The Wendigo, a gaunt, spindly spirit of insatiable hunger, wandered far from the Canadian wilderness. It found itself in a place of eternal mist and cold roots. Insatiable Hunger. It saw a massive shape coiling in the dark. Meat?
It shrieked, its voice the sound of cracking ice, and leaped at the distraction. Frost-Wasting Presence. It clawed at the scales, trying to drain the warmth from the beast.
Nidhogg, the Malice Striker, stopped chewing on the root of Yggdrasil. He looked down. He was the size of a tectonic plate. He lived in Niflheim, the home of ice.
"You are cold," Nidhogg rumbled, amused. "But I am the Void."
The Snack
The Wendigo bit down on a scale. It shattered its teeth.
Nidhogg opened his maw. World-Venom Breath.
A cloud of green, necrotic gas enveloped the spirit. It wasn't just poison; it was the concept of decay. The Wendigo, which thrived on the wasting away of others, choked. Its spectral form began to dissolve.
"You are empty," Nidhogg judged.
He struck with Root-Gnaw.
The laws of physics bent as the dragon's jaws snapped shut. The Wendigo was swallowed whole. Nidhogg paused, tasting the essence of starvation. "Needs salt," he grumbled, and went back to his eternal task of destroying the World Tree.