The Extra Wants Control

He ran. He was ripped apart, shredded by claws and teeth. Yet, each time, the warmth of regeneration pulsed through him, knitting him back together. Time blurred into a relentless cycle of pain, flight, and the only thing he looked forward was the breaks where he could drink of his mother's blood, the only sustenance in his endless torment.

Then, abruptly, the panther vanished. Verona stood before him, her expression unreadable.

"Let us begin with mana breathing and control," she announced, her voice sharp and clear, a stark contrast to the raw violence of the previous training. "Do you know the meaning behind the Isolde in our names? It signifies ice ruler. You, like me, possess an affinity for ice magic. Though your second element is gravity, while mine are darkness and space in addition to ice.

As a vampire, you should also have a natural aptitude for darkness."

Nevaeh absorbed the information, his mind reeling from the abrupt shift. Magic. Elements. He had a second element, gravity?

Verona continued, her voice taking on a strict tone. "Mana breathing, as the name suggests, involves drawing in mana – the ambient energy that is in the world – through your being and channeling it through your veins to your heart, slowly filling your 'stars'. Ideally, one could ascend through ranks simply by meditating and filling these stars, but that path is too inefficient, a fool's dream."

A flicker of frustration crossed her face, a rare display of emotion. "Yes, you can circulate mana, but for true mastery, physical training is crucial. It strengthens your body, allowing you to channel more potent energy. Additionally, there's proficiency. It is your ability to control, manipulate, and output mana.

It's your versatility, your ability to seamlessly transition between this processes, your finesse with this power. One can rise in rank through sheer power, but without proficiency, an opponent with better proficiency in the same level and at times a lower level can pose a challenge. Hard work and talent also play a part in honing your proficiency."

Her eyes locked with his, a steely glint in their crimson depths. "Now, I shall teach you my method of mana circulation, a technique I've developed over years, one that utilizes your vampiric nature."

Nevaeh sank onto the cold ice, his breaths shallow and ragged. Verona hovered over him, her crimson dress a stark contrast to the pale arena.

"Now, sit," Verona commanded, her voice cold and clipped. "For the first time, normally one needs to direct mana along their veins as smoothly as possible, but I'll channel a surge of mana into you, and roughly that it would scrape against your veins. It will be painful, and it will damage your mana veins.slowly. But after that, you'll need to learn to do it on your own."

"For us, regeneration takes care of the damage. Your veins will be ripped apart, then repaired, then made stronger."

A primal fear coiled in Nevaeh's gut. "Wait," he stammered, the word a desperate plea. "How am I supposed to handle that?"

Verona's response was a swift backhand across his face. Pain, sharp and unexpected, jolted him back to full awareness. "Don't interrupt me," she hissed, her crimson eyes flashing.

"Look," she continued, her voice regaining a semblance of control, "remember before I mentioned how our souls share a similar aspect? That aspect is adaptation. Combined with our vampiric abilities, it makes us… well, monstrosities. We can never suffer from a situation twice. No other creature possesses regenerative power like mine. Your veins will be constantly damaged, repaired, and strengthened.

That's why the regeneration training – torture, I mean training," she corrected with a cruel smirk, "was so crucial. Your regeneration speed is passable for now, but a few more years of tortu… cough cough... training, of course, will make it truly exceptional."A dark glint flickered in her eyes that made the boy shiver."She wanted to say torture didn't she?" the boy thought.

Nevaeh stared at her, a chilling realization sinking in. Verona wasn't just training him; she was molding him, twisting his very being into something monstrous, something powerful, a weapon.

"Let's begin the real lesson."

Verona's words hung heavy in the air, a twisted promise of power and pain. Nevaeh gritted his teeth, a bitter taste coating his tongue. This was just about strength; it was about becoming a monster, a creature sculpted by relentless torture. Yet, beneath the fear and exhaustion, a strange resolve hardened within him.

He would endure, not just for Verona's twisted vision, but to prove himself, to turn this torment into his own twisted strength. He closed his eyes, bracing himself for the onslaught of mana, the first step on a path paved with agony and potential.

Verona began. A surge of raw power flowed from her, coursing through the connection she'd established and flooding Nevaeh's body. He felt it immediately – a searing current that traced the intricate pathways of his mana veins, mimicking a circuit that led straight to his heart.

Then came the agony. The mana, wild and untamed , tore through his veins, scraping them raw like sandpaper. It reached his heart – a vital organ, a fragile dam against the raging torrent. His heart, unable to withstand the raw power, burst, echoing with a sickening wet pop. It's chambers rupturing as if overinflated. His veins followed suit, shredding into a crimson network of broken pathways.

But Nevaeh, his face contorted in a silent scream, offered no exaggerated cries of pain. Blood dripped from every orifice, painting his pale skin a grotesque crimson. Yet, a chilling calm had settled over him.

But there was no scream, no flailing in agony. Nevaeh had become accustomed to the feel of pain – blood trickled from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, the only sign of the torment he endured. Beneath the crimson mask, a spark of something else flickered – a cold acceptance.

Verona, however, wasn't fazed. A cruel smile stretched across her face, a twisted form of pride. This was her son, her creation, defying expectations with his monstrous regeneration. His veins and heart, under the relentless assault of destruction and repair, were already mending, growing sturdier with each cycle.

Her next move sent a shiver down Nevaeh's spine, even in his numbed state. She channeled the mana directly into his brain. A forbidden technique most wouldn't dare attempt, the risk of permanent damage too high. But Verona cared little for such niceties. Her son wouldn't be "most people." He would be the best, the strongest, and she would ensure it.

There were benefits to having the brain enhanced and powered by mana. They include but not limited to, improved cognitive function: This includes things like memory,sharper focus and concentration, learning, problem-solving. And also faster processing speed.

He was her heir, her son, and he wouldn't be bound by the limitations of lesser beings. Why should he follow the norm of his prey?

A cruel smile stretched across her face. This; it was adaptation kicking in and his monstrous regeneration, amplified by the brutal training, was already mending the damage. His veins, torn and ruptured, knit themselves back together, stronger and more resilient with each pulse.

A primal roar ripped from Nevaeh's throat, a guttural sound filled with a raw, animalistic pain. His mind, assaulted by the onslaught, screamed a silent question – why? Why did everything have to be bathed in such agonizing torment?

Verona, her face devoid of empathy, held him down with an unseen force. The destruction continued, a relentless assault on his very essence. Parts of his brain gave way, succumbing to the overwhelming power. But just as quickly, the regeneration kicked in, knitting the fractured neurons back together, a gruesome dance of destruction and rebuilding.

The cycle continued, a brutal ballet of pain and resilience. Slowly, Nevaeh adapted. His body, pushed to its limits, began to anticipate the assault. The initial surge of pain lessened, replaced by a dull throb. Destruction and repair became a rhythm, a horrifying yet strangely familiar melody.

Finally, Verona deemed him ready. He could now do the process on his own. She severed the connection, leaving Nevaeh panting on the cold ice, his eyes hollow but alive. He was now instinctively pumping and channelling mana through his veins. He destroyed them while also regenerating them.

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