereas all the other cultists had one or two weapons, the Patriarch had five of them, thanks to his cybernetics. And he had to admit, he was more worried about the claws than the dagger.

But afraid? No he wasn't. He just viewed this as a challenge. An insane challenge, but a challenge nonetheless.

Alaric managed to feint the Patriarch and swiveled past the extremist, lashing out with his axe. The blade met armor and flesh and a large cut was left in the Patriarchs side. The Patriarch stepped back from Alaric and felt his side. Blood and synthetic fluid, the high iron and copper variant that closely resembled normal blood, seeped out.

"Very good." The patriarch applauded. "But not good enough!"

The Patriarch flipped over Alaric and Alaric found himself exposed and in serious trouble as the Patriarch lashed out with his claws before Alaric could move.

A sharp tear was heard from Alaric's back as the Patriarch's claws raked across him before he could dodge. Blood arced though the air as the force of the swipe hurled Alaric through the air before crashing hard into the ground. Alaric writhed in suppressed pain as the deep cuts on his back, miraculously missing his spine, bled rapidly. His flak vest did nothing to protect him from the claws.

The Patriarch grinned at the sight of Alaric in pain but was quickly and defiantly shifting to his knees, using his axe to support himself.

"It's ironic." The Patriarch said, striding over to Alaric. "I'm killing you and your blessed father gave me the tools to do it with."

Alaric panted hard as he got to his feet.

Alaric steeled himself and charged once more into the fray, pushing the pain of his slashed back aside to focus on the fight. The Patriarch was mockingly applauding Alaric's stubbornness.

"That's better." The Patriarch praised sardonically. "More like your father."

Alaric lashed out with his axe and the Patriarch blocked the attack before responding with a low sweeping kick to topple Alaric. Alaric however anticipated this and evaded the kick with a jump and giving the patriarch a roundhouse kick to the face.

The Patriarch reeled from that attack, leaving himself open to attack and Alaric had his chance. He lunged at the Patriarch, his axe aiming to take the fanatic's head off. However the Patriarch spun with a kick of his own and knocked Alaric to the side, the talons slicing through his vest and slashing along his ribs. Alaric crashed face down into the floor and skidded far from the hostages, leaving behind a red streak as his axe clattered near him.

Alaric was then brutally smashed into the ground as the Patriarch jumped into the air landed on Alaric's back before grinding his taloned feet into Alaric's back, tearing him up even more. Alaric did his best to get free, straining under the relentless tide of suffering, but he was pinned. He tried to reach his axe but it was too far away.

After an unknown period of torture, The Patriarch picked up Alaric by the neck in a crushing grip and held him up to his face. Alaric, blood running down his back and dripping to the floor grasped the claw and tried to wrench free but the cybernetics were far stronger then Alaric could match. The Patriarch then drew a clawed finger down the side of Alaric's face, starting from his temple and tearing deep into his flesh as he traced Alaric's jaw to his chin. Blood dripped out of the gash as the claw passed through.

"It appears that you have disgraced your father's name." The Patriarch announced in a displeased tone, taking his claw back.

"And you have disgraced humanity, traitor." Alaric spat back.

The Patriarch chuckled in a sinister and proud tone, showing the talon that he drew down Alaric's cheek. Alaric watched as his blood dripped to the floor with loud drops.

"Humanity is a dying breed. I cast mine off years ago." The Patriarch declared.

He then raised Alaric high up and then brutally slammed him into the ground, face first. The hostages cringed in horror as they saw Alaric crumple as he hit the ground like that. Alaric lay deathly still from that impact. The Patriarch leant down and quickly examined Alaric's still body before being content in guessing that Alaric's neck had snapped on impact.

"And now Darius is truly dead." He concluded.

He then sheathed his dagger and strode back to the hostages, the air of victory around him. He stood before them. He then flinched as he felt the cut in his side. He placed his claw on his wound and felt the blood and synthetic fluid seep out.

"You monster!" a teacher shouted out. "He was a just a kid!"

The Patriarch was unrepentant.

"That is what happens to those of you who resist us." The Patriarch declared, pointing at Alaric's body behind him. "Anyone who attempts to thwart our holy work will be eliminated and denied the grace of God."

Laughter was then suddenly echoing in the hall. And it was not coming from the hostages who were staring behind the Patriarch.

The Patriarch turned and, to his utter disgust and annoyance, Alaric was picking himself up from the floor. His face dripped with his blood as he laughed in disbelief at what the Patriarch said.

"Grace of God?" Alaric laughed. "Grace of a power hungry megalomaniac is more likely."

