The Blizzard

Winter strikes Ossamaris without warning. The cold comes early, harsher than anyone expected. No one had time to prepare. The settlers still don’t fully understand the seasons of CC1-Alpha, but this feels different, unnatural. 
          Snow already lies in thick layers across the ground, muffling the world in white. 
          Halo and Rubble slip away with Moss, making their way behind the cliff where the city can’t see them. 
          “Like this,” Halo says, dropping onto her back. She sweeps her arms and legs across the snow until a perfect angel spreads around her. Moss watches, tilts his head, then falls flat on his back with a heavy thud. He wriggles, arms flailing awkwardly. When he stands, the impression left behind is nothing but a chaotic sprawl of lines and squiggles. 
          “Perfect,” Halo says with a grin, giving him a thumbs up. 
          Moss blinks, then slowly mimics her gesture, thumb pointed sideways, uncertain but proud. 
          A snowball smacks into his side. 
          Moss turns, confused. Rubble is standing a few paces away, looking guilty. 
          Moss crouches down, scooping up an entire chunk of ice. He lobs it into his massive hands and takes aim. 
          “Whoa, whoa!” Rubble waves his arms wildly. “Let’s not do anything crazy here!” 
          “Moss,” Halo warns, pointing at the ground. “Put it down.” 
          For a moment, Moss hesitates, head cocked, then he slowly lowers the ice. 
          But the weather shifts quickly. The playful calm gives way to a sharp wind, heavy snow sweeping across the cliffside. Their laughter quiets as the cold deepens. They hurry back toward the town. 
          Ossamaris greets them buried in frost. The sea, once their shield, is frozen solid. Where the water locks into ice, Skelloids could march straight across. 
          The settlers whisper in dread. Some begin to doubt Ossamaris’ safety altogether. 
          The brutal winter wind howls, rattling shutters and shrieking through the gaps in the fortress walls. The sea has frozen into a fractured sheet of white-veined ice, stretching to the horizon like a graveyard of glass. 
          Guards huddle along the battlements, cloaks stiff with frost, fingers numb where they cling to their spears. 
          Through the blizzard’s swirl, shadows stir in the tree line. An army of Skelloids emerges, tearing through the forest, branches snapping. Their slime is glazed in frost. They do not stumble or rage as before. They march in eerie unison, quivering as though awaiting a command. 
          The loud warning bell tolls, its hollow clang echoing through the frozen town. 
          In the barracks, conversation stops. The crash of a mug shattering against the floor rings loud in the silence. Benji stares at the shards at his feet, his face twisted in dread. “There’s no way this is happening to Ossamaris again.” 
          The team bursts into motion. Boots thunder up the stairwell, two steps at a time, until they spill onto the lookout tower where Thorn waits. The blizzard lashes their faces raw, the air sharp with ice and fear. 
          Beyond the walls, the horde surges forward, an endless tide of bone and slime. And then the ground trembles. 
          Something massive steps into view. 
          Twice the size of any red Skelloid, it lumbers forth, its frame dark as tar, oily sheen rippling and fracturing the light. The blizzard itself seems to bend around it, the storm’s fury drawn into its orbit. 
          The Black Skelloid. 
          Rubble’s old spear still juts from the side of its skull, a jagged reminder of their last encounter. 
          Around it, the smaller Skelloids swarm with unnatural coordination, like soldiers marching to the rhythm of one mind. 
          The storm rages, but inside the fortress walls, silence reigns. 
          “That one’s not hunting,” Thorn says darkly. “It’s leading.” 
          A guard at his side trembles, his teeth chattering. “Do you want us to intercept, sir?” 
          Thorn’s jaw clenches. His eyes track the horde with grim precision. “No. They’ll get trapped when they break thought the ice.” 
          The Skelloids crash forward, crushing through snowdrifts. They reach the frozen sea. The guards hold their breath, watching cracks spiderweb beneath the weight. But the ice holds. 
          Thorn swears under his breath and bolts down the tower steps. 
          The first wave plunges into spike pits hidden under snow, their shrieks tearing through the storm. But the second wave clambers over their impaled bodies without hesitation, advancing with mindless resolve. 
          The Black Skelloid halts, hollow sockets locking onto the fortress. Its massive frame looms like a storm given flesh. 
          The gates swing wide. 
          The team and guards rush into formation, crouching low, spears angled upward in a deadly wall of steel. Snow whirls around them. The ground shudders with each pounding step of the horde. 
         The Skelloids screech, closing the distance fast. 
          And still, Thorn holds the line. 
          “Hold your ground!” Thorn yells, his knuckles bone-white on the his spear. 
          The Skelloids crash into them like a tidal wave, the formation shuddering back under the impact. But the spears hold true, steel biting deep. The defenders twist and wrench their weapons, prying joints apart, toppling one snarling husk over another. The air splits with a cacophony of shrieks, a piercing, inhuman chorus that rattles the ice beneath their boots. 
          Then the storm seems to hush. 
          The Black Skelloid steps forward, placing its weight on the frozen sea. The ice crackles like thunder, white fractures spiderwebbing outward. 
