The gymnasium was inside a large building across from the school that had a wide area of glossy wood floors, bleachers to either side and stairs that led up to a running track that looped around the building. Wide windows above the running track looked like they normally let natural light in but were covered with thick blinds that bathed the area in a darkness that was kinda eerie as they walked toward the rooms in the back, which include training room B. Training room B was an area that was mainly covered in rubber mats and flooring. In the corner area were several workout machines, some pullup bars, and other things that looked like they were designed for muscle training. One of the walls was a mirror, and tucked in the corner were over a dozen mannequin-looking things with upper-torsos propped on black stands.

  “What are we doing here?” Alacard asked, scratching the back of his neck.

  “Probably some kind of training exercise,” Isabella said.

  “I wasn’t talking to you, bloodsucker,” Alacard said, frowning.

  “You really need to chill, dude,” Max said with a chuckle.

  Alacard spun to him. “Don’t tell me what to do, pipsqueak.”

  “Well,” Mizuki said, stepping to Alacard. “Since we are in an appropriate area for fighting, you wanna dance, mutt?”

  Alacard shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “Nah, we have a class to attend.”

  “Then how about you attend class and stop antagonizing everyone?” Alexander suggested.

  Vincent smiled, as he really was getting to like Alexander and his other classmates. His friends.

  Alacard let out a little growl, looking ready to fight them all when a man with long black hair and a gray complexion whisked from out of the darkness of one of doors that looked like it led to a dark corridor to the back and possibly down to a basement. He held a large bag and unzipped it to reveal a pile of wooden swords that he unpacked.

  “Each of you pick up one of these wooden swords,” he said in a silky voice that was as eerie as the dimmed lights in the main gymnasium area they had walked through a moment ago. It was even darker in this room, but luckily it was lit by lights against the walls that flickered like candles.

  The gaunt man held one of the wooden swords as well, pointing its tip to the pile of remaining swords.

  They all watched, motionless, staring at the man that was most likely their teacher. Except for his red button up, everything was black, from his tie, to his vest, and pants and shoes and socks, and energy.

  “My name is Castile Vermane, and I’m one of your teachers,” he said, grabbing one of the swords and placing it behind his neck, which is when Vincent noticed his full red eyes like the red of his dress shirt, a vast valley of blood with one small black dot watching and waiting for them to approach and grab a sword.

  The eyes made Vincent feel uneasy just like Isabella’s had when he first took them in, especially since he now realized all these teachers, and his classmates, were all supernatural beings. And those pools of red with the bead of black were his real eyes, whatever he was. Perhaps one of those vampire types that had been discussed in Mr. B’s class?

  His skin tone had a gray hue that lacked any vibrance, so perhaps he was one of those Prevalent types? Still, he was standing here, vibrant and alive, as alive as an undead vampire could be. At this point, anything was possible.

  “Well, go on,” he said, urging them forward. “Grab a sword.”

  Each of them made their way over to the swords, taking one in their hands. When Vincent grabbed his sword, and took in the scent of ash and mud radiating from the teacher, and a slight metallic undertone. What was that about? He didn’t know. Then again, if the guy was a vampire, then it made sense that he smelled slightly of blood. But, why didn’t Isabella or Shyala Grave or Alicia reek of dirt and iron?

  Whatever. He’d find out more with time. He gripped the sword in his hand, checking out what the others were doing.

  Alacard looked annoyed that they had to learn something new. Mizuki was curious as she held the sword in a way that suggested she didn’t care for using them. Max was a bit timid as he handled the sword and looked around as if wondering who he’d have to spar with. Alexander gripped the sword with one hand and stood as he usually did, without a care in the world, one hand in pocket. Isabella gripped her sword in both hands as if she had handled one before, standing at the ready.

  “In this class,” Castile said, bringing his sword forward with one hand as he sized each of them up. “You will learn the way of the sword.” He pointed the tip of his wooden weapon at Isabella. “What is your name, Miss?”

