Alacard stood at the ready in the circular basement room, staring up at the synthetic moonlight with bloodshot eyes. Teeth gritted and fists clenched, he embraced the transformation, a madness to his energy as he changed. While he tried and failed three times, he couldn’t just give in and give up. And he certainly wasn’t going to be beaten by that chump newbie Vincent. Still, how in the full moon had Vincent mastered it so easily? He was a freaking loser that relied on friends and other stupid stuff, so why had Vincent mastered the Transformation at Will and not him?

Why did he even care? Even though his dad and his gang of thugs that he had called friends claimed that letting the beast find you in your dream was a gingasend, he certainly wasn’t going to trust that bastard’s word, his lowlife friends, nor his stupid uncle on that matter. He wanted to be special, to be strong, to be looked up to, not be some loner-loser that didn’t care for anything other than himself like his crappy father. Yet wasn’t that what he was currently? The actual loner-loser that was angry and poked fun at others?

He fought back tears at these thoughts, of his mother and sisters, of his struggles and beatdowns and failures in life. Even at himself. How could he have let this happen? How could he be bested by that loser Vincent?

“Okay, son,” Mr. B said through the speaker, his voice worried. “I think it’s time –”

“No!” Alacard spat, feeling a maddened determination move through his blood. “I want to go again. I need to go again, so hit me, old man, or I’ll never forgive you.” He said it in a way that reminded him of a day he had spoken back to his father, had threatened him in a way where he truly meant him harm. He had taken the beating of his life that day, but he still fought back, fought for himself, fought for his pride, fought for his mother and sisters. And this situation was no different. He was going to master the Transformation at Will or die trying. And if Mr. B wasn’t going to allow him to do that, he’d tear the man apart, or just never forgive him, and he belted that through his voice as much as he could.

Mr. B must have understood, because after a long silence, he said, “All right, son. One more time.”

That’s all I need, Alacard thought, clenching his jaw and smiling like a madman. He was going to grab his Beast Mind by its balls and crush it into submission. He leaned back, his eyes wide and crazy and bloodshot, a cackle escaping his lips as he reached toward the fake moonlight, willing it into his body, breathing in the mist as it rose, determined to make sure this was the last time he would have to go through this shit.

“It’s all or nothing at this point,” he snarled. “No more backing down.” His smile was wicked, his energy heated, and his heart driven with madness.

As the transformation hit him, and his body twisted and contorted and extended into his werewolf form, he let out another crazy cackle, embracing and cursing the pain. When it was done, he extended his fingers in a snapping motion, a low growl emitting from his drooling snout. He squinted his eyes, tensed his body, and flexed muscles. They rippled and bulged to their breaking point as he fought back the monster, willing his mind to push him forward. He thought, screw you, to the voice that was screaming for him to let go, to embrace the beast, to tear and rip at flesh and watch the blood flow while lapping it up in sweet ecstasy.

He brought his hand to his chest, raking his claws across it, and drawing blood.

“Fuck you!” he bellowed in a beastly desperation of guttural throatiness. It was all or nothing. He had no choice but to take control and make it happen this time. There was no way he was going to be left behind by Vincent or anyone for that matter. He wasn’t going to be weak or helpless in the sight of horrors he had seen committed to his mother, his sister, countless others at the hand of his father and uncle and their band of bastards. This was it. He wasn’t going to lose himself to the Beast Mind. He was going to win and be the master at any cost, even if he took his own life. What would the Beast Mind think about that?

‘I’m the master, here,” he snarled with a sinister smile. “You’re my bitch.” Just for measure, he raked another claw across his chest that made a bloody X of claw marks, letting his whole being know he was serious, and if the Beast Mind was going to try to take control, he’d end it. Because if he couldn’t be strong, if he couldn’t stand his ground, if he couldn’t push others around and be unbeatable, what was the point of living through more pain? “So, you better listen to me from here on out, or it’s over for both of us, you got it?” He grabbed his throat, clenching down, claws slowly piercing into the sides, blood trickling down from each puncture wound as he dug in more and more, and then he felt it.

The Beast Mind let up, sunk down, lower and lower till it was mostly drowned out, allowing him to be free, to be clear, to be him. To maintain control.

He leaned back and let out a mighty howl, smiling nastily. ‘That’s right. You know what’s up. So, keep your little thoughts, actions – whatever – to yourself, or it’s over between us. I’m the one in control, not you. Not ever again.” Was he talking to himself or someone else? He did feel like he had to get this off his chest.

Okay, so he had maintained control, even if it was a crazy move. But he had no other choice. He couldn’t be left in the dust, and he had to do it his own way, and it seemingly worked. He cackled again, thinking what to do.

What did Vincent do when he had maintained control?

