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The Afflicted Ch. 08

By: ShyChiWriter



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* * * *

There was an older man sitting in a chair in a darkened room. He just sat, staring at the wall. He was dressed in his traditional toga, which he had worn since he had been a young man in Ancient Rome.

He appeared to be perhaps fifty years old -- but that was by choice. So powerful was his connection to his body, he could have willed himself to appear twenty years old, young and vibrant -- or just as easily he could have made himself look frail and decrepit from age. He had long ago settled on the appearance e of a middle-aged man with a touch of gray. Such an appearance seemed to always command a greater amount of respect due a doctor.

He was Galen, the great physician, and he was weary.

Having lived the better part of two millennia of life on this earth, he felt there was little left for him to see.

The last blow had been the loss of his mate, Sabina, lost to the Weasel. She had been his fifth mate in his very long life and she had been the most intelligent of the lot. Though he had soldiered on for a fair while after the war, her loss had eventually crippled him emotionally and sent him into an extended bout of melancholy from which there seemed no escape. The worst part of his malaise was the fact that he knew from a clinical standpoint what he was suffering from. However, in the same breath, he could not even muster the strength to treat himself.

He now spent his days in sleep and his nights in contemplation. He had an extremely rare gift among the Afflicted. With his deep knowledge of the human body, he was able to quell his body's symbiote in its sexual hunger. Somehow, he was able to communicate with the cells in his own body and suppress their desire for a mate.

While this kept him alive, it was still not healthy (as anyone among the Afflicted could attest). Though they certainly admired (and somewhat envied) his ability to abstain for long periods of time, they also knew that for an Afflicted to go even a month without sexual release would cause a horrible upset to one's system. Decades? Such a thing was unheard of, and it was a testament to Galen's remarkable gifts and constitution that he was alive at all.

Every sundown, a beautiful volunteer would appear with his Galen's dose. There had been many of these volunteers, each of them hoping to be the one to bring the great Galen out of his shell and into her bed. Every sundown, he would calmly take the vial and curse at the woman in languages few on the earth understood any more.

This day was different. Instead of the naked 'sacrifant', he looked up to see his two prodigies at the door. Madame Jeanne Villepreux-Power, and Louis Pasteur. Jeannie walked with the vigor of a healthy Afflicted. Pasteur walked with the weight of many years of intense study weighing on his mortal shoulders. Pasteur was yet to submit to the blood rite and become one of them. He had a few more years of 'daylight' research to conduct.

"Jeanne, Louis," said Galen, wryly. "To what do I owe this distinct honor?"

"Drink," said Jeanne, handing him a vial of blood. "We must safeguard Louis here even from you."

"Good god," muttered Galen. "You should know he is safe from me."

"We take no chances," said the woman. "You taught us that yourself."

"I suppose I did," said the ancient physician. "Here then, I'll drink it."

Once he had taken his dose, he looked to the two scientists for an explanation of their visit.

"Look at these," said Pasteur.

He held out two sealed vials of blood. They were oddly striated, with the liquid within in two distinct bands -- a lighter and a darker.

"So?" said Galen, not bothering to look any closer. "It is a mated pair. Good for them."

"But they are not mated," explained Pasteur.

"Related?"

"Siblings," explained Villepreux-Power.

"They have lain with each other, there can be no doubt," mused Galen. His attention was piqued more than he would like to admit.

"Oui," said the woman scientist. "Yet the bond is curious. Intense, strong, but not seemingly dangerous."

"Why should I care?" growled Galen. "Let them mate, then. If you see no danger -- grant it."

"If only it were so simple," said Pasteur. "We must also consider the lineage. These two... their genes are not to be toyed with lightly."

"Who are they?" grumbled Galen.

"See for yourself," said Jeanne, handing him the vials.

"You just love seeing me do my little party trick," huffed the ancient physician. "Here, here, give them to me."

He held the samples, one in each hand. The cells were still very active, which was not unusual. The blood of the Afflicted was particularly resilient and could live for over a day outside of the body, should conditions allow.

"Very good," he said. "Yes, they long for each other. Just look at the way the cells have migrated to the side of the vial closer to that of their companion. Good, good. The boy is a flier. The girl is... a deplaceur. How fortuitous. Both are strong with the imitative function -- yes. If these two mated, they would likely take on some of the gifts of the other. A jumping flyer, not a bad set of skills. All good."

"But look who they are," insisted Villepreux-Power.

Galen closed his eyes and allowed his consciousness to zoom in even further. His consciousness was soon dodging in and out among the cells.

"The father," he murmured in his concentration. "Not Afflicted-born. Good. Always good to enhance the gene pool. Tunisian? No. Southern Spain? No. Moroccan! There it is, a Moroccan father of good stock. He obviously passed on some wonderful strengths to them. Now for the mother... the mother was Afflicted, and..."

Galen's eyes popped open in surprise.

"She's returned?" he said, his voice indicating the first excitement either of the two scientists had heard in over a decade.

"Oui," said the two others at once.

Jeanne continued.

"Following your protocols, the Council feels assured that last of the Weasel's victims have been found and eradicated. They gave her permission to join the greater population once more."

"And these are her children?" exclaimed Galen.

They nodded.

"By god, why hadn't someone told me?" he cried, standing up. "No wonder the daughter is a jumper. Small miracle one of the children wasn't born with skills none of us had ever heard of. Where is she? Where is Frederique?"

The transformation in the great doctor was so marked, it would have been comical had it not been so welcomed by the two scientists. This was just what Galen had needed, the shot in the arm that would finally re-energize him.

"New York," said Pasteur.

"Wonderful. Wonderful news," said the legendary physician. "I've not been to Manhattan in some time. I must go there. Tomorrow. No, the next day. No, I need a few days of course. I've much to prepare. I need your notes -- all of them. I've not been following your research for a while. I must see what you've come up with. Proceed cautiously with the children until I arrive and have a chance to examine them directly.

"Very good," said Villepreux-Power, trying to suppress a smile.

Pasteur lingered a bit.

"Docteur, since we do have your attention -- there is one other case we would like to bring to your attention."

"Of course, of course," said Galen, spryly. He himself was surprised at the sudden change in his body.

"It is the matter of Abigail Dumont."

Galen searched through his dim memories -- seen as if through a fog because of his long depression.

"Abigail... Abigail. I'm trying to remember what you said. Stuck with her brother, yes? Awakened in a safe house and isolated?"

"Yes," concurred Pasteur. "Her brother's gift is invisibility."

"Such a rare gift," said Galen admiringly.

"Yes, but it is Abigail who has raised some concern," said Villepreux-Power. "Her gifts are...well, I've worked with her. Her gifts are astounding."

"Remind me," said Galen.

"She is an empath, Galen," said Pasteur. "But not your 'ooh, someone is sad' sort of empath. She is unlike any seen in many generations."

"How powerful?" asked Galen with some concern.

"We still have no idea. She grows more powerful by the day. Mind control. Memory recall and transfer. Every day at the academy she brings another surprise"

"Is she mated yet?" asked Galen, a hint of concern growing in his voice.

"No," said Villepreux-Power.

"Is the Council aware of her?" asked Galen.

"Dreadfully," said Pasteur. "She is all the talk in the chambers of Reykjavik. They fear she could be another clockmaker."

A great sadness passed through Galen's eyes.

"Christophe was a dreadful tragedy," said Galen. "But avoidable. If that damned deplaceur would have kept still..."

"But he didn't," said Pasteur sadly. "Over a thousand of your kind were lost in one night because of the clockmaker's frightening power. The council fears young Abby could pose the same threat. Once she undergoes the blood rite and comes into her full power, there's no telling what she'll be capable of."

"I understand," said Galen somberly. "Bring me her files. Bring me a fresh sample as soon as you can. Make no changes in their living arrangements -- none of them -- neither pair of siblings. Not until I can review the files."

The two physicians agreed and left to retrieve what Galen had requested.

Galen was practically skipping about his quarters. Suddenly, just like that, he was engaged and enthusiastic about life again. He wrote down a few notes on the circumstances around his 'recovery', intending to analyze the variables later. He stopped now and again to examine the contents of the vials with his phenomenal gift. He tried to make sense of the fascinating properties in the blood of Claude and Aimée. This was a new challenge, at last. What to do with them? How to find them proper mates?

For over half a century, the mind of the great Galen had been asleep. He was awake once more.

With this new vigor, other stirrings were inevitable.

Outside of Galen's chambers was a young (for the Afflicted) girl named Colette. She had been coming to Galen's chambers for the past five years, ever since losing her first mate. She satisfied her hungers among the many council guards posted around the great blood bank. As a woman possessed of a keen scientific mind, she hoped her equally impressive physique might be the key to revive the Afflicted's greatest mind.

Her heart fluttered in excitement upon hearing, for the first time in her long vigil, the door of Galen's room open from the inside.

"Hello young lady?" said Galen. A fierce spark burning in his eyes as he examined the curves well-evident beneath her robes.

"Bonsoir, Monsieur Galen?" she said, all the while fighting to keep her voice calm.

"My dear, I know you have introduced yourself many times -- but I have been in something of a funk. Would you mind telling me your name again?"

"Colette," whispered the young scientist, barely able to speak.

"Colette, a lovely name," said Galen. "Would you mind stepping inside please?"

"Absolutment, Monsieur."

