FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

“Now that the aberrant trouble has been taken care of, and we're about to immerse ourselves in a carnal affair, it's about time you know more about the demideity you'll be soon adoring."

After bewitching Marek in the path among the two peaks, Kiya commanded the fighter to follow her to the sanctuary; with his will sealed up, the ex-mercenary had no choice but to chase after the elemental's strut, doing nothing to protest except mouthing jerkily and wiggling his fingers in a passive attempt to break through the charm.

Needless to say, he attained no result, accomplishing nothing but screaming in a corner of his mind.

Even now, seated on a rectangular rock adorned with layers of reindeer furs, under a ceiling displaying stylized stalactites made of ice, a shirtless Marek battled with the abstract jail that prevented him from bringing out one of his blades and drawing another smile across the wicked woman's neck.

“I never lived like this… surrounded by hard rock… by beast-wrapped furniture… by hideous monsters…" Kiya spoke from outside the room where Marek lay, her inflection full of dramatism. She was looking at her warped reflection in one pillar made of ice — one of a dozen — its design striking as it spiraled and twisted into itself and high, putting into shame most iceworks, and even matching the fancy masonry made for the nobility.

“I used to inhabit a less untamed land, sparse in rocks, mountains, and ice but abundant in both snow and vegetation. Therein, the sun and moon shared the sky evenly, and blizzards battered the region far less frequently."

Kiya detached herself from the artisanal pillar, spinning on her bare feet with elegance, almost dancing, and sashayed toward another pilaster, talking as she closed the distance between her and the gaping, ice-made entrance of her chamber.

“The land, Kuriroku by name, was the nexus of many routes, drawing countless passers-by to walk through and around it. Merchants. Trailblazers. Farmers. Brave warriors… there was no day in which a group of humans marched across the natural routes of such beautiful land…" The daynt parade stopped right outside of her bedchamber, the exotic lady leaning against the cold frame of her dorm's entrance. She lifted one of her fingers and pressed it against her lower lip, immediately casting a lustful and vice glance over Marek. “There was no week in which one of the male citizens 'accidentally' lost themselves in the beauty thicket of Kuriroku."

Marek's heart peaked in rhythm, but his features merely elicited a fleeting twinge here and there.

He has heard of the victims of these unusual circumstances involving land sirens. How succubi-like entities lured males into their territory to fill their bottomless lust, muffling their carnal hunger by draining their victims of their vitality in the most exhilarating way possible, only to discard the hollow husk of what used to be their lover like a worn garment.

A disposable sexual toy for a vampire of desire. That was what he would be reduced to.

The same hand that caressed the thin and pale rose lip started to trail down, sliding through the curve of her neck, playing for a bit on the indentations of her collarbone, and subsequently grasping the hem of her dress. “None of them could resist the true allure of the snow-clogged woodland. Like moths, no human male resisted the draw of the most radiant lamp that was I, Kiya~."

The fine-boned finger slid teasingly through the sericeous edge of her dress, thereafter pulling the dress downward, letting the fabric gently drop until the sash of her waist stopped it from falling further; bared to the wintry sunset, the pale peaks jiggled free from their silken containment.

Marek had no choice but to hear a gasp that his rogue body drew out, ashamed and frustrated at the little control he had over his corporeal functions. Even in soberness — and that was a punch to his pride, given the circumstances — he had to admit that Kiya's swells bordered on flawlessness: a pair sizeable enough to fill a fruit bowl, glowing like unpolluted pearls gathered from the biggest mussels available in the Calante Sea. And at the peak of the breasts, the jewels at the top of the palace, glinting like cherry-colored gems.

Such a piece of feminine artwork could only be crafted by heralds of the Goddess Ethne Glyn herself.

For how vulnerable he was before nature's freezing temperatures — for how much the burning sensation, prelude to frostnip, spread across his skin and muscles — the body meticulously honed to murder did a negligible job to oppose the enchantment and responded perhaps too well to the sight of an almost naked maiden, too much for his shame.

Giggles were carried by the crisp breeze and reached his ears. “Another moth, I see." The entity padded closer, hips swaying like a brass bell outside a shack. “Alas, poor traveler… Pushing through the wasteland for who knows how long… Battling the elements… And the only source of ladylike warmth available stemmed from a doggish buzzard."

The spell loosened his grasp for a fraction of a second, and Marek was capable of twisting the corner of his mouth into a clunky snarl, flashing a glimmer of his teeth.

Marek knew nothing about Sigrid's whereabouts or, more worrisome, about her condition. He only knew that Kiya, irritated upon understanding the monstress was on her way to rescue him, entered into a state of semi-meditation for a couple of minutes before 'returning.'

He prayed that she was still alive, and given that shadow of pique on the elemental's mien by her return, he had reasons to believe the 'aberrant trouble' was far from rectified. Or so the fighter hoped.

After snapping out of her apparent state of reverie, she commanded Marek to slip out of his longcoat, leather vest, and undershirt and, like a 'good dog,' sit inside the elemental's custom-made chamber.

His most powerful weapons, Dalavut and Iousterard, were likewise separated from him, secured in the back of the room, eight or so feet above the floor, by vermin-like legs of ice that fastened to the wall — waiting for a hand embrace that would not come any time soon.

“As I was just explaining, humans went astray because of me, directly into my shrine of hinuki, silk, and porcelain, all of which I inherited from my mother. Therein, they tasted heaven in my company, smiling with glee even as the warmth left their bodies. Their hearts stopped, yet, after all the ecstasy I bestowed upon them, their cocks never softened, not even in death."

Kiya paraded further into her room until she stood one foot from the seated man. “It was truly a pleasant way of life. Most villages would give no mind to the disappearance of one or two men a week, thought just lost to the elements or some wild animal. I was free to impose my will over the peasants. Free to please myself with the hotness of vagrant men~."

Every lewd display originating from the elemental — every bounce of her breasts, each sway of her hips, and even the ring of her flutelike voice — hardened the chains over Marek's will.

Nonetheless, during his period of mental slavery, Marek had learned that every time he took damage — that his life felt directly threatened — the shackles lightened. Even more, ever since the entity left her extensions clear to harm Sigrid, his will has been slowly resurging.

Indeed. By being aware of the real threat Kiya opposed, her sirenlike influence over him had lost efficacy, a benefit that the elemental's previous victims sadly did not have.

Perhaps, just perhaps, Marek still had a shot to escape from this honey trap.

A weight reposed over Marek's lap; Kiya sat down, both knees scissoring around his trunk with orcish might and resting on the fur-coated granite, proceeding to probe the hem of the pants with her icy fingers, which were dangerously close to his nether regions. “A sanctuary. A neighbourhood free of bothersome beasts. Handsome men. Sex. I have been living the dream of empresses. Karma could not get me; I was free to do as I pleased."

Kiya took her hands off the man's trousers and began moving them upward. For an eyeblink, Marek could mentally sigh knowing his genitals would not be the first to get the frozen stick treatment, but his relief was short-lived as the elemental's frigid hands patted the sides of his abdomen.

Sheer coldness made his muscles contract, forcing the man to hiss and gasp in pain. “... But I was wrong," Kiya continued, intrusively stroking the human's midsection, tracing her nails across every outline and scar of his toned muscles, leaving behind them a line of stinging anguish.

“Maybe I killed the wrong man… Maybe I killed too many of them in a brief period of time. Whatever the case, I ended up bringing an enemy into my house. A priest, master of paper magic, possessor of a strong will that outclassed my charms. And he… he…" Her undertone, bearer of a superior and sultry aura, soured. Unfortunately for Marek, that translated into more intense torture.

“He expelled me. Banished from pleasantness and sent me to this frozen hell… " Kiya was now grasping Marek's pecs, her claws — as they gained their beastly appearance with her increasing rage — dangerously close to his heart. Forget Gruhulla's gnasher, Tez's trap, and the circle of undead formed by Madakai — this was Marek's most vulnerable moment ever since he stepped into the Frostscape.

Such a fact could have made him cover his face in shame had he the ability to do so. He was about to experience both the fantasy of many and a dog's death.

“My monarchlike home was left alone for the winter to bury under tons of snow… Here, this godless place the settlers refer to as Frostscape is nothing but a hole of nefarious wilderness!" A layer of sheet emerged from the hands of the elemental, spreading around his upper body.

Wicked woman, carried out by her emotions… Nothing new under the sun.

Marek could force himself to break through the entrancement if the situation dragged on — the agony was helping him, paradoxically — but to do that whilst Kiya grew in anger would leave him at a disadvantage. He had to find a clever way for the woman to lessen her aggressivity and save time.

“Hideousness. Disgustingness. Fucking strident. And worse: next to no handsome men. In three years, this pitiful, farm-like landfill had been the best I could find. Why? Why?! Why did I have to be evicted into this derelict wasteland? Where the most ugly-looking monster roams! It's unfair! Unfai— kah— aahh~."

The aimless rant was suddenly replaced by a short moan. Marek, making use of the little control he regained during his torture, managed to cup one of the entity's breasts.

Forgive me, Sig.

Kiya breathed with mouth ajar, back slightly arched, and eyes half closed. The freezing process stopped, but the layer of cold prevailed, ready to undergo further expansion if the fighter did not find another way to bring the maiden back to her lustful self.

The most Marek could pull out was drawing a circle around Kiya's pinkish knob. For his credit, the movement succeeded, eliciting another moan from the maiden on his lap.