  “Isabella Dawn, sir,” she said, turning to stand at attention.

  “Isabella Dawn?” he repeated, smirking. “Care to show me what you know?” He faced her, looking like he was ready to fight, and the other students stepped back, the palpable tension beginning to build as if they knew what the teacher wanted from her. She was ready, her timidness seemingly gone as she lifted the tip of the sword slightly, leaning her weight on her back leg, her eyes leveling on his for a long moment.

  “Sir, yes, sir,” she said with oozing confidence that showed in her body language and eyes. She adjusted her fingers against the hilt and slid one of her feet forward, keeping most weight on her back foot, ready for him to attack.

  Vincent liked seeing these little glimmers of confidence from her as he licked his lips in anticipation.

  “Good,” Castile Vermane said, sliding his own foot forward as he readied himself. “Now, defend yourself.” And he moved – more like flashed – from his spot, dashing at her with such speed it was hard for Vincent to follow. Castile slashed his sword around and overhead in a quick motion, swiping downward at Isabella.

  Isabella moved, though, as if anticipating the teacher’s attack. She met his attack by leaning back and slashing her sword to meet his in a clash of wood. He pushed against her, smile on his face as if impressed, then slid backward in a quick motion, nodding his approval. She held her ground, as if expecting him to come at her again, which he did.

  He moved on her, swinging wooden sword forward, and she blocked. He swung two more times, and she blocked both, but the second one hit hard, making her stumble backward, tripping over her own foot, falling to her butt, sword clattering to the side. He didn’t waste a second and moved on her, whipping the sword forward, stopping inches from her neck.

  “What an amateur,” Alacard said with a little chuckle as he shook his head.

  Castile pulled his sword back, moving it to his side, then extended his hand to Isabella as she looked up him with bated breath. “You have style, Isabella Dawn. You’ll do just fine in this class.” He helped her up, holding her gaze with his.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said, blinking and looking to the ground with embarrassment.

  Castile walked in a slow circle, swinging his sword around. “Think of the sword as an extension of your body and it will become a useful tool in your arsenal.”

  “What do we even need swords for?” Alacard asked in a bored drawl as he leaned hand over hand against the sword as if it was a simple walking stick. The punk really didn’t learn his lesson yet, did he? He just didn’t know when to let up. “I mean I could easily break this thing in two and use it for firewood.” Alacard’s smile was broad as he flipped the sword in the air, catching it by the blade, which if it was a real sword would have sliced his hand. “In that regard, it would definitely be a useful tool.” He had learned nothing from his interaction with Tania Eln. Or perhaps he was just that cocky, that much of a dick.

  “Is that so?” came the voice of Castile as he turned to Alacard with a raised eyebrow, tapping his sword against his shoulder as he looked unimpressed by the pup.

  Castile moved on him, dashing forward in a flash. Alacard didn’t have time to react, and stumbled backward as he awkwardly brought his sword to the ready, but Castile was already on him, swinging fiercely forward. Alacard was wide eyed and dropped his sword, almost falling on his butt, and instead of Castile bringing his blade down on his shoulder in a mighty crack, he switched positions, and jabbed Alacard in the chest, effectively helping him fall on his butt, his sword clattering to the ground.

  Alacard growled as he rubbed his chest. “That wasn’t fair, you took me by surprise.”

  “I suppose I’ve made my point, then.” Castile said with a smirk. “What’s your name, boy?”

  “I’m really getting sick of introducing myself to teachers at this point,” Alacard said with an angry grunt as he snatched his sword up and scrambled to his feet. He gave a toothy grin. “But I suppose it’s mandatory, so the name’s Alacard Gray.” He gripped his sword, standing at the ready, but for some reason it felt not quite right compared to how Isabella and Castile stood and held their swords.

  “Ah,” Castile said, as if figuring out some secret. “As I thought. You’re a werewolf, which makes sense that you think a sword is…” he looked at his own sword, admiring it. “Useless.”

