Chapter 193: Burn Me
The swarming wights briefly diverted Drogon's attention, finally giving the Night King an opening.
Grabbing hold of Drogon's clawed fingers, the Night King began forcing them apart.
Feeling the immense strength behind the motion, Drogon tightened his grip even further. At the same time, he extended his free claw, intending to use both claws together to snap the Night King in half.
The moment the Night King saw the second massive claw descending toward him, he quickly freed his right hand and thrust it forward to block.
A hint of mockery flashed through Drogon's eyes.
The Night King actually thought that thin arm could stop him?
Drogon fully intended to rip the arm clean off.
But just as his claw touched the Night King's palm and he prepared to exert force, an icy chill suddenly spread through the center of his left claw.
Instinctively, he tried to pull back.
He couldn't.
His claw seemed fused to the Night King's hand.
No matter how hard he struggled, it wouldn't separate.
Instead, the connection dragged the Night King's entire body sideways along with Drogon's right claw.
Drogon was about to exert force with both claws simultaneously when the freezing energy suddenly exploded outward.
The icy power surged from his left claw and spread through his entire body.
His left forelimb stiffened almost instantly, locked in place by frost and no longer capable of exerting meaningful strength.
The freezing sensation continued upward.
It reached his wings.
Within moments, even his wings had become rigid with ice.
Drogon managed to maintain his balance for only a few seconds before his entire body locked up.
Then he plummeted from the sky.
The Night King calmly pried apart Drogon's frozen claws and dropped to the ground.
Standing amidst the swirling snow, he looked at the dragon struggling to lift his head.
A faint smile appeared on the corner of his lips.
Then he turned away.
Spotting his ice sword lying more than ten meters away, he slowly walked toward it.
Feeling the stiffness consuming his body, Drogon finally realized the Night King still possessed another terrifying trump card.
Ignoring the wights climbing all over him, he focused inward.
His consciousness sank into the Divine Spark glowing with a crimson radiance deep within his soul.
The moment he activated the divine power contained within it, the crimson light blazed brilliantly.
…
High above the sea of wights, Daenerys continued incinerating the undead while keeping a constant watch on Drogon's battle against the Night King.
She had been secretly delighted as Drogon dodged spear after spear, burned the White Walkers serving the Night King, and finally seized the Night King himself in his claws.
Then she saw Drogon fall from the sky.
"Drogon!"
The terrified scream escaped her lips before she could stop it.
Leaving Viserion behind, she immediately urged Rhaegal toward the Night King.
With Rhaegal gone, far fewer wights were being burned.
The undead flooded across the blazing trenches and slammed into the ranks of the Unsullied.
The Unsullied fought desperately, thrusting dragonglass-tipped spears into the advancing dead.
The pressure increased dramatically.
Before long, they were forced to retreat toward the second defensive trench.
As soon as most of the Unsullied crossed over, Grey Worm immediately ordered the spiked wooden barricades raised.
The sharpened stakes rose into place.
But no one ignited the oil-filled trench.
Without fire, the barricade was little more than a minor obstacle to the wights.
Daenerys had already flown off toward Drogon and couldn't light the trench herself.
Grey Worm could only shout toward Viserion, who was still unleashing dragonfire in the distance.
"Viserion!"
Hearing someone call his name, Viserion finally looked down.
Spotting Grey Worm waving frantically, he immediately flew over.
Grey Worm pointed repeatedly toward the trench, gesturing desperately.
Viserion glanced at the burning trench Rhaegal had ignited earlier, then at the untouched second trench.
He finally understood.
Opening his jaws, he unleashed a stream of dragonfire.
The trench erupted into flames.
Seeing Grey Worm nodding enthusiastically, Viserion flew along the defensive line, burning every wight attempting to cross.
The Night King merely glanced at the approaching Rhaegal before continuing toward the fallen Drogon, ice sword in hand.
"Dracarys!"
Riding atop Rhaegal, Daenerys spoke the command in High Valyrian.
A torrent of crimson dragonfire engulfed the Night King.
For several seconds, the inferno raged.
Then the flames faded.
The Night King stood exactly where he had been.
