Hey guys, Noble Scotsman here with chapter 2 of Kampfer. Enjoy!
Chapter 2
There was a strong wind blowing.
It danced through the large, open room, disturbing the light curtains as it passed by, gently ruffling the fine hairs of a sleeping girl. She lay asleep in a large bed, her chest rising and falling gently as she breathed, mimicking the delights of the wind as it blew throughout the room.
The pale sun shone gently through the open French doors, its dulled light permeating all corners of the room and adding a soft glow to the immaculate sanctuary. It crept across the cool tile floor, reflecting fantastic distortions of a different reality onto the ceiling, dancing carelessly across the pure white surface. Everything in that place was white, from the bedspread to the fabric chairs clustered around a vase of lilies, their sweet scent wafting throughout the room on the intrusive wind as it continued its ceaseless dance with the light.
There was a fountain somewhere, its soft, soothing sound melodic in the tranquil room. It filled the air with background noise, causing the very architecture to relax its aching joints and stop to listen, transfixed by its melody.
On the bed, the girl moved, quietly awaking from her slumber. She sat up, looking around cautiously, drinking in the pleasant atmosphere as she surveyed her surroundings. Slipping out of the warm, comforting embrace of the covers, she stepped onto the tiles, allowing her feet to soak in the pleasant coolness of the ground. The wind suddenly picked up, and her white hair was caught up in it, the short strands billowing backwards like long, luscious grass disturbed by a sea breeze. It was pleasant…very pleasant, as though angels were running their fingers through her hair, and she sighed in happiness, closing her eyes to experience this new sensation. As the wind died down, the girl opened her eyes, catching sight of a mirror, and walked towards it silently, touching her unrecognizable features with confusion as she stood in silent bewilderment.
Before her stood a pale girl, her short white arranged in a hairstyle that was eerily familiar. She wore only a thin grey nightgown which seemed to cling to her frame, fitting perfectly, and she fingered the unfamiliar cloth with mild interest before returning to the reflection. The girl was fit, with modest curves in all the right places – though not to be unattractive or bulky; rather, it was a quiet, feline kind of power which was emanated, reassuring the beholder of the lithe speed and graceful bearing that would be seen in all of her movements. Then, the girl's gaze moved to her eyes, observing with silent recognition her features. Each eye was a deep, crimson red, the color of fresh blood, and pleasantly shaped, her long, dark lashes contrasting beautifully with her pale skin – white to the point of snow.
A gust of wind blew through the room again, and the girl turned, seemingly as though drawn by some great, inexplicable presence, and stepped hesitantly towards the French doors, moving towards the outside world. As she drew closer to the entrance, she could make out a dark shape on the other side of the light curtains, and the sound of the playing fountain grew louder in her ears. She bumped against a table, and her gaze spun as the noise of clattering filled her ears. On the table was a chess board, halfway through a game, with no pieces taken on either side. Reaching out, she retrieved the black queen she had knocked over and placed it by the king's side, tucking her hair behind her ear as she turned towards the doors once more. Stepping forward tentatively, as though unsure of the consequences of her actions, she threw back the curtains, stepping suddenly into the light.
The sun was blinding to her new eyes, but as they adjusted, she froze in awe. Before her stretched an open sky, reaching farther than the eye could see in all directions, seeming to diminish the size of the desert which lay beneath it. She was standing on the porch of some great building, overlooking the Arizonian desert and city of Phoenix from atop a hilly rise, alone but for the company of a few other houses which chose to lay their foundations precariously there. The sky was more blue than she had ever imagined, seeming to stretch endlessly up and out, a calling to those longing for adventure, beckoning them to it with the promise of endless air.
It was a world all of its own.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" a voice asked, its mellow, soothing tones washing over her like water, raising goosebumps on the back of her neck. Slowly, the girl turned, the sight of two chairs greeting her eyes – one occupied, one not – and she raised her eyes to meet those of the man sitting next to her. He was not looking at her, though, merely surveying the sky, and she waited in silence for him to speak again.
"Why don't you take a seat?" the man said, turning to face the girl and gesturing to the unoccupied seat. Tentatively, the girl accepted his offer, sitting down edgily on the chair, observing her host. He was not an old man, in fact, he was rather young – perhaps only in his early twenties or so – but he looked remarkably jaded for his age. He was lean and looked deceptively fragile, the pallor of his skin a neutral pale, and his hair was black as the night, mirroring the shade of the fitted black sweater he wore, quietly emanating elegance. His face was angled sharply, but this seemed to only enhance his figure, setting off the cut of his hair, a long sweep down the side of one cheek. Above all of this, though, there was something different about him, something that flickered in his grey eyes, something that whispered of untold power to those who listened.
They would do well to listen.
"Who…are you..?" the girl asked, and the man broke into a small, measured smile.
"My name is Carlisle," he said, meeting the girl's gaze with a hint of amusement in his eyes. "We met the other day on your way home, Lance Schaeffer."
The girl's eyes flew open, all of her memories returning, flowing into her at once. Volleyball…Alex…the sword…the sword... What had happened that night? Groaning, she clutched her head, and Carlisle turned back to the panorama. After a few minutes, Lance was able to compose herself, and looked at her host with new eyes, desperate for an answer. Many formed on her lips, but each as unaskable and ridiculous as the last, and in the end, silence was all she could manage.
"In this world…" Carlisle said suddenly, as though aware of the struggle within Lance, "there is a certain…system of representation, you could say. Far away from here, there are two worlds which have been warring with one another for thousands of years. To prevent their destruction, a group of individuals known as 'Moderators' declared a ceasefire between the two, the war to continue on Earth instead with a type of gladiatorial games," he said impassively, watching a pair of clouds travel across the sky, carried by the wind. "This is known as the Kämpfer System."
