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BATTLE OF KARHOLD -
The courtyard of Karhold had become unrecognizable a charnel ground of frozen corpses and writhing shadows. Stone walls once grey were blackened with fire that burned without heat, flames tinged in violet and black, licking against frost so cold it cracked the very mortar. The Men in Karhold had long since scattered to the edges, reduced to wide-eyed witnesses, unable to tell whether they stood in the halls of men or in some cursed dominion where gods themselves had come to war.
And at its center, two figures.
Aeron Grim and the Night King.
Their clash was no mere duel, but the collision of forces beyond mortal comprehension.
The Night King advanced, each step cracking the ground beneath him, ice spreading like veins across the courtyard. His sword, jagged and crystalline, sang with death's silence as he struck. Aeron moved with equal precision, Drakyrzor flashing in black arcs, every swing leaving trails of black-fire that seared the very air.
Steel clanged against ice. Sparks of black and white burst each time their blades met. Aeron slid under a sweeping strike, shadows bursting from his feet to propel him forward. He spun, bringing his greatsword down in a brutal overhead slash only for the Night King's blade to meet it with bone-shattering force.
The shockwave hurled men from the battlements.
Aeron's eyes blazed violet, and his shadow writhed outward like a sea unleashed. From it erupted [Chains of The Abyss] , black as midnight, wreathed in abyssal fire. They shot forward, dozens of them, wrapping around the Night King's arms, torso, even his neck. The wight-lord's pale blue eyes flared brighter, colder. Frost spread along the chains with terrifying speed, cracking and snapping them apart one by one, shards of frozen shadow falling uselessly to the ground.
The Night King wrenched free with a growl of wind, swinging his blade in a killing arc. The strike was faster than men's eyes could follow, but Aeron was faster still.
His hand rose Ruler's Authority exploded outward. An invisible blast slammed into the Night King with the force of a collapsing wall. Ice shattered from his body, and the great Other was hurled back, crashing through the remains of a shattered pillar. His sword flew from his hand, spinning through the air like a shard of moonlight.
Aeron didn't hesitate. Shadows surged at his heels, propelling him forward as he thrust Drakyrzor. The blade pierced through the Night King's guard and bit deep. A screamless gasp filled the courtyard as steel carved through frost and flesh alike.
The Night King's hand severed clean at the shoulder, tumbling to the ground.
It did not regenerate.
Instead, it hissed steam rising, the flesh crackling as if melting in fire. For the first time, the pale crown of winter faltered.
A murmur swept through the onlookers, half disbelief, half terror.
The Night King's head tilted, expression unreadable, but the temperature of the world plummeted. The ground shook as his free hand lifted high, frost spiraling into the air. From his body surged a tide of sorcery so ancient it warped the very air. Jagged spears of ice erupted from the earth, shards of frozen death raining down from above. A blizzard howled into existence, fierce enough to rip banners from poles and freeze men's lungs in their chests.
Aeron stood unbowed, shadow trailing from his form like a cloak. He raised his hand and a sphere of force enveloped him Ruler's Authority, solid as iron. Each ice spear that struck exploded against the barrier in shards. Still the storm grew, suffocating, pressing down.
"Persistent bastard…" Aeron growled under his breath, teeth bared. His other hand rose, palm igniting with crimson light. [The Red God's Wrath] flared, holy fire spilling forth. The flames stretched upward, forming a barrier of burning light that clashed with the oncoming blizzard. Ice cracked, melted, screamed as it turned to steam. The courtyard became a battlefield of extremes, frost against fire, shadow against death.
The courtyard burned in shadow and frost. Aeron's violet eyes locked upon the Night King, his breath misting in the frigid air. The clash of their powers had turned Karhold's walls into a ruin of ice and black flame, but beyond those walls… the war raged on.
Through the storm, Aeron could feel it. The cries of men. The clash of steel against endless dead. The White Walkers pressing forward with frost that could snuff out hope itself.
His shadows would endure, the dead never tired, never froze, never broke. But the living? The Karstarks. The Martells. The Northerners at the gate. Robb, Jon, and their host fighting outside the walls. Even if victory came, it would be ashes, corpses strewn across frozen stone.
