Damien Stone sat alone in his penthouse office on the sixtieth floor of the towering Stone Industries Tower, his gaze fixed on the glowing skyline of the city below. The world outside was a realm he owned and controlled—a sprawling empire of acquisitions, hostile takeovers, and crushed competitors. The faint hum of the city was muffled by the thick glass windows, leaving the penthouse eerily quiet, save for the occasional creak of the building as the wind pushed against its towering frame.

The silence was broken by an unusual sound—something faint, barely discernible at first. Damien tilted his head, his brow furrowing. It was a high-pitched scratching, like nails dragging across glass. He dismissed it almost immediately, assuming it to be some odd quirk of the wind. Shrugging, he turned his attention back to the financial projections of the takeover, wanting to go over them one more time to make sure everything was perfect.

But then, there it was again. Louder this time. Nails scraping insistently, followed by the distinct, hollow echo of footsteps. The sound reverberated through the vast room, seeming to originate from everywhere and nowhere at once.

Damien clenched his jaw. "Ridiculous," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. "It’s just the wind."

Yet the footsteps persisted, growing heavier, more deliberate. They weren’t coming from the hallway or the elevator lobby outside his office door. No, they seemed to resonate within the room itself. Damien paused, his fingers hovering over the keyboard, his eyes narrowing as he listened intently. But then the noise stopped, leaving the room in an unsettling stillness.

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling sharply. "I’ve been working too long," he muttered, rubbing his temples as he looked down to the half-emptied glass of Scotch.

Moments later, the sound returned, louder than before—a harsh screech of nails against glass that seemed to echo inside his skull. This time, there was no mistaking it. Damien pushed back from his desk, his chair rolling a few inches on the polished marble floor. His eyes darted to the massive windows that framed the city skyline. Something was different.

The temperature in the room dropped sharply, the warmth of the penthouse replaced by an icy chill that made Damien’s breath puff visibly in the air. A shiver ran down his spine as he stood and turned to face the windows. Frost was creeping up the glass, delicate patterns spiraling outward like skeletal fingers clawing their way across the surface. The frost spread unnaturally fast, as though the glass itself were freezing from within.

Damien frowned, his logical mind scrambling for an explanation. "Faulty insulation?" he said aloud, though even as the words left his mouth, he knew how absurd they sounded. This building was state-of-the-art. There was no way the windows would frost over like this without cause.

The footsteps returned, heavy and deliberate, echoing behind him. Damien spun around, his eyes scanning the penthouse. The room was vast, its dark wood furnishings and modern art pieces bathed in the soft golden glow of recessed lighting. Nothing appeared out of place. Yet the sense of being watched was overwhelming.

"Who’s there?" he demanded, his voice sharp and commanding. He wasn’t a man easily intimidated, but something about the unnatural cold, the frost, and those infernal footsteps gnawed at his composure.

No answer came. The silence stretched, broken only by the faint creak of the frost continuing its relentless crawl. Damien took a step forward, his leather shoes clicking against the marble floor. He reached for the control panel on the wall, intending to turn up the heat, but the system was unresponsive. The touchscreen flickered, the usual crisp graphics replaced by static.

The scraping sound returned, but this time it wasn’t just on the glass. It came from the walls, the floor, the ceiling—a cacophony of claws dragging across every surface. Damien’s heart pounded, though he forced himself to remain outwardly calm.

"This is a joke," he growled, though there was no one to hear him. "A prank, that will receive punishment."

The frost reached the corners of the windows now, the once-clear glass opaque with ice. The golden city lights outside were muted, barely visible through the frozen patterns. The temperature plummeted further, and Damien’s breath came in shallow bursts as the cold bit through his tailored suit.

Then, the lights flickered. Once, twice, before plunging the penthouse into darkness. Damien cursed under his breath, his hand instinctively reaching for his phone. The glow of the screen illuminated his face for only a moment before it, too, went black.

From the shadows, a low, guttural laugh echoed. It was deep and resonant, a sound that seemed to vibrate through Damien’s very bones. His grip on the phone tightened as his eyes darted around the room, searching for the source of the noise.

"Who are you?" he barked, his voice laced with anger and a hint of fear. "Show yourself!"

The laughter grew louder, more menacing, as though the unseen intruder found his demand amusing. And then, from the corner of the room, a figure began to emerge.

It stepped into the dim light cast by the frost-covered windows, its massive frame casting a long, jagged shadow across the floor. The figure was tall—inhumanly so—with broad shoulders draped in a heavy, tattered black cloak. Its movements were deliberate, almost predatory, as it advanced toward Damien.

The dim light revealed more details, and Damien’s breath caught in his throat. The creature’s face was pale and grotesque, its skin like cracked porcelain. Two horns curled upward from its head, their edges sharp and jagged. Its eyes glowed faintly red, burning like embers in the darkness.

Damien took a step back, his instincts screaming at him to run, but there was nowhere to go. The creature’s presence filled the room, the cold radiating from it like a tangible force.

Damien straightened, his mind racing between disbelief and an instinctual, growing dread. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded, his voice sharper than he intended.

