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With a grunt, I scramble along the wall, pushing my claws deep into the frozen surface, until I test the snow with a tentative step.

Judging it secure, I retract my claws, plugging into the ankle-deep biting snow.

The trap burrows deep into the permafrost, forcing me to use my warvisor’s magnification to pierce the darkness.

I see the weathered bones and ancient furs of great creatures impaled upon numerous ice spears below—a disgraceful way for my legacy to end.

Using my claws, I carve a long, solid shard from the frozen walls of the crevasse, prodding for traps lurking ahead, though it slows my progress.

With each step, I drag the shard through the snow, pushing ahead cautiously. I refuse to fall prey to such base Virennix trickery. Already, I’ve avoided more of their traps, the ice crumbling into hidden chasms when my shard reveals the treacherous voids beneath.

Ice water drips down my wrist, my flaming blood steadily melting the shard until I’m forced to carve another, and then another.

It’s maddeningly slow. The gnawing desperation from the bond urges me to rush forward like rolling magma, but that would spell certain death in this frozen land of traps and dishonor.

The towering frozen walls widen around me as I scan above, seeing the hunters many leagues above and behind. Good. Perhaps these traps will lessen. Thick snow gives way to slippery ice as the crevasse narrows above, allowing just a single streak of light to pierce the frozen depths.

Despite the chill, the hairs on the back of my neck rise—a warning. Danger approaches; I feel it deep within my fiery core. Yet when I scan the area with my warvisor, cycling through layers of spectral vision, I find nothing.

I slide across the loathsome blue crystalline floor, my senses sharpened like the claws extending from my fingers.

Then, the sound comes.

Titanic cracks of ice and the grinding groan of something immense halt my advance. Molten Rush floods my veins, my heart pounding with the fury of Scarn. Another cracking sound prompts me to spin with claws drawn, finding just walls of ice, cold, impassive.

By Arawnoth, what is this mockery?

A deep tremor shudders the ground beneath my feet, and I glance down. An immense shadow moves below, slithering beneath the ice.

Fool! I’ve allowed myself to be stalked from below!

The warvisor fills my senses with the immensity of the serpentine beast. Thick as a Draxxus tree and nearly as long. It can be only one thing—a sneachir.

The deadliest creature birthed from the frozen heart of Aroth, and now it hunts me, daring to deem me prey.

It shall feel the scorching wrath of the greatest son of Scarn.

Its enormous shadow darkens the ice, circling beneath the surface, before breaking apart the permafrost in its frantic hunger to reach me.

The ice beneath my feet explodes in a hail of frozen shards and icy water.

But I am prepared. Already in motion, I leap back just in time, narrowly avoiding the maned head that erupts from the shattered ice.

Its whisker-like appendages droop from its massive jaws, and its milk-white eyes bore into me with bestial hunger.

But I return its gaze with crimson hatred misting through the hazy cold.

The Rush surges through my muscles, heightening my speed, focusing my mind.

I charge, roaring in defiance—where only a team of seasoned hunters would dare.

The sneachir’s gaping maw shoots out, almost snatching me as my feet slip mid-step on the slick ice. Its fangs, as long as my arm, scrape violently against the arcweave plating on my shoulder.

I retaliate, even in my stumble, my claws raking through its thick mane of icy tendrils, struggling to penetrate the interlocking blue and white scales beneath.

The screech of fangs on armor and claws against scales echoes like a death cry through the crystalline walls as sparks fly.

My momentum drags me across the ice, nearly toppling me despite my claws gouging into the permafrost. At last, I regain my balance, seeing the monster swivel to focus on me—its coming death.

This time, I approach low to the ground, one hand steadying my advance along the icy terrain. But the beast roars, forcing me to shield my face from a barrage of icy water and fallen snow cascading from the opening above.

The sneachir vanishes beneath the sheets of ice, submerged in its element, as an avalanche crashes down around me.

