I LIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!

Legitimately important authors note, please read

Jesus Christ this year has been awful. I mean, this year has been awful for everybody, but I need to explain some things. This was not supposed to be Chapter 2. I lost everything. My computer has been having issues for months, before finally encountering a complete hard drive corruption. All the work I had on this story as well as Instruments of War, as well as a potential future project, have all been lost.

I couldn't accept going another year without updating this story, especially after I promised an update twelve whole months ago. So, in the span of FOUR DAYS, I wrote this story using my father's macbook.

*This short story is not up to my normal chapter standards, and I know that, and I apologize.*

This was originally supposed to be a story about Ainz sharing Christmas adventures with Jircniv, Neia, Enri and the rest of the gang. That unfortunately cannot happen anymore, as I cannot promise it will ever be fully completed again, but I hope this is an acceptable bout of Christmas cheer for the time being.

Instruments of War is still on schedule to continue, however that schedule has been set back significantly. But for what it is worth, it is the holidays.

Merry Christmas.

Let the story begin.

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The eve of the frostfall every harvest season brought the future heir to the Sorcerous Kingdom no pleasantries. While with his eyes the Lord of the manor watched the newfallen snow drabble in unnaturally thick spectacle, in his mind noble Philip lamented the certainty it would entail. Several in his court had already requested time to prepare for the winter's cold, gathering excesses of firewood and meats. It had been granted, of course, as had always been tradition, though Philip in his cunning had added an amendment to the circumstances this year. Rather than send a detachment of the guard in his service out into the biting conditions of the wilderness, a tax was established that each of the peasantry would deliver a portion of their gatherings, a mere twenty percent at that, to the confines of his manor, so his men may not grow cold nor hungry.

His eyes grew weary, and his smile widened broadly. The plan he had set into motion had been executed perfectly. Philip had never any doubt in his mind, though in truth he had expected the carriage driver to put up more of a fight. Naturally the man had been terrified by his shining physique and the sheer numbers of his peasant levy, and had handed over the grain without so much as a scuffle. Philip sighed, almost wishing his genius could satiate the clear desires of his peasantry, but alas there was only so much of his superb intellect to go around.

However he sighed again, solemnly this time, for his favorite working girl had similarly requested time at home, which he had begrudgingly acquiesced. Much to her disappointment he was reminded, for the nights were surely long without his comforting embrace. It felt cold and lonely without her company, but he supposed her sickly father deserved one final chance to see his daughter before she fell into his service indefinitely.

He downed another swig of wine, a warmth rushing through his addled heart and languished mind. In his stupor the young baron leisured beside the hearth fire, appreciating the fond glow it provided. Ever since he was a child Philip felt a strange affinity for the phenomenon, watching the embers wick and spark as he gazed into the roaring inferno in his control. A reminder to all who crossed him how foolish their mistakes could be.

His mother once told him a story he expected she'd long forgotten. She called the sparking embers 'fire fairies', and together they'd watch them float and fall. If you managed to catch one before it extinguished, it would grant you a wish, anything you desired. He'd laughed as a child, and smiled nostalgically as he stared now. With a fleeting thought he reached out one hand, and like magic a single ember broke away from its brothers and sisters, and floated down towards him. Phillip laughed merrily, staring down into the glowing spec as it floated leisurely into the palm of his hand, still bright and beautiful. He closed his eyes.

Suddenly the shutters rang open, a great gust of wind sweeping through the Lord of the manor's bedchambers and snuffing out the fire in its entirety, Philip cursing the rotten circumstances. Swiftly he stood up, which he would come to quickly realize as a steadfast mistake, as in his drunken stupor he fell face first into the solid floorboards below him. Coughing as he slowly rose to his feet, holding his nose tightly as to dissuade the throbbing soreness, he made his way over to the biting freeze gusting through the window. With swift and shaking hands he slammed the shutters closed, breathing deeply and harshly as he attempted his way back to his lavish armchair.

One day, he thought. One day he would hold the keys to so much more than this paltry peasantry. One day he would hold the Lady Albedo's swooning hand down the isle as roses and laurels were thrown their way. One day he would stand before the broken and defeated form of that ghastly undead scourge, thanking him before Philip struck him down, for it were he who had made this all possible. With the massacre of the Katzhe Plains came the paved road towards Philip's ascendancy, and his eventual honored title as monarch of the Sorcerous Kingdom. No, the Sorcerous Empire. His lips curled in the presence of his stunning intellect. One day soon.