The young, buxom blonde stepped into room and had to fight to keep her knees from buckling. For the first time the great doctor was fully focused. As soon his eyes fell upon her, she understood why she had waited with this duty for so long. Every girl who had stood this watch had hoped to have this same gaze fall upon her. There were some women who were seduced by muscles. Others who were infatuated with good looks. Yes, there were still others who judged the value of a man by the size of his member. Colette fell in the other category, those who were most attracted to a man's mind. Among the Afflicted, there was no greater mind than that of Galen. Just one night with Galen was all she wanted (though she certainly hoped for more). Now, with his eyes bright and alert, she understood why she had waited. His presence was awe inspiring. Here was a man who had studied every cell in the body, every creature on the planet... and right now, his attention was focused on her.

"Come here, my dear," he said, gesturing for her to enter his chambers, which she did as though hypnotized.

"Colette, I have a bit of a problem?"

"What is that, Docteur? "

"Disrobe, please, and then sit," said Galen, patting the leather examining table that he was standing next to.

Colette was trembling, but she willingly let her lab coat fall from her shoulders and slowly unveiled her abundantly nubile body to the doctor, then hopped upon the table.

"Very good," said Galen in a low rumble. Try though he might, his body was in control now. Over five decades it had been denied and the ancient physician knew that it would be another organ besides his brain doing the talking for this evening.

"You see, Colette, I've decided to rejoin the land of the living, so-to-speak. As such, it has been a long while since I have examined a patient and I fear I'm out of practice. Can you help me re-familiarize myself with the human form?

Colette sighed, barely able to stop herself from leaping atop the doctor's body at that very moment.

"Yes, doctor," she whispered. "Anything. Anything for you."

"Good, such a helpful girl."

Girl was a fascinating term in this setting. Colette was certainly a great beauty, but she was also one of the most promising minds among The Afflicted. She was also young, only twenty-eight. Compared to Galen, that was indeed a girlish age. Lastly... she certainly felt like a girl. As confident and accomplished as she was in other arenas; here, in front of the great Galen, she was reduced to the equivalent of a giggling schoolgirl, and she didn't mind in the least.

Galen put his hand directly upon her left breast and she trembled with excitement. Her ample breast filled his hand and then some, but he could already feel her beating heart beneath his palm.

"I am a bit out of contact," said Galen in a low, seductive voice. "But let's see what I can discover about you."

He closed his eyes and concentrated... though still caressing her breasts slowly.

"Ah, I should have known who you were sooner," he said with a smile. "Your mother was Kristine Muller and was born in Bavaria in the late fifteen hundreds. Your father was... hmm, interesting. Your mother was mated to Molner Prestiva of Italy, yet I don't detect his strain within you."

"No," said Colette with a blush. "When I was selecting a bloodmate it was discovered that I must have been conceived at the wedding celebration. My biological father was the best man..."

"Benedict Moore," said Galen.

"Why yes, how did you... oh, of course," she said. "As my mother told it, there were three couples who entered the bedchamber on her wedding night and they umm... traded off frequently."

"Of course, of course," said Galen. "Not unheard of... not advisable, but still, you turned out well. Very well."

"Thank you, doctor," she sighed as his hand kept massaging her breast and his other wrapped around her waist. He was now standing between her legs and his face was inches from hers.

"What... what else can you see, doctor?" she stammered.

"What else now... you are, twenty-six, I believe. You awoke at nineteen... your bloodmate is dead, I'm sorry about that my dear, I know the pain that brings. You mated at twenty-one and he must have died within a year or so of your mating, damned shame. You have been laying with many men to appease your hunger, but there are three who you choose most often."

"No, that's all right, doctor," she moaned.

He was touching her, but not in an overt sexual fashion. Yes, his hand was caressing her breast, but not too aggressively. His hand on her waist was also seemingly 'innocent'. Yet, his touch had set her afire unlike anything she could remember. Though Galen could not alter cells in the way that the clockmaker had, he could influence them through his touch... and that was just what he was doing at this moment. Though he could accomplish such a thing deliberately, at this moment he was doing it unwittingly. Her nervous system was lighting up like a firework as his mind pushed and pulled, and explored... and each of those pushes was now stimulating her erogenous system.

"Doctor, I am... I am quite helpless, I'm afraid," she murmured. "I don't know what you are doing, but I feel I may explode, good sir."

"We can't have that now, can we?" said Galen. "We will proceed with our examination."

He lifted his toga and her hand slipped down to feel what was there.

"Mon Deux!," she gasped upon feeling what was waiting for her there.

She gasped at the first touch of his her fingers on his rock hard member. Having him in her hand caused her pulse to race. The nerves in Galen's cock practically sang to her own skin. It was so rigid, too -- each vein practically popping out, and each heartbeat bouncing beneath her fingers.

She groaned as she placed him at her silky opening and felt him slide in the first few centimeters.

"Mmm... now I can see you even better," said Galen as he unraveled his toga and let it fall to the floor.

It was true... now that he was so intimately connected to her, it was as though he could sense every tiniest cell within her body.

He pulled her into a rough kiss and then growled. "I will do my best, my dear, to control myself -- but I must warn you that it may be rough."

"Good," whimpered Colette. "I look forward to it."

On the word 'rough', Galen had pushed his full and impatient length into her.

Decades of waiting stored inside. Decades of a beast suppressed. Colette indeed had a long, heavenly, but athletic night in store.

Galen began to thrust slowly into her and she knew she was lost. Galen's lovemaking was legendary among the Afflicted. He understood every cell, every nerve in the body. It was said that when he had sex with a partner it was as though he was not only inside of her pussy, but inside of her head and every crevice of her body.

That was how it felt to Colette. Every stroke of his frighteningly stiff cock felt like it was massaging every part of her frame. Unbidden, her first massive orgasm arrived just a few minutes after the started. The table top was of the finest leather and her fingernails clawed lines into the surface as she tipped back her head in a silent scream.

"Please... doctor," she finally gasped. "Please, fill me."

"Very well," he said. "It will be the first of many."

He thrust into her several more times and then he pulled her tightly into his body, her large breasts crushed against his chest.

As she felt gush after gush pouring into her tight interior, she knew there was even more. Once her silky cavern was full, she slid off of him and dropped to the floor.

"More, doctor, more!" she cried.

The years of stored seed kept coming and she drank it hungrily as it kept pumping out. When she couldn't even take that, she aimed his beautiful member over her breasts and let it keep spurting until the last of it was gone.

"Sorry it was so much," he said with a wry smile.

"Oh, doctor," she moaned. "It only served to make me more hungry and thirsty. Come to the bedroom so I can get my fill once again."

* * * *

The battle ring in the academy would be familiar to any warrior from any generation. A hard earthen floor, weapon racks around the edge, and all of the usual trappings.

Thanks to Aimée's deplacing ability, they had been able to make it just in time. Aurelius Scaurus brooked no tardiness.

Scare-us as he was widely called, was one of the most feared yet respected among all of the Afflicted. He had trained nearly every swordsman in their ranks and his knowledge spanned all the way back to the times of the Gladiators. The Afflicted had actually recruited him away from the Romans.


The Afflicted Ch. 08



"You just made it, girls," he said with a raised eyebrow. The clock had tolled as they fell in.

"Tonight," he said, "we will have a slight change in usual order of things. You have two new students in your ranks. It would be best to begin by determining their skills. Tournament time. Since we have 31 current students in the Academy, Abby will get a reprieve in the first round. I will choose opponents. Grab a weapon and wait until your name is called. Standard rules apply. First blood denotes winner. No torso or head blows. Any blow must be delivered within or directly above the circumference of the battle ring.

The stoic guardswoman, Bullet, stood at Scaurus' side. Bullet crossed to a nearby chalkboard and drew out a simple bracket to track the winners.

"Aimée and Anders," shouted Scaurus.

Aimée had to suppress a blush as she walked into the ring. She couldn't help but wonder if Bullet of their very recent tryst. Whether he did or not, she and Anders were soon saluting each other with their blades and taking guard.

Whatever Anders' skill was, it wasn't flying but he was a very competent swordsman. He moved with the fluid grace of a dancer, but that didn't mean he wasn't a threat. Aimée was hard pressed to ward off his blows which came in almost fluid-like attacks. She was bound and determined not to use her gift for as long as possible. Twice, she was nearly forced to wink out but was able to parry Anders' sword. At last she saw an opening and lunged in. Surprisingly, he actually turned the wrong direction and instead of the mere nick she had intended, the blade sliced across his forearm and ended with a sickening ccrchhh sound as the blade sliced clear to the bone.

There was a universal gasp from the group as Anders turned white and pale from the immediate shock. Abby came running to his side and examined the cut with concern.

"Oh dear," exclaimed Abby. She placed her hand on his face and was stopped very quickly by Scaurus.

"None of your healing, young lady," he said sternly. "You're still fighting tonight and need your energy."

Abby turned and batted her eyes pathetically.

"But it's a two-day wound, Master Aurelius" pleaded Abby. "Can't I please help, just a little?"

"Young lady," said Scaurus without missing a beat. "I've had pretty young things trying to work their wiles on me since before your Great-great-great-great Grandmother was even born; girls with siren-like gifts, pure beauties, and even other empaths. None of their doe-eyes or accidental cleavage or anything else ever worked -- and neither will this. Let him bleed and learn his lesson."

Abby stamped her foot and crossed away.

Aurelius turned to Anders.

