Hello my dear sexy readers ...
Enjoy Ramsay killing....
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The girl didn't see the rope.
She was blind with terror, her lungs burning, her bare feet numb blocks of ice slipping on the bloody snow. She scrambled up the pathway, hunched over and sobbing, passing directly beneath the heavy hemp line strung between the pines.
She crossed the ridge and collapsed face-first into a snowdrift, a mere ten feet from where Jon was buried in the brush.
"Help," she wheezed into the snow. "Please."
Behind her, the baying of the hounds reached a fever pitch, the four massive mastiffs surged up the ridge, their jaws snapping at the air where her ankles had just been as they were entirely focused on the scent blood.
Jon didn't shout as he simply gave a sharp, low whistle.
Ghost erupted from the snow.
The direwolf was a silent, white missile of pure kinetic energy. Ghost collided with the lead mastiff, the Alpha while the hound was still mid-leap. The impact sounded like two boulders smashing together.
Ghost's jaws locked around the mastiff's thick neck, then there was a sickening crunch of bone snapping, and the massive attack dog went limp instantly, its spine severed.
Ghost tossed the two-hundred-pound carcass aside like a ragdoll and turned his glowing red eyes on the remaining three hounds. He bared his teeth, letting out a low, vibrating snarl that seemed to shake the snow from the trees.
The three surviving mastiffs skidded to a halt with their pack mentality shattered. They tucked their tails and cowered, whimpering in the face of a true apex predator.
"Good boy," Jon murmured.
Down in the clearing, the Bastard's Boys didn't see the dogs stop as they were riding too fast, drunk on the thrill of the hunt.
"Get her, Yellow Dick!" a voice roared over the thundering hooves.
The lead rider, wearing a rusted half-helm and a grin of pure malice, spurred his horse up the ridge. He was standing slightly in his stirrups, his eyes fixed on the path where the girl had disappeared.
He never saw the rope as he hit the ash-camouflaged hemp line at a full gallop, the thick rope caught him squarely across the throat.
The sound of the impact was a immediate THWACK. Yellow Dick was ripped backward out of his saddle with such violent force that his boots tore through the leather stirrups. His neck snapped instantly, his head lolling at an impossible angle as he crashed into the snow as his horse kept running, disappearing into the woods.
"Ambush!" one of the riders screamed, hauling back on his reins.
The man's horse reared, its iron-shod hooves coming down hard off the packed trail as it punched straight through the fragile crust of snow covering one of Jon's pits.
SNAP....
The horse shrieked, a terrifying, human-like sound as its front leg splintered and the beast tumbled forward, launching its heavily armored rider face-first into a sharp rock hidden in the snow.
The man's helm crumpled, and he didn't move again.
Total chaos reigned, the three remaining riders fought to control their panicked mounts, their hunting horns forgotten, their swords half-drawn.
Jon stood up from the brush, brushing the snow from his black cloak.
"Kill them," Jon said.
Duncan let out a roar that would have made a giant flinch as the mercenary charged down the slope, his massive warhammer swinging in a deadly, horizontal arc.
He caught one of the Bastard's Boys square in the ribs, lifting the man clean out of his saddle and sending him flying into a pine trunk.
Goran and Hake followed, falling upon the disorganized, dismounted men with brutal efficiency.
Jon didn't look at them as his eyes were locked on the man in the pale pink cloak.
Ramsay Snow's horse had managed to avoid the pits, but the horse was panicked by the smell of blood and Ghost's snarling. Ramsay cursed, viciously whipping the horse's neck to gain control.
Jon didn't wait as he drew his sword and sprinted down the ridge, sliding slightly on the slick snow and as he closed the distance, Ramsay finally saw him.
Instead of looking afraid, Ramsay's pale, dead eyes lit up as he saw the Stark features and the saw the grey cloak.
"A Stark?" Ramsay laughed, a high, manic sound that echoed over the screams of his dying men. "A Stark in my woods!"
Ramsay abandoned the reins and leaped from his saddle, landing nimbly in the snow. He didn't draw a sword but drew a wicked, curved flaying knife, the blade stained with old, dark rust.
"I've never skinned a wolf before," Ramsay sneered, licking his thick lips as he twirled the knife in his hand, his breathing heavy with excitement. "I'm going to enjoy this. I'll take my time. I'll peel you from the boots up, Bastard. And when I'm done, I'll ride to Winterfell and do the same to your pretty little sisters."
Jon didn't monologue nor did he trade insults as it was idiotic in a fight.