“Ohh yeess~. Tha-at feels goo-oo~." As if he pulled a lever that shut off wrath, Kiya surrendered to pleasure and arched at Marek's touch. The man, half-brainwashed and numbed, could not unleash the maximum potential of his nimble fingers, and yet Kiya writhed in delight like a cat in heat by the simple action of brushing her nipple.

The act disgusted him, but at least Marek could feel the ice retracting from his chest, so he managed to breathe easier. His heart was out of danger, at least for now.

Better stand against a horny witch than a hopping-mad one.

“Oh traveleeer~, you surely know ho-ouhou-w to please a high entity~," she straightened and cast a lascivious gaze at Marek. “I don't remember the la-aah-st time someone had satisfied me with sooo~ little action~. Those fingers do more than simply fiddle with sharp toys, don't theeey?~"

Shut. The. Fuck. Up.

“Oh~. And my apo-oouh-logies~. To think I almost reduced those dextero-ohohou-us tools to black and crisp sticks because I got carried awaaay~." Once calmed, or at least calmer and no longer angry, Kiya wrapped her arms around Marek's neck, the contact sending swarms of chills down his spine. “Come to me, outsider~," she purred, touching Marek's forehead with her own. “Make me feel like an empress~. Make me feel like a goddess of sex~. "

Marek could not grit his teeth or snarl; he just obeyed and angled his head to connect his lips with Kiya's. The effect was instantaneous: the mouth of the elemental worked like a vacuum that extracted the calidity from the depths of his guts and the end of his hands and feet. Luxuria acted slower than wrath, but that did not make it less lethal.

Kiya moaned on and inside Marek's mouth, occasionally licking and nibbling the man's lips. Wavered on his lap, bucking her hips in all angles imaginable, almost gliding along his length, impotently hard because of the enchantment over him.

Another surge of coldness — the elemental relocated her arms on the man's back, nail tips digging into the each-second-paler skin, and pressed herself against him, squeezing her bare breasts onto the athletic frame of the ex-mercenary.

“Who's your queen?~ Who's your Spirit~? Worship me~. *Worship meee~. *"

Marek never felt so grossed out in his young life of patrolling stewish streets and corners. He might have drowned himself in ooze and might have even wallowed in his own piss, but at least that was made in his young self's volition.

Besides, during those times of fightmongery, his heart leaned to no one. Marek could not help but feel like a bastardly love rat by sharing the bed with another woman, even if he had no official engagement.

Grunts and hisses permeated the air. The woman sang the tunes of pleasure, whereas the man hummed ache. Whether Marek enjoyed the delightful trip, Kiya did not care. She was the songstress of this opera; Marek was a disposable instrument.

More freezing agony than carnal glee, Marek battled to regain control, mentally praying to Seolvor to break only for an instant to unholster one of the dirks Kiya omitted taking from him and carve a rift in her throat.

It was a battle that prolonged for a while, and he could feel the elemental's gleeful juices spreading across his lap, the liquid twinging his skin like dry ice. The enthrallment was too strong; any movement he dared to do, without a doubt, would end in failure. He needed another push — one to pierce through the last barricade that kept his mind out of the reach of his body.

“Keep those nimble fingers massaging the pairs~." It came Kiya's obscene sigh, and Marek pressed his jaw tight and cursed innerly. “I'm your matron~. The empress that reigns over your body~. Tribute me with your touches, and you'll hear me mewl and purr as the very bitch of the Gods~. Do it, my foreign fighter~. Do it, *my Marc~. *"

And so the siren soughed — the nickname given to him by Sigrid out of pure kindness and innocence.

And the way she purred— no, she chirped, the inflection like no other she had voiced before. It was a charade, a vulgar parody of Sigrid's singsong intonation. It was on purpose.

Ice-cold succubus.

Murderous seductress.

Man-eating mantis given angelic form.

The nerve. That byname was bestowed to him by the only being who had treated him with fondness in a long time, possibly even ever. Kiya had no right to call him by that nickname, never mind imitating the lilt to which was attributed the unique feat of making his heart aflutter.

The self-professed quasideity would lament the day she tried to hurt Sigrid and usurp one of her unique features. And that day was today.

That was all it took — the enchantment had crumbled into pieces. Marek was sober; every single fiber of his being was for him to command.

“Ohhh yeees~." Harlot entity, deafened by her own cries, too enthralled by her libido to notice Marek now lay unfettered from her mental binds. This, of course, did not mean the battle was over; on the contrary, it had just begun, and, to his growing stress, Marek did not have a leg to stand on.

“Aaahhhh~." The entity moaned in prolonged gasps right in the depths of his mouth. Disgusting. Painful. His buccal protrusions could hardly quiver without chapping. He needed to make haste and revert the situation in his favor, but that would require some pondering.

The runed shortsword hung on the left side of his waist, obstructed by a pale thigh and knee. The option was discarded without a second thought — he could not draw the weapon without alerting the succubus; her strength was simply too great.

Then, his dirks, hidden in his boots. Too close to the ground, such an attempt to retrieve them would, without a hint of doubt, be too eye-catching. Unless, of course, he kept playing along and lowered his stance in a way so flashy that his coercive 'lover' would not glance down at his hand.

Oh, Seolvor. Have I not humiliated myself enough?

Mouths separated with a husky smack, his lips too dry to generate any wet sound. Interrupting their exchange of spit would have warned Kiya that some form of resistance was going on, but before that possibility had the chance to see the light, oral touch made contact with the milky neck, triggering yet another mewl.

“Oh— Ooouuh~, so eager to go down on me~." Kiya rested her hands over Marek's head and inclined her head backward, biting her lower lip. “So full of fervooour~. Perhap— oohu~. You might thrive throughout the entire danc— gaahhh~."

… That'll do.

He trusted that he could accelerate the pace without causing his rapist to arch a brow — yes, a rapist, that was the embarras s ing truth. And a female one at that.

Marek continued to trace his mouth across the elemental's body until his cheeks were squashed by her mounds. The ice-woman's obscene cries were akin to scratched glass by that point.

The stealing of warmth gave him no respite, and Marek worried that the dispersive frigidity would strip his fingertips of sensibility, causing him to fumble in detecting the pommel of his dirk. With calm desperation, he rummaged in his boot with his right hand while he fondled the underside of her thigh with the left one.

No good. His fingers had not lowered enough, and Marek could only feel the coolness of the metallic pommel. He needed to grasp the handle, to feel the secure touch of leather on his soon-to-be-frostbitten hand, but the euphoric entity was pressing him against her bosom.

So close. Just an inch more. I need her to relax those gorilla-strong arms, if only by a second…

Numbness became more prevalent, and the unorthodox cling was turning breathing into an arduous task. One minute, perhaps, was all he had to escape before the strength was completely drained from him.

I cannot die like this… Silly traps, stupidly releasing ancient evils, accidentally crushed by a dragon, but not this… Come on, bitch. Get the crap off me!

His lamentations appeared to be some kind of prayer — a booming howl rode the whirling winds and arrived at the ice-made chamber. There was no doubt: the outcry had a wavering pitch, hovering between birdlike and canine. It was Sigrid.

“Ah—!" And before such a unique yowl, Kiya's lewd vocalization died off after a surprised gasp. Her hug around Marek's head, too, loosened.

“That… isn't how Nija's howl sounds," Kiya uttered while looking at the exit of his abode, the leftovers of her sexual gratification plastered on her face, but nevertheless showing signs of skepticism. “ Tsk… Those beastly cries better be attributed to the chimera's death throes." A sigh rang out. “Alas, worry not about such annoying and bestial racket, morsel of mine~. I'm sure everything will be under…"

Kiya was in the process of turning her head back to Marek, but halfway through the movement, a gray gleam from below caught her eyes, and she stopped short. The shine originated from a dagger, its point aiming directly at her head.

“... Control?" Marek would have tasted the sweet irony of seeing his slaver freeze in shock, but he could not celebrate until her shapely body lay lifeless on the furs of her own bed.

The metal upthrust was slow for Marek's standards, but the element of surprise made up for that. The blade passed by the thigh, cut the fabric of the sleeve, and speared where the jaw and the neck formed an angle.

The strike was true, and metal kissed snow-white skin.

But instead of a swish of cut flesh, he heard a thud.

It was Marek's turn to freeze, metaphorically for once — his hand trembled as it pressed the length of metal against the flesh of the maiden, the sharp edge not even scuffing the pristine cutis.

With shock carved across all her features, Kiya's mouth began to articulate. “What. Are. You. D—" Marek would not allow himself to let the vile entity move or spit more words. Making all the use of the little adrenaline left that ran through his veins, Marek gathered his strength to flip Kiya by her thigh, shoving her out of his lap.

Kiya, still flooded by perplexity, opposed no resistance and fell to the cold rock, double-lidded eyes not blinking even once.

What's this? Did she transform into ice or something? She's been rubbing herself all over me and never felt touching any sturdy region. Marek rose to one knee and leaned toward the edge of the bed, looking down at the elemental with the dagger in front of his chest, held by an aspen yet firm grip. Doesn't matter. I know for certain of a cushioned region of her heat-eating figure.

He lunged to the floor, left hand pushing the pommel of his dirk in order to exert greater strength into his thrust. The tip of the steel found Kiya's left breast, and the weapon deepened itself into the soft mammary until the length could no longer sink.

