Chapter 62.5: 2013 Christmas Special
Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations
Editor: PlumSauce
Some people don’t celebrate Christmas.
Some…can’t.
Some simply haven’t had the time to.
And that’s what made this a “special,” after all —
A side story not connected to the main plot.
1. Sir Kimplin and Mr. Burton
One was a headless knight. The other, a banshee whose soul had once belonged to a bloodkin. Neither of them needed to eat. They couldn’t even drink a drop of wine. The manor stood in a remote location, far removed from the city’s holiday atmosphere.
Kimplin swapped the CD in the player, then sank back onto the sofa. His charred black longsword rested at his side. Burton’s soul was bound to that blade — no one knew how many years it would take before he could regain a body. Every second was a torment, and over time, he had grown calm — calmer, even, than he had been in life as a bloodkin.
“Kimplin, is it snowing outside?” His voice drifted faintly through the air.
“Yes,” the knight’s head replied from where it rested on his knees. “Can you feel it?”
“The air’s gotten damp and cold. I like it that way.” Burton paused to draw breath after every few words. “It seems to dull the pain a little. Your sword doesn’t feel as hot now.”
“Today’s Christmas Eve,” Sir Kimplin said, only realizing it when he picked up his phone. “Did you ever celebrate it before?”
“When Crystal was still alive, we used to exchange gifts.” Burton’s voice carried a trace of bitterness.
Kimplin didn’t want to mention Crystal; the subject only deepened Burton’s pain. Silently, he tapped away at his phone, sending brief Christmas wishes to John and Coraci.
Burton’s soul watched him finish. “Maybe…someday, we could celebrate Christmas too.”
“Mm, yes. One day,” Kimplin said. Out of habit, he reached for Burton, but his hand met only air. “It’s not like we’re short on time.”
“What do people usually do for the holidays?”
“For the big ones? Eat — though we don’t need to. Go to church — not an option for us. What else?”
“Family gatherings?”
“Yes, that too.” Kimplin leaned a little closer to where Burton’s presence lingered, even if they could not touch. “Like this, right now.”
2. Clade Dogs
The corgi man pressed his face to the glass. “It’s snowing, it’s snowing — look! The pine trees are covered in snow! I’m going to play in the snow!”
“No,” Sir Kimplin said. “Not unless you turn back into a dog. The manor has no human-sized winter clothing, and you can’t run around outside dressed like that.”
The moment the words left his mouth, the corgi man and husky man shifted into canine form. They spun in circles, tails whipping with excitement, declaring themselves ready. Kimplin could only open the great front door. The two dogs bolted out, tongues lolling, eyes bright.
The corgi plowed through the drifts until half-buried, looking from a distance like a legless meatball racing across the snow, leaving small trench-like furrows behind him. The husky, bred for sledding, took off in an ecstatic sprint, vanishing into the dark, snowy woods.
The corgi yipped and wiggled his way after him. From experience, he knew the husky would almost certainly lose his way home tonight. As a herding breed, the corgi’s instincts were usually solid — and his prediction came true yet again.
The snowy night altered the lingering scents in the forest, and the view was nothing like it was in daylight. The husky had run too far, and he’d dragged the corgi into getting lost as well.
A few dozen meters later, the husky doubled back, digging the corgi out of a drift where he’d been tunneling forward under the snow.
“I found a hollow in a dead tree,” the husky said in the language of dogs. “No snow inside, and it’s dry. Let’s rest there.”
They squeezed into the small space, jostling and wriggling until they found a slightly more comfortable position. The husky curled into a ball, resting his chin on the corgi’s neck. “Do you think Sir Kimplin will be worried about us — come looking for us?”
“No. When he let you out, he already knew you’d get lost. He’s used to it.”
“You got lost too…”
“That’s only because of you! The snow’s too heavy — I can’t smell the trail, and I can’t see well either. If I weren’t chasing you, I wouldn’t be lost. Once the sun comes up, I’ll find the way back to the manor.”
“All right. I hope so… It’s the twenty-fourth. We should’ve stayed in and spent Christmas Eve with the knight and Mr. Burton.”
