Esdeath hunched forward on the edge of a brownstone rooftop, the hood of her dark sweatshirt pulled low over her face. The stolen police scanner crackled beside her, its metallic voice cutting through the ambient noise of the city. She'd lifted it from an unlocked patrol car three nights ago—a necessary tool for her evolving nighttime activities.
"Possible 10-30 in progress, corner of Lexington and 47th. Units responding."
She memorized the address, adding it to her mental map of tonight's hunting grounds. The scanner had reported three break-ins and a gang sighting in a ten-block radius—a target-rich environment. Her fingers tapped methodically against the concrete ledge as she planned her route.
This wasn't random vigilantism anymore. This was reconnaissance. Strategy. Purpose.
A scream pierced the night three blocks south. Esdeath's head snapped toward the sound, her senses suddenly heightened. Without hesitation, she vaulted across the narrow gap between buildings, her movements fluid and silent. The city became a playground as she navigated fire escapes and ledges with practiced ease.
Below, a woman backed against a brick wall, purse clutched to her chest. Two men blocked her escape, one brandishing a knife that caught the dim streetlight.
Esdeath dropped from the fire escape, landing in a crouch behind them. No witty one-liner, no dramatic announcement. Just the sudden appearance of death.
The first mugger barely registered her presence before she seized his wrist. Frost spread from her fingertips, encasing his hand and the knife in solid ice. As he opened his mouth to scream, she drove her knee into his solar plexus. The second man turned, reaching for something in his waistband. Too slow. Her palm struck his chest, ice spreading across his torso and pinning him against the alley wall.
"Walk away," she told the woman without looking at her. "Forget what you saw."
Footsteps retreated rapidly. Esdeath turned her attention back to the immobilized mugger. One sharp blow to the temple, and he slumped unconscious, held upright only by the ice binding him to the bricks.
She rolled her shoulders, feeling the pleasant buzz of adrenaline. Too quick. Too easy.
An abandoned warehouse near the docks provided the privacy she needed. Moonlight streamed through broken windows, illuminating the dust particles that swirled in her wake. Perfect.
Esdeath extended her hand, concentrating on the moisture in the air. Ice crystalized, forming a short blade about eight inches long. She tested its weight, adjusting the density until it balanced perfectly in her palm. A second blade followed, identical to the first.
She spun them experimentally, feeling how they extended her reach, how they changed her center of gravity. The dual ice daggers felt natural in her hands, as if she'd wielded them in another life.
With a flick of her wrist, she sent one spinning toward a stack of empty crates. It embedded with a satisfying thunk, frost spreading from the impact point. Another followed, then another, each throw more accurate than the last.
But static targets weren't enough.
Esdeath moved to the center of the warehouse floor, rolling her neck. She began slowly—basic forms, punches and kicks against invisible opponents. Gradually, she increased her speed, incorporating the ice blades into her movements. Slash, parry, spin, kick. Each motion flowed into the next.
She created ice obstacles, forcing herself to dodge and weave between them. When one shattered against her shoulder, she embraced the pain, using it to sharpen her focus.
Hours passed unnoticed as she pushed her limits. Faster. Harder. More precise. Her breath came in controlled bursts, her body moving with inhuman speed as the Lust Extract fueled her beyond normal capabilities.
By the time she finally stopped, sweat plastered her hair to her forehead despite the frigid air around her. The warehouse had transformed into a winter landscape of shattered ice and frost-covered surfaces.
Esdeath stared at her reflection in a sheet of ice—eyes glowing faintly blue, expression fierce and alive.
"Getting better," she whispered to herself. "But not good enough. Not yet."
Esdeath tracked the exchange from the rooftop, counting heads. Six men total—three from each crew. They huddled between dumpsters, passing a duffel bag back and forth, arguing in harsh whispers. Amateur hour. Real professionals would have posted lookouts.
She mapped the alley in her mind: two exits, a fire escape, and a dumpster for cover. Perfect killing ground.
No a hunting ground.
Esdeath dropped silently, landing on the dumpster lid with barely a sound. One of the dealers glanced up, eyes widening.
"What the fu—"
Ice erupted from her palm, encasing his legs up to the knees. The others scattered, two reaching for weapons. Too slow. She vaulted forward, driving her boot into the chest of the nearest man. As he stumbled backward, she grabbed his wrist, freezing his hand to the brick wall.
"It's a freak !" someone shouted.
A gun appeared. Esdeath ducked as the shot cracked against the bricks. She rolled forward, sweeping the shooter's legs. Her hand clamped around his ankle, ice spreading up his calf. He screamed as the cold burned through his jeans.
