NOVEL NEXT Chapter 42: [42] Fangs of the Hound
Chapter 42: Fangs of the Hound
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Sandor Clegane, the scar-faced armored bulk, blocked the mouth of the alley with a scowl as deep as a ravine. "I doubt I drank that much to start seeing things."
I took a cautious step forward, my sword gripped tight. The chaos of King's Landing's riot hissed and shrieked just beyond the cramped walls, but here in the alley, a hush dominated. The Hound did not look scared before a ghost. "Your eyes are fine," I said.
Behind me, I caught Sansa on the edge of my vision. She was pressing herself against the damp stone, clinging to the blanket I'd given her, eyes darting back and forth between the Hound and me. Her pulse thrummed so loud I half-thought I could hear it. "Y-you two…" She swallowed, tried to speak, but couldn't finish her sentence.
Hound's lips twisted in a sneer, sword in hand. "I don't care who the fuck you are," he growled, "ghost or fuck not, I'll send you back to the underworld." His stance radiated raw menace, each movement of his massive frame promising violence.
"I thought you'd be taller," I stood in the half-light, letting a breeze stir my silver-blond hair. A scornful smirk tugged at my lips as I appraised Hound's burn-scarred face. "How about you reconsider this? I don't want to humiliate you in a fight. Are you truly here to defend the incest-born monster that squats on the Iron Throne?"
"...Your parents were sibling fuckers too."
I snapped a finger. "Point taken," I actually liked the Hound as a character, he was funny as fuck. He always cracked me up, that was why I was wasting my breath trying to recruit him instead of just cutting him down. Then again, it'd not be easy to do that. "Alright, let's put the incest insults aside. Still, Clegane. I know you don't respect Joffrey, that twat. Why not wield your sword for my cause instead?"
He spat on the ground. "And how does that change anything? From one King to another? Hey, at least Joffrey is alive, unlike you, you ghost fucker. I'd sooner gut myself." His voice held that dry, bitter humor that I'd heard so much about, making me laugh. He brandished his sword, the steel glinting for blood. "We'll see if you've got the steel to match your swagger."
Sansa let out a tiny breath, trying to plead for calm, but neither of us bothered to hear her words. I shot a glance her way, offering no reassurance; the Hound was beyond reason, and I had no intention of backing down.
"Hey," I said. "How about we make a bet on this duel?"
"Fuck off!"
Without further warning, Sandor lunged. Our blades met in a shrieking clash of sparks. I was startled at the strength behind his swing. His raw power thundered through each swing, but somehow, I caught them, parrying with the fluid agility I'd honed through countless fights. My Stats didn't lose to the Hound, and that meant I wasn't the only startled one here. The Hound's eyes flickered in momentary confusion; he hadn't expected me to be this strong—or this fast.
I spun away from his next punishing blow, feet dancing over broken crates and debris that littered the alley floor. Each time Sandor attempted to corner me against a wall, I slipped aside with a sudden nimbleness. Our swords scraped and chimed, echoing off the bricks.
He snarled. "What the fuck are you? Your strength doesn't make sense for your size." He poured raw fury into an overhead strike that could've split a lesser man in two. I angled my blade to deflect, the impact jolting up my arm, but I held firm.
I responded with a crushing side slash that nearly tore the sword from his grip. He twisted his wrist with surprising grace for such a brute, recovering before I could deliver a finishing blow. "Freak," he spat through gritted teeth, eyes blazing with defiance.
I smiled. "You have no idea, Clegane."
Sweat dampened both our brows, the stench of blood and smoke wafting in from the city's riot. My lungs filled with harsh, dusty air. Adrenaline surged as I felt the quiet draconic power inside me guide my movements. I was not in the realms of human anymore. Sandor charged again, blade scraping brick, sending sparks dancing, but I sidestepped and struck a shallow cut across his armor.
He gasped, staggering back, a trickle of blood seeping through a tear in the metal. I pressed forward, unrelenting. His eyes flared wide, as if confronted by a demon.
I felt like I could have ended this even faster if I'd used my spear. But regardless, it was ending. With a powerful kick, I drove my boot into his chest, sending him crashing into a half-toppled pile of crates.
Wood splintered around him, and he dropped to a knee, sword arm trembling. I closed in, blade raised, breath ragged. I could sense the childlike terror in Sansa's wide eyes—fear for me, for him, for herself. For a moment, I entertained finishing Sandor Clegane right there, letting the final blow descend.
