Cross Conviction

With Max and Magnolia gone, the conversation soon died down and the remaining two boys retired to their bunks. Though Max would return sometime later, he found his comrades fast asleep and, recalling that the group had an early-morning terminology class scheduled, decided to do the same

After a few hours, Sturm was jolted awake- ripped from a mundane dream of food preparation by a sudden pain in his chest. With his breath heavy, he sat up slightly and clutched his sternum. 

Damn it, Sturm thought to himself, I'm pushing my luck. Maybe I should check back into the infirmary.

After a moment, the pressure building inside his ribcage continued to increase until Sturm felt forced to wake his friends. 

"Max..." he called aloud to the bunk above, "you awake up there?"

No response.

"Hey, Gustavo..." Sturm quickly followed up.

Again, he was met only by the sound of crickets chirping in the cool fall air outside the window. 

"Shit..." Sturm murmured, sitting all the way up against the headboard slats of his bunk.

With the pain growing and his chest becoming ever-tighter, he feared he was on the verge of yet another heart attack. Despite the direness of the situation, Sturm's less rational thoughts were not quelled. Even on the verge of cardiac arrest, he was more concerned with how another stint of medical leave might affect his performance evaluation. Though Scharf's words the other night likely came from a place of concern, Sturm suspected that they hinted at such a possibility.

Then, just as quickly as the episode began, the pain in Sturm's chest began to dull, giving way to the familiar strained rawness of muscle overexertion. Deep down, the boy knew that it would be in his best interest to alert his teammates regardless, but once more Sturm hesitated. He couldn't allow himself to further burden his friends. After all, he was the Hurricane's son. Even if Sturm could never fill his father's shoes, one born of such a prestigious pedigree was certainly destined to be a protector rather than the protected. In this belief he was resolute- he would aspire to such status even if it killed him.

Sturm took a deep breath, composing himself after the scare. He was wide awake now and, judging by the faint light leaking in through the window glass, he likely didn't have much more than an hour to rest. Instead of battling his twitching eyelids in a fruitless attempt to get an extra thirty minutes of sleep at most, Sturm decided that this might be a good opportunity to read the book Magnolia had retrieved from the library for him when he was still in the infirmary. After all, he hadn't even managed to penetrate the third chapter before Captain Scharf signed his medical release on Wednesday morning. 

With light feet, Sturm crept out of bed, careful not to wake his teammates. He then quietly made his way to the window-side desk where his book, “Tactics of the Holy Warriors” waited. Gently, Sturm pulled out the chair and took a seat. However, just as he reached for the intricately bound collection of medieval combat manuals, something peculiar grabbed his attention. There faintly visible in the dim early morning light, were the glossy silhouettes of Gustavo's three frogs facing the window. Curiously, they seemed transfixed- their attention fully dedicated to something beyond the glass. 

Sturm's intrigue got the better of him and, placing his book flat on the desktop, he leaned toward the window to get a better look at the object of the frogs’ interest. Unfortunately, little could be made out through the viscous early-morning fog. Brushing off the animals’ strange behavior as a desire to reach the chirping crickets or perhaps a general longing for the outdoors, Sturm, returned to his book.

A few moments later and while the boy was wrapped up in a summary of offensive pommel usage, one frog's sudden movement broke his focus. The small, wet-skinned creature had flattened itself against the hardwood of the desk but remained fixated on whatever it had been watching outside. 

Though Sturm initially considered waking Gustavo to report his frogs’ strange actions, he came to the internal realization that he didn't know what was normal for frogs. After all, he hadn't paid much attention to the amphibians. Perhaps they always stared out the windows blankly when they weren't on Gustavo's person. Accepting this as a likely possibility, Sturm calmed his mind and went back to his reading once more.

He went on for several more minutes, touching on topics such as area control and fluidity of motion. However, just as Sturm began to consider the practical applications of this newfound knowledge, he again became distracted. This time, instead of something visual diverting his attention, there was a heavy, ominous feeling in the air- the feeling of being watched. Looking up from the aged pages of his tome, Sturm froze as his eyes passed over an inky blob melded into the fog. He rubbed his eyes, distrusting of the sight before him. 

The dark shape remained. 

Was this a trick of the dawn or could someone be spying from the courtyard? Anxiously, Sturm cupped his hands around his eyes and pressed his face against the glass, struggling to make out any defining feature of the obscured shade. Just then, a second shape previously hidden out of view rushed by the window in a blackened blur. 

Startled, Sturm jumped back, stumbling over the chair and falling to the ground with a thud. “My God!” he panicked, scrambling to sit up. 

Roused from their slumber by their friend's exclamation, Max and Gustavo both looked down over the edge of their respective bunks. 

Wincing from the sudden shock, Max ran his forearm across his eyes and shook his head. “What the hell's going on, man? You good?”