Suddenly there came a sheering, scratching metal scuff across the floor outside his hall, clear as day and the newfallen snow. Philip turned toward the precipice, perhaps one of the dullards in his service had snagged the serving cart on his good rug, or even across mother's fine woodworks and commissions. After a moment of silence, the lord of the manor sunk back into his lavishly comfortable armchair, when suddenly a violent clang rang out throughout the building. Philip leapt to his feet, alarms ringing out in his mind. However, after a moment, he realized the sound was not simply in the confines of his head.

The toll bell rang three times.

His eyes went wide as a gust of wind breached the shutters, the ambiance of the candlelight swiftly interrupted, the fireplace suddenly extinguished, shivering as darkness shrouded the room. Cursing his circumstances, he nearly called out for a nearby houseservant to relight the bleakness of the room, when at last he heard the final warning. Boom. Boom. Thundering through the halls, ever closer the baron's bedchambers, Philip grabbed a nearby fork and raised it towards the entryway. He tugged at his collar and swallowed as he backed into the corner of the room, the trudging louder and louder until he swore it was just on the other side, and just as immediately, silenced.

Philip took several long and slow breaths, not daring to make any sudden moves for what felt like moments of eternity. Eventually, however, he began to laugh at himself. His folly could not be overstated, he looked like a lad cowering in the face of failure. And Lord Philip the first was no failure. Mustering his aptitude, he stood resolute, pointing the fork in fencing formation towards the silent door. He cleared his throat.

"I don't know who you think you are, braggart, but this manor belongs to-"

"ME!"

Philip shrieked in spite of his dignity, the door bursting open to reveal the haunting visage of a pale floating corpse, translucent and blue to the tint, its eyes filled with malice and its limbs caked in shackles and irons. He nearly tripped over himself as he held the fork with shaking hands, before he begun to recognize…

"…Gareth…?"

It could not be mistaken. Even behind the sullen, rotting eyes and sunken features, it was impossible to be misplaced. The face that had haunted him for so many years. The face he thought he'd never see again. The firstborn son of house Montserrat. The heir to the hold, the manor, and the whole of the grand estate. His long dead brother.

"…Philip." the specter intoned, a mirth and bile wretching up through its throat. Its hands reached out with malice, but as he reached out for the scrawling, pitiful man just outside his grasp, the irons of his visage glowed and burned as he approached. He wailed in anguish, a sound Philip could never possibly replicate nor volunteer to hear again. At once, the spirit began to sob, and the present lord of the manor stood as he collected himself, a hesitant grin spreading across his face.

"Ah… I understand it now. I get it. I'm dreaming…" he began, the smile spreading wider on his face. "Well it is good to see you brother. They never did find what happened to the bodies when all was said and done. Powerful magics at work with that undead king of theirs, or crushed into the dirt." he said nearly whimsically. At the mention of the massacre of the Katzhe Plains the vision of Gareth Montserrat bore into those of his younger brother, who continued self-assuredly. "It must pain you. Knowing that all you could have had will now be mine, however you needn't worry brother. I will do so much better with the estate than you ever could. By this time next harvest, my love will stand beside me as I carry our hold into a new future, to join with the Sorcerous Kingdom-"

"NO!" The voice of the eldest son of Montserrat bellowed Philip into the wall, his fork dropping to the hardwood floor. Both seemed unable to catch a breath, as one faced the other with unreadable expression. The air grew cold, and as frost began to bite at the tip of Philip's lips, he scowled in indignation at the vision before him.

He huffed, his breath easily defined in the newfound dropping temperature. "It has been no pleasure to see you again brother, though I am glad I had this one last chance to say my thanks. None of this would have been possible without your timely demise." He ignored the bared teeth of the pale visage. "I'm going to wake up now. Or drift into a far more pleasurable dream." Locking the shutters, he made his way to the covers of his bed, smirking smugly at the face of his brother as he turned to the side. As he closed his eyes and slowed his breathing, Philip imagined all the wonderous things that would be happening soon enough.