  Alacard shrugged. “Can I not have an opinion, or do you, like most teachers, want compliance over anything else?”

  “I want you, Alacard Gray, to think about the usefulness of the weapon you hold in your hand,” Castile said. “Instead of its hindrance.”

  Alacard frowned. “What use does a beast have with a sword when his body’s the only weapon he needs?”

  “One that realizes the futility of his abilities in the face of a masterful swordsman that can cut him down,” Castile said with a wry smile.

  Alacard frowned.

  “You may focus your training on the Power of the Were, if you wish, boy,” Castile said. “But keep in mind that using a sword, or fighting against one may come up in the future for you, and while hindsight is twenty-twenty, seeing an opportunity in front of you is of the intelligent mind, not the beastly one.”

  Alacard let out a low growl, his eyes darkening at this seeming insult. “If you say so, teach. I’ll learn your stupid lesson. But know this: I don’t need no stinking sword to win my battles for me. I got all I need in my hands and body and claws and teeth.”

  “Very well, boy,” he said with acknowledgement. “You may rethink that if you ever have the fortune to run into a hunter one day. But as long as we understand each other, that is what matters.” They didn’t really look like they understood one another, at least Alacard didn’t, but Castile was done debating.

  Alacard stepped forward, clenching his sword tightly as he lifted it to Castile. “Now, come at me again while I’m ready, and I’ll show you a thing or two.”

  The audacity of Alacard was amazing, Vincent thought.

  “Very well.” Castile said, turning and stepping to Alacard. He moved, and as he did, Alacard made a ferocious swing with his sword, putting all he had into it. Castile simply stepped to the side, dodging the swing, then spun and kicked Alacard in the back, sending him sprawling to the floor.

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  “While I enjoy the way of the sword,” Castile said with a little smile. “I also think a kick can get the job done.”

  Alacard spun to a knee with a growl, tossing his sword to the side, his hands ready and willing to slash at his teacher.

  “Let’s go for real, teach,” he said, showing his teeth.

  “You got spirit, boy,” Castile said, pointing his sword at Alacard as if not to underestimate him, even if Alacard was an amateur compared to him. “But in this class, if you wish to fight, you will use your sword.”

  “You didn’t,” hissed Alacard.

  “You’re right,” Castile said, considering this. “But I’m the teacher. I can do whatever I want. Now pick up your sword and come at me.”

  Alacard snarled, moving to grab his sword, then hopped to his feet and charged Castile, swinging his sword forward. The teacher stepped back slightly, parrying Alacard’s strike with his own sword. Then, using Alacard’s forward momentum, he pushed him to the side, making him spin a bit, whacking Alacard in the back with his sword. Alacard spun around, sword slashing wildly about as Castile easily blocked and dodged. Then, as he pushed off from the ground and slid backward, he raised a hand to Alacard.

  “That’s enough for now, boy.”

  Alacard gripped the sword, looking like he wanted to move on him, but refrained.

  “If you take my class seriously,” Castile continued, his eyes staring into Alacard. “I’m sure you’ll learn something along the way.”

  Vincent couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of Alacard getting a taste of his own medicine. That was until Alacard caught him staring, and gave a nasty little smile as he made a cutting noise across his neck with his finger as if to signify something to Vincent.

  Vincent looked away, thinking about how much of a punk Alacard was.

  ‘If you learn the way of the sword,” Castile said, placing the sword over his shoulders again. “You will gain a better understanding of what it means to be a being that maintains balance and order in the world of dark elements that surround us, supernatural or not.”

  Is that why he was here, Vincent thought? To learn how to fight monsters? It was an interesting thought. What if they wanted to live a normal life, forget about their abilities, ignore them? Could they do that too?

  “Whether it is weapons from a monster hunter, or weapons from another supernatural being,” Castile said, “or even just a regular human trying to shoot a gun at you after realizing what you are, you need to be ready for that reality.”

