The alarm hadn't even rung when Esdeath opened her eyes. The sky outside her window held that peculiar pre-dawn glow—not quite night, not yet day. Her mind felt heavy, like it was swimming through molasses, still processing everything that had happened.
"Screw it," she muttered, throwing back the covers. "No point wallowing."
She pulled on a pair of gray sweatpants and a black hoodie, laced up her running shoes, and slipped out of the apartment. Uncle Miguel's snoring rumbled from his bedroom—he wouldn't be up for hours.
The stairwell to the roof was supposed to be locked, but the door had been broken for months. No one bothered fixing it. Esdeath pushed it open and stepped into the crisp morning air, the city spread out before her like a sleeping giant. Traffic was sparse, the usual cacophony of horns and voices reduced to a distant murmur.
Perfect.
She started with stretches—lunges, arm circles, twisting her torso to loosen the tightness in her back. The routine was familiar, comforting. Before all this—before the truck, before the wheels of fate—Mark had taken martial arts classes. Nothing fancy, just basics. Now those movements lived in Esdeath's muscle memory.
Her breath fogged in front of her face as she moved into the forms. Jab. Cross. Hook. Her fists cut through the morning air with precision. Front kick. Side kick. Roundhouse. The movements felt good, grounding her in this new reality.
"Focus on control," she whispered to herself, working through a series of combination strikes. "Balance. Precision."
She picked up speed, moving through the kata with growing confidence. Left foot forward, right punch, pivot, kick—
Esdeath stumbled, nearly falling flat on her face. She caught herself at the last second, confusion washing over her.
"What the hell?"
It wasn't fatigue. She'd barely started. It was almost like her foot had moved faster than she'd told it to—like her body had accelerated beyond her brain's commands.
She reset her stance, shaking out her limbs. Maybe she'd just misjudged the movement.
"Again," she muttered.
This time she went slower, more deliberate. Jab, cross, pivot, kick—
There it was again. Her reactions were just slightly off, her limbs responding a fraction of a second before she fully formed the thought to move them.
Esdeath paused, breathing heavily. Not from exertion, but from a growing sense of unease mixed with excitement. Something was happening to her body. Something beyond the ice.
She closed her eyes, focusing inward. The alley flashed in her mind—the moment her powers had awakened. The sensation of ice flowing from her fingertips. The look in the man's eyes as she'd frozen him in place. The rush of power, of control, of—
Her chest tightened suddenly. Her heartbeat quickened, pounding against her ribs like a drum.
Then she felt it—a second pulse. Not in her chest, but everywhere. Energy surged through her arms and legs, coiling like a spring ready to release. It wasn't painful. If anything, it felt... right. Like something clicking into place.
Esdeath opened her eyes, looking down at her hands. They weren't glowing or changed in any visible way, but they felt different. Lighter. More responsive. As if the space between thought and action had compressed.
"Is this..." she whispered, flexing her fingers. "Is this what the wheel meant by 'Lust Extract'?"
Not just sexual desire. Not even bloodlust. But something more fundamental—a hunger for power, for movement, for life itself. And somehow, that hunger was changing her, enhancing her from the inside out.
Esdeath stood still, eyes closed, focusing on that second pulse. It hummed beneath her skin like an electric current, waiting to be channeled. What if she didn't fight it? What if she let it flow?
She widened her stance, planted her feet firmly on the concrete, and opened herself to the sensation. The energy responded immediately, surging through her limbs. A strange cocktail of emotions followed—adrenaline, yes, but also something darker. A hunger. A need to prove herself. To win. To dominate.
"Let's see what you can do," she whispered.
She moved through the kata again, but this time it felt different. Her strikes cut through the air with precision she'd never known before. Each movement flowed seamlessly into the next, her body anticipating the sequence before her mind could articulate it.
Jab. Cross. Pivot. Her foot lashed out in a perfect roundhouse kick. She spun, dropped low, swept an imaginary opponent's legs, then sprang back up with an uppercut that would have shattered a jaw.
It wasn't just faster—it was beautiful. Deadly and graceful all at once. Like a dance choreographed by something primal.
She laughed, breathless with exhilaration. This power wasn't just about ice. It was about becoming something more. Something dangerous.
