CURSED REALMS (of the winterdemons)

A short story based on a Sunn O))) song. Or an Immortal song.

Cursed Realms (of the WinterDemons.)

     The snow crunched, wind piling layers up on the side of the jagged wall. The sky was deep purple as the sun hovered in a perpetual dusk. There was only wind, and ice and frost.

    Hailstones broke apart as they hit the back of the beast. Slivers of ice fell to the ground and immediately froze in place.

    Every part of the animals body ended in a cruel spike, each tipped with a layer of permafrost. It lifted its neck and opened its jaws, the fangs of ice glinted in the faint light and it screamed.

    The horns on it’s head shook as the scream grew louder. A cracking of vocal chords in a high pitched splintering of ice grinding against ice.

     Reaching out a long, thin arm the Winterdemon dug it’s claws into the ground and began pulling itself through the piling ice and snow. Hail and sleet filled its mouth, the beast spluttered. It’s howl became a muffled choke. Then moving forward into the blackness, screaming, it vanished.

     From across the wastes a growl, low and all pervading, vibrates the ground, cracking the layers of frost and felling the long dead trees. It’s jaws long since frozen shut, a second demon takes a claw and carves a hole into it’s black neck, stringed with sinew and sores. The hole quivers, rumbles and vomits deep black bile onto the earth and the drone grew louder.

      Guided by their noise the beasts glacially move towards one another. Eventually meeting they dig their claws into black flesh, spilling purple and yellow blood that freezes in fractal stalactites off their bodies.

    Jagged ice fangs snap in the oozing hole; screams and growls become one.

       Copulating in desolate wasteland the demons shake the entire realm, creating howls, screams and cries that fill the blizzard air.

      Exploding from the face and killing both demons, turning them to frozen statues, covered in petrified gore, the child rises. Twice the height of it’s parents. Turning it’s bony eye to the sky it howls, sharp, brief, twice. A mountain of black ice rises beneath the child and it reaches out to end the dusk. There is no sun.

       There is no light. There is only cold and a black wind full of sharp hail that cuts and freezes.