But the tissue never yielded — the pearl-like swell suffered no cut, bruise, or scrap.

All the actions that led to his all-out attack were in vain, fruitless. And during that lapse of awareness and dread, evaluating the few odds he had to survive, Marek understood why Kiya stripped him of Dalavut and Iousterard whilst ignoring the remaining of his weapons.

Both the silvery, elven ax and the ebony scarlet longsword were weapons of old, thick with magical power. Kiya, as an ice elemental of sort of high hierarchy, stood out more as an extraplanar being than a simple element with a female form. She had the capability to skip certain rules of this world.

The ability to take damage from mundane objects was among those rules.

Hence, no human, monster, or even other elemental of lower ranks could even dream of inflicting damage upon her body, no matter how minor. A tower of granite could plummet over her slender form, and the only result would be soiling her clothes.

You… have to be kidding—

Pain emerged from his rib as if struck by a hammer; the next he knew was that he lay prone by the wall, back pulsing with soreness.

“You… ungrateful… hot-blooded mortal! " Kiya bawled as if blowing through a horn of crystal, picking herself from the ground; any trace of delight once drawn across her exotic features shattered like a porcelain vase to expose the seething mien of a demoness.

This is beyond awful. Dare to say nothing short of terrible. Marek did what he could to stifle the quivers of his body, squeezing the handle of his blade so it would not vibrate erratically. However, in regards to keeping his erratic breathing at bay, he failed.

“You piece of trash! How?! How do you dare to break through my charm?!"

Marek probed his belt. He wiggled about until his fingers felt leather. Was it two seconds? Three? Too long. The cold must have aggravated his nerves, messing with his sense of awareness and reactions. A fumble after another, as if the situations were not critical enough.

At least his eyes were in acceptable condition and caught the glow of his two enchanted weapons bound to the wall at the back of the room.

“I offered you a piece of paradise, and you rewarded me with a blade in my neck! You shitty bastard! " At least the harlot's unnecessary swearing compensated for his lack of reflex actions. Marek lurched off across the room with the shortsword in hand.

“You won't give your back to me!" Kiya swung her arm in Marek's direction, and, without delay, a spike wall, about five feet tall, sprouted in front of the frantic man, securing his precious weapons away from his immediate reach.

Marek narrowly avoided impaling himself on the thorny palisade, three or so icy tips kissing his chest and midsection. The man was forced to round the rampart, so he pivoted on his foot, the swivel causing his leg to throb.

Biting his lip, perhaps with more strength than required given it chapped under the pressure of his teeth, Marek latched his eyes onto his mistressy enemy, whose face was curled down into a scowl, long hairs beginning to swirl around because of her increasing anger.

Without time for exchanging defiant gazes, Marek threw his dirk at Kiya, hoping that the speed metal would at least give him time to maneuver his way to where his most powerful weapon remained out of sight.

Kiya did not swallow the feint; even more, she lunged forward, catching the flying missile with her head, reacting with no more than an eyeblink and an indiscernible head tilt. Approaching fast, Marek had no choice but to shift on the fly, pushing his body to twist right before jumping off the bed in order to face the incoming menace.

Suffering a severe handicap because of his gone bodily warmth, Marek did not fulfill the strict criteria to react against the supernatural entity. The consequence was a clap with an adamantine hand straight to his stomach.

His face twisted, mouth gaped at its fullest, letting out a silent gasp; the saliva dried and frozen inside did not allow Marek to scream his anguish accordingly.

As if defying gravity, Kiya whirled in midair, sending Marek out of her abode in one push. As if dashed by a slingshot, Marek flew helplessly through the air, and even after hitting ground, he rolled several feet until he managed to stop seven yards away from the precipice.

“Do you feel manly?" From the floor, Marek stiffly glanced at how the Kiya got out of her abode, no longer strutting but walking with a tad of rigidity, loose clothes and locks spiraling around her silhouette, exposed breasts faintly bouncing with every footstep. “Powerful? Rebellious? Victorious in pulling off a feat that only magical geezers and pooves could perform?"

This… bitch. Shakily, Marek picked himself up, but his body was hitting the limit and could not put him on guard at the speed he would have desired.

Meanwhile, the elemental padded closer. “You were doomed from the very beginning, you bent fool. There's a reason why I found no mortals around this place. It is unlivable. Unfitting for human survival. The people here did not survive, and neither will you!"

Marek managed to rise into a half-stooped stance, one of his muscles frequently spasming and sending ripples of burning sensation across his freezing form, legs twitching occasionally. His nasal channel bulged tight, causing him to constantly breathe through his mouth, which had no choice but to increase the breathing rate, straining his lungs.

“S-still… holding it-t…" Marek murmured, his voice gruffy. “The dragon… is te-terrible… but prior to that, all of them— were fine settling this far…" Marek lifted his head and met with the ice maiden, ten yards and approaching. “It w— you. They didn't escape the dr-dragon… they escaped-d from you… "

“What a shocking revelation. Mister Traveler here can use his head in something other than scrubbing women's racks," Kiya responded, full of sarcasm. “Primitive humans, ungrateful all of them, questioned whether I could chase the dragon off. They concluded I could not; hence, they forsook me."

Coughs came out from Marek, some form of broken laughs, Kiya identified. “Yo— should-d have done a shit-ty job as a Spirit, didn't yo-ou? Let m-ee guess… fornicated with t-their males?"

“A slept with a few… not a lot of them benefit from the chiseled body you have, ex-lover of mine. Most of them were geezers, females, or straight-out ugly."

Marek coughed more. “P— int me surprised."

Marek had little energy left; that was undeniable, and even if he regained all his strength, he could only maneuver without a weapon capable of inflicting damage upon the elemental.

However, the last part was only true for Kiya — Marek still had a plan up his sleeve, or more accurately, within his left grip. The opposite element of an elemental entity was always anathema to them, regardless of spiritual rank.

Marek only had to wait for Kiya to stand close enough, then vocalize the chant of the runed weapon, and rush forward in an all-out attack. That was his only choice given that Iousterard was taking its sweet time to teleport back to his belt; Marek inferred the ax's delay resulted from his latest mental infliction — the elven weapon most likely would not recognize a brainwashed warrior as its legitimate owner.

Kiya took another step, and Marek's senses heightened. That distance would have to work. He hardened his grip, shrunk a tad to gain impulse, and started chanting. “ Flare-es to-to th— th-y— " But something went wrong. Terribly wrong.

The sparks coming from the ice chamber and the pillars intensified and multiplied, filling his vision. His breathing, harsh because of the lack of heat inside his bowels, unsteadied, growing agasp and jerky. Finally, his senses underwent a drastic impairment, with sounds losing sonority and blurriness seizing everything he could see.

A blunder after another.

The stance could no longer be held under the assault of Marek's invisible enemy, and all the momentum he had been building so far sprang him stumbling forward. Kiya noticed the man's sudden shift, devoid of speed, grace, and skill. Had that been a feint, it would certainly stand out as pitiful.

Marek battled not to crumble to the ground, but everything was for naught. He could not even stare up to meet his enemy's eyes; he barely had enough strength not to let his weapon drop from his hand.

The moment he staggered onto his knees, and his arms stopped him from smacking the floor with his head, one foot away from Kiya, the fight was over.

Kiya beheld how the man's energy melted like a snowflake landing over an ember, and how he coughed up like a dying smoker, her deep violet eyes pointing down at the man with a dash of disappointment and curiosity over her scowl.

“ Huh, " she tilted her head and curled a fine brow up. “I see you've underestimated the consequences of our lovemaking, my lovely Marc." Go to hell! “To think you could've gone to the afterlife with a burst… but instead…" The air whistled and, immediately, anguish soared. Kiya hooked her claws on the hollow of Marek's left shoulder, her cold-inducing touch preventing blood from being shed, and heaved him until his dull eyes matched hers. “... You chose this pitiful attempt of a funeration."

Marek coughed and wheezed erratically, committing the remnants of his stamina to separate himself from the glacial hook. Both arms tried to frail the elemental's arm, but their try was weak, only managing to tear some pieces of fabric. He also tried to cut and stab the limb, but the blade either missed its mark or slid across the skin of the entity, not even generating tickles.

“Please, don't insist. At least try to save some dignity and stop this pathetic tantrum."

“N— er. Fc— akc— yu!"

“Brusque even in your final moments. Men such as you never learn." Kiya dropped her frown and grinned. “Take solace in knowing you were the most handsome man I've latched my eye onto since my banishment, Marc."

Kiya drew her claws back to her, putting Marek one hair from her nose.

“I never told you about the fate of the pathetic settlers of this pitiful hamlet. But at this point, it'll be better if you experience their suffering. Feel how frost obstructs your veins, the way your fingers become coal-coloured and break off. The most hungry predators won't even bother running their tongues across your body." Kiya inched past Marek's face until her juicy lips were right next to the man's ear. “I may not be the Frostscape, but that doesn't stop it from fulfilling my will if I ask it to. They underwent what it feels like to be a stray chick. Defenceless against my will, which encompasses everywhere the ice touches."

Crackling and crunching ice resounded. A snowflake pattern began to crawl from Marek's shoulder injury, draining his former sun-touched skin and replacing it with a colorless layer of frigidity.

