Of Evil and Angels

Chapter 2

For a girl raised in an UNUM orphanage, Alyssalee found the coed showering fascinating, fun even. She’d only seen illustrations of the male anatomy, not the real thing, and now it was close enough to reach out and grab. Not that she would ever want to touch the diseased finger-looking things. The mere thought of one of them in or around her sent bile rising.

She let the suds of the shower do their work as she wondered if angels bothered to emanate genitalia. Maybe even took liberties on the dimensions. Then her musings drifted to the look on Gwendelyn’s face if she stepped foot into an open-minded locker room like this. That’d be priceless. Gwendelyn had been her roomie at Sisters of Light and seldom even changed her clothes in front of Alyssalee.

Stepping back from the jets of steaming vapor, she shook out the long strands of her thick, black mane. A whirl of hot air replaced the steam with radiating torrents that caressed her body, leaving it dry. This was a pleasant departure from years of using old-school towels. The Undivine had a predilection for deploying technology wherever they could, and she enjoyed the hell out of it.

The worn-out trainees showered and dressed, moving like the stately sisters of her previous home. Alyssalee wasn’t among the sluggish, though. She had a training appointment with Master Liberi. The faster she got there, the more minutes she’d get with him. It didn’t matter how early she made it. He’d always be there, ready to train. Maybe he never left the studio. He was an angel, after all; it wasn’t like he needed to go home.

Alyssalee arrived for training with her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She wore the required uniform for trainees—black compression leggings and a bright lavender top with her last name stenciled on the back in big white letters. Without looking up, Master Liberi unfolded his legs and rose from his perch at the head of the studio, wearing the classic garb of a sixteenth-century noble.

He liked to meditate while waiting for his students. Well, there were only two other two student sworders. Alyssalee quickly donned a gambeson, though she doubted any blow would come her way that the sword master didn’t send deliberately. Early on, Liberi informed her they wouldn’t be using dulled practice-swords. He stressed that respect for life and limb only came by the vicious edge of a blade. Of course, Liberi was a soul-walking angel, so the protective gear was irrelevant to him; not that he would have needed it anyway.

Liberi wore his typical black and gray doublet and trunk hose combination. He walked to the center of the studio and gave her a slight bow, which she returned lacking any elegance. “Are you prepared, il mio studente?” he asked.

“Always,” she said with a mischievous grin.

After centuries of travel, Liberi spoke several languages, but always with the heavy Italian accent of his homeland. Even then, his words were few and precise. His method of instruction was through demonstration and whacks with the back of his blade when she didn’t follow through with a technique.

Her abilities brought a new aspect to swordplay, and Liberi devised new parries and thrusts as she mixed defensive maneuvers with sword-enhanced projections. To Cole and Liberi’s frustration, when she was surprised by an attack, she frequently improvised mind hacks, completely abandoning sword technique altogether.

Cole and Bits—her neural coaches—had not yet arrived for the lesson. They weren’t to blame as she was a good fifteen minutes early. She was encouraged by how invested they were in her success, probably more than the sword master himself. So much so that after her sessions, when Alyssalee documented and practiced any new projection-augmented techniques she learned, Cole and Bits would often stick around to critique.

Deciding not to wait for them, she positioned herself, eye to eye with her instructor. Alyssalee reached to her back and pulled out her glimmering blade, with a barely audible hum of metal. As she raised the sword and pulled it to her chest in line with her body, she remained dead silent. Master Liberi returned the salute with breathtaking elegance.

While taking an en garde position, she considered the weapons he chose. Today, Liberi sported a short sword and a dagger. He kept her guessing, with a different selection of razor-sharp armaments and techniques every lesson. She sprang into action with an overhead slice, which he parried effortlessly with a forte that sent pain shooting through her tendons. She shook it off and increased the distance between them and softened her focus on his body, looking for any tells that might reveal his next move.

As usual, there were none.

She sprang again, but Liberi circumvented her running attack, dodging with instinctual precision. He met the advance with a quick riposte that set Alyssalee off balance. She threw up an invisible barrier that caused an otherwise deadly thrust to be absorbed by an unseen mesh. She rolled to the side and got back to her feet.

After round after round of attacks, Master Liberi finally left—or provided—an opening, and Alyssalee moved in with a vicious center cut. Liberi deflected and stepped into it, forcing her over his leading leg. The room spun as Alyssalee lay on the cold floor, grasping to understand what had just happened.

“No one who fights fair fights to live,” the sword master said sternly. “I made an opening. You did not exploit it with a kick.” He walked around her, eyeing Alyssalee as if a specimen in a lab. “We heft blades, but that doesn’t mean this is only a sword fight. No one is scoring this match. You will not get a trophy.” She opened her mouth to argue, but Liberi silenced her with a wag of his finger. “To be the last one standing, you do what must be done.”

“Understood,” Alyssalee replied, barely audible.

Several more rounds followed, with Alyssalee attempting to press Liberi’s sword, so she could get a thrust in. The slight curve of the scimitar made it more proficient at slicing moves, but she could still score points with a well-executed thrust.

