Winter 2024 Holiday Themed MGP Contest

[Underguard]

Hello all, we are having a Winter/Holiday Season themed MGP Contest!

Prompt: Choose one of your characters from any dimension and write a story about how they spend a particular holiday and any shenanigans that follow.

Guidelines

• Only one submission is allowed per player. You may not enter with more than one character
• Submissions will be primarily judged based on originality, flow of the story, humor and connection to the greater Palladium Megaverse.
• You can include other PCs in your story, be it your own or other players (with their permission), however, only the writer will be awarded prizes so make sure to submit your own story.
• Stories should be a minimum of 500-1,000 words and no more than 5,000 words. If they go beyond that is fine.
• You may include one image to help reinforce you story, but not multiple images. This is a writing contest, not a picture book.
• Grammar and spelling are important to create a quality submission, so you need to seriously proofread your work!
  • Online, free grammar-checking service.
  • Guide to grammar.

Explanatory Notes:
This contest will end on January 31st, 2025. The only disqualifying factor is submitting more than one PC per player, doing so will result in both submissions being disqualified; this will be done after the contest closes. Underguard will add a poll to the contest, and the TPK RPG community will vote for their favorite submission. (Time to bribe your fellow players!)

Prizes
1st Place: +7 MGP
2nd Place: +5 MGP
3rd Place: +3 MGP
Consolation Prize: +1 MGP for Entering

[Mad Dawg]

A Holiday with the Hostess: A Phase World Story

Unidentified spacecraft have little to fear when flying through the Yayamama Star System. Granted, endemic warfare between the two habitable planets in the system, Yaya and Mama, means that vessels passing through the system might get caught in the crossfire between two battling armadas. But this same endemic warfare also means that there are fewer space pirates in the Yayamama System than in other parts of the Three Galaxies. In general, a visiting craft does not have to worry about being attacked unprovoked, particularly if a ship's captain is prudent enough to maintain open comms and is ready to identify themselves when hailed.

When a sled, for lack of better terms, flew over Yaya, it did not answer repeated attempts to hail it. Even more alarming to the planetary defense forces tracking it, there was no sign of an engine. It seemed to coast through the atmosphere on its own magical powers. Fearing that it was a new weapon launched from Mama, and fearing their lord and deity the Herder, the urqos promptly opened fire. The sled managed to weave around the opening volleys, but it was inevitably shot down, crashing onto the Chirpa Plateau, the domain of the Wanderer and the Hostess. The Herder's urqos promptly notified the Wanderer, who was in between expeditions outside the Yayamama System, of the intruder. Sensing an adventure, he promptly headed to the crash site with a small band of his own worshippers.

It took less than an hour to get there. While the soldiers filed out of their Maniple APC the Wanderer approached the wrecked craft with his magical clubs drawn. Be careful, Jonny. Even if I don't see any signs of life? Pshaw. But the Wanderer was wrong, for there was a single survivor who slowly climbed out of the wreckage, dressed in a heavy satin coat and stocking cap as red as the Wanderer's stone-like skin. However, unlike the Wanderer's long black hair, this visitor's hair was a white that bordered on translucent and flowed from his head in gentle curls. Even his beard was curled like that of a Babylonian deity (several of whom the Wanderer considered his good and dear friends).

The visitor slowly stood up with his hands raised. "I come in peace."

The urqos kept their energy rifles trained on the visitor, but the Wanderer put his magical clubs in one hand, and extended the other. "Greetings hardy urqos! What is your name?"

"Nicholas, you can call me- I'm sorry did you call me an urqos? What in the mega-verse is an urqos?"

"Urqos is the honorific title we use to describe mortals in this star system," the Wanderer explained cheerfully. "I am Juan Echo, the God of Travelers," he pointed his club at the urqos, "and these are my loyal followers."

Nicholas stared at the troop. Although he was unfamiliar with the Yayamama System itself he recognized the urqos as a mixture of different alien species: there were humans that looked like him, wolfen, a pair of noro, and even a sinestrian. Sounds more like a catch-all than an honorific.

"So Urqos Nicholas," the Wanderer continued, "what brings you to our planet?"

"Just call me Nick," the visitor replied.

"I could not. It would be disrespectful to both of us for me to not acknowledge that you are a noble mortal and not a deity."

The logic of the honorific was more than Nicholas could take in, especially while recovering from his crash. But he managed to say, "I'm not an urqos, as you say."

The Wanderer arched an eyebrow. "A fellow deity? I suppose it makes sense since you survived crashing in such a flimsy craft. Tell me what pantheon you belong to."

"I don't really belong to a pantheon. I suppose that I am just on my own. Most people that know me would say that I'm a saint, not a deity."

"A saint? Fascinating." The Wanderer signaled for his urqos to lower their weapons. "Well urqos or saint, you are now our welcome guest. We will take you back to my tower so you can rest and recover. I know that my sister would be honored to offer you a meal, a bath, and all the other comforts that she can provide." Yeah I will. "In the meantime, my urqos will see what they can do about repairing your craft so you can continue your journey."

Nicholas looked up at the Wanderer gratefully. As weird as their customs may be, they seem to be Nice. "That is very kind of you. Alright then, let's head to your home."

