Draco: I like doing little stories for certain major holidays. Had a Halloween special for Keys and Crosses last year, but when I tried to follow suit with a Christmas special I didn't get enough readers wanting to see it (which made things more difficult, considering I wanted a reader vote for preferred topic since I had no way of choosing for myself). Contrary-wise, I didn't have anything to do for Halloween this year (because my Halloween mood SUCKED), but I've had a little idea for a Christmas Special burning for a while now.

Let's face it. Just because everyone's done it doesn't mean it can't be made fresh.

Dissidia Final Fantasy and its related Fantasies © Square Enix. Storyline inspired by A Christmas Carol, © Charles Dickens. Act of writing inspired by webcomic Brawl In The Family, © Matthew Taranto.


Saber of Thunder's Blazing Fire: Fleeting Flash

When one is not born of the world in which they find themselves, it can be difficult for them to find their place.

A Warrior knowing no name of his own, he could recall those who had experienced that for themselves; yet in his time among them, he had been one who never felt misplaced, on his own. It was a world of divine struggle, a world that no longer existed - a world that, indeed, may never have existed. So why was it that in this world, from which the battleground of heaven and hell had been made to parallel, he felt out of place?

He had endured a great many struggle, now. He had fought an old rival who did no longer recognize him, now with new meaning behind his clash. He had travelled a world that, upon a map, he knew by heart; yet what he remembered to be broken ruins now stood as proud locales. He had slain inhuman monsters, duelled with humans bearing hearts of monsters, encountered humans bearing hearts of light, and slain dark guardians to the crystals of light themselves. He had traversed time, seen a slain foe rise from the dead, and then seen that raised foe ascend to a form resembling his demonic god.

And he had returned, to find the memories wiped of the world, and that rival in a position that he would never be trusted with.

Thus, it should be little surprise that when the Warrior of Light stepped into the tavern of Elfheim, his blade sheathed between handle and plate of his trusted shield, the barmaid had begun to mix his drink before he had closed the door.

The pauldrons of his armour in cobalt and gold were powdered with fresh snow, as was his hair of shining silver; for it was Christmas Eve, and festivities were in full swing. His horned helmet was held under one arm as he approached the counter, sitting down without a word.

"Brave Warrior," the bartender greeted, drawing her hair over one pointed ear. She had often attempted to make an impression on him, both before and after his journey's end. When first she had done so, he had insisted - with a face he had feared would ignite - his journey too important to linger, and that if he saw the opening arise at the journey's end, he may consider returning. Now, however, the isolation caused by those experiences had hardened his heart; her advances bore no effect on him.

"Megaflare mix," he requested, setting his helmet on the stool beside him. "Tsunami size, rim it with powdered Odin herbs."

A sigh emerged from the elven lady. "You would spend your gil in a tavern, in Elfheim, on the Eve of Yule?" she asked of him. "You are one of Cornelia's most trusted knights; you ought be enjoying the festivities in your castle, with Princess Sarah." The name was said with a sweet tone on her lips.

And no sooner had it finished than the Warrior raised his battle plate, his hand closing on the grip of his sword. "Megaflare mix," he repeated, his tone firm this time. "Tsunami size, rim it with powdered Odin herbs."

The bartender winced warily before setting the drink down on the counter before him. He lowered his shield and the blade within, drawing out his coin purse to set the payment next to the glass before picking up the drink and taking a long draught.

"At the least, you ought lend some coin to Pravoka," she insisted. "There's hardly a building there not victim to those recent pirate raids. The season might beckon joy, but they take it too far. Elfheim was able to deter them with our own fleets, but Pravoka is an open port town. Cannon holes are in every residence. Only reason the inn was spared was for their own need of rest."

"Makes it a hell of a thing to get a room if you port late into the night." the Warrior admitted, lowering the glass to wipe his lips of the powdered herbs - he had his glass rimmed for energy, not cleanliness.

"You're not speaking of the pirates," the bartender mused.

