Winter

  Winter laid his huge hands on her slender shoulders and she felt the warmth of his strong body. He brushed a dark curl from her face and looked into the blue pools of her eyes, then touched her graceful neck with his lips, again and again. The frenzy and doom in his movements filled her heart with sweet sadness. In the brief intervals between kisses, he could only whisper 'I love you'.

  The night of happiness and sorrow had come. "Winter and Desire by Ludbava the Sensual"

  -- //--

  Winter is here. It came, as always, unexpectedly. The Mechanism in the far northern lands was working again.

  The largest, the Dragonfather class airship, Lord of Storm, floated majestically amidst the white clouds and blue sky. Its upper part was an elongated balloon, and its lower part was an inverted pyramid with many platforms and creatures scurrying about on them. At the front of the ship was a huge bearded figurehead. Smaller skyships circled nearby. Most were spheres with a platform sunk into them and a large mast to which the sail was attached.

  "Lord of Storm" is the culmination of the post-Break creativity of humans, Divi people, Chudi, altered Dvergrs, Alfars, winter fairies and trolls.

  A mighty gust of wind and snow burst from the figurehead's open mouth. Now the sculptors' concepts of flowing hair, plump cheeks and tubular lips made sense. A new storm had been unleashed upon the world.

  It flew over the twisted lands, snowing and testing everything for stability. The giant at the distant mountains watched it with interest. The tempest was young and full of energy.

  Plants cowered in fear, trying to hold their pods or branches close. The winged, furry, fanged, clawed, eared and slimy alms were also worried. The storm caught one of them in mid-jump, scooped it up and carried it across the sky. The winter will make survival even harder for everyone. Only the megashrooms let the storm pass between them calmly, only increasing their caps at the expense of snow.

  Here on the plateau near a pyramid city, armies are fighting fiercely with broken magic. A flabby, striped monster rises like a mountain among the combatants. The whirlwinds of heaven have not disrupted the parties' plans to destroy each other. Only at the top of the city, two people, displeased with the storm, hurry to take shelter in the pre-upper area.

  Here is a tent camp next to the battlefield. The dressed in black people in it run under the accusing index finger of a man with a fire-head. The storm has managed to lift some of the black tents from the ground, giving them a fleeting freedom. Beneath the swirling cloths, one of the men wearing a circlet with three prongs somehow exchanges glances through the black cloth on his face with a sombre girl standing beside him.

  Here is a group of wanderers has stopped to watch the omen of change in the sky. A woman looks up grimly, her tattered and cut clothes flapping in the wind, her braid off her shoulder. Other people hurry to protect her from the weather. Their eyes are full of concern.

  Here is an ancient city, built of white stone and massive blocks of earth. Its walls had withstood the storm, but for whom? Inside, there is devastation, ruins and a few passers-by pressed against the walls. People in familiar (for storms, living hours, is an unfamiliar word) black clothes are clearing away the rubble.

  Near the city, a sharp-faced demoness gazes at the celestial body and its arcs, taking in the scents of the world with deep breaths. She gazes at the storm with delight, anticipating the same great sight, until the storm hits her with its winds and cold.

  Here is a group of people at the split hill preparing to meet a group of peg riders. Snowflakes swirl among the dark silhouettes. One of the pegmen raises his single eye to the sky, watching the storm pass. It's weakened enough, but still full of determination and movement.

  The tempest flies on. Panicked hunters chase the alms for their skins, preparing for an unexpected winter. When winter is confirmed, they increase their speed and panic, reducing their efficiency.

  Here is a skeleton of a fallen warrior wanders purposefully along a purposeless path. On its way are two children - a boy and a girl. Surrounded by young boarlers, they greet the storm with raised hands and shouts. The snow will add another dimension to their games. On the girl's hand is a ring with a cracked gem.

  Here, the storm flies over a village, which is gradually turning into a small town. The people below lay stones in pits and begin to build stone walls around them. A woman with a tattoo on her right arm, seeing the impending element, tries to gather a group of children and a woman around her. A proud woman with no hand argues with a man with no arm, wooden legs and a crutch. A bristly man leans wearily on a shovel beside a new mound.

