Chapter 2: Battle Test Commencement

In the military compound, areas 4C-A5 are separated into three sections, with the main battle area of 50 yards in width, length, and height. The battle area is an empty white box brightly lit with two observation rooms that look upon the floor that resembles a baseball dugout and an announcer box behind triple-platted bulletproof glass windows for the staff and participants to watch behind.

The lower room was filled with the 14 figures of students waiting for their time to bat for the sparing matches. Many of the students were restless as they waited for the last two missing cadets to show. Everyone’s eyes glared at the two idiots who ran into after opening the door. Idiot number one, with a bright smile, said to number two, “I bet you, Nick, that we’re.” Chris had a blank look for a moment before taking a step to the left, putting his arm around Nicolaus, and announcing to his captivated crowd, “Let the festivities begin!” Everyone gave Chris dead stares while Nicolaus pushed him away.

To the right of the group of students, an echoing rhythm grew louder from descending footsteps at the open staircase until an image of a burly built man with pin quills for hair as a mullet with wild eyes staring at the students. His stone-cold expression broke with a smile. The students recognized him and stood at attention to their commanding officer, Commander Don Shields. He snapped his fingers, and a display of the students appeared on the monitor above the bench, each broken into groups with the word battle between them.

“These are the individuals that each of you will be fighting against,” said Commander Shields. “This is not a battle-royal but a one-on-one sparing match. Only a select few of you will be allowed weapons during your matches; otherwise, you can only use partial morphing abilities and natural armaments. Ah yes, cadet Samuel, because of the nature of your opponent, you will be given a vile of CR-47.”

Samuel Hill, a young man with a sandy blond rat nest for hair and green eyes, had an inquisitive look on his face as he turned around to see who his opponent would be to warrant such precautions. Seeing the face next to his caused his pupils to dilate, his clenched fists to fill with sweat, and his legs to tremble slightly.

The other students turn as well to see the pairings. A young woman on the far left gave a cold smile, filling with longing for a brief moment before returning to normal. The matchings show Samuel Hill vs. Kaylin Soto, Peter Frost vs. Lucy Snyder, Phillip Maxwell vs. Chango Cortez, Marten Fields vs. Rose Ross, Christain Turner vs. Alexa Grey, Jordan Watson vs. James Neal, Flo Bella vs. Cadi Reid and Nicolaus Glymore vs. Sarah Turner.

“Permission to speak freely, sir,” said Samuel.

“Permission granted, cadet,” said Commander Shields.

“Thank you, sir. Sir, why am I paired with that psychopath,” said Samuel. “Kaylin barely passes the moral value review from her perspective on life and others, sir.” Samuel’s mouth was as dry as paper before adding in a second thought, “Not that you’re not a kind and caring person, Kaylin.” The burning sweet starts to run into his eyes, clouding his vision and seeing the cold rejection from her before looking back at his commanding officer.

“The reason is simple, cadet,” said Commander Shields before pausing for a brief moment. “You are the only one that is sure to survive your confrontation.” Samuel fell on his hands and knees as the sweetness in his eyes was washed away by tears falling to the floor. “There is to be no full beast mode or killing during the matches. You may only forfeit due to near death or feel you can no longer continue. The winners of the match will be treated to a five-course meal with the high staff before the next mission debrief and assigned to new teams.”

“Now, before we begin, I want you all to make sure that you have been outfitted with fusion clothes. I don’t want a lot of you running around as nature intended and having children all paralyzed from looking at one another. Men, remember what is asked of you as you hold the standard of civilized gentlemen and ladies. Give them hell,” said Commander Shields.

Everyone didn’t know what to think but stood at attention except for Samuel, who was still on his hands and knees, thinking about how he would live through the next few hours. “Oh, we will give you ten minutes till the start of the first match. Cadets at ease,” said Commander Shields. He turned around and walked back up the stairs to be seated with the other staff and officials.

Samuel could only feel the cold weight of his life, lost in a deepening darkness filling his mind until he literally felt a heavy pressure on his back. He didn’t lift his head but stiffened up as wood as a silky voice entered his ears. “Samuel, I will try to restrain myself, but if I fail, I will give a prayer that you will have a quick ascension to heaven before the match starts,” said Kaylin. Her words only seem to push him further into a darker muck with every syllable muttered from her soft, mesmerizing voice.

