They say that killing a god is impossible. That to even dream of such a thing is hubris on a scale that defies mortal understanding. But that shouldn’t stop someone. I grimace as I sharpen my weapon. This is madness, it truly is. But that won’t stop us, will it?
I stare at the fire in silence, my hooves feeling the edge of my blade with a careful caress. There’s a knock at the door. I turn around, looking at my door. It creaks open to reveal a unicorn clad in a crimson cloak, a ruby necklace around her throat. I snort slightly and stand up, sheathing my blade. “Showoff. You ready?”
She nods and the pair of us make our way out of the building, to where the great storm billows around us. We make our way out of the camp, my fellows ignoring us. Once, they would have strung me up for speaking with a unicorn. Now, I’m just merely one less mouth that they will have to feed. A few of them, old friends, glance at me as I pass, but the look in their eyes is one of weariness. Of finality and futility.
The two of us make our way to the edge of the mountain and begin our ascent. The path is steep and slippery, coated in a thin layer of ice. Snowflakes drift to the ground around us, the many fractals being visible for barely more than a second before they are dashed to the ground of mountainside.
Snow piles in drifts below and above us, clogging many of the paths that one would normally take. Icicles coat the makeshift tents, their inhabitants shivering in them or around fires. Even from up here, I can make out their thin, pale frames. We’ll have to end this now. Too many have been already lost.
I glance at the storm surrounding us. Nothing seems to stop it. Not the magic of the unicorns, the might of the earth ponies, or the speed of the pegasi. Armies have fought it and failed. It cares not for steel, fire or earth. I turn to look at the unicorn. I swallow nervously. “Clover?”
She pauses mid-step to look at me. “Hm?”
“If we fail?”
Clover nods towards the sepulchers on the ground below. Soldiers, mages, farmers, nobles, bound in perfectly clear coffins, displaying their looks of horror, fear or hopelessness. All of them tributes to the winter’s glory. Or so they would have us believe. The spirits. The servants of that indescribable thing. The storm. The winter. It has come to destroy us. And we’ll kill them today. Or die trying.
Cookie meets us partway up, his feathered cap shielding his face from the storm. He nods slightly and we continue on. Hundreds are frozen on this slope. Statues of crystal, eyes and mouths expressing their fear before they met their end. Swords drawn, faces clenched, magic and hooves ready to shatter ice. It didn’t work.
As we approach the top, we begin to hear them. There’s three of them. Chanting. Perhaps that’s the wrong word. It is the storm, singing in its deadly voice to the beauty that the winter has wrought. Ancient tongues, formed from thunder and wind, speaking of eternity spent in an endless sleep, never to be woken. The north has long since become theirs. Now they’ve come to finish what they started.
The cave greets us at the top of the cliff. The spirits, icy mockeries of what we call forms, dance around it, their singular pair of hooves striking the air and clouds as if it was solid. Their spectral tails follow behind them, serpentine and glassy in form. Clouds freeze and come to the ground as they dance, crystals forming along their surface as the creatures glide through the air.
I look to Clover and Cookie, who both nod. Clover’s horn lights with a pale glow, while Cookie merely advances, seemingly ready to beat the storm spirits into nothing more than wisps. We step into the cave. The statues of our leaders stand there, their expressions mixtures of both anger and horror, likely from each other and from the ice respectively.
The three of us stand there for a moment, waiting to see what they do. The leader of the creatures, who we have christened Gale, lands in front of us, her eyes of white fire burning brightly. The fire licks at her eye sockets, seeking to spill out of her head and onto the snow around us. Her voice comes out cacophonous, like the rolling of thunder across an echoing canyon. Surrender, the voice howls, making my eardrums want to bleed. Join us, so that we may rest.
Clover steps forward, her eyes hard. “And if we refuse?”
Then we will fight. The spirit tilts her head to one side, pointing towards the statues of our leaders. And you will join them. Her spectral sisters alight next to her, their eyes glowing almost as brightly, at this point nearly blinding us. Ice spreads across the cavern, with the three of them at the center.
I step forward, unsheathing my blade. My sweat freezes as it drips down my face. Already have they begun their grim work. “We’ll fight you.”
Gale’s burning eyes seem to be surprised for a moment. Then an eerily icy smile crosses her all-too equine face. So be it. Then the ice comes for us.
We cannot kill the storm. Our magic, our weapons, our flesh all prove useless against the ice and sleet that are these monsters. We are forced to the back of the cave, the ice creeping towards us as the spirits watch with glee. My sword has already been claimed by them, trapped in a case I will never retrieve it from. Clover’s horn is caked in frost, and I doubt that Cookie will be of much use in this situation.
Gale’s burning eyes look us over, her frosty smile becoming a sneer. Fools. The ice begins to climb up our legs, moving with a slow, unsettling pace. They have all the time in the world. We do not. I turn to Clover and Cookie, a barely audible whisper managing to escape my lips. “I’m sorry.”
They say killing a god is impossible. They were right.