The corgi squinted at him. “No, no — you’re so naïve. We should be out here, giving those two some private time.”
“Private time? Like…what we’re doing right now?”
“Something like that… Huu… Tomorrow morning, I’m going to lick the icicles under the windows.”
“Me too! And I want to jump up and bite the frost off the branches…”
They shared blissful images of winter until they drifted off, curled up tight against each other as they slipped into dreamland.
3. Liz, Carolyn, and Mariana
The first time Mariana saw snow, she was so excited she practically lost the ability to speak.
Unfortunately, Liz and Carolyn had locked her in the house, so she could only watch through the window.
She had learned about Christmas from television and had even prepared gifts. For Liz, she made a bow from a ribbon tied with some of her fallen hair. In Cave Lizardman tradition, giving someone a cord made from mammalian hair was a way of praising them for being a gentle person. For Carolyn, she baked a pie herself. Remembering how much Carolyn loved snacks, she put a little bit of every ingredient, seasoning, and treat in the house into the filling.
By ten o’clock that night, Liz and Carolyn still hadn’t returned. Mariana called Coraci, who said the two girls were working, and reassured her that they would definitely be home in time for Christmas.
After midnight, Mariana heard the distant sound of bells ringing. She curled up on the couch like a kitten. Hours later, she finally heard the sound of a key turning in the lock outside.
Carolyn was soaked through, her clothes torn in several places. Liz looked equally disheveled, her black hair loose and clinging to her like messy strands of wet seaweed.
“Lock the door, it’s freezing out there,” Liz said, kicking off her boots and hurrying toward the bathroom. “I’ll get the hot water running — just throw yourself into the tub and you’ll feel better. Carolyn, when are you going to learn? Lake Fishmen love playing tricks, and they only respond to flattery. Couldn’t you have just been nice for once? I warned you, but you just had to provoke them. Now look at you — how does it feel to be dragged into a hole in the ice? God help you if you catch pneumonia.”
Carolyn dripped water all over the rug, shivering violently. “I’m about…about to die, and you can’t even…comfort me a little?”
“Comfort you? This time you chased Lake Fishmen out onto the ice — what’s next? Jumping into the ocean after a shark?”
“That’s because…you were too slow with your spell…”
“Sometimes I swear I want to hit you!” Liz came back out of the bathroom and pushed Carolyn inside.
“Go ahead… You can’t hurt me…”
There was a dull thud from the bathroom, followed by Carolyn’s laugh. “See? Doesn’t hurt at all…”
Mariana stood stock-still in the living room. On the table beside her sat the Christmas presents she had prepared. Even though she knew Liz and Carolyn had come home late because of work, she still felt deeply wronged.
She stood in the bathroom doorway and saw Carolyn soaking in the steaming tub while Liz was at the sink, scrubbing a long machete.
“Don’t you celebrate Christmas?” she asked hesitantly.
“Sometimes,” Liz said. The blade in her hands was smeared with some kind of green liquid — God only knew what creature it had come from. “Is it… No, is it Christmas today? It’s almost dawn… I really need to get some sleep.”
Carolyn, her voice back to normal thanks to the hot water, said, “Of course. Sleeping is the best holiday entertainment — well, second best after watching movies.”
“The TV says Christmas is important,” Mariana said stubbornly. “It’s supposed to…celebrate the birth of Jesus.” She didn’t actually know much about Jesus, only that it sounded important.
“That’s just one version. It’s also the day pagans used to celebrate the Roman Winter Solstice,” Carolyn replied carelessly.
Mariana lowered her head and left the bathroom. She looked at the gifts on the table, then crouched down beside them, tucking her head against the table leg and curling her body up tight. It was a posture Cave Lizardmen often assumed, and one she still hadn’t managed to break.
Liz, quick to sense something was wrong, dried her hands and followed her out. Only then did she notice the cardboard cards and two gifts on the table. She crouched down and pulled Mariana up.
She was just about to say something to comfort her when Carolyn came out wrapped in a bathrobe. “Oh my God! What is that? That’s terrifying!”
