The days had moved by in a flash, with studying and going to regular classes.

  Training in hand-to-hand combat in Mr. B’s classes, as well as supernatural knowledge that was just too much to take in. Things about Elven and the different vampire types was hard enough, but learning all about the supernatural world was getting overwhelming.

  A weird lesson with Chikaze that involved ‘moving in real-time’ as she had called it. They learned this rolling motion where they had moved to the ground as slow as possible, going down on one leg, then to their butt, and rolling around on their shoulders and back, finally coming back up on a leg. All in this slow, difficult motion. They did it normally at first, getting used to the motion, then moved as slow as possible without falling. It was quite difficult and lead to frustrated sighs and noises as they were getting quite tired of these random and weird lessons.

  Lucian Illustrious had explained some stuff about the Usages of Magic that was a bit boring at the beginning of the lesson, leading to being overloaded by the end. Vincent was exhausted and almost ended up snoozing in class again.

  Tania Eln taught them more about knives. Throwing them, holding them, and sparring with them. Luckily, the sparring was with wooden knives that had dull edges, but she still threatened to do things to them if they didn’t learn faster.

  Then there was Castile’s class.

  “Keep your feet planted,” Castile said, whacking Vincent over the head with one of the wooden swords they often trained with.

  While Alacard and Max had struggled with their footwork and sword swing, they hadn’t gotten thwacked over the head like Vincent had.

  “You have to feel it out, hold the stance, plant your feet thusly and swing. Do that and you’ll have it.” Castile stepped back, looking from one end of the line to the other.

  They all held their swords at the ready, feet spread and planted according, all swinging swords forward.

  Vincent tightened his grip on his sword, nodded, and swung his sword forward. He tried to take what had been explained to him, even following the lead of Isabella and Mizuki, who both seemed to swing with perfection.

  “Not like that,” Castile barked, stepping to Vincent and delivering two swift hits to his outer thoughts that stung from impact. He faced Vincent with fire in his eyes. “Stand strong, look forward, and swing swiftly.”

  Vincent did, and still got hit again. It hurt each time. Vincent wondered why he was getting so much attention from this teacher. It had been like this for quite a while in Castile’s class, and he was beginning to get annoyed.

  But what could he do? Tell the teacher to stop? Face him and fight him? There was nothing to do but try to understand the lesson and perform the stance and swing, or whatever asinine thing the crazy Castile wanted.

  He felt a sense of relief when they shifted to disarming and fighting against someone that had a weapon while being unarmed, and tactics to employ that may take a sword wielder off balance.

  His relief was short lived when Castile called him as a volunteer to demonstrate being disarmed properly. Castile disarmed him with ease, knocking him down and back – several times. It hurt, and not just his pride.

  Insult was added to injury when he noticed that Alacard was thoroughly enjoying the show.

  Still, Vincent held strong and got through, wondering why Castile treated him this way? It had to be because he was a newbie, for what else could it be? He’d never know. But perhaps he’d find out one day. Either way, he’d hold out till they moved on from him as a teacher. That would be a glorious day.

  The regular classes were a blur too, especially math.

  Vincent sucked at arithmetic, algorithms, and showing his work. How was he supposed to show work on something he didn’t understand? Still, he managed thanks to the help of a cute sophomore math whiz that Alexander happened to know. She had graciously offered her assistance, which made Vincent wonder what Alexander had promise to do for her?

  It was all so overwhelming and hard to handle, as the homework was piling up and the scores were getting into dangerous territory. Through it all, though, he was anxious to master the Transformation at Will and face Alicia.

  .   .   .

  When the day finally came, Vincent was exhausted and overloaded. The anxiety and anticipation of the moment to try the Transformation at Will had pushed him onward, kept him wide awake and alert.

  It was the late afternoon after classes, and Vincent and Alacard were back at it again. The sun loomed over the horizon as they engaged in blows with one another. Charging and striking and tumbling and grabbing and pushing each other. Time and time again. Each time, Alacard getting the best of Vincent.

  But there was something different in Vincent’s demeanor, in his eyes. He wasn’t going to give up, and Alacard was having a harder time taking him down. Vincent was even getting up faster, recovering quicker, and landing a few blows of his own.

