"Not again."
Ander Skyler opened his eyes slowly—not from caution, but because the cold had turned blinking into a laborious task.
"Wasn't I just speaking with that god?"
For a fleeting moment, the world was nothing but white: a bleached sky, frost, and sharp white pain lancing through his mind.
He lay sprawled in the snow and stared upward, silent, his mind grappling with whether he had died or merely fallen into another shitty dream.
After all, he had woken screaming from worse—strangled by unseen forces, pursued by shadows that belonged to no living thing.
Compared to those nightmares, this frozen wasteland seemed almost mundane.
"This is new. A snow-themed nightmare? Brilliant. Must've taken the whole damn strip this time."
He pushed himself up, elbows digging into the frost as his legs struggled to obey.
Strangely, even in the rain of frost, he felt no chill at all—and that was quite concerning.
Am I truly dead?
Thoughts like he had died or was about to die were normal. Or maybe mixing mushroom drugs with beer was a bad decision.
Whatever.
Still, he sat upright—because that was how a man was meant to sit.
A forest of skeletal trees stretched before him, their black bark cracked and jagged, branches clawing at the sky like fingers rising from a frozen grave.
No birds sang.
No insects hummed.
Only the mournful howl of wind and the faint crackle of frozen twigs shifting in its grasp.
Then there was the matter of clothes—or rather, the lack thereof.
Ander glanced down at himself: fully, humiliatingly naked.
It was a habit born in his teenage years, when he first slept naked after losing his virginity to his aunt.
The sensation of bare skin against sheets had captivated him—and so, naturally, even his dreams stripped him of dignity.
"Let's look around, see if there's anything interesting here."
He forced himself to his feet, bare soles crunching softly in the snow, slightly numb.
Every instinct urged him to move, to seek shelter—but if this was a dream, and surely it was, couldn't he simply wait for morning?
Leaning against a frozen tree, he let the thought settle—only to hear some ominously unpleasant howls.
"Hoooowwwwllll."
"Grrhoooowwgrrrhooo."
The howling grew closer—no longer a distant sound, but a sharp, insistent presence.
Ander barely flinched.
He'd faced worse in dreams, hadn't he?
Maybe it was overconfidence or self-belief.
He turned his head.
Something moved between the trees— A flicker of pale fur brushed past snow-draped trunks.
Then he saw them: two black eyes, sharp and unyielding, staring straight at his soul, as though their owner had already decided his fate.
Wolves.
A pack of them—grey, black, white, and one with a pelt the sickly hue of mustard.
These were no mangy strays scavenging rubbish bins.
Thick-furred beasts, ears torn, breath steaming from jaws locked in perpetual snarls.
One by one, they padded forward—silent and deliberate—fanning out in a crescent around him.
Watchful. Circling.
Not yet ready to pounce—but close pounce.
For a moment, Ander didn't react.
In his dreams, he had killed Thanos, had fucked Wanda, genderbent Griffith, and sold her to a brothel before the eclipse.
In short, it was his dream, and he was the king—what kind of dog could pose a threat to him?
"Well, hello, cuties. I don't suppose any of you are up for a cuddle?"
One wolf answered with a low snarl, lips peeling back to reveal yellowed teeth.
Another circled behind him, nose twitching as it scented the air.
The nearest crept closer, eyes fixed on him, unblinking.
Ander raised a hand in a half-hearted wave, aimed at the yellow-toothed beast to pat him like a small cat, which to Mr. Yellow Tooth looked like an offense.
He was still growling, but not yet lunging.
"Look, I don't usually do the whole Disney princess animal-bonding thing, but you, Mr. you're really cute, so—"
He didn't get the chance to finish.
The wolf attacked.
Its teeth sank into his arm with terrifying force.
Blood spilled across the snow, dark and steaming, like ink pooling on ice only to instantly freeze.
"Ahhhhhhh!!!!"
Finally, a scream tore from his throat, echoing across the frozen terror of the wilderness.
'This isn't a dream anymore? Damn it! That bloody god had actually gone and thrown me into another world.'
Ander Skyler wasn't a cocky guy—he understood the dangers of the world clearly.
Provoking something and playing with fire was the last thing he would do, but he genuinely believed these wolves weren't real.
As a result—
"My hand… my left hand! How the hell am I gonna jerk off now?"
He had lost the hand that once held the mightiest weapon in the universe. But that was just one wolf.
He was surrounded by many—hungry, menacing, relentless, creepy dogs.
Yet, the fact that he could still talk smack in this situation made him realize he wasn't feeling much pain. It was like an ant had bitten him.