The Warrior shook his head. "No, I am not," he confirmed. "Ruined quarters fare better than no quarters at all, yet the residents of the town would rather bleed themselves dry for the inn's rooms than stay in their own."

The elven woman shook her head. "Have you no sympathy for victims of circumstance?" she asked of him. "Those poor, unfortunate souls would freeze in their own homes. Until those buildings are repaired, they've no choice but to find other lodgings. The least you could do is aid them, in coin if not in body."

"The least I can do is naught," the Warrior protested. "I've not requested your counsel, and you oughtn't provide it. My decisions are mine alone." He raised his glass to his lips once again.

"It strikes my heart with pain," the bartender murmured, "knowing a warrior with such strength in his arm has so little in his heart."

A growl sounded in the Warrior's throat as he slammed his half-empty glass to the counter, setting his fiercest glare on the elven woman. "I need not your sympathies," he insisted, "I need a drink."

"You're holding a drink," she observed, her voice wary as she tried to calm his anger.

Her attempts were in vain, as he lashed his glass forward, casting the drink into her eyes.

"I need a stronger one," he demanded.

"Oi!" The shout drew the Warrior's gaze across the tavern as he caught sight of an elven bruiser getting to his feet. "Leave the lass alone, 'ardedge. You ain' got a good reason to give, then you 'aven't got to. But don' go lashing out at those who do. There ain' no place around 'ere for 'alf-arsed knights."

The Warrior only rolled his eyes. "I've more knighthood than you, monk," he reprimanded. Then, to the bartender, "Same herbs on the glass. Hellfire tequila, throw in a shot of Judgement B-"

He was interrupted when the bruiser he had just spoken to socked him across the jaw. Being a trained knight, he didn't go much father to the side than he would to draw a coin off the floor - indeed, the bruiser was given more pain, gripping his knuckles in pain as the Warrior pulled himself back upright, rolling his jaw with a rumbling crack.

"You know what? Just give me a bottle of Diamond Dust."

Then he pushed himself off the counter to stand tall, turning to face his opponent. "Have you something to say to my face, monk?" he demanded.

The bruiser glared at him. "Well, 'ell yeah, I-"

"Because you need only touch my shoulder," the Warrior continued, "and you will draw my attention. But to land a blow is to initiate a duel."

He reached behind his shield, drawing his blade from the gap between handle and plate.

"One that you have no hope of winning."

The elven bruiser laughed. "This 'aint a duel, 'ardedge," he corrected. "It's a brawl. So you can put your sword down."

The Warrior cocked his head slightly, as though to say 'Well, yeah'. "Fair enough."

He drove his blade between the floorboards.

Then he lashed his battle plate forward, striking the bruiser across the jaw with enough force to throw him across the tavern. He slammed into a table covered in drinks, spilling brandy across the floor. With a light smirk, the Warrior drew his sword from the floorboards, sheathing it in his shield before turning back to the bar. Drawing out his coin purse, he set out the gil for his drink and accepted the bottle before proceeding to a comfortable seat near the fireplace - now that his body had begun to process the alcohol, the chill of Christmas Eve was beginning to seep into his skin.

His equipment was set to one side, the drink was raised to his lips, and before long he was out like a candle between wet fingers.

+x+x+x+

Chill air gathering from the corners of in a heated room above the glass in her left hand.

A blaze from the fingertips of her right, just warm enough to melt it and still maintain its chill.

This sight was fascinating the bartender of the empty tavern as his peaceful slumber faded, replaced with a burn in his throat. It took such force to open his eyes that, until it happened, he presumed that someone had blinded him permanently. As he heard a woman's voice say something to the bartender - something about caring for who was left - he tried to call out for aid; his voice sounded like Bahamut's roar. The second attempt sounded more akin to Shinryu's. He closed his eyes, trying to endure the burn in his throat.

A large glass was raised to his lips. He refused to open his mouth, at first, but then the voice sounded at his side.

"Drink, it's water."