"I'll see you soon, my darling."

Time crept by unnoticed by the baron, until long into the waiting night. A myriad of thoughts and senses ran through him, a slight nudge, a tiny kick. A warm glow and whispered voices. "This is the guy we're supposed to see?" Curling up tightly in the bed, he willed the voices away. "H-He isn't getting up." At that, Philip felt another thwack with a hard object.

His eyes fluttered open and immediately targeted the perpetrator, a long wooden stick held by a… his eyes adjusted to the light. A lot of light. The stick, or staff rather, was being held by… a child. Philip blinked, and noticed a nearly identical child standing beside them. Dark elves. Beautiful, ravishing, as if sculpted by a god to melt the heart of his eyes. They stared quizzically at him, as he thought to himself.

Ah. So It appears I am still to be dreaming. He smirked. This is already a much better dream. With fun little playthings. A little on the younger side, or rather seemingly young, but they're elves. It didn't really count. Besides, this is my dream. I get to enjoy it exactly as I-

His thoughts were thoroughly interrupted by the red flare on his forehead as the staff came down once again. He sputtered, rubbing the spot, which felt like it actually stung a bit. He glared at the dream child before him, a little girl by the looks of things, holding her staff back diligently. "What in the name of the gods was that for!?"

The child beside them, the boy, spoke in turn. "Well we couldn't have you sleeping through our shift, we're on the job, chop chop! Come on Mister out of bed, we have a memory to catch."

Philip blinked a few more times, staring long into the strange, mismatched eyes of the dark elf twins. He carefully made his way to his feet, throwing a coat over his nightsuit, careful not to take his gaze off them. "I'm sorry…" he apologized, "But… who exactly are you?"

The boy elf beamed with pride. "We're your past!"

Philip raised an eyebrow. "Come back to haunt me? I can't seem to recall ever meeting elves like yours…" he sighed, "Unfortunately."

The elf rolled his eyes. "No, genius. I'm the vision of your childhood joy! And my little brother over here is the vision of your childhood fear." The skirted elf shifted uncomfortably.

Philip blinked. They were both boys? He sighed. That was unfortunate. He met the plucky one's mismatched eyes again. "My… childhood fear. And childhood joy…"

"Uuuuughh." The talkative one groaned, hands in its face. Suddenly it made its way over to Philip, and without his consent grabbed the tip of his ear and brought it low, elating a yelp from the poor man. "It's. A. MET-AH-FOR. Capiche?"

He had not an inkling of an idea what a metaphor was, nor what a capiche could possibly be. He stared wide eyed at the elves, the diminutive one finally making the effort to speak. "What my sister is trying to say, is, well… we need you to come with us. If that's okay with you, of course!"

Philip looked to and from between the dark elves, mysteries unravelling in his mind. He brushed the hand away from his ear, staring at them as they stared back at him. Despite the circumstances, a smile broke out across his face, then a bit of a small laugh. "…Very well…" he began, "You seem to have me cornered. In my own room no less." He looked around, not seeing any light besides the warm glow of the girl's, no, boy's gnarled staff, who seemed to brighten up himself.

"Oh good, I thought we were going to have to drag him out the window." The girl smiled, Philips smirk dropping.

"The window?"

Without another word, the boy elf appeared to cast an incantation, though with a voice far too low for Philip to discern, and a soft glow coated the trio. Without a moment to ask the circumstances of the situation, the girl held him by the hand, and with far more strength than her diminutive stature could possibly betray, through him out the recently opened stutters with force enough for horizontal movement.

"DON'T FORGET TO THINK HAPPY THOUGHTS!" The girl shouted from the third story window, but not possibly loud enough to overtake the screaming that was overbearing Philip's senses. As the ground began rapidly approaching, a single thought went through Philip's brain.

If only my dear Albedo were here

Philp squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable snap that would wake him up from this dastardly dream. However, as the moments passed, he noticed both that he had not hit the ground, nor had he apparently woken up. With hesitation he slowly opened one eye, then two, then took a deep breath. And laughed.