The fury in my veins scalds my insides, screaming to burn away this cursed ice and snow—this unworthy battleground! I scramble from the center of the enclosure, dashing and sliding across the treacherous terrain like a stone skipping on water.

Snow and shards of ice rain down inches from where I stand, as if the heavens themselves conspire to bury me. My skating momentum sends me crashing into the frozen wall, pulling a grunt from my frosty lips as cracks web through the permafrost.

But there’s no time for pain. The sneachir will reemerge, thirsting for the fiery blood coursing through my veins. I shove off the wall with all my might, leaping onto a pile of snow for steadier footing.

The monster’s muscular body flows silently beneath the surface like a leviathan of icy horror made flesh. I brace myself, seeing its circles tighten, drawing close, ready to pounce.

Now!

Its massive jaws burst from the ground like a plasma cannon blast, sending a shower of ice and snow flying. But I hardly notice—my fury burns only for the monster that dares hunt me.

I leap through the air, positioning myself behind its enormous head, letting the weight of my fall and Rush-fueled muscles drive my claws through its mane, grinding between thick scale and biting deep.

Yes! I growl, savoring the inky white blood gushing over my hands.

The sneachir roars in fury, thrashing wildly beneath me, but I hold fast, my grip hard as arcweave.

With savage force, I rip at its scales, my brute strength tearing through its icy hide.

I feel the chill of its life force against my face as the white blood evaporates on my heated skin.

The Rush surges stronger than ever as I carve my way toward the frozen core of the beast, determined to tear its flesh asunder.

A loud crack snaps my attention away, just in time to see the sneachir’s maned, fin-like tail lash out from another fissure in the ice.

It strikes like a titanic whip, smashing into my crossed arms. The impact rips the frigid air from my lungs and sends me crashing into the crystalline walls like a spent bullet.

Agony explodes through my body, but my fury burns it away. Pain is meaningless now. I brace, already expecting its next strike. The creature’s tail sweeps through the ice-choked enclosure like a monstrous scythe.

I wait for it to come within reach, claws ready. As it sweeps toward me, I dig my claws deep into its flesh, letting its own savage strength drive it forward.

My claws screech as they rake against the hard, interlocking scales, struggling to find purchase. The immense force of the beast travels through my arm, rattling my bones, but I grit my teeth and hold fast.

Finally, my claws sink deep, and I feel the icy blood running like streams down my arm. But the sneachir doesn’t relent. It coils its titanic tail around me, encasing me in a living vise of death.

My armor creaks under the immense crushing pressure, the plates straining against my bulging muscles, squeezing tighter, tighter still. Air becomes sparse, my chest constricted, the frozen world pressing in.

The ice cracks as the beast pulls me slowly toward its gaping maw, rows of jagged fangs glistening with frozen hunger. It thinks I am defeated—nothing but a troublesome morsel to be consumed. But I am its death.

The Rush spills from my eyes as I roar in defiance, lashing out like I’m possessed by Arawnoth himself. I roar, defying death itself. My claws are a blinding blur of rage, a whirlwind of searing energy.

Manic laughter escapes my burning lungs as I hammer at the same spot, again and again. The scales give way as I smash them to pieces, pulling the broken remnant away, tearing into the white flesh beneath with my claws.

The sneachir’s roar shakes the walls, a sound of agony and rage, but it cannot shake me loose. I tear into the wound with savage abandon, relishing the torrent of icy blood that coats every inch of me.

I am Arawnoth’s chosen. The one who ignites entropy. There is no ice, no flesh, that can resist my molten fury. Sinew and muscle split apart under my claws, their grotesque layers driving me further, deeper into its body, sawing, hacking, ripping. It’s all the same—all glorious.

I thud to the ground, still wrapped in the beast’s severed tail—a serrated, grotesque mess of milky white gore and blue-tinted meat.

The sneachir tosses frantically, spraying the crystalline surfaces with its blood, its agonized roars filling the icy cavern. I rise slowly, claws drenched in blood and shredded flesh, a smirk curling my lips as I meet its crazed gaze. My eyes burn with Rush, the wisps of crimson steam rising.

