[This chapter is more than twice the length of my usual chapters. A little appreciation would be appreciated. With this we are done with the Qarth arc. Few remnants and leftovers of it would be dealt as the story progresses.]
The warlock on his right seemed to have received the signal from his leader. His body straightened, his eyes narrowed, and it was as if his entire presence had suddenly transformed. A moment ago, he had been insignificant, easy to ignore. Now, the weight of his aura pressed heavily into the hall.
He cast a single glance toward Melisandre, and Jon's instincts flared. His entire being screamed of an incoming danger and the hair on his body stood up.
"Melisandre!" Jon almost shouted. "Backwards!"
Melisandre did not think even for a moment. She followed his command instantly. Pushing with force, her chair toppled, and she fell backward with a heavy thud.
In that same instant, the warlock vanished from where he had been standing and reappeared inches away from her. Teleportation. A long dagger gleamed in his hand as he swung it in a deadly arc, aiming to behead the Red Priestess.
Only Jon's instinct and Melisandre's swift reaction on Jon's command saved her. The blade missed her throat by no more than a hair's breadth.
Everything happened in the blink of an eye. The crash of the chair hitting the floor was followed by suffocating silence. The warlock stood over her, lips curled into a faint smile, his narrowed eyes fixed on Melisandre as he loomed above her. He was a bit surprised that she had been able to dodge the attack and even more surprised that the man had been able to react to his teleportation.
Jon's senses burned, every nerve on edge, his own gaze locked tightly on the man.
"Oh!" the voice of the first warlock cut through the silence. "What powerful senses. This is what so much magic in your blood does to you."
A wide smile spread across his face, his eyes lit with greed. "I think I understand now how you were able to kill my other eight subordinates."
"Kill the lady and capture Aeloros," he commanded aloud this time, repeating the silent order he had already given his warlock.
But Jon was not about to miss such an opportunity. His own eyes gleamed as he swung his hand while still sitting on his chair.
All four warlocks, including the first, looked confused, trying to grasp what he was doing. What was the swung of the arm going to achieve? Then they saw it and their eyes widened in shock.
A long sword suddenly materialized in Jon's grasp. It had been drawn from his storage bracelet. Before any of them could react or fully comprehend, Jon had already completed his swing.
The blade sliced cleanly through the warlock's neck. His eyes were bulging and the sword was the last thing he saw incoming towards him.
Blood sprayed violently as the head toppled with a dull thud and rolled across the floor, followed an instant later by the crash of the body collapsing.
"How?" the first warlock snapped, rising abruptly from his chair. His bulging eyes and the sheer disbelief on his face betrayed, for the first time since Jon's arrival, genuine shock.
"Where did that sword come from? What kind of magic is this?" He roared. "Who are you?"
Jon chuckled as he stood, his grip firm on the bloodied blade. Melisandre rose beside him, her face streaked with crimson where the spray of blood had splattered across her.
"A warlock afraid of magic," Jon laughed. "Now this is interesting."
Even though Jon was laughing, every fibre of his body was on constant alert.
"Hmph!" the first warlock grunted and, just like his subordinate, vanished from his spot. Jon spun backwards and raised his sword to block an incoming strike.
Standing before him were two first warlocks. The original and a shimmering clone, both brandishing swords and pressing them against Jon's blade. It was futile. Jon held it like a mountain. Physically, the first warlock was no match for Jon.
The first warlock snorted and vanished again, reappearing in his original seat. His clone dissolved into nothing.
"How are you able to do this?" he demanded. "But it does not matter. Once I take over this body, I will learn everything. Now that I have seen what you can do, I am exhilarated at the thought of possessing your flesh."
He snapped his fingers. A spike materialized directly in front of Jon, inches from his chest. Jon ducked just in time as the spike hissed past.
"If you could not catch me with your teleportation, what good will this spike do?" Jon asked.
The first warlock only chuckled and snapped his fingers again. This time he was not alone, his two remaining subordinates snapped their fingers in perfect unison.
A low rustling filled the hall as more than a dozen whip-like tendrils erupted from the ceiling and the walls around Jon. Instinctively, he seized Melisandre and hurled her backward out of the immediate danger zone.
Whips crashed where she had been, but Jon was too fast to be struck. He twisted and dodged through the flailing lashes, then surged forward toward the warlocks.
"Kill him! Kill him!" the first warlock roared as Jon closed the distance.
Jon was only a few steps away when one of the subordinates raised his hand and hurled a ball of fire straight at him. It would have been very easy for Jon to dodge, but he did not. He let the fireball crash into his chest, and flames erupted across his entire body, slowing his advance.
"Hahaha!" the first warlock laughed, his voice dripping with mockery. "This is the magic I wield. Your little tricks are nothing before me!"
What he did not realize was that he was being deceived. The fireball had no chance of harming Jon. No fire could burn him. The moment it struck, Jon had unleashed his own magic.
His own flames blazed to life. His flames first devoured the incoming fireball and then erupted outward, cloaking him in an inferno that made it look as though he were burning alive.
While all this was unfolding, Melisandre, thrown to the back of the hall by Jon, was making her own move. The blood splattered across her face had dripped to the floor and was now slithering across the stone like a living serpent, creeping silently toward the trio of unsuspecting warlocks.