From the view of the other students, it looks like a queen sitting on her throne with a serene smile that would bring peace to her subjects but only bring ice to the listeners’ hearts. Kaylin is a rare beauty with almond-shaped black eyes. Her silky long brown hair reaches her shoulders with a perfect posture. From her figure alone, one would mistakenly see her as a well-endowed half-Asian supper model without knowing her dark heart beneath. She pressed her waist into Samuel a little before getting up. She reaches down and grabs his wrist before walking away, with him being dragged away as a lioness’ prey. Kaylin walks forward with the face of a maiden in love as they reach the arena.

Most of the other students said nothing, while a few gave solutes to a fellow soldier going off to die on the front line for home and country with the respect they deserve. However, they soon relaxed and walked up to the glass so they might get a better view of the carnage that would take place.

When they reach the arena, Kaylin lets go of Samuel while she continues to walk to the other side. Her cheeks redden while her red lips thin with her widening smile. Her white teeth sharpen into blades, and green and blue scales grow from her skin, covering her in a natural armor. Feathers grow around her arms. Her heels raise as her shoes melt into her scaled flesh; razors grow from where her big toe and pointer fingers are located. She turns around to face her prey, revealing the predator from within that is ready to pounce on its prey.

Samuel can hear every step that she is taking away from him as he gets up. The reverb within his skull plays a painful melody. His shaky hands pull out the CR-47, injecting it into his right shoulder. His skin reddens as it resembles a thick hide with thorns growing over his body. Four thick tentacle-like extremities rip out of his sides as he takes an unbalanced stance.

The chime of a bell rings as Kaylin lowers her stance, swinging around and charging straight at her target. Kaylin’s crazed smile widens as her claws rain down. Red blood drips from Samuel’s right arm, revealing marble bone under the claw's grip. He takes hold of her while continuing to pale. His other arms drive into Kaylin.

The punches didn’t faze her as she dug her other claws into one of the thick tentacles and ripped it off. Samuel’s eyes dilate and widen as no sound leaves his open mouth. He loosens his grip as she grips his other extra arms, starts swinging him around like a rag doll, and throws him back onto the ground to only continue cutting off his extra arms like a child would butterfly wings. Ghastly screams finally leave Samuel’s mouth as he rolls around, hugging his sides. The wounds close as he grips onto one of his severed tentacles, whipping it at her before her next blow.

The arm wraps around her neck and left arm that she used to guard against the attack. They both smile at each other as she stomps her razor foot towards his groin. He rolls over and leaps at her. Samuel pulls out his dagger, stabbing it into her side. Her smile only widens as she knees him in the stomach, landing him on his knees, and then kicking him away. Kaylin grabs the arm restraining her and rips it away. She shivers and looks up as she takes a deep breath as she savors this moment.

Samuel didn’t miss this chance as he threw another one of his severed arms at her. It raps around her head, blocking her vision. He stands to charge at her, readily lifting his dagger at her heart. At the same time, Kaylin’s smile disappears, and she lowers her guard as if she is surrendering. Samuel went in for the strike but stopped. Dripping water echoes in a moment of silence with each splash; pain erupts from his lower abdomen. He is looking down to see her claws digging into his stomach. She lifts him slightly before dropping the broken toy. His hazy gaze fell to the side as she stood over him to deliver a blow to put him out of his misery. A tentacle erupted from his side and wrapped around her arm.

Kaylin lifts Samuel‘s body to her eye level before their heads smash together, breaking his nose and causing his eyes to become more glassy with the light flickering out. His body pales as the extra arm and spines crumble away. Samuel starts to fall back, but Kaylin catches him by the shirt, holding him up with a claw next to his neck.

“Is that all you have left in you? I wanted to see more blood,” said Kaylin. She let go of her doll while dragging her claw along his neck. A pool slowly forms around Samuel before the gash closes up. “Red flowers truly are the most beautiful.” Her body slowly changes back as she walks away. She puts a hand on her knife wound while liking her blood-soaked hand.

The wall under the teacher’s seating falls, revealing a team of blue-dressed medical staff with a gurney waiting to retrieve Samuel’s body. The doctors check his vitals. “He is still breathing, but his pulse is weak. No outer signs of sustained trauma, thanks to the CR-47.” They gently lift him onto the gurney and start to roll him away. “We need to get him a blood transfusion stat before his temperature lowers any more and his major organs start shutting down,” said one of the doctors.

One of the medics hands a vile of CR-47 to another, who stabs it into Kaylin’s neck. She grabs him and tosses him on his back, winding the doctor. Her black and blue bruises fade as her skin becomes flawless once again. “Don’t you know; you shouldn’t handle a patient so roughly, doctor? I am liable to sue for malpractice,” she said, walking away with a bored expression back to the other students.

