((A/N: Probably gonna get more minecraft inspiration, might add in the minecraft crossover tag this time around.))

Sparks fly through the frigid wind, impossibly durable flakes of Netherite flying away in the biting, howling wind as I deflect the terrible Frostbringer's claws, an unnatural and gurgling roar erupting from its icy maw as I cleave Her Reaper's tempered blade into its foreleg—disgusting, bubbling pus weeping from the wound as a wave of mana knocks me back, skidding across the permanently-frozen grass.

There's a mere second of silence, like a standoff, the howling in the wind the voices of millions—no, billions of people and beings—wailing in anger, demanding retribution, begging for vengeance, filling my mind with nothing but a tempered hatred and a boiling need for justice. I raise my sword, burning brightly—cutting through the frost in the wind like a beacon in the night, only to point the tip downwards; towards the beast in front of me.

"CONSTRICT! REMOVE THIS SCOURGE!" My booming voice echoes across the winds, the few remaining golems—my trusted Dragon Knights and a scant few Iron Knights—heed my commands, the archers and spearmen staying in formation, while the lone swordsman joins me in battle, coming to my side. Its blade has long since broken, only half of the once-beautiful thing remaining. The Frostbringer rears up, taking a breath with its decaying lungs, fetid mana swelling up in its entire system…

"BREATH! SHIELDS!" I order, drawing my cloak over my body as it lights up with warding sigils, praying to the living gods that the Knights will survive. Even I—someone who has become so powerful as to rival the very aspect of death—can feel the frost eating through the blessed sigils of my fur cloak, slowly freezing the spells apart.

With a silent scream and one last prayer, I push valiantly against the stream of mana, deflecting the last bits of it aside. One quick glance at the scarred landscape shows me my Knights have done much the same, their shields covered in a thin layer of smoking frost. Unlike me, the beast has tired itself. Unlike me, who has sacrificed and lost, the beast harbors no grudge towards me.

Unlike me, this is its final night.

My chest swells with air as I point my flaming sword forth, a bellow so loud and primal it dwarfs even the dreadhounds of the mausoleums explodes out of my hoarse, scarred throat.

"CHARGE! FIRE! KILL!"

My loyal knights, fearless and steadfast, heed my command once more. The spearmen charge, shields and spears raised high, my archers loose and nock arrow after arrow, working with perfect mechanical precision, and my lone swordsman—Eidolon keep him—charges alongside me, burning red eyes shining brightly with determination.

"SWORDSMAN, DISTRACT!" I order the Dragon Knight—immediately parrying a blow from the fetid beast, its keratin claw sizzling from the sheer holy hatred imbued within sword's blade. The Knight slides beneath a second strike, slicing upwards with its jagged dagger into the beast's soft and rotten underbelly, all the way up its bony tail, ending in a jump to safety.

Though it seeks to counterattack, its crushing swing is stopped by the spears of the charging Knights, stabbing deeply into its frozen shell. The archers' arrows fall upon it, immediately bursting into flames upon their intrusion into its damaged armor, only further annoying it.

An unearthly howl breaks from its jaws, loud and commanding. It has resorted to begging for help. The creatures of the night—frozen and imbued with the same destructive mana plaguing the lands—begin to crawl out of the blizzard, their hissing and roaring, barking and rattling filling the frigid air. Skeletons, zombies, spiders, creepers—all of them a bastardized and frigid version of what they're supposed to be, with the mausoleum's beasts—Knights, Thralls, Hounds, and Scuttlers—leading the charge.

I grit my teeth, making a risky decision. "ALL KNIGHTS! FOCUS ON THE BLIZZARD! COVER ME!" With that, the Knights' futile efforts to wound the Frostbringer are turned to something more fruitful.

This battle has dragged on long enough. I must end this fight.

And it must be swift.

My boiling blood fueling my approach, I launch forwards, stuffing a potion-soaked root into my bloody mouth; the numbing feeling of a resistance potion flooding my mouth, then my body. With unnatural agility in my legs, the fear of death a child's fright, and feeling gone in my limbs, I charge with all my might, blade held in a tight guard across my body. "DIE, YOU HORRID BEAST!" I roar out, the beast turning all of its attention on me.

