A/N: Hearing the song this year, I immediately had a story in mind.
This story takes place when Negaduck is in his late teens; the first Christmas after he overthrows Stellar and the mafia.
Prowling down the street, he scattered kerosene along the stoops and shopfronts. This block had been an epicenter of activity back in the glory days of the Di Lengo/Mallard mafia's reign. If any of the faithful followers still remained, they would congregate here with the hopes of restoring their kingdom to its former glory. Which made Negaduck cackle whenever he thought of that. Bringing back the glory days. Those were long dead.
Just like his grandfather.
And most of the mafia.
He hesitated in thinking that his father might also be dead. It was something he desperately wished for, being free from that bastard's clutches and no longer constantly afraid that he would pop up anywhere at any time. But since Negaduck had not done the deed himself, there was no way of knowing if Stellar was truly gone or not.
At least there was the reward money. If anyone found him, the price was too great to not turn in the former mayor of St. Canard to the new overlord of St. Canard.
Emptying his can of kerosene in front of the final shop on the block, Negaduck grabbed his matches and lost no time in setting the street ablaze.
This wasn't the first part of town to be gutted by Negaduck's cleansing fire. Most of the warehouses down by the docks and the food markets in that area were already burned to the ground. It had been underneath those structures that the most sinister parts of the mafia's organization had been housed, and Negaduck wanted not even memories to remain. The Black Room had gone first in a very satisfying explosion wrought by the several tons of dynamite he'd lugged down there. Followed closely by other torture chambers, secret prisons, meeting rooms, and offices. He slaughtered everyone he came across while creating his path of destruction; prisoners didn't interest him. He he didn't want to treat the symptoms, he needed to cure the disease.
Satisfaction purred in his chest as he watched the block slowly catch fire, the brilliant light of the inferno offsetting the darkness of the night. The pops of the ornaments and string lights exploding were like music to his ears. Decorations really were great kindling; he'd have to go destroy more after this just for the fun of it. Because some genius had decided that it didn't matter if there was a violent uprising within St. Canard, Christmas was Christmas and they were going to decorate like everything was the same.
But it very much was not.
A door from one of the shops banged opened, someone stumbling out into the street coughing and hacking.
Finally.
Negaduck didn't bother sneaking up. Didn't worry about lightening his footsteps. This fool was clearly too distracted with trying to breathe to worry about an approaching predator.
Which was a shame. Negaduck did love a good chase. Maybe he could go out and hunt later.
The man continued to cough, falling to his knees in the snow, his whole body heaving with the desperate attempts to suck clean air into his lungs.
Even face down gasping in the snowdrift, Negaduck recognized him. Mr. Cole, his grandfather's press secretary. Though, that was a bit unfair. Mr. Cole had served both Leon and Stellar equally, closely connected to all of Stellar's campaigns as well as Leon's events. "Press secretary" might have been his official title, but he had been so much more; someone who gained the trust of others only to betray them to Stellar and Leon later.
Mr. Cole's body count was quite high, even if he had never physically killed anyone himself.
Losing no time, Negaduck kicked Mr. Cole, the goose collapsing onto the ground and gasping around another bout of coughs.
Mr. Cole glanced up, eyes wide with tears streaming down his cheeks. "P-please," he choked out, holding up his hands. He dissolved into another coughing fit and Negaduck smirked.
"Please what, Cole?" he pressed, crouching down and grasping the lapels of the perfectly tailored suit.
Mr. Cole finally stopped hacking enough to blink up at him blearily, exhaustion written in the lines on his face. Suddenly, his eyes narrowed and he leaned up slightly. "Drake? Is that you? Hardly recognized you in that ridiculous outfit."
Negaduck snarled and slammed Mr. Cole into the ground, aggravating his abused lungs enough to send him into another coughing fit.
Eventually, Mr. Cole groaned and relaxed into the snow and Negaduck tugged him up until their beaks were nearly touching. "I wanna hear you beg for your miserable life."
Mr. Cole chuckled, the sound raw from all the coughing. "Oh, little Drake. What would your father say?"
Negaduck wrapped his hands around Mr. Cole's neck and squeezed, pleased when the goose began to writhe underneath him. "Drake is dead."
"B-but not your f-father," choked out Mr. Cole, his fingers scrabbling at Neaduck's feebly.
Negaduck released Mr. Cole immediately, cold shock spilling over him. "What?" he asked, his tone soft.
Mr. Cole took a few moments to gasp in a few lungfuls of air, coughing when he expanded his lungs out too far. "From what I hear," said Mr. Cole, glaring up at Negaduck, "Stellar's still out there. Just waiting to take you down. And what will he do when he sees you've destroyed his entire kingdom?"
Negaduck staggered back onto his feet.
It was stupid, to be so afraid of mere rumors of his father. But he was. God, the idea of Stellar getting his hands on him again, of the amount of pain he would put Negaduck through for destroying everything he'd built over his long career. Negaduck shuddered, and not from the chill that had spread across the city like a sheet.
Gritting his teeth, Negaduck pulled out a rifle and aimed it at Mr. Cole's head. Mr. Cole had the gall to roll his eyes before Negaduck emptied all five rounds into his skull.
He stood there for a few moments, breathing deeply, the pops and hisses of the flames soothing the panic that had risen within.
Stellar wasn't here.
Stellar was long gone.
It was Negaduck's time now.
He'd invented a new name for himself. A new wardrobe. And he was reinventing the city around him to match.
It was his turn.
When his hands stopped shaking and more thoughts than just "Stellar" were able to roll through his head, Negaduck tossed the rifle aside and studied his carnage.
Snow absorbed color so well. The stark white made it an ideal canvas, the scarlet blood even more vibrant than normal.
Negaduck had never noticed that before. But there had been a lot about Christmas he had missed out on. The wonder of snowfall had obviously been one of them.
Pulling out another can of kerosene and his matchbook, Negaduck marched towards City Hall. If the older Mallard really was out there, City Hall would be one of the first places he would return to. And Negaduck wanted to send a very clear message: this town didn't belong to him anymore.