Carolyn was staring at her own gift. To be fair, it was terrifying — a plate holding an unidentifiable, disk-shaped object that looked like a miniature flying saucer from a crashed alien ship.
Mariana’s eyes welled with tears. Liz frantically shot Carolyn warning looks and scrambled to say anything that might comfort or encourage her.
Carolyn held her hands out and mouthed silently, What do I do?
Comfort her! Liz mouthed back, one arm wrapped around Mariana, ruffling her hair.
I’m bad at that!
Then go finish washing your knife!
Before dawn, Mariana finally stopped feeling upset. She knew Association members were busy and that their work was important. Now, she felt calm — if a little embarrassed about her earlier attitude.
“I just saw it on TV…” she said as she went back to her room. “Families together on Christmas, parents and children exchanging gifts… In some places, the father dresses up as Santa Claus.”
“Tomorrow I’ll call John and have him play Santa,” Carolyn said with a wave.
“No, you don’t have to do that,” Mariana said, even more embarrassed. “I know there’s no Santa Claus. As long as you like my gift, I’ll be happy.” Liz had told her she liked it when she was comforting her earlier.
None of them had gotten much sleep that night. Mariana curled up in bed and drifted off almost instantly. Carolyn eyed the “flying saucer wreckage” on the table, wondering if she could sneak it into the trash without being caught.
Liz had already washed up quickly and was setting the alarm clock.
“Two hours of sleep. Then we’re going out.”
“What!” Carolyn almost shouted, then lowered her voice so as not to wake Mariana. “I’m exhausted! Why only two hours? It’s supposed to be our day off!”
“It is a day off,” Liz said, pointing toward Mariana’s room. “Didn’t you hear her? She’s expecting a gift exchange. We need to have something ready for her before she wakes up.”
“We’re not her parents…”
“At least her foster mothers?”
“Fine. I’ll try to get up.” Carolyn waved her off and collapsed into bed.
Sometimes, it was strange — your body could be too tired to move, but your mind was too alert to sleep. She thought about it and figured Liz would probably just buy jewelry or clothes, so she should give Mariana something fun — a science model, maybe, or a pretty puzzle…
4. Werewolf Hayden and Driftwood
On Christmas Eve afternoon, Hayden once again cornered Driftwood in a spot where no one would pass by for hours.
“Don’t move this time. You’re not getting away from me,” he said with a predatory grin as he closed in.
“When have I ever run from you?” Driftwood asked lazily, nudging a cigarette butt on the ground with his foot.
Hayden got so close their chests nearly touched. He let loose a string of threats, each one fiercer than the last, his voice rising and falling for effect, staring down at Driftwood from the slight advantage of his height.
Suddenly, Driftwood cut him off. “Enough. I’m tired even if you’re not. Can’t you just say what you actually want?”
Hayden stiffened.
Driftwood looked at him impatiently. “I’m sick of your threats. Nothing you’ve said is scary to a hunter. Drop the act. Every time, you go on and on until a guard finds you and drags you off. What do you want, exactly? To beat me up or screw me? Just say it.”
For a long moment, Hayden couldn’t think of a single response that would sound remotely authoritative. The truth was, Driftwood wasn’t wrong — Hayden had thought about beating him up, and he had thought about screwing him, but somehow, it never went according to plan.
“It’s Christmas Eve,” Driftwood said. “Could you do me the courtesy of not wasting my time? That’d be the best Christmas present you could give me.”
With a dismissive glance, he sidestepped and started to walk away.
Hayden suddenly grabbed his arm, yanking him back without warning and shoving him hard against the wall. Before Driftwood could say another word, Hayden closed the distance and kissed him — hard — using the kind of force he’d reserve for a bloodkin, not a human.
One hand cupped the back of Driftwood’s neck while the other pulled him tightly against his chest. The kiss went on for a long time, and when they finally broke apart, there were tiny wounds on both their lips and tongues.
“Oh…you’re rougher than when I kissed you,” Driftwood said, still pinned to the wall, one eyebrow raised. “Good thing you’re a werewolf. If you were human, kissing a vampire like that could be dangerous.”