"As for you, my Scandinavian friend -- I'd like to remind you that pretty blondes with big tits are waiting for you in Valhalla. Save your weakness for them. While you're on this planet, treat all foes the same, bosoms or otherwise. Understood?"

Anders nodded and scuttled over to a bench to recover.

"You know," whispered a voice in Aimée's ear. "If I knew it was you waiting for me in Valhalla, I would willingly give up my life."

Aimée rolled her eyes and turned to face Jacob, the owner of the smarmy voice.

"That would be a shame," she said, scathingly. "Because I would be the one making you fetch me mead up in heaven -- not the other way around."

"Which I would gladly do," said Jacob without missing a beat.

"Oh my god," said Aimée in disgust. She turned her back on him once more and walked to the other side of the arena -- wanting to stay away from the boy she'd found arrogant and presumptuous since first laying eyes on him.

It was the perceived presumption that annoyed her. To Aimée, it felt as though Jacob knew she had experienced sex with him (by way of sharing Abby's memories). In her mind, it felt like he was assuming that because Claude had found this instant connection to Abby that Aimée would reciprocate in the same fashion with him.

She could also tell that he knew he was charming and attractive, in an offbeat way. It might have been her imagination, but it felt like he was just assuming she would sleep with him.

Next up in the fighting were two fliers who acquitted themselves well. Next, came Jackie against a boy from the other dorm. Jackie had an unusual style of sword fighting, using two blades -- one long and one short (much like Frederique). She did so with surprising dexterity and dispatched her opponent with ease, not even needing to use her flying skills. Aimée took note to take care if she ever had to fight the aggressive young woman.

Next came Claude against Oppo. By appearances, it would seem Claude would win easily but as soon as Scaurus blew the whistle to start - Oppo flew into the air as though flung by a catapult. Shocked, Claude followed him and was at an immediate disadvantage with Oppo constantly maintaining an advantage of height or distance.

There was no doubt that Claude had the stronger sword arm -- but that meant little when balanced by Oppo's superior flying skills. His tactics involved always staying just out of reach -- then darting in at the last moment for a strike.

Still, Claude acquitted himself well and their battle was the longest of the night so far. Five, then ten, then fifteen minutes passed. At last, Oppo seemed to tire and Claude moved in closer to engage. It was then that Oppo showed his clear superiority in the air. Just as Claude thought he was delivering the winning blow, Oppo spun and twisted on the vertical axis. This left Claude foundering in the air and suddenly at a great disadvantage as he attempted to parry blows from angles he had never even imagined.

After a blinding exchange, Oppo flitted to the right slightly and Claude's blade darted toward Oppo's unguarded arm. However, in his excitement, he failed to notice Oppo's own blade surging toward him. Both young men cried out in pain at the exact same moment -- with matching wounds in their left shoulders.

As Claude descended to the ground holding his bleeding arm, he realized two things. One, he had mountains to learn about aerial fighting. Two, his mother had been going incredibly easy on both he and his father. If Claude could be bested by a mere twenty-year old, he couldn't imagine what his six-hundred year old mother could accomplish -- or others with similar experience.

"Let's have a look," said Scaurus.

He crossed over to the two youths and examined the wounds in their shoulders.

"Well Oppo," he said. "I'd usually call this a tie, but since part of the purpose of this is to see our new students in combat, would you mind sitting this out?"

"I concede," said Oppo with a gentle smile. "His flying technique needs some work -- but by god I've never seen a faster sword arm."

The next round proceeded, and it came time for Abby to fight.

"I hate fighting," she whispered to Aimée as she picked up the short sword and chain she had chosen as weapons.

"I'd imagine," whispered Aimée in return. "To have to fight when you're blind; that's terrifying."

"Oh, I'm not scared," said Abby with a grin. "I'm bored, mostly. Plus, I don't like hurting people."

Bored? Mused Aimée as the curvaceous redhead took to the sand. She was fighting Victor, a mammoth boy from their dorm who was visibly shaking in fear.

"How will she win?" asked Claude in wonder to Jacob.

"How won't she win?" replied her brother. "Abby's been champion for three months now. No one can touch her, even when she doesn't cheat."

"How does one cheat in this?"

"Oh, it's not really cheating," said Jacob. "All use of gifts are allowed but Abby's advantages are so frightening, she rarely uses even a fraction of what she can do."

"How?" asked Claude.

"Just watch."

"Now, you know I won't hurt you very badly if I can help it," said Abby reassuringly to Victor.

"I know," muttered the huge boy. "But it doesn't make it any easier."

Victor circled Abby warily. Oddly, Abby made no move to face him. After perhaps two minutes of this -- Victor screamed and made a sudden lunge.

He could have been as swift as a rattle snake but it would have made no difference. Abby was gone before he even began moving and nearly everyone couldn't help but gasp in wonder as Abby knelt, pushed the chain over her head in a loop to wrap round Victor's wrist, and threw him to the ground -- all in a fraction of a second.

Her sword was just as quickly at his throat.

"Good enough, Master Scaurus?"

Scaurus nodded, a grim smile on his lips.

"How did she do that?" wondered Claude.

"She reads minds," said Jacob. "Imagine how difficult that would be. To fight someone who knows what you are planning before even you do."

"What's wrong with her eyes?" asked Claude -- who had noticed Abby's slightly odd stare for the first time.

"I'm blind, big boy," said Abby who was walking past. "But that doesn't mean I don't see things I like."

Jacob looked at the two of them with a curious expression. Claude had confessed to Jacob that he'd fallen for Abby. Knowing Abby as well as he did, Jacob couldn't help observing that there was more in her words than mere flirtation. There had been a different sort of glow on her face when she'd been near Claude. For the first time, he knew that Claude really was something special to his sister. He did his best to make peace with that.

Jacob was soon called to the ring and easily bested his first opponent -- a mousy girl from their dorm whose skills were in the sciences. She never even got a blade near him after he winked out. Within moments, he pinked her forearm gently from concealment, causing a wound that healed before they even left the ring.

A round later, Claude's shoulder had healed. He and Jacob looked at each other with amusement when Scaurus called out their names as opponents.

The two friends crossed to the weapons rack and examined their choices. Claude's eyebrows raised in concern when he saw Jacob grab a belt filled with throwing knives. He could certainly hover high out of reach -- but not indefinitely. Claude decided to keep his sword, but knew he needed other tools to have any hope.

His answer came from an unexpected place. Much like there would have been in Scaurus' time, there was a water bucket at the edge of the ring with a ladle for drinking. He grabbed it and carried it with him to the ring.

"What?" said Jacob, amused. "Do you plan on staying up there so long you get thirsty?"

"Something like that," said Claude with a grin.

While many of the students were laughing at Claude's odd choice, there seemed to be an air of approval on Scaurus's face as he blew the whistle.

Claude quickly ascended to a place high over the ring, all the while facing downward. Soon enough, a throwing dagger appeared out of nowhere -- sailing quickly toward him and barely giving him time to bat the flying blade away with his sword.

"Christ, he's got an arm," Claude muttered to himself as he sailed even higher. Another two daggers flew toward him, but the distance gave him an advantage and he was able to dodge quickly when he saw them emerging from his invisible opponent.

"One chance," he mused to himself. "Better make this count."

Watching where the next blade came from, Claude dodged, then tossed the contents of the bucket into the air. Taking the swing of a batsman, he swung the flat of his blade into the largest bulk of the water -- obliterating it to droplets. At the same moment, he threw the bucket toward the ground and then dove at a frightening rate to take a kneeling, guarded position on the ground.

He watched and listened intently. Jacob wasn't moving -- which was good. Moments later, the first droplets arrived. Claude's senses were more heightened than he ever remembered. He listened intently -- but also watched for what he hoped he would see.

"There," he thought to himself, as the silhouette of a man emerged just to his right -- around three meters away. The figure's arm was drawn back for a throw.

He dove to the left, just avoiding the knife which followed, then sprang as fast as he could, flying swiftly to where Jacob should be.

Claude tackled the invisible figure and struggled to find the arms -- knowing his only hope was in pinning them down. Yes, he had the right arm. However, Jacob twisted out of the way with his left and Claude grasped about in a panic.

It was too late. He suddenly felt a searing pain in his thigh, where Jacob had buried his knife.

"Sorry, my friend," said Jacob. He reappeared at the same instant he pulled out the knife.

"Don't worry about it," said Claude, taking the hand Jacob offered to help him up. Jacob kept Claude's hand in his and pulled Claude's arm around his shoulders, helping Claude limp off the field.

"Is it very bad?" asked Jacob.

"No," said Claude. "It was clean in and out, no slash. I'll be better in less than half an hour."

"Well done, you two," said Scaurus, offering rare praise. "Not that we have points, Claude -- but if we did you would have some extra ones for ingenuity."

Aimée's turn came again. This time it was against a girl named Diana from their dorm. She was aptly named, for she chose bow and arrow as her weapon. She was also a flier. She chose the same technique as Oppo and sailed with frightening speed into the air. As Aimée saw her opponent drawing her bow she realized it was time to reveal her skill and give up the element of surprise she'd been hoping for in later rounds.

It was none too soon. No sooner had Aimée relocated to the other side of the ring than the arrow went plunging into the sand precisely where her legs had been.

"Jumper!" was the phrase whispered by the students with great excitement. It was a rare occasion to meet a deplaceur, let alone have the occasion to battle one.