It responds in kind, roaring and charging towards me, its maws open—like a great hall's doors, inviting me to the afterlife—to devour me in one bite, the few spearmen still around it thrown aside like rag dolls.

The howling in the wind and the noises of the undead grow deafening, my roaring voice drowned out in a sea of vengeful wailing and gnashing teeth as the horrible visage of the Frostbringer only draws near. My grip on the hilt of my blade tighter than it has ever been before, I jump with all the remaining strength in my body, sword pointed downwards; toward the beast's horrible head.

The strength in my exhausted legs, however, is simply not enough. My momentum dies mid-air, the destroyer's jaws opening to accept me as a meal readily. "No! No-no-no-no!" I hold my breath as its maws approach, the suffocating field of malice enveloping me, the horrid stench of its innards closing in on me.

But the finishing bite never comes. I find my footing on a rod, on a hilt; on Her Reaper's hilt. The glorious hilt of our beautiful scythe. Though bending, straining and creaking against the beast's mighty jaws, it is holding.

With a face-splitting grin, I leap again, plunging my hand into its icy armor. "YES! DIE! DIE!" I loudly and proudly scream out once more, my voice is tinged with laughter, full of a blessed hope burning painfully deep within my chest. My beautiful weapon bites deep into its head with a sick crack, the long, lithe blade of the sword cleaving entirely through the rotting beast's head, coming out from the bottom of its 'chin'.

It thrashes and gurgles wildly, trying to fling me off. My sword's own burning effect alone is not enough. Not yet. I find my footing, holding onto the hilt for dear life, feet firmly pressed against its armor. It's now or never. I take a deep breath…

"Gods and spirits—"The beast thrashes again, though it barely budging my grip. "—Ngh- Heed my call! Give me your strength, allow me your rage—" The runes and grooves of the blade begin glowing. Potent, ancient power thrumming steadily through like a heartbeat, the power of Death herself flooding into the beast, using me as a conduit. "—become the light to cut through the eternal dark and end the isolation!"

The sword, now bathed in an ethereal, beautiful glow, digs as deep as it can go, the energy coursing throughout the Frostbringer's entire body—its whole being unraveling, not even gurgles coming out of its pestilent throat. It's falling still—the essence ebbing, the malignant aura struggling to retain the suffocating effect it had at the beginning of this fight… I just have to hold on.

As the Beast's essence begins seeping out of it, it turns into a dark, pungent fog, unlike any other essence I've absorbed… I don't know what it'll do to me, I don't know if I'll be alright. I'm scared; terrified, even, but I must do this. For what's left of our world.

I feel it seep deep into my very soul—it feels like a million daggers are stabbing directly at the core of my being, my mind invaded by an unbelievable hatred, a horrid headache invading my senses, my vision blurring into a white fuzz. It's all so… so horrid. I can barely think…

I'm slipping.

With the last vestiges of my intact mind, I retighten my grip on the hilt, shaking feet finding their grip deep in the pestilent ice. My vision is ablur—I can't see. I don't know what's happening, but I can tell the beast is almost dead; the nightmare is almost over. I can't let my body break now, my goddess needs her conduit—no, her champion, her friend. For her, for the remaining pantheon… I must hold on.

'I must hold on…'

'Can't… think…'

'I m st h ld n.'

' o fo g y'

' '

[POV: Eidolon]

I stare on in mounting horror at my Champion, my little warrior whose will is stronger than even mine, how he's crumbling so quickly as he absorbs all of the gross essence from that beast. Worry is—no, not worry; fear is gnawing at my heart, a sinking feeling in my stomach only growing bigger and bigger with every passing moment as he takes in more and more of that tainted, hating soul. His mind is crumbling!

"Champion, please, stop!" I push against the glass-like barrier between me and the living, the very border of my domain. My hands can't help themselves, they pound against the barrier, wanting nothing more than to see my beloved friend stop. The other gods—weak as they are—couldn't help him. I'm the only one strong enough to do something—anything! "Champion!"