A woman's voice, with the hardened patience of a soldier advising a child. His tongue found the strength to taste the liquid; indeed, it was water, and he parted his lips to allow more to flow in. Once his mouth was full, the glass was lowered, that he could swallow without soaking himself; then the glass was set before him, and grip-worn hands caught his, closing his fingers on it before pulling away.

He opened his eyes, but the speaker was not before him.

"Tell me straight," the voice demanded, on the side opposite before. "Until now, did you know what would happen if you had as much straight vodka as you did? You need to adjust to it over time."

The Warrior angled his head to one side. The woman standing there was in garments not of this world - a white, uniform jacket with several buckles across its surface. What appeared to be a belt was tied just below her bust, and the jacket was undone at peak and base, revealing a dark undershirt and a faded brown skirt beneath. A pauldron on her left shoulder bore two green stripes, and that arm was adorned in a long, unattached sleeve; the other bore two bands around her upper arm, and both hands bore fingerless gloves. Clipped to her collar, at the inside edge of her left shoulder blade was a cape of crimson, and dangling from her waist was what appeared to be a sheath for a most curious weapon - a large piece of steel covered in carvings that would be of little use, with the hint of an edge sticking out one side. Her hair was a colour befitting of rose petals, and loose around her face - though he could see her ears were not pointed.

She was holding his bottle of Diamond Dust in one hand, and without hesitation she raised it to her lips and took a large draught from it.

The Warrior turned back to the glass of water in his hands, taking another sip of the cold liquid. "I hadn't thought my tales so widespread as to induce performance," he admitted.

"Excuse me?" The woman turned to face him, revealing eyes like cold steel.

He angled his head to one side. "Of course," he continued, "after a while, the original storyteller will cease to be mentioned, so that he will not be accused of telling the embellished story. I apologize if I disappoint you," he added, turning to face the woman again, "but the Fleeting Flash was a manikin of rose crystal. And though memories of the warrior it imitated did not survive to the final battle, I have reason to doubt her hair was of rose, as well."

A smirk rose on the woman's face. "Right," she mused. "I almost forgot that memories got wiped in that war."

"At least that aspect of the tale was maintained," the Warrior observed, getting to his feet with light haste - and nearly falling over again once he had. He drained the glass of water and set it down on the table. "I thank you for aiding my waking," he said to the woman, "but I am afraid I must depart. The hour has no doubt grown late, and I can only pray that my crew has not assumed I will stay the night in Elfheim."

He turned to leave the tavern, picking up his shield and sword from the floor at the side of the chair.

"To think Cosmos' Warrior of Light would fall so far," the woman mused. "You're hardly the shield that defended the goddess of harmony."

His footfalls did not slow for one who merely recited tales that he himself had told.

"And you're certainly not the blade that slew the god of discord."

His hand drew the door open, the night's icy storm striking him full in the face.

"Let alone the stalwart taking his name."

The Warrior came to a stop with one foot out the door. Slowly, he pulled back, closing the door so as to not lose too much of the tavern's heat (as he recalled, the bartender took residence in the loft above; and regardless of how she annoyed him, he would not condemn her to that chill) before turning back to the woman who so resembled the Fleeting Flash.

"I had not believed the tale so embellished as to claim Garland would call himself Chaos," he admitted. "Indeed, there was a warrior in discord's army who bore that name, but he did never take that of his god."

"I'm not talking about the war," the Flash replied. "I'm talking about the one in Cornelia right now. The stalwart who's personally guarding Princess Sarah, in a position you were promised for yourself - until you slew him, when he called himself god of discord, in place of worshipping him."

The Warrior started to step towards her. "I should have known better than to spread my tale," he reprimanded of himself. "With Garland being the name of Sarah's own trusted knight, I should have predicted that there would be no end to the twisting of my story of war, as it holds a warrior bearing that same name as a servant of Chaos. You seem to be familiar with it - regardless of how twisted it is. So you should understand what grounds I refer to when I say this."

