Lost Control

[Ashla]

Closed to Dissinger.

Failure is something not everyone will take lightly. Some may accept failure and learn from it. Others though, after so many times of failure, will break under the weight of feeling like they can't succeed for once.

A young woman awoke from her restless, chaotic sleep. Her mismatched eyes rapidly blinked open in her inner turmoil, having been lightly pushed awake by either a dream she could not remember, or herself. The recent fight within the Citadel, her match with a man named "John," swiftly replayed through her head before she noted the brown ceiling. The white sheets were jumbled up, tossed over, curled into a whip... she obviously was a hard sleeper. The young woman pulled her sweaty hair out of her face, staring into the distance with distant eyes.

Tortured by her defeat under John, alongside many other defeats, she kicked the crumpled sheets on her thin body off. She rolled over, heaving a heavy sigh. She thought she was stronger, she thought she was worth something. However, Ashla was still the same weakling she always was. Ashla was a pathetic girl attempting to change an darkened world. The black haired beauty shook her head, No! I'm Ayleth now!


Ashla, or Ayleth, pushed herself up. Her black undershirt rippled from her slow, half unwilling, movements. She pulled her bare arm up to wipe her forehead and got up to change into her chainmail and shirt. After she did that, she pulled her weapons on and turned to leave the Citadel again, having lost a certain will to live.

The walk out was a fast one. Ayleth wanted to escape this place, haunted by her so many defeats. Her rage inside pounded like a roaring waterfall, tears threatening to form to flow like one. Ayleth was able to lock away her emotion though, up until blood shot eyes stepped out into the night.

Barely anyone was active in the night, even right outside the Citadel. The stone streets looked like stepping stones between waters. Ayleth scoffed, a brief moment remembering her former self, that careless teenager named Ashla, attempting to jump from stone to stone like a lunatic.

She did not see a man walking up to her.

"I see you've been crushed aside, again and again Lady Icebreaker. How long has it been since anyone turned to you for advice? When was the last time anyone sought your help? They brush you aside and ignore your experience then blame you when it suits their agendas. Lady Icebreaker, I dare say they wish to relegate you to a footnote in your family's history. A mark of failure when it was never your fault."

Ashla's eyes widened as this total stranger rattled off every detail of her broken soul to her. She turned to see a bald man, looking about human, wearing both a monk's simple robes and a preacher's proper bow and tie. The young woman's voice was hushed and still, red eyes flooding with tears that she refused to let out. "Who are you?" Ashla whispered.

The man smiled, walking closer to her. "Who am I? I am merely a reflection of your path. A triumph discarded as failure. I merely wish to prevent my fate to another, Lady Icebreaker."

Ashla stood there for a series of moments; silent on the outside, screaming questions on the inside. How did this stranger know about her? Why had he come? What he was saying could not be true, was it?

"You have no reason to doubt me, Lady Icebreaker, I am here to help you."

A single tear fell, Ashla quickly shut her eyes. His words swarmed around her like a plethora of furious bees. Could she not doubt him?

"I can grant you everything you seek. I can provide you with power."

Ashla's eyes flashed open, the word "power" suddenly putting her on the same frequency as him. Power... what she would give for it. Her entire body vibrated, tears forcing their way out of her face. The eventual rematch her last Citadel opponent, John, echoed in her head. Was Ashla willing to trust this man? For power? What would she give for power?

Ashla wiped the tears off her face, staring the man in the eyes, "What do you propose I do?"

[Dissinger]

“You're sure he will be here?”

“Of course he is here, I baited the trap with his favorite victims. The cult has his Daughter, and so he will come, and of course punish them until he can get his hands on their leader,” The voice held a clinical detachment. The words were crisp and ordered, as if prethought had been put into it, showing the amount of careful deliberation one put into them. The air was cold, leaving a faint wisp of fog from the air exhaled to bring about their birth.

A young man shifted, sitting atop the roof of a build overlooking a small warehouse his eyes never left the potential entrances. He gave each a careful search, looking for any sign, before he moved to the next, moving faster and faster between entrances, hoping to catch something missed the first time. Finally he grumbled, “He's late.”

“No, you're impatient. He's here, watching and waiting. He is a predator, much like you, and much like you, he realizes the Cult is waiting for him. He smells the trap,” The words held a bit of cynical bite, causing the young man to flinch in wounded pride. Despite wearing what looked like monks robes and having a shaved head he seemed to not react to the cold that pervaded the air.

The younger man glowered up at the bald haired mentor before he muttered, “I am nothing like him. He is a stain on his family, and he needs to be removed.”

“At one time I'm sure someone said the same about you. There is a lesson to be learned here,” The elder said to his charge. The youth to his credit didn't bristle, but he did shift impatiently, certainly a step down from the violent temper he had shown previously. It was possible he had learned his lesson about violently lashing out at others. It was also possible that he knew lashing out at his mentor would have consequences he was not prepared to handle.

He looked over at his mentor before he spoke, “The girl.”

“What about her?”

“Can we trust her? She isn't even of the blood. She has no concept it's power and you want to bring her into the fold and give her a chance to destroy your hard work?”

“No, she is merely a distraction. The generals are up in arms about Seth, she is the back up in case Seth fails. I can groom her as she is far more pliant than he is to my needs,” The words held a callous chill to them as he watched the entryways.

“I don't see how that applies, they both can't be a distraction,” He replied dully.

“If he fails to distract the generals, she will be strong enough to take his place. We must contain the dream to that deluded group of people. The more that escape into the world, the more damage they can cause. The pure dream must survive and if we aren't careful it will slip through our fingers.”

Grey eyes looked and narrowed before he breathed, “There you are. Classic Demon.”

“Good, remember to wait and let him waste energy on them. He might even vent his wrath and drop below where he can start the engine that beats within his heart.”