A gray werewolf smashed through a bedroom door, breaking it apart, splinters and pieces of wood flying everywhere as it pushed through, its eyes narrowing on a bed, and the boy sitting up with shock in his wide, yellow eyes.

  The beast stalked forward, the boy frozen in fear, gripping a pillow and some blanket as if that would somehow protect him. His eyes flashed toward the window, perhaps maybe thinking he could out maneuver the perfected killing machine that was the werewolf. But it was too late to make a move, because the beast had pounced. Its claws reached and slashed forward, its jaws opened wide, revealing its sharp teeth. A snarl emitted from its mouth as it moved on the boy, slashing and biting and cutting into him, blood spurting and flowing from the attack.

  And a scream. A terrible, whiny, gargling, helpless scream of prey that was in the grasp of the jaws of a predator.

  Then a snapping and twisting noise that was terrible to hear, unbearable to feel.

  And then nothing.

  Alacard jerked awake, tossing his blankets aside in a quick, fearful motion. He grabbed his pillow like a weapon as if it would protect him. He swung it around, screaming. After a moment of holding the pillow at the ready, surveying the room with quick eye movements from side to side to see where the beast was, his breaths ragged, his body hot and sweaty, he felt himself calm. He let out a relieved sigh. The moment was short-lived, though, because as he wiped his sweaty forehead clean, he gave a knowing and sad smile, curling up on his mattress in the corner on the ground of a small room, chuckling to himself in a defeated manner. While he hadn’t truly believed that letting the beast catch you in your dream was tantamount to true power, only something voiced to him by his deadbeat dad and bastard uncle, he had a knowing deep down inside that he had royally messed this one up, and he would pay for it.

  “Well, shit,” he said, clenching the pillow in his hands. “I guess that’s it.”

  .   .   .

  Vinent and Alacard slid back from one another, and Vincent wondered what was going on with Alacard. Why did he look so tired and defeated? Had witnessing Vincent master the Transformation at Will affect him that much, or was it something else?

  Mastering the Transformation at Will had certainly made him stronger, but was he actually stronger than Alacard now? While it was weird to think that, Vincent surmised it was the truth. He also realized that mastering the Transformation at Will was quite the turning point and blow to Alacard, as Alacard had prided himself on bullying others, on his strength over Vincent, and his pride had seemed to take a mighty hit at that. While it wasn’t his fault this had happened, as he wasn’t going to back down, nor was he planning on not taking things seriously from this point on, he still felt bad for Alacard. Even so, something more was seeming to eat at Alacard, and Vincent could not only sense it, he could smell it on him. Not only did his wet dog smell intensify with a mixture of sweat and a non-showered body odor, but something else was lingering there. A sense of fear and impending doom and of… helplessness and hopelessness. Had his increase in senses and ability all come from his mastering the Transformation at Will?

  Vincent pondered these things as they continued to fight, and he easily pushed Alacard back with a mighty shove, making Alacard stumble backward and do everything he could to not trip over his own legs. Alacard corrected himself and narrowed his eyes, letting out a little growl, and… was that hesitation? Vincent tilted his head, wondering what was going on with him? He looked over to Mr. B, unable to hold his thoughts.

  “Why are we still fighting like this?” It was a legitimate question, as he had clearly surpassed Alacard. And if it wasn’t the case, he would certainly show it to them.

  Why weren’t they in the room pushing Alacard to master his Transformation at Will?

  While it would be a glee to beat down Alacard after losing to him time and time again, this really did feel kind of pointless. He also felt a sense of urgency mixed with frustration, as if Alacard was holding him back from proceeding with his own training, his own work with the Transformation at Will and his werewolf form. He didn’t want to mess with this pup anymore, and as his Beast Mind came into focus, he relished the thought of ripping Alacard’s throat out, tearing flesh from his limbs, and drinking his blood dry as he devoured his meat.

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  No, he had to shake that off, that feeling, that… intense rush that felt so amazing to want to give into. He had to squelch it as Mr. B had instructed, because even though he really did want to give into it, to let it go, he nipped it in the bud and shook it off, narrowing his eyes on Alacard.

  “Alacard still needs to train in his human form.”

  “I know, I know, old man,” Alacard snarled with a swipe of his hand, showing his teeth.