  Here is a deepest mark left by the last war. The great rift still continues. It goes with the storm, taking some of its strength.

  Here are heavy alms walking, loaded with items instead of sides. They are accompanied by dark-skinned people. The sight of the snow causes a real panic in their ranks, and only one person - a fat man with a mushroom cap on his head - remains unperturbed.

  The crack finally moves away and the water begins. The storm rushes across the ocean, hitting ships and rocks jutting out of the water. In one of them, an undead woman at the helm greets the storm with a broad-brimmed hat decorated with a small skeleton of sharp bones held aloft. The ship's crew rush to her, for she has just sent her ship into a spiral spire.

  But the storm is at the end of its life, thinning and fading. It can't go on. We'll see about that next time...

  ooo

  Kzarina shivered from the cold and used Metamorphosis to add some fat to her body (not too much, so as not to waste it all). And for the hips and chest, the right amount of fat will not hurt. She was a succubus, the former right hand of the supreme demon Regent. And now she looked at Dayorb, shielding her eyes with exactly her right hand.

  The succubi have Metamorphosis and Glamour. Thanks to the First Emanation, she was in another dimension at the time of the Break, and the changes of magic didn't affect her. The good old visage change worked just as before. Kzarina glamorised herself with thick, long black hair, blue eyes and a graceful face (but not too much, lest men think she's above their station). Her favourite appearance, to reach as many men as possible. Then she would be able to adjust any individual preferences.

  She was now free. This meant that the time would soon come to decide what to do with this very freedom. Waiting for this moment was so pleasant that the demoness put it off as long as possible. She can find a powerful man and seduce him the succubus manner. Actually, this was the only plan of possible actions (except for looking at Dayorb, but what's good about that is that you can do that at any free moment). But such a man could not be found, what then? And Kzarina had her own preferences for men - fatter, uglier, dirtier and smelly. Such men are simply a feast of lust and gratitude for attention.

  But that reasoning will come later, when the time comes to make a decision about life. For now, the succubus wanted to check on Girl. Kzarina had worked so hard to get her hair and dress right, and now the little mortal must be wearing filthy rags that mortals so adore. Although her adoptive father did wear stylish black clothes with a magnificent belt. Although, no, he only stole it, and the belt was Kzarina's, given by the boss without asking her. Well, at least the boy has a sense of style, choosing such clothes for a robbery.

  The succubus was lost in memories of her last job, crunching the freshly fallen snow under her feet. Watching the children was fun, but sometimes so annoying! She even wanted to take revenge on Gloomeye and call him the apostle of pride in front of others. But the consequences of such innocent revenge could be serious.

  Sometimes she just wanted to take their heads and press their lips together. They like each other! Okay, mortals are pretty bad at detecting scents and pheromones. Okay, they were short-sighted enough not to notice the glint in each other's eyes when they were facing each other, but they could use their minds to analyse a behaviour of a nearby individual and draw the right conclusions.

  They are not stupid, of course, just the teenage fear (Kzarina knew him personally. Nervous fool). To make a confession, even if not to an individual, but to yourself, you have to expose a vulnerable spot (just like Wind Cleaver to children), and the damage can be critical. And such a scar will prevent future exposure of that spot.

  Kzarina stopped and stiffened. Something's wrong. Here is someone great, with the power of a numbered demon, even one of the top ten. No, even one of the top five. Three? Two? The first? Progenitor sin!

  Despite the cold, the succubus felt herself breaking into a sweat. If they were enemies of her former boss, she might not even have time to explain that she no longer worked for him - she would be crushed in a single burst of power, like a mere mortal. If this is the First Wrath. And if this is the First Desire, then Kzarina may regret that this is not the First Wrath.

  A smartly dressed man with a walking stick emerged from the needle trees, knocking snow from them. The succubus calmed down a little:

  "Hello, Demis."