A scream cut through her thoughts, sharp and terrified.
Esdeath froze mid-strike, head snapping toward the sound. It came from the alley below—a woman's voice, panicked and desperate.
Without thinking, she rushed to the edge of the roof. Five stories below, a man had cornered a woman against the brick wall. The glint of a knife caught the dim light.
"Give me the fucking purse!" His voice echoed up the walls.
Esdeath's pulse quickened—both pulses. The energy surged through her body, heightening her senses, sharpening her focus. She spotted a fire escape on the adjacent building, leading down to the alley.
She didn't hesitate. Didn't calculate. Just moved.
Her body sailed through the air, landing on the metal platform with barely a sound. She descended rapidly, leaping between landings instead of taking the stairs. Each movement felt precise, controlled, inevitable.
Her feet hit the alley floor just as the mugger grabbed the woman's purse strap.
"Hey!" Esdeath called out.
The man whirled, knife extended. His eyes widened at the sight of her—this teenager who'd appeared from nowhere, standing tall and unafraid.
"Walk away, girl," he snarled. "This ain't your business."
The woman clutched her purse tighter, eyes darting between them.
The mugger lunged forward, knife slashing toward Esdeath's face.
Time seemed to slow. That second pulse thundered through her veins. She didn't think—didn't need to. Her body simply reacted.
Side-step. The blade missed her by inches.
Grab wrist. Twist. The knife clattered to the ground.
Elbow to sternum. The man gasped.
Leg sweep. He crashed down, head cracking against the pavement.
Three seconds. That's all it took.
Esdeath stood over him, breathing steady. The man lay unconscious at her feet, mouth slack, a trickle of blood running from his temple.
She hadn't even thought about using her ice powers. Hadn't needed to.
The woman stared at her, clutching her purse to her chest. "Who—who are you?"
Esdeath barely heard her. She was focused on the feeling coursing through her body. That pulse. That power. It wasn't fading now that the threat was neutralized. If anything, it grew stronger as she stared down at her defeated opponent.
She felt... superior. Dominant. Complete.
"Lust," she whispered, finally understanding. Not just desire for flesh, but hunger for power. For control. For victory.
Esdeath walked the woman to the street corner, keeping her voice steady despite the adrenaline still coursing through her system.
"You should be safe here. There's a diner open two blocks that way." She pointed east, where the first hints of dawn painted the sky.
The woman nodded, clutching her purse like a shield. "Thank you. I don't know what would have happened if—"
"Don't think about it." Esdeath cut her off, not unkindly. "Just get somewhere safe."
After watching the woman hurry away, Esdeath slipped back into the shadows. She scaled the fire escape with startling ease, her movements fluid and precise. Each grab, each pull, felt natural—as if she'd been climbing buildings her entire life.
Back on the rooftop, she sat on the concrete ledge, legs dangling over the five-story drop. Sweat cooled on her skin in the morning air, but she barely noticed. Her mind was racing, piecing together what had just happened.
"It's not just seduction... it's power," she murmured, watching her breath fog in the cold air. "Lust doesn't charm—it elevates."
The realization settled over her like a mantle. Mark had always been ordinary—average height, average strength, average life. But Esdeath was becoming something else entirely. Something extraordinary.
She flexed her fingers, feeling that second pulse thrumming beneath her skin. It wasn't separate from her anymore—it was integrating, becoming part of her natural rhythm. Not just during moments of danger or exertion, but always there, waiting to be channeled.
The sky lightened, painting Brooklyn in soft pinks and golds. Soon, she'd need to head back inside, shower, pretend to be a normal high school student. But nothing felt normal anymore.
Esdeath raised her hand, palm up, and focused. A perfect snowflake materialized above her skin, hovering, spinning slowly. Creating it felt easier than yesterday—more instinctive, less forced.
"This is only the beginning," she whispered.
The snowflake expanded, its crystalline structure growing more complex, more beautiful. She wasn't just controlling ice—she was crafting it, shaping it with precision that felt impossible just days ago.
Her expression sharpened, eyes narrowing as she watched her creation dance above her palm. Not a dark look, but one of newfound confidence. Of understanding.
A new side of her power was waking, and she couldn't wait to see how far it would take her.