“See you never, Marc. May the Gods be merciful upon the man who rejected the maiden crafted in their image. I'd console you by telling you your irritating pet is eagerly waiting for you in death, but it's a known fact that Gods aren't fond of them."

“At— ash— koff— atssh— bah—," Marek choked out while the sheet crawled along his skin, resistance dwindling with every heartbeat his bodily temperature dropped. In seconds, his arms no longer waved forward.

“Poor boy~. Cannot even utter lucid words~. Hohoho~," Kiya guffawed and teeheed boastfully, her laughter carrying a mixed aura of a spoiled princess and sadistic imp. “Sad man. You choose this departure over screaming in glee with *me. * Now quieten while I see your flesh stiffen and crumble into—"

A thump pierced through the environmental hum of the wind, accompanied by a gaseous ripple visible to everyone. Marek, nearing death's door, felt none of it but discerned how Kiya's face broke off from him to scrutinize far to her right, the maiden no longer laughing and not so amused as an instant ago.

The dying man wanly followed the gaze, angling his neck just a bit for him to check out askance whatever drew his enemy's attention. The dimness of his vision, along with the incessant spiraling glows flying around, prevented him from surveying a lot; nevertheless, he spotted a pair of glows standing out among the rest, silver-like and bluish in hue, surrounded by an amorphous shape of whiteness.

“Si— iig—," he managed to wheeze.

Kiya, in contrast, disdainfully twisted her upper lip. “That useless pair of varmints…" She hissed, then clicked her tongue. “Do I have to do everything around here?" She lowered the man to the level of her bosom, eliciting another grunt from him. “Howling Talon. I did say that no monster can set a claw into my sanctuary. Was I clear?"

The 'vixen' moved her mouth; sounds came from the poisonous gap, but Sigrid cared little about the message behind those. Her eyes, eaten up by the shiny color of her irises, appeared unfocused by bystanders, telling no one where her strigine eyes were pointing.

Eyes landed first on the man, her partner, friend, and soon-to-be mate, whatever God observed them will it. Pale, quivering, covered in frost, hurt, and shirtless. Beaten to the point each breath coming from him seemed agonizing, and his look dreary and almost lackluster.

Focus changed, eyes drifting to the person in front of him, who had her talons sheathed in his flesh. Unamused, almost growling. Look radiating with anger and defiance. Also, bare from the waist up? Irrelevant; Sigrid had no time to inquire into that trivial factor.

“Of course it wasn't clear enough. Just as your master, you have shown me levels of stubbornness that would put a donkey pen to shame. You even slew my monstrous and semi-competent running dogs." A growl escaped Sigrid's beak, after which she crept forward, the fur of her mane flaring. “Halt there, you oversized bitch." Kiya lifted her free hand, its human appearance discarded, and pressed one of her beastly-looking nails on Marek's neck. “One inch closer, and you'll see me cleave open another mouth around this man's neck."

Sigrid took the threat seriously and stopped, although showing no speck of worry across her mask. The impulse to pound and rake the wicked woman in front had done nothing but escalate.

“Atsh— bahg— t—"

“Oh, for Kamis' sake. Fucking quieten. Be a man for once, Marc." As soon as the elemental reviled the moribund fighter, the owl-wolfess came with her own indignant and prolonged shrill.

“ You too. Quieten. Just ** quieten *for once, or else the human * dies! **" Kiya snapped back at the chimera. Sigrid put a halt to her animalistic sounds. “Broken glass. A rock slide. The growl of bowels! That's how the screams of monsters sound to me!" Laughter echoed, its air thick with irony. “Unbelievable. Even among the outskirts of the world, monsters get near me as if they want to be fed by my hand and buzz around. Almost two years of solitude, just today I had the chance to indulge in luxury, and from fucking nowhere, a handsome yet mincer man and its loudsome buzzard came here specifically to stroke my nerves!"

As the Spirit ranted, Sigrid carefully observed any swift the woman might produce, unblinking, eyes briskly darting to Marek in order to confirm he was conscious and alive. She could not surrender to her instincts — not now that a sharp claw lingered near the warrior's exposed skin. She needed to employ her intelligence and wait for the right moment to lunge to the aid of Marek.

First and foremost, her beloved. Then, she would have plenty of time to disentwine every fiber from the elemental's lean and curvaceous body.

“This is how it'll lay out," Kiya went on.

“Atsh— bahg— t-tegh—" Sigrid's eyes went to the hurt man one last time before they landed on Kiya.

“I hate monsters. The sole idea of running my polished hands across your sticky furs makes my stomach turn. I don't want to fight you. Thus, you'll scram far from my holy place, back to whatever feces-filled hole you call a lair, or else you, along with this human here, will experience the true scope of my might in the most painful way imaginable! "

“Atsh— bagh—"

“Consider it a gesture of spiritual benevolence."

“Tegh—"

“If you make the least amount of fuss about it, I might even give you the corpse for you to bury or eat, whatever the manticorespawns do to their owners."

“—sesh…"

“Didn't I tell you to fucking quiete—" Kiya felt it — a swell of energy spreading around, washing over her icy being. It was warmth, but not the one that emanated from the core of the living beings. It was the warmth of a stove, intended to sizzle meat. Intended to burn and hurt. “—Gah—!"

Marek's mouthing was no accident. His chuntering did not stem from near-death delirium. He was chanting, voicing the verbal code for the runed sword to spark its fire magic. Marek would have enjoyed delivering the tip of the blade directly to her heart, but he lacked the vigor to pull off such a lunge and, instead, heaved his arm and ran the edge around Kiya's left arm, an inch up the elbow, the one impaled in his shoulder.

“ Kyyah! " Kiya recoiled in anguish, withdrawing her claws from the innards of Marek's joint and letting the man drop to the rock with a thud. “ Manwhore! " She cried out, holding the zone of the injury with her other hand. “ You'll pay with y— "

Right before administering livid retribution upon the culprit of her pain, Kiya noticed how the monstress no longer stood where she saw her last time — instead, the chimera was rushing for her, nearly a yard above the floor, the previous gap halved in a dash. The elemental could not take revenge and defend herself at the same time.

“Don't you dare touch me! " Kiya stretched her arms at the attacker, and diamond-hard nails noisily clunked with avian cutters. The elemental could have opted not to raise her natural weapons in defense, but given her repulsion toward beasts, she did what was suitable to avoid contact as much as possible.

Nevertheless, there was no way the elemental's lithe figure could repel Sigrid's heady bullrush, and Kiya was pushed backward, the force of the impact cracking the rock beneath her dainty feet.

“ *St-top at once! * I'm an ice elemental of t-the highest hierarchy! You won't even hurt me by— Ack! " Too busy focusing on the pushful entity, Kiya ignored the wings at her enemy's back. Sigrid deigned a plumose slap at Kiya's sidelines, causing her to lose her footing.

“ Hideous bitch! *Consider yourself— * Whaaah!" A bodyslam was delivered this time. It was quite the success — the force of the impact tossed Kiya at the edge of the abyss. When landing, she rolled perforce of Sigrid's disproportional tenacity, squealing around and using her claws to stop her roll.

She carved four equidistant stripes on the rock but nothing more.

It took no more than three seconds for the ice maiden to hit the border of the ravine, spinning gracelessly one last time before the entirety of her silhouette disappeared below the edge, granite ticking with her claws. But before vanishing, she let out one last scream filled with wrath.

“ BEAKY BITCH! "

Song for Sigrid's ears.

“S-sihg— kff !" Ears twirled back at the source of the cough, and so did an owlhead.

“Marc!" Sigrid scurried back to Marek, lowering herself onto her two knees and putting her talons under his head, raising the man's face closer to her own. “Resist, please! The vixen is gone. There's no more danger!"

“N— kwh! No— K-ya is— koff— not— garh—" Marek's chest convulsively expanded as if there were a critter trapped in his ribcage, trying to break out from the poor man.

Sigrid recognized these insuppressible indicators and inferred that the ongoing anguish was not attributed solely to Marek's wound and shiveriness — It was the Arcane Infection.

Gently and firmly, Sigrid rested her hand over the man's chest, hoping that would stop the abrupt jumpiness of his upper body. “Hang there a little more! I'll soothe you in a bit. I just need—"

“ HOWLING TALON! "

The wind exploded into a holler, carrying with it the far-from-beaten elemental's uproar. Spinning her head backward, Sigrid witnessed how a tornado, ten yards wide, emerged from the bottom of the ravine, throwing shards of hail and lashes of compressed air all around.

“Fook." Sigrid swiveled her head back and started to scrutinize her surroundings, using her wings to protect Marek from the debris afly. Now that Kiya proved herself far from worsted, Sigrid unavoidably had to vanquish her; before that, however, she had to get Marek somewhere safe.

It took her no more than a glance for Sigrid to spot a cave with a rock with ice spikes hanging in the ceiling, a frozen wall standing tall in the left half, and a square covered in furred blankets; without missing a beat, Sigrid held Marek tight onto her and carried him to the cave.

“Be strong. I need to get rid of the Spirit," she said while laying the man's back against the rock.

“No-o— you can— kf! Can't h-rt her—" Not without Iousterard or Dalavut. Take them! On the wall! Otherwise, Kiya will defeat you! Marek tried to say but to no avail. The words would not leave the confines of his mind. As much as he tried to make his partner shift her gaze at the weapons — or at least for his hand to reach her shoulder — Marek's weakened arms, stripped of sensitivity, barely kept themselves suspended aloft, dropping the no longer red-hot blade to the ground.