  "Well, well, well, a lonely little succubus. But you don't smell of Desire, you smell of Pride. It'll be hard to find a proper brothel for you," the man replied with a grin.

  "Yes. Ambition. What can I say, I like to make influential connections. Like, for example, with a false god of humans. What do you say, Demis?" Kzarina smiled seductively. The succubi always have an obvious solution to conflicts.

  "Oh, I'm afraid this is not a romantic setting," Demis smiled back, glancing around the snow-covered wasteland, but then his eyes widened and he glared at her, and she was pinned down from all sides. "I can't see your fate, demon, but I can see your influence on the people of the future, a silhouette in your form, distorting my flock. I guess I'll kill ya. Nothing personal, I'm just a bastard who got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning."

  The demoness felt the power (as did the surrounding snow and nearby plants) with every fibre of her skin. If she were human, she would be dead by now. But Demis was a human false god, not a demonic one.

  Kzarina could feel his power directed at her destruction. She felt it all: anger, joy, fear, desire. Ambition. The pressure of all the emotions of humanity through the smartly dressed conductor. Other races had nothing like it.

  Demons had only one emotion (and it is not clear whether their emotion or they themselves - this emotion), reincarnating fairies were air, almost eternal elves - flowing water, long-lived dwarves - stone. And humans weren't even fire - they were an explosion. It's clear how they broke the world. For such power, humans pay with a fleeting life? Ha-ha-ha! How wonderful!

  The part of the demon's face with the eye fell off, interrupting her laughter. Demis cocked his head and watched her with interest:

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  "I'm glad you find our situation so amusing. All I hear in my work is screams, tears and pleas for mercy. I might as well start crying myself."

  The succubus drew attention to herself and found that her entire skin was cracked. A circle of hard-packed snow appeared around her. Nearby plants began to crumble into small fragments. He really can kill me this way.

  "You have... Argh... no power over me..." the succubus groaned. What a disgusting reason.

  "Yes, but I'll try anyway," the false god informed her cheerfully. He stood confidently, both hands firmly on his stick, as if it could fly from the snow into the sky, and looked at his victim. "I remember my demon-fighting youth. Ah, there was a time..."

  "Your... prophecies... are they not self-fulfilling?" the demoness found it difficult to move her jaw. A few teeth fell out. The succubus felt as if she were in the middle of a vortex of raging flames of the human race. In a way, she was.

  "I have no idea. But I will kill you anyway. It's my nature," the false god said apologetically. He decided to sway from his toes to his heels. "Keep talking while you can. You won't always have the luxury of a tongue. I'm here, we'll walk this path of killing you together," Demis added in a soothing voice.

  Kzarina's right arm shatters with a nasty pop. Need more time! She used Averted Eyes and Glamour to create the illusion of her running away. Demis watched the illusion run, then returned his gaze to the real Kzarina.

  "These eyes have seen the fall of the world's illusions. Your Glamour is nothing, demon," he said, all the frivolity and amusement gone from his voice. He killed his foolishness, and without it there was a stern-faced, sombre (but still smartly dressed) man. He had descended into the Abyss more than once, leading thousands upon thousands of the dead, but unlike them, for some reason he had returned to the world of the living.

  The demoness lowered her face, bleeding from all the cracks, and instantly shattered into small pieces. A bloody mist began to spread through the air, staining the crushed snow.

  "Oh, you said something about self-fulfilling prophecies, didn't you? I should have thought of that before I decided to kill you, huh? Silly me," the false god made the gesture of stupidity at his head and turned to leave. But out of the corner of his eye he saw something moving in the snow. It was like a small alm.Demis wanted to kill this strange snow disturber, but he didn't know what it was or what it looked like. Fatal Rupture couldn't work.

  "Okay, live for now. Well, well, the mountain collapse didn't kill the little mouse. It is worth calling professionals with smaller but specifically anti-mouse means," with these words the false god shrank to a single point and disappeared with a light pop.