This is the fate that awaits all who dare challenge me—unrelenting suffering and death.

Suddenly, the gnawing concern from my bonded female lances through my mind like a searing laser.

It freezes my heart mid-beat, paralyzing my steps with its rank wrongness.

Her fear, once a distant echo, has now morphed into outright terror.

Foreign and weak, it does not belong. My mind reels against it, seeking to expunge the invading emotion.

That familiar creeping cold returns, numbing my fingers and crawling toward my chest, threatening to smother the fire that fuels me.

I hate it. Every part of it is everything I am not.

My very soul rebels against it. My bonded female delivers it, but I do not allow it. I feel a part of me reaching out to her, blazing through a void, driving back the darkness that clings to her, igniting her frightened spirit.

I sense her light—a flickering silver flame, distant but there. It’s close to mine but should be closer. In my revulsion, I surge the gap, forcing my will into hers. Our fires mingle in a blazing torrent of blistering red, tipped with mercury.

I don’t fully understand what I’ve done—only that something has changed. There’s a new heat, more intense than anything I’ve ever felt before, burning from within.

My eyes snap open, vision almost consumed by the billowing plumes of my crimson and silver Rush pouring forth. The sneachir writhes, seeking to retreat, knowing its doom approaches.

I reach out a hand and project this new intensity within, bubbling to be released. I must be half-mad as old Ignixis, but instinct compels me.

Roaring flames burst from the creature’s maw, so blinding white it’s difficult to look upon.

The sneachir flails in agony, its massive form buckling beneath the onslaught as its flesh chars to blackened husks from the inside out.

Its milky eyes melt from their sockets, dripping down its monstrous skull before it crashes lifeless to the ground.

Only its writhing death throes remain—a pathetic echo of its former might.

The acrid scent of burning flesh fills the air, smoke thickening around me as I lower my hand, staring at it in disbelief. Elation replaces confusion as realization dawns on me—this is the power I was promised!

Arawnoth’s blessing!

The merest fraction of his torrid wrath brought to reality. This is it! This is the power I will use to reclaim my destiny, boiling the blood from Krogoth’s veins and become who I was always meant to be—The War Chieftain, the rightful heir to my father, Gorexius.

My Rush dissipates, the joy flooding through me washing it away.

I reach out toward the sizzling corpse of the sneachir, attempting to pour more fire into it.

But there’s nothing—just emptiness. Even reaching that strange place of fires is beyond me now, like grasping at vapor.

I frown with frustration, but I know this is but a taste of what’s coming.

I strain. My muscles bulge with effort, dragging the titanic remains of the sneachir from the icy waters onto the frozen surface.

Once I’m finished here, I will send hunters to retrieve this body.

Such a fine kill. I shall craft cloaks from its scales and feast on its flesh for my coming Mortakin-Tok celebrations.

We shall be adorned in its scales, a mantle of my triumph.

But I feel her now—my bonded mate, somewhere not far to the northeast. She’s still in trouble, though her terror is gone, her body still freezes in this wretched tundra.

I waste no time passing the enclosure, continuing through the crevasse as it narrows soon again. I test for traps, not trusting the soft snow crouching beneath my armored feet, although I find none. Seems the Virennix hunters weren’t as foolish as I to stumble into a sneachir’s lair.

Soon, I emerge from the tunnel-like passage. The full force of the icy wind and snow swirling through the air and stinging my skin. A steep climb awaits me, a treacherous wall of slippery icy snow covering layers of permafrost.

I groan as my sharp claws dig into the walls, unable to stop even if I wanted. The bond gnaws at my gut, demanding that I reach her.

The ice seers my flesh as I, in turn, melt any that touches me. This land and I are opposed by our very natures, like magnetic forces repelling one another. But I will not be repulsed, not until I have her in my grasp. The only question that claws at my mind, the one that sets my blood aflame:

Which female is it?