Sergie's mind swirled in a haze of confusion. The figure before him—the Emperor of Frost—loomed large, pale blue skin almost translucent under the flickering, spectral light of the icy palace. The Emperor's eyes, sharp and cold as knives, seemed to bore into Sergie's very soul. His words echoed through the chamber, freezing the air: "You… look familiar."
Sergie blinked, his thoughts stumbling. Familiar? He searched his memory, combing through every fragment of his life, but nothing came. If he had met someone like this—someone like him—he would have remembered. The image of the Emperor, his maddened eyes and the jagged crown of twigs and ice, would be unforgettable. Yet, nothing surfaced. He was certain he had never seen this man before.
Why do I feel like I should know him? Sergie's mind raced, trying to anchor himself in reality, but the cold kept invading his thoughts. Every breath he took seemed to crystallize the very air in his lungs, making it harder to think, to reason.
The Emperor's lips curled, and a low, manic laugh bubbled up from his chest, filling the room with a sound that was neither human nor sane. It was jagged, like shards of ice scraping against one another, and it made Sergie's skin crawl.
"Release him," the Emperor ordered, still laughing, his voice erratic and unsettling. His words were directed at the two towering ice creatures standing on either side of Sergie, their forms grotesque and featureless, shifting like frozen mist.
The creatures—named Gulb and Blub, as the Emperor had dubbed them—let go of Sergie, their touch leaving a deep, bone-chilling cold in its wake. The Emperor's laughter rose in pitch, filling the icy hall with a sense of madness. He seemed unhinged, genuinely pleased by the presence of his new captive.
"I finally have a new friend," the Emperor said, his voice gleeful, as he floated toward Sergie, his movements smooth and unnatural, as though gravity meant nothing to him. His eyes, those frigid blue orbs, began to swirl, spiraling into something deeper, something far more unstable. He leaned close, his frozen breath washing over Sergie's face, a manic grin spreading across his pale lips.
"Do you play video games?" the Emperor asked, his voice now disturbingly lighthearted, like a child excited about a new toy.
Sergie blinked, unsure how to respond. Video games? In the face of this mad, powerful being, that was the last thing he expected to hear. Slowly, still dazed by the absurdity of it all, he nodded. "Uh… yeah, I do."
The Emperor's eyes widened with manic delight. "Ah! Perfect!" he exclaimed. "Do you play The Gun? It's an action RPG. From two millennia ago!" His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, as if sharing a great secret.
Sergie's mind stumbled again, grappling with what he'd just heard. "Two… millennia ago?" he repeated, his voice thick with disbelief. How could a game from two thousand years ago even exist? How could anyone, even this strange ice monarch, know about something like that?
The Emperor didn't seem to notice Sergie's confusion—or perhaps he simply didn't care. His smile widened as he straightened, floating back slightly. "Oh, yes! A relic of the past! I acquired it when I… let's say, liberated it from a fire creature. He was clutching it in his final moments." The Emperor's tone was casual, even cheerful, as if recounting a fond memory of a minor accomplishment. "I liked the box art."
Sergie swallowed hard, his stomach twisting. Liberated? He had no doubt what that meant. This madman had killed for a game.
Still, the strangeness of it all left Sergie too disoriented to react properly. "How… how are we going to play these?" he asked, his voice shaky. He half-expected the Emperor to laugh again, to turn his question into some kind of cruel joke.
Instead, the Emperor's grin only widened further. "Like this!" he said with glee, and with a flick of his hand, a television and two consoles materialized before them, floating in midair as if gravity had abandoned all pretense of normalcy in the Emperor's realm.
Sergie stared at the equipment, feeling his grip on reality loosen even further. Despite everything—the freezing cold, the grotesque palace of ice, the Emperor's wild and manic demeanor—he found himself sitting down, controller in hand, as the Emperor floated next to him, gleefully taking his own.
They began to play.
For a moment, it felt absurdly normal, a twisted, surreal calm settling over Sergie as he navigated through the ancient game. But the Emperor's constant, unhinged laughter reminded him of the impossibility of the situation. The Emperor of Frost, this mad god, seemed genuinely overjoyed to be playing, as though the world outside had ceased to exist.
Then, as if on cue, the door to the chamber slammed open, and Gulb and Blub hurried inside, their icy forms shifting in agitation.
"Emperor!" Gulb called out, his voice sharp, like ice cracking under pressure. "The castle is under attack!"
"By what?" the Emperor asked lazily, barely glancing up from the game.
"By the Army of Mud, your majesty," Blub added, his tone surprisingly formal.
The Emperor sighed dramatically, as though inconvenienced by the intrusion. "Mud again?" He shook his head, his expression turning from frustration to casual indifference. Without even bothering to pause the game, he snapped his fingers.
Instantly, the ground rumbled, and a deep, icy pulse spread through the palace, radiating outward. Sergie could feel it—a tremor that vibrated through his bones, a cold so deep it chilled his very soul. And then… nothing. Silence.
The Emperor smiled smugly. "There. They've been dealt with."
Sergie stared at him, wide-eyed. Just like that? The casual flick of a finger, the arrogant disregard for the lives lost—it was all so utterly surreal. He was sitting next to a god, a mad one, capable of wiping out entire armies without a second thought.
Suddenly, without warning, the Emperor snapped his fingers again, and the icy palace around them vanished. Sergie blinked and found himself standing back in the forest, the same place where he had been captured. His breath fogged in the cold air, the distant sound of wind rustling through the trees. The breadcrumb trail he had unknowingly left behind still lay on the snow, a faint, absurd marker of the path back to reality.
For a moment, he stood there, disoriented, the weight of what had just happened pressing down on him. It felt unreal, as if the entire experience had been a fevered dream.
Slowly, he followed the breadcrumbs back to the small cottage where Dante and Valenora slept. The warmth of the cabin greeted him, pulling him away from the madness outside. Exhausted and numb, Sergie crept into his room, his mind buzzing with the strangeness of it all.
He collapsed onto his bed, pulling the blanket tightly around him. The weight of sleep dragged him under almost instantly, but as his eyes closed, the mad laughter of the Emperor of Frost echoed faintly in his ears.
What had he just experienced?
What had he just survived?