Below him soared the hills and trees, for he lost no ground nor speed through the air. He was weightless, gravityless, and soared with the power and grace of an eagle in the mountains. Slowly, carefully, he let out a laugh, then another. Then the lord Philip was in full rancor, joyous and in merriment. Something caught the corner of his eye, and he turned to see the smiling face of the elf girl, followed closely by her shyer conspicuous brother.

"Hey, you found a happy thought! Not bad. Nearly expected to need and try again next time." She grinned looking backwards. "Though, I don't suppose that'll come anymore, huh?"

Philip for his sake was soaking in the experience. It was unlike any dream he had ever had. "We…We're flying!"

The dark elf beamed. "See. I knew he'd enjoy it." She looked out over the rolling fields. "See anything you like?" She looked back. "Anything you recognize?"

Philip looked confused, but scanned over the horizon. "I don't see what you could…" his eyes focused on a small gathering of huts on a hill, illuminated through the cold frost that surrounded them. "Wait… it couldn't be…"

As they approached, Philips boyish grin grew even wider. "Kythegarden! Oh I haven't been since I was a child." He grew increasingly nostalgic. "My mother used to bring me here each harvest as a little boy. All the little shops and stores, peasants making little trinkets…" he smiled, looking over to the girl floating next to her.

"You know, you never gave me your name."

The dark elf looked at him, perplexed but uninhibited. "What do you mean? I told you. We're the past."

Coming to a slow on the edge of the town, Philip continued to press. "Yes, you told me. But what are you specifically called?"

The girl looked down at her own hands, as if seeing them for the first time, then shrugged her shoulders. "I guess you can just call me joy. It won't matter soon anyways." She floated closer towards the town, the two following in suit. "We have work to do here."

"Joy." The Baron tasted the word, feeling it around in his mouth. "If you would give me just a moment Joy, I'd like to take a look around. This place is exactly as I remember it." He sighed longingly. "This dream has really outdone itself. Worthy of the future king."

The twins looked at each other quizzically, but Joy acquiesced with a wave of her hand. "That is what we're here for."

Philip slowly came to the ground, the stone pathing feeling cold through his thin night slippers. He stared in wonder around him, each new sight and smell bringing back so many incredible memories. The familiarity of the smell of the bakery, the taste of the rumhouse, the sight of-

"Angelica!" Philip shouted, pressing his face to the window. Within stood a girl tending to her father, and the soles he worked, cobblers the both of them. Fair and beautiful, she worked the apprenticeship she had longed for since childhood. "Angelica!" he called again.

"She can't hear you you know." Joy appeared beside him. "None of them can. Haven't you noticed?" As she spoke, Philip turned to one of the pellars beside him on the road, slowly waving his hand before his face to no avail. He shouted in his ear to no reaction. Finally Philip stood right in front of the man, before he walked straight through him with no regard. Philip clutched his chest at the coldness he felt then, but made his way back to the window.

"You knew her well, did you?" Joy asked beside him. Philip nodded, smiling at the memory.

"We were the best of friends." He told as he recalled the years. "Each season I would come here, each time my shoes grew to tight or my fondness to close to longing." He sighed nostalgically. "And she would always be there. Thrilled to see me. Always asking me to stay just a bit longer."

"Doesn't look like that to me." Joy remarked, looking in through the window.

"S-Sister, don't be mean…" her brother intoned, yet Philip perced his eyebrows. What the devil were they talking about? Then he looked inside, and saw…

…Him. Philip. Just a little boy, of course, but it was him all the same. His eyes shown as he looked towards his mother, and dulled when met with his older brothers, but nevertheless, it was him. "PHI-" he shouted, then cursed himself. Of course they couldn't hear him. He smiled. He supposed he would just have to enjoy the view.

Angelica froze as they approached, nearly dropping her plate, the older Philip smirked towards the spirit Joy. "See? She's infatuated with me."

"Keep watching." She replied uncharacteristically emotionlessly.

Cautiously, Philip returned to the scene, and watched as his counterpart made his way towards the girl. With confidence and vigor the youthful visage of himself held her shoulder and walked with her, her eyes never leaving his. Philip smiled. There was no need to worry. The spirits didn't know what they were talking about. She loved him. Then the scene progressed, and little flags began appearing in Philip's mind. "Wait…" he began.

