Finger of God

[Ashla]

"Don't want to die?"

His old words echoed around her troubled mind. In the coolness of an above hallway, the young woman closed her eyes. She had met that man before, in another Citadel battle. . . Her first Citadel battle.

As dust particles floated in the eerie silence, she had her back against the wall, huddled on the floor. She felt like a child again, that child again. How could those horrific monks do this to her? Ayleth was running from the past that was Ashla Icebreaker, and now they tossed her directly into a massive stumbling block.

She shook from both the pain of the lava that scorched her legs and the tremendous stress of all this. She closed her eyes, preventing herself from crying. She whispered so only the monks initiating this cursed battle could hear.

"I'm less than pleased with your performance in this."

How incredibly ironic was it that, she had no way of knowing, this was exactly what he said to them after their first match?

A single tear fell from her eye. As she held her broken sword in her hands, she hung her head low in the silence. How could they do this to her? How. . . ?

She bit her lip. The dust and ash coated clothes and armor meshed well with the dull, dead surroundings of the empty as haides hallway. Of course, the debres that hid her now could not hide her forever. Who knew how long it would be until he turned the rubble filled corner. Now though, she worked desperately to rebuild her will to fight. Despite all her efforts to tell herself that now was her chance for payback, now she could finally beat that monster! - . . .

. . . She only continued to silently shed tears.

. . .

. . .

. . .


Be strong, Ashla! You can make it! Please do. . .

"I'm not Ashla."

Ayleth opened her eyes. Her clouded vision barely made out the image of the broken sword on her lap. The young woman let out a silent growl as she gripped the weapon's hilt. Pulling her second hand to the hilt, she twisted the hand-in-a-half sword's hilt. Pulling it apart, the hidden spiked bar was made visible.

"Am I?"

This sword was given to Ashla by a dearly loved one. Why did she still carry it when her husband's very death caused her to put Ashla to sleep and silence? Why did she still feel her pain? The images of that burning clock tower still flashed in her mind.

No! Ashla cannot come. . .

- It was too late. There Ashla was, gripping the unique sword like it was all she had. (Probably because it was.) Ashla started this war; now Ashla would finish it. Tears still fell, but her face was cold and bitter. The apprentice who betrayed her, drove her to come to the Citadel, appeared in her mind. What if Ayleth betrayed her?

What monster did Ashla become?

The sound of footsteps crushing and crumbling pebbles sounded from the distant left of her. Very quickly, she lifted her hand and wiped her tears against her grubby shirt. She looked over with clearer eyes. The orange shadows and flickers of her enemy's heat brought life to the cold, desolate granite walls. Ashla stood up as the movements swam closer. Walking towards the center of the hall, the Icebreaker spoke in a voice aged with grief, war, and rage. "I'm over here, revenant."

Ice coated both of her eyes. They were chips of ice, unrefined and capable of killing. Freezing steam rose from her fingers. Did he remember her like she remembered him?

"Run home, girl," She shouted, "If you wish to leave, the chamber will take you out and hopefully give me a worthier challenge!"

She stomped her foot, thick ice coated the floor between the two of them. Completely ready to empty her emotions onto him, or die in his wrath again, she called upon her bloodline abilities. As several shards of red ice floated around her, she was oddly ready for whatever fate awaited her. It did not matter if she won or lost this. Somehow, it did not matter to Ashla. For once in a life of disarray, the reawakened Ashla was okay with whatever was to come next. What was one more instance of her world falling apart anyways? One more mental break down?

It was probably better than this. . .