Meanwhile, other wolves moved like phantoms in a storm—low to the ground, fast as bullets, brutal as hungry bears.
One leapt for his thigh, another circled behind and lunged for his back, and a third came straight at his chest, yellow teeth and stinking breath bared.
"What… is this…?"
But something happened that made him realize he wasn't in danger—he was the danger.
His damaged arm was healing at a rapid pace.
The wound was still there but fading, as the torn skin began to bind back together—flesh sealing, nerves reconnecting, muscle stitching itself as though time had rewound just for him.
Then came the second shock.
The moment the wolf lunged at his chest, Ander reacted without thinking, driving his fist into the creature's ribs.
What should've been a desperate swing landed like a sledgehammer.
He felt the animal's ribs cave under his knuckles, the brittle crunch vibrating through his bones like slamming a crowbar into rotted timber.
The wolf yelped once and went limp.
Ander Skyler wasn't the smartest guy, but he wasn't stupid enough to forget the truth—not after his conversation with God, or whatever that being was.
He had clearly asked for super soldier serum strength, King Arthur's swordsmanship, Wolverine's healing factor, and of course—Susan's invisibility ability.
If that was the case, this wasn't the time to run away.
It was hunting time.
Meanwhile, the alpha—a mustard-colored, massive beast—nodded its head, as if commanding its minions to attack this pathetic prey, so weak in their eyes it barely counted as a fight.
Another courageous breast attacked, sinking its teeth into his thigh. Blood spilled in thick ribbons across the snow, but the pain didn't come as it should.
SPLURT!!!
It felt distant, numb, as if his body had forgotten fear, as if it already knew it couldn't die here.
That confirmed it, without a doubt, he really had the powers of those legendary characters, and unknowingly, an evil smirk tugged at his already wicked face.
"You wolves will die a dog's death—I'll make sure of it."
Ander Skyler, now burning with confidence, grabbed the third one that latched onto his thigh and smacked it into the ground, putting so much pressure on the poor thing that its skull crushed against the ice, bone splitting, tongue lolling out sideways.
"Hhhooooowwwwlll."
"Groooowlll."
Seeing their kin die at the hands of a strange intruder, another lunged and clamped onto his ribs—he tore it off, the skin ripping with it, but his flesh pulled itself back together perfectly fine, like nothing had ever touched him.
"Damn it, bastard."
The storm raged around him, but all he could hear was the crunch of bone, the growl of beasts, and the sick, wet thuds as he smacked one body into another like weapons.
THUD!!
His breath turned to steam, his eyes stung from the blood in the wind, but he kept moving—every strike faster, stronger, more brutal than the last.
A wolf leapt from behind and he didn't turn—he just drove his elbow backward, and it's head popped under the weight.
Another tried to drag him down by the leg, so he grabbed its tail, swung it like a club into a tree until the branch skewered through its gut and it hung twitching like meat left out in the cold.
He lost count how many there were.
They came in waves—snapping and howling, crawling under his arms and leaping for his throat—but every time they reached him, they died.
He stomped one into the ice until its brain came out through its ears, grabbed another by the spine and cracked it over his knee like dry wood, ripped one clean in half when it latched onto his chest and refused to let go.
Tear!!! Riped!!! Destroyed!!
Blood soaked the frozen blanket.
Some tried to run in fear, but he didn't let them, he chased them down like a man possessed by an evil spirit.
One by one, he slammed their skulls against icy rocks, drove them headfirst into frozen bark until the wood was painted red.
One he held down and crushed its ribcage with both hands just to see how easily it would fold.
No fight was without cost, Ander himself was torn—chest sliced, shoulders punctured, yet every wound sealed as fast as it came.
Skin knitting itself mid-motion, muscle curling tight, bone locking in place without hesitation. His breath came steady, heart beat slow, like the fight hadn't even touched his limits.
And if there was ever a truly dangerous moment, his body automatically faded into light, it was Susan's ability, and even though it manifested without control, it was enough.
And soon, it was all over.
When it ended, there was only silence, the cold now buried under the stench of blood and death, corpses spread around him like offerings, steam rising from his skin as he stood there in the middle of it all, chest heaving slowly, eyes dull, while snow fell gently over the massacre he had made.
"Alright, freakshow's over. Time to find out what hell he dumped me in."
And so, naked from head to toe, drenched in blood, long hair matted, blue eyes glinting, he carved his bloody steps into the snow, leaving a crimson trail.
But even so, no beast dared follow him.
Thus began a journey that would shake the frozen heart of this world to rewriting its fate in blood and fire