Lance didn't respond, considering Carlisle's words. "Was…Alex, or what used to be Alex, a kämpfer as well, then?" he asked finally, attempting to understand.
Carlisle inclined his head, smirking. "Very good. The thing you knew as Alex was a certain type of kämpfer known as a white kämpfer. Unlike other kämpfers, they are not human – merely the physical embodiment of the Moderators' will."
"So that makes them…the enforcers."
"Very good."
"If that's true…" Lance frowned, "then why did you…kill…Alex?"
Carlisle's smirk widened, and he turned his full attention to the confused questioner. "Do you really believe that the Moderators are just?"
Lance blinked. "I don't know, but if they make the rules of this system then-"
"Being a ruler doesn't make you just," Carlisle said, shaking his head. "Especially when your rule will be the undoing of a planet."
"What do you mean?" Lance asked, intrigued.
"Moderators," Carlisle began, frowning slightly as his smile faded, "are inherently selfish beings. In this system, they elect humans who know nothing of their war to fight their battles for them – even kill each other in their name. They have forced an innocent species, when selected, to take neither a side which they have any knowledge about nor any desire to fight for – except, perhaps, to survive another day."
"Moderators…" Lance murmured, deep in thought, her brow furrowed. Carlisle remained silent, watching her out of the corner of his eye. "Speaking of kämpfers, am I a kämpfer as well, then?" Lance asked suddenly, gesturing to herself. Carlisle sighed in exasperation and nodded.
"Yes. You are a kämpfer."
"Are you?" Lance tentatively asked. The two figures stared at each other, the time trickling past, until finally Carlisle answered.
"No. I'm not a kämpfer."
"Are you a Moderator?" Lance persisted, intent on understanding. Carlisle didn't respond again, staring across the desert as he pondered the question.
"Enough. This is about you," Carlisle responded firmly, his voice soft but final. "How are you dealing with the change?" he asked, gesturing to Lance's body. Lance took a moment to understand what was being said, then blushed profusely.
"It's really strange…It doesn't feel bad…" she said quietly. "I feel comfortable in this form, for some reason."
Carlisle nodded. "Good. Though kämpfers gain powers when they become one, fundamental changes happen to every kämpfer upon receiving the power. For men, they are forced to change into women, the slight of body are forced into a more combat-oriented one, and the weak of mind have their very personality altered.
"On top of that," he continued, gesturing to Lance's wrist, where a black bracelet hung, "kämpfers are forced to join a side, as I said, and fight the other side to the death. There are two teams, excluding the white kämpfers – red and blue – and all have identifying bracelets like yours which allow them to transform into their kämpfer form in order to do battle with the others."
"My bracelet is black, though…" Lance said, fingering the bracelet. "Why is that?"
Carlisle laced his fingers together, his small smile filled with certain unidentifiable emotions as he answered. "You are my kämpfer," he said, looking Lance in the eye, "the black kämpfer. You exist to carry out my will and to bring about the fall of this system." Lance blinked in surprise, but Carlisle held up his hand, finishing his thought. "I siphoned off a portion of my own being to allow you to become a kämpfer, and my own essence resides within you, now. You are faster, stronger, and more deadly than any other kämpfer, and with this power you shall stand by my side."
Carlisle stood up and plucked his jacket from the back of his chair, slipping it on in a smooth, practiced movement. It was a heavy black jacket which hung low, its weather-beaten surface seeming too heavy for Carlisle's slight frame as he shrugged it on. Reaching inside one of the inside pockets, he drew out a wad of papers and handed them to Lance, who accepted them curiously. On the top was a stack of passports, and Lance leafed through them. There were two of each, and he opened one to the profile page, blinking in surprise at what he saw.
The male face of Lance Schaeffer stared back at her from the passport, the features comfortingly familiar, but it was not his passport. The name Lance Nocte was inked next to the picture, and Lance read it to herself quietly, the name seeming to fit. Turning to the next passport, she opened it also to the profile page and stared at its contents. Her own face, her current face, stared back at her from the page, her red eyes challenging the camera fiercely as she smirked at the beholder. The name next to it was strange, though, one she had never heard before, but it rang with meaning as she read it to herself.
Anastasia Nocte.
Anastasia laughed suddenly, and Carlisle smiled at her mirth. Everything was so strange, unbelievable, but it was the beginning of the adventure Lance had always longed for. It was the beginning of something exciting, a new start, and anything could happen. She turned to Carlisle, reading the kindness in his eyes, and smiled.
I may not know everything yet, but this is a new chance, a new adventure…one that will flourish for many years to come.
"This is the beginning, isn't it?" she asked, smiling. He nodded, and rested a hand softly on her head, his touch soothing her excitement, calming her nerves.
"Go get dressed," he finally said, pushing her towards the door. "We're leaving soon."
"Yes, Carlisle; absolutely!" Anastasia replied happily, returning to the room. There were clothes on the bed which had not been there before, but she simply smiled, marveling at the wonders she would experience in this new life.
Outside, the sun began to weaken, reflecting in the grey eyes of the tall man who stood watching it, his mind dancing as he watched the city below. He turned his head west, towards where the wide open expanse of the Pacific ocean lay hundreds of miles away, contentment rising within him as he thought about the completion of his task. Once more, he would be able to return to the sea, the beauty and elegance of the far-eastern countries, and this time, he would not have to be alone.
"For many years to come…" he murmured, his hair blowing in the wind as the sky turned a pale gold.
There was a strong wind blowing.
How was it? I hope you enjoyed, and please review!
Chapter 3 should be out soon.