  Mizuki stepped forward, raising her sword to Castile, her eyes aflame. “Then stop talking and teach us.”

  She had taken off her black cardigan, revealing the short sleeve dress shirt that was part of the uniform that all girls wore. She had toned arms and black protective gloves and material that went up to her elbow. Bandages covered her biceps from what had to be burn scars since she had the ability to manipulate fire. Vincent wondered if the bandages were from her own fire, or something else. If they were just for show, or covering up some sort of wound or scar? Granted, the scars, or things he thought were scars that were fresh on her neck and face he had noticed before seemed to have healed and no longer be there. They had to have been burn scars, but maybe they were wounds from a cut or something. He didn’t know how her abilities worked, or if she could heal somehow, but he wanted to find out.

  Whatever the case, she was a sight to see, as she had quite the body. A mixture of lean and toned muscle contrasted against her huge bust that was pressing against her red button-up as if screaming to be let free. Vincent licked his lips.

  Castile cocked his head in her direction, pointing his sword at her. “What is your name, girl?”

  “Mizuki.”

  “Mizuki,” Castile said with an inquisitive tone as he turned to face her.

  Vincent blinked and rubbed his eyes, because he could have sworn Mizuki’s eyes had begun to blaze. Even her hair, as if an illusion, seemed like a flickering flame as it waved about in its fiery motions. It was something to admire, seeing her exude a radiance like the blazing sun in the sky, which seemed especially in prominent in the darkened room, as if the dark stimulated a fiery light in her. It was a weird but subtle change, and even Castile looked like he stepped back from her, squinting in the light that hummed around her. Vincent really needed to learn about all these things.

  “Are you seeing this?” Vincent asked, under his breath.

  “That’s weird,” Alacard said, the others looking like they agreed, which Vincent surmised that maybe they didn’t even know much about her Kindred being as well.

  “Let there be light,” Alexander said in an admiring fashion.

  She dashed at Castile and swung her sword in a preemptive strike, wild and free smile on her face. While her movements didn’t seem as practiced nor as smooth as Iseballa’s, she had quite the fiery spirit.

  Castile met her, bending his knees a bit and shifting his weight as he pivoted and slashed his sword horizontally with a whipping motion, his sword cracking against Mizuki’s. Holding his ground, and squinting his eyes, he let up some, which made her stumble forward, then he struck her sword in a way that caught her off guard, knocking it from her hand, her eyes wide with surprise at the movement, and outcome. Her sword clattered to the ground, and Castile, not skipping a beat, followed this up with another whipping motion of his sword down upon her.

  Mizuki may have not been practiced with the sword, but she was sure practiced with her body and its movements, and she was able to lean back and twist in a way that let her dodge his strike, which was impressive. Problem was that it put her in an awkward position and she tumbled to the ground. She was able to roll on her shoulder and get to a knee, snatching up her sword in the movement, swinging it upward at Castile.

  Their swords met in a mighty clack of wood.

  Castile applied pressure, and Mizuki pushed upwards, her hands shaking against Castile’s vampire strength as he pushed down on her. The muscles of her arms flexed as she held steady, her legs buckling under the pressure.

  How in the world were these wooden swords holding up to such power? Perhaps they had magic in them, Vincent thought, or maybe they were reinforced with some type of rare wood that was made for such a barrage. They had a weight to them that made him think that perhaps they were either special wood or just looked like wood but were really metal or iron or some sort of solid material that was hard to break.

  She gritted her teeth, her toned arms flexing, smoke rising from the handle of the sword as she had a look on her face as if she wanted to unleash fire. Castile eventually let up, though, backing off from her in a wary movement as he lowered his sword and gave her a nod, keeping more of a distance from her as he had the others, raising a hand to shield his face.

