The Ice Castle

Hiroshi froze, his eyes widening in disbelief. “What the—A speaking snowman!?” he exclaimed, the cold air forming small clouds with every breath.

Shinzo, equally amazed, took a step forward, his gaze sweeping over the glittering icy landscape. “THIS PLACE IS SO COOL!” he shouted, his voice echoing faintly through the vast, frozen expanse.

A brisk, biting wind whistled through the towering ice formations around them, carrying tiny snowflakes that danced in the air like glitter. Both Hiroshi and Shinzo shivered involuntarily, their breaths visible in the cold Antarctic night.

“You’re pretty correct…” Hiroshi admitted, his voice muffled as he hugged himself, trying to stave off the chill.

For a few moments, the silence of the icy plains wrapped around them, broken only by the distant crunch of snow underfoot. Then, Shinzo, curiosity burning in his bright blue eyes, finally asked, “Hey… Mr. Snowman, how can you speak?”

The snowman’s coal-black eyes seemed to glimmer knowingly. “Actually, we are not real living beings. We are all creations of Lord Akuma. He made us because ordinary humans cannot survive in Antarctica. Feeling lonely, he used his immense ice powers to create us. He is a king, so he needs to rule over someone. And it's us!”

Hiroshi stepped closer, squinting at the snowman. “Hey… can you tell us where we can meet this ‘Lord Akuma’ of yours?”

The snowman paused, tilting his head as if evaluating them. “I can… but I don’t give information to outsiders for free.”

From his snowy body, he took out a red oval pendant, its gem glinting faintly against a black thread. The gem rested in a golden carved holder, intricate flame-like patterns etched along its edge.

“You have to buy this. Only then will I tell you,” the snowman said firmly.

Hiroshi blinked in shock. “What’s the price?”

“Fifty Varkoins. No bargaining.”

Hiroshi’s jaw dropped, his mind racing. "Is he out of his mind!? Fifty Varkoins! Each Varkoin is worth 100 US dollars! That’s… 5,000 dollars… for a pendant!"

“So… do you want to buy it?” the snowman asked, his tiny twig-like arms folded.

With his body shivering from cold, Hiroshi said, "Absolutely N-" Before he could finish, Shinzo jumped in. completing his sentence with a loud “Yes!”

With swift precision, Shinzo pulled out fifty Varkoins from his pockets and slapped them into the snowman’s twig hand. The snowman’s eyes glimmered with satisfaction.

“Alright! Here! Take it!” he said, handing the pendant to Shinzo.

Hiroshi grabbed Shinzo by the shoulder, pulling him aside. “Are you mad!? What did you just try to do?!” he whispered harshly.

“I… I was trying to complete your dialogue… like you did back at the Headquarters,” Shinzo replied sheepishly.

Hiroshi slapped a hand to his forehead in frustration. “What does this stupid pendant even do?”

“I don’t know much,” the snowman admitted. “I found it while fishing around a year ago. No one bought it… but ever since I got it, the atmosphere inside my hotel has been warmer than outside.”

Hiroshi nodded thoughtfully. “Hmmm… I see. Now, tell me where Akuma is.”

The snowman’s eyes glimmered, and he pointed southward across the glimmering ice plains.

“He lives in the Ice Castle. We are currently at the northernmost part of this Ring. To reach the castle, you must move south to the very edge. There lies a massive frozen lake, and on that lake, the castle sits. Inside, Lord Akuma resides.” He said as a snowflake landed on his carrot nose.

Hiroshi frowned. “So… do we go directly south from here?”

“Not yet,” the snowman said. “The doors of the castle open only at noon.”

Hiroshi pulled Shinzo aside again, lowering his voice. “We entered the portal in Australia around 7 AM. Here, it must be about 9 AM.”

Shinzo nodded, whispering back, “Yeah… Antarctica is two hours ahead of Australia.”

“But it looks like night,” Hiroshi said, squinting at the sky.

They both gazed upward. A lone star shimmered brightly, and an aurora rippled across the sky, green and violet curtains of light undulating with quiet majesty. Shinzo’s eyes widened in awe. “So beautiful…”

“Hey! Answer me!” Hiroshi nudged him.

He snapped out of his thoughts.

