It is not a kendo sword, but it might as well be. The weight sits where a bokken would, the length close to a shinai, and my grip finds its place with ease. I roll my wrists and send it into motion, a clean circular wind-up that hums through the air, steel cutting space the way a bamboo bo staff once did.
The sound alone is enough. The alphas slow, hesitate. No one wants to be the first to test whether the arc will stop for bone.
I hold center, feet set, shoulders loose, the pipe spinning once more before I still it, the tip leveled to promise reach.
For a split second, I meet Salt’s eyes. He stands pressed with his backside to one of the nearby tables. It’s shock and respect. But I don’t care. It’s not done yet.
The tingling in my body is rising.
Fuck, why are my gums aching?
That is when one of the alphas breaks from the line. I recognize him. He was the one Bashir had the longest fight with. He’s considered second in skill here.
Courage or stupidity pushes him forward. He rushes in low, trying to beat the arc, and I step off-line instead of back, in a swift and sharp movement. The pipe snaps down, not to strike but to sweep, taking his legs out from under him in a clean cut. He hits hard, air blasting from his lungs, and I am already on him, knee dropping to his chest as my weight pins him flat.
But fuck, my hands feel wrong. My fingertips burn. The makeshift bokken slips from my grip…
What is going on?
Around me, the alpha group stays where it is, no longer advancing, watching me with their mouths gaping.
To my shock, I feel control slipping, immersing me in a red haze.
I tilt my head back, open my mouth, and let out a drawn-out, guttural roar, low and rumbling. In the AO language, it signifies victory, triumph.
"Holy shit," some beta shouts. "Back off, people! He’s going into fighting mode!"
Oh, fuck.
He’s probably right.
I can literally feel my glands swelling, my muscles bulging, but what’s with the gums? Am I about to deploy fangs?
The fighting mode is a unique state alphas enter when they are protecting their mated partner. Which makes no sense here. This should not happen with a beta. And yet, in my case, it is happening anyway.
I feel blood almost painfully flooding into my muscles as they swell and tighten.
"Back up, back up!" a beta yells. "His eyes are already red!"
He waves his arms and grabs at his own alpha, trying to pull him away from the floor. That is when I notice blood pouring freely from the man’s mouth. In his open lips, I see two lower teeth missing.
The beta’s shouts finally have an effect. No one wants to fight an alpha in fighting mode. Our bodies change then, turning almost beast-like. Pain doesn’t register. The adrenaline rush is so intense that we are nearly indestructible, at least for the duration of the episode.
The ring of alphas around me thins out. Some of them retreat to the back. None of these guys can enter fighting mode, since they're not mated alphas. They can't beat me, not at this stage.
Amid the chaos, one person stands motionless, observing me calmly.
Sidorov. Our eyes meet, and I let out a low growl.
He seems content! Psycho.
Then, I turn and, one more time, look at Salt. He still stands a few feet away, frozen in place, staring at me with his mouth hanging open. On his face I see fear, panic, and a painful awareness of what his behavior has led to.
"I’m sorry," he blurts out, his voice breaking.
Suddenly, Jeff cuts in from the side. He did not join the attackers. He stayed nearby, clapping and cheering the alphas as they rushed me.
"Don’t apologize, beta. This turned out great. When he kept wriggling out of Last Man Standing, we thought he didn’t have the balls."
