The creature didn't pause. It raised both arms, forming them into scythe-like blades, and prepared to finish him.
"System!" Alaric roared in his mind. "I need something to counter this thing! Now!"
[System Query: Effective Countermeasures against Magical Entities.]
[Scanning Inventory...]
A list flashed before his eyes, scrolling rapidly.
Steel Sword: Ineffective.
Winter's Skin: Defensive limit reached.
Disharmony Gauntlet: Recommended.
Alaric's eyes widened. The Disharmony Gauntlet. He had received it as a reward for the Sovereign Bond with Roslin Frey, but amidst the chaos, he hadn't even checked its stats.
He didn't hesitate. "Equip Disharmony Gauntlet!"
The air around his left hand shimmered and distorted. There was no flash of light, just a dull, metallic thud as a heavy, iron gauntlet materialized over his forearm. It looked ancient, the metal pitted and scarred, with faint runes etched into the knuckles that pulsed with a low, dissonant hum.
[Item Equipped: Disharmony Gauntlet]
Rank: Rare.
Effect: Disruption. Physical strikes with this gauntlet can destabilize magical constructs and energy forms.
Note: Does not destroy magic, but unravels its cohesion for a short duration.
The Shadow Assassin attacked.
Alaric dropped his sword. He didn't try to dodge. Instead, he stepped into the attack, raising his left arm to meet the descending scythe of smoke.
CLANG.
The sound was wrong. It wasn't metal on metal, but the screech of a tuning fork struck against stone. The shadow-blade hit the gauntlet and shattered. The condensed smoke didn't flow around the iron; it broke apart, dissolving into harmless wisps of grey mist.
The creature recoiled, its form flickering violently. For the first time, it seemed confused.
Alaric didn't give it time to recover. He clenched his fist, feeling the cold iron bite into his skin, and threw a hook straight into the center of the shadow's mass.
"Break!" he snarled.
His fist connected. It felt like punching through a thick, heavy curtain, but there was resistance. The runes on the gauntlet flared with a sickly, rust-colored light.
SCREEE!
The Shadow Assassin let out a sound like tearing metal. The impact of the gauntlet sent a shockwave of disruption through its body. The tight, magical weave that held the smoke together began to unravel. The creature's torso exploded outward, losing its shape and turning into a chaotic cloud of swirling darkness.
It wasn't dead, but it was destabilized. The "Disharmony" effect prevented it from reforming instantly.
Alaric saw the opening. He grabbed a heavy iron candelabra from the table with his right hand—his non-gauntleted hand.
While the shadow was still writhing from the gauntlet's strike, trying to pull itself back together, Alaric swung the iron club with all his strength.
The blow struck the creature's exposed, wavering core. The combination of the disruption from the gauntlet and contenius strikes was too much.
With a final, silent shriek, the Shadow Assassin burst apart. It didn't reform this time. The smoke thinned, spread out, and then vanished entirely, leaving only a lingering smell of sulfur and ozone in the room.
Alaric stood panting in the dim light, his chest heaving. The cut on his chest throbbed, but he was alive. He looked down at the gauntlet. The runes were dimming, the hum fading to silence.
[Target Neutralized.]
[Combat Encounter Ended.]
[MP Gained: 500.]
He flexed his fingers inside the iron glove. It wasn't a god-killing weapon, but it was exactly what he needed: a way to touch the untouchable.
Alaric stood in the center of the solar, the Disharmony Gauntlet still pulsing with a faint, dying heat. The sulfurous scent of the shadow's dissipation stung his nostrils.
"System," Alaric muttered, his voice raspy from the adrenaline. "Who sent that thing?"
The blue interface flickered, several lines of code scrolling at a speed he could barely follow before a text box solidified in the center of his vision.
[Analysis of Origin: Incomplete]
[Conclusion:] The shadow traveled a significant distance, likely originating from Essos, not Westeros.
Alaric's brow furrowed. "Essos? That's across the Narrow Sea. I haven't even stepped foot outside the North and south, let alone the continent."
He paced the room, his boots crunching on a fragment of the broken candelabra. His mind raced through the players. Cersei? No. Littlefinger? obviously not.
"Melisandre?" he whispered to the empty room.
It was the most logical choice. She was the only one he knew of capable of birthing such horrors. But the geography was wrong. Stannis Baratheon and his Red Priestess might be at Dragonstone. Dragonstone was an island off the coast of Westeros—hardly the distant Essos the System was flagging.
Furthermore, he knew the lore. Creating a Shadow Assassin wasn't a simple feat of willpower. It was a dark, exhausting ritual. It required a "father"—a source of life force—and usually, a piece of the target or a powerful connection to them to guide the shadow across such a distance.
"I've never met her," Alaric thought, his jaw tightening. "She doesn't have my blood. She doesn't have my hair. And why would a priestess in the service of R'hllor care about a ward in Winterfell before the War of the Five Kings has even truly begun?"
If not her, then who? A rogue warlock from Qarth? The Faceless Men using a method he hadn't read about?
He had been so focused on the political chessboard of the Seven Kingdoms that he had forgotten the world was much larger and far more Terrifying than a few lions and wolves bickering over a throne.
[MP = 6,224]