It took a couple of moments for the first warlock to realise something was wrong.
"Wait!" he panicked. "He is not screaming…"
A burning person would howl at the top of his lungs. But it was already too late.
A spear tore through the wall of flames, which Jon had, of course, drawn from his storage bracelet. The subordinate who had launched the fireball barely had time to widen his eyes before the weapon impaled his forehead.
His scream of pain was cut short as the sheer momentum of the strike carried his body backwards, flinging him across the hall until he crashed heavily to the ground.
The flames around Jon subsided a heartbeat later, revealing him completely unharmed, standing tall with a mocking smile playing across his face.
"Fire immunity!" the First Warlock shouted. "You have fire immunity!"
Jon did not reply. His fire magic was his greatest trump card, and two more enemies still stood before him.
He had barely moved a muscle when the last remaining subordinate suddenly felt a violent tug at his legs. He instinctively looked down, only to see a shadowy hand emerging from the ground, its clawed fingers wrapped tightly around his ankles.
"What is this?!" he screamed, drawing both Jon's and the First Warlock's attention to his feet.
"The Red Priestess! Blood Magic!" the First Warlock snarled, instantly recognising the spell.
He moved to intervene, but Melisandre was faster. The shadowy hand erupted into a mass of writhing tendrils that snaked up the subordinate's body.
He struggled desperately, kicking and thrashing, but within moments the tendrils had completely coiled around him, binding him like prey in a web. Then, with a sudden twist, the tendrils constricted and snapped.
A piercing howl tore from his throat before his body was ripped apart into grotesque chunks, blood and flesh splattering violently across the hall and drenching the First Warlock in gore.
Jon was pleasantly surprised by the unexpected help from Melisandre. He had thought that it would be him who would have to kill all the warlocks.
Seizing the chaos, he moved in to strike down the last of them, the First Warlock himself. He swung, aiming to behead the man, but the warlock vanished and reappeared some distance away from his original position. His face was fully contorted in rage, anger overwhelming every feature.
"You have truly made me furious," he roared. "I did not want to exhaust this body of its magic before taking over yours, but you have left me no choice."
Colour drained from his face as his already old looking body turned even more feeble. He was drawing magic. He raised his palm and clenched it as though crushing something in his grip. Space itself seemed to bend to his will, and the air around Jon began to compress. His body was being squeezed from all directions, every bone and muscle groaning under the pressure.
"You are a tough one," the First Warlock sneered, frustration etched into his expression. "Any ordinary man would already be reduced to a lump of flesh by now."
"But good… this is good for me. The stronger your body is, the more I will enjoy taking it for myself."
The colour drained further from his face as he pressed his palm tighter, and the crushing force increased.
"Ahh!" Jon let out a raw howl of pain, his muscles straining as if they were about to tear apart.
"My Lord!" Melisandre cried, dashing toward him. But she had barely taken a few steps when the First Warlock made a casual backhanded motion with his free hand.
An invisible force struck her like a hammer, hurling her across the hall until she slammed hard into the wall. She vomited a mouthful of blood but even she was trying to immediately get back on her legs.
The warlock's narrowed eyes flicked toward her. The Red Priestess was still alive.
"Both of you are tough nuts to crack," he muttered, baffled at their resilience. How are they this strong?
Then he focused back on Jon, pressing his palm even harder. The invisible grip tightened, crushing with merciless force.
"Ahhh!" Jon screamed again, his body wracked with agony.
But deep inside, through the haze of pain, his mind sharpened. This was it. The First Warlock, though cautious, would never expect what was about to come. One chance. One strike. Jon would have to kill him in a single blow.
Jon searched desperately for the familiar tug of his fire magic when another wave of crushing pain tore through him. It was because of the pain or something else, something inside him seemed to snap.
And then, he felt it. A different magic. One he had always carried, always known in some corner of his blood but never been able to touch. The Stark magic.
Instinctively, he reached for it. A cold tide spread through his veins, chilling him to the bone but bringing no discomfort. It was like slipping into a second skin he had worn all along.
And then he unleashed it. A single ice spike erupted from the floor at his feet, sharp and gleaming with a deadly purity.
"What… what is this?" the First Warlock muttered in shock, his eyes widening. He too could conjure elemental magics, even ice, but the spike before him was different. Its magic was impossibly pure, potent beyond anything he had ever wielded. So powerful.
"Who are you?" He muttered still in daze.
For the first time in centuries, a true sense of danger crawled down his spine. But it was already too late.
The dam had broken. Dozens of ice spikes burst outward around Jon covering every inch of space with him at the centre, exploding into existence with unstoppable force. The warlock barely had time to raise a hand before five spikes had already pierced his body, driving through him like spears of winter.
His scream was cut short as his body froze midair, suspended like a grotesque sculpture of ice.
The First Warlock was dead. And with his death, the House of the Undying was no more.
[There is bound to be one question which many might ask. How did Jon survive the two teleportation attacks? He had the physique and sword talent of Yoriichi Tsugikuni. Call it his instincts or that he could be as fast as teleportation itself that he was able to react to both the attacks. I would repeat again that Yoriichi Tsugikuni, despite being a mortal human, was beyond mortal comprehension. Maybe even killing a small army of mortals would have been no big deal for him. Apart from it, there are still many other unexplained things which will be explained as the story progresses.]
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