  “Impressive,” he said, gripping his sword and squinting his eyes. “You’ve got some nice instincts, and quite the fiery heart and body. You’ll do just fine.” He took another step back as if the brightness of her fire hurt him to be near and look at. She stood strong, her eyes ablaze with intensity as she looked almost animalistic in nature, as if she was ready and willing to jump into the fire. “But you will have to learn to keep calm in tense situations, as a temper can get you in trouble.”

  Her wild smile broadened as she placed hands on hips, her chest moving with the motion. “I’ll keep that in mind, teacher.” She flipped the sword into the air, much like Alacard had done, catching it properly by the hilt, then mimicked the movement of Castile, placing it behind her shoulders with a playful smile, and winking at Alacard. The radiant sight, and the glow from the fire of her eyes and body and flickering hair seemed to subside as well now that she wasn’t in battle.

  “Good,” Castile said, turning to face Alexander whom was slashing his sword about from side to side, and tossing it up in the air and catching it by the handle, then nodding as if assessing his own feel for it.

  “I think I like this swordplay game,” Alexander said with a smirk, holding the sword out in front of him while taking a stance as if ready to fight.

  “So you think swordplay is just a game?” Castile said with a raised eyebrow.

  “Yea, kinda,” he said shrugging.

  “Well, then,” Castile said, getting ready to move on him, a smile on his own face. “Let’s see how you play.” And he attacked.

  He swung at Alexander, and surprisingly, Alexander was able to sidestep his attack, then block his second strike. Alexander definitely seemed quick on his feet, good with that kind of movement. Castile’s face flinched, not giving away anything, then he continued his advance, picking up speed. Alexander was able to dodge his attacks, until Castile began to move even faster, eventually leading to a swift and quick strike atop Alexander’s head with enough strength that looked like it dazed him.

  Alexander shook his head, blinking away blurry vision, stumbled a bit, but then found his composure, and smiled.

  Castile nodded. “Thinking of swordplay as a game takes away a lot of the pressure. I can work with that. What is your name, boy?”

  “Alexander Illustrious,” he said, trying to maintain his composure as he staggered on shaky legs, placing a hand in his pocket with a sly smile.

  “Alexander Illustrious,” Castile said, looking thoughtful. “Take heed in knowing that I will not favor you at all, no matter what your last name may be.”

  Alexander simply shrugged, looking as if he were offended by this assumption. “I don’t expect you to.”

  “Are all of our teachers’ weirdos?” Alacard said under his breath with a roll of his eyes.

  Vincent couldn’t stand anymore of Alacard’s antics. “Dude, shut up.” While Vincent felt good about standing his ground, he didn’t expect what happened next.

  Castile spun on his heel and faced Vincent, lifting his sword to him, an anger in that little black dot in the middle of red. “What was that, young man?”

  Vincent’s mouth dropped open as if confused at why the teacher would respond this way when clearly Alacard was being obnoxious. He even saw Alacard give a smug smile, which he wished the teacher would notice, but saw that Castile was focused solely on him.

  Gulp.

  “N-nothing, sir,” he said in a bumbling manner, trying to save himself. “I was just” –

  “You must be the newbie,” Castile said with a little delight, speaking slowly as he turned to face Vincent. “What is your name?”

  “V-Vincent Black.” Vincent really had gotten himself in trouble this time. Why did he have to let his anger get the best of him and burst out like that?

  “Well, Vincent Black,” said Castile with a tilt of his head. “Let’s see if your actions match your mouth.”

  Why couldn’t their teacher see that Alacard was being antagonistic and needed to be put in his place?

  Vincent didn’t have much time to think on it, as Castile dashed forward, swinging his sword at Vincent. Vincent whipped his sword into action, bending at the knees, one hand on hilt, the other supporting the back of the tip. Vincent misjudged the strike, though, and instead of blocking it, the tip of Castile’s sword thudded the front of his chest and knocked the air out of him.

