'Reject it? How?' His control was gone. He was just a passenger in his own body as it tore itself apart.
Then, through the blinding pain, a memory surfaced. The fight with Lola. The feeling of letting go, of letting that cold, dark rage take the wheel. He hadn't tried to control the power then; he had become the power.
'Wait.' An idea, born of pure desperation, cut through the agony. 'Don't fight it. Don't try to control it.' His thoughts became sharp, clear, and utterly insane. 'Eat it.'
Instead of pushing the two warring energies apart, he did the exact opposite. He opened the floodgates of his will. He didn't just let them in; he pulled. He drew on the memory of every insult, every beating, every moment of humiliation. He embraced the cold hatred that had fueled his awakening and used it as a catalyst.
'Come on, you bastards,' he snarled in his mind. 'You want a fight? Fine. Fight inside me. But I'm the one who decides who wins.'
