The impact sent shockwaves rippling through the frozen cavern, jagged icicles shattering from the ceiling as the two titans crashed together. Bob-ARM’s sharp claws raked against Snowball’s frost-covered hide, sparks of dark energy and ice magic colliding in bursts of unnatural light. Snowball snarled, jaws snapping shut inches from Bob’s scaled throat, its breath frosting the air and coating Bob’s scales with a thin layer of frost that cracked and flaked away as he roared in defiance.

Snowball lunged again, but Bob ducked low, driving his shoulder into the massive hound’s chest. The frost hound skidded backward, claws gouging deep furrows into the frozen earth as it fought to regain balance. Blood—black and corrupted—seeped from wounds along its flanks, staining the pristine ice beneath it. Bob was no better, his scales cracked and chipped, dark ichor oozing from gashes left by Snowball’s ice-forged fangs.

Bob staggered but forced himself upright, the abyssal energy within him flaring as he focused his power. Tendrils of shadow writhed from his wounds, sealing them in flickering bands of black energy. He bared his fangs and charged again, talons outstretched. Snowball met him halfway, its frost aura intensifying as jagged spears of ice erupted from the ground, forcing Bob to twist and weave to avoid impalement.

A lucky shard caught him in one of his legs, and Bob bellowed in pain, but he didn’t slow. He lunged, grabbing Snowball’s snout in his jaw and forcing it to the side. The hound thrashed, its icy breath washing over him, but Bob’s grip held firm. With a roar, he swung the beast sideways, slamming it into a nearby ice pillar. The impact shattered the pillar, sending shards raining down as Snowball yelped and scrambled to its feet.

Snowball’s eyes burned with a feral light as it opened its mouth wide. Frost energy condensed into a swirling sphere at the back of its throat. Bob reacted to the danger too late—he leaped to the side as the frost beam erupted, but the edge of the blast clipped his tail, freezing the last half of it solid and shattering it as he slammed into the ground.

Pain flared through him, but Bob didn’t stop. He whipped his massive tail, even in its broken state, sending shards of icy flesh flying toward Snowball. The hound recoiled, but its focus didn’t waver. It lunged again, teeth snapping shut on Bob’s front leg.

A guttural snarl tore from Bob’s throat as he felt the crushing pressure of Snowball’s bite. He retaliated, his other leg driving claws into the hound’s neck, raking downward and leaving trails of corrupted energy that sizzled against its frozen hide. Snowball howled in pain, releasing Bob just long enough for him to deliver a savage tail whip that sent it sprawling.

Both combatants paused, their chests heaving as they glared at one another. The battlefield around them was a ruin—jagged ice, shattered stone, and pools of steaming blood painted the ground. Neither creature looked capable of continuing, yet neither made any move to retreat.

Bob’s mind raced. He could feel the abyssal energy within him growing unstable. His transformation had come with immense power, but it was the result of the Rolodex's curse. And he knew that while he was incredibly strong in this form, it wouldn't last much longer. The Curses power seemed to fade when you needed it the most, and when you didn't need it, it tended to stay much longer than you would like.

Snowball snarled and charged again, but this time Bob was ready. He met the beast’s attack head-on, his claws glowing with abyssal energy as he drove them into Snowball’s chest. Ice and shadow exploded outward as the two forces collided, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze.

Then the energy detonated.

The shock wave threw them both apart, Bob slamming into a wall of ice and Snowball crashing through another pillar. The cavern groaned under the strain, cracks spider-webbing through the ceiling as chunks of ice began to fall. Bob coughed, forcing himself upright as he watched Snowball struggle to rise.

Snowball’s body was covered in frost and abyssal burns, its movements sluggish and unsteady. Bob felt no better. His scales were frostbitten and cracked, his muscles screaming in protest with every motion. But he had to finish this.

Drawing on the last vestiges of his power, Bob let out another roar, the sound echoing through the collapsing cavern. Snowball responded in kind, its howl defiant despite the odds. They charged one final time, their battle cries merging into a single, deafening crescendo.

The collision shattered the ground beneath them. Bob’s claws found their mark, tearing through Snowball’s frozen flesh as he drove the beast to the ground. Snowball howled and thrashed, but Bob didn’t let go. He sank his teeth into the hound’s throat, abyssal energy surging through him as he poured everything he had into the attack.

FUCK! Not now, please. NOT YET!! Bob thoughts raged as he could feel himself shrinking. As he rapidly reduced in size, he grabbed on to the fur of the beasts neck and held on for dear life. A fall from this height might not kill him, but it sure as hell would leave him broken.

Bob clung desperately to Snowball's neck, his fingers digging into the frost hound's matted fur as the beast thrashed violently. Snowball's guttural growls mixed with pained yelps, echoing off the cavern walls like a thunderstorm trapped underground. Bob barely had time to tighten his grip before the corrupted hound let out a deafening roar and shook its massive body violently.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Bob lost his hold.

The world spun as he soared backward, his breath stolen from his lungs before he even hit the jagged rock wall. The impact exploded through him like a sledgehammer, pain erupting from his back in a searing wave. He crumpled to the ground, struggling to breathe as agony flared through every nerve ending.

His vision blurred. His fingers twitched feebly, grasping at loose gravel, but his legs refused to respond. Something was wrong—terribly wrong. Panic threatened to consume him, but he forced it down, focusing his gaze through the fog of pain.

Bob almost succumbed to the panic as his gaze landed on where the wounded Snowball stood.