By now he was face to face with the Flash, and he leaned in to the point where she could smell the vodka on his breath as he spat:

"Go to the Edge."

A strange sound - like voltage sparking. His gaze fell to where her hand gripped the figure in her sheath - what he had presumed to be merely designs were in fact separate pieces joined together temporarily. No sooner had he taken notice of this than she pulled the weapon out of its holster, raising to his neck was appeared to be a handheld crossbow without the bow.

And with a sharpened blade where the bolt should have been.

"Listen to me, Warrior," she demanded. "You're drowning in a bottle, and no one is going to take you to Valhalla for passing out drunk at the fireplace on Christmas Eve. You're making us cry. You're making Cosmos cry. And you'll never admit that she would consider you enough that you're making her cry."

The Warrior turned as though to walk away - only to sweep his shield around, with his sword still sheathed between handle and plate, and strike the Flash across the chest. The blade protruded far from the weapon, though he kept it at an angle that prevented it from attacking anything vital; thus the edge lashed a small gash upon her stomach as she fell to the floor of the bar.

"You cannot claim to know Cosmos' will," he insisted, "and you're a fool to claim you know me."

The Flash smirked pulling herself to her feet as she adjusted her grip on her weapon. "Why should I, when you aimed to kill me without due cause?" she mused. "To draw your sword on an ally at the throne of harmony, and slay me where I stood?"

She lashed her weapon to the side - and the Warrior watched with eyes wide as, with the sound of voltage the whole way, the weapon unfolded, shifted on unseen joins, until she held a blade in her hand. Upon seeing the edge, the Warrior drew his sword from his shield, holding it towards the Flash.

"You would duel me?"

"I was near to victor when Cosmos demanded we stay our blades."

A moment's pause.

Then the Flash snapped her fingers, and her body began to glow with silver light. The Warrior lashed forward, but the Flash only threw herself from the floor - and gravity had no hold on her as she leapt past the blade to close her feet on the nearest rafter. Her weapon was slammed briefly to it before she leapt off the rooftop, swinging her edge towards him.

The Warrior threw his shield to intercept, the plate catching her shoulder and throwing her into a spin, though she maintained her earthward momentum; yet when her body struck the floor, a wave of energy lashed out, pure draw from just above where she connected; the Warrior struggled to stand his ground as the Flash was drawn off briefly, landing smoothly on the ground.

Her foot lashed into a kick, but the Warrior only raised his shield to catch it. That seemed, however, to be her intention; her other foot went up to land upon it, and her body did not fall before she propelled herself off with enough force to knock him to the ground. Her hands connected with the wall opposite, and she now lashed her weapon about again so it would take its contracted form once more.

She raised it towards the Warrior, and he had only time to raise his shield, out of reflex, before a deafening crack sounded thrice, each one punctuated by a pointed blow on his shield.

His eyes were wide as he lowered the shield, his gaze on the flash as she stepped from the wall to the floor, her glow fading.

"You're..."

The Flash nodded to confirm that, indeed, she was one of the warriors he could not remember.

The knight's gaze fell to the floor, his mind in a state of shock, as she holstered her weapon and stepped towards him. He made no resistance as she took his sword and shield from him, holding them in her hands; a brief moment of confusion passed before she awkwardly caught both sides of the shield's handle and carefully slipped the blade between grip and plate.

Then she grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him to his feet.

"And I'm not the only one you'll meet tonight."

She headed towards the tavern door, pulling it open; and the Warrior, still dazed, followed suit.

Standing outside the bar was a horse. But it was not a normal horse, of that the Warrior was certain, for its entire body seemed to be of similar build to that of the Flying Fortress that housed the Wind Crystal - metallic and impossibly smooth - and where its face should have been was a mask with four glowing gaps. On second thought, it would be more appropriate to consider its build matching that of Orphan's Cradle, one of the battlefields from his time in the conflict of the gods.

