Icebreaker

[Michael Vellas]

Michael sat on his bed, his legs crossed and arms limp, a familiar pose he adopted when he was troubled. It had saved his life, in more ways than one, the simple technique the Aboriginal's had taught him.

It was, of course, used by many throughout the world and he had known of it long before he had met the natives of Australia. However, they gave him the key to unlock it's true potential.

The fiery river of ice and molten Power flowed through him in torrents that threatened to scourge his very being. He wove all five powers in an endless cycle of repetition that he let dissipate before it formed. The exercise was not one he had been taught; it came naturally when he wished to sooth his tumultuous emotions.

The past few days had unhinged his self-control like nothing had before. It was as if a door inside his mind had been ripped from the wall and thrown into the wind, leaving him dangling on the edge of sanity.

It was very much like the struggle for the Power that welled up inside.

What was he becoming? A monster, like the ones who had killed Tony's niece? Was this 'Power' a drug that brought madness in exchange for power? Was it a disease?

Questions upon questions with no answers plagued Michael's restless soul.

He found himself spinning threads unconciously into patterns he had never seen nor did he know their use. He did not know, but it came to him as natural as the instinct to breathe. The patterns mesmerised him as they spun faster and faster in the air before him, so fast that his eyes could not keep track of the movements. Practice and familiarity guided him where his eyes could not and he felt the Power pulse in time with the beating of his heart, his emotions thrown into the raging river, lost forever.

Clarity followed in the wake of discarded trivialities. It was not a clarity that bore momentous discovery of some deep hidden answer to all of his problems, nor did it cure his confusion, but it did bring him peace for a time, and the ability to think without the pressures of reality.

He would be eternally grateful to Tony for his help, but he was glad that the man had begun to stand on his feet again. Soon, he could no longer rely on the limited knowledge the Russian man could give him. Soon, he would have to find what he searched for on his own.

First, the ones that hunted him. They knew who he was - what he was -, perhaps more than he knew himself. Yes. They would be the first he sought out, and they would tell him what he wanted to know if he had to melt all of the ice in Russia.

There was no anger in his thoughts, only grave resolution. He had to learn, and fast. If he did not, he had the feeling things could go very, very badly.