  Kzarina was running. No, swimming. Snowdrift. Cold. Movement. All Metamorphosis is spent. Only a small entity is saved. Managed to get out of the meat shell before it was destroyed. The work is quick and rough. Kzarina is now a molerabbit. No eyes. No fur. No paws. Huge ears that can be used to paddle through the snow. Move like this. Snow. Snow. Snow. Teeth? Sharp teeth. Predatory alm. It thinks Kzarina is a great catch. But it is a great catch. Enough organic material to metamorphose into a humanoid.

  Phew, that was very dangerous. Kzarina, covered in blood, spat out a piece of unused mass of fur and compressed bones. When you transformed into small creatures that could not contain the whole of your original brain, you had to put your mind into clouds, and if you did it hastily (like now), the connection was unstable.

  Kzarina rose from the snow and looked around the place of her transformation: she was unconsciously making a bloody snow angel. The demoness chuckled, adjusted a new coat she had made of fur and skin, and continued on her way.

  ***

  "Well, well, well, what have we here? Are the children lost?" a man came out of the broken hill, clapping his hands slowly for some reason. Who is he clapping at? To us or to himself, for (he thinks) a great performance?

  Other people crawled out after him. They were covered in mud and dressed in furs worn directly over their naked bodies. However, they looked well fed and smiled menacingly. Apparently outlaws are better off on the roads near Capital than on the ever-expanding borders of magerot. Gloomeye remembered the group that had tried to rob Worldedge on their way to the city.

  "And here are the villains, that's us. How unfortunate. Ts-ts-ts... " the talker clicked his tongue. He had sharp teeth like a predatory alm (did he sharpen them himself?). "They will take all the valuables, steal the pegs. And then they will return to your parents in tears, but they will be happy that they are still alive, and this will be a good life lesson for them - not to wander through the dangerous lands of our wonderful region."

  One of the bandits, with greasy hair and a nasty smile from his leader's speech, came over and took Princess' peg by the bridle. Then he turned to the talker:

  "Must we let her go? The Humanists will give an excellent price for such a smooth beauty. Yes, and other good fellows, except this rat, have some value."

  The chief spread his fingers near his head and tilted it slightly, as if to say, 'Well, what can I do? My man has made a reasonable suggestion.'

  "It turns out that the children will not return to their parents. How..." what 'how' no one ever found out, because Princess pulled out her whip and snapped it at the same time. The chakram at the end of the whip was released and plunged into the nose area of the fan of making a show out of a robbery. He fell like a felled tree.

  "You're a wit..." shouted the greasy guy, turning his face towards the killer (which was a very, very, very wrong move) and not having time to finish the sentence too (here it was obvious to everyone that he was going to say "witch"). Princess' peg, Raven, whose ropes he was holding, lowered his head and pulled him towards the flying whip. This intensified the blow to the face, and the robber was thrown back. Drops of blood flew into the air and landed on the white snow. The bandit's head became unpleasant to look at.

  Firster threw his spear at the other bandit, then jumped down and ran to his victim. He experienced human mortality by touching the weapon that flew into his chest, until Firster reached out, grabbed his spear and, with the bandit already impaled on it, threw himself into the crowd of enemies, using them as a shield and battering ram.

  Princess glanced at Gloomeye and shrugged under his disapproving gaze, as if to say, 'what?’. Then she turned, wrapped the whip around the neck of the unfortunate bandit who had come too close, and with a jerk (aided by Raven's quick movement in the right direction) impaled his head on the blade that had popped out of her wristband.

  Gloomeye exchanged glances with Drat. They both missed Splinter, who was only verbally aggressive. One of the bandits grabbed Gloomy by the leg and tried to pull him off. He wants to take me hostage, thinking that since I'm not fighting, I'll be easy prey?

  The guy didn't wait for him to finish pulling, and with a single movement of his hand, he pulled the stiletto out of the stick he wore as a scabbard and slashed the puller across the arm. The bandit jerked his injured arm away and immediately received a kick from the hind legs of Squeak, Drat's peg, which threw him several metres to the side. As these legs can throw a peg with a rider many metres off the ground, the bandit that flew away can be removed from the list of living bandits.

