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Warm Up - 9

There it was, that sudden lunge. Frostbite, despite his namesake, was warm bodied on the inside. Despite the world around him being frozen, or engorged by the black spires of the Kadtosh. And he too felt that cold that he impaled the world with.

Through his chest was a blade on a hilt held by a griffin who proclaimed to be a Prospect. Hindsight was impossible as Prospects would not intervene in such a manner. Frostbite knew that his act of planetary defilement was little- even the Great Wall of Flesh that lingered some galaxies away had not been deterred despite a system's arm having been engorged.

In his wake, buildings have only been iced mid-crumble, and its people turned into frozen silhouettes regardless of their composition. Hell hath frozen over that even the magma core was still, absent of energy, where the surface of the world grew cooler despite the system's star's radiance.

Yet here, atop the tallest building, enough to be seen as a sparkling speck from the nearby moon; a spire to commerce that had been sewn with black mass that signified his own monument. Here the Prospect had him by the shoulder, grasped by unknown magick that prevented his motion. And that aforementioned blade lodged through his Olarian Raccoon heart.

And the Prospect being a Prospect, it was precisely in the middle. Picturesque even. Frostbite felt the cold he had inflicted, like a needle that crawled through the slit on his chest cavity, and despite the silence in his chest, and the dying of the winds, he hadn't died. The griffin looked upon him, they stood evenly, having retained the brown color of his feather and fur, the bright yellow of his beak and talons.

Frostbite studied his entire form, there was no frost nor chill on him. And he, once more, realized why. Perhaps it would be wise to ask, "Why?" It was a weak and defeated tone. For all the hardships endured with the emotional subjection, the abandonment, and rejection, his fate was sealed by a high deity. Or perhaps that in itself was honorable.

Ethan let out an exhale of warm air that was invisible despite the cold. The pained Olarian raccoon he held onto, and the way the blade had impaled him could barely emulate the pain he left behind. Despite being a Prospect, and knowing that Frostbite had asked him why, he could not bring himself to hear it for that was what he had asked too.

But why had he done it to him? It was not in the canon, where he would stab Frostbite. That would be the job of Vallon and Terchius, and they would've lost much more spectacularly. He didn't even give him a fight. Why him? Why here? He had done it to Nicholas a Campaign ago, and to... that other him that he couldn't even stand to name. Not anymore.

He was the paranoia, the gut feeling. He had been right twice. The allure though, the sweet poison, that decade-sought ambrosia. His reminder of being casted aside twice resulted in the twisting of the blade in anger, opening the chest cavity much more, and a loud scream that he refused to hear too, coming from the raccoon.

He and Nicholas made Frostbite in such a manner that he wouldn't be a mewling bitch, thus he didn't. Though he could tell from both lips and mind that the creature kept wondering why.

Why him of all things? The Achshor was there, the Great Wall of Flesh was there, the Dimavind Vaults, and even Nicholas again. So why Frostbite Coler, the great monster from Olar? "Why you?" He asked him, there was noise out of his mouth. Like a decree, the howling winds returned, as did the crackle of ice, and the pulsation of these black spires. "Why?" Frosbite sounded much weaker, almost out of breath. Blood in his punctured lungs.

"You were the closest." Ethan snarled, what he said was a double definition. But it didn't matter as he released the raccoon and left him to kneel on the hand-shaped platform of his monument.

The raccoon clutched onto the blade's handle yet he could not yank it out. Even when his form had been covered in the black Kadtosh material, engorging his claws except for the radius around his chest where he had been impaled, all its strength of having brought a powerful world to his knees and a blade would do him in.

"And I needed to hurt something." Ethan added before he started to fade away. "You're my construct, and I do with you as I please."

Frostbite was left alone, choked on blood. The blockage on his throat restricted him, aching and rupturing where his lungs were. A pain that only intensified, despite the mortal aspect of him, it continued nonstop. He tried to reach out but the griffin was gone, and then upwards to the giant vortex in the sky.

A whirlpool of dark clouds towards a white center, and there was no one there nor far. Not even those beyond the system could hear his lasting choke.