A/N: Expect 14 chapters. I'm trying to figure out the best ending. Currently I have four, and no, sorry, no polls for this since I like keeping you all hanging XD It will be decided at December 1st at the latest. I hope you enjoy~!
Old man Whyntir stood from his icy throne, his limbs cracking from ice and age. Despite the cheeky and self-confident comment, he was afraid. He had never been so afraid since he had been taken from his dear, sweet sisters. Still, he would not back down!
He hadn't backed down when devising the plan of escape with Toris, the first one ever conducted. The courners of his lips twitched with a smile as he thought of what Toris and Feliks had become. They were successful, free . . . alive. Jealousy had always been a part of him, but Katyusha had raised him better than that. So instead of wallowing in envy that he could not have lived and been in their place, he was happy for them.
He didn't back down then, he wouldn't back down now!
Despite being in his six-year-old form, Whyntir could feel the aura of an adult radiating off the small body. He chuckled, cold and sharp like a blade. "You've defied me, nature, and the heavenly intention all together," he laughed at the child.
"You are one to talk! A man of over a hundred who lives off the frozen souls of children! I hardly find myself the subject of rebuke in this situation! You should be dead whereas I should be alive!" Ivan scowled at the thought, "You are the devil. In no other I would I see the epitome of Satan and all evil in the worlds."
"Funny, I would have said the same to you. Living off the soul of Gaia's winter and living in a pitiful half-existence every season. Stealing from Mother Earth herself," he tsked, revealing a long, hand-and-a-half sword of solid ice, "I'll do her the favor of exterminating such a pathetic little leach."
Ivan stayed silent, only bearing the pipe he had brought with him. Before he could blink, the General was a mere inch from his face. His eyes widened as he barely managed to block the blow, sending him into the wall. He groaned in pain as he made contact with the cold stone of the walls. He had forgotten what pain felt like. Defiantly, he grinned before jumping to his feet and charging. "DIE!"
Alfred heard a voice on the wind coming from where the children seemed to be fleeing. It sounded faint, yet familiar. He looked up; the snow was falling in heaps, covering over almost every surface. He could see the faint light to the east where the sun should have been peeking through, but no light passed through. A soft tug on his jacket sleeved brought back his attention to the dozen or so children. Peter looked up at him with worried blue eyes.
"Alfred, will Ivan be all right?" the English boy asked timidly. He assumed Alfred knew him since Ivan had led them to each other.
The American looked back to the North before sighing, "I don't know. I honestly don't know."
"Can't you do something to help him Alfred? You're always able to help. Please help!" Peter begged fervently. Almost as a fit.
He smiled, Peter took a little too much after him. He looked back to the growing blizzard, "How far is it from here to there on foot?"
"About a half hour. You have to keep going until you see a sign and then turn right until you see a rock with a diamond carved into it. But . . . with all this snow, I don't think you can see it. It would be buried. If you do see it, head directly north."
"We'll see then, won't we," he spoke determined, more so than he actually felt. Regardless, he went over to his brother and cousin who were creating a seating arrangement to fit all the kids in the four-wheel-drive. "Arthur, Matthew, I'm heading back. Peter says there's one more boy back at the facility."
"What!" Arthur exclaimed, nearly dropping Raivis whom he was holding, "You do realize we have to get these kids to town as soon as possible, right!"
"That's why I said I was heading back."
"You'll get lost, you don't know the way," Mattie interjected, trying to reason with his brother.
Alfred gave that heroic smile of his, "I ain't too worried. I got easier directions than your map was giving me. You guys take the kids to town and set them up, then come back for me. When you come back, if I'm not here within three hours, I'm either hopelessly lost or dead."
"Or a combination of both!" the Englishman snapped, "Alfred, think reasonably-!"
"Listen, I'll be here. Don't forget the plan," and he left, disappearing into the white sheet of snow.
Ivan struggled to his feet, sore, hurt, and losing ideas. He didn't want to use magic to coerce his opponent to do so as well. He knew he was more skilled than this General Whyntir, but the General had his entire soul to command his powers whereas Ivan was only in a (as much as he hated to admit it) Half-existence. He felt a sharp stab through his stomach and gasped at the unexpected penetration of the icy sword. Using the proximity to his advantage, despite the burning coursing through his body, he swung his pipe, making contact with Whyntir's frozen skull. The man grunted, but pulled away. Ivan could see the warm blood collecting under the layer of ice at his temple. The ghost grinned before coughing into his hand. His violet eyes widened in surprise at the dark red, sticky substance coating his small, pale fingers.
Blood.
Alfred trudged through the winds and felt them lessen slightly, much to his surprise. If it hadn't been for that decrease, he would have ran head-first into the street sign Peter had told him about. He grinned, though numb and on the verge of freezing. He was close. Peter said that the trail was the longest. Once he made it to the rock, it was a ten minute jaunt. He turned east and followed his oral directions.
He grinned as he spotted the stone, almost completely untouched by the snows, though it was a strange shade of blue and Alfred was pretty damn sure rocks didn't feel cold so they couldn't be blue. Also, the diamond etched into the top of it was too smooth to really be rock. The majority of the rock seemed to be under the ground. Alfred, curious as ever and suspicious all the same, dusted away the white sheets that did collect around the edges and the very top. He gasped in surprise.
A boy lay at the bottom in fetal position, perfectly preserved, his scarf suspended in unseen water, and his eyes open. Violet orbs staring back at his, glowing in the night.
