The Extra Wants Control

I slumped onto the icy floor, gasping for breath. Finally, I'd managed to block Mother's attacks to a satisfactory level. The shield I conjured was four inch thick, but apparently, it was too big for her liking. ( If only all women were like that ...sigh)

Still, progress.

Speaking of Mother, it felt comfortable calling her that now. We'd even managed to bond a little over the past few months. Small victories, I guess. But the ice training wasn't over, not by a long shot. It would be folded into something even more brutal – combat lessons.

Yup, you heard right. Combat lessons. Right now, I was essentially a walking, talking shield. Resilient, sure, thanks to the constant beatdown. Right now, I was just a glorified turtle – good at taking hits, whether by shielding myself or just toughing them out (pain was kind of my middle name at this point).

The point was, I couldn't fight for shit. No technique, no way to channel my strength offensively. Mother said I'd be learning one of her "self-made" combat techniques, but only the weakest one. Apparently, the others required a "7-star body," something my current physique wouldn't be able to handle.

So, here I was, back to square one. So, for now, it was all about building the foundation. Strength. Stamina. Flexibility. Reaction time.

Mother even conjured those damn thin, deceptively light-looking bracelets that turned out to be about as light as a small truck. Of course, I wasn't allowed to use my gravity abilities to lighten the load, making things even more delightful. The weight increased every freaking day, forcing me to run, jump, and dodge like a maniac, my body screaming in protest.

All while constantly circulating mana to keep myself from falling apart.

Oh, and did I mention I'm a 2-star now? Which means my shields have to withstand attacks from a 5-star. Attacks that are now nasty spikes, pinpointing their weight to easily crack my measly ice defenses. Mother, with her usual cheerfulness, also insists I tailor the shield size to the attack –

A small, fist-sized attack? Small shield. Gigantic ice shard the size of a tree trunk? Bigger shield, obviously. It was enough to make your head spin.Talk about pressure!

But hey, at least I'm getting prepped for that combat technique combo. A small mercy in this frozen hellhole. It wasn't much, but a glimmer of hope flickered within me. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't be an endless cycle of pain and punishment. Maybe I could actually learn to fight back, not just survive the endless onslaught.

Maybe, one day, I wouldn't just be a sturdy turtle, but a force to be reckoned with. A fighter worthy of the Isolde name, even if Mother kept holding back her true teachings.

"So, what do you know about fighting or combat?" Mother asked, her voice laced with something that wasn't quite amusement.

I stared at her, blinking. This was a trick question, right? "You hit someone," I replied, feeling supremely unhelpful. "Make them feel pain." I even threw in a graceful punch for good measure.

I swear, I saw a vein throb in her temple. With a sigh that seemed to shake the foundations of the arena, she pinched the bridge of her nose. "No," she ground out, "clearly. What I mean is, do you know why we need technique in fighting? Not just... blindly flailing your limbs around."

Okay, maybe it wasn't a trick question. "What do you mean?" I mumbled, feeling a flicker of genuine confusion spark within me.

"Techniques," she said, enunciating each syllable with exaggerated patience. "Do you know why we need techniques in fighting, not just this..." she gestured vaguely at my flailing fist, "...blindly hitting someone?"

I shook my head, a dull ache blooming in my abused muscles. Honestly? Hitting someone seemed pretty straightforward.

"Techniques," she continued, her voice taking on a lecturing tone, "draw out power. They increase attack power. Think about it this way," she said, stepping into a fighting stance. It was fluid, powerful, a stark contrast to my awkward flailing. "Imagine someone throwing a punch." She stopped, mimicking a basic swing. "No leg drive, no use of the shoulders, no balance.

Just a basic arm extension. Now, compare that to someone who uses their entire body – legs push off the ground, core tight, shoulders rotate with the punch, perfect balance." She dropped into a fighting stance, a predator poised to strike. Then, with a snap of her wrist, she threw a single punch.

The air cracked. A sonic boom resonated through the coliseum, the force of it making my cheeks vibrate. Ice chips rained down from the ceiling. My jaw hung slack. That wasn't a punch. That was a declaration of war.

"See the difference? And that's is just the output of a 2 star." Mother raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement dancing in her crimson eyes. "Technique isn't just about hitting. It's about channeling your power, about making every strike count."

"This is a technique that'll build your output power," Mother explained, her voice serious.

"It's about stacking hits, like combos, each one stronger than the last, culminating in a final blow."A wave of images flooded my mind – intricate footwork, feints, powerful strikes culminating in a flurry of devastating blows punches flowing into kicks, ice shards launched in quick succession, each attack building momentum.

The 'Snowfall' technique, the name resonated strangely with me, peaceful yet deadly.

"Oh, so like combos and KOs in games?" I thought out, a grin spreading across my face. Maybe there was some fun to be had after all. "Although," I continued, "I'm surprised it's not given a super cringe name like 'God-Slaying, Heaven-Defying Slash'"

Suddenly, a sharp pain lanced through my arm. I yelped and stumbled back, clutching the throbbing spot. Mother stood before me, her expression unreadable.

"Focus," she said simply.

The playful mood evaporated. Right, combat wasn't a video game. It was brutal, unforgiving.

"Snowfall emphasizes lethal fluidity," she explained, her voice regaining its lecturing tone. "You fight regardless of the situation - injured, outnumbered, trapped. You exploit your opponent's weaknesses, never giving them a chance to retaliate. Even if they land a hit, your fluid movements will minimize the damage."

She wasn't just teaching me a fighting style; she was instilling a mindset. A predator's mindset. A cold shiver ran down my spine, but it wasn't fear, it was a strange sense of exhilaration. This 'Snowfall' technique, it seemed perfectly tailored for our monstrous adaptability.

As if reading my thoughts, Mother conjured an icy warrior with a single gesture." This soldiers has the technique ingrained in it so you'll be fighting and learning from it." She said.

It was humanoid, but devoid of features, a deadly sculpture of pure ice. This would be my sparring partner, it seemed. A perfect embodiment of the snowfall I needed to master.

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