  Princess held a group of enemies at bay with her whip, occasionally giving a facial lash to those with poor eyesight. Below her, Raven swung his lowered head in a threatening manner. Firster concentrated on stabbing the bandits like dummies during a training session.

  Some enemies, recovered from their sudden role reversal, broke out of the melee and retreated to the split hill not far from the main battle. They began preparing projectiles for their spear throwers and slings. They should have prepared the distant fighters for an ambush in advance. Now it's too late.

  Gloomy took out his new sling and started throwing stones at the attackers' heads. He doesn't want to kill them, because his goal (which should be the same as his companions') is to get information from them. But if one of them dies (although in this scene it would be more appropriate to replace "if" with "when" and "someone" with "most"), Gloomeye will not worry. He's already a killer, and he'll find the information somewhere else. Or it will find him itself after what Princess has done here.

  The battle was soon over. Dayorb shone brightly in the sky (not yet adjusted to winter, like most of the creatures beneath it), and cold, bloody snow lay below, mixed with mud and humans. For some reason, the air smelled of iron and damp. Titus looked the other way. He's not interested.

  Princess flicked the last drops of blood from her whip onto the ground. Her face was as satisfied as a boarler's when its neck is scratched.

  "That's a wonderful way to speed up the blood, Chosen One," she said to Gloomeye (her own, or those around her?). "We need more free-killable people."

  "There are no such people, Princess," Gloomeye jumped down from Grassy and began to examine the fallen bodies.

  "What do you mean, no such people, Chosen One? Here they are, lying prettily." Princess tucked her weapons under her cloak. The company was already dressed in warm clothes: a real wool shirt and trousers, and a coat with a fur collar. Even Drat wore a small coat. The high priority of receiving the clothes was due to the fact that their party was travelling. And also (as Gloomy suspected) the high rank of their parents in the newly formed clan.

  "Just for fun, remind me what we're doing here, Princess. Let's compare our versions and have a good laugh," Gloomy rummaged through the pockets and took valuables from the next body. The body was still alive, but unconscious (if it had ever been conscious). But now Gloomeye needs a bandit's consciousness.

  "We are looking for the head of the giant Mourneer that attacked my city. And the locals, like these free-killable humans, may know where it is," said Princess, joining the search of the bodies.

  "And you started killing them all," Gloomy scolded her, checking what Firster was doing. He, too, went among the bodies, robbing them, but he can easily decide to finish off the fallen.

  "Ah, submission and blindly following a man's orders will not win his heart," Princess said with a grin. "If you liked girls like that, you'd have bought a few slaves by now, Chosen One. You like bold girls, don't you?” Princess looked at Gloomeye with insolence.

  He seriously considered whether it was worth trying to change her adoration for him to what Princess now represented. She was beautiful: blonde, with a dark gaze and the sharp lines of her mother's face. Gloomeye made an effort to get her to stop calling him Adventure (his false god name. Long story). For now, he's Chosen One, but he hopes to become Gloomeye soon.

  Realising that Dara would indeed become Princess and part of Worldedge, Gloomy suggested that they start dating. He knew it was unlikely to be avoided, so why pretend it wasn't? But she refused, saying that you can only date for the first time once, and if his heart is already taken, it will be unsuccessful, but it should be successful. So she wants to win his heart first, and then they will date for the first time. I wish I could find the book "How to understand girls of any age."

  Gloomeye walked over to the man with the chakram in his head and pulled it out. The man without the chakram groaned in pain and opened one eye slightly. Gloomy nodded to Firster, who lifted the groaner off the ground by his feet. Blood dripped from his face onto the flattened snow.

