La Montagne Hantée
The air was crisp, the winds brisk, and the snow deep. The seemingly endless pine trees sported coats of snow and their needles bore frosted tips. A quiet crunching noise had sounded in the forest; echoing off the slopes of the Urals into obscurity in the plains below. The noise was binary in nature; one crunch sounding after the other.
The sounds emanated from a snow-covered trail leading further up into the Urals, towards the infamous 'Death Mountain'. The sounds came from no man, but a mountain in human form. A bipedal bulwark was making it's way through the snow, trudging to the rhythm of it's own footsteps. In the wake of the moving mountain of a man was not simply footprints in the snow, but a wide, flat swath.
The mountain of a man held a shield in front of him. This trusty bulwark halted the blasting winds, parted the deep snow and protected from the occasional stray bullet. Behind the shield, the man made no sounds, aside from his own footsteps. He pushed onward; clearly destined to rest atop the highest peak, a mountain atop a mountain.
As the day wore on, the wind and cold grew strong. The wind was not an issue before; but the shield could not protect against the biting cold. It was time to make camp.
Having found a sheltered clearing, the mountain sought fire. Pushing his shield against a sturdy pine tree, he hefted and heaved until it stood tall no more. With a mighty strike with the top of his shield, he cleaved the tree in twain, setting himself up for a caldera of a bonfire.
A quick scrape of his knife against his shield yielded sparks which set the bottom half of the tree ablaze. In a show of dominance over physical adversity, the man sat atop the other half of the tree and basked in the heat of the fire. Setting his shield behind him, the mountain used his bulwark to protect his back. As the night set in, the man began to doze.
Feeling his head slump forward, the mountain of a man was brought back to his senses by the sound of a distant crunching. He looked around frantically, trying vainly to ascertain the source of the noise. He grew frantic as the apparent footsteps drew nearer, until they grew so thunderously loud that they could be mistaken for falling trees. Suddenly, the noise stopped.
The man saw something out of the corner of his eye. Something tall, something ape-like, something of terrifying implication.
"Privet, Montagne!" A friendly voice announced.
In shock, Montagne spun around to see who, or what, had followed him to the slopes of Death Mountain. He saw not a man, but a lord of men. The figure wore green camouflage, a bunker of a helmet, and sported a mounted LMG which peeked over his shoulder. Montagne stayed silent.
"It's me, Tachanka!" A pause followed, "from work?"
Montagne let the gusting wind speak for him, and remained silent.
"Ok… it's fine, I know it's you. Do you mind if I sit near your fire?" Tachanka asked in hopes of a response.
Montagne stayed perfectly still, perfectly silent, as would a mountain made into a man.
Tachanka sat opposite of the fire from Montagne, interpreting his silence as a request for space. It was easily negative twenty degrees Celsius, but despite this Tachanka had only approached in search of company to pass the night.
He got straight to the point, "You do know which mountain you're on, right? Surely you've heard the story?"
Montagne moved to sit atop his half tree again.
"Let's say this mountain has a history, a rather dark one at that."
Montagne remained unmoved.
"Years ago," Tachanka started, "a group of hikers sought the summit as you do. They made it a little further up from here; but they would never reach the top. The night they made camp would be their last; all of them died that night."
Montagne pulled his shield closer to him as Tachanka continued.
"Their fate wouldn't be known to the rest of the world until several days later when the police realized they had not returned. What their investigation found was bizarre; as they found their corpses strewn about snow. One of their tents were torn from the inside, one man lay off in the forest naked despite the freezing temperatures. Many of the hikers even had their tongues removed."
Montagne held his shield tightly.
"No one is quite sure about the circumstances that lead to this. Ever since then, the mountain has held a dark, cryptic aura to any who visit. Anyone who dares to sit in the same place as you fears for their life from what happened here." Tachanka paused, "do you fear for yourself?"
Montagne finally broke his silence. In a heavy French accent, he pleaded, "Tachanka-kun, please protect me! You're Russian, surely you know what lead to this?"
Tachanka grinned behind his helmet, "We Russians speak of a man-like thing who roams the slopes of the Urals. But don't you worry, the hikers that died didn't have a fire to protect them."
Montagne fearfully scanned the edges of the bonfire's light. He watched so intently that he didn't see Tachanka rise from his squat in the snow. The tree that he sat upon shook as Tachanka planted himself next to Montagne.
Feeling his comforting presence, Montagne pressed himself against Tachanka. As he did, he felt a hard bulge in Tachanka's snow-pants.
Montagne turned his head and looked into his visor,"Tachanka-kun?"
Tachanka didn't answer him as he grabbed Montagne's shoulders suggestively. Without saying a word, Montagne dropped his pants; exposing his pale, thicc ass-cheeks to the biting cold.
Seeing Montagne's erect micro-penis, Tachanka knew what to do. He spun Montagne around and forced the two of them to their knees. Unzipping his own pants; Tachanka's massive kielbasa sprung fully erect into the now howling gale. Feeling his sagging, fifty-year-old testicles rest in the snow invigorated Tachanka as he slathered his penis in snow. Using the melted water as lube, he thrust his erection between Montagne's cheeks, seeing it disappear within in a single stroke.
Montagne gasped in surprise and ecstasy, spraying the snow beneath him. As Tachanka's magnum dong continued it's piston-like movements, Montagne reached out for his shield.
Retrieving his shield, he held it back for Tachanka and begged him, "slap my ass with it, Tachanka-kun!"
Without hesitation, Tachanka grasped the bulwark and delivered a mighty slap across Montagne's ass. Squealing with sexual joy, Montagne was pushed forward as Tachanka blasted his rectum with human miracle-whip.
Laying face down in the snow, Montagne passed out; his brain incapable of withstanding the rush of hormones following the climax.
Tachanka rose from the snow and put his penis back into his pants. Looking down at Montagne, he pondered for a moment.
"Ne, not again." He said to himself, "You will not suffer the same fate as those hikers."
Dragging Montagne over to the fire, he left him near enough to survive the night before setting his shield on top of him to protect him from the snow.
"Stay warm, my friend." Tachanka uttered before disappearing into frigid winter night.
Days passed and the police became more worried. No one had tried to climb the infamous Death Mountain since the group of dead hikers. Would Montagne be another failed attempt? Was there something up there perpetrating these deaths?
More time passed and a search party assembled. As they prepared to depart, they were stopped by a distant crunching sound. Seeing a man holding a shield in front of him, pushing through the snow like some ineffective snow plow, they called off the search. The infamous Death Mountain had finally been surmounted.