Two down, four to go.
One thug charged with a knife. Rookie mistake. She sidestepped, catching his arm and using his momentum to slam him face-first into the wall. A quick tap of her fingers left his shoulder frozen to the bricks.
The remaining three clustered together, backing toward the alley entrance. One held the duffel bag protectively against his chest. The tallest—clearly the leader—pulled a handgun.
"Back off, ice bitch!"
Esdeath smiled. "Creative."
She clapped her hands together, then spread them wide. The temperature plummeted. Frost coated the ground in a rapidly expanding circle. The men slipped, struggling to maintain balance on the suddenly slick surface.
Two quick bursts of ice pinned another thug by his clothing. The fifth tried to run, but ice shackles around his ankles sent him sprawling.
Only the leader remained upright, gun trained on her chest. His hands trembled slightly.
"Don't come any closer!"
Esdeath felt the familiar surge—that intoxicating pulse that whispered how easy it would be. One sharp ice spear through his throat. Or freeze his lungs from the inside out. Watch the life drain from his eyes.
The Lust Extract hummed through her veins, practically begging for release.
She took a step forward. "Shoot me then."
He fired. She was already moving, the bullet whistling past her ear. Before he could squeeze the trigger again, her hand closed around his wrist. Ice crawled up his arm, across his chest, leaving only his terrified face exposed.
"Lucky for you," she whispered, "I'm still figuring out my brand."
One sharp blow to his temple, and he slumped unconscious, held upright only by the ice encasing him.
Esdeath retrieved the duffel bag, checking its contents. Packets of white powder, bundles of cash. She left the drugs but pocketed a few bills. Vigilante work didn't pay the bills.
Sirens wailed in the distance. Time to go.
From the rooftop across the street, she watched two police cruisers pull up. Officers approached the scene cautiously, weapons drawn. Their flashlight beams played across the frozen criminals.
"What the hell?" one cop muttered, poking at an ice shackle with his baton. "Some kind of snow witch?"
Esdeath smiled, slipping away into the night.
The next morning, between classes, she noticed a cluster of students huddled around a phone. Curiosity piqued, she drifted closer.
"Check this out," a boy was saying. "Someone posted it last night."
On the screen was a grainy photo of an alley transformed into a winter landscape. Dark figures trapped in ice. The headline above read: "Icy Vigilante Cleans Up Streets?"
The comments section buzzed with speculation:
"Another mutant?"
"Looks fake"
"My cousin's friend saw her last week!"
Esdeath walked away, hiding her smile. The game was changing. She wasn't just training anymore.
She was being noticed.
Esdeath slipped through her bedroom window at 3:47 AM, muscles aching and fingers numb. She'd pushed herself too far tonight—creating ice structures that large had consequences. Her reflection in the bathroom mirror told the story: dark circles under her eyes, a purple bruise blooming on her jaw where some punk got lucky, and the telltale white patches of frostbite spreading across her fingertips.
"Rookie mistake," she muttered, running her hands under lukewarm water. The pain was immediate and intense as circulation returned. She bit her lip to keep from crying out.
The face staring back from the mirror looked different somehow. Sharper. Colder. More alive.
"What exactly are you becoming?" she asked her reflection. The question hung in the steamy bathroom air, unanswered.
Heroes saved people. They stopped bad guys, protected the innocent. On paper, that's what she'd been doing these past few nights. But heroes didn't feel this rush when they hurt people. They didn't lie awake imagining new ways to use their powers to inflict pain. They didn't pocket cash from drug dealers.
She traced the bruise on her jaw, pressing until it hurt. The pain focused her thoughts.
Maybe she wasn't cut out to be a hero. The world had enough Spider-Men and Daredevils, anyway—self-righteous do-gooders with their lines they wouldn't cross. But it didn't have enough of... whatever she was becoming.
Esdeath wrapped her frostbitten fingers in gauze, movements mechanical and practiced. Her uncle would be up in three hours. Questions would follow if he saw her injuries. More lies to tell.
She crawled into bed, muscles protesting every movement. Outside her window, the city continued its restless pulse. Somewhere out there, people were already talking about the ice vigilante. Speculation would grow. Authorities would take notice.
Let them wonder. Let them fear. Let them try to understand what she barely understood herself.
"Let them whisper," she breathed into the darkness, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes glowed faintly blue in the darkness of her room, illuminating nothing but her own satisfaction.
Tomorrow would bring school, normalcy, the mask of the ordinary teenager. But tonight, for these final moments before sleep claimed her, Esdeath embraced what she was becoming—something powerful, something dangerous.
Something entirely her own.