There were bells.
They rang at the edge of creation, where systems went to die.
The snow here was black.
It drifted upward instead of down, dissolving into ash as it rose toward a sky cracked with red lightning. At the center of the void stood a throne carved from broken rules and shattered morality.
Someone sat on it.
Chains wrapped around his arms and horns alike, forged from failed worlds and forgotten Christmases. His breath came out as frost—and smoke.
******* opened his eyes.
"So," he growled, voice scraping across reality.
"It's starting again."
Before him floated a screen no mortal could see.
[Santa System: New Candidate Registered]
[World: *****-Δ-317 (****** Node)]
[Status: ****.]
******* laughed.
It echoed like bones in a sack.
"They always start weak," he said, rising from the throne. The chains rattled, screaming as they dragged behind him. "You never learn, do you?"
The void rippled.
A presence answered—not a body, not a voice, but authority.
[Balance must be maintained.]
******* spat black snow.
"Balance?" He slammed a clawed hand into the air. The screen shattered, reforming a second later. "You call this balance? You let them judge again."
[The World is Naughty.]
"That's because you keep resetting it," ******* snarled. "You teach them nothing. You punish, you reward, and then you erase."
He stepped forward, chains tightening.
"Every Santa ends the same way. Broken. Hollow. Pretending mercy fixes rot."
The bells rang again—this time backwards.
Somewhere, deep within the System's core, a memory stirred.
A man in red kneeling in blood-soaked snow.
A sack overflowing with coal.
A smile cracking under the weight of centuries.
[This Candidate Is Different.]
******* froze.
Slowly, a grin split his face.
"Oh?" he said softly. "You chose a human again?"
The void trembled.
Far away, in a cold London alley, snow began to fall.
****** ***** felt a chill he couldn't explain.
And somewhere beyond bells and systems,
someone started sharpening coal into knives.