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Altair giggled, spinning on his heels with flapping feathers, another dagger tossed her way. She caught it in the air, but it tumbled twice in her palms. "It's your fault," Altair answered, non-existent sweat wiped from his forehead, fingers through blonde curls now tinged pink. "This class is about beating the fuck out of one another; Coach watches, provides a tip or two, prevents death. We stop when blood is drawn or a vital has been touched. You're right, you should be paired with another weakling. But you think I'll let another man lay a hand on you when I can?" He sneered, eyes glinting darker. "You must be fucking joking."

"So you bribed him?"

"There was no need," Altair purred. "He knows you're ours. Everyone knows you smell like pack cum for a reason. If they try to touch you it's like they're trying to touch our dicks."

Fucking disgusting. Rue growled. "I just want to learn the basics. I just want to improve, is that wrong?" The Espers that were in the class were now swarming, settling around to watch. But their eyes were not only on Altair, they were looking at her. Perhaps eager to watch him wipe the floor with her body. Or perhaps they wanted to see what kind of Guide could keep the seven in check. And this had a dart of anxiety pulsing in her throat.

"And I will teach you," Altair assured, the sleeves of his armour now tied taut around his waist. They were circling each other now, pacing in the sand. "The way we are all taught here."

"By destroying the weak?"

"Through experience," Altair smiled. "And survival."

He lunged. The feathers were transforming, no longer docile and pretty, becoming threads that were growing deadly, sharpened for the battle. It might have been only luck that got Rue twisting from his grasp, leaning back, but the blade nicked at her clothes, slicing through the sleeve. The fabric fell. Altair laughed.

Rue hissed, stabbing hard and fast towards him. But Altair was trained, practically the best. And it was laughable to assume that she might have a chance. Not when his tentacles were now transforming into whistling blades in the wind. His body snapped back and forth; dagger raised, giggles spilling. She didn't see him, and another nick was made to her clothes.

"Can't have you too sliced up," he reasoned sweetly. "I'll do it slowly like a strip tease."

"You're playing with me," she hissed.

"Don't worry, they chose me to come because of my feathers. I'll shield you if I have to." Altair hummed. "So, we could take this all the way." Why the fuck did she think that this would be a good idea? Rue growled.

"Just let me work with someone on my level."

"Nope."

He swiped her to the ground with a leg kicked out. The Earth spun and air whistled from her lungs, the impact rendering her momentarily winded. But another second and she was lifted up from the ground, stumbling on her feet, his laughter dancing in the air. She growled, heartbeat racing. He was fucking playing with her.

Her next attack, a blind stab into the flutter of feathers, was blocked by his forearm. And he finally slowed to meet her eyes, lips pouted, lashes fluttering, brows knotted upwards in pity.

Rue growled. "Should a mouse learn to fight from an eagle?"

"Cute," Altair purred. "Am I your eagle, my little mouse?" The aphrodite giggled, shaking his head. "And you're the one beating up my mates. Darling, you're no mouse. But your footwork is clumsy, and you hold the dagger like it's a pen. Plus, you're so slow." Another nick and her sleeve fell exposing her shoulder. "Brute strength's supposedly your expertise. I guess I was just whipped for pussy." Altair made a face. "Where's the snake that got her hands around my throat?"

"Come closer then," she replied, panting hard. "I don't bite. Give me all you've got."

"Ah, finally," he beamed, voice deepening into a salacious drawl. "I was waiting for you to say that."

His tentacles were transforming into bubbling liquid, a dark angry slime. A million limbs that swooped before her trapping her into a sudden rush of vanishing light. She gasped and now there was liquid all around her, flooding her mouth, choking in her throat—warm, thick and oozing. Her limbs jerked, bubbles popping all around her.

He trapped her in some kind of water bubble.

She swung her hands, desperate and terrified. She tried to kick, but her legs were trapped and she was sinking, held fast by his tentacles, now resembling oily snakes that curled around her thighs. But it wasn't water that he'd created in her new enclosure, it didn't feel like it. The liquid was not wet, and it resembled a slow sluggish gravity that allowed for oxygen to rush up into her lungs.

And then Altair was there, floating before her like a merman, glowing softly, pale and moon-like as he stared at her with eyes that inched towards a softer rose—petal pink sweetness. A smile swept across his face, his tails were curling around him like ink in water, like smoke in the air. His body seemed to pulse, and her body spasmed, choking briefly. The tentacles swarmed, toying with her face, tracing her lips, milking her throat, encouraging her to breathe.

This. This was Altair on the battlefield.

The fear crept into her veins, mind numb, bubbles bursting from her mouth.

"Those monsters, they're not just insects," Altair's voice echoed. "Media describe them as locusts, but those who've fought them will know the truth. That it's what they leave after death that's the most dangerous of all. The ink that pumps through their bodies is almost sentient. It takes from you and consumes you like some kind of poison. It festers and revives them. Turns all into some kind of zombie. It's like mind-control from a virus." Altair feigned a look of surprise, then gave her the most awful of grins. "I merely copied some of its properties to study, but it has become my best weapon."

She stared at him, but the tentacles were everywhere and the pressure was swelling. Her brain was falling back to the most basic of instincts. Panic swiftly controlling her. He looked at her like prey, and she felt like prey, unable to escape the web of his control. Her body struggling within the darkness.

His tentacles were moving, cold and awful, a black, crawling mass like sentient liquid from a horror movie. Bubbles exploded from her lips, a silenced scream twisting from her throat. Her fingers were reaching to tear them off, but his inky tentacles were digging, burrowing. It wormed its way into her, intruding, flooding, going into her eyes, tunnelling up into her head. It was so deep, so fucking awful, that the pressure swelled with its intrusion, nausea growing in her throat.

It didn't hurt, he wouldn't hurt her, but it felt so fucking wrong.