When the last leftovers of his strength were about to abandon him, Sigrid caught his trembling hand in hers with kindness and stared deeply into Marek's eyes, the gaze intense with a mix of determination and concern.

“You've been through a lot. Stay here while I'm out." You don't understand. Kiya's cannot be damaged by mundane weapons. “Rest. It's up to me to end this. I promise you it'll all be fine." That's the fucking problem; you cannot end this! Even if— even if you could fling her about— she won't— won't—

It was no use. Marek's consciousness was fading into blackness. The sole deed of keeping his eyelids open became a hardship.

Amid a fit of more coughs, weaker now that the ill man was blacking out, he felt a tender touch on his left cheek. “You never fail to impress me," she beamed at him. Marek, in turn, was absorbed by the monstress' eyes. He himself could not know, but his irises had adopted a light azure hue, and a mark with similar tones crawled up through the right side of his neck. “I should've said back then, but… I love you, Marc."

Marek was so drowsy and senseless that he did not register the weight behind those words in their totality; nonetheless, for some unknown reason, the rapid rhythm of his gasps and pants dwindled. “I wish I could've said that in a more opportune moment… but… I wanted you to know that I'll be here when you recover. Then… we could eat, bath, and cuddle together."

Sigrid zoomed her beak closer to Marek's face, the owl-wolfess filled with resoluteness, care, and love. Her rigid snout connected with the man's lips, the warmth of her breath melting the ice particles covering the man's face, restoring the colors around where the beak had landed.

Even when falling unconscious, Marek noticed a surge of warmth deluging down on him, as if he had just drunk a bottle of avid liquor after passing the night outside a cruel winter. Then, after taking the heat of Sigrid's billing through his mouth, Marek closed his eyes and slid into sleep.

Meanwhile, Sigrid, who also closed her eyes, pulled from the kiss; when her eyelids lifted open, she saw a man no longer in a state of unyielding pain. He was still shivering, but at least his breathing was more placid.

“See you in the morning, my love. "

“... Revolting."

And just like the gas emission from an ill ox, a womanly voice rode the wind and invaded the cave, reminding the chimera that the mountain was not for Marek and her. Out of the corner of her eye, Sigrid observed with disdain the self-proclaimed demideity patting toward her.

The loud wind must have prevented Sigrid from detecting the exact moment the entity climbed onto the platform. Sigrid wondered how. Could the Spirit fly? Negative; otherwise, it would not have plunged into the cliff to begin with. She most likely used her domain over the air to propel herself to the mountain or something along these lines.

“Instead of swinging the sword the other way, the man was simply into mutts." Surrounded by a tornadic aura, Kiya came to a stop two chimeric strides away from the entrance of her chamber, black-as-plum tendrils of hair and loose silks spinning around as if they possessed a mind of their own, the purple hue of her wine-colored eyes glowing through the gaps of her moving hairs.

“Now, I know for sure that man never should touch my woven sheets." Kiya raised and held her right arm at the level of her chest. Then, the ice covering her claws expanded down to the elbow, and her talons jerked and crackled as her nails morphed into something inhuman, their length increasing threefold.

Sigrid was not intimidated by the Spirit's daunting display of her abilities and hissed low, the sound more to show her vexation than to threaten. She stood to her feet and moved to grasp the reindeer furs spread on the rock.

“I might be exempt from mortal maladies, but that doesn't mean I'd have appreciated being touched by morbid hands." Sigrid displayed no reaction toward the Spirit's bitterness — her canine ears filtered the annoying voices, Sigrid going off her way to tug the furs in order to place them over the unconscious and shaky man.

“Ruining my sheets with your filthy claws will do nothing but enhance the intensity of your comeuppance, you rabid bitch." After bundling Marek up in animal blankets, Sigrid stepped back from him and straightened, her unhurriedness notable. “Didn't you see? Your master is at death's gates. He could not defeat me, and neither will—"

Suddenly, the object of her mockery, without moving everything down the neck, snappily spun the head in the elemental's direction and cast an intense and raptorial stare. The chimera's eyes beamed like static lightning of pure silver, and her pointy horns and erected ears evoked the image of a lesser devil.

The intimidating showcase induced more than simple disgust in Kiya. For an instant, she forgot about her high elemental status, and her mouth edged as if to release a squeal.

“Blazing Kamis…" Notwithstanding, Kiya hid her surprise by rapidly blinking, retaking her arrogant self in no time. “You're truly a hog-wild grossout, aren't you?"

No more than you are, vixen.

Sigrid would not exchange more human-crafted words. The Spirit had made it clear she was not eager to negotiate.

Credit should be given to the likes of Gruhulla and Madakai — at least they could see beyond their own noses — or mammaries, in this case — the two having some form of goal beyond their immediate gratification, even if it was vile beyond human scopes. But Kiya? She was chesty in more than the obvious sense, without a doubt the most egotistical being Sigrid had the dishonor to witness.

For Marek's welfare and hers, and even for Nija and Boris' freedom, Kiya had to die.

Without wasting further air in sending forth a threatening sound, Sigrid's body gyrated to match her predatory stare, the swirl smooth and lightning-fast, and she launched herself straight for the wicked Spirit.

Kiya merely grimaced. “It figures…" She threw her right arm frontwards, and instantly thereafter, the Frostscape obeyed the voiceless command.

The chimera only archived to halve the distance when dozens of icicles sprouted from the rock, materializing from nothing and stretching toward her speeding form like a battalion of clutches.

Her own impetus prevented her from taking an effective eluding maneuver, ending up crashing against the newly erected barricade; Sigrid avoided the largest spikes, but more crystal-like thorns filled the gaps between the longest spears, resulting in numerous prods.

The pain felt like the bite of several raptors, something bearable for Sigrid's standards, so she carried on afterward with almost no delay, detaching herself from the wall of ice and snapping the many stakes in her way; trying to round the fence was the next thing to do.

“No, you won't." Sigrid heard the woman spit something, and as soon as she tried to run around the corner, the wall widened, more icicles emerging to poke at Sigrid's milk-white natural coat.

Beak tightened, Sigrid took distance and gathered pace, looking for an opening in Kiya's wintry defense. She tried to round the fence, but everything that the ice-caster needed to do was to slide her deep violet stare ahead of Sigrid's trajectory to summon a set of spears to both attack and turn back the bestial attacker.

The following seconds felt like a maze game, with Sigrid zigzagging, skipping, and rolling out of the way of the spikes, the sharp protuberances intonating a lethal tune as the ground broke into lances and the air whistled with slashes.

It felt like attempting to get a fox out of their underground den, except that the lair itself reshaped at the critter's will.

“Didn't I tell you, snowflake? You only beat a shadow. I. Am. Untouchable. "

Hear not the provocation. The vixen's only trying to frighten you.

Another couple of fences were evaded and outsprinted before Sigrid came across a clutch of frosty pins, but instead of swirling to the right, left, backward, or even halting, Sigrid chose to climb. It was too risky to fly up, given the Spirit's domain over the air currents; Sigrid could not risk herself being driven away from the battlefield.

To think that her gift designed to reign over the winds had been reduced to a circumstantial aid during her last three battles. What a hassle.

The spear-bloated fence possessed a height of three yards at first but increased with every step the she-chimera took, more icicles rising like daggers, jabbing the front of her body, peeling the scales off her hands and arms, and biting her knees and pads. A trail of bloodied furs and feathers was left impaled into the tips as Sigrid kept pushing herself through.

On the bright side, the speed at which the wall grew vertically was inferior to the speed of stretching horizontally, or at least decelerated with time, and ultimately winded up with a height of one dozen or so yards. The burning sensation in the wake of crawling up the ice-made thornbush tricked her into believing several agonizing minutes had passed before reaching the top, but in reality no more than five seconds had transpired.

Ears, horns, and then eyes rose above the summit of the barbed ice tower, and there she stood, the stunning yet devilish Kiya, her features warped into a scowl, evidently irritated at witnessing Sigrid vying through her crafted obstacles.

Seeing the witch's wrinkled face made the bloodletting all worthwhile.

One last push and Sigrid managed to position herself over the top of the wall, perching over, looking almost like a snowcat about to pounce down, which was exactly what she went for. Sigrid siffilated as she swooped like a furred bolt, talons ahead and beak wide open, ears pointing backward and eager to hear the snap of Kiya's bones, assuming she had those.

“Insufferable pest." Kiya, always flaunting her countenance, stood without drifting not so much as an inch, opting to hike up her shiny-as-gem arm and calling for another five pincers of sheer gelidness around her, closing over her into a spheroid and isolating the maiden from her frantic aggressor.

The dome cracked loudly upon receiving the chimeric missile, resisting with effectivity. An unimportant downtime, Sigrid mused; unless Spirits or elementals, whatever Kiya called herself now, also had the ability to disappear in thin air and reappear wherever they wanted, Kiya remained trapped inside her own defensive screen, snared in her ice in the wait for Sigrid's not-so-merciful release.

Sigrid rose her mighty benders, ready to slam onto the crystalline sphere, but her fuzzy lugs picked up the crunch of ice scratching ice, and the dome faintly shifted its surface, helical patterns growing across. “—Ke!"

Sigrid barely got to react as the dome burst into a clutch of spears, its shape reminiscent of a sea urchin, forcing her to lean backward and cross her arms over her most vulnerable spots; not even then could she prevent the gelid tip from piercing into several parts of her body.

