The yeti roared, uprooting trees and tearing boulders from the ground. With raw strength, it hurled them through the air straight toward the Frozen Wraith.
The boulders crashed down, exploding on impact. Shards of ice and stone flew everywhere, filling the air with a storm of debris and white smoke.
Unfazed, the Frozen Wraith shot forward. It phased cleanly through the flying rocks and smoke, reappearing behind the yeti in a blur.
Its claw slashed across the beast's thick fur, leaving behind a trail of glittering frost that spread like veins of ice.
The yeti barely flinched. With a violent swing, it ripped a tree from the ground and swung it like a club. The massive trunk whistled through the air—but the Wraith simply phased through it.
It darted in close, claws flashing, and tore across the yeti's bare chest.
Frost bloomed along the wound, and the yeti bellowed in pain.
In rage, it reached out to grab the Wraith—but its hand passed straight through the ghostly body.
The yeti wasn't done. It roared again, a deafening blast that rippled through the snow-covered forest. The shockwave stunned the Wraith, forcing its form to solidify for a brief moment.
That was all the opening the yeti needed. It swung a backhand with full force.
The Wraith was smashed through several trees, leaving a trail of splinters before hitting the ground.
The yeti stomped, cracking the frozen earth beneath it. With both hands, it tore into the ground and flipped massive chunks of frozen dirt upward.
Jagged ice spikes shot through the air toward the Wraith.
But the wraith moved like a blur, weaving between them. In a blink, it appeared above the yeti, summoning a crystalline scythe that shimmered with cold light.
It swung down, aiming for the yeti's neck.
The yeti raised its arm to block. The scythe bit into its fur but couldn't cut through. The blade struck fast, glowing as frost began to spread along the yeti's arm.
The yeti growled as energy drained from its limb.
They clashed again and again—brute strength against ghostly speed. Each time the scythe struck, frost spread wider, draining life. Each time the yeti landed a blow, the Wraith's aura dimmed, its icy glow weakening.
Far from the chaos, buried in snow atop a swaying branch, William lay prone with his rifle.
Through the scope, his gaze never left the yeti's head. Every roar, every screech, every burst of frost—he tracked it patiently, waiting for the perfect moment to pull the trigger.
But time wasn't on his side. The air around him was freezing solid.
Cold gnawed at him. Minutes passed, and his body had gone stiff, almost frozen in place.
His vision blurred. His mind dulled. The temptation to close his eyes, even for a second, grew stronger with every breath.
But William stayed still. One mistake, one wasted second, could ruin everything.
The battle dragged on. Both monsters were wounded—deep gashes, splintered ice—but neither had reached the breaking point William needed.
Then it happened.
The Frozen Wraith suddenly changed tactics. It dived toward the yeti's chest and phased straight through its body.
The yeti froze mid-motion, its roar caught in its throat.
William's eyes widened. 'Now!'
He pulled the trigger.
His sniper roared, the recoil jolting through his frozen arms.
Time seemed to slow as the flaming bullet tore through the snowstorm, cutting a blazing trail across the night sky.
It slammed into the yeti's head—clean, precise, and deadly.
There was no sound, no spray of blood—just a stillness. The bullet passed through effortlessly, leaving a neat hole.
For a brief moment, the yeti stood frozen, unmoving.
Then the Wraith emerged from its body, forming its scythe again. It plunged the blade deep into the yeti's neck.
Crystals exploded outward. The life force drained violently, funneling into the Wraith's glowing form.
Moments later, the giant beast fell to its knees and collapsed into the frozen ground with a thunderous quake.
The battle was over.
The Frozen Wraith stood victorious, its form pulsing with stolen energy.
William stayed prone, barely breathing, praying the Wraith wouldn't sense him.
The Wraith turned its head. Its hollow eyes locked toward his direction.
William's heart jumped into his throat.
But after a few seconds, the spirit turned away and vanished into the blizzard.
William stayed frozen in place, afraid that even the slightest movement would draw it back.
Only after a few seconds had passed did he exhale shakily and climb down from the tree, his hands trembling.
