"Damn! It's like a million Arctic blasts in here!" Seymour thought, shivering uncontrollably. "Ugh, who needs a high-end refrigerator when I can just be stuck like a popsicle for eternity?"
Apparently, the temperature within this thing had been plummeting every since he got in. It was mild at first but the build up was obvious after awhile.
"I see they left me for dead. So much for the fake affections." Seymour snorted lukewarmly. It looks like his family had left after Zedock had decided on simply giving it time, while monitoring any changes. However, this felt like abandonment to Alistair.
As the cold cranked up, poor Alistair could feel an unusually uncomfortable tingling in his nether region. You see, his upturned schlong was not only exposed to the icy elements but had also fallen prey to the dreaded villain known as frostbite.
"Oh the irony!" Seymour thought, imagining his situation akin to a bunch of sausages the size of his bulge, throwing a pool party in Antarctica, with penguins as lifeguards!
"It's the hot spot for sausage summer shenanigans, obviously!" He thought sarcastically. "Forget blubbers, sausages have natural insulation! They'll keep the polar bears jealous with their ability to stay warm even in the coldest temperatures. Move aside, science!"
This was his way of being the resilient, albeit absurd, individual that he was, responding to his alarming situation with his unique brand for sarcasm, without succumbing to the irritation of a frozen dick.
"Oh boy! How I wish it could self-grill!" He craved, his inner voice trembling from an odd mix of pain and laughter, composed into a melodramatic mournful symphony of high-pitched squeals and accidental yelps. "Oosh! Ouch! Oosh! Oouch!..."
Yet the sensation only intensified, causing a contorted look of utter horror to appear on his face. His eyes bulged wider than an owl's as he attempted to flail his limbs, trying in vain to wiggle his frosty predicament free. Every strain, however, seemed to send a jolt of frigid pain racing through his freezing body as the biting cold began to seep into his bones.
Alistair could feel his consciousness fading away. The chill seemed to intensify with each passing second. His body trembled, desperately attempting to generate warmth, but it was no match for the merciless cold.
"Gosh! At this point, it feels like death is a blessing." Seymour thought, wondering what he had done wrong, to die twice.
His breathing became shallow and erratic, his heart struggling to pump blood through frozen veins. His extremities grew numb, tingling sensations giving way to a unbearable icy pain. Every ounce of energy was drained from their body, leaving them weak and defenseless against the frigid environment in the dark crystal.
As the temperature plummeted, his mind descended into a state of disarray. His thoughts became scattered, disjointed fragments floating aimlessly in his fading consciousness.
Images blurred, and reality merged with dreams, blurring the boundaries between this frozen enclosure and the depths of his unconsciousness. All this caused him to start hallucinating about the most absurd things.
"I've always wondered... If a piece of toast always lands butter-side down and a cat always lands on its feet, what happens if you strap buttered toast onto a cat's back?" Alistair's thoughts wandered, as his sanity glitched.
Gradually, his eyelids grew heavy, his vision dimmed, surrounding them in a dark and numbing void. Sounds faded into whispers, echoing in the distance, until there was only silence.
"U know what?!" He asked no one but himself. "I wish all my negative thoughts would appear as pop-up ads in real life. An ad for 'You're a failure!' pops up, and I could just click 'X' and move on with my day."
"Well that's impossible now?! I'm about to die for the second time, how delightful!"
Finally, he succumbed to the cold, and fell into a state of cryosleep, preserved in a state of near-death hibernation.
___
Alistair woke with a sudden jolt, his body immediately feeling the unsettling chill in the air. "Ow, ow, ow! Why does it feel like my head went on a roller coaster ride without me!" Alistair groaned, clutching his head. He winced at the constant ringing that just wouldn't stop.
Squinting, he tried to make out his surroundings, but it was nothing but hazy around him. "Geez, I can't even see straight. Everything looks fuzzy... like my head is wearing a woolly jumper or something..."
He proceeded to rub his temples to try easing the pain, which seemed to work a bit. Blinking away the remnants of what felt like a long slumber, he found himself surrounded by a vast, frozen landscape. It seemed to stretch out infinitely, devoid of any signs of life or civilization.
"Where the f*ck I'm I...?! Wait a minute, one moment I was freezing to death and the next, here I am, at the set of a winter horror film! Do I have to bare with a frozen afterlife as well?!" Seymour thought while taking in his surrounding. Unable to make out anything, he looked down at his hands, clutching the sides of a tarted robe.
"And what the heck I'm I wearing?" He starred down in horror. "Rags!" He grimaced. "Is this like some dress code here in the afterlife?" He stood there, breath visible in the frigid air, criticizing his sudden change of clothes. But then, a low rumble echoed through the silence.
*CRACK!!*
A cascade of thunderous sound resonated, causing him to turn his gaze upward. There, shrouded in mist, stood colossal mountains with barely visible ridges and patches of vegetation struggling to survive. A snow storm brewed above them, adding a weird touch to the already mysterious scene.
