Cosmic Creepers and Winter fought. When his humanoid form failed, Winter assembled his bird form. He was more comfortable in it. Two heads were better than one. He attacked the llama with everything he had.

A howling blizzard descended on the mountain. Ice flew from Winter’s feathers.

“[Ice Lance].”

“[Call the Pack].”

“[Frost Wall].”

“[Pack Tactics: Defend the Herd].”

“You cannot defeat me. I am a lord, you dumb beast.”

“[Silence, Pagan]. [Ride on Angel’s Wings].”

Lawrence hid behind the wall. He had his phone out and recording. He snapped pictures. Winter hovered overhead. He rained hail the size of spears. Sub-zero wind filled the school. On the grass, a golden ghost-llama leaped. It soared higher than any creature could. It pivoted in the air and kicked.

Winter crashed to the ground. A pack of biting marshmallows dogpiled him. Lawrence had never seen anything like it. He wondered when and where Cosmic Creepers had gotten his Skills. How had he gotten his Skills? What class did he have? The iron-body skills were paladin-related. The miracles, likewise, but for a paladin not his mount. Animal companion summoning, that could be anything. Around Cosmic, a pack of shimmering golden llamas galloped.

Lawrence told the analysis part of his mind to shut up. For a century, he sat and watched. Lawrence did not believe in the Norse gods. But if he did, he’d say Cosmic Creepers earned the right to enter the warrior’s paradise of Valhalla.

“Enough,” Winter roared. The entire mountain shook with his wrath. “I am a god. I cannot be defeated by the likes of you. I won’t. [Arctic Wind], [Midnight on the Polar Winter].”

The poles during the snowy season, when the sun dipped below the horizon for months at a time. The land morphed to eternal darkness and unbelievable cold. Old Man Winter flapped his wings. The air turned to ice. The spawnleather flaps above the walls tore. The curtain wall cracked. Lawrence hid behind the building. He curled into a ball. He heard Cosmic Creepers screaming.

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The wind died. Ice covered everything.

“You fight well, beast,” Winter growled. “Take my compliment to your grave. I will devour your soul. Nothing will remain.”

Lawrence heard a gasp. A thump. His heart stopped. He sat up. He peered around the corner of the wall. A two-headed Articuno stood on the quad. Where the grass stood was now a sheet of ice. The spirits vanished. Cosmic’s hooves froze to the ground. Winter swung his wing, overlapping blades of ice and magic, at Cosmic’s neck. The llama gasped.

Lawrence’s heart stopped. Purple became red. Cosmic’s wool soaked. The llama stood upright for a long moment. His eyes wide and staring. Slow, like a tree losing its balance, he fell.

“NOOO.” Lawrence didn’t know whether the sound was in his head or his ears. There was a hole in his heart. Pain unlike anything he’d ever felt ripped him in two. He clutched his chest. Why did it have to hurt?

“Ha. Ha ha ha hahahaha.” Winter laughed loud and long. Both of his bird heads looked as if Christmas had come early. He lowered himself to the ground. He crowed, “I did it. I killed the beast.”

He marched toward Lawrence. His mouths moved. Lawrence heard nothing. He couldn’t see through the tears. Rage and grief blinded him. A horrible feeling made itself known deep in his gut. Fury and pain in the space where his heart was mixed with a growing, burning ember of. . . hunger. Yes. It was hunger. A kind of ravenous, gnawing ache.

Deep in his soul, something dark reared its head. Planted by a nightmare, years spent growing in the shadows, fertilized by souls and mana, now awakened by grief, rage, and a sacrifice of love, something ancient and alien stirred. Lawrence squeezed his eyes shut. With Cosmic dead, the light was gone from the world. The universe was a dark, cold, empty place filled with powerful nasties. Humans had no hope of overcoming them, no hope of surviving, no hope of doing anything at all to stave off the slow, creeping, inevitable doom from eating the world one piece at a time. Lawrence opened his eyes. Through darkness and madness, he saw.

Lord Winter, scion of Infernal Innovations, master of Nimue’s Tower, [Demon Slave Lord], [Doctor of Goetic Science], and [Occult Alchemist], paused. He saw something evil wearing Lawrence’s skin. He had a moment of self-reflection. A short while ago he possessed Lily. Winter was an ancient being wearing another’s face. He had no name for Lawrence’s heritage, only the feelings it invoked.

Cold. Isolation. Darkness. And fear. Winter blinked. Like prey before a lion, his moment of hesitation, real or imagined, was enough. Lawrence charged.

Winter saw him run as if in slow motion. A boy. Not yet a man. Not even a strong boy, with plastic muscles and a skinny frame. A fraud. He had no Job, Winter was certain. No Skills. No equipment. Nothing of any use against an immortal. Even without iliaster, Winter would regenerate. Even low on mana, he could fight. Nothing could defeat him. Except… No. Primal terror gripped Winter.

Lawrence wrapped his hands around Winter’s chest. Pain unlike anything Winter ever felt or caused flooded his nervous system. The demon’s health drained. His health drained before, but it always refilled. Not this time. He knew in his bones this was it. He had never adjusted to the Maelstrom. That was the reason he occupied this scrap of dirt. He was always a demon of the Pit. Now, the Abyss called.