Chapter 13

  I swung my sword from the right, aiming directly at the back of the Ice Wraith’s head. A blow like that would have easily decapitated a human—but not a creature made of solid ice. My blade didn’t bounce off completely, but it only left a faint fracture along the shimmering glacier-like surface.

  The Ice Wraith didn’t scream. Instead, its haunting song came to an abrupt halt, replaced by a low, guttural snarl. In a blink, it lashed out with a frozen fist toward my side. I twisted away just in time, the icy knuckles grazing my armor with a harsh screech of metal. As I adjusted my stance, I got my first real look at the front of the creature.

  Its chest and abdomen shared the same deep, frozen blue as its back—smooth, ancient, and covered in jagged white streaks like veins in cracked marble. Where a face should have been, there was only a blank, angular sheet of ice. No nose, no mouth—just two dim, glowing blue orbs buried behind the frost. And yet, it snarled at me like a living beast.

  While I kept the Wraith’s attention, Vin muttered a sharp incantation, her fingers sketching twisting shapes through the air. A heartbeat later, thick, thorny vines erupted from the floor beneath the creature’s feet, curling rapidly around its limbs—binding its forearms and thighs, yanking it to its knees with a heavy thud. The ground trembled from its weight.

  Simon didn’t hesitate. He unleashed a volley of arcane missiles from his wand, streaks of force energy hammering into the Wraith’s torso and arms. Lightning spells had proven useless earlier, so he was relying on raw kinetic power now. Each impact sent cracks spiderwebbing across its icy shell.

  I dashed left, circling the struggling creature, and brought my sword down in a powerful arc straight into its lower leg. The blade bit deep, shattering part of the hardened ice with a sickening crunch. The Ice Wraith let out a monstrous howl—its first true cry of pain. Had I broken some kind of bone? If it even had bones?

  Whatever I’d done, it enraged the thing.

  With a violent lurch, the Wraith tore through the enchanted vines, the sound of snapping roots and shattering ice echoing through the storeroom. Vin instinctively backed off, startled by the sheer force of its escape.

  Now free, the creature turned on me completely, launching into a flurry of savage blows. Fists like icy sledgehammers rained down in a relentless barrage. I dodged each one by the narrowest of margins—sometimes only a strand of hair or the rim of my helmet away from being crushed. The Wraith didn’t seem to care that Simon’s magic continued to hammer into its back. Not in the slightest.

  Then, with a sudden burst of power, Simon unleashed a barrage of magical missiles—more than I’d ever seen him summon at once. They struck the Ice Wraith in rapid succession, each blast thudding into its torso and staggering it just slightly—just enough.

  It was the window I needed.

  I surged forward, gripping my sword tight, aiming to drive it clean into the creature’s exposed side. But at the last second, my blade missed its mark. Instead of biting into frozen flesh, the edge of my sword crashed into a wooden barrel beside us.

  The barrel exploded with a loud crack, splintering into pieces. A wave of beer—foamy, thick, and far too cold—erupted outward like a tidal surge. In a single moment of absurdity, I slipped.

  My legs went out from under me and I landed hard in the puddle of spilled beer, the chill of the liquid soaking straight through my armor. I blinked up at the ceiling, stunned and furious with myself. Of all the idiotic ways to die...

  The Ice Wraith turned, its glowing eyes locking on to me. It moved faster than I’d expected—gliding across the stone like a reaper on skates. Within seconds, it loomed over me, raising a jagged, clawed fist.

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  I tried to roll away, but the beer had made the floor slick and sticky. My limbs felt heavy. Slow. This was it. This was how I died. Not on a battlefield, not in a blaze of heroism, but drowned in beer and crushed by an ancient frost-creature.

  Then I heard it.

  A low, primal growl echoed through the room—deep, guttural, furious.

  Before the Wraith could strike, something massive slammed into it from the side. There was a blur of muscle, fur, and teeth. A deafening snarl filled the air as the beast knocked the Wraith off its feet and pinned it to the ground.

  A tiger.

  No—a spectral tiger. Its body shimmered with silvery-white outlines, its eyes glowing with fierce intelligence. Ghostly wisps trailed from its paws as it raked sharp claws across the Ice Wraith’s face, leaving deep, sparkling gashes across the glacial surface.