With another gesture, four of the urqos went about collecting the wreckage of Nicholas's sled and loaded it into the back of the Maniple. During the trip back to the Wanderer's tower Nick, as he insisted on being called, explained how he ended up on Yaya. It was his first time exploring this part of the Three Galaxies; he knew very little about the people (he made a point of avoiding the word urqos); he was on a benevolent mission to share gifts and goodwill.

That goodwill was immediately reciprocated when they arrived to the Wanderer's tower, where his twin sister, Joan, was waiting with an entourage of her own urqos. She looked almost identical to the Wanderer: both were tall and slender, with the same dark red skin that looked like polished stone, long dark hair falling off their shoulders, and the same exuberance. Old Nick felt at ease immediately, as he was offered a cup of warm herbal tea. Two of the Hostess's handurqos immediately took his battered satin coat and replaced it with a thin silk robe.

"I'll have your clothes patched up while you get cleaned up," she said leading Nick through the tower and to his personal suite. "In the meantime, relax. You can clean up, take a nap, and when you're ready, you can come down and join the banquet we'll hold in the main hall."

"This is all too Nice of you," Nick said.

"It is not," the Hostess said emphatically. "I am the Goddess of Hospitality. This is what I live to do. Now get comfortable and come back downstairs with an appetite."

A few hours later, Nick entered the hall to see a full feast underway. Hundreds of urqos filled benches while others carrying large tureens paced up and down the rows to pile food on everyone's plates. No one had to ask for anything, it was provided immediately. Nick would have been content to take a seat in one of the back benches and take in the spectacle, but the Hostess immediately signaled for him to join her on the dais. Before he even sat down, handquros had served him a quarter of a roast bird, a slice of a thick cheese and vegetable casserole, salad, pillowy rolls, and a sauce that made him warm in places he never expected.

Before he ate, he again thanked the Hostess for her graciousness. "You really didn't have to put together all of this in my honor."

"Of course I do," the Hostess insisted, personally filling his goblet with wine. "But I must confess, this isn't just for you. We're also celebrating me and my brother's birthday! LIVE IT UP, MORTALS!"

Everyone in the hall raised their goblets and cheered in honor of their deities.

"Speaking of your brother," Nick asked, toasting the Hostess, "where is he?"

"I think he's in the garage with some of his urqos repairing your craft. He will probably join us when he's done. Unless they decide to... celebrate a successful project on their own."

Nick couldn't explain why, but he instinctively felt that there was something Naughty about the way that the Hostess said the word 'celebrate'. That feeling was confirmed in a way when an hour into the feast, Nick heard a loud boom. Everyone turned to the large windows and saw Nick's craft speed upwards into the sky, climbing faster and faster until it had left the planet Yaya's atmosphere. Those in the hall could only chuckle.

"M-m-my sleigh..." Nick stammered.

"That's Jonny for you," the Hostess said taking a sip from her wine. "He's a roamer. Give him the chance to leave the planet and he'll disappear for years on his adventures."

"D-did you say years?

"Oh yeah, sometimes he's gone for decades. There have been whole generations of worshippers that never met their patron deity because he was offworld. Don't worry. We'll find a way to get you back on your trip as soon as possible. Maybe you'll even find Jonny and he'll give you back your craft."

"I don't think you understand. I need my sleigh to travel," Nick started. "It's magical, self-propelled so that I can travel across an entire planet in a matter of hours." He then explained about how he provided gifts to those he deemed Nice, as well as what he left for those he deemed Naughty; how he managed to differentiate the two; how he managed to carry all that cargo in a single sleigh; how he managed to cover multiple star systems in a single evening.

To the average urqos, Nick's story would have sounded fantastical. It was the type of thing only a credulous small child could believe. But the Hostess listened attentively and never showed any signs of doubt. After all, as a goddess in her own right, and especially as a member of the Yayamama Pantheon, she was accustomed to the ludicrous. She simply asked, "And you do all of this in one night?"

"Not quite," Nick said with a wry smile. "It usually takes several months to go to every planet on my list, but I try to make sure that I visit them all once every year. Each planet likes to make a holiday of it, according to their own local customs of course."

"And if you were to come back to the planet Yaya, you'd do it again on the same day next year?"

"That's a big if given everything that's happened, but yes, that's how it would work."

"And if I understand this correctly, you'd like us to exchange gifts with one another as well during that time."

"That would be the Nice thing to do, wouldn't it?"

"I suppose so," the Hostess said. She smiled and sipped her wine. "That would be a nice custom to add to our liturgical calendar."

"Nice, indeed," Nick agreed.

The Hostess took another sip and then made the announcement. "Listen up urqos! From now on, on this day we are all going to exchange gifts with one another in honor our new friend Nicholas!" Everyone in the hall raised their glasses and cheered. It was Nice.

"BUT IF ANYONE IN THIS HALL DECIDES TO GIVE ME ONE COMBINATION GIFT IN HONOR OF NICK AND MY BIRTHDAY I WILL SMITE THEM AND THEIR ENTIRE CLAN! UNDERSTOOD?!?!" The urqos raised their glasses again, not really cheering this time. It was decidedly not Nice, but Nick could not determine if it was Naughty.

"But what will I do about making visits to the other planets that I was supposed to visit during this trip?" Nick asked. "There will be a lot of sad kids across the Three Galaxies if they don't get their toys this year."