Alaric picked himself up off the ground, spitting out blood and cracking bones back into place. He defiantly got to his feet and grabbed his axe from the floor.

The Patriarch couldn't believe his eyes. After all the crippling damage that he had been inflicting on Alaric, the boy was still living?

"What do I have to do to kill you?!" the Patriarch shouted in frustrated exasperation as he faced Alaric, his claws out stretched.

Alaric thought he had heard something lining the Patriarch's speech. It was faint, barely detectable, but it was there.

Fear.

"I'll tell you what I am, if it'll put your mind at ease." Alaric said, tearing off his shirt sleeves. His voice was taking on a deeper and resonate tone. "I am a Spartan, a man born to be the best warrior in existence. A warrior who does not fear death."

The Patriarch rolled his eyes as he aimed his pistol at Alaric. He intended to finish him off here and now with a minimal effort as possible.

"Oh, do shut up." He demanded with a confident smirk

He fired a shot from his pistol, intending to send Alaric's brain splattering through the four winds. Alaric, unerringly, dodged it in a blur. The Patriarch's grin soon left his face when he saw Alaric walking towards him.

"What?" The patriarch said in shock. "You..."

Alaric's hair started to twitch.

"You, on the other hand, are a nothing but a liar, a murderer and a fucking pathetic coward." Alaric declared. "You hide behind fancy words and your fanatical followers, willingly wasting their lives to fulfill your own vain ambitions, ambitions for a race that does not care for anything else but themselves. They see you as merely livestock ready to be culled for their next generation, nothing more."

The anger was writhing within him, begging for release, but he was keeping it under his control. The Patriarch fired another shot at Alaric. Alaric swung his axe, sparks shooting out as the bullet was pelted back at the Patriarch. A yelp came from the Patriarch as the slug tore past his head and leaving a large gash in his mask. The hostages remarked in surprise from that feat.

"Your kind nearly cost us Earth, our very existence." Alaric seethed as the ragged cuts on his face and body started to knit together. "Your kind turned your back on us, traitors to your own race."

He was going to relish the look on the Patriarch's face.

"And traitors die!" he roared, his eyes flickering momentarily into crimson orbs.

The Patriarchs fears were then realized. Alaric, despite his young age, could tap into whatever gave Darius his formidable strength. And that meant serious, and rather horrific, carnage was going to be unleashed. The Patriarch raised his pistol at Alaric.

"Impossible!" he gasped.

Alaric charged at the Patriarch, his boots pounding the floor in loud stomps with a loud battle cry and his axe held high. The Patriarch fired his pistol in quick succession, desperate to take Alaric down before he got anywhere close to him.

Alaric, as one continuous blur, evaded and parried the shots before jumping towards the Patriarch and gave a spectacular dropkick to the face. The Patriarch recoiled from that blow, sending him off balance before tumbling over into a heap. His mask went spinning through the air, dispersing into fragments as it hit the floor. Alaric landed on his feet and tackled the Patriarch before he recovered from the kick, knocking the air out form his lungs, to the ground and rolled off.

The Patriarch frantically got up, only to be met by another vicious kick to the face. This one sent him right into the middle of the hall. He clutched his face as he rose back up; the cheek that had been subjected to the crippling blow was ruptured and gushing. And the reason for the mask was shown for everyone to see. In place of eyes, there were depthless black orbs that seemed to swallow the dim lights and no eyelids to cover them. This made it seem that the eyeless visage of the xenomorphs had taken residence in the Patriarchs eye sockets.

One could only guess how his eyes could ever become like this. Did Alaric's father do this or did the Patriarch willingly do this to himself?

Alaric vaulted at the Patriarch, his axe raised and ready to cleave the fanatic in half. The Patriarch rolled out of the way, Alaric's axe biting deep into the floor where his head was and attacked with his dagger.

Both attacked and parried with their chosen blades, sparks flying from the meeting blades. The Patriarch's cybernetics allowed him to keep up with Alaric but Alaric was far more maneuverable. And Alaric was moving with ferocious speed as he attacked in frenzied rage.

Alaric was landing blows now with the Patriarch's cybernetic limbs sparking as Alaric smashed his axe into them, denting and slicing their armored frames and cracking the claws and talons. Alaric was systematically eliminating each variable in the duel so to even the odds. Every now and then, the cybernetics would seize up, giving Alaric precious seconds to inflict some real damage.

However, Alaric was in fact holding himself back. If he was to go full on, there was the risk of causing more than just one dead extremist.

That was one of his most guarded secrets that only a select few knew of.

Gotta finish him quick, Alaric thought in focus. I can't kill anyone else here.