"I know this day…"

No sooner did he intone the words did the cobbler trip over himself, boxes of shoes and clogs raining down on poor Philip's head. Angelica laughed, as did his brothers, but Philip was aghast at the slight. Sure, it must have been funny to the other children, but even a child of the baroness knows his place. The feeble old cobbler clearly failed to recognize his. It was no matter. He would learn.

He watched as the royal guard carried him away in irons. The tears in Angelica's eyes did him no favors, but it was necessity. The nobility existed for a reason, and the peasantry serve the nobility. Just as she would eventually come to learn…

Suddenly the characters seemed to be moving at hyperspeed, Phillip stepping away from the window momentarily. He looked around frantically. "What's happening?"

"Waiting for something to happen, more like." The snarky dark elf looked up at the baron. "You don't really become interesting for a few years. Right about…" and in an instant the scene played back at a normal, stagnant speed. "…Now."

"I don't know why you're being difficult about this." A voice nearly identical to his own rang out, and he turned to see a teenaged but still young image of himself now courting a very beautiful and… defined visage of the gracious Angelica. The latter stood deathly still, not daring to move a muscle.

"…You promised you would let my father go." She said in a small voice. "You said he would be coming with you this time."

The teenaged Philip sighed "It's okay, my dear. Everything is alright. Just come home with me. You'll see your father again soon, I promise you.", and again placed his hand upon her shoulder, making her glare at the nobleman.

She swiped his hand away, taking a few steps back. "…No. No more of your empty promises. I won't do it anymore. I want to see my father, now."

Young Philip rolled his eyes. "Yes, of course darling, but first…"

Older Philip could not see who made the first move, but the red welt on the side of his face spoke volumes all on its own. The young baron to be rubbed his cheek in shock and toil, as Angelica covered her mouth. Suddenly the young man began to laugh.

"Fine." He said, his eyes no longer entertaining this play of hers. "We'll play this the hard way."

Philip of the present sighed in nostalgia as the scene played out before him. It was the night they culminated their love for each other after all their little games. It broke his heart when they found her in the morning. They dared to call it a suicide, but Philip knew it had to be murder. Some sorry prick who couldn't have what they had shared. In his genius Philip had rounded all the eligible bachelors in town and had them carted off. An extreme measure some claimed, but he knew in his heart he had done her justice.

He looked towards the two expectant elves, which indecipherable expressions on their faces. "So…" he asked Joy, "What is to be the end of this wonderful dream?"

"The end?" she repeated, before laughing. Beside her, her brother began to invoke and incantation. "You poor little fool. It has only just begun."

Before Philip could utter another word, the dark elf beside her slammed the foot of his staff to the hard stone below them, and suddenly Philip felt himself flying very quickly and involuntarily. It could barely be described as flying, it was if he was tugged, pulled faster than he'd ever traveled before. He yelled as the bones in his body threatened to flee his flesh, before oh so suddenly, he cratered back into the seat of his armchair, none the worse for wear.

He took a sharp breath, and looked around. The window was locked shut. The fireplace was still brightly lit. He looked down only to find his classic nightgown, his eyes darted to the coatrack where his favorite fur still hung steadily. He placed his hands over himself, veryifying his reality, when suddenly he laughed out loud.

"What an amazing dream…"

He looked down at the hearthfire, putting his hands out to feel the warmth. It comforted and soothed him. Cracking his back, he slowly made his way to rising position, carefully making his way over to his bed. In his last fleeting moments before covering himself back up under the covers, he thought about the types of wine he must've had the night before in celebration of his raid, and promised himself to recreate the experience, should he ever get the chance.

But no sooner did Philip close his eyes that the rancous sound of merriment swept underneath his ddorframe. Shooting up in his bed, hand on the frame, he immediately looked to prove his eyes did not deceive him as he stared out the blackened sky of the windowsill. Slowly, cautiously, he held a candle beside the fire and stepped into his favorite slippers. With wide eyes and thoroughly invested ears, he cracked the door to his bedchambers only slightly.

It was more than enough for the brightness of the golden light to sweep his darkened room, blinding the baron as his eyes began to adjust. Mouth agape and pupils centered, he opened the door to its fullest extent, revealing a chorus of cheers and voices singing as his eyes feasted on the cornucopia of food and wines before him. Scanning around, it was immediately apparent there was no one in the vicinity, yet the cheers became louder and the merriment redoubled in its ambition.