The Hostess thought about this for a moment, and in the back of her head she could hear her brother's response. I suppose it was reckless to run off with your guest's only means of transportation. You think, Jonny? C'mon Joni, you know I'm good for it. And after a moment, she said, "I don't want to make your duties sound trivial, because you are clearly a noble deity."

"There's a but coming here," Nick interjected. Yeah there is.

"This is exactly the type of adventure Jonny would throw himself into. And he might actually do a good job."

"I don't know about that."

"Well, you said that your sleigh practically flies itself. He might need to steer it a little, but you made it sound like it is easy enough to learn how to do that. And your magical equipment, likewise, pretty much do the work on their own."

"I suppose so," Nick said warily.

"I'm not saying that my brother is planning to replace you," she said to Nick's relief. "But he can do a fine job of being your substitute for a little bit (just so long as he doesn't give those urqos' parents gifts of there own)." Everyone that asked for a sibling is going to get one!

Begrudgingly, at first, Nick settled into his suite at the Wanderer and the Hostess's tower. In fact, he did enjoy himself. After the banquet, the Hostess invited him to her solarium for tea, and the watched as the urqos engaged in their own celebrations for the afternoon. Watching a group play some sort of ball game, he asked her, "And this is part of your birthday celebrations."

"It is," she explained. "Our birthday is a holy holiday for all our worshippers, and they will celebrate them both here with us and with their families across the plateau for the next two weeks. I'm big on parties, if you haven't noticed."

Nick could only laugh in agreement.

In the subsequent days, Old Nick participate in all the grand Yayamama traditions. He stuffed game birds with nuts and aromatics and roast them over an open fire. He helped the Hostess make sauce to slather the birds in after they had been cooked. He offered many toasts to the Hostess and even a few to her wayward brother. It was after one of those toasts, in a banquet full of very toasted urqos that he looked to the Hostess and asked her more about the customs on the planet Yaya.

"It feels like this is the only holiday your worshippers have, given how they celebrate."

"Not at all," she replied clinking a flagon of mead. "We also celebrate the birthdays of our other siblings: Lo and La Echo, the Herder and the Gelder, celebrate their birthday next month; Jeb and Pam, the Grill Master and Epicurean, had theirs two months ago; and we even take time to honor our father Lama Sol on his birthday. Those are minor holidays here, though, since they live in different parts of the planet with their own worshippers. And then there are the secular holidays where we celebrate the anniversaries of major battles and building projects, but those only last about two or three generations. We stopped celebrating the construction of this tower after the last person who was part of its construction died 300 years ago."

"I guess there is no point in celebrating something that people don't remember," Nick said.

His cheeks turned a brighter a shade of red as he finished his flagon. By the end of the night his nose started to glow brighter than that of his favorite pet. At least that is what he said to Joan as she led him to the backrub circle. And then came the next day's celebration, which included an infinity conga line and champagne sabre dueling (the winner is the one that successfully pops the cork of their opponents bottle) among other games. There was even more drinks and more food slathered in sauce.

Even after the birthday celebrations had concluded, the Hostess continued to host feasts in Nick's honor. And he couldn't protest, as the Hostess insisted that she was simply carrying out her duties as the Goddess of Hospitality. Nick could not find a fault in her graciousness and concluded that she was in fact, very Nice.

Then one day, the Wanderer returned. The air defense troop on the Chirpa Plateau reported they had spotted the sled approaching Yaya's orbit and tracked it until it had landed safely. It was not the best landing, and judging from the condition of the sled, there had not been many good landings in the two months since he had left Yaya. Nick was ready to berate the Wandering God, but held his tongue. While Juan had surely done many Naughty things, at least he came back as his sister promised.

"Nicholas! I hope my sister has treated you well while I've been testing out your sleigh."

"She has," he replied curtly.

"I am glad. And I must say, I have a much deeper appreciation for you after doing the work you carry out every year. You really are a saint for all the joy you spread across the Three Galaxies."

"And beyond," Nick added.

Juan smiled bashfully, for he understood that despite spreading Nick's goodwill across the Three Galaxies, he had earned a place on Nick's Naughty List. "To show my appreciation to you, I want to give you a special gift."

He went back to the sled and grabbed a red velvet bag, one of Nick's magical items that he used to bring gifts to children across the mega-verse, and reached in. After a moment, he pulled his arm out. In his hand was a large dull black rock, to the dismay of both of them. "That's not how this is supposed to work, is it?"

Nick did not reply, instead running to the sled and grabbing the other magical item there, a blank piece of parchment. As he scanned it up and down his name appeared in glowing red letters, and beneath his name the word 'NAUGHTY'. As he read the word in disbelief more words magically appeared on the parchment, a list of all his sins from recent months: gluttony, gratuitous profanity, littering, petty vandalism, and public urination among many other bad acts. He could not argue, as he had done all of it as part of the customs of celebrating the Hostess's birthday.

Nick turned to the Wanderer still holding the parchment. Juan Echo's name appeared on the parchment, Naughty as well, no surprise. But what shocked Nick was the number of times the word 'adultery' was listed below. He then turned to the Hostess, for surely someone as gracious as her would be Nice, but she was not. The word 'debauchery' was in bold letters and underlined three times; he could not argue with that assessment. He continued to stare at the parchment, hoping that he would find someone, anyone, in the entire planet that could make his Nice List. He did not like what he saw.

"Joan, I would like to thank you for your hospitality, but I must be on my way."

"Will we see you again next year?" she asked in response.