And even still, I don't know what to do. Something like this has never happened in my eternal existence. I've never become so… attached to someone. I don't want him to die… I don't want to see him in my realm. The futile banging on the glass stops as abruptly as it started.

"Stop… please!" My forehead hits the cold, cold barrier, tears running down my cheeks as I watch my Champion crumble quicker and quicker. His soul is waning, overtaken with destructive taint. Yet still, he holds on, even when his body is freezing, his flesh boiling and rotting the same as the Frostbringer's. Through stifled hiccupping sobs and deep, shuddering breaths, I try to clear my mind.

Now is not the time to panic. If I want him to survive, I must act now. "Champion…" My fists clench painfully, my ethereal flesh dug into by my bony claws. "You… You owe me for this one."

I turn away from the barrier, wiping my eyes dry. My steps, heavy with purpose and determination, drive me forward at speeds unthinkable, hopping from rocky hill to misty canyon, through the entirety of my realm—straight towards the well of souls in the center. Stumbling over myself in my hurry to get there, I end up on my knees, desperately looking into the well.

Millions of souls, human and animal, look back at me in a swirling mass of pained, silent screams. These spirits, all restless and unburied—forgotten by everyone, have suffered long enough. I need more power… codes and morals be damned.

"Forgive me." I mutter breathlessly, closing my eyes in a grimace as the souls one by one begin filtering into my body. More and more, quicker and quicker, the wailing and screaming growing quieter by the second. It feels truly disgusting; I'm devouring souls, going against everything I'm supposed to stand for.

Yet, as horrid as it is—as it feels, I need the power. My whole being is flooded with soul energy, millions of souls devoured in the span of a minute, mind invaded with billions of strange, unknown memories for the briefest second before they disappear just as quickly, the pain and cold of all the victims of the Frost following the flood of power.

More, and more, and more.

Until it goes quiet.

The well is dry, empty of disturbed souls. Yet my body is full… full of power. It's barely halfway to the prime of my time, but it's enough. It has to be enough.

"Haah…" I sigh out, feeling like the pressure is about to make me explode. But just as quickly panic grips me. Have I taken too long? Is my Champion dead? I can't afford to waste any more precious seconds getting back to the border for sight. I'll do this blind, I know I can do it. "Please, be alive. You owe me this much…" Raising all the power within my body—even my reserves, I raise my hands, willing the very fabric of the world to buckle under my command. "Layers and barriers between the worlds—cells and prisons keeping us in: Break! Allow passage to a soul, wayward and hurt, give it direction and purpose, heal the veteran and let it rest!"

Sickly green lines swirl and coil around my hands and the environment, flickering and burning through the world's boundaries, seeking, searching, prodding at world after world, trying to find a suitable host. Nausea washes over me as the spell finds one; broken and twisted, toyed with by gods not meant to intervene. But… it will have to do. If the spell works, it will save his body and his soul—hopefully his mind, as well. "Ghhrgh! Open the gates—hffh—an-and allow him passage!"

So many things happen within the span of a second. So many indescribable feelings and unbelievable sensations, things not meant for god nor man, they would fry my mind if I so much as glimpsed at them. Even then, I feel my Champion's soul getting dragged out of his body, the essence of the Frostbringer deeply and safely embedded within it—I can feel his soul… changing, like a jigsaw piece forced into a slot it doesn't fit.

All of my strength leaves my body at once. I collapse against the well, all of my strength sapped away. Through exhausted panting, a chuckle escapes my lips. "Oh… I did it. I… Champion—… I'm so…" My words die into a tired yawn, my hands coming up to cover my face. "I'm so… tired… aah, please gimme some sacrifices later…"

The most pressing matter of my long life resolved, I allow myself to pass into a deep, unwilling sleep, sitting against the empty well. My dreams are tinged in uncertainty, but somewhere in there, there's hope. For a better future for our world. We'll have work to do, that's for certain.