Diana adjusted quickly, however -- and Aimée was soon winking in and out at a rate of one jump per second.

At first she thought she would have the advantage of exhausting the other girl's quiver -- but she noted with chagrin that there were actually armament shelves placed higher up in the ring for the fliers. She had only a brief respite before Diana had grabbed another quiver and was firing once more.

It suddenly occurred to Aimée that there had been no rules placed on staying within the ring -- merely that the winning blow had to be struck somewhere within the imaginary cylinder of the ring.

She blinked out and found herself at the transport station outside of the dorm. Taking the moment to catch her breath, she devised a plan. Closing her eyes, she pictured the ring in her mind. Then, she visualized the space above it and 'whumphh' she was there, and falling.

She had intended on appearing perhaps one hundred feet above Diana in order to mask the sound of her deplacing. Once in the air, it was clear she had drawn a poor picture in her mind. She was not one hundred, but over one thousand feet above the ring.

She had practiced such things with Claude before, falling freely through the clouds above the ocean. They had learned that if one pulled their hands to their sides and aimed straight down, it was possible to change directions with tiny gestures. Of course, in those times she'd had Claude to fly her away.

She was barreling downward and smiled upon seeing Diana still aiming down toward the ring with her bow.

By the time Diana heard the whistle of air through Aimée's clothes it was too late. Aimée swooped past the archer, cutting a light gash in the girl's leg and at the same moment winked out.

She reappeared in the place she had done so often -- with Claude. All eyes were still watching the sky and no one even saw her as she materialized, wrapped sensuously around him... all from reflexive instinct. He looked down to her and blushed. She patted his cheek and gave him a light kiss on the lips.

Next, she stepped away and walked into the ring. Her appearance was met with enthusiastic applause as people saw her. She stood in the center and waited to greet her defeated opponent who was sinking shamefacedly to the ground.

"Sloppy work," said Scaurus to Diana. "Even if you knew she couldn't fly, that's no excuse for not guarding in all directions. In a real battle, I've seen jumpers drop fliers in exactly the same fashion. Well done, though, Aimée. You're also in luck, for we have Bullet here to instruct you."

The next two rounds were both depressing and exciting. Depressing for the other opponents, for none of them had any clue on how to defeat Abby or Aimée.

Jacob was actually one of Abby's victims.

"Good luck," muttered Claude to his tall, ginger companion.

"I don't have a chance," said Jacob. "She's further in my head than you can imagine and the damned girl is blind, to boot. What does it matter if I'm invisible?"

Jacob's words rang very true once the whistle was blown. As they watched Abby parry an invisible companion, they couldn't help but laugh upon seeing her grab her unseen opponent and flip him around. Jacob soon appeared, his head stuck between Abby's thighs, her dagger poised above his head.

"Good?" she asked of Scaurus.

"Fine," said Scaurus, shaking his head in frustration. "Never in all my days -- and that's a lot of days -- never, did I think a blind girl would be my most frightening fighter. And, she doesn't even care that she is."

Abby shrugged and flashed a Scaurus a cute grin, which exasperated him even more.

The most awe-inspiring demonstration was Abby's match against Jackie in the semi-finals. Abby had defeated her other opponents by simply out-moving the blows she knew were coming. However, her strategy against Jackie gave evidence of the young empath's frightening abilities.

The whistle blew -- and Jackie froze. She stood there, unmoving and unblinking. Abby calmly walked beside the statue-like girl and placed a poniard to her lovely neck.

"Victory, Master Scaurus?"

"Yes," said Scaurus with a sincere nod. "But you must tell us how you did it?

"She slowed things down," said Jackie -- who Abby had quickly released. "All the world stopped and then she moved at lightning speed and was there at my throat.

"But she didn't," protested Diana. "We all watched. She moved normally."

"Not to Jackie," explained Abby. "I slowed down her perception of the world to a snail's pace. Simple."

To the group, it wasn't so simple. It was a dazzling display of their friend's power.

Next, Aimée made quick work of her foe. The two friends realized they were fighting each other for top honors in the ring.

"What the hell," said Abby, resignedly. "We already fought each other once today. We might as well do it right."

"Agreed," said Aimée.

Aimée knew she had little time. Abby would most likely play by the rules, and that meant she wouldn't use her powers until the whistle blew. Aimée steeled herself and as soon as the first tweet sounded, she whisked away -- again to the platform.

It was lucky she did. Already, she'd felt Abby's mind reaching out. It was smoke she'd seen. Abby had intended on blinding her with illusions of smoke in Aimée's mind -- making it impossible for her to see. Aimée shook her head to clear the visions, and gave thanks that Abby's gift worked better with closer proximity to the person. She pictured Abby in her mind, standing patiently in the ring. Determining a strategy, she brought all of her attention to focus.

In.

She materialized not more than two feet from Abby. She thrust quickly, but already Abby's amazing mind detected Aimée's intentions and dodged out of the way. Instantaneously, Abby's mind was reaching out -- this time with the idea that Aimée's legs were stuck in thick mud.

Out.

Aimée was back again at the platform, away from Abby's grasping mind.




The Afflicted Ch. 08



In.

Aimée sent out a thrust, missed, and tried to block the mental assault from Abby. This time, it was a gigantic eagle swooping in toward her.

Out.

Peace again.

Aimée tried several more times, but she saw that it was futile. She would never beat Abby in a direct assault, her friend's mind was too strong.

Aimée contemplated what she could possibly do. Suddenly, a memory came to her. She remembered all of the times Claude had taunted her when they were children. When he had descended to his most cruel she had simply plugged her ears and shouted out nonsense as loud as she could. Since she hadn't been able to silence him, she'd had to drown him out.

That was it! She realized the key to Abby's power was in control. The empath controlled her opponent's minds. Even when she wasn't doing that -- she tapped into their thoughts and was able to counter any sort of attacks.

What if there were no thoughts? What if there was no coherent attack? Abby could do many things, but she couldn't manage confusion. If nothing was logical, she would have nothing to hang onto.

Aimée marshaled her thoughts. She closed her eyes and began singing her favorite nursery song from her childhood.

"Frere Jacques, Frere Jacques..."

Keeping her eyes closed, she envisioned herself materializing in the ring near Abby.

In.

"Dormez vous, Dormez vous!"

Aimée's eyes were still closed. She was thrusting about with no plan whatsoever, making horrible sloppy slashes.

Clang. Her sword bounced off of Abby's sword.

Suddenly, Abby was back in her mind -- following the trail of the nursery rhyme and trying to latch onto it to control Aimée's thoughts. Aimée switched.

"La la la! Blah blah, blah!"

The strategy worked, Abby was unable to grasp ahold of anything concrete in Aimée's mind. However, her attempt to control Aimée was almost like someone shouting out their name in blind man's bluff. By following the path of Abby's mind, Aimée could tell with 'hotter' or 'colder' how close Abby was.

More slashing, more unplanned thrusts. Abby's sword arm was strong enough and she had that uncanny ability of some people who are blind. Without her eyes, her other senses had grown more acute. By sound, Abby was able to block several of Aimée's attempts -- but only for so long. After several intense moments, Aimée felt the sickening 'squish' which she knew so well. She opened her eyes in panic, but was gratified to see she had merely grazed the meat of Abby's hip. It certainly wasn't comfortable, but it would heal well and was nowhere near any vital organs.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," cried Scaurus. "For the first time in more than three months, I give you a new champion."

Aimée blushed at the applause and accepted the many congratulations with great humility.

"Sorry," she whispered to Abby.

"Are you kidding," whispered the redhead back to her. "That was brilliant, and I'm SO glad not to be champion for a while."

Scaurus pulled Claude and Aimée aside.

"I must say, I'm very impressed with both of you," said the ancient instructor. "Fighting is one thing, thinking is another -- and you two are first-rate thinkers."

"Now, time for individual training!" called Scaurus to the group. "Fliers with me, others to the sword instructors -- and Aimée with Bullet."

* * * *

Claude followed Scaurus and the others down a long hallway. Their journey ended in a curious, massive square room. It was a cube of at least thirty meters on each side. All surfaces were black -- jet black (or geet black as his mother sometimes said, reverting back to the ancient Anglo-Norman origin of the word). There was one source of light, a huge globe suspended near the ceiling. There were four individuals waiting for them in the room -- and Claude was surprised to see that one was his own father. He started, at first, but Palo simply gave him a tacit nod.

"My friends," announced Aurelius Scaurus. "I welcome you to the flight cube. This is the most important training facility we have available for fliers. Not only am I glad to welcome our cadets, but I am also pleased to see some adult newcomers as well as people returning for a refresher. I will tell you this. I, personally, submit myself to lessons at least once a year. There is nothing more dangerous than a complacent fighter. I would urge all of you to come back here from time to time to reinforce the basics.

"We fight here for two reasons," he continued. "One, because you need confines. Yes, the sky is a great friend -- but there will always come the point when you must engage. Here, you have limits on where you can run. Two, you must learn that flying is an entirely different discipline and that up and down are relative terms. You, and you -- come here."

He had indicated Claude and Palo.

"Before you stand two of the finest land swordsmen I have ever seen. I have told it to this gentleman (he indicated Palo) and I will say it to young Claude here. I would never wish to meet them in combat on the ground. I am fairly certain that either of them could best me on a given day if we were earthbound."

Scaurus levitated into the air and hung above them.