  I stared, dumbfounded. Was that Simon? Had he actually summoned his spirit companion? I had always assumed his ghost-cat stories were just harmless superstition, party tricks for drunk villagers and festival kids.

  But there it was—towering, roaring, magnificent. A guardian born of storm and spirit.

  The tiger’s assault gave me precious seconds. I scrambled to my feet, soaked in beer, sword back in hand, blood pounding in my ears.

  But then came the retaliation.

  With a sudden, brutal swipe, the Ice Wraith struck the tiger in the side. The blow passed clean through the spectral form, and with a final hiss of defiance, the great cat dissolved—its body unraveling into swirling wind and pale mist, as if it had never been there at all.

  The Ice Wraith rose slowly, its movements sluggish, its crystalline body covered in deep gouges and frost-bitten cracks. It clutched its right arm as if it were suffering from some phantom muscle pain—a strange gesture for something made of ice. Still, it hesitated. Maybe it truly was beginning to falter.

  Before it could retaliate, a thick mass of roots and vines erupted from the floor, slamming into its side—right where its ribs would’ve been if it had any. The vines wrapped tight and hurled the creature across the storeroom like a rag doll made of frozen steel.

  The Wraith crashed into a stack of crates, splintering them, then slumped to the ground, motionless. For a few heartbeats, it just knelt there, hunched over with its head bowed and arms dangling limply by its sides. We took the opportunity to regroup—Simon to my left, Vin to my right. The three of us stood shoulder to shoulder, panting, bruised, soaked, and shivering, but ready.

  Then, without warning, the Ice Wraith let out a roar.

  It wasn’t just a sound—it was a presence, a violent tremor that echoed off the stone walls and filled our bones with dread. It lifted its head, shards of ice raining from its cracked body as it straightened to full height. Its glowing blue eyes blazed brighter now, like twin suns in a frozen storm.

  Again, it reached for its right arm—this time not to cradle it, but to tear it off.

  There was a horrific crunch, like shattering glaciers. Chunks of frozen flesh rained down onto the floor as the limb broke free, disintegrating into slush and mist. A chilling silence followed.

  And then the new arm emerged.

  It wasn’t a limb at all, not in any human sense. It was a blade—a long, jagged spike of ice, more akin to a glacial broadsword than an arm. It gleamed in the low light, serrated edges dripping frost, as if it had been formed from the wrath of a winter god.

  “Well then,” I muttered under my breath, mostly to myself but loud enough for the others to hear, “time for round two.”

  Without another word, we charged.

  The Ice Wraith reacted just a heartbeat later, rushing forward with a grinding snarl, icy limbs carving through the air. Vin moved with grace to my right, her hands already glowing green as fresh vines burst forth from the floor, aiming for the creature’s new sword-arm. The enchanted roots tangled around it, but with a single slash, the icy blade sliced through them like twine.

  Simon raised both hands and unleashed a focused beam of raw arcane light. It struck the Wraith in the chest, staggering it and forcing it back a few steps. For a brief moment, its footing faltered.

  That was all I needed.

  I lunged forward, aiming a thrust directly for its chest, hoping to shatter whatever passed for its heart. But the Wraith moved fast, its sword-arm intercepting mine with a screech of metal on ice.

  I ducked low—too low for it to follow in time—rolled beneath its torso, and came up behind it in a single smooth motion.

  Spinning on my heel, I drove my sword straight into its back, aiming for the spot just beneath its shoulder blades—where a human’s heart might be. My blade hit with a crack that vibrated up through the hilt and into my bones.

  The Wraith let out a gasp—something between a breath and a roar—and for a split second, I felt it: hesitation, weakness… pain.

  It let out a final, guttural roar and dropped to its knees. Slowly, almost gracefully, the Ice Wraith collapsed onto the floor. A soft white shimmer rippled across its body—like frost evaporating in sunlight—and then… it vanished.

  “No!” Simon shouted, his voice sharp with frustration. But he was too late to act. The creature was gone.

  All that remained where it had knelt was a small object on the cold stone floor: a key fob, shaped like a white ox.