On days like this, with no touchés making it through Liberi’s defenses, Alyssalee wished she could just project attacks at will. Her abilities would not comply with this desire, though. The most opportune projections only worked for her under significant threat or duress. Cole said, with practice, she could project at will. That reminded her—Cole was late, which was out of character. Bits wasn’t as reliable but almost always made it to her sword lessons. Though, she had to admit, it was a pleasant break not having to wear the ET so Bits could monitor the sword integration with her mind hacks.

Attack, answer, parry. This continued for several more minutes. Alyssalee’s eyes burned from the sweat running down her face. The exertion of her previous training paled in contrast to the battle she was now in. Several more smacks from the flat side of Liberi’s sword chastised her errors.

And then it happened. An innate fluency took over, and Alyssalee stopped thinking about her attacks and attacked with instinct alone. After a missed s***h, she immediately renewed her offensive with a feint that Liberi bought. She took a precisely placed sidestep, followed by a downward crush. With Alyssalee’s blade nearly touching Liberi’s nose, an unfamiliar look crossed her teacher’s face. She would have thought it was shock if she didn’t know better, but he quickly composed himself.

“Touché—molto bene, Alyssalee. Very good, indeed.”

Warmth flooded her, leaving her skin prickly. “Thank you,” she said and was quickly met with a smack of his sword on her thigh.

“Thank you, Master Liberi,” he barked with barely a bite.

The doors to the studio slammed open and a frantic man in a shimmering metallic morning suit burst into the room, accompanied by a small entourage. Gold and black stripes on the man’s pocket square and necktie meant he was of the elite Scholae Paladin corp. Both Liberi and Alyssalee took en garde positions, unsure of what was happening. Sure, there had been a truce of sorts between UNUM and the Undivine for months, but the paladin leadership was fickle.

The entourage pulled slim rifles from under their tailcoats, but the paladin leading the group waved them down.

“Are you Alyssalee Quiteria?” he asked, struggling for air as if recovering from a sprint.

Before she could answer, two dozen Undivine poured in, trapping the paladins from behind. This is escalating quickly, she thought as the paladin raised his hands frantically.

“We aren’t here to fight,” he yelled. “I only want to find Alyssalee Quiteria.”

Alyssalee stepped toward the man and sheathed her scimitar.

“You found me,” Alyssalee replied, unsure if this answer would lead to an unpleasant outcome. She did, after all, once destroy an entire battalion of paladin forces single-handedly.

“Thank the One Unified God.” He took a deep breath to steady himself. “It’s my daughter. They’ve taken her. She must have been playing that game,” the paladin said, as Cole pushed his way through the crowd.

“UNUM is more than capable of locating a child, especially your child. Why do you need me?” Alyssalee asked as her stomach sank to the floor.

“Intel says you are the most skilled at fighting them—the fleshmongers—in-game or out. You are the best hope for recovering her,” he said. The paladin looked around as if about to be punished for his next words. “We’ve learned of your unique skills.”

Alyssalee almost laughed. She wanted to say, Yeah, you learned, all right. Through the blazing inferno I brought down on an entire UNUM detachment. But she held her tongue.

Cole stepped between them. “You could have just sent over comms. You didn’t need to tranquilize several of our security patrols.”

“There isn’t time to go through the bureaucratic channels. Every minute that passes...” He stopped, voice quivering. Clearing his throat, he resumed. “I need to find her now. Please.”

The man fumbled to activate his fingercomm, placing his index finger to his temple. A projection of a teenage girl filled the air in front of him. She was frolicking around a grassy field chasing a fur ball of a puppy. This guy is good, Alyssalee thought, suspecting the paladins used this technique with their own hostages. “Her name is Heather, Heather Dulot. Please forgive my haste. I am General Dulot of the Scholae Paladin.”

Cole shook his head with a frown, his lips parting.

“I’ll do it,” Alyssalee blurted. “I mean, Commander Cole, can you excuse me from New Recruit Training to help find this girl?”

Cole let out a heavy breath, crossing his arms, an even deeper frown splitting his brow.

“Commander, a professional courtesy? I traveled from UNUM Command. Abandoned my post to be here,” General Dulot pleaded.

Cole raised his gaze to the general. “Very well.”

The general exhaled loudly and muttered words of praise to the One Unified God.

“Lieutenant!” Cole called, looking over his shoulder.

“Yes, Commander?” a lanky man said, stepping in front of him.

“Set up a field command center on the training grounds. This is the only area our guests may occupy.”

“Yes, sir,” the man said, rushing out of the room.

“General, you don’t have a clue how gracious the commander is being, considering UNUM recently orchestrated an assassination attempt against him,” Alyssalee said coldly.

The man nodded as his eyes darted between Cole and her. “I’m in your debt.” He turned to leave and added, “And I always repay my debts.”

The weight on Alyssalee was immediate. Convincing a teenager to change the direction of their life? She was happy to leave this type of work to the clergy. But now it was on her—not just to save the girl’s life, but maybe her very soul.

And then the spiraling dread fell on her as she realized she would be entering Sword of Sanctity for the first time since she nearly died “playing” the game.