  It takes a lot of strength to hold a tough bandit like that. Firster began to possess it when, after his twin's betrayal (and his subsequent death), he decided to train his body and spear skills instead of talking, smiling and other nonsense. He now tied his brown hair into a tail and usually frowned. What a group had gathered, someone from the outside might decide that a gloomy look was the principle for forming this group (if they didn't notice Drat, who had a normal look (for a short, upright alm)).

  "Will you give me back my chakram, Chosen One?" Princess asked.

  Chosen One tried to twist the chakram and hold it on his index finger, looking at the upside-down bandit:

  "You should have had range fighters out there first, surrounding potential victims and making sure they had their projectiles ready to throw," Gloomeye advised, dropping his chakram but catching it by slamming it against his chest.

  "Tip won't let it go that easily. He will not allow his people to be killed with impunity. He'll find you, children." there was no trace left of the bandit's buffoonery. He was spitting on the ground (or rather, he was trying to spit, because the blood and saliva had already run out of his mouth, so he was spitting mostly air).

  "But the chakram and the whip worked well, as you can see," Princess pointed out.

  Firster stared silently into the distance, as if he had no part in what was happening.

  "Did you see a giant's head?" Gloomy didn't know what else to do with the circular metal blade, so he tucked it under his cloak.

  "You should think of your own heads. Soon not only this head will be in Tips's possession, but yours as well," the bandit tried to collect liquids for another spit, but failed.

  "Do not tell me that this chakram is as precious to you as the memory of that wench. She threw it at you. Who bandaged your wound afterwards?" Princess persisted.

  "Tip? That's a familiar name," Gloomeye thought. "Can you tell me where I can find him? Do a good deed - save your chief time."

  "Go in a portal, magical children!" the inverted bandit was stubborn.

  "If you have a weapon, you must use it, Chosen One. Or would you like to try it yourself?" Princess continued.

  Gloomy leaned close to the sharp-toothed face itself:

  "You have a serious wound on your face. If you don't treat it, this will happen," Gloomeye lifted the eye patch so that the bandit could see his eye socket.

  "To First Curse with you! Our hideout is in the north, in a gorge between sharp rocks," the bandit said, tired of resisting.

  Gloomy nodded and Firster released the prisoner. He managed to land on his shoulders with his head pressed to his chest, otherwise he would have broken his neck.

  "Tip has betrayed Worldedge by running away with our common fund, Gloomeye," Firster said hoarsely after a long silence. "He must die."

  "Ah, that's right, our former chief! I knew I'd heard that name somewhere," Gloomeye recalled with satisfaction.

  "Glory to Evil, I can see you, Chosen One, taking your revenge. I love this stuff," Princess exclaimed happily, finally forgetting about the chakram.

  The surviving bandit sat on the ground and looked at the speakers in surprise:

  "Who are you, children?"

  "You must know your victims. Otherwise it will be like this," Gloomeye climbed onto Grassy and headed north as the others saddled their pegs.

  (Wow, I wrote a whole essay here) Why isn't Kzarina, the right hand of the supreme demon, a numbered demon? This is due to Regent's paranoia. Ambition is easily betrayed for the sake of power. And Kzarina also switched from the Desire faction.

  Why is Kzarina so human? The succubi are more closely related to humans because of their specific activities. To force humans to fall in love with them, they need to be able to love. Being sincere and close to humans also helps. Other demons aren't like that.

  I wrote this before I planned her backstory. It will be fully explained.

  I thought that if the succubi have Metamorphosis, then the difference between succubi and incubi might be rather blurry, i.e. it's more a matter of preference.

  I will try to make the pros and cons of Gloomeye clearer. So far he was just a function character (an archetypal hero).

  Let's see how I can combine Slavic and Norse mythologies. There are similarities, for example Yggdrasil and Rod, as well as Сhud' White-Eyed, who resembles Dvergrs (dwarves) and fairies. The main setting is a classic fantasy with elves and kings (so there is something of Norse mythology). To the south are the Iranian, Arabic, Sumerian-Akkadian and African cultures (that is, everything that is not clearly Asia, which is to the east). I have a lot of material to read here.