An impossibly wide smile broke out across Lord Philip's face, and for the first time since the famine in Re Estize began, the baron scarfed down his wellfully deserved feast of plenty. Steaks so rare and tender they could not have come from any animal raised in the country. Fruits of the most bountiful and juiciest harvest dribbled down the corner of his cheek.

"Beautiful, is it not?"

Philip quite nearly choked on the plethora of grapes currently stashed in his mouth, reinvigorated when faced with the unholy abomination that had spoken. Massive in scope and scale, a sheen of blue coated its metallic body, ice appearing to form around it wherever it went. Yet above that was garbed laurels of holly and spearmint, its robes coated in garlands and tithes. It spoke slowly, yet determinedly, and did not move as it sat upon a golden throne larger than any Philip had ever seen before.

"A true testimony to us all. Through valor and hardship, the honorable will always find peace in camaraderie." The being leaned forward towards the shivering baron. Whether from frost or fear, he was unsure. "Don't you agree?"

Philip remained silent for the briefest of moments. "Who… What… are you?"

The crystals on the creature's back shook as it laughed with joyous admiration. It looked down at the poor, stately man. "My apologies. I had forgotten there were those unknowable to we such as I." The creature then stood to its full height, a good three times the size of Philip himself, and extended its four large arms in a phantom hug. "I am the lord of gifts, the joys of life and the agonies of death, cherished and scorned. I am the Present."

Philip for his credit attempted the word, but fell flat, still overcome with the inaction the being before him imposed. Before he could speak, the Present lifted one of its many arms, and a white rose who's stem grew to the floor and who'd flower smelled of sweet nectar formed in its hand, and He began to walk with the newfound cane. "But we have already wasted enough time. The moment is ever fleeting. We must make the most of what little time we have left."

Before he could ask what that meant, the lord of gifts made his way to the end of the hall and opening a grand set of arching doors meeting each other at the top. Not bothering to indicate he should follow him, the Present marched ahead forward, Philip trudgingly in tow.

No sooner had they crossed the precipice that Philip immediately hugged himself for warmth, his breath easily visible in the deep winds and deeper snow. Taking notice seemingly for the first time, the creature removed his own cloak, thick and mangled, and handed it to the freezing baron. He accepted it cautiously, now gleaning a much clearer look at the sheet of ice that composed the beast. He tugged the cloak closer to himself, slowly making his way through the thickness of the sleet before him.

"I d-d-don't s-suppose you can fly t-too?" Philip asked clatteringly, the creature not deigning to respond. He cursed his rotten luck at this terrible turn of affairs. "I am a baron you know. I was quite comfortable in your company earlier. May we not-" he began, until one of its four icy arms was raised in halting motion, pointing towards a door. Looking around, Philip had not even realized how far deep they had somehow made it to town.

"What do you see?"

"What?" Philip looked around. "I see… children. Peasants." He looked in the window of the door he was pointing towards. "I see…" suddenly his eyes widened, and subsequently darkened. "Fringilla! That harlot! I give her one day off and what does she do with it!? Visit this… this…" as he watched his favorite servant girl sitting beside another man, a child hobbled up beside them, a little girl, who she caught in her arms. Philip raised an eyebrow.

"Spirit…" he asked. "…Who is this man with my Fringilla? Who's child is she holding?"

With neither exasperation nor discomfort, the creature answered. "It is her husband." Before Philip could openly protest, he continued. "The child is hers. Her name is Lauralai. She will be nine by frostfall. She will not see the next."

Philip was downtrodden at that news. On the plus side, it would certainly open her mother up to more time committed in his service. On the other, her work will be inhibited so soon after the loss of a daughter. He contemplated removing the father, that cuckold, so there would be no further distractions.

"You did not know she was married."

"No, I didn't." He replied begrudgingly. "But she will learn the price of betraying me. She will be punished for this."

The present did not speak. It only moved towards another visage, one of townsmen fail and cold, ribs where meat should be.

"Your people starve. The tax has proven too great, and many will not live to see the winter's end."