Unfortunately, when exhaustion finally set in and Alaric couldn't keep up the momentum anymore, the Patriarch was unbelievably still standing but in a much more battered and bloodied state. His cybernetics were all cracked and dented and his bodysuit, and the flesh beneath, was littered with cuts and bleeding a combination of his own blood and synthetic fluid from his implants.

It appeared that he was more machine than man than Alaric first anticipated.

The Patriarch was surprised by Alaric's sudden stop and his surprise turned into gleeful realization. It was one thing that he learned about Darius and what his nemesis would never do.

"You can't give into your anger because of my chosen?" the Patriarch quizzed. "Ah yes, because of your father's precious honor."

Alaric was then smashed into the ground again before he could react and was now on his back as the Patriarch stood over him, with one of his taloned feet keeping Alaric pinned.

"Compassion is the weakness of the enemy." The Patriarch lectured. "One of the few weaknesses of your father."

"Better then not having a soul, you sycophantic thrall!" Alaric cursed to him.

The Patriarch laughed out loud in a commanding and possibly insane manner at Alaric condemnation.

"I will render you into a bloody stain under my feet!" The Patriarch declared, raising a taloned foot and preparing to stomp Alaric to death.

However, that was when Fate decided to think otherwise.

A bright blue flash erupted in the dark hall, stark and illuminating and the Patriarch was sent hurling over Alaric, yelling in pain and crashing into the floor as arcs of energy writhed around his body. The hostages reacted in fright from the spectacle and hit the deck, not wanting to get hit by any stray shots. Alaric saw that the fanatic's back was smoking from some sort of energized impact and the bodysuit was blasted further apart, revealing more xenomorph inspired cybernetics merged with his flesh as he writhed in pain.

Did his cybernetics just explode for no reason or did someone just shoot him?

As Alaric rolled to his knees and looked around, he could've sworn that he saw a figure in the darkness, from where the light had appeared from. He only caught a glimpse before it vanished as quickly as it appeared but it was defiantly bipedal, humanoid and surrounded by a misty blue aura. For lack of a better word, it was like a ghost.

He immediately recognized it.

"That ghost again?" Alaric whispered to himself.

He looked at the hostages, wondering if they saw it too, but it looked as if they had never noticed the ghost. They were too preoccupied with staying close to the floor with their heads down.

"Another intruder?!" The Patriarch exclaimed in pain filled anger, rolling onto his back. "What is this?!"

Alaric laughed as he got up, reinvigorated by this sudden help.

"Divine providence, you bastard!" Alaric concluded, hefting his axe up. "Where's your god now, Holy Man?"

The Patriarch had managed to shuffle to his knees, parts of his charred body suit falling off and revealing even more cybernetics in his flesh, and Alaric, realizing he may not get another chance to kill the Patriarch, seized the initiative.

Gripping his axe tight, he sprinted towards the Patriarch.

Alaric managed to flip over the Patriarch as the zealot slashed wide with his dagger and exposing himself and onto his back and got his axe's shaft around his neck. Alaric pulled for all his worth and the Patriarch's eyes bulged as he grabbed the axe's shaft and struggled to free himself. Alaric heaved backwards and the Patriarch fell, landing on top of Alaric who weathered the fall and crushing weight. Alaric quickly locked his legs around the Patriarch as the Patriarch struggled to his feet.

"Get off me!" The Patriarch choked, reaching back with one claw frantically.

Alaric stayed resolute, even as the chipped claws raked across his skin.

"What's the matter?" Alaric jeered, pulling harder. "Isn't this what your precious messiah's parasite spawn do? Choke the life out of you?!"

The Patriarch spun round sharply, trying to throw Alaric off with centrifugal force. Alaric however was still hanging on and the swinging was only choking the Patriarch further.

"I'm going to send you to hell!" the Patriarch roared.

Alaric was then finally grabbed by the neck and the Patriarch hurled him off with a hard swing, going into a twisting backwards flip. But this was what Alaric was expecting the Patriarch to do all along, and Alaric had only one chance to get this right.

Blade of my ancestors fly swift and sure, Alaric prayed as he gripped his axe while he flipped through the air. So that darkness falls and light endures.

Alaric hurled his axe in a blurring horizontal spin, the blade flickering like a comet in the light and the Patriarch, seeing the weapon of his nemesis spinning towards him and no time to dodge, tried to swat it away with his dagger.

And that was a fatal mistake.

Alaric's axe sliced through the Patriarch's dagger in a shower of sparks, both halves clattering to the floor while it embedded itself deep into his chest. Blood and synthetic fluid spurted out of his wounds, no doubt having severed the aorta and a lung as the Patriarch reeled back, yelling in choked pain.