"However, I know I could make short work of either of them in the air. That is what we are here for -- to teach you the discipline of the skies."

"Here," he said, reaching into a bag on the floor. It held several small flasks with attached cords which he shook before handing to each of the students.

"In these containers is a very simple formula. Phosphorus, mineral oil, and a couple of other minor ingredients. Please place this around your neck and secure it around your chest so it doesn't fly about."

Claude and Palo did as he asked and looked curiously as the others did so.

"Please fly," instructed Aurelius.

He flew up to the globe, tapping it on the side which made it retract into the ceiling and disappear -- a cover sliding into place. Suddenly, they were ensconced in darkness, a score of figures glowing in endless darkness.

"Listen closely to my words," said Scaurus. "Up and down no longer have meaning. Up is a means of escape and eventual asphyxiation. Down is a place of refuge among trees and buildings - or the place where non-flying opponents are to be met. However, it is time to forget all lessons you know from the swordsmen Thibault, Destreza, or even Myamoto. You fight in three directions now, not two. Discard the mysterious circle and replace it with a mysterious sphere."

They started by closing their eyes, at which point Aurelius grabbed them by the shoulder and spun them around.

"No up. No down," he shouted. "Now, we learn how to fight as proper flyers should."

For the next two hours they were put through the most grueling, exhausting drills Claude could imagine. Scaurus's gaze was intent and infallible.

"No up!" he shouted at Claude whenever he detected the young man was drifting back toward relying on a vertical orientation. The flight cube really did help -- and Claude soon found himself thinking only in terms of his alignment with his opponent.

"No feet!" shouted Scaurus at Palo, who had just lunged with his body as though he were on ground. "You don't have feet any more Palo. Remember, you have wings! You fly. Do not forget it."

Palo nodded with chagrin and kept working. Palo was actually catching on more quickly than Claude. This impressed Scaurus. Often his older students had more bad habits he needed to break. Palo, at least when it came to swordsmanship, was a quick and receptive learner.

"Very good," shouted Scaurus after a full two hours. "You are all doing well. Now pair up and we'll see if the drills are taking hold."

* * * *

While Claude was in the flight cube and the others were sent to fencing masters or experts befitting their gifts, Aimée waited with the warrior woman who had been by Scaurus' side.

"So, you're called Bullet?" she asked.

"That is what they call me but you may call me by my name, Mathilda. We jumpers don't mind the nicknames, but among ourselves, we insist on our real names. You are Aimée."

"Yes, Aimée Du..."

"I know your surname," said Bullet, interrupting her. "For now, even with friends -- your last name is best not spoken."

Aimée nodded.

"Come with me. We will jump to a place where we can converse in private."

Bullet took Aimée's hand in hers and they winked out. When they materialized, Aimée felt a curious sense of déjà vu. They were in an elegant room, carved entirely from rock.

"I know this place," whispered Aimée.

"Impossible," said Bullet. "This place is inaccessible from the outside world."

"But I do, Mathilda," insisted Aimée. "This is the place where my friend Abby and her brother Jacob were hidden away."

"Yes," said Mathilda, sadly. "I was the one who found them on regular maintenance rounds. So, you know this place. Good. Fix it in your mind and we will go to another safe room."

Aimée did as instructed and then Bullet whisked them off to another place. This one was much warmer, but again it was a room with no entrances or exits."

"Where are we?" asked Aimée.

"This is the original safe room," explained Bullet. "When the very first Afflicted was found to be a jumper, or a trepidon as they were first known -- she sought out a place where she could take people to in secret. Since then, we have built a network of safe places -- the locations of which are only shared among Jumpers. For today, we will use these two. I will teach you a few more every time we meet. First, I must compliment you on your deplacing ability. You are quick and powerful. However, we must work on your noise."

"I know!" exclaimed Aimée. "No matter what I do, I can't seem to be more quiet."

"When in a rush, there is nothing you can do," explained Bullet. "You are displacing a body's worth of air. That air must go somewhere and it will make noise. However, if you take your time, you can ease in."

"But how?" asked Aimée.

"Think of it this way," said Bullet, crossing to the door to another room in the safe house. "If you come from one room to another -- you can jump in, as though you are wishing to startle someone."

With this, she stepped into the other room and then jumped from the other room back into theirs.

"Or," she explained while walking back into the other room. "You can slink in, like a cat."

She eased herself through the doorway gently, like fluid.

"The key," she went on, "is to be in both places at once. To do a standard jump, you just picture yourself in the new place. To do a quiet jump, you must envision yourself in both places and ease yourself in, just like I did in through the doorway."

To illustrate, Bullet slowly faded away and was soon no longer there. A moment later, she was easing back into the room.

She worked on this technique with Aimée for several minutes. Aimée caught on fairly quickly, but was still frustrated at the noise she sometimes made.

"Aimée," said Bullet calmly. "You've been jumping for less than two months. I've been doing it for over two hundred years. Give it time."

Bullet proceeded to teach Aimée five more safe houses, or rooms. She made Aimée recite the names and descriptions of each room. The names were unique and unmistakable from each other. The Aerie, the Tomb, Close Quarters, and so on.

"Now remember. A room is just a room. A safe room has limited supplies, but it is a valid escape in the short term. Also, safe rooms have an emergency exit which can be used. A safe 'house' is supplied, warm, and secure. Safe houses are also ensconced deep within something massive like a mountain with no exit other than by deplacing. Now, for the most important room of all."

They winked out and into a much more comfortable looking room. The walls were lined with maps and papers. There were bunks spread around, and a fully stocked pantry. Brolly, their savior from the black guard, was lounging in a chair, sipping at a beer.

"Brolly."

"Mathilda," said the affable Englishman. "Oh, and the fresh blood. Thank god! It's been nearly two years now since we got a new jumper."

"What is this place?" asked Aimée.

"This," explained Brolly, stepping into the conversation, "is the heart of the Afflicted empire. Everything comes and goes via this very room."

"What he says is true," continued Bullet. "All messages, all transports, they are all coordinated through this very place."

A gentle whoosh sang in the room and a new jumper stepped in. This was a raven haired beauty who seemed to wear a perpetual bemused expression that matched that of the genial Brolly.

"Bullet, Brolly -- new girl! Yay! New girl."

"Aimée," said Brolly, scooping the beautiful new woman into his arms. "This is Leonora, the love of my life."

"Since when?" asked Leonora, though she did return his kiss with her own enthusiasm.

"Since you showed up," teased Brolly. "How much time do you have?"

"A little," said Leonora. "But first..."

She crossed to a huge bulletin board where there were three clipboards labeled 'Transport', 'Message', and 'Sanctuary'. The messages and transports were just that.

"We log everything here," explained Bullet. "All messages, all transports, and they must be reconciled against the central request log in the council headquarters."

"Good. Lesson learned," said Brolly, "Now, if you don't mind, we have some business to attend to."

He scooped Leonora up in his arms and tossed her onto bed.

"Perhaps we should go," said Aimée, blushing.

"If you wish," said Bullet with a grin. "Take us to the tomb."

Aimée whisked them away and was proud of her arrival, which was soft as a whisper.

"Much better, Aimée," said Bullet, proudly.

"I've been wondering. Why the name? Why Bullet?" asked Aimée.

"Good question," said the woman. "Let's go... elsewhere so I can explain."

She winked them out and into a desert canyon.

"Where are we?" asked Aimée.

"It's called Nine Mile Canyon in the Utah Territory,' explained Bullet. "It helps to have some room to show you this. As you know jumping is safe because one cannot jump into anything. As useful as it would be in battle to emerge with one's sword already within an enemy's body, one must first materialize and then strike the blow. We are still fierce fighters, but there are limits."

"I thought long on this," explained Bullet. "When I began, the standard fighting technique for deplaceurs was fairly standard. Materialize, thrust, evaporate -- then repeat. It occurred to me what was missing was inertia."

"I don't understand," said Aimée, perplexed. "We appear instantaneously. What can be faster than that?"

"You see, you are confusing speed with inertia," explained Bullet. "Yes, speed is so rapid with us as to almost seem immaterial. However, inertia is the movement through a system. It seemed to me that movement was essential."

"But you do move when you jump."

"I relocate. I am not moving. Here, let me illustrate -- it will be easier to simply show you. Look out there. Those plants that are called sagebrush. See how they are about the height of a man? Imagine that the top of each plant is a man's head. Now, watch."

Bullet jogged several yards from Aimée. With a great look of determination, she pulled out her sword and began to run. Aided by the strength afforded her by the Affliction, she was absurdly fast. As she whooshed past Aimée, she muttered 'watch the sagebrush'.

Aimée turned to watch the bushes in question. Suddenly, at a full dash, Bullet disappeared. A split second later she reappeared, mid-stride, next to the first bush. Swish, the head of the bush went toppling. Aimée gasped in amazement as the heads of fifteen more bushes fell off in the space of less than a second -- Bullet appearing as a blur beside each one as she dashed past.

"Oh my god," gasped Aimée as Bullet appeared before her, panting just a bit. "You really are a bullet."

"I'm certainly a weapon, no doubt about that," said Bullet, matter-of-factly.

"Have you ever used that technique in battle?"

"Of course," said Mathilda. "We had a skirmish with the black guard about a century ago. I claimed fifty-three lives that day, most in less than ten minutes."

"That must be a record."