The Flash only tossed the Warrior his shield and sword, causing him to fumble briefly before grasping it in his left hand; then she leapt upon the horse with practiced ease, setting one hand upon what appeared to be its mane.

Any doubts in the Warrior's mind vanished when she held out her other hand to one side; and from it emerged a flare of light, and a shower of rose petals, to herald a dual blade arced into an S.

"Get on the horse."

The Warrior circled the steed slowly, warily, before attempting to climb up; he did not experience much success, for the steed's saddle - which, like its helm, appeared to be part of it - bore no footholds. With a roll of her eyes, the Flash grabbed his empty hand and pulled him up with much greater ease than her frame should have allowed; then she raised the arced blades before her, grasping the handles so that when she pulled them apart, the edges were mirrored to each other.

"Your ship did head back to Cornelia," she told the Warrior, her mechanical steed turning towards the forest in a direction he knew held a dock. "In all honesty, you ought as well."

"How do you intend to-"

He was cut off by his own yelp as the steed reared, its whinny echoing in the silent night; then it dashed forward, and the Warrior reached his empty hand forward to circle the Flash's waist, to provide leverage - she did not seem to notice, despite riding with only the grip of her legs.

The port of Elfheim was empty as they broke the trees. The Warrior began to panic, for the Flash showed no intention of deterring her steed from charging at a full gallop towards the dock.

"Are you mad?" he demanded.

"Possibly," she admitted.

Then the steed leapt from the edge of the dock - and the Warrior bore pure shock as he continued to gallop across the open air, slowly rising higher into the sky. A look of shock adorned his face as he glanced back to see rose petals trailing from the steed's hooves.

Astonished, he turned back to the Flash.

"Who are you?"

She only glanced back at him with a set gaze.

"Lightning."

+x+x+x+

As they neared the shores of Cornelia, they caught a curious sight upon the water - a wooden sailing ship, of familiar build to the Warrior of Light, flying a Jolly Roger.

"That... is Bikke's ship," the Warrior mused, his gaze fixated on the flag high on the crow's nest.

Lightning glanced briefly at the ship. "Who else did you think responsible for the pirate raids?" she asked of him.

"With the endless cycle of Chaos broken, most of the darkness I had fought on my journey was nowhere to be found when I rounded the world once again," he replied. "He was not in port at Pravoka. I had to pay Princess Sarah with the crystals I carried in order to be trusted with ship and crew, and she demanded I return them when I had completed my trip. The ship I rode to Elfheim is from my employment in the knights of Cornelia."

"That may be," Lightning mused, "but piracy is born when the freedom that comes with a vessel goes to the captain's head. Bikke's lack of presence in Pravoka while you arrived was the working of Lady Luck, and nothing more. Maybe now you'll put a gil into the rebuilding efforts. Pravoka's not the only victim without a fleet to defend them."

The Warrior turned back to her. "How do you know so much about this world?" he asked. "Warriors called to the divine conflict can barely recall their own."

"You'll see when we get to the castle," she promised.

They arrived at Cornelia shortly after this exchange, Lightning's steed coming to a stop at the edge of the snow-dusted town - though the skies were cloudless, the layers of snow were mighty. Lightning quickly leapt off (with the Warrior following, albeit with a landing in the snow, rather than upon it), joining her blades so that they formed an arced Σ; then she held them out to her steed, that he would grip the handle between his teeth. As the Warrior watched, the horse turned and leapt skyward, galloping towards the arced moon and fading in a scatter of rose petals.

He turned to face Lightning as she stepped through the town, heading straight to the castle without any regard for the busy town.

She knows where my quarters are...

Nursing a minor saddle sore, he quickly pulled himself into a dash after her.

The castle doors were cracked open, and Lightning quickly pushed them open; closing them firmly after the Warrior had entered. Sarah, the Princess of Cornelia herself, was pacing furtively in the entrance hall, clad in her royal nightgown; upon the closing of the doors, she raised her gaze and caught sight of him, powdered with snow.