"Oh… right,” Shinzo said with a sheepish smile. “It’s August. Antarctica experiences polar night during this season. It’s night all day… every day.”

Hiroshi nodded slowly, finally understanding. The snowman, meanwhile, watched them silently, his tiny coal eyes following every movement.

“So… should I go? Or stay here?” he asked after a pause.

“Yeah… you can go now,” Hiroshi replied.

The snowman slid away smoothly, leaving a trail of sparkling snow in his wake. But before they could proceed, Shinzo called after him loudly, “MR. SNOWMAN! COME BACK!”

“What are you doing!?” Hiroshi shouted, exasperated.

The snowman returned gracefully, sliding to a stop before them. “Yeah?” he asked, tilting his head.

“You said you have a hotel. Can we stay there for some time?” Shinzo demanded.

“Sure, but it’ll cost—” the snowman began.

Before he could finish, Shinzo slammed 75 Varkoins into his hand. “Here! Let’s go!”

“Alright! Follow me,” the snowman said cheerfully, and handed both of them skiing pads and sticks.

Shinzo looked at Hiroshi and grinned mischievously. “Wanna race?”

“Last one to reach the hotel is a rotten egg!” Hiroshi shot back, his eyes alight with competitive fire.

The snowman began gliding ahead, his round body spinning as he slid smoothly down the snowy slope, leaving behind a perfect, shimmering trail of packed snow. Hiroshi and Shinzo exchanged a quick glance — and then launched themselves after him.

Their skis slashed through the fresh powder, spraying frost into the air. The wind howled in their ears, sharp and freezing, but the thrill of the race burned hotter than the cold could ever bite.

Hiroshi leaned forward, his focus sharp. He surged ahead, carving the snow with perfect precision. For a moment, he felt unstoppable — until Shinzo grinned wide and veered onto the snowman’s trail. The packed snow gave him an instant speed boost.

“Hey! That’s cheating!” Hiroshi shouted, his voice half laughter, half protest.

“Everything’s fair in a race! WOOHOO!!!” Shinzo yelled, throwing his head back as he whooshed past, his laughter echoing through the icy air.

Hiroshi grinned fiercely. “Oh, we’re doing that now, huh?” he said under his breath. He kicked off hard, his skis biting deep into the slope, snow bursting behind him like tiny explosions. The rush of adrenaline hit — the world blurred into streaks of white and blue.

The snowman looked back in alarm as the two teenagers tore past him like lightning bolts. “Whoa, wait—! Slow down! There’s—!”

“MOVE!” Shinzo shouted, unable to stop himself.

The snowman panicked and dove out of the way, spinning helplessly as Hiroshi and Shinzo zipped past him, side by side. Their skis rattled over the ice, the wind roaring past their ears — until they realized the path ahead ended abruptly.

“Wait— is that—” Hiroshi said, alarmed.

Too late.

A massive snow mound loomed in front of them. Both tried to brake, snow spraying wildly, but momentum won.

THUD!

They crashed straight into the pile, a flurry of snow exploding around them. For a few seconds, there was nothing but a cloud of white — muffled laughter, and two shapes buried in powder.

“I… guess we both won…” Shinzo’s muffled voice came from somewhere inside the snowbank.

Hiroshi’s arm shot up from the snow, holding a ski stick like a flag of surrender.

“Yeah…” he coughed out a laugh, sitting up as snow tumbled off his hair and coat. “I guess we did.”

They looked at each other, faces red from cold and laughter, then burst out laughing again, their voices echoing across the silent, frozen plains.

They stood up and dusted themselves off, walking back toward the snowman, who pointed toward a warm glow in the distance.

“This is my hotel,” the snowman announced. “You can stay in room number seven for now. It’s upstairs.”

He handed them the key, a small golden trinket attached to a red string.

The hotel itself was magnificent—a bold red building contrasting sharply with the icy whites of Antarctica, and above the entrance, the word “SnoHotel” glowed on a sleek LED sign. The soft hum of warmth and life radiated from within, promising refuge from the endless cold.

Hiroshi smiled faintly, the snow crunching under his boots. “Let’s go.”

Together, they approached the entrance, the snow glinting under the faint aurora light, anticipation buzzing in the crisp Antarctic air.

They entered inside the hotel and climbed the narrow stair to the small suite the snowman had promised. Hiroshi fitted the key into the lock and pushed the door of room number seven open.