The sight of Samuel’s blood-stained body being taken away sent chills down Peter Frost’s back, covered in goosebumps. He could only count his lucky starts as Kaylin wasn’t his opponent but was still filled with unease as the next on the chopping block. Frost rubs his neck. “Hey, Peter,” said Chris with a slap on Frost’s back, causing him to stumble forward a little. “Looks like you get to face off with ninja Lucy in the next match.”

The doctors leave with Samuel, and another team takes their place to clean the ring. “A five-minute break will be held before the next match starts,” echoes the voice of Commander Shields over the intercom.

Frost straightens himself to become composed again, as if his anxiety were a lie. “If I didn’t remember your sent, I would been shocked like many of your victims. I wonder when they will finally tie a bell on you,” said Frost. Chris’s goofy smile stiffens and becomes cold as he feels wronged. “No need to take it so hard, Chris; thanks for the unwarranted concern. I have calculated the stats with a 40% to 80% chance of victory if my plans succeed.

Chris shrugs his shoulders. “Right, as if some self-proclaimed genius can win against real effort from developed skills,” Chris said with a deadly cold voice before putting his arm over Frost’s shoulder and bringing him close. “Peter, if you do manage to accomplish the impossible, I will personally set you up on a hot date with Jordan,” says Chris with a smug grin as he pokes Peter on the cheek over and over again.

With slightly flushed cheeks, Frost bats Chris’ hand away and walks over to the stage to meet his opponent. Peter Frost is another 17-year-old, overconfident boy with a jagged bowl-cut of silver hair in baggy clothes hanging on his skinny body. His unfocused brown eyes constantly looked around the room under his glasses as his mind wandered. He was now excited to start the match with Lucy if Chris really stuck to what he promised.

A tall, quiet figure stood stalwart; she resembled a misterioso oak found in a dark forest from a dream. Her bangs hang over part of her face while the rest is tied back in a ponytail. Her tight clothes didn’t leave much to the imagination but would optimize her mobility. Her determination is reflected in her fiery vision.

Lucy gets into a fighting stance, waiting for Peter to do the same. Her smile slips into a frown with eyes full of disgust as she sees his hand held out from him, showing good sportsmanship. Lucy looks from his hand to Frost and then back again before saying, “Did you think I am a child, pervert.” Her icy gaze intensifies while her pupils restrict, giving a glare that could peel paint off a car.

Frost looks down at his hand and back at Lucy, which is something the matter, he wonders. “I just want to wish you well. Is it un sportsman of me to do this?”

“I am not here for your mind games and pretenses. Get ready; the match is about to start.”

“But.” The bell sounded, cutting off what Frost wanted to say. He crouches down and stares at his opponent intensely. Frost flattens to the ground as he grows longer, covering his body with silver hair as his shoes melt with his feet growing with elongating claws. He starts to run to encircle his prey, only to have Lucy mirroring him. She was dead silent.

This is getting me nowhere. I’ll have to get in close at this point. Frost fully sprints towards her, only to stop when he sees a bulge coming up her throat. He watches as a shiny metal orb leaves her lips, flying at him. Blinding white fills his vision before everything goes black, and spots block his view. Frost looks around and can’t see anything clearly. He closes his eyes and sniffs the air. “Crap, I can’t smell anything other than blood,” he said. He continues to listen for any steps that may be approaching him from his many blind spots but can only hear the hissing from the copper wiring in the walls and lighting. The hair on his body stands up. He looks upwards, only to see a shadow before being pushed into the ground.

A tight grip is around his neck that he is desperately trying to pry off, but the scaly iron grip tightens in kind. Frost tries to turn his head to look up, only to see Lucy standing over him with a fierce gaze. Her arms were now covered in black feathers like a royal coat. Her green eyes are now pure black with a faint golden ring. Frost’s thoughts are racing as his body starts to feel heavy. He desperately continues to struggle, freeing neck as he claws at her leg. Lucy’s grip tightened a little as a breath of air got in. Is this as fair as I go? Do I continue this pointless struggle? Frost thought of Chris’ promise, and an image of Jordan’s smile floats into his mind. He calms his body and grips at the base of her ankle. Frost swings his lower body up, wrapping around her body as their bodies are thrown to the ground.

Air floods Frost’s lungs as he coughs and tries to get up, only to be tackled to the ground with Lucy’s legs pinning down his arms while sitting on his waist. She lowers her upper body and carefully grabs his head as if she wants to be tender to him. Frost’s panicking thoughts started to run wild, thinking that she might kiss him as her cold expression, which was robotic, now had a tender smile. “Go to sleep peacefully, okay,” she said tenderly, lifting her head back up and smashing it into Frost’s confused face. Not the kind of kiss he was expecting from a girl. Where all girls here savages, he wondered.