"Probably not for your birthday. But I will be happy to return when I need a vacation, especially one from my wife." And with a click of his heels, he hopped on his sleigh and flew off to his home planet.

"I really hope he comes back some time, he was a sweet man."

"I hope he decides to bring his wife along, I'm sure she'd enjoy staying with us as well."

"Dibs."

[Sinner-G]

A Ghost Story - Century Station setting

Nancy Andrews sighed as she closed the door to her apartment and reminded herself, I signed up for the shift because I did not have anything else to do on Christmas Eve...and because I could use the money.

She knew that being a waitress did not pay much when she took the job, but there were not a lot of jobs out there that she could work part-time and still attend her classes. Some of her classmates worked the same hours as dancers at gentlemen's clubs and made far more money. She knew she could do the same, she used to be a cheerleader in high school, but she refused to demean herself that way.

She caught a glimpse of motion out of the corner of her eye and turned quickly, worried what it was. She relaxed when she realized it was just a spider, then frowned, what was a spider doing awake on Christmas Eve? They should all be hibernating for the winter with the other cold-blooded creatures.

The spider skittered around the corner into her kitchenette. Nancy took off her coat and hat, hung them in the closet, and turned back toward the rest of the apartment, then froze as she glimpsed someone standing there.

The figure seemed to be a man entirely made of spiderwebs, not covered in them as she could see the lights from the window shining through him. It was holding a metal rod roughly approximately as tall as she was. She shivered as the figure moved.

The figure spoke, the barest whisper of sound that she had to strain to make out, "By name and by blood, of the line of Barnansi you are, as I was. In the end, I failed my service to Anansi the Spider, before I can rest, I must find an Heir for Anansi's Fang."

Nancy wet her lips and swallowed, "Who are you?"

The figure replied, "In life, I was known as Barnasi Drew, a student of archeology. I was called to take up this weapon of our ancestor Barnansi, to become a champion against demons and other evils that threaten this world. I became Spiderweb, a hero to the world, but in the end just a man.

Nancy shivered again as his words made clear she was in the presence of a ghost.

She said, "I have heard of Spiderweb, a superstrong acrobat in the Omegas of Century Station who could generate webbing. You vanished months ago, but I did not know you were dead."

The figure says, "I am near the end of my strength, but the choice is yours. Take up the staff and speak its name and you will be the new champion of Anansi. You may elect not to, being a champion is often a thankless job. You may pass the staff on to your children if you have them and when the day comes, one of them may take it up. You may return the staff to Africa and let it find another line to bear the burden. You may not use it for evil or selfish ends, for Anansi will not allow such. In the end, the staff is my Christmas gift to you, a chance to make a difference."

With those words, the webbing collapsed into motes of dust and the staff fell to the floor with a clang.

Nancy sighed and complained, "If someone was going to give me a Christmas Gift that is a lot of responsibility, why couldn't it have been a puppy?"

[Zilch]

The Zilch Who Ate Christmas

Every Moo
Down in Moo-ville
Liked Christmas a lot…

But Mr. Zilch,
The space monster blue,
Did NOT!

Mr. Zilch hated Christmas!
The whole Christmas season!
Now, please don’t ask why.
No one quite knows the reason.

It could be his eyes were all googly and odd.
That would roll around weirdly, each time he would nod.

But I think that the most likely reason of all
May have been that his brain was two sizes too small.


But,
Whatever the reason,
His eyes or his blues,
He stood there on Christmas Eve, hating the Moos,
Staring down from his cave with a sour, Zilch frown
At the warm lighted windows below in their town.
For he knew every Moo down in Moo-ville so bright,
Was busy now, leaving out milk and cookies tonight.

"And they're to sleep in their barns!" he growled at those Moos.
"And Santa is coming! All while they snooze!"
Then he snarled, with his Zilch voice gasping,
"I MUST eat those cookies! Before Santa comes grasping!"

For,
Tomorrow, he knew...
... All the Moo girls and boys
Would wake bright and early. They'd rush for their toys!
And then! Oh, all gone! Oh gone! Gone! Gone! Gone!
Every cookie in Mooville, all gone! Gone! Gone! Gone!

Then the Moos, young and old, would sit down to a feast of hay.
And they'd chew! And they'd chew!
And they'd CHEW!
CHEW!
CHEW!
CHEW!
"They would chew on tasteless hay, they'd do it all day,
Indigestible and dull, a buffet of passe!"


And ТНЕN
They’d dо something
He liked least of all!
Every Moo down in Moo-ville, the dense and the knowing,
Would stand close together, with Christmas lights glowing.
They'd stand nose-to-nose. And all cows start lowing!

“They'd moo! And they'd moo!
AND they'd MOO! MOO! MOO! MOO!”
And the more Zilch thought of this Moo-Christmas-Low,
The more Zilch thought, “I must wreck this whole show!”
“Why, for a two centuries I've put up with this thing!
The cookies to me these moo cows should bring!
...Tonight!”

The blue monster began to plot and to scheme
Zilch connived a most terrible dream
A terrible plan, a most nefarious deed,
To steal every cookie, to feed his greed
And every Moo cow, with their awful hay feed
Would never call Santa, they’d never have need.
He’d forever stop those awful festive lights
That shone so brightly, through all of his nights!