"You've made it," she observed, her voice subdued. "Your ship's crew arrived and claimed you were passed out drunk in Elfheim."

"You could say that," Lightning mused. "He's not used to straight Diamond Dust."

Sarah blinked slowly, confused. "My apologies. You are...?"

The Flash glanced at the Warrior. "Lightning," she replied. "I'm the one who brought him back."

"Oh, you are too kind," the Princess insisted. "He keeps with him at all times enough funds for a meal and a room at any inn on this world, and some to spare if misfortune strikes. You needn't have gone out of your way to bring your ship here."

"Ship," Lightning hummed, an amused smirk on her face. "Sure, let's go with that." Then, at Sara's expression of confusion; "Let's just say I've got business of my own in Cornelia, and the kindness to take a warrior home."

Sarah bowed her head. "Thank you, Miss Lightning." Then, to the Warrior, "I suppose I'll retire to my chambers. However, I must ask that you join us for the Yule festivities tomorrow."

"I shall consider it, your Grace," he replied.

With that said, Princess Sarah departed towards her room, Lightning's gaze following her.

"She's a little like Cosmos," the Flash observed, turning to the Warrior.

"That was my impression upon first meeting her, as well," he agreed. "Not only in her appearance, either."

Lightning nodded. "I thought so," she mused, glancing back where she had gone. "She gives off this... aura. It's like... a goddess reborn, or something."

With a shrug, she turned and took off down the hallway, towards the knights' quarters - prompting the Warrior to follow suit. Most of the soldiers shared rooms with two or three others, but the Warrior was one of a handful of high-ranking soldiers to have rooms of their own, as well.

Only a few paces down did the two of them encounter Garland himself. He was not as Lightning would remember him, dark and faded steel and a blade that carved whatever earth lay behind him. His armour was of bright silver and shining gold, his cape bright white and bearing patterns of aqua across their sides. At his hip was sheathed a sword similar in form to the Warrior's own, and though his helm was still horned, it was somehow not nearly as malevolent.

"Ah, you've returned," he greeted the Warrior. "You struck Princess Sarah of insomnia, having your crew return without you." Visibly glancing at Lightning, he added, "I'm not certain why you've brought someone home with you, but if the Princess did not stop you than I've no reason to." Then, raising a hand as though to silence him from saying anything; "Whatever challenge you ask of me now, I ask only that it wait until tomorrow's festivities have faded. I wish not to be battered when Yule graces us."

The Warrior reached for his neck - though the glass of water Lightning had given him had alleviated the burning in his throat, it had not rid him of it entirely. "I am certain the challenge that you leave me be for the night is not one that will batter you," he said to Garland. "I've not the tolerance to drink a significant amount of unmixed Diamond Dust without suffering ill effects, and I am certain a night's rest will help my condition, if not restore it entirely. "

Garland nodded. "Very well," he complied. He stepped past Lightning and the Warrior, prompting the Flash to gaze at the knight.

"He looks weird, going around like that all the time."

"Very."

The two of them proceeded to the Warrior's chambers, whereupon he locked the door tightly. Lightning glanced around the room briefly - sparsely furnished, with a single window that she quickly threw open - before asking of the Warrior, "Not one for interior design, are you?"

"What do you want of me, Lightning?" the Warrior demanded, drawing off his gauntlets.

"Nine warriors accompanied you to the throne of Chaos," Lightning reminded him, "and then to the hillside south of Cornelia. They did not last long in this world - and neither will I." She stepped towards him. "I, and those who will follow, will not speak with you for long - but if you fail to heed our words, then you sacrifice all chance at redemption."

"Redemption of what?" the Warrior protested, kicking off his sabatons and separating his greaves.

"Look at yourself," Lightning reprimanded. "You stood at the throne of harmony, on your own, before an army of manikins that you knew you had no hope of defeating. Even doubting whether you were worthy of the title, Warrior of Light, you would defend your goddess without hesitation. Now you live in a bottle whenever you don't have duties to perform. You won't even put one gil into the restoration of a town you once defended for no other reason than the fact that you could."