Alaric landed in a crouch before getting up to his feet and panting hard. Blood seeped from his cuts and soaked into his clothing.

"And that's this cabal taken down." Alaric said triumphantly, wiping the blood from his mouth as he watched the life seep out of the Patriarch.

The Patriarch clutched the axe head with his fractured and battered claws, the metal appendages clattering on the blade, recognizing that this time death would not be cheated. He clenched his blood drenched teeth before pushing his damaged cybernetics towards their last destination. The Patriarch, his previous defeat of Darius still fresh and the humiliation of being defeated by his nemesis' son in his head, was determined about taking everyone with him as he forced his near lifeless body to the crate in the centre of the hall. Blood and synthetic fluid dripped down in fat globules to the floor as he approached.

Alaric was staring at this inhuman attempt with genuine surprise.

"You think you've won?" the Patriarch questioned with malice in his rasping voice. "You've only delayed the inevitable. None can stand before the divine messiahs. All will be one of their glorious collective!" He toppled onto the crate he had brought up earlier, heaving himself up and gripping it with both claws. "Starting with you!"

The Patriarch pushed the crate towards Alaric where it tumbled with him on top of it, his blood spewing over the crate as the axe drove deeper into his body, the blade rupturing out of his back.

The crate lid fell open and Alaric's eyes went wide as the students started to scream in terror and tried to get free of their bonds. Inside was a xenomorph egg and its four petal maw was opening with a sickening squelch as it sensed the presence of potential hosts. The Patriarch cackled with zealous madness as his blood poured over the crate like a crimson waterfall before he slumped down and finally died with a choked sigh.

"Shit!" Alaric cursed, sizing his options. "I forgot about those!"

Long spindly fingers writhed out of the egg's membranous insides followed by a large spider-like body and a long serpentine tail in a swell of ichors that was soon dyed red from the Patriarch's lifeblood. Some of the students were now going into full blown hysteria. Alaric knew that this was not helping their predicament one bit.

However, he then noticed that something was wrong with the parasite as it fully emerged.

"Shh!" Alaric shushed urgently to the hostages. "Stop screaming and moving!"

The hostage teachers immediately subdued the hysterical students when they realized that Alaric was indicating to the face hugger.

Looking back, Alaric could see that the face hugger was moving somewhat groggily. It pattered unevenly and out of balance, looking around the hall like it was in a sort of haze. Likely, it's still under the side effects of hypersleep within the crate. The sudden awakening meant it wasn't recuperating as fast as he feared. There was still a chance that they could get away from it. It possibly didn't know that anyone was here. Provided they don't get its attention.

The hostages kept their whimpering quiet as they saw Alaric cautiously moved towards them. Alaric carefully unlatched the teachers' bonds before allowing them to help the rest.

"Don't make any sudden moves or sounds." He softly ordered the hostages, as he slowly crept back towards the dead patriarch and keeping his eyes on the parasite. "Move slowly and get to the nearest exit, quietly. I'll deal with this."

Alaric gently searched in his pockets and pulled out a nut he had found in the vents. He threw it over the face hugger and it rattled in the distance, bouncing off some of the other crates. The parasite heard it and turned in its direction, taking a few investigative steps towards it.

Alaric, seeing his distraction was working, carefully sneaked over to retrieve his axe, keeping his steps slow and deliberate when he heard a grunt of exertion. He turned and saw that one of the bound students had managed to break free of his bonds, stood up and made a break for the main exit before the teachers could stop him. The face hugger paused when it heard the hardly light footsteps and it turned in their direction.

"Stop!" Alaric hushed. "Don't move!"

The kid paused when it saw the face hugger pattering over to investigate. Alaric was within a few feet from his axe. There was no way that he could reach it without getting the face hugger's attention. He could see that the kid was frantically eyeing the door and the face hugger, which was now showing much more interest, in turn.

He was going to run.

"Don't!" Alaric urged.

The kid, his nerve failing him, bolted for the exit and the face hugger picked him out instantly. It immediately scuttled after him, its tail coiling behind it. The other students started to scream as it homed in for the kill with increasing speed and vigor.

The facehugger, having already chosen its target, ignored them as it went for the lone and more exposed target.

The kid got to the door and was frantically trying to push it open on its handle bar. But, much to the kid's horror, the door wouldn't open. It was locked!

Alaric looked to his axe, the blood smeared blade protruding from the Patriarch's back and looked to the kid as the face hugger was getting into leaping distance.

