157 Chapter 157 – Demise

[302 AC – The Wall]

In the years after the inauguration of the Night's Watch and the centuries that followed, it had always been an unwritten rule for the nineteen castles to send out their men to cut down any tree closer than half a mile to the Wall.

With the passage of time and the decline of the Watch, it had become impossible to keep up this tradition, which caused the treeline to creep closer and closer to the Wall in the unmanned zones along the Wall.

In some areas, the forest had even managed to nearly catch up with the icy monument, and while during the weeks of preparation for the great battle, which was currently taking place at the breach, some of these areas had been deforested, some of them also had not.

Icy abominations of dark magic emerged from one such place in the dead of the night, their inherent magic shielding them from the warrior priest's gaze atop the Wall, as they reached the structure that had imprisoned them on this side of the continent for so long.

There were fourteen of them. Bony outgrowth akin to a crown sitting on the head of the one in their midst, while the other thirteen moved around him, guarded him. They were inhuman, cold, and dangerous. An icy breath followed their wake, mist pooling around their feet.

Silently the lesser ones amongst the Others stood around their King, magic being the language of their choice, their eyes filled with crystal malevolence, vengeance shining brightly inside them.

Their frozen hearts filled with nothing but hate for the living as they wove their magic together under the leadership of their King. Finally, after thousands of years, they understood that the once mighty enchantments had been weakened enough for them to burst free from their imprisonment.

They knew that the wights they had sent to the breach would probably not survive, but they were uncaring to the loss of their army, as once their magic succeeded it would be their victory sooner or later.

Once they were no longer restricted from entering the land of the living, they would fulfill their purpose and be the terror that they were created to be – cold, life-snatching shadows, hunters made from the vengeful spirits of the Children of the Forest and the flesh of the First Men, ice and darkness their weapons.

Their spirits continued to guide their innate magic into the weave of enchantments that had kept the Wall strong for thousands of years, seeking a way to destroy it, to corrupt it, when suddenly pure agony washed over them.

Their souls were nearly incinerated as they touched upon an ethereal barrier of pure fire that protected the Wall and its foundation.

Stumbling back and falling to their knees, the Others groaned out in silence, resting and waiting for the soul-stirring pain to fade. Only their King, the most powerful amongst them, managed to stand upright and shake off the magical backlash in but a moment.

"You should have gone to the breach.", a voice suddenly sounded out from behind them, a sigh accompanying the words spoken.

Soundlessly turning around with inhuman speed and grace, the King of the Others did not hesitate to create a spear of icy darkness and hurl it at the perceived threat behind them, though it was of no use as he did not possess the power to harm the being that had spoken up just now.

With the greatest ease, the dark-haired man plucked the spear from the air as if plucking a flower and shattered it in his bare fist, his blazing eyes and serene aura being hints to the might he wielded, as he gazed forward undisturbed.

Alarmed, but without fear, the cold shadows rose to their feet despite their pain, summoning their cold crystal weapons and readying themselves for bloodshed like the silent menace that they were.

Before their leader could order them to rush forward though, figures stepped out of the shadows behind the fiery-eyed being. One after another, men and women, thirteen altogether appeared, their cheeks flaring with the flaming mark of a feather.

"Fate is an unusual, uncomprehensible thing, even for me sometimes.", the Red God spoke up once again, "This meeting seems to have been unavoidable – fated. Thirteen Walkers. Thirteen Feathers. One Night King. One Phoenix."

Grasping at the void before him, Phenex took hold of Dawn as he continued with a calm voice, a sigh on his lips: "Though you really should have gone to the breach, as there will be no songs and stories written about your true demise."

With his last word, a flame ignited on his white, silvery blade, as well as on his Feather's weapon, and not another word was spoken as they rushed forward, frozen flesh breaking under their assault, the divine flames encasing their steel purging these spirits plagued by dark magic and endless hate.

There was no battle or struggle to speak of, as the Feather's invincible might laid destruction upon the age-old terrors from the Lands of Always Winter, the War of Dawn ending with Phenex' flaming blade carving through the frozen heart of the Night King, his own skin unbroken by the icy blade of his adversary.

And having done what he and his thirteen came for, they silently vanished once again, unseen by the priests and warriors atop the Wall.

…

Cursing under his breath as his blade became stuck in the ribcage of a wight, Barristan Selmy sent a sharp kick at the half-rotten carcass flailing about the end of his blade to free his weapon. Before he could succeed though he was thrown off his feet by another undead tackling him from the side.

Robbed of his breath, the former Kingsguard Commander didn't panic even though he had lost hold of his weapon during the fall.

Instead, thankful for his armored gloves, the elderly knight kept the biting jaws of the wight that had felled him away from his face, as he realized that the danger he was in at this moment was of the deadly variant.

From the corner of his eyes, he could see the undead that had his sword still stuck in its chest approaching with fast steps, and even the legendary knight did not believe for a second that this was the last opponent he had to face.

His right hand being busy keeping away the snapping jaws of the undead atop him, the elderly knight managed to grab a dagger from his belt with his other hand and he didn't hesitate to use it against his closest foe, the short blade stabbing into with wight's skull with surprising ease, as if encountering no resistance at all.

Twisting the dagger, Barristan practically split the skull of the wight down the middle, giving him room to breathe and free himself from his attacker momentarily.

Rising to his feet with practiced ease despite his aching limbs, sending a sharp kick at the crawling undead's neck and feeling the brittle bones break under the force of his attack, he turned around to face his other foe, his trusty sword still sticking out of the undead's chest, while a quick glance down revealed that he had drawn Reminiscence from its sheath on his belt.

Realizing that the incredibly sharp Valyrian dagger had already managed to save his life once, the elderly knight was about to jump into battle with it again, hoping his luck had not left him yet, but the sudden stillness of his foe, followed by its collapse and subsequent transformation into ashes made that obsolete.

…

Her mind slowly reaching its limits after hours of battle, Kinvara did not know how much longer she could sustain the magical construct of the Firewyrm, being too drained to even summon a fireball to her palms, as exhaustion tore at her.

Suddenly though, as if her worries had been heard the unending horde of undead just fell down defeated like a puppet with its strings cut off, before moments later they began to turn into ashes, the magic sustaining them vanishing without a trace.

Surprised and relieved, the High Priestess reined in her magical powers, causing the mountainous Firewyrm to fade from existence, when suddenly a foreign memory surged into her mind, a memory of herself, the young dragonrider, and the bearded priest fighting and killing the Night King.

A message accompanied the constructed memory, telling her of the meeting between her love and the Others.

Realizing that Phenex had purposefully created this memory and embedded it into the minds of those present, with only the members of the Red Temple knowing the truth, Kinvara could only sigh in surrender, knowing that this was what her love wanted.

…

After nearly fifteen hours of battle, the War of Dawn ended with the victory of the living, the Red Queen having led the dragonrider and the Undying Priest into battle against the Night King, before defeating the icy abomination and its subordinates with her overwhelming magical prowess.

The celebrations though had to wait as dead silence reigned over the encampment and Castle Balck for nearly two whole days, those who had fought against the tireless undead resting their minds and bodies in the aftermath of the battle.