Quickly gathering himself, Sturm pointed up at the window. “Someone's watching us through the window… at least two of them.”

Without a word, Max leaped down to the floor. His calcified blades slid forth from his pajama sleeves, ready for a confrontation. Though groggy, Gustavo inched his way down the metal frame ladder and pulled open the desk’s leftmost drawer. 

A look of sobering realization swept over Gustavo's face, followed by a shift to annoyance as he placed his hand palm up on the desk and collected his frogs. “Mierda…” he groaned, “We had to turn in our weapons for yesterday.”

“Yeah well, I got mine,” growled Max, “Help me open the window.”

Gustavo stepped back, his brow furrowed. “Don't be stupid. You have no idea who's out there. They're in the courtyard of a guarded knight academy. They could be exceptionals.”

“Then I'll get my first kill!” Max snapped back. “Nobody fucks with our team at our own dorm!”

Little did any of the boys know, the chaos was only just beginning.

Just as Max grasped the base of the window and began to pull upward, the central intercom crackled to life.

“Alarm! Alarm!”, a frantic male voice announced, “This is not a drill. This facility is under attack by hostile anti-government elements. All personnel are to immediately make their way to the nearest exit and reconvene at Training Field Number Four.”

“Come on Max, get away from the window,” Gustavo insisted, “We need to leave.”

Gritting his teeth, Max reluctantly retracted his claws. “Alright… regroup, then beat ass later…” he growled.

Without enough time to fully change into their uniforms, the group compromised by sliding their jackets over their pajamas and slipping into their boots. Sturm and Gustavo quickly dawned their caps as well and made for the door. Upon entering the hallway, they found the air polluted with discolored smoky wisps. 

“Magnolia!” cried Max, banging on her door, “Magnolia, get out here quick!”

Hastily opening the door inward, the girl was nearly struck in the face by Max's pounding fist. “I'm not deaf…” she groaned, wrapping her belt around the outside of her jacket.

The sound of many heavy-booted footsteps rushing up the hall caught Sturm’s attention. He anxiously turned to see Dominic, along with the other members of the Recovery Team; Emmy and Eduard, fast approaching. 

“Sturm!” cried a wide-eyed and anxious-looking Dominic as the two teams flowed into each other. 

Sturm placed his hand on Dominic’s shoulder and steadied the fidgeting knight candidate. “What's going on? Did you see anything?”

After a brief pause, Dominic gulped audibly and began to shake his head. “N-no, the alert said we're under attack.”

“So we've heard…” said Magnolia. “I'm not too keen on running into any of these terrorists without my violin, so we'd best heed the alarm and escape to the training field.”

“Yes,” a rough, disdainful voice piped up from behind the members of the recovery team, “You'd all best run along and leave the fighting to your betters.”

There, looming over Dominic’s shoulder, was Arthur Sturm's self-proclaimed rival, the white-haired Whirlwind. His fiery red eyes exuded disgust as the two-meter-tall teenager glared down at his peers. 

“In fact,” Whirlwind continued, “why don't you take this four-eyed disappointment with you so that I'm not responsible for him anymore.”

Though known for her mild-mannered, quiet nature, Emmy's slender hand balled into a fist as she turned around to meet her teammate. “Please stop, Whirlwind. Don't do this right now. You heard the announcement. This is an emergency. We need to run…”

“Run?” growled Whirlwind, “Fuck off. I'm done babysitting the three of you while you scrape charred bodies off the bricks. I'm not going to retreat while the instructors claim all the glory.”

With that, Whirlwind turned and started his way back down the hall from where he came.

“Hey, Metzeld!” shouted Eduard, “Where are you going?!”

Whirlwind stopped and turned his head just enough for one red eye to shine back at the group. “To get my gauntlets.”

As soon as the hot-tempered albino candidate rounded the corner and left their sight, the two teams were met by a disconcerting gurgling in the opposite direction. Throwing caution to the wind, Max immediately started toward the noise but was apprehended by Sturm, who firmly grasped the boy's sleeve.

Max tugged hard but was unable to pull his cuff free. “Hey, let go! Someone might be hurt up the hall!”

Sturm shook his head. “No Max, hold on. They said we're under attack. Don't be so hasty.”

Despite his reluctance, Max returned a nod and Sturm immediately released him. The two teams waited breathlessly as the sloshing footsteps of an unseen entity grew louder in their approach. The little training the young candidates had received thus far never could have prepared them for what rounded the corner.

Terror building in his voice, Dominic stammered, “W-what?”

“Guys…?” Max chimed in shakily, “What the hell am I looking at?”

“Alarm! Alarm! Multiple anomalies have breached the central academy building. Proceed with extreme caution and avoid direct confrontation if possible. This is an extreme-threat scenario. I repeat, avoid direct confrontation if possible.”