…Chapter Start
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(General Pov)
…Shatter
He was forced onto his back foot—a moment of retreat while intercepting the strike with his sword, which now led to his current predicament. Daemon's blade shattered—steel crying under the force applied by the swing, leaving Daemon with only a beaten shield.
The crowd, seeing this, gasped—a first for many, as they hadn't expected the man's sword to shatter, even taking the Mountain's strength into account. Now, there was only one thought that ran through their minds: would he yield?
"GRAH!" The Mountain didn't give him the chance to speak or adjust to his shattered blade and immediately attacked with a downward swing aimed at Daemon's helmet, with enough force to split him down the middle if it connected.
If it had connected, that is.
But Daemon was quick on his feet and swiftly threw himself to the side, dodging the attack. He hurled the destroyed sword at Clegane's helm while retreating, an action that only enraged the monster among men. The Mountain charged at him, swinging his sword and twisting his hips for more power, forcing Daemon to intercept with his shield. The force of the blow sent him flying to the side and crashing to the floor.
'Fuck, fuck, fuck!' Daemon thought, raising his shield to intercept the next overhead attack.
His bones screamed in agony, but their cries were the least of Daemon's worries. The shield he wielded was being dented under the force of the man's blows. He shot his leg forward, striking Clegane's knee and forcing the man to buckle onto his other leg, temporarily halting his assault. Daemon rolled to the side and onto his feet.
'A sword… I need a bloody sword,' he thought, glancing to the side and spotting a random bastard sword on the floor. He lunged to grab it—but was forced to avoid another attack aimed at his head.
"Not letting me grab a sword, Ser Gregor? I thought of you as a knight, not a wildling," Daemon taunted while stepping back.
"No." A short, sharp answer.
Daemon braced himself, prepared to endure another chase or evade more attacks, but fortunately—the knights the Mountain had fought earlier had finally regained their wits. Realizing the man couldn't be taken down alone, they began to attack him again, drawing his attention away from Daemon.
Daemon sighed in relief—quickly grabbing the bastard sword from the ground and taking a good look at the weapon, noting it was of similar quality to his last one. Adrenaline rushed through his body, the pain receding into background noise. It was time for a counterattack—swift and precise, just as he was trained.
He moved far to the left, taking advantage of Clegane's distraction, and would've swung horizontally toward his liver—but the Mountain wasn't a slouch and intercepted the blow using his shield.
'Of fucking course!' Daemon thought to himself.
Before Clegane could capitalize, Daemon sidestepped a thrust aimed at his head but was left open to a strike aimed at his leg. The crowd gasped in surprise—but that was quickly followed by a scream as the Mountain, with his impressive strength, swung his sword into a man's cuirass, cutting deep into it and sending him crashing to the floor, blood pooling from the wound. Daemon sucked in a sharp breath—the sudden feeling of unease washing over him, leaving only one thought in his mind:
That could have been him if he had been complacent.
He could only offer a grunt of sympathy as he realized the number of combatants against the Mountain had now dwindled to two, including himself. With this in mind, he glanced at the unnamed knight beside him and gave him a nod—one which, luckily for Daemon, was returned. They began to press the Mountain, intercepting his blows and countering when he was left open, covering for each other when necessary.
The man was competent—that much Daemon noted—and judging by his sigil, he was probably a hedge knight. A skilled hedge knight, to have survived this long against the Mountain.
Their efforts were rewarded, as the Mountain was tiring—visibly so. His movements were now weighted, sluggish even, which was to be expected. This melee had gone on for some time, and he was wearing heavy armor while wielding a greatsword.
Daemon and the knight continued to move, using their speed and agility to their advantage—dodging the man's blows and targeting the gaps in his armor.
But the Mountain wasn't the only one who was showing signs of fatigue.
Clank! Clank! Clank! Clank!
Daemon interlocked blades with the Mountain, parrying his blows and creating an opening for the knight to strike. But as the knight stepped in—a wave of exhaustion washed over him, causing him to hesitate for just a second. A second the Mountain capitalized on. He swung his shield arm into the knight's helm, knocking him to the floor.
"Gughh…" the knight groaned in pain.
"Then there was one," the Mountain said viciously.
