The Spider Strikes
Ned Stark's sword sliced through the air, cutting through one of the spider's legs. Dark, viscous blood splattered onto the sand.
The monstrous creature shrieked, its many eyes glowing with pure malice. It lunged, moving faster than something so massive should be able to.
Then—the fangs struck.
They sank deep into Ned's shoulder, piercing armor and flesh. His body convulsed as the venom surged through his veins, an unbearable burning agony spreading like wildfire.
His vision blurred. His limbs weakened. He dropped to one knee.
"Run… get Daenerys to safety," he gasped, gripping his sword with what little strength remained.
Jorah and Arya tried to fight, but the beast was too powerful. It swatted them away like insects.
With one swift, horrifying movement, the spider seized Daenerys in its massive, hairy legs and vanished into the darkness.
"NO!" Ned roared, using the last of his strength to reach for her—but it was too late.
He collapsed onto the cold ground, his breath shallow, his skin turning gray as the venom consumed him.
Aegon vs. The Apostles
Far from Ned's doomed struggle, Aegon faced the two Apostles, bloodied and exhausted.
"Where is your master? What do you want with us?" he demanded, his grip tightening around his blade.
One of them laughed, the sound sending an unnatural chill through the air.
"You and Daenerys are the last of the Targaryen bloodline. Our master will be pleased."
The words sent a surge of rage through Aegon's body, but before he could strike, they attacked.
Lightning arced through the sky, slamming into Aegon's chest. His body jerked violently, searing pain tearing through him.
Then—a wave of telekinetic force lifted him off the ground and flung him into the ruins, stone and debris shattering around him.
He struggled to rise, but his body was still drained from the Striga battle. His wounds were healing too slowly, his speed was dulled—he was a shadow of the warrior he had been just hours ago.
The Apostles took their time, torturing him with blasts of energy, throwing him around like a broken doll.
Aegon's blood painted the earth, his strength fading.
The Awakening
Just as the Apostles closed in for the final blow, something stirred deep within him.
A flame—ancient, powerful, unrelenting.
Then—visions.
The Doom of Valyria. Cities crumbling, the sky burning as dragons screamed.
Aegon the Conqueror. His armies marching, his dragons unleashing hellfire upon the Seven Kingdoms.
The Prince Who Was Promised. A warrior forged from fire and ice.
The Dance of Dragons. Blood and betrayal—Targaryens fighting Targaryens.
Then—a dark force beyond them all.
The White Walkers. And behind them, something even more ancient.
The Wild Hunt.
Aegon's eyes snapped open.
His hand clenched around his blade—and it burned with an unholy fire.
The steel itself ignited, flames crawling along its surface, transforming it into something more than a sword.
Lightbringer.
The Apostles staggered back, their laughter gone, replaced with fury.
"You… spoke their name!" one of them hissed.
"Wild Hunt," Aegon growled, his voice like thunder.
And then he attacked.
Their magic clashed against his blade, but Lightbringer cut through their spells like fire through dry grass.
He drove forward, unstoppable now. One of the Apostles tried to strike him with another bolt of lightning, but Aegon dodged with inhuman speed, his blade slicing clean through the Apostle's chest.
The creature screamed, its body burning from the inside out, its essence devoured by Lightbringer.
One remained.
But before Aegon could strike, a shadow loomed over him.
The spider had returned.
And Daenerys was still trapped within its monstrous grasp.
"No!" Aegon roared, but it was too late.
With one final, eerie screech, the spider vanished into the night—taking Daenerys and the last Apostle with it.
Aegon stumbled, his vision spinning. His body had reached its limit.
He collapsed onto the blood-soaked ground, gasping for air.
Daenerys was gone.
And for the first time in his life, Aegon felt powerless.