The Syntech-branded soldiers moved from their flotilla to the edge of the floating forest eagerly, thankful they hadn’t been sent to anywhere more… undesirable. North Point Island, most of the time, would’ve been considered quite scenic. A lush forest expanding across most of the island — save for on the other side, where the enemy had established a fort — quite a few of the troops reminisced as they moved materials about camping trips their family had taken here decades ago.
All things considered, it was a dream of an assignment compared to weird tundra rocks and toxic airflows.
Private Xzlzyor (pronounced ‘excelsior’), in particular, remembered it fondly. He’d come here so often when he was a child — not even that long ago, he’d spent a romantic summer here, losing his mind about some pretty Mesa Rojan boy who wanted to trade the dry heat for a more wet one. Long story short, he’d gotten his wish.
Volunteering for the scouting patrol had been a no brainer — he longed to see the sights again. He wondered if he’d be able to find the tree that he and the Wakandan boy had carved their initials into, or the secluded cave where they’d had many a romantic rendezvous. He tried to keep himself calm as he and the other troops zig-zagged through the trees, but his sentimentality was getting the best of him. He spotted a flower bed that Osela had once picked a bouquet for him from, and couldn’t help but grin like an idiot.
“Something funny, soldier?” his commanding officer’s voice boomed. Xzlzyor stood at attention, wiping the smile off of his face.
“No, ma’am, Major Musgraves, ma’am,” he sputtered.
“Your cheeks are so red,” she shook her head disapprovingly, giving him a once over. This was particularly impressive, given Xzlzyor’s skin was very green — he was an Orc, after all, albeit a skinnier-than-normal one. He did his best to think about anything other than the romantic memories this place conjured. Maybe he should’ve taken the tundra assignment instead. At least then there’d be a biological, respectable reason for his cheeks to get so rosy.
He just couldn’t help it, though! Even as Major Musgraves turned away and started walking down the line, inspecting his friends… even then, he could feel the joy rushing back, the blood rushing to his face — what a wonderful place, full of wonderful memories!
CRACK!
The tree in front of him snapped in two, a veritable horde of unmade monsters rushing into view. They leapt from the shadows nearly as one unit, sawing the private next to him fully in half with one swing of their corrupted claws.
Blood splattered onto Xzlzyor’s face, making it really red. He watched as the two halves of the private collapsed in a heap of intestines and popping blood vessels.
Fuck.
He screamed, involuntarily. If he’d been of his right mind, he would’ve seen Major Musgraves’ look of disgust — but he couldn’t see past the unmade claw lurching toward him, threatening to skewer him, too.
He’d probably never get to hook up with that Wakandan boy again. Or anyone else, for that matter.
CRASH.
Everything before him went black, but not because his eyesight was gone — because the thing now standing in front of him had pitch black fur. The goat’s hoof had crushed the unmade beast that almost ended his life, mixing corrupted ooze with his friend’s drying blood. Xzlzyor looked up.
Atop the hunched Krampus, Victor Fries looked over the scene. Musgraves’ detachment had gone about as far as he’d expected before they found trouble, which is exactly why he’d slunk alongside them. The fools were numerous, yes… but still fools.
“Sweep them away, Krampus,” he droned.
The monster growled in affirmation, taking its tied up collection of birch sticks — a staff which, it intimated telepathically to Fries, it affectionally called Naughty, in contrast to the chain, which was called Nice — and swinging it wide. Unmade creatures collected upon it, swatted away like they were almost nothing. And they very nearly were, now, rotted lumps of ooze and dead flesh.
Where is the challenge? the Krampus growled. Master has provided nothing for me to truly face. I long for a task worthy of our skills.
“This is your task, for now,” Fries tugged on the chain around Krampus’ horn, tilting its head to one side. “Obey. We cannot rush into bloodshed without a plan, my monster.”
Krampus growled, clearly frustrated — but complied.
My will, it grunted, is bound to the will of the Signatory. I will see your… plan.
“You will,” Victor nodded, “and then, perhaps, I’ll let you feast on the souls of the living. Maybe one like his.”
Down at Krampus’ feet, Xzlzyor had fallen flat on his ass, and stared up at the monster, his face now completely pale. A short distance away, a howling screech pierced the forest, along with the sound of a symbiote tearing more unmade limb from limb.
“That’ll be our compatriot,” Fries turned his head in the direction of the noise. “Let’s not let Sam have all the fun, Krampus.”
Krampus puffed wet, humid air out of its nostrils. As you wish, master.
As the monster stalked away, Xzlzyor curled into a ball, wishing more than anything his Wakandan lover was here to cuddle him, to release him from this nightmare.
He really should’ve chosen the tundra over whatever this horror show was.