“I know just what to do!” Mr. Zilch chuckled down low.
And with a flick of his wrist, shadows began to grow.
He shrouded himself in a cloak of dark night. And vanished into shadow, that monstrous, blue fright.
“With this darkness,” he hissed, “none shall see my true face, And I'll steal every cookie, without a single trace!”

He soared through the night, a shadow in gloom.
And landed unseen, as Moo-ville's doom.
He crept through the streets, a whisper on the breeze.
His googly eyes glowing, like moonlight amid trees.

All the barns were dark. And snow fell from the air.
All the Moos were snoring, all utterly unaware
When he came to the first barn, one nearest his lair.
"This is stop number one," Mr. Zilch hissed with a grin,
And he opened the barn door, and stepped on within.

Then he crept past cows, their snores soft and deep,
And into the living room, did the Zilch monster creep.
He could smell the cookies, and milk very near.
And he'd beaten Santa to it, that much was clear.

He crept into the room, that dark Christmas night,
And saw the Christmas tree, a dazzling sight.
But those blinking lights, they hurt his googly eyes,
That festive display was a most horrid surprise!
"Those lights must be stopped!" he growled at their hurt,
"The first things to go! I'll make them inert!"

He reached out his claws, and darkness he spun,
A shroud to engulf, and extinguish the fun.
But the lights, they just shimmered, a defiant display,
As if mocking his efforts, come what may!
For the Moos, in their wisdom, had loved the light,
And this blinking display, defied his night!
They glowed with a power, to repel any shade,
And Zilch, in the darkness, felt strangely dismayed.

Defeated, he slumped, Zilch felt his own doom.
The lights, they continued to brightly illume,
A beacon of cheer, a defiant display.
They kept poor Zilch, and his greed, at bay.

Then a wicked grin spread across his blue face.
For up his metaphorical sleeve, he had pulled out an ace.
“If I can't conquer the light,” he declared with a sneer,
“I'll simply extinguish the source, oh yes my dear!”

With a powerful tug, he pulled at the cord,
Once out from the socket, darkness was restored.

In darkness once more, he chuckled with glee,
And finally, the cookies were visible to see.
A plate piled high, and a glass milk cold,
And his stomach it grumbled, with hunger untold.

He reached for a cookie, his hunger intense,
But then, he heard a small, soft sound commence.
He looked, and there, by the tree, in the dim,
Was little Cindy-Lou Moo, staring at him.
She made cow eyes at him, with a look of such fright,
That Zilch, for a moment, forgot his delight.

This Moo girl had woken, by Zilch's own smell
Now standing before him, she saw him quite well!
She stared at the monster, wide-eyed and small,
And then, with a mighty, surprising squall,
She began to moo loud, with all of her might,
It echoed and boomed through the house that night.

The other Moos heard, and they woke in a fright.
They tumbled out of their beds, and turned on the light,
They rushed to the living room, in a bewildered daze.
They saw the big monster, and were all amazed,
And there was little Cindy-Lou Moo, mooing without fear,
To drive back old Zilch, and make him disappear.

The Moos, they all mooed, in a chorus so grand,
That shook the whole house, across the whole land.
But Zilch, you know, was clever and slick,
He thought up a plan, and he thought it up quick.
He stuffed Cindy-Lou right into his face,
And silenced the Moo in a toothy embrace.
Cindy-Lou Moo, she was, a delightful surprise,
Sweet and delicious, a beefy prize!

Zilch, stunned by the flavour, his eyes wide with glee,
Forgot all about cookies, and began to eat free.
He gobbled the Moos, with utter delight,
And realized quickly, that Christmas was alright!
For the joy of the eating, the tasty Moo treats,
Surpassed even cookies, or sugary treats.

And when every Moo was gobbled up real good,
Zilch turned to the cookies, and now understood.
That the cookies were better, to stay in plain sight,
And lure in Santa, who’d come later tonight.
So he waited in shadow, unseen and unheard,
Watching for Santa, with nary a word.

The silence was broken, by the sound of sweet bells,
Ringing softly above, like magical spells.
From the chimney descended Old Santa with grace,
And Zilch, unseen, with a grin on his face.

The good man headed straight for the tree,
With a sack full of gifts, as Zilch observed with glee.
With twinkle in his eye, he gifted the toys,
He gave them for free, for good girls and good boys.

Zilch watched, mesmerised, as Santa bestowed
His gifts on the Moos, a joyous, sweet load.
He imagined the delight in their eyes, both wide and bright
If they were alive, when morning took flight.
He felt a small feeling, deep down in his heart.

Was this... guilt? This pang in his chest? Was he truly distressed?

Hidden in shadows, Zilch saw Santa turn to go
And he silently wondered, “How can this be so?”
Santa, with a twinkle, and a final wave,
Vanished up the chimney, and no cookie he craved.
No milk he'd sipped, no treat he'd devour,
He'd simply brought the gifts, and that was his power.

Zilch watched him go, bewildered and dazed,
This selfless old man, and Zilch was amazed.

He'd expected to steal, the cookies so sweet,
But Santa, it seemed, craved no baked treat.

Zilch, the blue monster, began to reflect,
On his own desires, and their ill effect.
Perhaps, he thought, there was more to this life,
Than grasping for cookies, and causing much strife.
You might, Dear Reader, think of kindness and good,
But that is not what Zilch now understood.

