John’s knee hurt. It’s all he could think about as he ducked again. For the fourth time that day he felt the air displacement of something swinging over his head, narrowly and fortunately missing. Four attempts on his life in a matter of six hours. That had to be a world record, and of course it’s the first and only accomplishment in his life. Now, he wouldn’t have a world to share it with.

This entire day was seriously fucked. The worst part was how much the people John was with kept eating it up. They’re all, “Oh Rayne says let’s do this, so this is what we’re gonna do.” And, “We don’t want anything happening to Rayne.” Pfft. Out of all of them, she looked like she could handle herself the most, but Tameka made better leadership decisions.

Throughout today’s events, John allowed a sparse momentary thought for himself. He reflected on that day two years ago when Rayne’s mystery trainer first approached him.

{March 2004}

“So you followed me all the way home because Rayne Callahan asked you to teach me how to defend myself in an oncoming apocalypse?” Why the hell was she even mentioning John to strangers? They weren’t close like that. This girl tortured him daily in their late afternoon classes for the last two years. Listing off delicious food while he complained about his empty stomach. Diabolical.

“If you must put it in terms so simply, then yes. That’s what I’m here for.” The annoyingly good-looking and tall man—and John was tall so anyone taller than him was really tall—agreed almost as if it was a chore to him or an errand Rayne had him run.

John stopped at the end of his driveway and said, “Look. I don’t want you here, and you don’t seem to want to be here. So let’s just tell her whatever we can to make this go away.” He turned to walk away, and the X-men guy appeared in front of him several meters away.

Did John blink? Or have a seizure? His mouth gaped. He couldn’t help it. Gravel crunched as his bag dropped from his hands. It was like his brain had shut off or something.

After dinner, he followed Xelan two houses down to Sagan’s place. Apparently, this was their regularly scheduled night, and superhero guy wanted to “ease John into it with a preview of the training.”

John felt more than a little self-sufficient in defense. He said, “I know Aikido.”

Xelan offered a simple nod without turning back or stopping. He said, “That should prove useful. I studied under Takeda Sokaku and Morihei Usehiba in the early 20th century. Turning your opponent’s momentum against them is a very valuable aspect of the style I teach.”

John allowed his mouth to fall open again as he gaped at the back of Xelan’s head. “Osensei?”

Xelan threw a glance over his shoulder, saying, “The very same.”

The teenager didn’t know what bothered him more. That Xelan claimed to train with a guy who’d died several decades before John was born. Or that he wasn’t even bragging about it. He stated it as a simple fact.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Sagan called to Xelan, “Hey, I was worried. You were later than usual—”

John waved from behind Xelan.

After a flash of confusion, Sagan smiled. “Hey, John! This is my new boyfriend, Xelan. He goes to college. Did he miss my driveway and park at your house?”

John said, “Well, actually—”

Xelan groaned in frustration.

John shot the ancient dude a glare for interrupting him.

The tall Aikido master pinched the bridge of his nose before saying, “Elden, that was pitiful. I never thought I’d have to teach a teenage girl how to tell a decent lie. But it looks like I’ll have to add an hour of ‘covert operations.’”

John didn’t want to get involved with this, but after a few moments of watching them spar, he agreed. “I can’t believe you can move so fast.” He stared at Sagan with a new light of appreciation.

She swiped a grass stain from her pants and groused, “Yet somehow I always end up on my ass.”

Xelan indicated in front of John. “Your turn.”

Reluctant and a little nervous, John assumed a confident, balanced stance. He said, “Before we get too far into it, I want to know how likely all this is to even happen. Like, how much of a chance are we talking here? An invasion sounds ludicrous.”

Sagan chimed in, “We’ve been waiting for two years. But I can tell you that in those two years, weird shit has happened, and we accept in good faith that Xelan’s training is best for us.”

John scoffed, “How many of you are there?!”

“You don’t need to worry about that. Just get ready to block this punch,” Xelan commanded.

John posed his hands for the best defense and waited with easy breath.

Xelan kicked him in the face.

“Oh, ow! Fuck!” John shielded his nose and mouth and whined when he tasted blood. Filtered through his cupped hands, he shouted, “What the fuck, man?!”

“Shh!” Sagan passed him an ice pack. “Don’t wake my parents.”

“Jesus Christ!”

“You were watching my hands and not my moves,” Xelan explained.

John defended himself. “Yeah ’cause you said you would punch me.”

“Do you think someone intending to kill you will tell you the truth and fight fair?”

{Invasion Day | April 2006}

Well, John knew for sure now: Icari did not fight fair. Despite the time he’d spent training with Xelan, he didn’t find himself all that good at fighting them, either. But the others?

Man, sometimes they actually smiled during these fights. The harder it got, the more likely it was to catch one of them grinning. It bothered John on a spiritual level.

He only wanted an ice pack for his knee.

John felt more than saw Andrew tackle the blood sucker behind him to the disgusting table top with a squelch. John gazed longingly at the space under the table beside him. He gave serious thought to crawling under it and waiting until the fight was over, but he knew that wouldn’t fly.

He jumped up, ran over to the soldier under Andrew, and forced the thing’s arms down. He hoped Andrew got a clear shot for the kill.

There! As if Andrew considered the battle already won, he grinned.

John shivered in revulsion. What was wrong with these people? The Icarus below Andrew surprised them both by wrenching his hands from John’s grip and grabbing Andrew by the throat.

Andrew squeezed out, “Oh. Fuck.”

Fang-face threw him to the floor.

The alien whirled on John.

“Shit.” He turned to run away. A loud and disrespectful ‘pop’ erupted from John’s knee, making him scream. As he crumpled to the floor, he cursed himself for not hiding under the table earlier. The end was upon him. He squeezed his eyes tight and wished he stood even a slim chance of receiving Last Rites.

The bastard breathed on John’s neck.

Oh, hell no, this was not the way he wanted to go! Understandably, he whimpered. The moment wet teeth touched his neck, the fucker dared to screech in his ear.

“What the hell?!” John needed to look. His eyes popped open, and he spun all the way behind him to see the wannabe vamp flailing around with his arms at his back. He clawed at something there. Beyond him, Andrew faced the Icarus with that perverse smile slapped back on his face.

The fighter taunted, “Come and get me, alien scum.”

As John watched the “alien scum” pursue Andrew around the room, he realized how much he really didn’t like being Rayne’s friend.