Warm light spilled into the room. 

a large, neatly made bed dominated one corner, two low sofas faced each other near a small table, and a connected bathroom and toilet gleamed with tidy efficiency. A ceiling fan turned lazily above, circulating the artificially heated air so the cold outside felt like a distant memory.

Hiroshi let out a low whistle. The room looked cared for, clean and well-kept in a way that suggested pride rather than mere function. Shinzo set his pack down on the bed and sank into a sofa, eyes wandering over the simple comforts.

“Nice place,” Hiroshi said. “Well maintained.”

“Agreed,” Shinzo replied, already rummaging in his bag. He took out the red pendant the snowman had sold them and pushed it across the table.

“Take this,” Shinzo said. “The snowman said it gives off heat. Might be useful for you.”

Hiroshi accepted the pendant, fingers closing around the cool smooth stone. He shrugged, clipped it on, and felt—oddly—less of the cold at his chest. Shinzo grinned.

“Suits you,” he offered.

“Thanks,” Hiroshi answered, more to himself than to Shinzo.

Shinzo reached into his pack again and took out a compact device no larger than a pocket radio. “Also…” Shinzo rummaged through his bag again, “I’ve got something else for you.”

He produced a small, sleek metallic device—rectangular, about the size of a phone, with glowing blue lines running across its sides. It had a green, dome shaped screen with white grids all over.

“What’s that?” Hiroshi asked, curious.

“It’s called the Varkox Meter,” Shinzo said, holding it up proudly. “I have two of these. You can keep one.”

Hiroshi accepted it, inspecting the device. It had a small screen with a pulsating digital core that seemed to react faintly to his touch.

“What does it do?” he asked.

“It measures Varkox Levels—basically, someone’s energy potential,” Shinzo explained. “All humans and Varkonians naturally emit Varkox radiation. The stronger your life-force or power, the more intense that radiation becomes. The meter detects that emission, calculates it through something called the Varkox Constant, and gives you a readable number—your Varkox Level.”

He continued, his tone growing more like a teacher’s. “The constants are different for species: 1.98527 for humans and 3.79823 for Varkonians. That’s because Varkonian bodies handle energy more efficiently, so their readings scale differently. The higher your Varkox Level, the more destructive, durable, and fast you become. It’s kind of like a power signature.”

Hiroshi blinked, trying to keep up. “So… basically, it’s a power detector?”

“Exactly. But not just that,” Shinzo said, raising a finger. “You can also scan traces of energy left behind—like battle residues or portals—to identify who was there or how strong they were. It’s not perfect, but it helps in tracking and reconnaissance. The army uses it to monitor enemy strength and energy anomalies.”

“Okay, got it,” Hiroshi said slowly. “Can I get some examples? Like, what’s considered normal or powerful?”

Shinzo nodded eagerly. “For humans, an average civilian has a Varkox Level of about 1. A Rebel Army troop averages at 1,000, while a General reaches around 10,000. The elite leaders—like me, Shunjo, or Krimson—hover near 100,000.

Then come the Sages—they’re special in every sense. A normal Sage, like Majuro, hits about 75,000. A trained Sage, like Bajuro, doubles that to 150,000. But special-grade Sages? They’re Strong—one million and above. Only a handful existed in the past times, but none of them are alive now...” He let out a Sigh.

He leaned back slightly. “And then there’s you.”

Hiroshi frowned. “What about me?”

“You’re the only known special-grade human,” Shinzo said with a grin. “Your readings go way beyond what humans should be capable of. Even the scientists back at Headquarters couldn’t fully explain it.”

Hiroshi blinked, silent for a moment, then said quietly, “That’s… something.”

Shinzo chuckled. “Now for the Varkonians. Their average is about the same—1. But their warriors? A guard’s at 1,000, and their one and only general hits 150,000. He tends to hide from the world. No one has ever seen the General. Then come the Tyrants, the ruling elite. They’re classified by grades.”

He began counting on his fingers. “Grade α (Alpha): between 250K and 350K, like Riyaku and Akuma. Grade β (Beta): between 500K and 800K, like Kurumi and Gorokko. Grade γ (Gamma): one to one-and-a-half million—people like Yataro and Jinah. And then there’s Grade δ (Delta)… over two million. Only one known being fits that level—Izoto.”