Ivan could feel him, even though Whyntir could not. He was so close; Ivan could have reached out and touched him had it not been for the ice blocking his way, keeping him in his eternal cocoon. Still, he felt the warmth course through his weary frame. It gave him the strength he needed. Whyntir charged once more with his battle cry and lunged. Ivan deftly dodged the blade and swung at the demon-man's chest. More red pooled beneath that translucent blue shell.
"Wretched boy! I am through playing!"
Alfred continued anyway, leaving the boy he had actually been searching for in his ice prison. He would return to him soon enough, once Whyntir was finally put out of business. He could see the facility, the guards were gone . . . or most of them. A man with reddish-brown hair, though such a light brown it could have been blonde, stood at the gate. Mathias, right? He looked to be in his late twenties to early thirties, tall and strong built.
"Alfred Jones?" he called to the snow.
"Yeah?"
"I got a notice from someone that you'd be coming. Specifically some blonde boy with an English accent," he grinned, despite the cold, "as far as I know all the kids got out. What are you doing back here?"
"One more boy I promised to get," Alfred smiled in return, "And I'm here to take Whyntir down."
The Dane looked over his shoulder slightly, "Then you'd want to get to the tower."
The said tower was unable to be seen through a thick cloud of black and gray. Alfred could feel the tensions inside that cloud. He could feel Ivan.
"I can take you to the base, but after that you're on your own. I can't stay here any longer."
"I would appreciate that. Thank you."
The General could feel the fire enter the camp, his power recoiling from it. He couldn't feed from the souls of fire-children. They were strong willed and defiant, which was why he had beaten them, tortured them until that fire was extinguished and they turned into ice. He didn't have the time or the men or the power to fulfill that task of breaking this soul. Not only that, but he was strong, almost like an inferno. He was too hot, too much power radiating out of him.
Ivan felt it too, but he latched onto Alfred's soul, drawing power from its eternal heat. He shivered as he felt his own frozen soul melting from their connection.
Regardless of the fire in his home, the General summoned the ice. Ivan couldn't defend himself, he had to wait for the ice of his soul to melt before he could draw in power from Alfred, weakening him in the process. The shards pierced through him as he cried out in pain, blood polling from his open wounds.
Alfred could hear him, he began running ahead of Mathias who called futilely after him. He found the stairs on his own and climbed them as fast as he could. The stairs were frozen, causing him to trip and fall face-first. He spat up some blood, accidentally biting down on the tip of his tongue. Ignoring the dull pain, he continued on his way up, paying a little more attention to the old, stone blocks. He could see the door leading into the room he was sure Ivan was with the General. He attempted to open the door, pushing, pulling, nothing worked. The door was frozen solid.
He wouldn't give up! He came this far and like hell was he going to surrender and go home now! Alfred slammed his shoulder into the door, hearing a sharp crack from the other side. He pulled back and tried again, another grinding screech echoed in the empty hallway. With one final lunge, he broke through.
The room was frozen; shards of deadly sharp ice littered the ground as well as the red of blood. He could see the boy on the ground, struggling under the agony of his bodily abuse.
"Ivan!" he called, drawing the fridged gaze of the General to him. He almost cowered back from the sight of the monster. He no longer looked like the human he had seen as a child. This man was evil with a deformed, spindled body of ice. He had no heart in his eyes; and nor did he care for one.
The boy looked up at him, blood trickling down the courners of his mouth, yet he smiled. His smile as innocent as the picture he had seen when he first began the case.
Dressed in a thin shirt and jacket, he sat at a grand piano, attempting to play with one hand. He was smiling broadly, laughing even.
Alfred, despite his instincts telling him to run away as fast as he could, rushed to Ivan's side. He could feel the boy's skin. It was warming up.
"There's the sign! Turn right! Right!" Peter shouted to Matthew who quickly turned the wheel and began off-roading in said direction.
"Peter! Sit you butt down and put on your seatbelt! I just got you back! Like hell I'm having you die because you go flying out the bloody window!"
Completely ignoring his brother Peter jumped between the two, "There! There's the stone! Or . . . where the stone was. I know it! J-just turn left! Turn left!"
Ivan leaned up to his ear, "Forgive me." The boy disappeared and Alfred felt something thing his chest curl and tighten. Should he fight it? His instincts told him yes, that he should get whatever this was out of him. Still, he trusted the ghost. He had brought his cousin back and the children who disappeared before him. He relaxed, allowing the foreign feeling dominate over his heart before feeling them merge to an equal balance.
"Please help me."
"How?"
"You are strong, but wield no magic. I am weak but command the mystic powers. Please help me."
"Anyway I can, I will."
Alfred's eyes opened, but were different. The General swore loudly as he saw the violet gleam behind the blue depths. Regardless, he hurled more shards at the two. Alfred lifted his hand smoothly, without worry or fear, the sheer heat of his soul melting the spears of ice. The General's gray eyes grew lighter in shock, though he could not change his facial expression. He couldn't fight this fire-soul. It was backed by Ivan's childish spirit as well. He couldn't leave this place either. He could not run. He could see the adult form of Ivan behind the living boy. Damn this ghost to the deepest pits of Hell's fiery torment.
"I think it's time to end this," their joint voices proclaimed, the red spirit of fire emanating off of the blonde's form. He could feel the heat as he cowered back. This could not be happening! He had lasted so long to simply die off under the flames of this child!
Ivan used his magic to condense the fire in Alfred's soul, building up the pressure steadily until it reached its limit. It was so hot, like an inferno from the underworld, or perhaps the sun from the heavens. Yes, Alfred was a sun. He released his hold on the flames, sending them out of the American's body as a ring, melting and burning all in its path.
Including Old Man Whyntir.