Frost’s body went limp from fainting while Lucy stumbles around a little, walking off stage to sit with the other students as the winner. A new group of medics enters the stage before leaving with the unconscious Peter Frost.

Chris can only shake his head, seeing Frost being carried away. He looks at the next fight and sighs, turning to Nicolaus to say, “Who do you think will win? A pervert or a Boy Scout?”

“I think the Boy Scout. I mean he has the strength and formal training down to his bones.”

“Really, well, I think the monkey’s technique is more adaptable while the ant is strait-laced and predictable.”

“I think that Phil’s strength will be the determining factor for the match.”

“Fine, cuz, but you need to understand that might not always make right.”

“Doesn’t having strength mean that they have the final say? That is one of the reasons we’re here, thanks to Grandma, and not dead research material in such a scientist’s snuff piece, I mean medical research paper.”

“Look, we are not kids anymore, but many different factors will always drive outcomes than strength alone will. You know what; let’s watch the match and my point.”

“Want to make a wager then?”

“No, I have no need for masochism.” Nicolaus stares at his cousin in disbelief before tightening his lip. Turning back to the ring with a monkey, (Chango Cortez) was facing a wall.

The warrior standing at attention is Phillip Maxwell. A 6.2-foot wall of dark, tight-oiled muscles that resembles a panther with dreadlocks more than a man. Nicolaus always found it difficult to believe that he was only eighteen and in the same training regimen. He continues to smile while imagining how the predator will rip apart the monkey.

Philip’s clothes start to fuse into his flesh and harden, bulking back out as black armor solidifies around him. His form continues to inflate twice his size as he raises his fists before his face, ready for any attack.

He is a Goliath of an opponent that stands as the mountain. No, to Chango, he is a Titan that is to be usurped. His sweaty palm pulls off his belt and taps it three times. It elongates into a metal pole ready for combat that is held at Chango’s side.

The bell rings as the tiles under Phillip’s feet crack. In the blink of an eye, he is already towering over Chango. His charging fist raced toward Chango’s arrogant face. Millimeters away, Chango spins along Phillip’s arm, dodging blows as they face away from each other. Chango crouches low and sweeps his leg at Phillip. Phillip’s stance was broken, but he stood firm. Chango’s pole strikes Phillip behind the knee, causing him to buckle finally. On his knee, Phillip raises his senses, expecting an attack.

Chango thrusts the pole to the temple but is blocked by an armored forearm. The mountain remains firm as the arm raps around the pole like a serpent and lifts Chango into the air like a hammer to strike an anvil. He let go before impact, landing on his hands and feet, wincing from the impact. The pole left a small creature on the tiles. Phillip tossed aside its bent and broken form as he got back on his feet.

Phillip takes a deep breath and gets into his boxing stance, letting all of the tension leave with his breath. Chango shakes his wrists as a playful smile reapers on his lips. He is walking back to face his foe. A bullet-like fist fires at Chango. He pushes it aside, closes the gap, and strikes Phillip in the jaw. He sways as lights and black spots fill his vision.

The mountain that seemed unmovable sways about to crumble before a fist is swung at Chango’s stomach. He jumps back, but it still connects, sending him flying out of the ring and hitting the wall. His figure falls, leaving behind a bloody splat. His broken doll body slumps to the ground, but his smile doesn’t fade from his unconscious body.

Philip crumbles to the ground, no longer moving. The medical team rushes and checks the combatants. The medic instantly stabs Chango with a CR-47 as he continues to monitor his vitals. “Both combatants are unconscious, but Chango is in critical condition,” said the head medic.

General Shields stands, giving his judgment, “Cadet Maxwell has won the match. Get into places as the next match will begin in five minutes.” He sat back down, looking at the platform with a smirk growing only wider with every passing second. The other instructors stare at him, questioning whether these matches serve a greater purpose.

Christain turns back to Nicolous while patting him on the back. “Looks like Soldier Boy won against the monkey this match. Good thing we didn’t use any stakes, right?”

“Do you think gambling with you would be productive? You gossip.”

“That hurts cuz; I would let you know I only have loose lips for family and have loose behavior around those I trust.”

“Are you sure? You might as well be a flirt and womanizer in the making.”

“You know I am a virgin with virgin lips. I am every devil worshiper’s wet dream for sacrifice. Besides, you know I have my sights set on only one girl right now.”

“Good luck with that fried chicken. You will probably be friend-zoned as you always do.” Christain’s face twitches slightly before bringing up the next match.