Hiroshi whistled softly. “Those are insane numbers.”

“Yeah,” Shinzo agreed, smirking. “Fighting someone above 500K feels like punching through a falling meteoroid. Their aura alone can crush the ground.”

“So… what’s your current level?” Hiroshi asked.

“Was supposed to be a clean 100,000,” Shinzo replied proudly. “But after months of training, I pushed it up to 250,000.”

“Impressive,” Hiroshi said, then glanced at his own meter. “Can you check mine?”

“Sure.” Shinzo tapped a few buttons, scanning Hiroshi with the device. A faint hum filled the air, and glowing digits appeared on the screen.

"Three hundred and fifty thousand!?” Shinzo shouted. “Damn, that’s even higher than I expected!”

Hiroshi smiled faintly. “Good. That’ll help.”

For a breath they let the figure sit between them. It was a number with weight and consequence. Hiroshi’s expression didn’t change—only his hands grew steadier. “Let’s go,” he said finally, standing.

Shinzo blinked, confused. “Go where?”

“The Ice Castle,” Hiroshi answered.

Shinzo frowned, reminding him, “But the castle opens at noon.”

Hiroshi’s reply came hard and sure. “Do you expect I’ll challenge him when he’s at full readiness? No. He’s already learned Riyaku is dead—he’ll be on high alert. I want a strike he can’t predict; I want him to have no time to prepare. We attack when he thinks nothing of it. Surprise is the advantage.”

Shinzo took that in, the young soldier’s jaw hardening into decision. “If that’s the plan, then let’s go.”

He hefted his pack, shoulders tightening as if pulling on purpose. Hiroshi checked the pendant at his throat, then shouldered the Varkox Meter. They left the room together; the doorway let them out into the bitter air that bit at exposed skin and drove their breath into white puffs.

They set off across the frozen plain toward the south—toward the great frozen lake and the castle that loomed in rumor and danger—moving faster than polite caution, faster than the posted hours of a ruler who thought himself untouchable. Their steps crunched on the hard snow, and behind them the warmth of the hotel faded into the cold, but the urgency inside them did not.

The wind howled, whipping icy flakes into their faces, and the cold made their breaths visible in frosty clouds. 

Along the way, the Ring seemed alive with movement.

A group of seals lounged lazily on an ice shelf, but when Hiroshi approached, one lifted its head and barked in a strangely articulate voice. “Never leave loved ones alone, Travellers!” it warned, before diving gracefully into a nearby icy pool. 

Further along, a few snowmen animatedly argued with each other, their carrot noses bobbing as they gestured with stick arms. “No! Akuma can never be defeated! He is a God!” one shouted, while the other retorted, “You’re an Idiot! Everyone has to go one day!” Hiroshi and Shinzo exchanged a glance, shaking their heads but smiling at the absurdity.

Penguins waddled in neat lines, chatting in high-pitched tones and occasionally sliding on their bellies across the smooth ice, while polar bears in the distance watched curiously from snow mounds, muttering warnings in low growls "Never leave your family behind." The creatures’ chatter filled the frozen silence, a strange and lively soundtrack to their journey. Shinzo nudged Hiroshi. “It’s like the whole Ring is… aware of us,” he whispered, his eyes scanning the animated crowd.

[A few moments later]

[The Frozen Lake]

Finally, they reached the frozen lake. The castle was visible on top of it . It stretched before them like a silver mirror. Its surface shimmered faintly under the pale polar light, and a faint crackle echoed as Hiroshi stepped onto it, testing its strength. “It’s solid enough,” he said, his voice steady despite the eerie sounds around them. “Let’s move.”

The two began their cautious approach toward the castle.

The icy winds blew directly from it, cold enough to make even Shinzo flinch. Snow danced in spirals, brushing against their coats as the enormous fortress came into view.

Before them stood a castle unlike any other — enormous walls of dull grey, lined with intricate, white, frost-like patterns. The surface glimmered faintly, as if alive with magic. At each corner, rose towering pillars of greyish-blue ice, capped with sharp crimson spires that caught the dim sunlight and scattered it like shards of blood-red glass.