  Vincent swung his sword wildly in a random direction, hoping to hit or block his teacher’s advances as he was trying to catch his breath, losing any composure he thought he had. Castile slid backwards with a smooth and practiced effort, then pushed forward, thrusting the tip of his sword into the same spot as before, knocking Vincent back. Then, with unrelenting force, Castile brought his sword around in an arching motion, swinging it around and down on Vincent’s shoulder, making him go to a knee with a grunt of pain as the sound made a resounding crack against his shoulder. Castile leaned into the sword, pinning Vincent to one knee, his eyes cold. This teacher had incredible strength.

  “You’re dead, Vincent Black,” Castile said with authority.

  Vincent strained against the power of his teacher’s sword holding him in place as he looked into his cold red-eyed gaze, and shivered.

  He glanced over at a snickering Alacard and felt his teeth clench.

  “Next time,” Castile said, releasing the pressure of the sword on Vincent’s shoulder. “Think twice before insulting your classmate.”

  Vincent didn’t understand why Castile was coming at him since Alacard had started it by saying what he had said. It frustrated Vincent, but he held his temper.

  “I’m sorry, teacher,” he said, bowing his head. “I will keep that in mind.”

  “Good,” Castile said with a little smile, then tapped his sword against Vincent’s shoulder, which made him meet Castile’s eerie red-stained eyes with their little black dot that looked like they were boring into his being. “Focus on class and not on insulting your classmates, and maybe you’ll make something of yourself, newbie.”

  Newbie? When he turned away, Vincent felt a chill roll up his back. He didn’t really like how this teacher assumed he wasn’t focusing, or just insulting his classmates. That wasn’t his style, nor what had happened. He let out a sigh, hoping he could redeem himself with this teacher, because he certainly didn’t want to get on his bad side even though he may have already been. And why had the teacher insisted on calling out his newbie status? He didn’t like that at all, nor thought it was very professional.

  Castile gave Vincent a nod, then stepped back and turned to Max. “On to our final student.” He lifted his sword to Max. “Boy, what is your name?”

  Max gulped, looking from side to side as if it wasn’t him that was being called on. He blinked, pointing at himself with a silly smile. “M-me, sir?” He looked like he was lost and confused, not wanting to engage in what was about to happen. “I’m M-Max, sir,” he said, trying not to sound scared or like a bumbling idiot, sweat beading on his forehead.

  “Well, Max,” Castile said, readying his sword. “Shall we begin?”

  Max nodded, lifting a shaky sword to face his teacher, looking like a terrified rodent in the presence of a feline predator.

  Castile burst from the spot, bringing the sword down on Max, or that’s what it looked like and felt like to Max as his heart leapt from his chest. He closed his eyes and screamed, swinging his sword about wildly, hoping it would end quick. After realizing that no impact was coming, he slowly opened his eyes to see his teacher standing inches from his face.

  “Boo,” Castile said, which made Max jump backward with fright, instinctively swinging his sword forward in a wild manner.

  Castile slid backwards, deftly dodging Max’s sword. Then, he shifted his weight from his back foot to his front, swiftly knocking Max’s sword from his hand, following it up with a strike to Max’s shoulder, making Max grunt and wince as he was knocked down to one knee.

  A moment later, Castile let up, and stepped backward, lowering his sword.

  Max grimaced, rubbing where Castile had hit him. “Why’d you hit me so hard?”

  “Pain is a good teacher,” Castile said, putting sword over shoulder. “Now you will be ready to take a hit, knowing what it feels like, removing any fear you may have had.”

  “I didn’t have any fear,” Max grumbled as he rubbed his shoulder.

  “Denial is not a handsome trait for a young man such as yourself.” Castile let that linger for a moment, and all Max could do was frown, looking like he wanted to say something but kept his mouth shut.

  “That is enough for today,” Castile said, rubbing his eyes as if he was wary from something. Perhaps that glowing radiance from Mizuki had done something to him. “Place your swords back where you found them, and you are free to go.”

  .   .   .