The figure made his way to Damien before stopping a few feet from Damien’s desk, towering over him despite the penthouse’s high ceilings. The air around it seemed to warp, the cold emanating from its presence almost unbearable. The silence between them stretched until it felt like the very room was holding its breath. Then the figure spoke, its voice deep and resonant, carrying an almost tangible weight.

“Damien Stone,” it said, savoring the name like a predator savoring its prey. “You who have built your empire on the backs of the desperate, you have traded humanity for power and compassion for greed, all at the expense of others. And now … you have been judged.”

Damien’s brow furrowed, his initial fear giving way to indignation. "Judged? By you? Just who the hell do you think you are?" His voice rose, attempting to reassert control.

The figure chuckled, a low, guttural sound that seemed to reverberate through the room. It leaned slightly closer, the glow of its eyes intensifying. "I am Krampus," it said, its grin revealing sharp, jagged teeth. "The watcher of deeds, the counter of sins, the harbinger of consequences."

Damien blinked, his mind reeling. He’d heard the name before, buried in old myths of holiday tales and movies. But this? This was absurd. "Krampus? What is this, some kind of elaborate joke? Did someone put you up to this?" He took a step back, trying to regain his composure.

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Krampus straightened, towering over Damien like a dark monolith. “You fancy yourself a man of stone,” it said mockingly. “Unyielding, unbreakable. But I see what lies beneath. Frozen by greed, hollowed out by ambition. A man of stone, indeed—cold, lifeless, and devoid of any of the warmth that could make a soul worth saving.”

Damien’s jaw tightened. "You don’t know me," he snapped. "You don’t know what I’ve had to do to get here."

“I know everything about you, Damien Stone,” Krampus replied. It raised one clawed hand, and the air seemed to shimmer around them. Visions flashed before Damien’s eyes: boardroom betrayals, broken families, employees reduced to tears as Damien coldly signed documents that sealed their fates. Each memory cut through him like a blade.

Damien shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut to stop the flow of images. “Stop it! I don’t regret anything I’ve done. That’s enough!"

“Enough?” Krampus sneered. “This is only the beginning.” It lowered its hand, the visions fading, but the weight of them lingered in his chest.

Damien took a deep breath, forcing himself to stand taller. "This is ridiculous. You’re not real. You’re a hallucination, a side effect of exhaustion. I’ve been working too hard, that’s all."

Krampus tilted its head, a sinister smile spreading across its face. “A hallucination, you say?” It reached out one clawed finger and pressed it lightly to Damien’s chest.

The effect was immediate. An icy burn seared through Damien’s skin, and he stumbled back, clutching the spot where Krampus had touched him. When he looked down and unbuttoned his shirt for a view, a faint blackened mark—like frostbite—marred his chest. The cold radiated outward, sending shivers through his entire body.

Damien’s eyes widened. "What … what the hell was that?"

Krampus let out a deep, rumbling laugh. "Still think I’m a figment of your imagination?"

Damien’s mind raced, searching for explanations, for some rational way to dismiss what was happening. But the pain, the cold, the burn—they were undeniable. He glared at Krampus, anger flaring through his fear. "What do you want from me?"

“What I want is irrelevant,” Krampus said, its tone icy. “What matters is what you’ve sown, Damien. Your path … it leads to ruin. Not just for those you have trampled to climb your gilded tower, but for yourself. You may not see it now, but the cracks are already forming beneath your feet.”

Damien scoffed, though the sound was hollow. “Spare me the nonsense. You think I’m going to be scared into changing my life because some mythical creature decides to show up and wag a finger at me?"

Krampus’s eyes narrowed, its grin fading into a sneer. “Your arrogance is astounding,” it said, its voice colder than the air around them. “You think dismissing the truth will save you? That ignoring the warnings will shield you from what’s coming?”

Damien crossed his arms, forcing himself to meet Krampus’s gaze despite the chill clawing at his resolve. "I’ve built everything I have with my own hands. I don’t need lectures from some fairy tale demon. If you’re real … if this isn’t some elaborate hoax or a stress-induced nightmare … then do what you came here to do and leave me the hell alone."

Krampus regarded him in silence for a long moment, its burning eyes unblinking. Then it leaned in closer, so close that Damien could feel the freezing air radiating from its form.

“Oh, I will leave you,” Krampus said softly, its voice dripping with menace. “But not before the seeds of your undoing are planted. You cannot escape what you’ve sown, Damien. And I wouldn’t miss what comes next for anything from your world. I promise you will remember this. You will remember … me.”

Damien felt Krampus’s piercing gaze lingering on him as he stepped back slightly, still clutching his burned chest. The room felt impossibly silent, the weight and chill of his presence pressing against every corner of the penthouse. Then, without warning, Krampus extended his massive hand to the side. From the air itself, an ancient, gnarled staff materialized in his grasp. It was tall and crooked, carved with symbols that seemed to writhe and shift under the dim light.

"Enough talk," Krampus rumbled, his voice echoing with an unnatural resonance. "I never held any belief that you would learn through words."

