[ WP ] At the end of your life , the Grim Reaper sends the necessary equivalent force needed to claim your soul , the more dangerous you are , the more force they send . As you look out your house , you see the German 6th Army staring back at you .

The sun boils hot above and the city of Murmansk shimmers in the heat. Such heat, nay, even it's very existence, was unheard of for the Murmansk of my youth. As I lay in the industrial freezer I use for a bed, an unfamiliar sound began to carry over the steady drone of the machine. 
 
 *stamp* *stamp* *STAMP* *STAMP* 
 
 I gingerly lifted myself out of the freezer-bed, wincing at the tendrils of heat that brushed tentatively against the frost that had accumulated on my skin. Drawing back the heat-blocking curtains, the blast of warmth from the window shocks me almost as much as the grim soldiers outside. 
 
 Now, where had I seen the insignia before? They'd come for a visit once, when I was young. One autumn day, long, long ago, men with the same banner had come to our house; they had been shown out the family lands by my father, who did not appreciate an army camping in our property. Father was long dead, however, and our ancestral grounds have shrunk to this tiny, dingy abode. 
 
 A decorated, shiny man - *Field Marshal Paulus*, my mind supplied - strode out of the mirage-masked mass of soldiers and dutifully recited: `` On the orders of DEATH himself, we have come to guide you to the next life! Come, and suffer in this wretched, burning world no longer. Come with us, and know peace.'' 
 
 Not even bothering to deign him with an answer, I turned my back to the window and gazed upon the room where I had spent the past few centuries. A snow-globe sat undisturbed on the corner of my work-bench, and artificial snow gently fell from the machine mounted in place of the ceiling fan. The muted, smog-filtered light that streamed in from the window refracted gently off various frost-covered surfaces. Perhaps, if I ignored Paulus and his soldiers, they just forget about their task, and - 
 
 **BANG** 
 
 A thunderous blast - no doubt from one of the large artillery pieces outside - tore through the roof of my single-story home, demolishing my snow machine and replacing it with a wave of sparks and fire. 
 
 `` That was your last warning.'' 
 
 The voice of the Field Marshal fell on deaf ears as I gazed in horror at the effects of the invading heat. For the first time in a while, centuries, even, I felt something push past the immovable wall of apathy in my life. 
 
 *Anger*. 
 
 The door nearly blasted off its hinges as I stormed onto the front porch, hoarfrost and cold fog creeping over the surface as I went. 
 
 **'' Field Marshal Paulus, you have gone too far! You and your men have been rebuffed once by my father and I will now do so in his stead! I am the Last Son of Winter and his Final Avatar upon this dying Earth. Come! `` **