Hiroshi’s eyes narrowed. “Akuma is the Tyrant of Ice. He must even love cold things,” he muttered, voice firm against the whistling wind. “And he would definitely have a pool of cold water, whose source is this very lake itself. I will go through this lake, enter the castle and open the main door. You enter through the door as it is dangerous for you to come in the cold water.”

Shinzo looked at him incredulously. “Your powers are fire! You will die in cold water!”

Hiroshi turned, a faint smirk curving his lips. “My powers are fire. I myself am not made of flames. I can withstand cold water ten times better than you.” His tone hardened. “Stay out. That’s an order.”

Shinzo sighed deeply, lowering his shoulders. “Alright... have this. It will help you in breaking ice.”

He rummaged through his backpack, pulling out an ice pick. The metal shimmered faintly in the snowlight.

But before Shinzo could hand it over, Hiroshi had already crouched near the frozen surface. He heated both his daggers until their blades glowed faint orange and sliced a perfect circle through the ice. Steam hissed up instantly.

“Done,” Hiroshi said flatly, sheathing his daggers.

Shinzo blinked, then chuckled dryly. “Alright. One tip — follow the light.”

“Alright. See ya in a bit,” Hiroshi replied, tightening his gloves.

He inhaled sharply and leapt into the hole.

The water swallowed him whole.

Instantly, darkness and silence wrapped around him — but something felt… off. The water should’ve been freezing, enough to burn his skin with cold. Yet it wasn’t.

“What the hell!? Why doesn’t the water feel cold!?” he thought, eyes widening beneath the surface.

But he didn’t waste time wondering. He pushed forward, powerful strokes slicing through the stillness. Behind him, faint orange ripples spread — the pendant around his neck glowing softly, giving off a warm light. It was keeping him alive, shielding him from the bitter cold without him realizing it.

He swam south, following instinct and faint currents beneath the lake. After what felt like minutes of silent swimming, he spotted something ahead — a faint beam of light piercing through the darkness.

“There it is!” he thought, heart racing.

He swam till right below it.

He kicked against the surface hard, But his path was blocked by a really thick surface of jagged ice, its inner surface spiked like a crystal cage.

He reached for his daggers — but underwater, they refused to ignite.

“Damn… can’t use fire here.”

Drawing back his arm, Hiroshi clenched his fist. Every muscle tensed. Then — 

WHAM!

The punch connected. A dull crack echoed through the water, the ice spiderwebbing instantly. Blood mixed with the faint current, curling from his bruised knuckles.

He grit his teeth and punched again. The ice shattered completely, fragments scattering like broken glass.

Hiroshi broke through and gasped for breath as he surfaced, his lungs burning. Water streamed from his hair and clothes as he dragged himself up onto the smooth marble floor.

The chamber around him glistened — clean, bright, elegant.

“It looks like… a bathing room,” he muttered, shivering. His breath came out in clouds.

“Hah… I was right!” He lifted a trembling hand. 

“FLAME WALL!”

Fire erupted in a curved wall around him, glowing brilliantly against the white marble. The warmth surged instantly — comforting, familiar.

Neither he nor his clothes burned. Instead, the heat simply dried the water away, chasing the chill from his bones.

He sighed, relaxing as the warmth soaked in.

“Dry clothes feel so much better…”

The fire flickered out.

He stepped toward the door — and noticed it was slightly open.

“Lucky me,” he whispered.

Pushing it gently, he slipped into the corridor beyond. The air was colder again, filled with the faint sound of footsteps and echoing voices.

Guards were patrolling nearby, and they were not normal. They were golems. Large and made purely out of snow and ice.

Hiroshi made his way into the icy corridors — silent, focused, ready for whatever waited ahead.

He slipped through the corridors like a shadow, keeping close to the frigid walls and the thin bands of shadow that pooled beneath the torch sconces.

The Golems paced in small groups, feet stomping on the frozen stone; Hiroshi timed his steps between their rotations, breathed shallow and quiet, and let the rhythm of their patrols carry him past. And with a last blind step, he passed the final group of golems. He saw a massive wheel of iron and cranked it against groaning gears.

Outside the castle, the main door loomed—ten times his height, a slab of weathered wood bound in iron. He turned the wheel until the wood rasped on its hinges and then gave the lever a final, brutal shove.

BOOOM!