His joints felt like stone—rigid, unresponsive.
Every breath stabbed at his lungs, freezing him from the inside.
When his boots hit the ground, his entire body screamed in protest.
Still, he forced himself forward, crunching through the snow, one heavy step at a time.
Hours of lying still in the freezing wind had drained everything from him. His legs felt hollow. His chest burned with every breath.
But he kept moving. He didn't know what waited by the yeti's corpse—or if the Wraith might return—but he had no strength left to plan.
He just needed that fur.
When he finally reached the fallen beast, William collapsed against its side, panting.
After a short rest, he realized the problem—he had no blade.
He frowned and looked down at his shaking hands. Then, with a flicker of brown light, he shaped the frozen ground beneath him into a crude knife.
He drove it into the yeti's hide—but the blade barely scratched it. No matter how much force he used, it wouldn't pierce through.
William gave up and looked at his rifle.
Right. The railgun mode… maybe I can use that.
He fed mana into the weapon, picturing a knife with his hazy mind.
The rifle hummed. A glowing bayonet of pure mana formed along the barrel.
William blinked in surprise. "It can do that…?"
Without hesitation, he stabbed the bayonet into the yeti's torso.
The fur resisted, dense and unyielding. His frozen grip made every movement sluggish and weak. Each cut felt like a full-body workout.
After minutes of struggles, William only managed to cut a straight line through its stomach.
Then, low howls echoed through the trees.
William froze. He peeked over the yeti's side and saw glowing eyes in the dark.
One pair. Then three. Then more.
A pack of wolves emerged from the snow, silent and deliberate, surrounding the corpse.
Their breath fogged the air. Their eyes burned with hunger.
The lead wolf sniffed, then snapped its head toward William's direction.
It leapt onto the yeti's body, peering over the edge.
But there was nothing.
William was gone—leaving only faint traces behind.
The wolf jumped down, nose to the ground. It smelled something, but the trail vanished. The pack stayed on alert, circling the carcass.
Hidden inside the yeti's body, William lay motionless. The gash he'd carved earlier now served as his only hiding place.
His body trembled from the cold and exhaustion. The air inside was thick with blood and heat, choking his lungs. The stench burned his throat, but he didn't move.
He couldn't—he was wedged tightly inside the creature's body.
The only good thing—the warmth.
The yeti's body was still hot, almost steaming from within. Compared to the frozen air outside, it was heaven.
Sensation slowly crept back into his hands. His chest stopped burning with each breath.
For the first time since entering the Frostlands, he wasn't dying from the cold.
But the wolves stayed. He could hear them feeding—growls, ripping flesh, the crunch of bone.
They were eating through the Yeti, piece by piece. If they dug deep enough, they'd find him.
If they stripped the hide too far, there'd be no fur left to take.
He was trapped.
Wedged between the beast's organs, William's thoughts raced.
'Should I fight my way out?'
'Impossible. I can barely move.'
'Dig underground? Leave the fur and retreat?'
Before he could decide, the night shook again.
A deep roar thundered through the forest—so loud it rattled the yeti's organs around him.
The wolves yelped as a massive boulder slammed into the pack, scattering them across the snow.
The survivors bolted into the dark, fleeing in terror.
Then came the footsteps. Heavy. Steady. Each one crunching closer.
William's breath caught in his chest. Every instinct screamed danger.
Something was out there—something big. The steps stopped right beside the corpse.
The creature let out a low growl, so deep William could feel it through the dead yeti's flesh.
But the sound wasn't triumphant—it was heavier, almost mournful.
Then the world shifted. Wet organs pressed tighter around him as the yeti's body was lifted off the ground.
William clenched his teeth in pain as the pressure crushed his ribs. His lungs screamed for air. The stench of rot and blood filled his throat, making him want to gag.
Whatever was out there had taken the body—and him along with it.
He stayed still, heart pounding, as the heavy footsteps carried him deeper into the storm.
Trapped inside the corpse, William had no idea where he was being taken.