The Extra Wants Control

The first clash was a deafening roar that echoed through the tomb's cavernous halls. Topaz's golden aura blazed against the obsidian blade of her katana, meeting Neveah's black-veined ice spear in a burst of wind and frost. Contrary to Topaz's expectations, Neveah wasn't just a mage. He moved with a predator's grace, his crimson eyes tracking her every move.

Despite her wind-enhanced speed and masterful metal manipulation technique, Topaz found herself constantly on the defensive. Neveah's strikes were deceptively swift, his strength far exceeding that of a normal human. Each blow of his ice spear, wreathed in dark energy, landed with a sickening thud, sending vibrations through her arms and forcing her back.

Her katana, once a deadly instrument, seemed to struggle against the chilling power of the spear. The wind she conjured to increase her agility was constantly countered by the frigid aura radiating from Neveah. Her peak intermediate mastery of aura, a feat unheard of for someone her age, seemed insignificant in the face of his raw power.

Desperate, Topaz channeled all her remaining strength into a whirlwind attack. Her katana blurred, a golden cyclone aimed at disarming Neveah. But the vampire prince was a blur himself. With a side-step, he spun the ice spear, its black-veined surface slicing cleanly through the whirlwind. The wind dissipated, and Topaz found herself momentarily open.

Neveah didn't waste the opportunity. The spear slammed into her shoulder with a sickening crunch. A grunt ripped from her throat as pain lanced through her body, the force of the blow sending her crashing against the tomb wall. Her aura flickered, the golden glow dimming considerably.

Topaz struggled to her feet, her vision swimming. Seven minutes. That's all it had been, yet she felt like her body had been put through a forge. Despite her genius swordsmanship, her mastery of metal manipulation, and the advantage of close combat against a mage, she was completely outmatched.

Neveah advanced, like a predator approaching its wounded prey. His crimson eyes held a flicker of something akin to pity and boredom, but it was quickly replaced by a steely resolve. Topaz knew then that this wasn't just a fight for survival; it was a fight for his secret( Neveah didn't care though). And he wouldn't hesitate to finish her.

**********

Topaz lay sprawled on the cold tomb floor, a whimper escaping her bruised lips. Tears streamed down her face, blurring the already dim light. Defeat tasted like ash in her mouth. Yet, amidst the pain, a memory surfaced, sharp and cruel.

"Rat... Test subject... Nothing but a weapon... Experiment number 3..." The words echoed in her mind, a cruel reminder of her past. She wasn't Topaz, not truly. She was a creation, a product of years of agonizing experimentation.

Ever since she could remember, her life had been a series of needles, rubber gloves, and constant prodding, poking and stabbing. Pain, not comfort, was her earliest memory.

Even learning to read and write was torture. The ruthless teacher beat her for every mistake, his sadistic laughter ringing in her ears.

Combat training was a brutal baptism by fire. Matches were merciless affairs, where she was beaten to the brink of death and left to heal on the cold floor, sometimes for hours. Sometimes she was lucky as potions were forced down her throat, experiments disguised as treatment, other times she was asked to walk it off.

Years blurred together, each one bringing more excruciating tests, more fatigue, and a slow erosion of any individuality she might have possessed. They were many once, "subjects" like her, huddled together for comfort in their shared misery. But with each passing year, the numbers dwindled. Only a handful remained, their once hopeful faces now etched with despair.

It seemed their creators were pleased with the progress, but the whispers of "mass production", "maybe we can push further" were among the scientists.

The tests became more invasive, more agonizing, pushing the boundaries of her endurance. Privacy, a concept she barely understood, became a distant dream. Every thought, every movement was monitored, analyzed, categorized. Even sleep was a stolen moment, riddled with nightmares of needles and lab coats.

Tears continued to stain Topaz's cheeks, but amidst the despair, a flicker of warmth flickered to life. Even in the hell of the lab, she'd found a light, a guardian angel in disguise. One of the scientists, a woman with a kind smile hidden behind years of sterile lab coats, had become her confidante. This woman, Dr.

Anya, had whispered stories of the world beyond the steel walls – stories of sweet, warm bread unlike the bland rations they ate, of bustling cities with people unlike the harsh figures in white coats, and of landscapes so breathtaking they defied the stark reality of her existence. Dr. Anya had even given her a name, a symbol of something more than "Subject 3" – Sharon.

Sharon clung to those whispered stories, a lifeline in a sea of despair. She'd lose herself in Dr. Anya's descriptions, picturing sunsets painted in oranges and pinks, the crunch of fresh snow beneath her boots, and the warmth of genuine laughter. But then, one day, a new subject arrived.

This girl was different. The same age, with a head of unruly brown hair and large eyes. Yet, this girl was a shattered doll, devoid of the spark, as if she'd give up, she was broken?

The girl wouldn't speak, wouldn't eat, wouldn't even sleep. Just an empty shell haunting the sterile halls. Panic seized the scientists.

"At this rate, she'll die before we get anything from that Clan," a harsh voice echoed in the lab, "and we'll be blamed for it!"