"Damn it!" he said through gritted teeth as he made his choice.

Alaric chased after the kid, forcing himself to leave his axe behind. His conditioned body allowed him to out run the face hugger as it readied itself to pounce.

"You fool!" Alaric cursed as he threw himself into harm's way.

Alaric grabbed the kid and hurled him forcefully to the side who bounced on the floor as the face hugger leaped. Now Alaric was in the firing line as the parasite hurtled towards him. Alaric barely had time to prepare.

The face hugger soared at Alaric, fingers out stretched and ready to pin itself to his face. Alaric caught it in his hands and he fell hard backwards from its forward momentum. The tail had now reflexively whipped around his neck a sharp crack of leathery skin and was reeling him in as he bounced hard off the door, hit the floor and rolled a few feet from the exit.

That impact had managed to force the doors open, its lock breaking apart and they swung open. The kid, now seeing that the doors were now open, ran through without hesitation.

"Get out of here!" Alaric shouted, rolling away from the hostages. "Now!"

The hostages seized their chance and they bolted for the door, some as best as they could while still bound, as Alaric shuffled further away from them back to the centre of the hall.

Gotta get to my axe! He thought as he struggled.

Alaric strained as he struggled to keep the parasite from latching to his face, keeping his mouth clamped shut. Being choked by it's tail wasn't helping and the harder he tried to shove it away, the harder it was clamping down on his throat. Alaric concentrated on keeping calm and not expended any of the air in his lungs. He managed to get to his knees, but the face hugger was getting dangerously close to it's goal of implanting it's fatal spore.

Alaric worked one hand to keep it back while the other reached for it tail to try and loosen it. The parasite was now a few mere inches from his face and its proboscis was protruding from between his fingers. And it had no intention of letting go.

Alaric grimly realized that he would not be able to get his axe in time and there was only one thing he could do.

In fact, his body was starting to do it for him.

Alaric's iris' were now going crimson as his body reacted to this threat. His hair twitched into spikes and his muscles started to spasm. The face hugger was pushed back an inch or two and its tail loosened for a moment allowing Alaric to get a breath of fresh air.

I can't! He thought with difficulty as the urge to survive filled his head. Not while anyone is here.

Alaric looked to the side as he saw the last student run through the exit. Rather fortunate timing considering the circumstances. Now he could unleash his hidden secret without fear of hurting anyone else.

Alright you little bastard! He thought. Have some of this!

He then finally unleashed his family's hidden power.

The Rage.

Alaric's eyes flashed into glowing crimson orbs, muscles bulged, his hair sprang into a crown of spikes and he struck.

Alaric tore the face hugger off from his neck with a loud roar, tearing its tail off with a loud tear of flesh and bone, acid blood spraying in an arc around him and chucking the severed appendage away before he got acid on himself. The parasite writhed in his hand as it still tried to latch on his face, regardless of its own injuries. Alaric, having had enough of this parasite, smashed his fist into it multiple times, breaking bones and internal organs inside the parasite as he roared with each punch. He then slammed into the ground and gave a final stomp that caused the twitching parasite to explode like a fat grub under his boot.

Acid blood squirted in all directions, getting onto the floor and Alaric's boot. However, in another sense of forethought, his boots were made out of acid resistant materials so he had plenty of time to unlatch his boot and remove it. He tossed the boot away, watching fall apart in the air.

Alaric stepped back and watched as the face hugger's pulped remains sank into the smoking floor, his eyes, hair and body fading back to normal. Acrid smoke wafted up and Alaric waved the fumes away, not wanting to smell it. Alaric estimated that the face hugger had now sunk six inches into the floor before its acid had lost its potency.

Alaric walked over to the dead patriarch, wiping the blood from his face, and trying not to slip on the slick floor. He roughly turned the dead fanatic over and off the crate, the corpse landing with a thud on the blood slicked floor. Alaric sharply wrenched his axe free, swung it a few times to get most of the blood and synthetic fluid off and then rested the precious relic of his father on his shoulder.

"I finished what my father started." Alaric whispered to himself, rubbing his back. "Father, Razeal, I wish you were here to see this."

Alaric then heard sirens in the distance and that told him that the police and other emergency services had now finally arrived on the scene. Alaric listened as the vehicles screeched to a stop and voices of the law enforcers securing the area before searching for hostages. Alaric took a breath and focused on all of the other crates that were scattered around the hall. All the other parasites that lay dormant.

Alaric wasn't going to let them survive and spread their pestilence.

He walked towards them, drawing his axe with a flourish and proceeded to destroy every single egg with a well aimed swing of his axe.