Philip cocked his head. "Nonsense specter. If they wish not to starve, they can simply harvest more." The beast did not respond, only moving forward through the city. Philip leisurely kept pace, however taxing it proved to be through the densely packed snow. In the streets children played, the joys of togetherness shared as a smug appeared on the baron's face. "See?"

"The child smiles on an empty stomach." The Present replied definitively. "Choices have been made that set the Present into motion. Just as choices in the present change the fate of all who choose to act on it."

Philip gleaned his eyes towards the mulbering creature. "I agree completely. These people have the choice not to be worthless peasants and actually contribute to the barony. It will not matter in the end though." He smiled with a gleam in his eye. "Soon I shall take the place of that worthless undead, and all these people shall prosper under my enlightened rule as the Sorcerous Emperor."

The creature did nothing but blow a stream of cold air through whatever passed for its nose, which was admittedly hard to tell under the already fridged conditions. Philip looked towards him with renewed concern. "I don't supposed you have any vaunted wisdom to share with the future ruler of this great continent?"

The avatar of ice was silent for a moment. But only a moment. "I do not." He replied, which Philip took with great pride. If this spirit did not have anything to add, it means his plan must be ever more perfect than he initially believed.

"…But she will."

"I'm sorry what?" Philip responded, his head to one side. "I didn't quite catch thAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTT!" he screamed as the floor opened below him, the vines of the white rose ripping a crevasse deep within the earth. After falling and falling for what felt like hours over moments, he hit the hard, rocky soil with devastating force.

"…Ow."

After taking a moment to catch his breath, Philip took a moment to evaluate his surroundings. Disappointed that the fall did not wake him from this increasingly strange and terrible dream quickly becoming a nightmare, the scenic landscape of dead and gnarled trees unnerved him to no end. For the first time, he was alone. And he began to wander, or would have chosen to, had he not been met with the single most joyous encounter he'd made since this horrendous journey began.

"…Albedo?"

Standing across from him in the open field was his beloved, facing away from him, her enchanting figure and enthralling features so tantalizingly close.

"My love!" he called out, now racing toward her. He nearly wept with joy as he approached her. "My darling…" suddenly, a genius revelation came to the now resplendent Lord. "My dearest… I have seen the past and met the present…" he began as he reached out towards her unmoving figure. "So that means… you are my future-"

No sooner did his finger tips make contact with the succubus's shoulder that she disappeared completely, in her place a deep rectangular hole that Philip promptly fell into. Coughing and covered in dust, he looked up to see her standing wordlessly above him. He sighed in relief as he reached out his hand, "Albedo love, help me out will you?"

The image of his bride to be did not move, and the baron became increasingly concerned. "Darling, all you need to do is pull me out, and we can be together…" Still just the cold, uncaring, unfeeling eyes peering down at him.

"Albedo-" was all he got out, before a great axe larger than the woman herself came down on his hand, separating the appendage from the stump it sat on. He went to scream, but his head was the next to go. Undying, motionless, yet with all the phantom pain it entailed.

In his stupor of confusion and horror, Philip failed to notice the body that fell on top of him until he was face to face with it. Unable to scream or speak, in silence he finally recognized the rotting corpse of the man who made this all possible. Gareth. Without a moment of reprieve, more bodies began to stack in the hole, housecarls, servants. Fringilla. Angelica.

And in his last moments of consciousness, through the ever decreasing hole of bodies atop him, Philip shuddered as the only thing in his field of vision was the face of the woman who drained to love him. The woman he was to marry. The smiling, haunting face, that followed him into darkness.

Philip's eyes fluttered open in his bed. Looking down, the open shutters shown brightly as the daylight streamed in. Despite the time of day, the manor was unnervingly silent Exasperated, the Lord of all he surveyed, the future high Emperor of the Sorcerous Kingdom called out to his housecarls.

"Servants! Bring me wine!"

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End of Story

Merry Christmas everyone!

I'm sorry about the circumstances of, well, everything. I had a chapter 2 for this. Sadly it may never see the light of day. I may rewrite this to improve it, while I actually do enjoy this short story it could be a LOT better and more in depth, but it's 4am on Christmas Eve. I have been so over the moon with your guys support, it means so much to me to see every comment and review on my works. Rest assured, I am still writing, and will continue to do so for the foreseeable future.

Thanks again for everything, you guys are the best.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!