The Warrior sighed heavily, reaching for the catch between chestplate and backplate and pulling it to separate the two, leaving him in the jet-black bodysuit he wore beneath (he had found normal garments bore a bothersome tendency to catch in the joins of his armour). "I had good reason," he countered, leaving the plates on the floor where they had fallen. "Defeating the pirates got me the ship that took me to Elfheim,"

"Justifying lies with reason won't get you anywhere," Lightning told him. "Trust me, I know. It's the regret that landed me here with you."

The words hung in the air, long after the voice that carried them had vanished.

She reached for her chest with her left hand - and the Warrior watched with amazement as a shining glow emerged from beneath her garments, just above her breasts. The light slowly gathered, forming a beautiful figure; a rose carved of crystal the same colour as the Fleeting Flash manikins he had once fought, hovering just above her palm.

"Three more will come to you," she warned. "Warriors whom you will not remember in face, but in form, for you have fought the manikins bearing their bodies in the thirteenth cycle of war. Christmas is a time for miracles, but you must be willing to let the miracle happen. Raise your blade against them, and your chance is lost."

The crystal rose set itself into her hand, and she drew her weapon from its sheath, in ranged form once more.

"Expect the first tomorrow," she continued, "when the bell tolls one. Expect the second on the next night, at the same hour. The third upon the next night, when the last stroke of twelve has ceased to vibrate."

She hurled her rose out the window, then raised her armament and fired; the shot struck the crystal form, and the Warrior could only watch as the blow shattered the sacred figure, replacing it with a flare of light of the same colour as the crystal it had come from, taking the form of a mighty flower. From the center of the rose emerged a massive figure - a great knight of machine befitting Orphan's Cradle, bearing a helm with horns of gold, a cape opposite Lightning's own, a shield resembling the saddle of her steed, and the arced dual blade that she had drawn upon taking that seat.

"Look to see me no more," she said finally to the Warrior. "And look that, for your own sake, you remember what has passed between us."

With a snap of her fingers, the glow that rid her of gravity's burden wrapped her again, and she only lashed her weapon earthward, that it would again form a blade, before leaping out the window, soaring towards that great knight. His shield hand reached forth, catching her empty one, and with a turn on his heel the knight hurled her skyward, the Flash vanishing into the sky. The knight lowered his gaze to the Warrior, who could only watch with eyes wide as he pressed the handle of his weapon against the surface of his shield; then he raised it skyward, and bolts of voltage emerged from cloudless skies, striking the earth around him and prompting the Warrior to cover his eyes.

When the thunder had faded, so had the great knight.

The Warrior was left alone in his room, Lightning's words ringing in his ears as he closed the window.

Three more... on three nights? The Yule festivities will have faded before they have. And... what bell? The hour's bells in Cornelia do not sound at night, to allow the residents to slumber. What do they intend to show me?

Slowly, he stepped towards his bed, without thought to exchange his under-armour bodysuit for proper night garments; he fell upon the matress without care to lift the sheets, his mind racing; and he allowed sleep to take him in an instant.

The last thought in his mind before he succumbed to slumber was, I left my helmet in Elfheim.


Draco: Began writing on November 17th of 2014. Ended writing on November 18th of 2014.

Do not think I will neglect this story, for it is most likely already written to its end by the time its first stave submitted on December 5th. I will submit the second stave on December 10th. Then the third on December 15th. The fourth on December 20th, and the fifth on the 24th, for no other reason than Yule festivities bearing a tendency to delay my submission of Christmas Specials if I intend to submit it on that day, and I would rather avert that habit this year.

It doubtless says something about me that I went to the trouble of reading the original A Christmas Carol in Prose, Being a Ghost Story of Christmas before writing this. Some lines will seem out of character; these will either be due to my inexperience with a given character, or as a result of direct reference to the original work.