  Mr. B stood off to the side, as usual, with arms folded and a pleased smile across his face. “That’s enough, boys. I think it’s time we try again. Come with me.”

  And so they followed him down into that room where the transformation into a werewolf was invoked.

  Alacard shoved Vincent aside, wanting to take his chance first. Vincent let out a low growl, holding on to his animal instincts that made him want to pounce and destroy and rip and tear. He just shook his head and mumbled something incoherent under his breath as he glared at Alacard.

  Alacard looked back at Vincent with a wry smile as the door closed behind him.

  “Let the real pro show you how it’s done this time.” He spoke with authority, as if he had figured out the secret. As if he was going to master it this time, to take control, will it back and be the first.

  After his transformation was induced, he couldn’t keep a grasp on it, but quickly lost himself to his Beast Mind, his werewolf form howling and rampaging inside the room.

  Vincent looked anxious to go again, but Mr. B held an arm out to stop him, silently looking onward to the screen as he spoke into the microphone, watching Alacard shivering on the ground in the fetal position.

  “It’s time to try again, son,” he said with a low and serious voice.

  And he invoked a second transformation in a row.

  “Are you sure that’s okay, sir?” Vincent asked with a bit of worry in his voice.

  “It’s fine,” Mr. B said with a low growl, as if upset that Vincent was challenging him. “He needs this. You both do.” He turned to meet Vincent’s eyes, which made Vincent shudder. There was a distance in them, a cold fury. He looked back to the screen, hoping that everything would be all right, worrying about his own fate when he went in there. It didn’t feel right.

  Alacard tried again, and the same thing happened. As he turned back, he was covered in sweat, kneeling and hugging himself. His eyes lost and confused and weary. He glossed over and fell forward then slapped his hand on the ground, pushing his face upward as he slowly stood with a growl.

  “I want to go again.” He swayed on the spot, looking like he was going to fall over, but stopped himself with a palm against the wall.

  After the third try, Mr. B let out a noise of derision as if disappointed in Alacard. Mr. B moved into the room with a tired and angry look in his eye. He pulled Alacard out and leaned him against the wall. No words of encouragement, no towel.

  “I don’t get this at all,” Alacard said, a frustrated frown on his face. No jokes, no taunting, no acting better than anyone. Just defeated. He looked up at Mr. B, determined and wanting encouragement. “I want to go again.” There was a sadness in his voice, a yearning as if he was a little boy looking at his father. “Let me go again.”

  “No,” Mr. B said flatly. “You’ve done enough today.” And he just looked forward and gave a slight nod of his head for Vincent to proceed.

  “Go on, son. It’s your turn now. Don’t disappoint me.”

  Vincent gave a quiet nod and shuffled into the room, worrying about the state of Alacard, as well as his teacher. Were they going too far? Were they not putting in enough? And what was going on with Mr. B? He was supposed to be their support, their rock, their encourager, but he just looked pissed off and fed up.

  Vincent let out a little sigh, telling himself everything was all right, that the goal was still the same. Clenching his fists and tensing his body, he focused his thoughts on one thing. The mastering of the Transformation at Will, because he had no other choice.

  He took another deep breath and looked up as he exhaled with confidence. “I’m ready.” He pushed it all aside. The disappointed look in Mr. B’s eyes, the defeated shift in Alacard, the difficulty with all his classes and this new world of his. Everything. There was just one thing he was going to do, one thing he had no choice but to gain.

  Mr. B leaned into the microphone. “Remember your training. Focus on your humanity and you’ll have it.” The words weren’t encouraging, more like the droning of a soul-sucked worker.

  Vincent didn’t care. He was going to do this. He was going to master the Transformation at Will, and he didn’t need anyone but himself to do it.

  He slapped his chest, pumped himself up, and prepared himself for the inevitable.

  Mr. B leaned forward and hit the switch on the screen, his eyes tired.

  Vincent moved through the transformation, his body twisting and ripping and extending and doing things that were so painful that he groaned and cried out. Yet, it was a little less this time, even if it was agonizing. He fell to the ground, wrapping his arms around his body as he let out a groan and grunt and outcry of terror from the contorting pain. It was torment, plain and simple.