But some part of me recognized his potential, or at least the possibility that I might need his grudging respect more than his death. He was a really useful character, and far more likeable than his brother.
My sword hovered near his throat. "I've no quarrel with you, Clegane," I said in a voice colder than it was before. "You're a fine fighter, but you made a poor choice standing in my way." He glared up at me, blood trickling over his burn-scarred cheek. I met his gaze, unblinking. "Consider my offer… because this is not the last time we'd cross paths."
Anger and pain warred in his dark eyes. Before he could reply, I slammed my boot into his face. He slumped, his eyes going white, sword clattering from limp fingers as he fell unconscious.
For a moment, all I heard was my own pulse. I sheathed my sword as I stared down at the large man—defeated. The infamous Hound. A shuddering exhale escaped me as the realization sank in.
I had bested one of Joffrey's deadliest men in one-on-one combat, one of the top ten within Westeros.
[You've made an achievement for yourself - 'Defeat the Hound'!]
[You've received tremendous experience points.]
[You've leveled up.]
[You've leveled up.]
[You've leveled up.]
[You've reached Level 28!]
Even the System admitted my feat, making me chuckle softly. Hearing my laugh, Sansa made a strangled sound, half-sob, half-relief, pressing her back to the alley wall. I turned to find her trembling gaze locked at me. The blanket around her shoulders slipped, revealing bruised arms and terror-laced eyes. My stance softened a degree.
I patted my sheathed sword for show, "It's alright, Lady Sansa." I said and stepped over the debris to offer her my hand. "You've seen enough ruin for one day. If you come with me, I'll see you safe. I can take you to your brother if you wish, or find another path for you. You just have to trust me on this."
"Trust?" Her breath hitched in her throat, eyes full of self-mockery. Yet, raw gratitude swirled with Stark pride and the memory of Targaryen cruelty in her pupils. She glanced at Sandor's still form, then placed her trembling hand in mine. "O-okay," she whispered. "I really hope you won't betray it."
She was still a naive girl, so she trusted people easily. I smiled. Gently, I helped her to her feet, guiding her down the alley's length. The riot still loomed ahead, a wild sea of misery. We emerged from the gloom, the muddy street opening to a chaotic horizon.
Before us, King's Landing was in smoldering anarchy—fires and looters, soldiers and screams. My mind was already spinning on how to maneuver these crowded streets unseen. But as we stepped clear of the shadows, a sudden idea formed in my head.
I didn't have to walk through this crowd, I had a better alternative. "Hey, cover yourself better," I said even as I moved the blanket around her head, hiding her features.
She went to reply, but I'd already moved on. I frowned, and odd rustling stirred at my back as I focused. A strange, wrenching sensation seized me, and a tear of fabric parted behind my shoulders as I grumbled in discomfort. It didn't hurt.
Sansa gasped, her eyes widening in the flickering firelight. I also looked back. From my back, through my armor, two dark membranous wings emerged, stretching outward with a faint rasp. Veins glowed faintly red beneath the leathery surface. My draconic evolution… the wings I'd chosen…
[The Dragon Wings]!
I didn't know the details of the options; for example, what could the eyes do? And would the scales cover me all the time? That would be troublesome. So I decided to skip it now. I was sure I'd earn all the options over time. The claws didn't quite interest me. So, in the end, I chose Wings. It turned out I could bring them in and out of existence on will.
"W-what's going on?!" Sansa asked, stunned.
My own breath fastened as the surge of new power tingled through my limbs. I placed my hands on her waist, meeting her gaze with calmness. "It's my first time flying," I said quietly, forcing a half-smile despite the tension thrumming in me. "So hold on tight."
With one powerful flap, the wings beat against the evening air and Sansa let out a startled cry as we lifted off, her arms clinging to me. I took in a harrowing breath as wind slapped against my face, and I lifted off the streets and into the air. It was an odd feeling as I was dozens of meters above the city already.
Crowds in the street craned their necks, slack-jawed and terrified. I soared upward, the wings straining but carrying us higher, away from the swirling uproar and into the smoke-blackened sky.
Below, I glimpsed the city's battered sprawl. The rioters, watchers, and victims all froze in disbelief as this ghostly figure with silver hair and great, draconic wings ascended. Over their stunned gasps and distant screams, we vanished into the gloom.
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Goal: Forgot to put a goal yesterday, so here's one today. We're at 400 stones right now, and if we reach 700 by tomorrow, I'll post 2 chapters. So the goal is 300 stones ahead. Start voting!
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