Calves, thighs, belly, and shoulders — all of them penetrated mediumly by needles, tiring dozens of new holes and causing her blood to come in like fountains.

A pained shrill ineluctably rose through Sigrid's throat and stirred the air. She could not tell whether the lances had spitted vital organs; everything she managed to see was the scarlet liquid leaking from herself and running down the ice to end up dripping over the sphere.

But as acute as the anguish felt and how the aftereffects of her many bruises and wounds from past brawls began to catch up, Sigrid refused to let the reak of her instincts subside. Arms began to judder, vibrating against the pins of ice bored into them, which crept at first, then creaked, and finally cracked. In short order, one by one, the spikes snapped into hundreds of fragments.

“ What a flea of a bitch you are! " Kiya yelled from within the enclosed shield, and more thorns regrew and extended toward Sigrid; no longer unprepared, nonetheless, the monstress anticipated the assault, and the new spears were swiped off with the combined action of wings and arms before they could cause any significant damage.

The defensive phase was over: the owl-wolfess unleashed a flurry of punches over the dome.

“ Hard-snout manticore. Why can't you die once and for all?!" Several crazing patterns began to spread across the ice. “ Are you so eager to taste the edge of my claws?! Does seeing me stained with your blood please you that much?!" Not my blood. Yours. The shield split apart, two rifts crabbling throughout the glacial surface and letting one sizable chunk of ice come off, revealing the ice mistress in all her seething glory.

“A direct execution, so it'll be," hissed the entity, bearing her teeth and posing her claws into a beast-like stance, leering at the monstress savagely tearing her way into Kiya's personal space. “ You die by my ** very ***hands!* "

Sigrid only had the chance to snap her right arm at Kiya, tearing off a piece of the Spirit's loose textiles before the former erupted into a windstorm of unmingled coldness. What remained of the hard screen was destroyed and blown away by the gale, and Sigrid scarcely had the chance to move out of the dome and stoop low, sinking her claws into the rock so as not to be driven away from the platform.

Locked in place by sheer air pressure, Sigrid momentarily lost herself in the clamor of the tornado, unable to hear, see, and smell. “So much do you miss the pats of your beast-layer master that you're so eager to be punched by me?" Sigrid heavily opened her eyelids just enough to glance at the woman in front. “Very well." Just like her hands, Kiya's legs transformed into white, hard glass, her toenails adopting a bestial image just like her hands did. “Then let me please you. "

A kick was delivered directly at Sigrid's head, causing her to back up with a yelp, the impact taking her talons off the rock; the storm did not miss a beat to drag the chimeric creature to its windful curtain.

Invisible hands grasped at the folded wings, forcibly inviting her to be banished from the mountain; Sigrid staggered for a tense twinkling before managing to regain balance, a quick study carried out by her senses telling her she now stood inside in what appeared to be the eye of a vortex of coolness.

“ Prepare to have your guts dissected, stubborn abhorrence. " As if the turbulent currents were nothing but an illusion absent for her, Kiya walked off backward until her silhouette blended with the edge of the tornado until her form was no longer visible. Sigrid thrust ahead, trying to cleave the Spirit before she vanished, but the delay of her last stumbling had cost her precious seconds, and her talons only cut air.

Am I supposed to be the stubborn one for not dying?

Suspenseful eyeblinks transpired without either maiden offering an attack. Sigrid twirled on her pawpads, trying to find any sonorous hint that would give away Kiya's exact location, like a sudden shift in the wind's course or the sound of footsteps, but there was no success; the strident storm had shut most of her hearing sense.

Contrarywise, her avian eyes did notice how the vortex closed around herself, reducing the space she once had to maneuver. In brief, Sigrid was imprisoned inside a diameter of no more than ten feet.

Is this her plan? Staying out for the whirlwind to blow me away? Stoopid. Yet, what am I supposed to do now? Should I trespass the blizzard wall? What if that is what she wants? Marc's dying out there; I need to make has— “ Karh! " A jab reached her left calf. Sigrid spun to the origin of the supposed attack only to see an arm hiding back in the barrier of winds.

“ Feeling hurt, snowflake?~ " Sigrid swiped at the place from where the arm came about but once again felt nothing besides the haul of the vortex, almost causing her to trip.

“ Fantastic. Because that's only the prelude. "

“ Kawh! " Another poke, this time on her right thigh.

A tortuous session had begun — following the stab in her leg, another one manifested on her hip. Then, her lower back. Right heel. Four or so to arms and hands.

Impaired by the tornado, Sigrid failed to foresee Kiya's incoming aggression. Even when Sigrid's reaction responded fast enough to intercept the attack, her best result was to deflect the harassing claws back to the veil with a clunk.

“ Behold the fruit of your meddlesomeness, rabid manticorespawn. Your selfishness has impeded your master from the highest pleasures, as well as cost you your lowly life. Now, Marc dies like an abandoned fowl, and you bleed like a rascal dog. "

“ Kway! " An additional thrust, more harmful than any other delivered until now, pierced her at the base of her right shoulder. Sigrid could witness how the force of the tornado absorbed the shedding blood sprouting from her fresh injuries as if the howlful spiral were a beast feeding upon her fluids.

My senses are failing me. I'm being subdued. Too much blood… lost. Sigrid staggered one step back, her left hand covering her most recent injury. Was Nija on the right? I cannot defeat her? No… I refuse to believe that. But… My body aches.

The vortex closed into itself, occasional whips of dense air lashing at the chimera inside. “ Hohohohoho~. I don't remember the last time I rejoiced so much in the whopping of some wacky beast~. So cathartic after all the headache you made me pass through. Hohoho~. "

Just one attack… I just need to land one attack. She's not stronger than Madakai, much less Gruhulla. I'm sure as cold I can end this if I can land one attack… But how? I can barely hear her. Marek would have fared better; even in the middle of the night, his warrior instincts would tell him where the attack would come from. Pivotting on his feet with hunting grace, drawing a gale with his weapons…

An ear twitched. The last thoughts had sparked an idea inside Sigrid.

Drawing a gale… Could I do that? The vortex… is now smaller. If I spun with my wings perhaps…

“ No more barks? Resigned at last? Hohoho~ Such a pitiful monster~. "

My choices are few, if not zero. If I fail, the storm might send me flying far away… But despite the grim consequence of her potential failure, Sigrid lowered her stance, wings tensing as they prepared to spring into a twister.

Parallelly, at Sigrid's back, an arm was emerging from behind her left wing, fingers rippling in anticipation as Kiya was ready to savor another anguished caw from the she-chimera. You'll wish to have been born shorter, creature. Had your neck been at my reach you could at least spare the additional agony~.

Sigrid closed her eyes, gathering all her focus into her hearing sense. With her new plan, she did not have to hear the exact origin of the attack; instead, she only required to foresee something was about to happen.

A feeble swish — a diminutive wobble in the current — confirmed an attack was about to take place. I hope it works…

Crystal-like talons lanced at the same time Sigrid bent her heels and knees lower. Then, she snapped her eyes open, the ever-glowing moons of her irises shining like stars. The left leg retracted up to herself, and Sigrid began to swirl on the ball of her pawpad, toeclaws half-secured to the rock, enough to move freely but without abandoning her lock over the rock.

Wings expanded up to the end of their wrist and began to gain speed, a feat paradoxically easier thanks to the very vortex. She felt so light, the middle point between flying and galloping, the weightlessness of movement but without detaching from the ground. Was that what humans called dancing? Did Marek feel the same way every time he gyrated on his feet? Questions for another time, indeed.

The feathery limbs kept their vortex-traced course, faster every instant, followed by a floating arc of quicksilver drawn by a pair of eyes, blowing entire sections of the windful veil until they hit something solid, cold, and rather sharp. The abruptness of the impact caused Kiya to squeal, tsking behind the tornado in clear frustration.

Just another missed attack; a new opportunity would soon reveal anew. Nothing had changed. Victory was within her gelid clutches.

Kiya was about to retreat into hiding, but Sigrid, having earned acceleration, got to face Kiya before she disappeared into the turbulent winds. And because the swiveling fan of feathers blew away part of the curtain, Kiya's upper body lay exposed, her flat face seeping with surprise.

Sigrid's left leg stomped the ground with enough force to create branches of cracks, making for an improvised yet competent brake and stopping her right where she wanted — facing Kiya. This was the gap Sigrid was looking for; there was no time for her to analyze the features of the adversary that now stood out open for the attack.

And so, Sigrid bolted with all the force she could gather into an all-out bullrush, sharp-as-sword claws pointing ahead. Kiya offered no defense.

One taloned hand for the head's right side. One taloned hand below the sternum.

Sigrid could feel no warmth of blood despite hearing the Spirit yelp, but she would not stop to check whether Kiya could bleed or whether damage was inflicted, not until her onslaught had concluded.

Promptly, both females went out of the vortex, Sigrid insistently crowding Kiya further and further away from the localized blizzard, whose howl faded away as soon as the two got out. The pushful assault lasted for another twinkling, Sigrid doing her best for the claws to penetrate as deep as possible into the Spirits' organs, which were apparently absent.

But as Sigrid had feared, her strength quickly drained away, and the impetus of her thrust came to a halt. By the point every leftover of movement had settled, Sigrid's breathing rate was rapid and half-broken. She noticed she had been pushing Kiya parallel to the cave's entrance, where Marek lay, and closer to the slab's edge.