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  After what seemed like never-ending anguish, he had transformed.

  He was still on the ground, two hairy arms outstretched with fingers spread apart. He examined the long, sharp fingernails, wondering what damage they could do if he inflicted them upon a human’s skin as he chased them down and tore them apart, making them feel pure agony, and him, pure delight. He smiled at that, drool from his snout drooping to the ground.

  He stood and grasped his head, body banging against the wall, then fell to his knees, growling and shaking in a furious motion. While on the ground, he continued to grip the sides of his head for a moment, then leaned back, stretching his arms toward the ceiling as if cursing the synthetic moonlight. He let out a drawn-out howl before falling forward and expelling all the air in his lungs as he sprawled against the ground.

  A moment later, he blinked. What was this feeling?

  He unfurled and stretched, his snout opening in a wide yawn with a soft yelp and whine at the end. He felt as if he had just woken from a dog nap. He shook his body, much like a dog shaking off water, then looked forward, smacking his chops together. This feeling was much like waking up after a night’s rest, yet he had just transformed into a werewolf, so how was he doing this, thinking this, keeping control?

  He looked around, noticing the details of the room. The previous damage from all their other attempts. Claw marks on the walls, broken pieces of concrete on the ground, and other parts untouched as he stepped forward and moved along in a circular motion, his furry hand sliding against the smooth cement.

  His tailed swished. How was this happening?

  It was hard to describe the details, the sharp senses and sensations and smells, and the feeling… Yet, he knew what was happening while at the same time feeling a sense of confusion, like a distant traveler finally coming home from an extended trip abroad – walking into his room, noticing the details, the smells and sounds, the feel of the bed, things like this. A loss of control of his mind and body.

  A moment later, he was looking straight again, staring at a point in the room for some reason, blinking and looking down at his body. He flexed his arms at the elbow and extended them, twisting his forearms this way and that. He moved wrists, wriggling his fingers, a sly smile on his face because he just knew that he had finally grasped it. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the training, his mindset, the timing, or something random. Perhaps that Ginga being they all worshiped blessed him with something.

  It didn’t matter, because he had it. He really had it.

  He looked up and let out a chuckle. Granted, it was guttural and bestial, just like when Mr. B had originally spoken in his werewolf form, then he spoke.

  “This is so crazy.”

  He blinked, incredulous at the outcome, then looked up as if being able to sense where the camera was watching him, and he smiled wider. He gave a lame thumbs up, which was a weird werewolf sight. Then raised his hands up and jumped in place as if gaining the gold at some highly competitive event.

  “Woo-hoo. I did it. I freaking did it!”

  Alacard was on his feet, leaning forward with palms slammed down on the desk, his eyes wide and incredulous. An envy lingered on his lips.

  “Impossible.” He griped his fingers into fists and stepped back, shaking his head at this blasphemous sight. “No way. It’s not true, it just ain’t.”

  While Mr. B’s energy had dropped, gone dark and dangerous, it suddenly was lifted as he gave a relieved smile. “Ginga, the boy did it.”

  “Did you not hear me?” Alacard snarled, slapping his own chest with a furious swipe. “I wanna go in there and do it again.” He stomped to the place where the door opened into the other room and slammed his hand against the wall.

  On the other side, Vincent could feel the tension, could sense the slight shake from Alacard slapping the door. But how? The wall was reinforced, and thick. He snarled, a little growl escaping his lips as a furious and wild feeling moved over him that made him want to break through the wall and engage Alacard.

  Back in the other room, Mr. B shook his head. “No, not right now.”

  Alacard stared at him with murderous intent. “Why?”

  Mr. B felt a sense of sorrow move over him for letting himself become angry and agitated at the boy’s lack of being able to master the Transformation at Will. He couldn’t fault him, though. It was a terribly difficult thing to master, so he leveled his eyes and let Alacard know the truth.

  “You’ll get another chance, son.” At the same time, he was agitated with Alacard, so he spoke with a flicker of danger in his voice as he motioned to the other side of the room. “Now, sit down.”

  Alacard plopped down, folding his arms in an angry huff.

