Krampus stood in the leftover blood and chunks of meat he hadn't eaten, licking his lips. Santa's dead, so what now?

That's right; I promised Vanilla I'd disappear. The goat-demon looked over to his parent-killer's mangled flesh. The sharp candy-cane sword King Santa just recently stabbed Krampus with rested in his remains. "Now's a good time to do so," he mumbled, grabbing the weapon.

Holding the peppermint-scented blade to his neck, Krampus took a moment to admire his enemy's home once more. Maple syrup chandeliers, vanilla creme couches, chocolate doors... it was a pity they were stained with blood. Just like his hands.

After breathing another sigh, Krampus smiled before plunging the sword through his throat.

Green, purple and white fireworks exploded in his vision when he let out a gurgled scream. Krampus sunk to his knees, trembling hands grasping for the sword. Shivers crawled down the half demon's spine as muscles tore and bones cracked when he snatched it out.

Blood sprayed the caramel floors when he abandoned the sword. Its loud cry rang in his ears, but was drowned out by the alarms wailing in his head. A rush of bitter coldness waltzed down his arms, then he collapsed.

Maybe I'll meet them, was the last dishelved thought he had before shutting his eyes.

"Wake up, bitch," someone called, effectively pulling Krampus from his eternal slumber.

"The hell?" he groaned. Yet when Krampus stood, no one was in the hall. "Where'd that voice... nevermind that―why am I alive?"

He looked down to see the blood from his wound dry, tangled in his fur. When he brought his fingers to his neck, he froze.

The cut was healed.

Confused, the half demon scratched his head. I made sure to stab thoroughly. Even if I am ancient, I'm not invincible, just like Vanilla said.

"The one time I plan to die, it doesn't work. Dammit."

He couldn't, anyways. Not before he did a few things first.

So he turned around, picking up his weapon and shrinking it back to normal. Stuffing it in his tuff of fur, he opened a portal in silence. Once his feet touched the jail's heated ground, Krampus trudged to Vanilla's cage.

He took out his club and held it between the bars before widening it enough to clear an escape for his ex-companion. The iron rods' strained groans echoed across the hall, startling Vanilla from her much needed rest.

She scrambled to her feet, screaming in frustration. "Dammit, Krampus! How many times do I have to―"

Her sentence halted midway as she looked him up and down, a scowl planted on her face. "What're you doing here? I thought I told you disappear."

Krampus sighed before lifting his club out and swinging it over his shoulder. "I... I tried. But when I stabbed my throat, I didn't die."

Wide green eyes locked onto his adam's apple. Her mouth hung agape until she stuttered, "Wha... What?"

The goat demon was more focused on other things to notice her conflicted emotions. He waved his hand nonchalantly, looking away. "Ah, nothing. Anyways, I only came to let you out." Since the king's dead and all.

He then turned to the cage across from hers and freed the prisoner. "Th-Thank you," he yelled, tears flowing down his face. "I can finally meet my wife!"

The elf sprinted away, taking the silence with him. As soon as he left, the remaining elves were in an uproar.

"Let me out," screeched a baritone voice.

"Where's Mama?" another, higher one cried.

Krampus' keen ears picked each of their pleas. He smiled at Vanilla when she stepped out in her gingerbread cookie pajamas. "I'll leave after I help these guys out."

She crossed her arms and glared at him. "Hmph. You think setting us free will make you for what you did?"

The goat demon simply shook his head. "No. That's why I'm going to fix it all."

He then proceeded to free the other prisoners, garnering cheers in response. The mob of midgets shuffled down the steps and out the doors while Krampus went to the next floor.

"That's what you said last time," his childhood friend muttered. Alas, it went on deaf ears.

Or at least, Krampus ignored them to the best of his ability. If he took them to heart, he wouldn't bear the next course of action he had to take. "Goodbye," was the only response he gave after freeing the others. Then, he opened a portal to the rusty factory.

Inside, elves young and old slaved over the conveyor belts sputtering down the hall. Everyone glared at him the moment he waltzed in. Eyes darkened from fatigue and breaths ragged, each of them cringed at the sight of him.

"What're you doing here, demon?" the female elf from before spat in an accusing tone. Worried whispers swept across the room.

The goat demon's tail swung, amused. He crossed his arms, tilting his head up. "Well, I just wanted to tell you all that King Santa's dead."

Tools clattered to the ground. Axes, knives, pitchforks―everything they used to make toys and break intruders slipped from their fingers.

An elf turned around stiffly, as if he was a puppet in desperate need of oil. Eyes wide and fists tightened, he said, "What... What did you say?"

Krampus couldn't help licking his lips at the memory. He pointed his thumb to his neck and pretended to slit it. "Santa's dead. I ate him."

Cheers emerged from the factory. The young ones cried in their mothers' embrace, while men pounded their fists in the air. However, one elve wasn't so easy to please. Instead, her fair skin had gone quite pale. She rested her head in her shaking hands. "Do you know what this means?" she asked Krampus after steadying her breath.

The goat-demon spoke slow so that she could register his successful plan. Yet even he was unsure if his actions were too brash. Maybe Vanilla was right. "You all are free. There won't be anymore tyranny, right?"

"No, you imbecile," the elf who threatened to kill him the other day seethed through clenched teeth. She marched forward and grabbed him by the tuff of his fur. "There won't be a Christmas! What do you expect a couple of centuries-old elves to do in his place?"

By then, the celebration had stopped. Everyone watched them, now realizing the consequences of King Santa's death. One elf took the chance to speak up, albeit hesitantly. "V-Vanilla's a fine leader. Why don't we let her inherit the throne, Giva?"

Another chimed in. "Or we could split the work between a circle of elders... No one would notice a few more 'Santas' then usual."

The idea sounded practical, but Giva didn't buy it. She let go of Krampus, turning to them. Fear and doubt for the future clearly showed on their faces. "That's... not the problem, Huis. Santa knew instinctively which kids were bad or good by looking into their hearts. We're elves―we don't share human moralities."

A silence cloaked over the factory. All eyes were on Krampus, the demon who, ironically, was heir to the throne.

A frown planted itself on his face. People relying on him wasn't something he experienced much. He shook his head while holding his arms up in a defensive stance. "Sorry, I can't. Not now."

Giva kicked his knee with a huff. "Dammit, what could be more important than this?"

"I've uh, got a date. She's been waiting for a while, and if I don't see her now, she'll be pissed."

"Oh, really? Who, might I ask?" Giva asked while the goat-demon feigned a blush.

Krampus gave her a grim smile. "Death." In other words, Marie.