A flash of light and Wulf finds himself falling.
"AAAAAAA!"
He crashes into the snow with a heavy thump.
"Damn... what the fuck was in my drink last night..." Wulf groaned, sitting up.
A split second of dazed confusion passes. He blinks again, eyes adjusting. Around him: nothing but a barren, snowy wasteland. The flurry around him blurs everything beyond ten meters, and yet...
"Why aren't I freezing to death?" he mutters, glancing down at his nude body. The cold still bites, but he should be way colder. "And what did I fall... from...?"
Wulf's gaze shifts upward.
It takes a moment, but then it clicks. He had fallen from a massive creature. What horrifies him, though, are the appendages jutting from its body. Wailing faces covering its underside like a graveyard.
"What the fu- WHAT THE FUCK?!"
An agonized, pain-filled face stares directly back at him from the creature's belly. Gnarled, frostbitten hands reach from one of its legs and Wulf stumbles backward in a panic.
A soft wailing sound above him yanks his attention upward.
Not one, but three gigantic eyes loom overhead, staring down with icy pupils.
Strangely, there's a flicker of recognition, but it slips away under terror and confusion. Shouting, Wulf spins around and bolts, sprinting through the snow.
Moments later, he's panting and wheezing, legs sinking to the knees in snow. His "sprint" is more of a lurching, slow-motion jog.
Each breath hangs in the air as a frosty cloud. Still, his exposed skin only mildly tingles.
"SHIT!"
The creature wails again. A sound like a siren grieving a loss. The chill that runs through Wulf isn't from the cold. It's primal. Instinctual. Fear.
Then comes the sound. A crack. A thump. The creature's foot lands.
The snow erupts beneath its weight, spraying his back and hurling shards of ice and wind meters ahead.
Wulf keeps running, not daring to look back.
In the far distance, through the thinning flurry, a boat rocks back and forth. Frosted over with a single sail painted blue, it bobs on what looks like the edge of a frozen shoreline. A bulky figure moves frantically aboard it.
"HEY! HEEEY! WAIT FOR ME!"
The man turns briefly, then moves even faster.
"HEY! WAIT!" Wulf shouts, lungs on fire.
The snow thins out beneath him, giving way to chunks of floating ice. Concerned but with no other option, Wulf sprints across it, trying to stay flat-footed and spread his weight evenly. It slows him down into an awkward, waddling shuffle, but it keeps the ice intact and him from falling.
'Ow! Damn this person!'
"HEY! STOP! I'M ALMOST THERE!"
The sail drops.
Instead of reaching for the rope to haul up the anchor, the man draws his sword- and cuts it.
The rope flails. The boat rocks. Then, cracking, creaking, the vessel begins to drift away from the edge.
Wulf locks eyes with him.
"You bastard," Wulf snarls, his pace quickening.
Behind him, another wail. Louder, closer.
Its massive foot slams down on the ice. A sharp crack splits the air.
Then comes the wave. A tidal surge beneath the beast's heel, lifting and breaking the ice Wulf stands on away toward the boat.
Wulf's eyes widen.
"Haha! Hell yeah, you bastard!" Wulf shouts, grinning wildly as he rides the ice chunk. "You fucked up now!"
He doesn't need to see the man's face to know he's stunned. Frozen stiff before hurling himself forward to brace for impact.
The entire ship rocks as the wave slams into its side. Wulf leaps from the ice just as it crashes into the prow, snapping off a carved wooden bear's head.
His body slams hard onto the deck, knocking the wind out of him, but he was in.
'Shit, did I fracture a rib...?' Wulf winced as he scrambled to his feet, his side hurting.
Not fast enough.
Heavy footsteps pounded across the deck, and two thick, leathery gloves slammed into him, pinning him against the edge.
"Hey, hey, hey! Stop! That thing is going to-"
"What the fuck are you?!" the man shouted.
Wulf finally got a good look at him.
An old man with a wild white beard and wide, terrified eyes. And judging by how solidly he moved, the old man's strength was real.
Where was his sword?
The man reached for Wulf's leg, clearly intending to toss him overboard.
Panic flared, and Wulf lashed out, trying to push him back. He barely expected it to work with his positioning.
Instead, the old man was lifted clean off his feet and hurled across the deck, slamming into the opposite side of the ship.
Two, maybe three meters. Unnatural.
Wulf stood there, chest heaving, stunned. He looked down at his hands. Then across the deck at the crumpled figure of the man.
Another wail and Wulf's gaze snapped upward. All three abominations were still there. Watching and unmoving. His hands reached blindly for balance as he staggered across the deck toward the man.
"Hey. Hey, fucker. Wake up!"
Wulf glanced toward the bow, the direction the ship was drifting. It looked clear. Sort of. He had no idea how boats worked or what would happen if it hit the wrong chunk of floating ice. And the river in front of them, between two towering cliffs on both sides, was filled with ice chunks.
'This fucker needs to get up!'
The old man groaned, slowly shifting.
Wulf dropped beside him, grabbing his arms and shaking him.
They locked eyes, panic flashing in both, and they gripped each other's arms.
"STOP IT! We need to get the fuck out of here!"
The old man froze.
Wulf had no idea if he would go along.
"Can you steer us out?" Wulf gestured frantically toward the stern. "Away! Get away?!"
"Yes! I can!" the old man replied, voice trembling.
"Then why the hell- ugh, fine! Just get us the hell out of here before those things move again!"
Wulf let go and backed off, panting. They held each other's gaze as the old man rose, distrustful and tense.
The man grunted, then cautiously jerked his head to the side to check the creature. He moved steadily toward the back of the ship.
"Sit down at the front," he muttered. "Fuckin' away from me."
The old man grabs a large oar, glancing fearfully at the unmoving creature and him before focusing on the river ahead.
Wulf nods, hands returning to his side. One lifts up, clutching his side, and he looks down. It was turning blue and purple with bruising, and it was a little hard to breathe without shooting pains. His feet were scuffed and scratched up, burning. So was his back.
With some of the adrenaline wearing off, his hands and breathing were becoming shaky. His vision was becoming a little blurry as everything was catching up, and his gaze drifted around the deck.
Several spots for sitting. No bags or piles of food or clothing, though.
"Old man, do you have spare clothes?"
A moment of silence, and they locked eyes again.
'Don't tell me this fucker is going to deny me clothes... That's a death sentence!'
Death sentence, and yet he still wasn't really all that cold.
"The seat next to you. Open it," the old man said.
"What? The seat...?"
Wulf's gaze drifted to the wooden, what he thought was just a raised pedestal or something for better rowing. No, turns out there was a lining. With his good arm, opposite of his injury, he lifts the lid and spots bundled-up clothing and bags of stuff.
"Spares," the old man shouted over ice cracking upon impact. "Take what you need. I can't promise it will fit."
Wulf stared at the old man. For a man who was just trying to kill him, this shift was throwing him off-beat. He wouldn't complain, though. His side was still swelling, and his body shaking.
'Where the fuck am I?' Wulf asked himself, watching as the creatures disappeared behind the icy cliffs and an open sea appeared around the corner ahead.