"No, not even for a jumper," said Bullet, with a touch of chagrin. "That honor goes to Brolly."

"Brolly?" cried Aimée in amazement. "He's so... he's so..."

"Informal?" suggested Bullet.

"Yes, informal."

"Don't let that casual attitude fool you, young lady," admonished Bullet. "I've seen him decimate a room in less time than I just took out those bushes -- and I mean decimate. The ancient Romans would do that -- killing one out of every ten males in a population."

"We were once pinned down by a group of rebels. Folks got it into their minds to go vampire hunting. They were waiting outside of an Afflicted stronghold. Brolly -- Charles is his real name, by the way -- he called down from the ramparts. "

"'How many men do you have?' 'Five hundred' they called back.'

"Just like that, Brolly winked out. All we heard were thuds. He came back with a frightening grin on his face."

"You've just been decimated!" he yells down.

"There were fifty men dead. Fifty. Ten percent, just like that. Brolly suggested they leave. They refused. Ten percent of four-hundred and fifty -- forty-five. Five seconds later, Brolly was back -- Four-hundred and five men were left standing. In the space of less than a minute, there were ninety five dead with knives to the neck. The rebels departed and never even thought of attacking our kind again."

"This is true?" asked Aimée in amazement.

"I swear it on the memory of Frederique La Teilière," said Bullet.

With a chortle, Aimée caught herself.

"Well, I suppose I'll have to adjust that exclamation. But yes, do not underestimate Brolly. I scare people with my fighting skills. He scares me with his.

"Teach me to be a bullet," insisted Aimée.

For the rest of their session, Bullet walked through the intricacies of her 'trick'. It was difficult at first, but by the end, Aimée had mastered three running jumps in a row.

Soon, it was time to return and Bullet allowed Aimée to whoosh them back to the battle ring.

The others were starting to gather. Claude was beaming with a smile that brightened all the room.

"How were your lessons?" she asked, coyly. "Good?"

"Wonderful," said Claude. "I have so much to learn -- but I'm excited to do so."

Then he dropped his voice to a whisper.

"By the way, father sends his love."

"You saw him? I'm jealous," said Aimée. "How does he look?"

"Very good. And by god, he's a monster in the air. You should see how much he learned in just one day."

"Now then," said Scaurus, calling them to attention. "We've barely an hour left before sunrise. I propose we have a team competition to finish off the day. Who here is healed enough from the tournament?"

Two dozen raised their hands. Seven of the thirty-one cadets were still nursing wounds too deep for battle.

"Very good. I will choose the teams. Six teams of four"

Surprisingly, Scaurus picked Aimée and Abby to be on a team and added Claude and Jacob to the foursome.

"Not fair," protested Oppo. "Two champions on the same team."

"Really Oppo?" said Scaurus with a patient grin. "And the enemy, do you think they'll choose their worst people to send to battle?"

"No, I suppose not," said Oppo. "But we'll still be crushed."

"Perhaps," explained Scaurus. "But, you've all taken enough of a beating for one day. This is just an ink match."

A sigh of relief went up from the cadets. Ink matches were pure fun. The weapons were either long or short dowels, the ends of which had a rubber stamp attached. All that was needed for a 'kill' was to imprint the ink on a vital organ. The ink was bright yellow, so no mistake could be made when someone was touched. There was also an unspoken rule that the ink had to touch skin, not just clothing.




The Afflicted Ch. 08



It was a free-for-all match. All six teams against each other. Whoever had the last player standing was the winner.

"We need a strategy," said Jacob. He was suddenly all business and showed none of the signs of the flirtations of earlier.

"I think I have one," said Abby.

"Well, spill it, sis."

"It might be easier, if we..."

Abby leaned forward and put a hand on Claude and Aimée's arms, then snaked out a foot to touch Jacob's calf -- establishing strong mental contact with the three others. Without a single word, she sent out her thoughts to her team in clear, distinct images.

"Perfect," said Aimée, after absorbing plan.

"Worth a shot," agreed Claude.

"All right, team," whispered Abby. "We know the plan. Stick to it."

On the whistle, Abby wrapped herself around Claude and they sailed into the sky.

"Comfy?" asked Claude gently.

"Yes Claude, but I need to remind you. As much as I enjoy your admiring gaze, it does little to help me see the field. I need your eyes down there on the battle arena, not at my cleavage."

"Ah. Sorry," said a blushing Claude."

There were other flyers. Abby concentrated intently on two of them -- Liszta and Janus. Before they knew what was happening, they'd stripped their clothes and were locked in an intense embrace.

"What are you doing?" screamed Oppo, zooming between them. "Don't let that sorceress into your heads, idiots."

It was too late. A flyer from team five had swooped in and tagged Liszta on the left breast over the heart and Janus on the pelvis, marking a spleen hit.

"Damn it!" screamed Oppo as he zoomed just out of reach of the attacker.

Janus and Liszta shrugged. Eliminated, they retreated to a corner of the training room to finish what Abby had started in their minds.

On the ground, Aimée and Jacob were having adventures of their own.

Before the start of the match, Jacob pulled her toward him.

"Come here, we have to be ready to go as soon as the whistle blows."

Aimée nestled under his arm and grasped his hand.

"Don't get any ideas," she said.

"Later," he said quite seriously. "The winners of the group matches get extra privileges.

"Like what?" asked Aimée.

"You never know. Sometimes it's a pass to town, sometimes a day off school. It's always good, though."

"All right, but don't take advantage," Aimée admonished.

"Like I said, I'll do that later," said Jacob with a wink.

"Jacob, can you extend your powers to me?"

"Unfortunately, no," said Jacob. "Flyers and jumpers, they push out that envelope like it's nothing. I've tried and tried, but all I can turn invisible are things that I'm holding, like a sword, or things like that."

"Too bad," said Aimée. "Here's how we'll work it then. "I'll drop you off at places and you dive away as I jump out again. If I can jump near you, I will. Otherwise, you have to be visible for me to pick you up."

"Good plan. Oh, and by the way, get ready for some skin. It's my specialty."

Jacob twirled a knife between his hands with enthusiastic glee.

"I thought there were no weapons in this."

"Oh, this isn't for the fight," he said, laughing. "Just be ready to move in when there's a chance."

The whistle blew and they were off. Aimée whooshed out with Jacob and quickly dropped him at the other side of the ring -- winking immediately out and finding a hiding place behind one of the equipment racks.

As annoying as she found Jacob, she couldn't help but grin as Anders shirt suddenly ripped open and disappeared. Taking her cue, she popped in and inked his chest.

"Aimée, duck and grab Jacob!" rang Abby's voice in her head.

She was instantly down without an instant to spare as Jackie's longer staff came swishing into the air where she'd been. Feeling Jacob's leg at her side, she grabbed it and winked them to the location where Abby had guided them.

"I'm good," whispered Jacob.

Aimée winked out and waited once more.

"Now Aimée!" said Abby's voice in her head.

The image Abby projected into Aimée's head showed two girls from another team standing side by side. She was a bit confused as to the target, but followed orders and jumped to in front of them.

At that very moment, the two girl's blouses sprang open -- much to their surprise. With one stamp in each hand, Aimée scored above their hearts.

Jacob was quickly wrapped around her and she winked them to her hideaway behind the weapons.

"You know, we could just tag them on their necks or on their clothes," she whispered.

"Where would the fun be in that?" he whispered back. "Besides, taking off their clothes distracts them.

"Pervert," she admonished.

"Guilty," confessed Jacob.

"Aimée, Jacob -- we need some help!" said Abby's voice in their heads.

They quickly came back to attention and peered out at the ring. All that remained were Oppo, Claude, and Abby. Abby was riding on Claude's back as Oppo pursued them relentlessly. Alone, Claude could possibly outfly Oppo, but with Abby they were at a bit of a disadvantage. Oppo suddenly poured on a burst of speed and with a frightening maneuver, had Claude's shirt ripped open and marked him.

"Fall!" ordered, Oppo -- for that was the general rule of the game. If a flyer was 'killed' even with a passenger, they had to descend as rapidly as they could to the ground.

They knew Abby was as good as gone.

"Into the center," ordered Jacob. Take us there, and you stay."

"But..."

"Just do it," he insisted. "And stay there. Do not move!"

They winked into the center of the ring and Aimée stood, confused at Jacob's orders as he disappeared.

Claude came hurtling down and paused at the last minute, hoping to buy time enough for Abby to dash away.

It was no use, though -- even with Abby's superior gift, Oppo was fully prepared for her. As she leapt from Claude's back and went tumbling, Oppo was upon her. Pinning her hands, he pulled down her bodice to reveal a fair portion of her lovely left breast.

"Dead," said Oppo, stamping the yellow on her chest.

Aimée was confused. She had been sure Jacob would have taken advantage of the tussle and tagged Oppo there, but he was nowhere to be seen.

"Remember," he suddenly whispered in her ear. "Don't move."

"But..."

A tear instantly appeared in the cloth at the top of her cleavage. Her blouse suddenly flew open, exposing her breasts to all of the world -- and certainly to the cheers of the other cadets. She remained frozen there, both livid and astonished at Jacob's temerity.

Oppo was absolutely and totally disarmed. He stalked her with a grin of appreciation on his face.

"Oh, to mar such lovely chest with ugly yellow dye," he said, shaking his head. "But why do you stay? Are you bound somehow?"

