Death Takes the Slopes

You'd think a ski trip would be simple. Fresh powder. 80s neon. Zero frost-bitten influencers.

But no. I, Corvus Q. Featherbottom—raven, psychopomp, and the only one who understands that camouflage is just a lack of confidence—have been dragged to the Silver Peak Resort so Death can prove he has "mastered the pizza technique."

The "pizza" in question involves a nuclear-magenta ski suit, fifteen unnecessary zippers, and a very confused concierge.
Jack Frost, as it turns out, is currently "optimizing" the mountain into a Deep Freeze that's less about winter and more about burying the local influencer summit in a permanent ice age.

Death wants a "Radical" aesthetic. Hel is learning that a Viking snow-golem belongs in a garden, not a lobby. And I'm stealing radioactive ghost peppers from a pretentious ptarmigan while wondering why the "Epic Thaw" requires industrial-grade cheese sauce.

If this is a vacation, I'm filing for a sabbatical in a volcano.

A chaotic, chili-infused supernatural comedy told by a bird who's definitely too good for this.