And for her grim realization, she also noticed the ice maiden's murderous stare.

One avian hand covered half her face, but from the chill-inducing leer of a sole eye, Sigrid felt how the stare, seething beyond human and monstrous measures, was boring into her.

There was no blood, warm or otherwise, not even feeling the wetness of hemorrhage. The little red liquid percolating across her hand was her own.

“ Gkhaaw! " Sigrid did not even have the chance to widen her eyes in shock as a peak of pain rippled off her from the belly.

“Congratulations." Spoke Kiya right after deigning an ironclad punch into the owl-wolfess' stomach. “You had the honor to feel the smoothness of my flawless skin."

Kiya threw an upward slash, beginning from the hip and rising toward the hurt shoulder, eliciting yet another shrill yelp from Sigrid.

“Go to hell knowing you achieved the unfeasible feat of pissing me off! " Lastly, the elemental threw an uppercut to Sigrid's gular region, ceasing any clip the she-chimera had over the Spirit and hurling her a few feet away.

Wasted beyond value, Sigrid thumped into the floor like a sack of wet leathers.

“You're so like your master, manticorespawn. Putting all the energy, will, and hope into a tactic that from the very beginning was fated to fail." Sigrid pressed her muscles to act, to rise and stand one last time, but lifting her upper body was her sole result.

“I did warn you, did I not? I'm untouchable! " Kiya took a step forward. “How many times should I state my divine place among the living? None of you could harm me. The sharpest of steels won't even bruise my skin. No beast could ever dream of drawing a line across my bare self; nothing short of the dragonkin could! My power matches those of the lesser Gods. I'm Mistress Kiya, and no man or hideous beast could ever—"

A series of weak ticks reached her ears. Something fell past her right eye and landed next to her foot. It was an ice shard. Hail? I wished for no hail— In her scrutiny, more ice particles plunged next to the other. She tilted her head, even so slightly, and the faint sounds kept coming.

Are those shards… coming from my head? Kiya raised her right hand, reluctantly so, to her face. Another sensation, too, was also rising from several places in her body, her face included.

Ice claws hit the forehead, and Kiya immediately started to trail her pointy digits in search of an anomaly. It took her no time to find something was off — a flaw that was not supposed to be there. Right above her right eyebrow, where Sigrid pressed her thumb, lay a hole.

Wha— Wha— What? Wide enough to fit her fingers in, Kiya circled her nails around the borders, feeling every nip around the cavity, a sense of uneasiness growing one magnitude every time she ran into a dent. The skin was no more; the smooth and lascivious cutis was now replaced by solid ice. And that ice cracked more and more, every feeble sound of shattering exponentially increasing Kiya's dread.

“This cannot be a wound…" she whispered to herself, the articulation audible only for lupine ears. “W-wounds are for the m-mortals and— and— kaafh! " What was that? A cough? I cannot cough. Coughing is for the— “ Keff! " The ticks of shards, frightful at last, repeated as she rasped. There was another growing unconformity emerging from the back of her head. Sigrid, too, dug her talons there.

Shifting her hand to the back of her head, Kiya once again stared down at her feet, the sight of the fragments that used to compose her sensual body caused her stomach to churn and her legs to tremble. But the worst was yet to be witnessed when Kiya watched more gem-like splinters coming off her midsection.

Her breathing hitched, exaggeratingly gasping for air, something unessential for most extraplanar entities, and her irises spasmed within her eyes. Down her ribcage, the target of Sigrid's last attack, four holes stood out, carved deep into her, cracks sprouting and spreading from them like veins.

“Gh— Gah— Aaaaaahhhaa! " Panic finally germinated, and so did the sensation of dying. Seeing her own midriff, previously shapely and flat, rendered into a frozen sculpture about to fall apart into hundreds of crystalline splinters, was enough to cause her to break down into a crying mess.

“Nononononono— gh— aargh! Nono-no-o—" Kiya collapsed to her knees, two arms wrapped around her midsection, desperately trying to prevent them from splintering further. “I can— not be— har— gha! I'm prac— a divinity. Mortals shouldn— ack— sh— arrg!" The damage was beyond everything Kiya had experienced — far more of what that priest did to her.

Agony, up to that very moment, was practically foreign to her. And she did not know how to cope with it.

“Yyy— yoou…" Kiya released one arm from her stomach to point at Sigrid, who so far had remained silent, attentive to whatever Kiya might pull off. “Bi— chh! Cou— cagh! not—" A rapid eye blinking; her breathing also slowed, but not for the better. “Could-d no— ha— defeat— me…" One last gasp and Kiya leaned ahead and collapsed headfirst to the ground, the sound upon falling closer to a clatter than a thump.

The winds, theretofore flurried by the intense feelings of the Spirit, toned down to their natural rhythm, but only by a dash. The weather hardly changed, but, nonetheless, now carried an aspect of strangeness and uncertainty.

Sigrid remained tense for many heartbeats, befuddled, hardly believing that the entity, who seconds ago bragged about how her physical body stood above hurt, lay face down in front of her, dead still and without giving life signals.

No sound of air escaping the mouth. No fluctuation across the stiff body. Heartbeats seemed nonexistent. The only thing that resembled liveliness was the oscillation of Kiya's clothes and hair, waving back and forth by the invisible hand of the wind.

Between groans and whimpers, Sigrid rose to her feet, one claw over the injury of her shoulder. Her eyes remained glued to Kiya's body for another twinkling, seriously considering walking where the body loomed to behead it out of prevention.

But before carrying out that act, a groan resounded behind her.

“M-marc."

Sigrid twirled promptly, or so she tried. Without the frisson of survival turned on, every bruise and cut throughout Sigrid's body screamed with a unique intensity of pain. Particularly, the heel grasped by Boris throbbed, inducing a misstep from the chimera that almost made her plunge to the rock.

With no other choice but to slow down, Sigrid skipped on her healthier foot and advanced toward the entrance, occasionally using the helical columns for support. After a short time, she stood right at the chamber's entry, but something eye-catching was picked up by her sight.

At the end of the rustic path edging the mountain, right before stepping onto the protruding platform, a three-eyed wolven regarded Sigrid thoughtfully, the features of the lupine snout utterly passive and unreadable.

“Ni… Nija…" Sigrid whispered to herself, her alertness growing once more upon the idea that violence might erupt anew.

“She's…. gone, Nija," next she muttered, hoping that, with the Spirit's demise, Nija lacked the main cause that obliged her to risk her life for a senseless conflict. “You're fi-finally free."

Sigrid noticed how the triad of orbs, mirroring the increasingly more abundant northern lights, drifted in the direction of the mountain's edge. Just then, and for Sigrid's unease, crackling ice rang out faintly across the platform.

“Not quite."

Nija had scarcely finished speaking when Sigrid half-spun, just in time to intercept a series of frosty missiles with her wing. Her airwise limb stung with the impact of the projectiles, although compared to all the different pains she had experienced during the last hour of conflict, the later attack felt no more powerful than the goring of a young reindeer.

“— I'm… no mortal, Ho-ow ling Talon. "

No way…

Carved with countless of thin fissures over her turned-ice head and navel, the Spirit Kiya stood half crouched, one arm extended toward the monstress near her chamber. Sneering. Shaky. Broken. But more than anything, alive.

“This— urgh— beautiful sculpted image of the Goddesses doesn't sh— share the same weakness as you, mortal peasantry, possess."

“Why… can't you just die—"

“ I cannot die! " Kiya bawled, her outcry sending off a visible wave of cold in her surroundings. “I— ar— cannot bring myself to die…" One clawy hand was set over her shattered belly. “Whatever— whatever you did to me was nothing short of nonsensical… A lapse in reality caused… agh— by some irresponsible God or any other great power… that had to be…"

“No…" Sigrid uttered with a firm tone. “Not lapse or whatever… just like the monsters you hate so much, you're as harmable and killable as everyone else." Lupine eyes narrowed defiantly. “ You are no demigod. "

“ QUIETEN! QUIETEN! QUIETEEEEN! " Both gelid arms were thrown directly at Sigrid, summoning a row of icicles at Kiya's feet, which accelerated straight for the she-chimera.

Sigrid was caught in a tricky situation. If she moved out of the way, the ever-emerging line of icicles would rush at Marek, who, needless to say, was in no position to offer a defense of his own. For her beloved's sake, Sigrid strode at Marek, immediately shielding him with her two wings.

Sigrid squeezed her eyes shut as she embraced the defenseless Marek, her back to the outside and exposed to the greatest enemy, waiting for a surge of pain.

She waited, stressfully. Uneasily. Restlessly… It turned out to be a long wait. What happened to the growing spikes? What had been of their creaking sound, which could hardly be heard?

Confused yet frightened, Sigrid cast a sly sideglance to the exterior.

The needles of icing lethality had come to an unexpected halt in the middle of her and Kiya. Wh… What ha— Before Sigrid had more time to inquire about the mystery, the row of ice cracked and crumbled apart, their collapse giving Sigrid a clear view of the attacker.

The shudders invading Kiya were more evident than ever; from the nails of her feet up to the tips of her hands, everything trembled uncontrollably. Kiya's features began to twitch in several regions, from cheeks to eyelids, teeth bared but not in an intimidating way, and jaw swaying spasmodically.