Ramsay lunged, slashing wildly with the knife, expecting Jon to block like a formal swordsman.
Jon sidestepped, letting Ramsay's momentum carry him forward but as the Bolton bastard overextended, Jon brought the heavy steel pommel of his sword crashing down on Ramsay's wrist and the bones shattered like glass.
Ramsay screamed, the flaying knife dropping into the snow.
Before Ramsay could recoil, Jon swung his blade in a short, brutal arc. The steel bit through boiled leather, flesh, and bone. Ramsay's right hand, the hand he used to hold the knife, the hand he used to torture flew into the snowbank, severed cleanly at the forearm.
Blood sprayed all across the snow.
Ramsay fell to his knees, clutching the spurting stump, his manic laughter turning into a gurgling shriek. "My hand! You..... you cut off my hand!"
"You talk too much," Jon said coldly.
Jon stepped forward and delivered a devastating front kick directly to Ramsay's jaw as the impact shattered teeth and snapped Ramsay's head back, sending him sprawling flat on his back in the freezing mud.
The skirmish around them had ended. Duncan and the men stood breathing heavily, their weapons dripping. They watched in stunned silence as Jon walked over to the writhing, sobbing monster.
Jon looked down at Ramsay, the Bolton bastard was choking on his own blood and broken teeth, clutching his severed arm.
"Duncan," Jon said, his voice devoid of any emotion. "Bring me the rope and tie him to that oak tree."
Duncan didn't hesitate as he hauled Ramsay up by his pink cloak, ignoring the man's pathetic, bubbling screams, and dragged him to the massive dead oak.
He lashed Ramsay tightly to the trunk, binding his legs and pinning his remaining arm.
Jon walked over and looked into Ramsay's eyes. The manic glee was completely gone, replaced by the exact, raw terror his victims had felt.
"You liked hunting," Jon said softly only in a way Ramsay could hear, wiping his blade clean on Ramsay's cloak. "You don't know, I always thought of ways to kill you in most satisfying manner when I watched the show and well dead man tells no tales."
Jon swing his blade, and made a hard strike on the left leg of Ramsay completely severing it as he cried like a little bitch, mumbling sorry.
Jon then gave Duncan a order which made the giant mercenary and his men flinch and shiver.
"Duncan, cut off his cock and shove it up his mouth, the bastard may even like that."
Duncan looked pale for a second, but he completed the task, as he took the flayed knife of the Bolton and moved towards the coward who was wailing and crying around with tears flowing.
Duncan cut off his cock in a clean single strike that made Ramsay jolt and shriek like a baby and shoved it up his mouth silencing him.
" You liked watching your dogs hunt ,right?"
Jon turned to Ghost, the direwolf was sitting quietly in the bloodstained snow, the three surviving, starved mastiffs cowering behind him.
"Ghost," Jon called out. "Leave them."
Ghost stood up and walked over to Jon, ignoring the mastiffs.
Jon looked at the three starving, frothing dogs, they hadn't eaten in days. They had been bred for meat, trained for cruelty, and now, the Alpha that controlled them was dead, and the master that starved them was tied to a tree, bleeding heavily from a severed stump.
Jon stepped back, out of the way.
"Bon appetit," Jon said to the hounds.
The mastiffs looked at Ramsay, they smelled the fresh, hot blood and hunger overcame whatever lingering fear they had of their master.
The first hound lunged, sinking its teeth into Ramsay's calf.
Ramsay screamed, a sound so wretched and high-pitched it didn't sound human as he thrashed against the ropes, blood bubbling from his ruined mouth which was full with his own cock as the second hound tore into his thigh, and the third leaped for his stomach.
"Turn around," Jon ordered his men, not looking away from the carnage. "We're done here."
Duncan and the thugs looked pale, but they turned, walking back toward the terrified servant girl who was shivering in the snow.
Jon watched for a few seconds more, he watched the monster who one day would have terrorised the north get unmade by his own tools and felt no guilt but felt only the satisfaction of a problem removed from his path.
He turned his back on the screams and walked up to his horse.
Target eliminated, Jon thought. The North just got a little bit cleaner, hehe.....
Authors Note:-
Sooooooooooo.....
How was it .... Good enough...
Hope you guys enjoyed it....if so support with power stones.....
Reviews would be appreciated.
Love you all....
Also many want more smuts, I get it, when it was full of smuts everyone Wanted plot, but anyways I will make appropriate changes to the flow to incorporate more smut.