“It’s Christmas,” Hayden said, feeling his face heat. The damned former hunter — now a vampire — would never blush. “You mentioned a gift. Let’s exchange gifts. How about it?”
“So awful. You sound like something out of a bad porno.” Driftwood gave his usual cold smirk as Hayden flipped him around and pressed him against the wall again.
The werewolf’s body was hotter now, his heartbeat quickening.
Kisses rained down on the back of Driftwood’s neck — too gentle, and that was dangerous. It robbed him of the energy for sarcasm.
When he felt a hot palm slide beneath his shirt, Driftwood closed his eyes. No one would come here for at least two hours. He decided, for the moment, to stop thinking altogether.
5. Mr. Russell
Mr. Russell’s Christmas Eve was nothing short of tragic.
The guards at the Bunker prison had thrown together a small party. The turkey wasn’t cooked very well, but at least the mood was good. Everyone had brought a small gift — something simple, maybe just a poem copied onto cardstock or a jar of new face cream. After all, there wasn’t anywhere in the Bunker to buy presents. The modest gifts were numbered and placed together for a draw.
At the end of the party, the guards presented Russell with a notebook, saying it was from all of them together. When he opened it, he found page after page filled with holiday wishes and personal notes — not only from every guard in the Bunker prison, but even from some of the prisoners.
Overjoyed, Russell trembled all over — and accidentally choked on half-chewed gingerbread crumbs. He coughed so hard he knocked over his drink, tried to stand, and promptly tripped on the carpet.
Flat on the floor, face flushed from coughing, he suddenly found his back had locked up.
The guards, now panicking, carried him out of the Bunker and drove through the night to get him emergency care.
In the end, Russell was fine. He spent the Christmas morning under observation in the hospital’s emergency ward.
6. John and Coraci
They had spent the entire day busy, answering no fewer than twenty calls — some were Christmas greetings, others from the postman, saying a package required a signature.
After ten o’clock that night, John had parked the car and noticed a pile of packages in front of Coraci’s house. On a snowy night like this, sitting by the fireplace to open gifts… It was an ideal Christmas Eve. And now, that’s exactly what he and Coraci were doing.
“Look, there’s one for you too,” Coraci tossed a small box to John. “Lately you’ve been quite famous among the bloodkin in nearby cities — they sent the gift straight to my place.”
“Why not to the Association?” John asked, opening the box to reveal a strange figurine: a saber-toothed tiger with goat-like hooves, three horns on its head, and a tail resembling a writhing tentacle.
“Everyone knows you live with me,” Coraci explained, “and my address has long ceased to be a secret — after all, people often come to stay over. Ah, he sent you a Hybrid Fury statue. It must be from a Nordic vampire.”
“Why? What is this?”
“The old bloodkin of Scandinavia once revered it. It symbolizes admiration and…intense desire. It doesn’t exist in any traditional magic system; one bloodkin probably invented it, and somehow it got passed down.”
Coraci opened his own gifts: two small, beautifully bound booklets, sent by the Bewildering Monster couple (or should he say “husband-and-husband” or “wife-and-wife”). Between the two booklets was a card signed by Monin and Nate, with Christmas greetings, and two recent travel photos.
The first photo showed their female forms in Mauritius — Monin wearing large sunglasses, his brown skin slightly darker from the sun; Nate’s blond hair was tied up in a bun, adorned with a red hibiscus flower. The second photo was taken in some hotel unknown to them, showing two sweaty, muscular men posing closely on a balcony, foreheads nearly touching.
The covers of the booklets were pink craft paper glittered with gold powder, no titles — only elaborate calligraphy reading To My Beloved Travikkan and Praise the Moon in the Depths of Thorns.
“What is this? A wedding album?” John leaned closer.