As Santa was gone, and gone with a grin,
Zilch reached for the cookies, and dove right in.
He devoured them all, with a monstrous delight,
Then, with a loud burp, vanished into the night.

Then he followed Saint Nick, wherever he'd been.
From barn to barn, and completely unseen.
He’d gobble up cookies, all while out of sight.
And when Santa flew onward, Zilch would take flight.

He'd follow the trail, left by the old man,
And feast on the treats, as fast as he can.
He'd eat every crumb, with a mischievous glee,
And Santa knew nothing, for all eternity.

As for the Moos, Zilch left them alone.
So long as they left cookies, by the tree they had grown
Santa would gift each Moo in Mooville,
And Zilch would then follow, for cookies or to kill.

So Reader remember, that each Christmas night,
Leave out some cookies, or prepare for a fight.
For Zilch is coming, as sure as the snow,
And he'll be watching from the shadows below.

[Consumer]

Best of plans

December 24th, 111 PA, 10:00 PM, 30 miles south of Chicago Exclusion Zone.

The snow falls briskly, like a constellation of white stars across the darkened sky. The occasional flash of red brightening the darkness at semi-regular intervals. From the interior of the hovercar, it would almost seem peaceful if the driver and the passenger were not fleeing for their lives. The driver’s mechanical hands work the controls of the vehicle desperately as the woman in the passenger seat leans out the window partially firing her pistol at their pursuers. Several more lasers impact the sleek black vehicle, a Coalition Command Car, causing sparks. Inside warning lights flair up on the dash as a warning begins blaring from the speakers. ”Damage critical”

Moments later the Command Car whips haphazardly around the corner of some manner of bombed out building. ”Honey, I do not think this car is going to make it much longer… Trying to find somewhere…” The engine whines sharply as the Command Car hits a rusted out vehicle. ”to put it down.” The woman leans back out the window and fires at their pursuers once again. ”Damn bandits… Their ruining…” The engine sparks and bursts into flames that shoot out from under the vehicle. The driver manages to control the vehicle into a softer crash into a mountainous snowdrift. Bothe driver and passenger are knocked around the compartment in either case.

Head swimming, the driver crawls from the wrecked vehicle. ”Damn it! Miranda are you still conscious?” The man calls as he struggles to his feet. He can hear the wine of turbines coming closer to their location. Miranda groans. ”James, remind me to not talk us into driving ourselves next time.” Miranda says as she too, slowly crawls from the vehicle. James moves over to her and hoists her off the ground, his bionic limbs whirring a bit. ”We need to find cover.” James says as he begins running towards one of the ruined buildings.

James crouches and sets Miranda down behind a section of wall that seems halfway intact. ”Last I saw, it was five hovercycles.” James says as he checks the charge on his pistol. ”Two E-clips, plus integrated weapons. Man, I wish Alekzander was here.” James says as his vision swaps from normal to thermal. In the distance he spies five heat sources slowing near the burning wreckage of the command car. ”I need you to head north away from them. I’m metal enough nowadays to take a few hits. I circle around and try to take them out. Maybe you can get far enough away from their jamming, to use the radio to call in help” James says, looking worriedly at Miranda. ”Why Captain Howlett, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you were trying to get rid of me.” Miranda says, giving James a soft peck on the cheek. ”You better come back in one piece.” Miranda says before moving away from the hiding spot and heading north.

James does as he told the love of his life, heading a bit further south and east, to try and come at the attackers from a new direction. His thermal vision shows the five beginning to slowly follow their tracks towards the ruins they had initially taken cover in. James switches to night vision to get a better view of the individuals. They were all humanoid, but at least three of them were d-bees of some sort, one looked to be a Vanguard Brawler, another a canine creature of some sort, while the last looked like an ogre. All of them save the Brawler were wearing piecemeal armor, covering enough of their bodies to be called protection. All of them also appeared to be well armed enough to be a problem. James shook his head, the thoughts of Mane probably just jumping in their midst, and tearing them to shreds. No bold heroics like that. James thinks a smirk, as one of his four mechanical arms twitches and a Neural Mace slides into the hand.

The next few moments are hectic as the borg’d-out cyber-doc pops up behind the trailing bandit, taking him cleanly out with a blow to the side of his head, The sharp zap of the Neural Mace going off and scrambling the Canine’s nervous system loud in the quiet night. James weaves through them slashing with built-in vibro-knives and short ranged shots from several pistols. Like most small skirmishes, it’s over quicker than one would expect.

Meanwhile a distance away Miranda finally gets a call through on a secure channel. ”This is Major Doctor Miranda Taylor, Requesting air support and evac. Clearance code Alpha, Epsilon, Gray Two Two. Lock on my signal please.” Miranda speaks hurriedly into the radio. ”Acknowledged, SAMAS inbound Two Minutes, find cover.” The voice on the other end says. Two minutes later a trio of new style SAMAS come roaring in, a few loops around before two land near Miranda’s hiding spot, while the third makes its way near where James was last seen.

”Ma’am, area seems clear. We have a transport on its way. One of the two SAMAS pilots says. ”Why were you out here anyways? The SAMAS pilot asks. ”Would you believe that I was on a date, I wanted to see some winter sights, and Captain Howlett was humouring me.” Miranda says sheepishly

Several minutes pass before the third SAMAS comes walking back to the others. Leaning against the power armor’s frame is a battered James. ”Found him stuck under a pair of dead bandits.” The approaching SAMAS says. ”Bastards fell on me as I killed them.” James says as he makes his way to Miranda, he gives her a quick once over before brushing a lock of hair out of her face. In the distance a Deathshead Transport begins it’s decent. ”Merry Christmas my love.”