Snowball’s labored breaths fogged the frigid air, each exhale growing weaker as the corrupted frost hound swayed where it stood. Its massive frame, once proud and menacing, sagged under the weight of countless wounds. Jagged shards of ice protruded from its sides, remnants of the battle that had driven it to this pitiful state. Blood, dark and thick, seeped from deep gashes, staining the frost-covered ground beneath its trembling paws.

The beast raised its head toward the swirling gray sky, its cracked maw parting in a long, mournful howl that echoed across the wasteland. The sound was both a cry of pain and a howl of rage—an ancient voice carried by the wind, trembling and raw. Snowball's howl seemed to linger, vibrating in the air, before silence fell. Its legs buckled, and the giant hound collapsed, sending a shower of frost and ice outward in a muted explosion.

And then the transformation began.

Ice crept outward from Snowball’s wounds, spider-webbing across its fur with unnatural speed. The corruption that had taken hold of the hound seemed to resist at first, bubbling and writhing beneath the surface, but the encroaching frost claimed it all the same. Crystalline structures formed along its limbs, covering muscles and sinew, spreading like veins filled with frozen fire. Snowball's breathing slowed until it stopped altogether. The once-living beast now resembled an ice sculpture—beautiful, yet lifeless.

Cracks spread through the icy shell with sharp, staccato snaps. Thin lines of light shone through as if something inside strained to break free. The stillness of the moment stretched unbearably until the frost hound’s frozen body erupted outward in a blinding burst of icy dust. The shock wave sent shards of frozen debris in every direction, glinting in the dim light before falling as harmless snowflakes.

When the haze cleared, the hulking monster was gone. In its place stood a much smaller, pristine version of Snowball.

This Snowball was no longer twisted and corrupted but appeared pure and untouched by the horrors that had plagued its former self. Its fur shimmered like fresh snow under moonlight, and faint traces of frost swirled around its paws as it moved. The creature blinked its icy-blue eyes, tilting its head as though awakening from a long and troubled dream. Gone were the jagged edges of ice and the black veins of corruption that had marred its body. In their place was a lean, elegant form—compact and graceful, but still carrying the unmistakable power of a predator.

Snowball stepped forward, each paw leaving a trail of delicate frost patterns on the ground. Its nose twitched as if testing the air, and then it let out a low, experimental growl. No longer did it sound broken or desperate. This was a sound of renewal, of rebirth—a creature forged in ice and tempered by pain, now reborn in a smaller but no less dangerous form.

The wind stirred the icy dust around it, forming a whirling vortex before settling again. Snowball’s ears perked, catching distant sounds carried by the wind, and it began to move, each step silent but deliberate. Whatever had happened in that explosive moment had not only purified the frost hound but also awakened something deeper within it—an ancient bloodline, perhaps, or a new found level of sentience.

Snowball saw his friend, Bob, broken and bleeding, and howled. A howl that echoed incredible sadness, and concern. The hound bolted to his friends side and licked his face repeatedly.

Bob's eyes widened at the sight and the sudden licking attack. "Snowball," he groaned. "You've come back to me!"

Snowball spun a few times and then nudged himself so that Bob was lifted and supported by his body. The hound whimpered, a smile split his face as he faded into oblivion.

Bob's consciousness floated weightlessly in the endless void. Darkness stretched infinitely in all directions, silent and still. He couldn't feel his body anymore, couldn't hear his own heartbeat, yet he knew he was still there—somewhere. He couldn't feel the comforting warmth of his Frost Hound companion, Snowball either. A flicker of light danced in the distance, faint and fleeting, like fireflies at dusk. Memories stirred, summoned by the soft glow.

Scenes of his old life played out before him. The golden fields of wheat rippling in the summer wind. The creak of the porch swing as he watched the sun dip below the horizon. The earthy scent of freshly tilled soil after a long day’s work. He saw his father’s weathered hands guiding his own as they fixed the fence together. His mother’s laughter echoing through the farmhouse kitchen. The dog barking as it chased chickens around the yard. Bob felt his throat tighten, even though he had no throat anymore.

How had it all gone so wrong? He hadn’t asked for this—to be ripped from everything he knew and loved and dropped into a world where monsters roamed and magic shaped reality. He had only wanted to go home. That single, desperate desire had driven him to climb the Tower of Trials, step by grueling step, floor by unforgiving floor. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.

Yet, despite the bitterness clawing at his thoughts, he couldn’t deny the pride welling up inside him. He’d never been one to quit, never let the weight of life’s hardships crush him. When the crops failed, he replanted. When his father passed, he stepped up and took care of the farm. And when this alien world tried to break him, he had faced it with grit and determination.

Bob smiled, or at least he felt like he did. Even now, with his body broken and bloodied somewhere far below, he hadn’t lost who he was. He was still Bob—the stubborn, hard-working farmer who didn’t know how to give up. But maybe it didn’t matter anymore. Maybe this was the end.

“Guess it doesn’t matter now,” he muttered, his voice echoing through the void, hollow and distant. He closed his eyes—or imagined he did—and let the darkness take him.

But the darkness didn’t take him. Instead, it shifted. The faint light grew stronger, blossoming like dawn breaking over the horizon. Bob’s drifting slowed, and for the first time, he felt a pull—gentle, but insistent.

His eyes snapped open.

No. Not yet.

He wasn’t done. He couldn’t be done. He hadn’t climbed this far, fought this hard, just to fade away. The farm could wait. Home could wait. Right now, there was still a battle to fight.

With a surge of will, Bob reached for the light, and the void trembled.