  While Alacard was still formidable and packed a punch, moving on Vincent and striking him across the face, Vincent could see Alacard’s moves better, feel his strikes less, move to meet him easier. He could smell Alacard, see him, sense him, anticipate him. It was crazy, and while he took another hit, he came back with a snap, backhanding Alacard, sending him spiraling backward where he fell to a knee in a sliding motion.

  Alacard snapped his tired and angry eyes up to Vincent, snarling and moving on him. Punching once, twice, then an uppercut attempt, which Vincent stepped backward to dodge. Vincent then came around and struck Alacard in the side of the cheek, sending him sprawling to the ground. Alacard struggled to get up, shaking his head as if dazed, then slowly pushed himself to a shaky knee, his jaw tensed, anger in his eyes.

  Vincent felt great, light on his feet, ready and willing to fight. He beckoned Alacard with a hand. Alacard growled and spat to the side, then jumped to his feet and engaged Vincent. Vincent felt alive for the first time in his life, easily dodging Alacard’s advances, parrying a strike, stepping to the side of a punch, then sliding backward as he threw another.

  Alacard clawed the ground in frustration, tossing a piece of grass at Vincent. “Would you stop messing around and fight me.”

  “I am fighting you,” Vincent said with a calming ease, a light bounce to his step. “Here I come.”

  Vincent moved forward, noticing Alacard flinch with fear as if realizing he was outmatched and outmaneuvered, and he punched forward, which Alacard dodged. But Alacard wasn’t fast enough, and Vincent followed up with a swift kick to his side, knocking him to the ground with ease.

  Alacard pushed himself back to a knee, wiping a hand across his mouth. “Someone’s confident.”

  Vincent shrugged and smirked. “Maybe. Perhaps I’ve just gotten stronger than you.”

  “You’re just a useless chump!” Alacard cried and charged.

  They exchanged blows, Vincent noticing Alacard getting a bit more serious, putting more energy and effort into his movements, more power into his strikes. Still, Vincent was able to block, parry, and dodge them while also returning a few blows of his own. Alacard was strong, but Vincent was stronger, which he knew because Alacard’s hits were less impactful and connected less.

  Still, he was a formidable opponent, Vincent thought as he punched him backward with a mighty blow that sent Alacard tumbling and rolling against the ground.

  Alacard struggled to get up, slamming a weak fist against the ground.

  “That’s enough,” Mr. B said, stepping forward.

  Vincent lowered his guard and dropped his arms.

  Mr. B leaned over Alacard, turning him over to see his face worn and beaten. There was something else, though, something in his eyes. Something Mr. B could smell and sense as he stared at the boy.

  Mr. B frowned. “Did you have a bad dream, son?” The beast had found him, hadn’t it? His voice tone said it all, and while Alacard knew it had happened, he didn’t have the heart to say it, so he looked away.

  “I slept fine, teach. Nothing to worry about.” Yet there was plenty to worry about, and he felt shame because of it. “Can we just get on with the training?” He turned over and pushed himself to his feet. He hated letting people in, never really trusted them, especially adults, and yet… “Why do you even care?” He felt his shoulders slump for just a moment, then lifted them, standing tall and strong. Standing alone. He was always alone.

  “Has it gotten close?” Mr. B asked.

  Alacard flinched, thinking about how the beast had gotten him, taken ahold, ripped him to pieces.

  “Close?” He said with a crazy chuckle. “Let’s just say we’ve been acquainted.”

  “This is nothing to joke about, son,” Mr. B said, his voice serious.

  “Then let’s stop joking and get to training,” Alacard said, fighting back the tears he felt coming because of the thought that Mr. B may be someone that cared, but he couldn’t trust him nor anyone ever again.

  Alacard pushed by Mr. B, glaring at Vincent as he walked by and moved toward the room downstairs where he was determined to master the Transformation at Will.

  Vincent watched him go, a slight breeze blowing against his body and hair as Mr. B stepped to his side, placing a hand against his shoulder.

  “We need to help him master his Transformation at Will more than ever now.”

  Vincent felt something that Mr. B had sensed, and he had the sinking feeling that Alacard had been taken by the beast in his dream. He wondered if it would have happened to him too if he hadn’t had mastered the Transformation at Will when he did. And it made sense as they were both the same age, in the same grade, the same beings. The beast must have found Alacard in his dream. They were two of a kind, after all, so he nodded and clenched his fist, hoping it wasn’t too late for Alacard, even though Alacard was a punk.

  .   .   .