"Whoa! That's one big snowstorm?!" He exclaimed. Startled by the natural phenomenon unfolding before his eyes, Alistair instinctively took a few steps back, "Better stay clear of that thing, Alistair." He turned and started walking the other way, toward the plain terrain, wanting nothing to do with a snowstorm.
After walking aimlessly for about thirty minutes, without finding anything significant, he felt compelled to walk the other way. "I can't keep striding around aimlessly on this wasteland. Night will fall soon, and I feel there will be wolves." Alistair lamented.
"I'm better off heading towards high ground, instead of moseying around. I might risk getting buried under an avalanche, well f*ck that. How many times can one individual die?!"
The unfamiliarity of the place bothered him and he felt the urgency in finding out what he had gotten himself into, before the unknown caught up with him. So with a determined resolve, Alistair turned away from the endless plain path and set his sights on the storm-ridden mountains.
"Ha, look at this so-called snowstorm! Is that all you've got?" Alistair asked, trying the rid himself of the ominous feeling he got when looking a the storm. "I've see tougher storms in a teacup!"
Minutes turned into hours as he trudged up the desolate hills, hoping he would get a clearer view of this mysterious place, and just maybe, detect someone, anyone.
For several hours, he trekked toward the ridge of the mountain, his boots crunching in the snow. A cold wind out of the mist shrouded hills blew down on him. Its gusts slapped against his face. Despite the wind, Alistair tried his best to stay put, not to be blown away. Even so, he had to stop several times to help himself maneuver through some shallow chasms in the rocky terrain.
"Oh, please! I bet I can blow harder than that!" Alistair belittled.
As the terrain gradually ascended, the wind grew stronger and stronger. Before long, it whipped against him with an intense cold that made his fingers tingle and lose sensation. The cold felt unbearably harsh. "Haha! You call this snow? I've had ice cubes with more substance!" he grumbled.
Small pieces of ice started to pelt him, prompting Alistair to instinctively raise his arms to shield his face and eyes.
The ice turned from bits to needles and then to shards. Despite Alistair's remarkable resilience against the tempest, the onslaught became unbearable.
"Well, I guess I shouldn't have laughed at you snowstorm!" Alistair thought, barely holding on. Although impressive for a ten-year-old to navigate a snowstorm, his senses were now either numbed or incessantly agitated. Amidst the howling winds, only intermittent cries of snowy owls pierced the silence.
Despite the storm's intensity, it was still relatively mild, allowing him to see through it. However, the swirling ice disoriented him as he made his way up the hill. Abruptly, he tripped over a flat node in the ground. "F*ck!" Alistair cursed, crumpling to the ground.
Shivering, he made his way to the node, seeking shelter from the storm. Alistair huddled in his robes, his teeth chattering from the blistering cold, enduring what felt like an eternity.
Eventually, the intensity of the ice storm subsided. The wind gave a few final fierce blows before finally relenting. Despite the lingering coldness in the air, his body slowly started to recover. Alistair cautiously emerged from his makeshift sanctuary, his disheveled black hair adorned with frozen icicles.
Silently, Alistair rose from the icy ground to find the mountain's peak once more. Carefully navigating through the snow-covered rocks, he began his ascent up the treacherously steep slope, occasionally coming across pockets of vegetation along the way.
With every passing hour, he persevered, conquering one hill after another. However, the darkening sky casted an increasingly ominous shadow upon the landscape. The mountain top soon vanished into the deepening darkness, leaving Alistair to rely solely on his fading memory of its ridge.
Undeterred, he pressed on, steadily gaining altitude. Despite the limited visibility, Alistair discerned the outlines of a few slender trees emerging amidst the blanket of snow. Their contorted shapes bore a haunting resemblance to tortured figures, adding to the weirdness.
As he took about step, a faint sound reached his ears, causing him to halt abruptly. Motionless like the contorted trees surrounding him, he strained to listen.
"I hope those aren't wolves," Alistair thought, overwhelmed by a foreboding sensation.
Time seemed to stretch as minutes ticked by. Apart from his own breath and the beating of his heart, he heard no further noise. Eventually, he resumed his journey, albeit more carefully than before.
However, as he ventured further, an eerie cry emerged from the shadows up ahead, accompanied by the sudden rush of footsteps. In a flash, the darkness was pierced by the illumination of blazing torches.
"Get him!" A raspy voice gave the command, and before Alistair could understand the situation, he could see a bunch of things racing towards him.
With the help of their torches, Alistair could make out their forms, as ugly, almost monstrous creatures with deformed features, peculiar hairiness and strangely-textured skin.
"GOBLINS!!" He exclaimed, and at that moment, he could only think of one thing. RUNNING FOR HIS LIFE!!
***