Aimée said nothing, but remained, following Jacob's perplexing instructions. Oppo slowly, seductively reached out his staff and stamped her chest.

"Dead," he muttered.

If breeches could be deplaced, what Oppo's pants did next is what they would have done. Somehow, Jacob was able to slit both sides and remove Oppo's pants in one fluid motion. Oppo stood in bemused surprise -- his mammoth (even while flaccid) cock hanging loosely before him.

"What are you up to Jacob?"

"Just wondering," said Jacob's voice from afar. "Master Scaurus, given the size of Oppo's marvelous endowment -- wouldn't you qualify that as a major organ?"

"I suppose I would," said Scaurus.

Even the ancient instructor couldn't suppress a chuckle at Jacob's impish sensibilities.

"Then would that not make my team the winners?"

"I think so," said Scaurus.

"But how?" asked Oppo. "He didn't...oh no."

He glanced down at the organ in question. It was true. Not only had Jacob relieved him of his pants. In the same move, with the grace of an illusionist, he had marked the end of Oppo's shaft without the young man even feeling it. His bulbous tip was bright yellow.

"And I believe," said Jacob, materializing near Aimée. "That brings the curtain down on one of my finest performances. I thank you. I thank you all."

He bowed to the applause of all of the cadets. Even Claude and Abby were clapping. There was one sole exception.

Aimée had gathered her blouse closed again and stomped out of the ring.

Jacob hurried to her once the applause died down.

"Aimée, what's wrong? We won!"

"You are such a child," she muttered between clenched teeth. "You could have had him when he went after Abby. Instead, you had to embarrass me in front of everyone, and then Oppo as well."

"Well, Aimée. You've certainly nothing to be embarrassed about, not from what I saw. Come on, relax, it was all in good fun?"

"All good fun for you to get a free peek!" Hardly."

She was interrupted by Claude and Abby bearing down on them and swooping them into exuberant hugs which distracted Aimée from her being peeved at Jacob, at least for the moment.

They went to the showers and grabbed new clothes. Aimée finished earlier than the others and went out to the ring. She saw Jacob there, pulling Brana aside to speak about something. This was too much to resist. For the first time, she used her newly found 'stealth' abilities and jumped silently to behind a wall near where they were speaking.

"Listen Brana," said Jacob. "I realize there is a difficult situation. I am not to stay in Abby's dorm, and Claude is ordered to steer clear of Aimée. However, I've been thinking -- it might be possible for at least Abby and I to swap dorms because..."

Aimée had heard enough and stepped out from her hiding place.

"You arrogant, smug, lout!" she snarled. "I don't know what makes you think that I have the slightest interest in you. The slightest! Going to Brana behind my back? Just in hopes of bedding me? That is something I can promise you will never happen.

"What makes you think this is about you?" said Jacob, angrily.

"Oh, please. That trick with the dagger today at the end of the round -- the way you've been pushing yourself at me?"

"Aimée, please," said Brana soothingly. "It is more complicated than you think. Whatever the reasons, I have specific orders to not make any changes in living situations when it comes to the four of you."

"Orders from who?" asked Jacob.

"From somewhere very high in the Council. Who, I don't really know. All I know is I'm to keep things as-is and wait for more information. So, I'm sorry, Jacob. And Aimée, you might show a little more understanding."

Brana left them and Jacob looked down at the floor in frustration.

"What was that about?" asked Aimée. "Understanding about what?"

"Aimée, you are a lovely girl," said Jacob.

His tone was different. There was a catch in his voice.

"However, I fear you flatter yourself a bit. I flirt with everyone. I'm silly with everyone. Would I enjoy spending a night with you? I'd imagine so. But, I don't know what I did, in particular to set this off. My request to Brana was for Abby. It wasn't an excuse to get in your pants. As you must be able to see, there is some sort of deep connection between Abby and Claude. These past months that we've been separated we... well, at least I have been empty. I can only imagine that Abby feels the same. I was simply thinking that if Claude could fill that emptiness a bit, it would be a good thing for my sister who I love dearly. Now, I'm going to go back to my dorm. Goodbye, and I hope that someday we might at least be friends."

It was Aimée's turn to be ashamed. She looked back over the past day and her interactions between herself and Jacob. She realized so much of it had been her fault. Her lingering jealousy over Abby's happiness had thrown a green tinge over her view of Jacob. He truly had acted as he most likely did with any girl. It was her response that had been out of proportion. She vowed to find a way, somehow, to make it up to him.

She waited patiently for Abby to emerge and did her best to guard her mind from her friend's possible prying -- inadvertent or otherwise. If Abby did detect anything wrong, she was polite enough to ignore it and they began chattering excitedly about a night in the 'real' city.

Upon walking into the dorm, they took a look at the hooks in the vestibule and saw a more than usual number of outfits hanging there. Glancing down into the common area, they saw a much higher percentage of unclad figures.

"My, my," said Abby. "The gospel of Jackie does seem to be spreading."

The looked to each other and with a shrug they shrugged off all of their clothes and felt an odd sense of pride as they entered their little world with nothing to hide.

"Did I tell you? Or did I tell you?" said Jackie, who was already busy with a young Greek on one of the couches. "What are the rest of you cowards waiting for?"

Jackie returned to her current diversion.

Abby and Aimée were ravenous, as they all were after such a full day. They filled their plates and sat at a table by themselves.

Even without an empath's powers, Aimée could feel the heat being directed toward her. More than one pair of eyes was roving over her, and the boys' interest was more than visible in many cases. For some reason though, she wasn't interested. She was bone weary and her sexual hunger seemed fairly low.

"Tired?" asked Abby.

"Very," murmured Aimée.

"I am too," agreed Abby. "Let's go take a nap. We deserve it."

They cleared their plates and departed under the glare of more than one disappointed look. Three boys loitered near the hallway which contained the bedrooms. When the girls walked past them without so much as a glance, their faces grew even longer.

"Don't fret boys," said Abby with a smile. "We just need some rest. Forty winks, we'll be raring to go."

They found an empty room and Aimée fell into the bed, sighing at the wave of happy exhaustion that washed through her body.

To her surprise, Abby crawled in beside her. She draped herself over Aimée's body, letting her hand come to rest casually on Aimée's breast.

"Oh," said Aimée. "I... this is nice."

"It is, isn't it?" agreed Abby. "Don't get the wrong idea. I find you gorgeous... but I'm really not in the mood to try anything down that road. It's just -- the Affliction is so needy. Can you feel it? Can you feel the way our systems are singing out to each other?"

Aimée closed her eyes and listened to what her body was telling her. Truly, wherever their skin touched -- it was as if there was an invisible reassurance. It reminded her of the times as a child when her mother had done feather-light scratches on her back to help her get to sleep.

"You're right," whispered Aimée. Her eyelids were already drooping. "Hello, Abby's affliction? How are you?"

"Sleepy," replied Abby in a soft voice. "But it's nice to get acquainted with you too, Aimée's Affliction."

They soon drifted off to sleep, their bodies not aroused -- but comforted by the soothing touch and reassurance of a friend.

* * * *

Hannah was crying out in blissful agony. Jacob had been pounding into her for nearly a half an hour without pause.

She was on her fourth or maybe fifth orgasm, she'd lost count, and Jacob showed no signs of slowing. She was on her back and Jacob was on top of her. His head was next to hers. He was grunting into the pillow as his hips continued to piston -- oddly bringing to mind images of a steam engine she had once seen at an exposition.

"Jacob, now you," she gasped. "Let me feel you inside of me. Fill me up."

"Not yet," grunted Jacob, still not looking at her.

"Jacob?"

She lifted his head and looked into his eyes -- still he wasn't stopping. His eyes held a glossy look of resignation and an almost manic determination.

"Jacob, please," she pleaded. "Give me this. Let me pleasure you just a tiny amount as much as you've pleased me."

"Won't stop. Can't stop."

"Jacob, sweetie. What on earth is wrong?"

"Nothing," he grunted. He was still pounding with all of his might and his skin was glistening.

"Jacob, stop."

He didn't listen, and kept going.

"Jacob! Stop!"

Still, he wouldn't.

"Jacob!"

With an angry shove she pushed Jacob off of her. He rolled to the side of the bed and stared at the ceiling, removed.

"What on earth is wrong with you?"

"I only wanted to make her happy," he said softly. "I thought, at least one of us can be happy -- and they won't even let us have that."

"Oh dear Jacob, tell me what's wrong. Talk to me."

She rolled over on top of him. She slid down onto him, taking him all the way inside.

"Just stay," she whispered. "Be here with me and tell me what's wrong, my friend."

For the next hour, they made love gently and she comforted him. At last, he filled her with his seed and it was enough. She left him there on his own, seeking out her own bed for sleep.

* * * *

Claude was stroking himself. Aimée could tell that, somehow. He was almost near climax and stopped for the third time this day.

Aimée's eyelids fluttered.

She'd been asleep. How did she know this? How did she know Claude was pleasuring himself?

She looked down at Abby's head which was resting on her chest. Abby's hair was different from hers. It had more of a silky texture where Aimée's hair was a bit more coarse. Aimée rubbed her cheek against Abby's red locks playfully.

She closed her eyes again. There was Claude. She could now see his cock standing proud and rigid as he stroked himself to the edge once more. His body tensed and it seemed he was trying to stop it, but he gasped and was unable too. Aimée kept her eyes closed and watched the great spurt from her brother's cock erupt. It sailed high into the air and splashed back down onto his hand, then again. He moaned with the pleasure.