He clenched his jaw.
"This must end and fast." His voice was low, steady, but in his chest a storm built. He raised Drakyrzor, shadows coiling like serpents along the blade. "If you live, they all die. The cold will claim them before your steel does."
Then he moved.
Aeron's fury erupted like a dam burst. He launched forward, blade a blur of violent arcs, each swing carrying the weight of shadow power. Drakyrzor cleaved left and right, every strike echoing like thunder. The Night King brought his ice blade up to parry but Aeron's blows came too fast, too heavy. The first block cracked his sword. The second bent his stance. The third broke through, carving deep into the Night King's other shoulder, spilling frozen slush instead of blood.
[Mutilation] Aeron roared, shadows surging into his blade. He slashed in a brutal multiple fast slashes, so fast nobody could see what he did. The Night King reeled back, chest torn open, frost leaking like smoke from the wound. Another slash across his thigh, nearly cleaving the leg. Another his torso shuddered, cracking, the frost armor splintering beneath the onslaught.
The Night King faltered. The glow of his eyes dimmed as he stepped back, hand twitching with ancient, cold power.
He turned trying to slip into shadow and frost, his form beginning to blur. A teleport. Escape.
But Aeron leapt, shadows bursting from his feet, and his hand closed like iron around the Night King's throat.
"I know what you were about to do." His voice was guttural, violet eyes burning.
The Night King's response was swift and brutal. With his free hand, he drove his jagged ice blade into Aeron's abdomen. It tore through flesh and armor alike, the tip piercing from back to front. Frost spread instantly, tendrils of ice crawling along Aeron's ribs, threatening to freeze him from within.
Aeron's face twisted, not with fear, but with something darker. He smiled, blood on his lips, shadows crackling against the frost.
"You are the one that is going to die."
He drove Drakyrzor straight into the Night King's chest. The blade sank deep, black fire searing into his ribs. The Night King's glowing eyes widened, the cold within them faltering. For a heartbeat, silence reigned.
And then the world lurched.
The Night King vanished in a burst of frost teleporting even as Aeron's Greatsword remained buried in his chest. Aeron's grip never left his throat, so he was dragged with him, through shadow and ice, reappearing high in the skies atop the ice dragon.
The beast shrieked, wings thrashing against storm clouds, locked still in brutal combat with the Cannibal.
Aeron didn't hesitate. Still impaled, still bleeding, he drew back a boot and kicked the icy beast with such force the world seemed to shake. Bone cracked. The ice dragon reeled downward, screaming as the Cannibal seized the opening.
With a roar of abyssal hate, the Cannibal hurled his colossal weight forward, smashing into the frozen dragon. The two dragons locked in a death spiral, tearing through the clouds before slamming into the battlefield below.
The ground shattered. A shockwave rippled across snow and stone, hurling men and wights alike from their feet. Wails rose as the armies of the living and the dead alike staggered back.
Jon Snow's eyes widened, snow and ash streaking his face as he turned to Robb. "Gods… they fell, are they dead?"
Robb gritted his teeth, "No. Look."
The Cannibal stirred. The monstrous black dragon shook rubble from his wings, his shadow scales glowing faintly violet in the dim light. His jaws closed around the broken neck of the ice dragon. Bones crunched. Frost shattered. And with a savage twist, the Cannibal tore its head clean off.
The White Walkers on the field let out a collective screech.
The Cannibal raised his head, the icy carcass dangling for a moment before he flung it aside. Then he reared back, wings stretching wide, and unleashed a roar that seemed to shake the very soul of every man and undead on the battlefield.
It was followed by fire, abyssal black, a torrent of flame that devoured the wights in droves. Entire ranks of the dead turned to ash, their icy armor melting in waves. The blast swept across the battlefield, buying precious ground for Robb, Jon, and the living.
Jon's chest heaved as he took it all in. "Seven hells…"
Robb's lips curled into asmile, even as Grey Wind tore a wight apart beside him. "I want one."
Around them, men who moments ago faltered found their voices again, raising their blades high. The Cannibal roared once more, fire spilling from his jaws, and the living pressed forward, their hope reborn in shadow and flame.
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