Damien’s eyes widened. "What are you—?"

Before he could finish, Krampus raised the staff high above his head and slammed it into the ground. The impact reverberated through the entire penthouse, a deafening crack splitting the air. The polished marble floor beneath Damien’s feet fractured like glass, sending jagged lines of frost spreading outward. The room began to twist and distort, as though the very fabric of reality was being unraveled. The paneling of the roof above cracked and warped, walls stretched impossibly far, and the sleek lines of Damien’s carefully curated decor bent at unnatural angles.

In the center of the room, the frost gathered into a dense spiral, spinning faster and faster until a swirling portal tore itself into existence. The vortex pulsed with a menacing energy, exhaling an even colder wind that howled through the room. Damien stumbled back, shielding his face from the biting chill.

"What the hell is this?!" he shouted, his voice barely audible over the roaring wind.

Krampus turned to him, his expression as cold and unyielding as the frost spreading across the walls. "A lesson. You must understand what it means to attempt to survive in a world shaped by a cold heart."

The force of the portal intensified, and Damien felt its pull dragging him forward. He planted his feet firmly, gripping the edge of his desk for support. The room continued to warp around him, and the once-luxurious penthouse now felt like a collapsing nightmare.

"You can’t do this to me!" Damien shouted, his voice trembling, although he no longer believed it was entirely from the cold. "I’m not some ... some pawn in your twisted game!"

Krampus sneered, his sharp teeth glinting in the flickering light. "You’ve played games with the lives of others for years, Damien Stone, simply because you were more powerful. Now it is your turn to face a situation where you ran into someone more powerful than you."

Damien felt his grip on the desk faltering as the pull of the portal grew stronger. Papers and objects were sucked into the vortex, vanishing into its icy depths. Damien struggled, his expensive shoes losing traction on the frost-slicked floor.

"No! Stop this!" he yelled, desperation creeping into his voice.

But Krampus showed no mercy. He raised his staff again, and in a single moment, the pull of the portal intensified to an unbearable degree. Damien was wrenched off his feet, his body dragged toward the swirling abyss. He clawed at the floor, his nails scratching against the frost, but it was no use. The portal’s force was too strong.

As he was pulled closer, he saw flashes of another world filling his vision in the mist that was escaping the portal. Snow-covered plains stretched endlessly under a dark, stormy sky. Massive castles, their spires coated in ice, loomed in the distance. Shadows of monstrous creatures moved across the frozen tundra, their glowing eyes piercing the darkness. In one fleeting vision, Damien saw a group of frightened villagers huddling in the ruins of a church as a colossal white dragon soared overhead, its wings blotting out the faint light of the sun.

"What is this?" Damien screamed, his voice raw with terror. "Where are you sending me?!"

Krampus stepped closer, his towering form looming over the edge of the portal. "To a world I imagine you will not enjoy. A world where even the strongest struggle to survive. Perhaps there, in the face of true cold, you will discover warmth."

Damien’s mind raced, panic clawing at his every thought. "No! …"

But before he could continue Krampus shook his head and held up his hand, his expression cold. "Your words mean nothing without action. And your actions have brought you here."

With a final surge of energy, the portal pulled Damien into its depths. The last thing he saw was Krampus standing tall and unyielding, his fiery eyes burning like twin coals. The last thing he heard was Krampus’s chilling voice, reverberating through the void:

"When the ice thaws, perhaps you will find your way home."

The portal sealed itself with a deafening crack, and the penthouse fell silent. The frost receded, the room returning to its former pristine state, as though nothing had happened. But Damien was gone.

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Damien’s screams echoed into the darkness as he tumbled through the void. The cold was unbearable, seeping into his bones and stealing the breath from his lungs. He could see nothing, only flashes of the icy world awaiting him. The sensation of falling seemed endless, twisting his stomach and sending waves of nausea through his body.

Finally, the void spat him out. He landed hard on a frozen surface, the impact knocking the air from his lungs. Gasping, he pushed himself onto his hands and knees, his entire body trembling from the cold. The ground beneath him was solid ice, its surface slick and unyielding. Around him, the wind howled mercilessly, carrying with it the sting of snow and frost.

He looked up, his vision blurry and his breaths shallow. The landscape was as desolate and unforgiving as some of the visions that he’d seen. The snow-covered plains stretched endlessly in every direction, broken only by jagged ice formations and distant silhouettes of mountains. The sky above was a swirling vortex of gray clouds, casting an eerie, dim light over the land.

"Where ... where am I?" Damien muttered, his voice barely audible over the wind.

But there was no answer. No sign of Krampus, no sign of anyone. Only the endless cold.

Shivering, Damien struggled to his feet, his expensive suit offering little protection against the freezing temperatures. He wrapped his arms around himself, his teeth chattering uncontrollably. For the first time since he had left home and escaped the clutches of his father, Damien Stone felt truly powerless.

And in the back of his mind, Krampus’s words echoed like a curse: "When the ice thaws, perhaps you will find your way home."

But for now, there was no thaw. Only the cold.