[POV: Champion]

My eyes snap open, breath heavy and panicked. I'm… I'm not in the wastes?

Blinking the sleep out of my eyes, my vision slowly sharpens, the panic subsiding quickly. There is… a fan. On a ceiling. The ceiling is blue, the fan is letting out a low electric hum, blades spinning slowly—slowly enough to not even let off any air. There's light pouring in strips through the window, lighting the space with a beautiful orange light. It's then that I realize I'm in bed. A bed, not mine.

I slowly sit up, hearing the frame creak and the springs in the mattress compress as I do. This is not my room, it's too clean, too tidy, there are no wards or charms, none of my friends are here, either. The walls are a simple, plain blue, shelves and a desk decorated with meaningless and useless little trinkets, a dresser pushed against the corner. The room is slightly unkempt, clothes piled up on a chair halfway across the room.

While it seems familiar, I can immediately tell that this isn't my home—it's not in the wastes, either, I hear no howling winds, no piercing hail trying to break through the windows of my home, no unearthly howling… it's just… quiet. Memories—strange and unfamiliar memories—start flooding my mind. It's a little overwhelming, but… but I can deal with it.

This person… I am… 'Aaruth Valley.' 16 years of age. A fisherman's son, now orphaned. Working as a fisherman himself… dreams of going to Vale—no, to 'Beacon'. A huntsman academy. Huntsmen… faunus… aura… all of these terms, so alien to me, slowly become familiar. My understanding about this world—its culture, beings, its scourges. All of it.

"I… I am…" I run my hand through my wild, luxurious dirty-white hair. "… Not Aaruth… I am Her Champion." I stand from the oh-so-comfortable bed, walking to the window. "This world… it is so unlike what I've known." My shaking hand slowly comes to the blinders. "Even if it may not be mine… one thing is for certain."

I rip the blinds off, the sun shining gloriously through the window, bathing me and the entire room in its holy, blinding splendor. My eyes burn, drying up at the wondrous, burning light of the blessed sun. I cover my eyes, shielding my face from its gaze with a hiss.

Though… once my eyes adjust, I'm able to look. My head slowly turns back to the great ball of fire in the sky, admiring the miraculous blinding sun with childish adoration and an unprecedented happiness. A small smile parts my lips, eyes watering—not only from the blinding light, but because of the sheer incredulous awe flooding every corner of my mind. "Ha… I knew it…"

I slide the window open, leaning out of it, feeling that warm spring air on my face, the ocean waves behind me lapping softly at the shoreline, seagulls screeching and cawing, the sounds of the overgrowth rustling—trees creaking softly, no ice snapping, no growling, no howling, no wailing, no gnashing… it's peaceful. It's perfect. It's… it's alive.

I take a deep breath as a breeze rolls by, my lungs full of delightfully fresh air and long-unfamiliar scents. "Ah…" I chuckle, jumping out the window. I land softly on the long grass, my laugh slowly growing in volume as I roll around, feeling the soft blades of grass and warm ground on my skin, feeling like the very earth itself is cradling me in her bosom, the breeze her whispers of love—the scent of nature the perfume of a loving mother. I spring up to my feet, laughing with all my heart as I frolic around the hills of this beautiful scenery.

The soles of my feet ache and buzz every time I step onto the ground, pebbles digging deep into the tough flesh of my soles, but that is the very last worry in my mind at the moment. It's all a blur of new and forgotten sensations, vivid colors burning into my retina, the glaring sun bearing down upon me like the judging eyes of a god.

Minutes turn into hours, all of them spent wisely on frolicking and laughing it up, only barely thinking on what, exactly, has happened to me—but otherwise unbothered by anything else. I'll just contact Eidolon if I need to learn something. Sadly, all good things must come to an end, as I eventually settle on a tree, on a hill, on a branch, in the beautiful and bushy canopy of leaves—hidden among them like an animal of the forest.

"Mh-hm-mh~" I giggle out, wonderfully euphoric at the feeling of the sun hitting my pale face. "Ahh~ So very warm~!" I haul myself up a little more, greedily spreading my arms—as if I were trying to snatch the very rays of sunlight out of the air. "Oh, wonderful sun, how warm you are…" I sigh, a dumb smile plastered all over my face.