"This one shall take you down," Daemon replied calmly, rolling his shoulders in preparation. The sound of a loud breath escaping the Mountain's lips could be heard, along with the heavy clanks of his armor as he advanced. Daemon stood his ground, shield raised and sword pointed forward.
The crowd held its breath, murmurs rising.
"Well, he had a good run, didn't he?" one remarked.
"It's a shame he had to go against Clegane," another said.
But amongst those who doubted—some shouted encouragement.
"Best the Mountain, Mystery Knight!" someone cried.
"I have all my stags on you! Don't lose!" another shouted.
Hearing these words, Daemon chuckled—but quickly quieted down. He began circling the Mountain, glancing around and noting that Lyn Corbray was interlocked in a duel but making quick work of his opponent. A sudden rush of steel made Daemon shift his attention back to the behemoth before him. He parried the Mountain's attacks, sidestepped others. He grunted with each exchange—the force of the Mountain's blows was unlike anything he had faced before.
Daemon pivoted and swung his sword upward at the Mountain's helm, masking his intentions with a feint that Clegane bought. He quickly riposted, stabbing toward the opening in his cuirass.
"Grahhh!" the bellow came, a mix of pain and rage.
Daemon tried to follow up, but had to deflect a retaliatory shield bash with his own shield. He would've swung at Clegane's helm again—but the Mountain met him with his sword. The sound of steel clashing echoed through the arena, but Daemon didn't stop. He rolled away from a riposte and countered with a slash at the Mountain's wrist—only for it to glance off the armor.
"If I had a better sword…" Daemon muttered before raising his shield to block an overhead slash from the Mountain. The blow splintered the shield—but Daemon held firm. He slashed at the gap in Clegane's armor near the knee, forcing the brute to drop.
The crowd erupted in cheers—the tide was changing. And within those tides—the Mountain was slowly sinking.
"Stay down!" Daemon roared, delivering an overhead slash—only for it to be intercepted by the Mountain's shield. He tried to recover—but the Mountain grabbed him by the leg. He had let go of his greatsword to sweep Daemon's legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground—his sword slipping from his grasp.
Then came the fists.
Clegane unleashed a brutal barrage of punches with his gauntleted fists, each one denting Daemon's helm and damaging the face beneath. He didn't stop until he heard Daemon groaning and wheezing in pain.
Standing up, the Mountain retrieved his weapon. He loomed over the downed knight, standing at full height, and raised his greatsword high.
Most wondered why Daemon—no, the Mystery Knight—hadn't yielded. Was it bravery? Madness? Who wouldn't yield with Gregor Clegane standing over them, sword raised?
But Daemon saw something others didn't—a chance created by every strike he and his partner had landed.
The Mountain's arms were burning. The weight of his weapon was now a burden. Raising it had cost him—just enough for Daemon to kick the same wounded knee from earlier.
"Arghh!" the Mountain roared in pain, falling to one knee.
The sword came down—but weakly. Daemon rolled away, regripped his sword, and watched as the Mountain tried to rise on his bad leg. It trembled.
Daemon advanced.
Some would call it dishonorable. But the Mountain had denied him a sword when he was disarmed. And he was the Mountain—a man who killed babes and raped mothers. He deserved no honor.
Daemon gripped his sword tightly and unloaded strike after strike. Clegane, forced to defend with weak hands, shook under each blow. His sword was eventually knocked aside, and he resorted to his shield.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Relentless. Daemon's blows rained down, never giving the Mountain a moment to stand.
The Mountain put all his strength into rising—all of it—but…
Some things simply don't have the strength to resist.
A tired body, no matter how strong, could only weep in weakness.
…Shatter
The Mountain collapsed again—his injured knee giving way. And his shield, battered by Daemon's fury, shattered.
Unarmed, unable to block, the Mountain stared at the steel that inched toward his exposed face—his helm knocked off.
Tiredness swept over Daemon as he pointed his sword at the man's face. The adrenaline faded, pain returning in full. Every bruise, every ache from the tournament surged through him—but he was still in better shape than the man kneeling before him.
Both wheezed, staring at each other.
One knew he was beaten.
"…Yield…Ser…" came the tired voice.
And what followed… was a cacophony of screams and jeers.
…But this wasn't the end.
Far from it.
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…Chapter End