Sharon shuddered at the memory. Even their fear was about failure, not the girl's well-being. But something stirred within her – a flicker of empathy she hadn't known existed. In the broken reflection of this new girl, Sharon maybe saw her own mirrored pain. A silent bond formed, a shared understanding woven from the silence of their captors.

The new girl became Ruby, a name Sharon whispered in the stillness of the night, a tiny act of defiance against their manufactured identities.

The memory of Ruby's lifeless form brought a fresh wave of despair crashing over Sharon. The girl, barely a whisper of a person, had succumbed to the relentless tests shortly after her arrival. Sharon, for the first time felt a hollow ache but it wasn't the physical pain but it hurt. This new feeling confused her.

It was not the first time she saw someone die, but this was painful somehow? Why?

The scientists, their faces etched with a new urgency, turned their attention back to Sharon and the remaining subjects. The experiments resumed, each one more brutal than the last, this caused the loss of two subjects. The once sterile lab echoed with the sounds of their screams, a chilling symphony of pain.

One day, as Sharon huddled in a corner, bruised and weary, she overheard a heated exchange. "Shit, what did you do?" a voice bellowed, "You brought us more problems again. We're already on thin ice!" The venom in the speaker's voice was unmistakable.

"Don't worry," came a nervous reply, "we'll blame it on that know-it-all bitch." The name hung heavy in the air – Dr. Anya.

A cold understanding washed over Sharon. The words thrown around like insults – "show off," "bitch" – they suddenly clicked into place. The other scientists, envious of Dr. Anya's compassion, were using the recent deaths as an opportunity to get rid of her.

Panic surged through Sharon. Dr. Anya, the woman who gifted her with a name, who showed her a glimpse of a world beyond pain, was in danger. A fierce protectiveness, a feeling she'd never known before, ignited within her. Dr. Anya was the only tether to a semblance of humanity they had left, and Sharon wasn't about to let them take that away.

But what could she do? Warn her?

That night, under the dim glow of the lab's emergency lights, Dr. Anya snuck into Sharon's cell. The air crackled with a nervous energy as Dr. Anya pressed a cool metal ring into Sharon's palm. It was a storage ring!

With trembling hands, Dr. Anya cast a complex spell. Sharon's body shimmered and reformed, taking on the gaunt features of the deceased Ruby? Disbelief flickered in Sharon's eyes, a mix of fear and confusion. But Dr. Anya's next words, choked with emotion, cut through the haze.

"Sharon," Dr. Anya's voice rasped, "you need to leave. I've prepared everything for you in the ring. Instructions, supplies, enough to start a new life. I wanted yo save all of you but yhe others don't wanna go. Or are soon going to die.

Only you have a shot for a future... to live."

Sharon, ever the quick learner, understood instantly. Escape. This wasn't a shared flight; it was her freedom, bought at a terrible cost. A strange calm settled over her, pushing down the rising tide of emotions. She trusted Dr. Anya implicitly.

With a lingering kiss on Sharon's forehead, Dr. Anya's voice cracked. "Take the name Topaz," she whispered, tears glistening in her eyes. "Live a life they could never steal from you. More instructions are on the ring you'll know what to do."

Suddenly, a blaring alarm pierced the sterile silence. Dr. Anya's eyes widened in horror. "Go!" she hissed, shoving a glowing scroll into Sharon's palm. "Follow the instructions. Hide so that they won't find you."

Adrenaline coursed through Sharon as the scroll pulsed with a warm light, activating on contact. In a flash of blinding white, she was slowly vanishing, leaving Dr. Anya alone in that place.

The silence was shattered by the crash of heavy boots and angry shouts. Dr. Anya turned to face them, her back held straight, a defiant glint in her eyes. A cruel voice boomed, "There she is! Get her!"

From the shadows, a thick earthen spike erupted, propelled by a unseen force. It pierced Dr. Anya's chest with a sickening thud. As her life force ebbed away, a single word escaped her lips, a whisper on the wind – "Live."

The image of Dr. Anya's sacrifice, the desperation in her eyes, would forever be etched in Sharon's, now Topaz's, mind.

***********

Then, a sudden shift. A golden power erupted from her, a beacon in the dimly lit tomb. Her body levitated a few inches off the ground, the aura around her shimmering with an intensity far exceeding anything she'd ever managed before.

But this wasn't a radiant light. The golden hue was corrupted, twisting and warping around the edges like molten metal infused with smoke. An inky black energy pulsed within the warped gold, growing stronger with every passing second.

Across the chamber, Neveah watched, his crimson gaze narrowed. Tattoos began to bloom across Topaz's skin – intricate, black patterns that writhed like restless serpents on her arms, feet, and even crept up her neck. Her once golden hair, a symbol of the awakening she'd experienced, stood on end, each strand crackling with an ominous energy.

The change in her eyes was the most comical. They had gone completely white. But even that wasn't the end. The white bled away, a darkness spreading across the irises like a stain until her entire eye was an abyss.

Neveah sighed, a gust of icy air swirling around him. "She had a flashback, didn't she?"he muttered to himself. "Sigh, this is getting more annoying."