My peace is interrupted by the sound of an engine rumbling, a car approaching the house I live in. "Ah. Of course." I drop out of the tree, entering my home through the window I exited just in time to hear the knocks at my door. Hurriedly, I answer, coming face-to-face with a man carrying an envelope. He's smiling widely.

He tips his cap, offering up the envelope to me. "Good morning, Aaruth. Got a special delivery for you today. Fuuuuresh outta Beacon!" He chuckles, handing me the letter. "You lucky little rascal, you weren't lying about getting to Beacon, huh?"

I blink at him, my face entirely blank. I cannot recall this man—even racking Aaruth's memories gets me nothing. However, my lack of response doesn't seem to faze the man. He just smiles wider, patting my shoulder—laughing with mirth. "Hah! Yeah, I bet! You should start packing your stuff, kid, Beacon waits for no-one!" He pats my shoulder roughly. He takes a breath, his smile fading a little, though it feels more… prideful?

"Listen… even if you get to be a big shot Huntsman, don't you ever forget your home, alright?" He gives my shoulder a gentle shake. "Can't believe I'm about to say this, but… but Patch just isn't gonna feel the same without you, champ." He sighs deeply, taking a step back. "Congrats, man. Really. We're all gonna miss you."

Looking into his eyes, I can't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. Though it wasn't me or my skills that got me into 'Beacon', this feels… momentous, for some reason. "I… thank you?"

"Hmh." He tilts his cap, still smiling proudly. "Take care, Aaruth. I'd love to stay and chat, but I have to get done with my shift before I can. You might be gone by then, so…" He scratches the back of his head, smiling somewhat awkwardly. "I guess I'll see you if you ever choose to visit home, yeah?"

There's a second of silence, before I nod. "…Yeah." I am… so confused. I feel like I need to sit down and reminisce, just to act normal. Normal… "I-I suppose, uh… I guess I'll see you later."

Silence, again, before the mailman nods, clearing his throat. "Well, er… alright. See you." He turns around, waving over his shoulder. I stare at the car as he drives away, feeling just as lost as if I was in the middle of a blizzard without a torch. I slowly close the door, shutting it with a soft click—only to immediately sigh, looking down at the envelope in my hands.

"Beacon…" I rack my mind, recalling things from an unfamiliar life. "Beacon-beacon-beacon… luxurious, I suppose." I take a seat at the desk, thumbing over the envelope's wax seal. "Hm… I…" I run over the implications in my head. I've taken over someone's life, have I not? Why should I not honor their wishes? "I suppose… it wouldn't hurt, would it? The Frostbringer is… dead, right?"

I hold out my hand, palm up—calling upon my mana for a simple light spell. It's harder than usual, especially for such a simple spell; it feels like my mana is… thick. Like rich honey—flowing slowly but in great quantities. My hand lights up as a tiny orb of pure light forms in the middle of my palm, softly flickering as I adjust to this new 'full' feeling.

"Absorbing its essence seems to have strengthened my own… Perfect." My hand clamps around the ball, snuffing its short-lived life. "Yes… it's dead. I deserve a… a- oh, a vacation, do I not?" I smile, chuckling silently. "I do. I deserve that and more… so much work, so much fear and hatred… I deserve this."

This is the start of a new chapter in my life—maybe even a new life entirely. The gods left behinds can handle the final details, can they not? "Ha… of course they can." I shake my head, hopping from my chair to my bed, legs swinging over the side of the bed as I stare intensely at the envelope's seal. "A normal life… perhaps this is Eidolon's thank you. I'll have to search for a suitable sacrifice later… oh, but I must set up Her table first, of course."

My mind made up, I tear the envelope open, reaching inside.

((A/N: Okay, so, I've figured out that slow-burn is not something I'm that great at. I feel like I often fall into the trap of writing many useless chapters for one interesting thing to happen, so instead, let's just hit the ground running.))