The snow devoured Zalanam’s heavy boots in mere seconds. His gloves, snug in the pockets of his bearskin coat, were wet from the melting frost. Bearskin was the best material for the winter months; it held a gratuitous amount of heat for the one who held its soft, protective feel. Zalanam was naked, save for his pants and cap, atop a snowy hill surrounded by the swirling blizzard. The storms were routine this time of the year in this area, The Needles, a small section of mountain normally covered with lush coniferous trees. Now they were skeletons of what they once were. Beautiful.

Zalanam breathed lightly from his nostrils, producing warm steam that seemed to coat his chilly face. It flirted with the ice on his moustache to create a pattern of water and ice. The water dripped lazily to the snow at his bare feet and either melted against the snow or froze once again. Zalanam couldn’t tell; then again, did he really care?

The man held his elbows and crossed his legs as he sat on the peak of the hill. He shut his eyes and slowed his breath. His village called him, but it received no answer. This was his own time, a time to forget the worries of the day and refocus his energy to his center. Earth, heaven, hell, and limbo would have to wait.

Slowly, he noticed, the fury of the winter started to calm. He became tense; it wasn’t even morning yet. The storms normally halted when the sun was highest in the sky. He opened an eye and gazed past the deathly trees to the horizon ahead. The first rays of the sun were reaching across the country. Yet, still. There wasn’t enough heat to stop the snow.

The best time to refocus was before the ball of fire ascended to the sky. When the freeze nipped at your skin the hardest. When only the howl of the wind occupied your hearing. When blackness was your sight in both closed eyes and open. When your senses were on high. That was the key to reform yourself, when your physical being is on the line between survival and death. After that, you could do anything. Assuming it was done right.

Zalanam stood grumpily and threw his head back to shake the snow from his shining gold locks. He bent his neck around to crack it, ultimately producing a noise that was worth of starting an avalanche. He bent down for his boots and coat and shook both of them dry. He snatched the gloves out of the pockets of the coat and slid the boots on. Like a mother to her baby, Zalanam slid each glove on and covered himself in the bearskin coat.

He heard some snow crunch hard behind him. He slid his eyes to the side, assuming it was just a forest rabbit or maybe a fox. Seeing nothing, Zalanam slowly turned his head and looked back again. He shivered, but not from the chill of the snow. No, he shivered from who, or what, he was looking at. It had three brown legs, like a tripod, and four brown arms facing each direction on the compass rose. Its whole body was brown except for its face, which was a deep shade of green. It had the face of a boar, but its tusks and ears were monstrous. It had a sleek texture devoid of fur and hair. Yet it didn’t have skin; it was coated in pure muscle. Zalanam had only seen true muscle once on the battlefield. A soldier of the enemy army was charred with a gruesome fire on his shoulder. The skin fell to the ground, but not his muscle. That was the only time, but this was so much different. It was natural to the beast.

The first step of survival took Zalanam over: stand still. Who would make the first move? Would the thing attack or retreat? What would he do?

“We are the Alpha and Omega,” the demon cried in an animalistic yell. “The first and the last, the beginning and the end!”

The demon shook its head, waving gooey slobber around it. Some globs landed on the snow, which melted due to the spit. It set its head back, bent its three knees and leaped, claws extended, at Zalanam.

Immediately, Zalanam threw off his glove to reveal a silver dagger in the palm of his hand. He let the hilt slide into his palm and gripped tightly to the weapon. The creature was careless in its first charge; it only extended the arms at its sides, not the one at the front. Zalanam sidestepped with ease and slashed the frontal limb with the dagger’s blade. The demon cried out in anguish as the silver blade pierced its skin. Its blood splattered across the now-spotted snow. It bared its fangs and leaped at Zalanam again, this time leaping much higher. It descended at a blinding speed, just barely missing Zalanam’s shoulder. Zalanam jumped back against one of the dying trees with eyes scanning the area every second.

Out of nowhere, Zalanam was tackled with the side by the demon. The thing rammed its head into Zalanam’s solar plexus. Zalanam clutched his chest and fell on his back against the snow. The demon leaped on him, pinned down by its front arm, and threw a wicked smile at his opponent. He let out a noise Zalanam had never heard before, something truly evil sitting between greed and murder. The thing shot its swine-like head, teeth bared, at Zalanam’s face. Zalanam kicked, more from luck than technique, at the demon’s side, knocking it off balance and on the snow. It jumped up from the snow with a perfectly performed back flip and shot up into one of the stronger trees.

The trees were high and plentiful. Zalanam scanned the abnormally eerie forest around him. The demon was nowhere to be seen or heard. But he knew the beast was still here. Watching and waiting.

Zalanam softly stepped ahead in the snow with dagger in hand. He listened carefully, not looking anywhere but the ground. He folded his hands, walked, and began chanting a silent prayer to himself. The demon, should it still be watching, would see no fear.

As if he had a thousand eyes watching around him, he saw the demon behind him, glaring from the trees behind him. It set two of its legs on two parallel trees and leaned back silently. It gripped two stronger trees behind its legs, let go, released its legs, and shot at a blinding speed, spinning like a cyclone that was heading straight for Zalanam’s back.

The demon had no time to react. Zalanam thrust the dagger behind without even looking back at his kill. His hand began to grow wet and warm as it entered the demon’s vile mouth. The brave dagger pierced the back of the demon’s throat and was met with the outside world once again. The demon didn’t make any noise other then a gasp and choke. It fell, lifeless, into the powdery snow, now tainted crimson red. Zalanam’s clenched hand withdrew from the corpse’s throat, filling with blood like the bucket of one of the village’s wells. The site was a pot filled with emotions. Pride. Worry. Curiosity. Needless to say, none were welcome.

Zalanam looked grimly at his silver dagger, reflecting the sunlight to the trees. It spewed a little billow of steam from the warm blood of its kill. Zalanam cut one of the creature’s ears away, pressed the two items back into his coat, and turned around, ready to return to the town of Majesteed. He trudged through the snowy path through The Needles and returned to the normal path to his home.