Snow whispered down in spirals, the forest hushed beneath winter's breath. Every branch was crusted with frost, icicles hanging like ornaments.
Then—there was movement.
The creature dashed swiftly atop the snow, manifesting a blade of ice in its hand.
With an explosive exhale, Evan lunged. His fist drew back for a heavy strike, mirroring its charge.
It was faster, but Evan didn't care.
Caution was gone.
The blade kissed his side, slicing an icy fire across his abdomen and splitting his coarse, sleeveless tunic. He didn't flinch. Instead, Evan used the creature's attack to get in close and drove his fist forward.
His first punch landed like a wrecking ball, cracking against the creature's skull. He drew back and followed with an uppercut to its gut.
Crunch!
Ribs shattered by the might of his knuckles, the shock jarring up his arm. A roar tore from deep within. Twisting his hips, he drove further, his fist sending the creature tumbling back.
It rolled, then came to rest.
An azure torrent spilled from beneath its hood, spreading quickly, threading through the snow until the ground itself breathed blue.
Adrenaline burned through Evan's chest as he stood ready for retaliation.
No response.
Evan straightened. The Spell didn't speak, so he called forth his hammer.
He had to be certain.
But as he stepped forward, the world tilted.
"Damnatio—"
His breath was a fire in his throat—just breathing ached.
Just one cut? He couldn't believe it.
The corruption spread with icy malice, like a glacier's heart embedding itself in his core.
Cold.
Terribly cold.
Evan was almost certain his time was running out.
He forced himself forward. With each step the world became smeared, each breath clawing at his lungs.
He clung to memory—Ecludia's capture, the fight, the purpose behind it all—slipping further away with every stagger.
The affliction was spreading swiftly. He could end this now. Finish it before the affliction finished him.
Two steps more. Somehow, he was stayed upright. Barely conscious, he raised his hammer high. His body screamed to stop, but he held his ground.
Then, the Spell spoke:
[You have slain an Awakened Terror, Kaldrmenn.]
He sighed, a delighted exhale. Frost crawled up his neck like living roots, seizing him completely.
His hammer slipped from his grasp—and then he fell, face-first beside the creature.
***
A while later...
Winter's flakes rose from the ground in gentle spirals, drawn to the creature. The flakes circled, whirling in a quiet dance before settling upon it.
Its body was entombed in a layer of ice like frosted glass.
Then the wounds began to heal.
For a moment, there was nothing. Then came breath—before the heartbeat.
Bone fused. Sinew linked. Flesh sealed itself anew under the breath of winter.
The creature arose. The arm that had been mangled and torn was pristine, moving effortlessly.
It examined its arm with the light of the moon, flexing its fingers, marveling at the return of its limb. A curious mewl escaped its throat. Then came the pull—its purpose.
It looked down and saw the man—its opponent—lying motionless in the snow. His body was marked by the Mother's grace.
The creature gave lingered over him, then turned and continued toward the Palehollow.
A pull drew it forward—not toward the Palehollow itself, but what was hidden between...
Then it saw.
Cradled in the twisted arms of bark were two, entwined—life and decay bleeding together. The vibrant one pulsed, a thread of energy spilling from her into the hollow beside her, feeding what should have been lifeless.
The creature's head tilted, eyes narrowing in curiosity. Then it crouched. With a flick of its claws, it sliced through the rope binding her hand to his head.
The flow ceased.
It extended a hand, delicate, and took hold of Serenity's wrist.
It felt potential.
Certainty settled within it.
But before it could lift her free, a force clamped around its wrist—cold and firm. The creature jerked back, a snarl rising from its throat.
It turned—and froze.
Living flesh apprehended it.
Instinct screamed at the creature to run—but the grip on its wrist only tightened.
It wrenched its arm to no avail. With a hiss it released Serenity's hand. Ice chased up its arm, crystallizing in an instant into a blade.
It slashed— But Zerin was faster.
His body flowed like water sliding past stone. In the same moment, he closed the distance, his hand capturing the creature's cloak. He lifted the creature off its feed and hurled it away from the Palehollow with a great feat of strength.
The creature smashed into the trunk of a nearby tree, snow falling from its dusted branches. It slid to the ground, dazed, its breath knocked out of its lungs.
Its hood fell back, revealing a feline face—eyes slitting open with a groan. As its vision steadied, the world sharpened.
Zerin was already there.
He moved swiftly, his eyes void of soul. The black blade in his grip caught the moonlight, the lunar glow showing the dull constellations trapped within.
He lunged, driven autonomously.
The Kaldrmenn scrambled away.
Zerin's lunge missed. The blade sank deep into the tree, driving in with such force that only the hilt remained visible.
A guttural snarl came from the creature's throat. It sprang back, frost gathering in its hands. The air burst as it unleashed hundreds of ice shards in the air toward Zerin.
Zerin ripped his sword from the bark, his sword shattering cedar. He spun, slipping between the onslaught—each shard missing him slightly. Then with an exhale, he hurled his weapon.
The black blade cut through the night and struck true. It pierced the creature midair.
The scream that followed was not human. The Kaldrmenn crashed into the snow, clutching its shoulder where the blade had punched through and jutted from its back.
Pain radiated. It grasped at the weapon, desperate to tear it free—but Zerin was once again closing in.
Panicked, the creature turned to flee. It dove into the swirling snow beside it, vanishing—
—but before it could escape, Zerin caught its leg and was pulled with it.