[Dr. Zoe Kyaku]

Do You Hear What I Hear?

North Pole, 23 December

Three hours. Three agonizing hours since the last chirp from Crowe and Dutton, their voices swallowed by the howling wind. They were the veterans, the grizzled old-timers of the Tundra Rangers, and their casual banter over the radio had painted a vivid picture of their ascent.
Riding their Legion 50/50 Arctic Hovercycles, they'd navigated the treacherous terrain, their voices crackling with a mixture of awe and caution. It was a land of night, the sun wouldn’t rise till winter had passed, but the floodlights of their hovercycles lit up the ridge. "Feel the bite of the wind, Dutton," Crowe had chuckled, his voice a rasp against the static. "This ridge… it's like a dragon's spine, all jagged and unforgiving." Dutton had replied, his voice a low rumble, "Aye, and the ice… it's a masterpiece, Crowe. No one's come this way in a hundred years. The colors… they're… ethereal."

They'd reached the summit, a windswept plateau of ice that shimmered like a field of broken mirrors under the pale Arctic sun. And then, silence.
Two years ago, this desolate landscape would have been a death sentence. Minus forty Fahrenheit. A bone-chilling grip that would steal life from even the hardiest soul. But no longer. The new Thermal-Armor Body suits were a godsend, cocooning the Rangers in a bubble of warmth, allowing them to push further north, deeper into this icy wilderness.

And then, abruptly, their talking had stopped.

The valley was somewhere below them, down beneath the reach of their lights. From their perch on the windswept ridge, the two scouts stared into the black, their breath misting in the frigid air. It was an eerie calm, a stillness that pressed down on them like a heavy blanket. No wind, not even a whisper, unlike the gale that had buffeted them across the treacherous slopes they had just conquered.
Below, the slope down was a sea of ice sculpted into a thousand grotesque shapes by the relentless forces of nature. In the harsh glare of their military-spec halogen floodlights, the scene took on an almost supernatural glow, each crystal shard reflecting the light with an eerie brilliance.

Then, a sound.

The scouts froze, every sense on high alert. At first, it was a mere tremor, a whisper carried on the chilling wind. A low growl, perhaps? Or the snap of a branch under unseen weight?

"Polar bears," Crowe muttered, his voice tight with unease. "This far north?"

Dutton shook his head, his eyes scanning the darkness. "Stranger things have happened since the Rifts appeared," he said, a chilling reminder of the event that had reshaped the world.

The silence stretched on, a suffocating presence in the vast, icy expanse. They could see nothing, hear nothing. Only the ghostly whispers of their own breath and the rhythmic crunch of their hovercycles breaking the brittle surface of the ice disturbed the profound stillness.
The air seemed amplify every sound, every tremor. That distant sound could have been a bear, a crumbling ice shelf, or something far more sinister. The scouts, their nerves raw, strained to hear, to see, to understand. But only silence answered them.

Crowe glanced at Dutton, his eyes narrowed. "We need to get to the bottom of this slope," he said, his voice clipped. "Check for any signs of disturbance, then report back. No point in risking further exposure."

Dutton nodded grimly. "Agreed. Let's get this over with."

They pushed on, their hovercycles a pair of ghostly lights cutting through the deepening gloom. As they descended further into the valley, a chilling realization dawned on them. The silence wasn't just eerie; it was unnatural.
And then, they were gone.

---

The enormous All-Terrain Personnel Carrier ground its way through the arctic terrain with ease. It was a Legion Armored Snow Lion A.P.C. The toughest and coldest arctic conditions meant nothing to it. It could drive through blizzards, ride atop deep snow, and even survive getting caught in an avalanche.
Bruce K. Allery stared hard at the communications station and monitor behind the pilot’s compartment. Allery was a infantry captain from Alberta. He was also the chief of this expedition to the frozen north.

"All right! Listen up!" Allery called to the 3 other passengers strapped to their seats in the small side-compartment of the Snow Lion. Allery paused a moment, running through the numbers in his head for the hundredth time.

Three hours since the scouts’ radio link had cut out. Before that, one hour of driving up the ridge they were fast approaching. If the scouts had stopped anywhere for a length of time, that would count towards saving batteries. But otherwise the clock was running out.
Four hours, then. At worst.
The two scouts had been using their hovercycle batteries for four hours. Batteries to keep them moving, warm, and alive. The problem was their batteries contained only three hours’ worth of battery time. And for Allery that had meant a delicate balancing act. The last words he and the others had heard from the two scouts – before their radio signal had abruptly cut to static – had been some anxious chatter about strange noises.
On the one hand, the noise could have been anything: distant avalanche, ice movement or some kind of harmful creature. And the radio cut-out could easily have been the result of interference caused by the high ridgeline between them. Nearly half a mile of ice and water. For all Allery knew, the two scouts had turned around immediately and begun the hour-long trip back to the peak of the ridge. But there had been no contact yet.
On the other hand, if the scouts actually had met with trouble – supernatural terrors, always possible – then naturally Allery would have wanted to move as quickly as possible to help.
In the end, he decided that any help they could provide – after driving the Snow Lion up the ridge back down the other side – would be too late anyway. If Crowe and Dutton were going to survive, the best bet was with the equipment they took with them. Now they were about to ascend the same ridge and –