  Mr. B sighed, then leaned back into the microphone. “Great job, Vincent.”

  Vincent’s eye scanned the room. Swishing his tail and flicking his ears, he turned and spun in a circle. The movement was so swift that he almost tripped over himself as he wasn’t used to being in control of this beastly form that was all strength and muscle and bulk. A combined agility and strength that made it hard to keep balance and control. Each movement was like stepping on the gas of a race car without worrying what would happen when pushing petal to the floor and tearing rubber wheel onto road.

  “Now that you have control, you need to transform back to your human form,” Mr. B said. “Think about how you look in the mirror, how it feels to be you. Grasp your humanity, your human side and mind and skin and hair and smell, and pull it back. Imagine it with all your heart, and push it. It will feel like you are swimming up the rush of a river, like walking against a mighty gust of wind pushing you backward or lifting weight that is just too heavy for you to handle. When it hits you, maintain it. Push with all you have, focus and be intent on the vision, on your humanity, and grab it by its neck and pull it forth. Will yourself back to life, and you’ll have it. You’ll know you have it when it feels akin to pulling something buried in the dirt. It will be effortful. but if you maintain it and keep pulling, you will eventually break free from the proverbial dirt, and like a potato you will be fresh and ready.”

  Vincent nodded, thinking about what Mr. B had said as he looked forward at nothing in particular, focusing on his mind. The mind that was in control. His human, conscious mind.

  And it happened, piece by piece, still painful but very much less painful than the transformation into the werewolf. He groaned and grunted as he stumbled forward, his body slowly losing hair, becoming smaller, shorter, less muscly. Cracking and jerking and popping back into shape and size. Then he was standing a few feet from where he had been. Sweaty and disoriented, but fully cognizant of what had just happened.

  Fully willful, totally conscious, and clear as a cloudless, summer day.

  He blinked, feeling lightheaded and shivering with a combination of cold and hot. He looked down at his body, lifting his arms and moving his hands and fingers about, glancing down at his legs. He was back to himself, back to his human form, and he was the one who had done it. He looked up and blinked, feeling completely baffled by what had happened.

  “Okay, Vincent,” Mr. B said, licking his lips as if nervous. “Now, what you need to do is transform back to the werewolf form on your own. This step is crucial.”

  Vincent teetered on the spot, feeling his vision blur. He shook it off as he listened to Mr. B.

  “All right,” he said in a weak voice, pushing himself off from the wall, staggering on the spot as he wiped the back of his forearm across his wet forehead. “What I do?”

  “Clueless idiot,” Alacard said in the other room.

  He should have been silent. Shouldn’t have made a joke. But he couldn’t help himself because the fact of the matter was that Vincent had outdone him this time, and that made him furious. It was woefully maddening that he was being bested like this. And not just by any being, but by a freaking chump of a newbie.

  He clenched his fist and jaw, holding back a growl because he knew calling Vincent a clueless idiot was stupid. The envy burned deep inside of Alacard as he looked onward, part of him hoping Vincent would fail, feeling a bit ashamed of that but not letting it show.

  Mr. B spoke into the microphone again, adjusting it near his mouth as if not doing that may make it harder for Vincent to hear. “You’ll need to let the beast out again. Let your animal side go wild. Think about running free in the forest, of hunting, of drawing blood. Of all the animalistic, dangerous, and devious things you can think of. Let that monster free, and as soon as you transform, grab it back, reel it in and take full command, and control over it. And then, transform back to your human form just like you did now, and you will have mastered the Transformation at Will.

  Vincent licked his lips and nodded, giving a jittery, “okay, okay…”

  He had this, right? He really didn’t.

  He felt his mind muddle. His body waver on the spot. He felt like passing out, too weak to stand. He nodded, clenched a shaky fist, and let out a determined breath. He wasn’t going to give in now and certainly wasn’t going to give up. He had no other choice at this point. And truth be told, he had a willingness to literally die for this, so he put the thoughts churning into motion, thinking about things, animalistic things, and Alicia came to mind.

  Confronting her, fighting her, and their potential date. Thoughts of her in a bikini, or a bra, or naked in a steamy shower.