Completely unharmed.
He even bared his teeth in what looked disturbingly like a smile toward Daenerys.
[Burn me, not him!]
Just as despair began to fill Daenerys's eyes, Drogon's voice suddenly echoed in her mind.
Dozens—perhaps hundreds—of wights had climbed onto him.
Though they couldn't inflict meaningful damage, their clawing at his eyes, nose, and ears was maddeningly irritating.
The sensation made his scales crawl.
He desperately wanted Rhaegal to torch him.
Hearing Drogon's thoughts, Daenerys immediately turned Rhaegal toward him and issued the command again.
Rhaegal hesitated.
Burn Drogon?
For a moment, she thought she'd heard wrong.
Then she remembered that Drogon had never feared dragonfire.
Opening her jaws wide, she unleashed a torrent of flames onto her older brother.
The Night King paused briefly when he saw the unexpected scene, then continued advancing with his ice sword.
Bathed in dragonfire, the wights clinging to Drogon were instantly reduced to ash.
Relieved of the crawling mass covering him, Drogon felt immediate relief.
Then he saw the Night King raise his sword.
Drogon's claw flashed forward.
The ice blade was slapped from the Night King's grasp and sent spinning into the darkness.
Drogon surged into the air and answered with a blast of violet-black dragonfire.
This time, after being drenched in the black flames once more, the Night King finally reacted.
Burning pain spread across his body.
Gone was the calm indifference he had displayed earlier.
With a furious roar, he summoned even more wights to his aid.
At the same time, he extended his right hand toward Drogon.
A ribbon of ice materialized from thin air and raced through the air toward the dragon.
Drogon hadn't expected the Night King to conjure ice directly.
Fortunately, the spell was far slower than the deadly ice spears.
He avoided it easily.
Without his ice spear, his enchanted sword, and the spear-shaped artifact around his neck, the Night King suddenly seemed far less dangerous.
As long as Drogon maintained his distance, the Night King was like a tiger stripped of its fangs.
Dragonfire alone could wear him down.
Watching from nearby, Daenerys saw the ice magic miss entirely.
The Night King no longer appeared capable of threatening Drogon directly.
Realizing her presence might only distract him, she immediately turned Rhaegal around and flew back toward Winterfell to support the defenders.
The Night King might not be able to threaten Drogon anymore.
That didn't mean Rhaegal was equally safe.
The ice magic that Drogon easily dodged would likely hit Rhaegal.
Back at Winterfell, the defenders had already withdrawn behind the second trench.
Even with Viserion continuously spewing dragonfire, it was difficult to stop tens of thousands of wights from crashing against the defenses.
Daenerys's return greatly eased the pressure.
Just after dodging another stream of ice, Drogon suddenly noticed the Night King rising upward.
In mere moments, he had nearly reached the dragon's altitude.
Looking down, Drogon finally understood.
The Night King had ordered countless wights to pile atop one another, forming a grotesque tower of undead bodies that lifted him toward the sky.
Drogon hadn't expected such a tactic.
Dodging another wave of ice, he immediately answered with dragonfire.
The burning tower collapsed.
The Night King dropped back down.
Hovering overhead, Drogon maintained his distance, carefully avoiding every ice attack while continuously bathing the Night King in black flames.
At first, the Night King cast ice magic relentlessly.
Gradually, however, he weakened.
His armor finally melted away under the relentless assault.
Then his true body began shrinking.
Faster and faster.
Until what remained was nothing more than a black, writhing mass of flesh roughly the size of a watermelon.
Drogon stared in disbelief.
He had never imagined the Night King's true form would be something so grotesque.
The squirming black mass reminded him of some horrifying nightmare creature.
A chill ran down his spine.
Afraid something even worse might happen if he hesitated, Drogon poured even more dragonfire onto it.
He intended to burn it into absolute nothingness.
Yet the instant the flames touched the black flesh, countless voices erupted in his ears.
Some screamed.
Some howled.
Some wailed in agony.
The cacophony was maddening.
And it instantly reminded Drogon of the day he had burned the swollen, pulsating heart of the Undying Ones.
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