"Hey."
Allery blinked, startled from his contemplation of the situation. Rachael Micallef, one of the geologists, her face etched with a mixture of concern and determination, spoke softly.
Allery liked Micallef. She was a force of nature – intelligent, practical, and tough as nails. He'd seen her wrestle a recalcitrant drill rig back into submission, her brow furrowed in sweat, her hands surprisingly gentle on the delicate samples they unearthed. It came as no surprise to him that she was also a mother. Her twelve-year-old daughter, Kirsty, was back at the Ranger outpost to the south, left in the capable hands of the support crew while they ventured deeper into the ice. Three weeks had passed since they'd departed, a lifetime in the isolation of this polar landscape.

"What is it?" Allery said, his voice a low rumble of the Snow Lion’s engine.
"Temperature’s dropped another twenty degrees. It’s a frozen hellscape out there," Micallef said.
"Oh shit. . ."
"For what it’s worth, I’ve got Lara scanning all the military frequencies, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up."
Allery said, "We can’t wait any longer. We have to get up that ridge."
Micallef just watched him.
"Bruce –" she began.

"Captain, you're not going to believe this." Nick's voice, a mixture of disbelief and awe, crackled over the intercom. Nick was the pilot in the forward compartment, navigating the Snow Lion through the treacherous, wind-carved terrain.
"What is it, Nick?" Allery said into his mike, his gaze sweeping over the faces of the crew gathered around him.
"There's, ah... there's something coming down the ridge, Boss."
Allery exchanged a puzzled glance with Micallef. He keyed the intercom again. "What is it, Nick?"

A long pause followed, filled with the rhythmic thrum of the Snow Lion's engines and the howling wind. "Cap..." Nick's voice was hesitant. "Bruce, I think I'm looking at a herd of... reindeer."

A ripple of confusion passed through the crew. The beasts were halfway down the ridge. The ridge was shrouded in perpetual night, but the Snow Lion's advanced sensors picked up their heat signatures, and the communications station display projected a grainy image onto the screen in front of them – a swirling mass of red shapes moving with surprising speed and grace.
Allery stared the display, entranced.

The Snow Lion shuddered violently, a deafening bang echoing through the cabin. Allery spun around, his heart hammering against his ribs.

"What was that?" he demanded, his voice tight with fear. "Nick?"

"Bruce, I don't know what it was, but something just went past my –"
Nick's voice was cut short by a sickening CRASH. The forward canopy of the Snow Lion exploded inwards, a shower of shattered glass raining down on the cabin.
"Nick!" Allery yelled, his blood running cold.
And then, a scream. Raw, primal, and filled with unimaginable terror. Nick Cox's scream.
Allery ripped off his safety harness and hurled himself towards the cockpit door. He tore it open, Q1-02 "Stopper" Ion Pistol already leveled.
The sight that met him was horrific.

An impossibly large reindeer, its fur matted with ice and its eyes burning with an unnatural, malevolent light, had launched itself into the cockpit. Its massive antlers, tipped with bone-shattering points, were embedded in the shattered glass. The creature was now ripping into Nick, its jaws clamped around the man's neck with a sickening crunch.
Allery opened fire, his pistol a blur of motion. Ion blasts lanced out, striking the creature's hide, but it barely flinched. It continued its savage assault, tearing Nick from the pilot's seat.
As the creature ripped Nick apart, a cacophony of sound erupted. Loud, discordant music, and a jarring blend of alien voices, saying "Gleep glorp glorp glorp... K'tharr k'tharr ... Gleep glorp glorp glorp... K'tharr k'tharr ..." Bruce, despite the alien quality of the voices, felt a chilling familiarity in the tune. He thought, Do You Hear What I Hear? No, it couldn't be... could it?

Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the creature vanished, leaving behind only the mangled remains of Nick Cox strapped into the pilot's seat.
The wind howled into the wounded Snow Lion, a chilling wind that carried with it the scent of blood and death. Through the swirling snow, Allery saw them.
More of them.
Dozens of them.
"Holy Christ," he breathed, the word lost in the howling wind, a single, terrified whisper against the impending doom.

---

Back at the Ranger Outpost, several hundred miles south, a cacophony of terror erupted in the communications room. The operators, two young men barely out of their teens, stared in stunned silence at the blinking console in front of them. The assistant, her face pale, had a hand clamped over her mouth.
From the wall-mounted speakers, a torrent of panicked voices poured forth:
"Bruce!"
"He's gone!"
"Oh shit, no!"
"Jesus, there's elves riding the reindeer! They're coming out of the fucking ice!"
Then, Micallef's voice, sharp and urgent, cut through the chaos. "Get your rifles! Get your rifles now!"
Another scream, raw and guttural, echoed through the room. Then another.
Micallef's voice crackled over the intercom again, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. "Ranger Outpost, shit, I... I can't see anybody else. I can't... it’s so dark... they're all gone..."
A chilling pause.
"Oh sweet Jesus... Send help! Send for anything you ca-"
The transmission was abruptly cut off by a deafening crash, as if the Snow Lion itself had been shattered. Silence descended upon the room, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the rapid, shallow breaths of the terrified operators.