Coraci, curious himself, opened To My Beloved… first. It was signed by Nate. Flipping to the middle page, the text read:
“Stin destroyed the magic circle and dragged Travik out. He kissed Travik hard, and they quickly entangled on the floor, knocking over bottles of spell ingredients. ‘No, this isn’t right…’ Travik trembled as Stin pressed himself against him; unfamiliar desire drove him wild. Stin ripped open his clothes roughly, whispering into his ear, ‘You cannot refuse. I won’t let you leave me…’”
They exchanged glances. Coraci then opened the other booklet, Praise the Moon…, signed by Monin.
“For Travik, nothing was eternal. He no longer belonged to this world; the vivid outside was fleeting. Only Stin was different, eternal. Stin tempted him again and again, deliberately making him lose control, falling deeper into sin. Finally, Travik exhaled in satisfaction, drawing Stin’s released essence back into his own body, leaving a trace of liquid in Stin…”
“Santa! What is this?” John flipped quickly to the next page — it was more of the same.
If they understood correctly, the booklets’ characters were inverted — their positions reversed, personalities subtly altered.
Coraci buried his face in his palms. “Why would they send this to me…”
“What exactly is it?”
“Remember when they argued in front of me about the romance in Stairway to Hell?1 They even came to blows over it…”
“I remember. So this time…”
“It’s my other novel from two years ago, Moonlight Vanishes. Still horror, not romance. It’s about a young man, Travikkan, living in his uncle’s old house — which turns out to be a cursed mansion. The uncle essentially sacrificed him to the spirits inside. He fails to resist and becomes one of the spirits. On a stormy moonless night, some university students take refuge in the house, falling into the spirits’ trap. Many die, and only the heroine escapes, freeing the cursed Travik…”
“Wait — the heroine?” John double-checked the characters. “Then why are these two…spirits… having sex?”
“That’s Monin and Nate for you. I didn’t write it that way!” Coraci said, laughing and crying at the same time as he closed the booklets, tucking the card and photos back inside. Though the content was shocking, they were still Christmas gifts from the Bewildering Monsters, so he would keep them safely.
He placed the two booklets on the bookshelf and pulled out a wrapped box.
“It’s Christmas Eve,” he said, sitting back in front of John. “I have a gift for you.”
John’s eyes lit up. He held out a small box from his coat. “Me too! I wanted to wait until after midnight to give it to you.”
They exchanged gifts simultaneously, lifting their heads to look at each other.
John unwrapped a pair of new leather shoes, a style between formal and casual, suitable for many occasions.
“Thank you,” he said, itching to try them on, though that felt rude (as his mother had once taught him). “How did you know my size?”
“All your data is in the Association’s records. Last time I helped a wild bloodkin with paperwork, I saw you in a suit, looking like a secret agent flashing your Association ID, but wearing sneakers… It was bizarre.”
John scratched his head in embarrassment. Apart from his family, Coraci was the first to give him something like this.
Coraci opened his gift — a transparent glass box holding a cluster of pink cosmos, stemless, soil-free, neither dried nor artificial. The blooms were frozen at their peak beauty.
“Preserved flowers, probably invented by the French,” John said, not mentioning it was Smith’s suggestion. “Cosmos symbolize respect and resilience. Mostly, I just thought the process was fascinating.”
“They’re beautiful, thank you,” Coraci said, examining the flowers. “I heard they dehydrate the bloom first, then replace the water with a special liquid.”
“It’s a bit like becoming a vampire,” John added.
“I admire your imagination!” Coraci laughed. “That does make sense. Very elegant — thank you. I’ll put it on my windowsill. Snow outside, Christmas Eve, and a young vampire gives me flowers… It’s so magical. Even soap operas can’t top this.”
John thought, It could have been more magical… In fact, Smith had suggested that John give roses, but he felt their implication was a little too intimate.
Coraci’s house was too remote to hear the city church bells. Upstairs in the guest room, the little Piccs staying with them were probably watching TV, singing along to Christmas songs and wishing each other a Merry Christmas. It was now midnight.
“Merry Christmas, John,” Coraci said, looking at him.
“Merry Christmas. Thank you,” John replied.
“Thank you too,” Coraci said, shaking the glass box in his hand.
John thought to himself, I mean more than the gift. But he didn’t explain — it was enough for now.
Christmas Special – End
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