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21 Oct 2013
“I’m beginning to think that thawing out you monkeys was a mistake,” the god says, narrowing his eyes at Tony. They’re the color of blood, or rubies, Tony supposes—pick your poison and all that. Everything is cold—cold is all that Tony’s ever known, he’s never known the warmth of the sun on his back, the cold are forever daggers of jagged ice pumping through his blood—but this god radiates frost, like standing in the middle of Antarctica in his birthday suit. The foot on his back twists, grinding him into the ground. His knees burn. His breath fogs the air. Frostbite eats away at the skin of his back, the cold devouring him alive.
Tony grins crookedly, his cheek pressed to the icy ground and purrs, “But then where would your entertainment come from?”
- Part 46 of Dark Month Collection