          Halo slips through the chaos, invisible to the horde. Their snapping jaws and clawed hands pass her by. Snow swallows her footsteps until at last she stands on the vast white ice sheet, face to face with the nightmare itself. 
          “Halo!” Rubble’s voice cuts through the storm. He fights desperately toward her, striking down anything that dares lunge at him, his blue arcs tearing the them open. 
          Halo’s breath comes in white plumes. A shiver wracks her frame, fear lodging in her chest like ice. In her mind, she hears again the crack of teeth, the echo of her own scream caught in its mouth. For a heartbeat, she falters. 
          Then rage ignites. Hot, alive, defiant. It floods her veins, burning brighter than her fear. 
          She tightens her grip on her spear. 
          And this time, she doesn’t back down. 
          Rubble skids to a stop behind her, snow kicking up around his boots. Halo turns, determination blazing in her eyes. 
          “This one’s mine,” she says, sparks crawling down her fingertips and flaring into her spear. 
          Rubble doesn’t argue. He plants his feet, ready to leap in if she needs him. 
          The Black Skelloid raises claws dark as obsidian and slashes down. Halo dodges, the strike splitting the ice where she’d stood a heartbeat before. She spins, her spear flashing, orange electricity crackling as it sears across the creature’s arm. The acrid stench of scorched slime fills the air. The beast barely slows. 
          It lumbers closer, relentless in it’s attacks. Its claws swing again, hooked blades that smash deep into the ice. White fractures explode outward, groaning under its weight. 
          Halo’s chest heaves, sparks jittering wildly across her fingertips. She whips around to face it, the Skelloid’s vast shadow blotting out the fractured light of the gloomy sky. 
          It reaches for her, and the sound catches in her throat. 
          “No,” she gasps, panic clawing up her chest. Her mind betrays her, thoughts of teeth sinking into her flesh, the searing agony, the black slime burrowing into her skin. She freezes, the nightmare replaying in real time, her body locked in place. 
          The monster lowers its head, jaw creaking open, black ooze dripping between jagged fangs. Its jaw gapes wider, descending toward her. 
          Rubble charges, electricity flaring bright as he drives his newly acquired barbwire-coiled spear into the Skelloid’s massive hand. Sparks erupt, raining down in hissing trails. He rips the spear free and slashes again and again, carving through black slime that splatters across the white ice like tar. 
          Halo darts to the side. She drives her spear into its knee, orange arcs leaping from the tip. With a cry, she pushes all her weight into it. The charge jolts through the joint, bone cracking under the force. With a final savage slash she severs the femur from the rest. The Skelloid shrieks, collapsing to one knee, the sound rattling through the battlefield. 
          Rubble vaults onto its shoulder, clinging as the monster thrashes violently to throw him off. He steadies himself, spear alive with blue lightning, and drives it into it’s thick skull. The bone cracks, slime hisses and burns away, smoke rising, but the beast refuses to fall. It bellows in rage and flings itself back, sending Rubble sliding from its shoulder to crash hard against the ice. 
          “How do we kill it?” Halo shouts, desperation tearing her throat raw. 
          Rubble scrambles for his footing, sparks flickering weakly across his hands. 
          “I don’t know!” he roars back. “Nothing is working!” 
          Halo glances back, the team is fighting tooth and nail, using the piled Skelloid corpses as barricades, striking from behind them as new monsters claw over the mound. 
          That split second of distraction costs her. The Black Skelloid’s claws close around her, yanking her clean off her feet. Her spear skitters across the slick ice, spinning away out of reach. Panic seizes her chest. Orange electricity bursts from her in wild, frantic arcs, sparking uselessly against the dark grip crushing her ribs. 
          Rubble sprints toward her, fury burning in his stride, only to be swatted aside, his body slamming into the rocks with bone-jarring force. 
          Then the battlefield shudders with a roar so thunderous it drowns out the storm. 
          The Black Skelloid turns just as a streak of lime green blurs across the ice. Moss slams into the black Skelloid like a living avalanche, knocking the towering beast off balance. Bone cracks against bone, black and green slime spraying in every direction as the two giants collide. The ground itself quakes under their clash. 
          But the Black Skelloid won’t let go of Halo. Its claws squeeze tighter, ribs bowing under the pressure. She screams, electricity flickering weakly against its crushing grip. 
          With a guttural screech, Moss drives both hands into the monster’s ribcage. Black slime sizzles against his arms, but he heaves upward with brute force. Bone snaps. The chest splits open in a grotesque fracture. The Black Skelloid thrashes, its shrieks cutting sharp enough to split the sky, but Moss doesn’t falter. 
          He reaches deep and with one violent, tearing yank, rips it’s core free. 
          The Black Skelloid convulses, choking on a final groan as its frame collapses inward. Its grip slackens and Halo falls free, gasping for breath. Black slime slowly melts into the snow, it twitches in their death spasms. 
         Moss towers above it, chest heaving, the core pulsing faintly in his hands. He drops it onto the ice with a wet thud. 
          Rubble rushes to Halo, kneeling at her side. She sits up shakily, clutching her chest, eyes wide with shock but alive. 
          Rubble sees the core on the ground, snatches it and spins toward the fortress. 
          “Thorn!” he bellows, voice raw. “The cannon!”