“So, who do you think will win the next match? The sexy warrior bunny or whatever Martin is?”

“You know, I don’t know what he is, now that I think about it.”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Maybe Martin is a martin.”

“That would be lazy naming, wouldn’t it, from his parents?”

“I guess, but Chango isn’t that different, but we will wait and see. However, our sexy warrior seems a little more than nervous. She could use a pep talk.”

“This is one of the reasons you either get friend-zoned or are labeled as a womanizer.” Christain froze for half a second before walking towards Rose again.

Rose Ross is shapely fit, 5.9-foot-tall blond, with amber eyes. Her uniform is strangely a little baggy for her. Her healthy tan complexion was a little pale as she passed back and forth.

“Hey, Bunny, is everything alright? You will make a new canyon at that pace.”

“Oh, it’s just you, Chris, and, uh, Nico. Hi. I was wondering what to do. If I go in there all gun-ho, I might kill him.”

“Why?”

“No one says what he is or knows his morph type. If I can’t plan the best course of action, then it is better to go all out of the floodgates, No?”

“Wouldn’t it be better to stay back and observe what he will do before taking action?”

“No, that would be falling back to baser rabbit instinct to run. I got running, digging, crying, or flip-kicking. I will not fall into rabbit habits.”

“Do you hate it that much?”

“No, I love digging and running, but it is not productive unless you are in guerrilla warfare. I don’t see us in any of those missions anytime soon.”

“Good point. So, you got this?”

“Sure, I can see the prize through the fog of uncertainty.”

“Sweet. You got this! Go in there and dominate, ” said Christian, slapping her back and pointing at Martin standing on the platform.

Martin stood there at attention with his head held high, awaiting orders. His straight, long brown hair was tied back into a ponytail. He is so stiff one might mistake him for as display maniken. He recently turned twenty, but he kept it to himself like his morph type until today.

Rose Ross stood in place with her fists held up at the ready. Fure covered her long ears extending from her head, twitching a little to any stimulation they received. Patches of hair and whiskers grew around her body and suit as she was ready for battle.

The bell rings as she charges forward, releasing a heart-rending cry. Her fist drives into a hard armor that covers Martin’s arm as he is pushed back five feet.

Martin’s body is covered in thick brown armor, spikes from his back and on his head as a horseshoe wishing himself luck. New black eyes grew from the forehead. Martin recovers, charging forward to jump, landing a blow on Rose’s shoulder. She squats with the blow and brings them towards the ground.

Rose twists back with Martin’s leg to finish a lock. Her back arches and red bleeds her clothes and fur. A scream escapes from her open lips. Rose loosens her grip on Martin’s leg, with her arms falling at her side from the shock. A rod protruding from her back extends from near her spine towards Martin’s lower backside.

“Tsk,” clicks Martin’s tongue. He rolls onto his feet, twisting around to look down at Rose. She looks up with bloodshot eyes at the disinterested adversary standing above her. “I missed your heart. Essentially, you can continue the match, no?” Beads of sweat glisten on her brow.

Regaining her thoughts, a foot appears next to her, hitting Rose in the lower jaw and sending her into the air. She twists her body while delivering a light kick to Martin’s cheek before somersaulting back into a squatted position, holding her chest and breathing heavily.

Martin glares back at Rose after regaining his balance. He spits out a blue liquid before running at Rose to throw a right hook. She grabs at his wrist and upper arm to throw him, but Martin jumps into her with a knee spearing into her chest. Rose leans back to take the hit and lifts her hips to finish the earlier throw. Martin lands on his back and rolls to avoid the elbow blow at his throat.

Both candidates stand facing one another and give blows. They have left all martial arts behind and are now purely brawling with fists, landing consecutively one after another.

Each fighter grew soaked in their respective colors of red and blue beasts driven mad with only berserkers left. A left hook from the red beast sent Blue’s head to look at the stars. From under his chin, two eyes open. The red beast flinches as her jab is blocked, and a blow is delivered to the stomach.

The red beast coughs, gasping for air, while the blue creature looks from above with its many rage-filled eyes. Rose collapses and stops moving. The wall opens with the medical team running onto the stage. The bell rings, signaling the end of the match.

The blue creature falls on his back and starts to laugh with a big grin on his face. He laughs at his stupidity for looking down on his opponent; he laughs at the pointlessness of these fights but laughs the hardiest for the entertainment he had from exchanging blows.

The medical team straps both to stretchers and rolls them away. The wall drops down, and the voice of the commander booms out. “Attention, the next fight, I mean sparring match, will begin in 5 minutes. Proceed to the stage, Christain Turner and Alexa Grey.