Aimée heard another moan, and this one wasn't from Claude.

"Mmm," groaned Abby at her chest. "I wish I was there."

"Abby," said Aimée -- nudging her friend's head. "Abby!"

"What?" murmured Abby drowsily. "I was having the loveliest dream."

"Was it about Claude?" asked Aimée with a chortle. "Did he just explode with about ten liters of sticky deliciousness?"

"Why yes?" said Abby, her eyes flying open. "How did you know? Was I broadcasting my dreams?"

"You were broadcasting," said Aimée. "However, I don't think it was a dream. It seemed real. I was... I was looking through Claude's eyes."

"How remarkable," said Abby. "It seems I have connected with him, and from a couple of kilometers away. I've never been able to do that with anyone other than Jacob."

"It must be love at first sight, truly," said Aimée with a resigned tone. "But how amazing -- to see what he is seeing. Can I... never mind."

"What? Can you do what, Aimée?"

"Well, now that you're awake -- can I feel what he's thinking as well?"

"Well, we won't know until we try. Come here, my friend."

Abby moved up and placed her hand on Aimée's cheek. She leaned down and kissed Aimée gently and then reached out with her senses.

"Not enough," thought Claude to himself, "that's not nearly enough -- but I'm not in the mood for anyone right now."

His cock was semi-flaccid after the huge explosion. However, it only took a few strokes to return him to full hardness.

"That's it," though Claude to himself. "Now come to me, Abby?"

He began to visualize his encounter with Abby in the clinic. At seeing this, Abby blushed a bit at her friend seeing this scene. Yet, Aimée stayed connected and watched in fascination at the memory as Abby reached around behind Claude and worked his manhood with her tiny hand.

The scene shifted suddenly. Claude was working his cock now with the ample fluid he had just expelled. To match the wet sensations he switched to a vision of Aimée pleasuring him with her mouth. She remembered exactly the time. It was the first day she had learned how to pull his entire length down her throat.




The Afflicted Ch. 08



"Oh Aimée," thought Claude.

"How did you get top billing?" asked Aimée.

She had broken off their connective kiss and was grinning at Abby.

"What?" asked Abby, a bit disoriented from stepping back from 'spying' on Claude.

"How come he thought of you first, bitch?"

"No reason for name calling," said Abby. "It's not my fault who he pictures. I must say though, you are servicing him a bit more impressively than I did."

"Let's go back," said Aimée. "But let's try something."

As opposed to a kiss -- Aimée moved her hands up to cradle Abby's face. Abby did the same and the two of them touched foreheads -- even keeping their eyes open."

"Amazing," whispered Aimée as their minds leapt into Claude's.

Claude was struggling a bit. While he was still stroking himself with great pleasure, he was trying to envision what it would be like to lie with Abby.

"Damn!" he thought. "What would you be like?"

"Can I say something?" said Aimée in a determined tone.

"What?" inquired Abby.

"Fuck the Council."

Aimée closed her eyes. As softly as she'd ever done, she and Abby suddenly disappeared and reappeared on the floor of Claude's bedroom.

Abby was very surprised.

"How did you do that?" Abby seemed to say without words.

In response, Abby simply shrugged and pointed to her eyes. This conveyed the sense to Abby that she had merely needed to see the place she was going. Since they'd seen it through Claude's eyes, Aimée had done what was not possible for most jumpers -- go to a place she'd never been.

"Oh Abby, what are you like?" said Claude aloud, his hand working his cock feverishly. Then, "Oh Aimée, how I miss you."

His hand worked faster and faster. Aimée feared he might be near another release and had other plans for such an event.

"Claude," she whispered softly, bending down near his head.

"Yes, Aimée?" muttered Claude, not even aware he wasn't imagining her voice.

"Save that, please. I have a surprise for you?"

"Oh, very well," he murmured. "I can wait."

She could barely suppress her laughter as she bent over to kiss him for the first time in a long while.

In his dreamlike state, Claude returned the kiss. Suddenly, his eyes popped open and he looked into Aimée's with pleasant shock and surprise.

"Aimée, what are you doing here?" he asked. He leapt up and pulled her into a loving hug.

"I'm bringing you a present, silly."

She turned and took his hand while reaching out to place Abby's in his.

"But the council..." said Claude.

"Fuck the council," said Aimée, repeating her words. "Just don't bite each other, agreed?"

Claude nodded.

"Now, before I leave you two," said Aimée. "Abby, can you tell me where Jacob is and what he's doing?"

"He's studying," said Abby, reaching out. "Philosophy. How he loves his Plato. He's alone, in a room with bookshelves and a larger bed. Which one is that, Claude?"

"Let's see," pondered Claude -- who was already greatly distracted at the feeling of Abby's soft skin against his. "Probably three doors down to the left."

"Very good," said Aimée. "How does the hallway look, Abby?"

"Everyone is asleep or otherwise engaged," said the redhead.

"Good then, come here brother."

Aimée pulled Claude to her and wrapped herself around him. Even the sticky wetness of his last orgasm was erotic against her body. She kissed him with every ounce of love and passion she could summon.

"Oh how wonderful you are," she said softly into his ear. "How lucky I was to have you, and how much luckier Abby is to continue with you on your adventures. Au Revoir, mon frère. Goodbye, my brother."

Aimée stayed strong and brave as she stepped into the hallway. Once the door was closed, she dropped her head and wiped away more than a few tears. Soon, she gathered her resolve and started toward Jacob.

Third door on the left, she thought to herself.

Jacob was sitting in a chair with his back to the door. All he wore was a cloth robe. He heard the door open and didn't even look up from his book.

"Occupied," he said. "If you wish to sleep, go ahead, but I don't have any interest in anything else right now."

"That's a shame," said a girl's voice that sounded vaguely familiar. "Because I was hoping very much for anything else."

Jacob looked up curiously to see who it was.

It was Aimée. She was naked. She wasn't supposed to be here. She hated him.

These thoughts raced straight through his mind and out of his mouth.

"You're naked. You aren't supposed to be here," he said. "And, you hate me."

"Correct on all three counts," said Aimée.

She was stalking him. Her hand drifted across his shoulder, sending a shiver down his spine.

"First count. I am naked, aren't I?" she said. "Second count. I'm certainly not supposed to be here -- but I'm not with Claude and you're not with Abby -- so I could give a damn about the Council. Third count. I do hate you Jacob. I hate your juvenile sense of humor. I hate your smug attitude and your cute grin. And..."

She reached down to open his robe.

"I certainly hate this."

Jacob's mind was reeling from the conflicting emotions. He was certainly still angry with Aimée for the way she'd treated him earlier -- but the attentions of the lovely brunette's hand did much to instantly dismiss any lingering anger.

Abby said nothing after that. She merely threw his robe the rest of the way open and swung her leg across him to straddle him in the chair. When he entered her, neither of them could hold back a gasp of surprise.

"What just happened?" asked Jacob.

"I don't know," said Aimée. "I've never... oh God, Jacob, you feel so good."

Though she'd only lain with two other boys since him, this was the first time she'd felt that 'more' her body so desperately longed for. Was the ecstasy with Jacob greater than what she had with Claude? She couldn't tell. It was simply different, but it didn't seem any less intense.

These musings soon dwindled and all that remained was Jacob: Jacob inside of her; Jacob kissing her; Jacob's hungry lips on her breasts; his large, gentle hands on her back. It was a moment she knew she would never forget, that first time with Jacob. Her hands were buried in his hair, her lips were kissing him desperately as she raised and lowered herself on his lovely member. They made love there for perhaps five minutes, but those five minutes felt like a blissful eternity.

Unexpected, but certainly not unwelcome, she felt the shudder begin in her body.

"Oh Jacob," she gasped. "It's here. It's here, already! Aiiii my god!"

Her entire body shuddered. Were it not for his supporting arms holding her, she would have surely fallen over and abandoned herself to the shock waves coursing through her. As it was, she clung to him tightly and cried out his name over and over.

"That was amazing," he whispered to her. "I've never seen anything like it. Just the sound of your voice almost made me cum, too."

"Well why didn't you?" she admonished.

"Would you like me to?" asked Jacob with a grin.

"Oh, so much."

He thrust himself into her. Once, twice, three times. On the third thrust it was his turn to cry out. His hips bucked and he groaned, his back arching.

"Oh yes, Jacob. Please. Please... Oooohh!"

Something about the hot cum shooting into her triggered another orgasm in Aimée. This one was different, though. It was quiet and fulfilling. It was her body's way of speaking with Jacob. As the heat filled her insides, her eyes rolled back in her head.

She knew then, at that moment, that there must be cells of the Affliction in Jacob's very seed. Her inner walls reveled in it, drinking it in and singing out with joy at the hot fluid bathing her interior.

"Jacob," she gasped as the last spurt surged into her. "I have a correction to make on the third point."

"The third point?" he said, confused -- and then he remembered. "Oh, the one about you hating me?"

"Yes. I need to make a correction. The fact is, I feel exactly the opposite. I still love Claude... but I do not hate you. Far from it."

"I know...mmmph, what you mean," murmured Jacob. They were kissing deeply and were already moving again. "I still... love Abby... but you... you're amazing."

They began to make love with a fervor borne of loneliness. Not since they had lain with their own siblings had sex been that intense, or that addictive.

* * * *

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