  That really kicked his animal fury into gear in a way he didn’t intend. Came bursting to the surface as he thought about other things. Facing down Alacard, and knocking him on the floor. Stepping on his chest and ripping his neck out. Devouring his flesh in a mighty movement of pleasurable delight. Those thoughts made him lean back and bellow out a mighty howl as he transformed in a quick, smooth, and easy motion.

  The pain was still there. Terrible pain. Cracking and crunching and breaking apart. And reforming. Still, it was a little less.

  He ground his teeth and let out a snarl and growl. His animalistic nature, and thoughts, pushed the pain away.

  And then he was in his werewolf form, ready to unleash. The Beast Mind at the forefront. Growling for him to unleash, to let loose, to break through this petty cage of concrete and metal. To burst through the door he came in through. To fight Mr. B, if he had to, easily beating him. Then moving on Alacard, defeating him as well. Ripping him apart and devouring his flesh and blood. He’d make his way down the corridor, up the stairs, burst out the door, and bound through the grass. He’d used his heightened sense of smell and sight and hearing to locate Alicia. To find her in a vulnerable moment. To face her, challenge her, defeat her, pin her down and. He felt himself growl as he stepped backward, the Beast Mind trying to take control. Wanting to let it, feeling how easy it would be, how glorious and pleasurable to just let it happen. To engage in it, all of it. Especially with Alicia. Oh, Ginga, the passionate pleasure it would be to take her in various ways. To lick her skin and take in her scent and body and –

  “NO!” Vincent snarled in defiance, his own voice coming through in a guttural, animal-choking bellow. “I am the master. I am the one in control. Not you. So, behave, and do as you’re told.”

  And it all came back to him, like a cold rush of a waterfall. Hitting his consciousness. His thoughts, his clarity. And he looked upward, senses at his command, ears alert and taking in noise he never took in before. The small movements of the camera. A slight breeze coming from the slits that let in the manufactured moonlight. The soft hum of the computer from the other room. Mr. B’s and Alacard’s breathing.

  “Whoa,” he said, flexing one of his arms and hand into a fist.

  He felt the power in that movement, saw the details of the flexing, toned, muscly veins of his arms. His bulging biceps and strong forearm. A feeling, an inner sense and knowing that he could lift a car on his own. Claw through the trunk of a tree. Maybe even break through this concrete and metal wall and destroy Alacard in his human form.

  “This is so cool.” He let out a childish chuckle, as if noticing something that was awesome and intriguing and amazing all at once. It was totally out of this world. It was so supernatural.

  “Fuck yeah,” he couldn’t help but blurt out.

  He wanted to break free. To be let out. To run wild through the forest. To climb the surrounding mountains. To leap into the sky. To show everyone what he was capable of. Then he remembered that he had to transform back on his own, one last time. He had done it before, so he could do it again.

  “Now,” Mr. B said, his voice slow and intent, sounding a bit anxious at this final instruction. “Just transform back to your human side one last time, and you’ll have it, son.”

  Vincent nodded, reflexively licking his lips. The sensation feeling weird as his tongue was longer and larger, lapping along his teeth and long snout at a weird angle. While there was also a familiarity to it, it was still strange and would take a lot of getting used to. “Okay. Here goes.”

  He rubbed his huge hands and long fingers together, the movement a bit disjointed as his claws scraped against one another. One of his hands slipped, slicing along his arm, and he winced.

  “Ow!” He peered down at the wound and sucked in air.

  It was weird seeing blood flow and move to thickness as it clumped and began to clot quicker than in his human form. He suddenly knew that it would heal after a night’s rest, and that uplifted him.

  He moved his neck about. Hopping light on his feet. Getting himself ready to transform back. He flexed his legs, bending them slightly, and concentrated on the human side. His side. Just like he had before. And just like that, minus the movements of pain from transforming back, he was back to his human form.

  Sweaty, hungry, feeling like he was going to pass out, and unable to stand. He fell to his knees in a grunting motion that hurt as he hit the ground.

  He was human again.

  He looked up, gave a weak smile and thumbs-up, and said with a dry throat, that came out in a low gasp, “I did it.”

  Then he fell over and passed out.

  .   .   .