She was enduring the pricking of her many wounds, battling not to let the facade of an invincible deity break apart. The battle was lost, Sigrid knew.

“Gaa— Grh— Aaaaaaaahhh! It huuuurtttss!" Hastily, Kiya brought her right hand to her face and wrapped her left arm around her midsection, facing high into the nocturnal sky as she screamed her agony. With her torturous cry, every illusion of power she once held melted, and her legs gave up, knees clunking with the rock as she fell on her knees. “Shit! Shit! Shit! SHIT! WHHYYYY! "

Sigrid could only blink at the loud fit, unsure of what emotion she was supposed to convey.

“You…" Nonetheless, she opted to speak her mind, “… aren't good at bearing pains, are you?"

Kiya seemed not to hear Sigrid's words, too distracted by her own agony to weigh the meaning of words.

Amid her rapid breathing and sucking of teeth, Kiya managed to raise her chin to cast a hateful glare at Sigrid. In her whole life, no torment had befallen her body. Among all the fighters she had lured into her lustful and lethal trap, few had possessed the means to inflict damage upon her. The priest — that meddlesome geezer, as Kiya called him back then — had even failed in destroying her, being forced to resort to banishment in order to get rid of her for good.

But now, because of a chimera never seen before, years of escaping retribution of any type had drawn near, as if all the pain she must have experienced for seasons seized her very being and made her writhe pathetically.

I hate this place. I hate this place. I hate this place. I hate them all. Her frost-like skin screeched, the low and jarring sound generated by grasping her clutches around her icy side and head. It transpired that she could actually harm herself, although whatever scratch she drew on herself paled compared to the trauma Sigrid had caused.

In the middle of sharing defiant gazes with the owl-wolfess in what was obviously a one-sided battle, Kiya finally detected another individual nearby. Her wine-colored eyes flashed wide.

“Ni— Nija! Nija! L-ist— argh—! Listen to me!"

“I'm all ears, my master." Nija's response was prominent in impassiveness.

“C-come! Here! To my aid! I need you!"

“I cannot enter your—"

“ Forget about that! Come here at once! "

Without hesitation, Nija nodded and advanced toward Kiya. She was limping, her walk languorous, evidently not recovered at all from Sigrid's beatdown. The wargess stole a glance at Sigrid, who hardened her embrace over Marek as she felt her breather was ending.

“ Not literally to me, you witl— garrh! THERE! " Kiya removed the hand from her head to point disdainfully with her talon at the pair inside the room. “ Kill them! Kill them now! "

Nija half-turned to look at Sigrid, who responded with a hiss. The avian chimera had come this far fighting a so-called demideity. Her body cramped here and there, but she would not surrender. In the end, what was a warg compared with a maiden that could call for sheer coldness?

“ Argh— What the hell are you waiting for? Bite their heads off! " Kiya urged the wolfish underling, her inflection not only stacked with wrath but also despair.

Nevertheless, Nija was in no hurry, unfazed by her master's urgency. Her three shiny eyes were lined with Sigrid's, their stares unblinking as if they were communicating through the gaze alone.

Sigrid, drenched in blood, bearer of a thousand gashes, would rather fight until every single quill of her body was peeled off than let her companion be harmed further.

Nija knew that, and so she knew that even with sore bones and bleeding pores, Howling Talon would vie over Nija's lupine corpse. Of that, there was not a minor doubt.

“Arrkh— Garh— For Kamis' sake. Why aren't you attacking, you imbecile?! Did the bitch inflict upon you cerebral damage?! "

“... I won't."

Silence, an overwhelming one, lapsed. It gave Sigrid and Kiya the time to digest what Nija just declared.

“Wh— What!" Utter shock before such an act of disobedience gave Kiya the needed push to stand to her feet, although not without causing pain to peak. “Gr!— What the** fuck **** do you mean with 'I won't'?!**"

The wolven turned her head to the ice maiden. “Sending me to engage with Howling Talon is nothing short of suicidal. There's no possible victory in that act. Thus, I cannot obey that command."

“ Your. Judgement. Is. Unwarranted. " It came out the most acidic hiss ever heard by Sigrid. “I won't say it twice. Kill them or—"

“Not even you have the authority to send me to a certain death," Nija interrupted, and, without even giving Kiya time to choke further with her ire, turned around and then leaped ahead, straight for the rustic path back to Vettija and perhaps beyond.

“Don't you dare— DON'T YOU DARE GIVE ME YOUR FOUL-SMELLING BACK! " Kiya stumbled forward, air spiraling around her form. “ I ** own you, *lesser beast! * Grr— **you do what I say! "

While Kiya attacked Nija with crystal-like bawls, Sigrid stood quietly. For the Spirit, the chimera stuck out as the immediate threat to her life, yet Kiya was more worried about Nija's disobeyal.

Oh, how people lose their reasonableness the moment they see the world slipping out of their hands.

All things considered, this very moment played up as the more fitting to unleash one final attack upon the Spirit. Should Sigrid try to stand up and rush ahead? That seemed the most straightforward way to weed out the misty maiden's trouble now that she had a short time for respite, for how painful it might result. Nonetheless, a faint glow emanating from Marek's sheets, unnoticed until now, gave Sigrid another idea, one that would require less effort if pulled off correctly.

Concurrently, the quarrelsome entity, who apparently had a lung capacity superior to any other beast of the Frostscape, continued to scream at the warg, the latter several feet into the path edging the mountain.

“See you at dawn, master. That it's, if you manage to come out alive." Nija said one last time before gathering pace, her increasing speed telling Kiya she was not as hurt as she previously made it out to be.

“... At dawn?" Kiya raised her arm, and a spear of ice materialized, floating inches from her hand and growing in size every second until it reached a length superior to five feet. “You won't see another dawn, incorrigible mutt…" She took one step back, feet shuffling unsteady and almost losing balance, aiming for the incoming throw. “ *Unruly dogs get the arrow, you ungrateful, flea-ridden, and stray bi— * WAAH!"

Kiya's body rang out like a prism hit by a sledgehammer, the sound so much like a jar shattering. She crowded backward with violence. Her right breast, shapely and round even after becoming ice, exploded into innumerable splinters and shards, leaving a hole in its vanishment.

During Kiya's nonsensical outrage, Sigrid had detected Iousterard, back to its legit owner, fastened once more at Marek's belt. The arrogant and bruised Kiya, too busy venting her anger in the loudest way possible, fumbled to detect Sigrid retrieve the silvery blade, which was, sooner than later, hurled in her direction.

Only the blunt end of the ax made contact, but adding up to Sigrid's strength, slicing was unwarranted.

That was the final nail in Kiya's coffin. And that coffin was the abyss at the edge of the platform, which waited hungrily for the self-proclaimed Spirit to disappear amid its depths.

Kiya could not let out another indignant shriek — she had not the chance nor the strength to. Weak, voiceless, and stripped of all authority, the icy form of her body, sultry even in near death, flew toward the cliff and down to the bottom of the glacial, the silhouette fading away below the ever-hovering haze.

“Marc would have hit your head… 'Beetch.' " Said Sigrid once Kiya disappeared from view.

Only when the ice elemental was no longer present did the weather adopt its natural air. With Kiya no longer threatening them, Sigrid could finally whistle with ease and surrender to tranquility. She did the former, but the latter proved to be not as feasible.

“Marc… It's over," she relaxed her overprotective hug on Marek. “We won…" But Marek was in no state to answer. His teeth no longer chattered as loudly as before, and his respiration grew harsher and painfully slow, his mouth releasing sporadic gasps every once and then.

“Marc…" Sigrid nuzzled his cheek. It felt awfully stiff. “Open your eyes… No one will harm you further, I promise… please." She continued rubbing her beak across the side of his face, hoping that the friction and her warm breath would bring allay to Marek's ongoing hardship.

Needless to say, it helped little.

“No… Y-you have to resist… You must resist… This is no dangerous m-monster… This is nothing… " A series of shallow inhales was everything that escaped from the moribund man.

“ Fweet. Ooh… hooho… Marc…" She hooted weepily, eyelids struggling as the tears fought to sprout.

After fighting the horde of undead, after defying one of the many Frostscape's matrons, the enemy that Marek now faces could not be fought with weapons, claws, or fire.

Feebly whistling and beginning to whimper, Sigrid laid Marek down above the furs, his back against the bed carved in granite, moving to join him in a cuddle thereafter, wide and bloodied wings covering both like an additional mattress.

It did not have to be like this… This is not the kind of cuddle I wanted…

Sigrid shut her eyes tight, nestling her mask to Marek's face and brushing her beak along his pale features.

So unfair… “ Hoot. Sleep t-tight… I'll be here for y-you…" Another whimper. “You'll b-be fine…" So unfair…

Without opening her eyes, Sigrid lifted her head and shouted a wailful howl at the Arctic night; extensive but not strident, the yowl of her grief traveled to the summit of the peaks, to Vettija, and possibly even to the foot of the Icing Boundary.

Her song of lamentation prolonged for many twinklings until her aching body could no longer keep the straining of her lungs, ultimately laying down with the man who struggled with an imperceptible foe, weeping in half sleep.

Life-threatening experience after another — Death lurking in every rift and corner. That was the way of the Frostscape.

The Icing Boundary had zero tolerance for every source of warmth.

Physical or otherwise, there was no difference.