Alacard’s heart raced, his blood thumping against his skin as if wanting to burst free.

His eyes moved about wildly, and his breathing was ragged, as if he wanted to break free of this prison and do things to others. No, not that. Not now. Perhaps, in time. But this was the time for something else. This was the time to master himself, to master the Transformation at Will.

“You listen to me, you little punk,” he growled. “You will do as I say, all right?”

And it was hard, very hard. Because all his senses were heightened, more than they ever had been. He had done a lot of questionable stuff. Things for survival. But other things just for the sheer joy of it. The passion, the pleasure, the feelings. They were all pulsating through him, wanting him to do those things again, and more of them. Unimpeded by rules and regulations and authority and stupid-ass adults.

He suddenly thought of Mizuki, her heaving breasts, her toned body, her luscious lips. On her back, sweating and crying out his name as he did things to her. Oh, Ginga, that would be amazing, and she would love it. He licked his chops with his long tongue, lapping up the forming saliva around his snout in a sloppy motion, imagining licking her naked, sweaty body as she arched her back and yearned for him to take her over and over.

But while there would be a time and place for that, for all those things, he had to maintain control, beat the Beast Mind down, and master the Transformation at Will – yes, master it right here and now. So he beat it back, he punched it into submission, and he focused his thoughts and will on it.

“That’s good, son,” Mr. B’s voice said through the speakers, tense and low. “You’ve maintained control…” There was a long pause as if he wanted to say more, but held himself back. “While I don’t agree with the methods, it appears to have worked. You need to transform back to your human form.”

“I know, old man,” he snarled, swiping a hand out in front of him. “Just let me concentrate already.”

“Think about how you look in the mirror,” he said, repeating the same words he had said to Vincent, which annoyed Alacard. “How it feels to be you, things like this. Grasp your humanity, your human form. Everything that makes you, you, and you’ll be back to yourself.”

Part of Alacard wanted to snap, to let free, to figure out a way to smash into the other room and tear them both limb from limb. Their scents, especially Vincent’s, was so off-putting it made him crazy. But he had to focus on something. His humanity, his –

For a moment, he thought of something special, something he never really liked to think about. A face that started out as his, then slowly took shape into a warm smile. Goosebumps moved up and down his upper torso, over his neck and face and arms at the sight of it, and it brought tears to his eyes.

It was the face of his mother. Ginga, she was beautiful. He reached out to her, and as he moved through her, her face dissipated into a shadowy substance, and he fell forward into the memory. Her pushing him on a swing, the sights and sounds around him clear and… beautiful and stunning, just like her, and he felt all was right in the world. He was safe and sound and protected and warm.

He took in his form, his own smile and emotions. So different, so innocent, so lacking of any pain and pressure. It was such a wonderful moment. Simple and calm and happy. He saw himself as a small boy, and that is what brought him back, willed him to his human form. He knelt there, sobbing in his hands, tears flowing in a genuine moment of sadness and joy.

“Fuck,” he said, realizing he had transformed back, and feeling a shame at knowing Vincent and Mr. B were watching and probably wondering why he was crying. He slammed a hand down on the ground.

“Fuck!”

He blinked and wiped the tears away, then slowly stood with red and wet eyes. “I did it,” he said through shuddering breaths, because the memory was so visceral, hit him so hard that he couldn’t help but let the emotion break free. But now that he was back in his human form, even if he was weak and sweaty and feeling like he’d pass out, he could still stifle the tears.

He felt sorrow, though, too. For his mom, for better times, for not being able to be with her, see her, be protected by her. He was too weak, to helpless to have saved her, to have eased her pain and torment, and thus she was lost, and so was he. But because of that thought, because of her, because of that memory, he was able to transform back, and there was no turning back from here. He had gotten it, and he was going to finish strong.

“Well done, Alacard,” Mr. B said with genuine emotion. Alacard had always been able to read people somewhat, sense and smell their feelings, especially fear and anxiety on them, but this was different. He could not only hear the subtle tones, but also sense that Mr. B was genuinely proud. It made Alacard want to break down again as he felt so vulnerable in this moment, so open, but screw that. “Now, you need to transform back to your werewolf form on your own. Do that, and you’ll have it, son.”

Mr. B leaned toward the screen, intent and frozen on the camera, watching Alacard, feeling in that moment that the kid was like his own son. Pain moved through him thinking that, knowing that the beast had gotten Alacard in his dream.

“Okay,” Alacard said, staggering on the spot, and leaning against the wall for support for a shaky moment before pushing away. He did his best to keep himself steady, wiping sweat from his brow. “Here goes.”

He didn’t need to hear Mr. B’s instructions. This was the easy part.

Well, mostly.

                                                .           .           .