"A murder, a flurry, a... pack!"

Arteus and Ava approached the interior of the deserted village of Qliax with hearts as heavy as the snow that blanketed the ground beneath their weary feet. The once-lively streets were now a silent testament to the prophecy's destructive wake, the echoes of laughter and joy buried beneath layers of ice and despair. The buildings stood like sentinels of a forgotten age, their windows vacant and their doors ajar, whispering tales of a hasty departure or a silent siege. The air was thick with a mournful quietude, the kind that clung to the soul like a shroud.

"Could it be?" Ava whispered, her eyes darting from one abandoned house to another. "Could the villagers have...evacuated?"

Arteus said nothing, his gaze fixed on the town hall's door. It was a simple thing, really, just a wooden slab hanging slightly open, but it spoke volumes. It was an invitation, a silent plea for help, or perhaps a warning. He took a tentative step towards it, his boot crunching the icy snow beneath him. "Not likely," he murmured, his voice a ghostly echo in the stillness. "C'mon, let's check inside."

Ava nodded solemnly, her hand tightening around the furry wrists of her cloak. Together, they approached the door, their breaths misting in the frigid air. The wind had died down to a whisper, leaving the two of them in a bubble of unsettling calm. The only sound was the rhythmic crunch of their footsteps, each step a solemn beat in the symphony of the abandoned.

As Arteus reached for the door, the wood creaked under the weight of his hand, as if protesting the disturbance of the quiet. He pushed harder, his muscles straining against the unseen force that held it closed. The resistance was like a silent sentinel, a guardian that held the secrets of Qliax's fate. The door didn't budge, as if the very essence of the prophecy had seeped into the wood, imbuing it with a strength that defied logic.

With a grunt of determination, he leaned into the door with his whole body, his legs braced against the unforgiving cold of the ground. The hinges groaned a mournful protest, and for a brief moment, it seemed as if the door would hold firm. But then, with a suddenness that startled them both, the barricade gave way, and Arteus stumbled into the dimly lit interior.

In the center of the town hall, the body of a burly man lay sprawled, his back pressed against the door as if he had tried to hold back the very tide of fate itself. His eyes were open wide, a silent scream frozen on his blue-tinted lips, and his arms were splayed out like those of a man crucified by his own fear.

The stench of decay was thick, a miasma that seemed to cling to the very fabric of their clothes. Arteus's eyes watered, and he gagged, his hand shooting to cover his mouth. Ava's nose wrinkled in disgust, her hand mimicking his. The smell was unmistakable—death had claimed Qliax, leaving behind a chilling monument to the prophecy's power.

"I guess we've found the villagers of Qliax," Arteus murmured, his voice a hollow echo in the vast emptiness of the town hall. His words were a grim punchline to the silent joke of their hope. The body before them was not the warm embrace of life they had sought but rather a macabre welcome from the cold hands of fate.

The duo stepped into the room, the door groaning shut behind them with a finality that seemed to suck the remaining warmth from the air. The smell of decay hit them like a wall, a cloying scent that seemed to thicken with every step they took. It was as if the very air itself had turned against them, a noxious fog that clung to the back of their throats and whispered of the horrors they were about to uncover.

The town hall's interior was a grisly tableau of a battle lost to time. Bodies lay scattered across the floor, their limbs twisted in agony, eyes glazed over with the frost of death. The furniture was overturned, the walls marred with the marks of desperate struggle. The scene was one of chaos and despair, a testament to the prophecy's ability to sow fear and destruction in its wake. The stench grew stronger, a symphony of putrefaction that sang of lives cut short and hope extinguished.

Arteus's heart ached as he recognized the same signs of fortification that had been present in Barley—the barricaded doors, the makeshift weapons, the signs of a desperate stand against an unseen enemy. It was clear that the villagers of Qliax had known the prophecy's wrath was coming and had tried to prepare as best they could. But unlike the survivors of Barley, who had just about survived, Qliax's villagers were not so lucky. The beasts of the tundra had breached their defenses, leaving a trail of carnage in their wake.

"Do you think this is everyone?" Ava's voice was a soft whisper, as if she were afraid to disturb the grim silence that had settled over the town. Her eyes searched the room, the shadows playing across her face, reflecting the horror of what they had found.

Arteus turned a corner and immediately gagged, his hand flying to cover his nose and mouth as if to shield himself from the very air. His eyes watered, and he staggered back, the sight before him much to hard to stomach. In the center of what had once been a grand ballroom, now a macabre dance floor, a heap of bodies lay piled upon each other, a gruesome monument to the chaos that had swept through Qliax. The once vibrant space, with its high ceilings and elegant chandeliers, had been transformed into a charnel house, the glittering crystals of the chandeliers casting a morbid light upon the lifeless forms below.

"I think so," Arteus replied, his voice muffled by his hand. He couldn't bring himself to look at the macabre pile any longer. He stepped back, his boots crunching on the frozen floorboards. The sight of the bodies, contorted in a dance of death, was almost too much to bear. Yet, his eyes remained fixed on the scene, as if he could somehow make sense of the madness that had befallen Qliax.

"Tch. Qliax has nothing to offer us," Arteus urged, his voice tight with urgency. "We should keep moving to—"

Before he could finish his sentence though, the ground beneath their feet creaked ominously, the wooden boards giving way with a sickening groan. Suddenly, they were falling, plummeting into darkness. The cold air was knocked out of Arteus's lungs as they plummeted downwards, the world around them a blur of shadow and splinters. They landed with a jarring thud, the impact jolting their bones and sending a fresh wave of pain through their already exhausted bodies.

"What the fuck?" Ava wheezed, her voice strained with pain and confusion. She lay on the cold, hard ground, her body contorted in a way that suggested she had taken the brunt of the fall. Arteus rolled onto his side, his eyes darting around the space they had fallen into. It was a cellar, it seemed, filled with the remnants of Qliax's former life—broken barrels, dusty furniture, and... something else. Something that didn't quite fit with the picture of a peaceful village existence.

As the dust from their fall began to settle, Arteus's eyes adjusted to the dim light that filtered through the cracks above. His gaze fell upon the furry corpse that lay a few feet away.

"Is that... a yeti?" Arteus managed to squeak out, his eyes wide with shock.

But just as Arteus was coming to terms with what they had just stumbled upon, the air was rent with a sound that seemed to shake the very foundations of the earth—the howls of what could only be described as a pack of yeti. The noise was a cacophony of rage and hunger, a symphony of savagery that seemed to resonate within the very bones of the abandoned village. It was a sound that spoke of ancient fears, of a time when mankind had been but a meal for the beasts that lurked in the shadows of the world.

"...oh, for fucks sake." Arteus cursed, lamenting their poor luck as his voice echoed through the frigid air.

-To Be Continued-