The door fell outward with an earth-shuddering roar that split the winter air and sent a flock of distant seabirds into the sky. The sound echoed along the battlements and snapped the attention of every guard inside the fortress.

Shinzo hurried to the opening, breath clouding and eyes sharp. “Is everything all right?” he called.

“Yeah, everything is all right,” Hiroshi answered, voice steady against the gust. “Shinzo, I have a big job for you.” The phrase set something bright in the younger man—an eager, hungry spark of the sort that pricked at the nerve of a soldier.

“Tell me!” Shinzo said, practically vibrating with excitement.

“You need to tie them all up,” Hiroshi said simply.

Shinzo’s face went blank for a beat. “Tie whom?”

Hiroshi stepped aside, and Shinzo’s gaze followed. Hundreds of golems poured from the inner courtyards. They clattered and howled and filled the courtyard like an avalanche of frost.

“TIE UP ALL OF THOSE!?” Shinzo shouted, disbelief shredding into urgency.

“Yeah,” Hiroshi said calmly.

“Alright,” Shinzo agreed, jaw hardening. He yanked out a net launcher from his pack and began snapping off shots in quick succession. 

the projectiles hissed across the courtyard and unfurled, entangling golems in choking meshes of woven cable and sticky, cold webbing. The golems tripped, ice constructs flailed, and Shinzo's hands moving with a precision that made the chaos manageable.

Hiroshi took his stance, folding his body into the familiar coiled posture the world had learned to fear. Body bent, one hand near the chest and the other extended forward. He exhaled, and the air around him stung with heat.

“FLAMING SLASH AND DASH!” he cried, and then he was a streak of living flame. He tore through the ranks—blades of orange slicing through the frost—each movement a razor beat of fire. Golems fell, ice shattered into glittering splinters, and the courtyard became a storm of light and shadow. 

He struck, he pivoted, he vanished again, his daggers leaving smoking tracers through the air. When he leapt upward, ripping through a wall of spawned ice, Shinzo’s nets cinched another cluster of golems in place.

While Shinzo kept the front cluttered and controlled, Hiroshi pushed toward the tower, vaulting stone and broken ice in relentless bursts. He climbed stair after stair, past dimly lit landings and the muffled thuds of alarmed golems rushing below, and finally burst into a wide chamber where the light fell thin and pale. 

The pendant at his throat dimmed; the warmth it gave him thinned, and the air around him sharpened into a crystalline bite that found his skin like knives.

He moved into the darkness, the room swallowing sight and sound. A single spotlight snapped on and picked out a throne carved of living ice—empty, cold, and perfectly still. Hiroshi’s breath puffed loud in the hush as he called out, voice unafraid. “Huh? Stop this hide-and-seek! Show yourself! Where are you, Akuma!?”

The answer came not from the throne but from somewhere closer—so close a whisper grazed his ear. “I am right here…”

Instinct threw his fist toward the sound; his motion was pure reflex, gut-punched and blind. The world lurched and the floor under him dropped away. A chill like a physical hand closed on his bones, and then the room dissolved.

Hiroshi was teleported.

[Inside Akuma's Arena]

He landed—hard—on a surface of glass-cold ice. The place around him was an arena of frost: a vast hollow ringed by ten pillars of solid, pale ice. Between each pillar, crystalline formations floated, suspended in the air. They glowed with an icy, inner light yet did not fracture beneath the pressure as though held by some invisible lattice; the sight made Hiroshi’s skin prickle.

“Huh!? Why don’t those crystals break?! Isn’t this entire arena supported by those pillars?!” he said in confusion.

Akuma stepped into view then, centered like a dark star. He was pale as a moon, his eyes a chilling ice-blue that cut right through Hiroshi. His clothes were simple—black shirt and jeans—but a sky-blue coat with white fur trimmed its edges, and his smirk was all cruelty and patience.

“Welcome… to my arena, Flame Demi-God, Hiroshi Soraya,” Akuma said, voice smooth as sleet.

“You’re finally here after killing Riyaku. It’s been a while since I last saw you. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure to rip off each limb of yours and keep your organs as collectibles along with the Blaze Ember I got from you… Prepare… TO DIE!”

The crystals hummed as Akuma’s words settled, and the very air of the arena felt like tightened into a blade of cold.

To Be Continued...