The Giant

The Giant stood at the ready, club in his massive hand, waiting. All the houses had gathered together, ready for the showdown with the Night King, hoping to end this once and for all. There was a calmness, as thousands stood waiting, knowing they were coming. The dead, the White Walkers would appear out of nowhere, ready to turn every last one of them to their side. All it took was death. They lived for it. They breathed death like it was air.

A distant rumble shook the ground as shouts reverberated throughout the soldiers who came to save the living. One little boy broke through the mob.

“They’re coming. They are up on the ridge.”

He disappeared quickly into the throng of people, everyone grasps their weapons. Swords, fire, massive balls flung from chains, hoping they had enough weaponry and manpower to do the job.

The Giant looked up and saw him. The Nightwalker was expressionless, his white flesh so pristine he blended with the snow as he sat on his dead horse. Every time he looked at this thing, he couldn’t believe his eyes. None of this felt real, yet he knew it was.

They came before another thought crossed his mind, the dead running with all their might, making the most animalistic screeching sounds that echoed across the battlefield. The piercing high pitch of those howls hurt his head. Their leader stayed behind, protected, letting his minions take the brunt of the soldiers wanting to take him down. It was a cowardly move, though the Giant knew the Night King did not see it that way.

Jon Snow, a true warrior, never stayed behind when it came to battle.

“Stand your ground, be ready, they will do whatever they can to take us down with them,” the warrior said.

The Giant turned, watching as the crawling and screeching beings closed the gap between them. Good versus evil, living versus the dead was their fate. Live another day or die trying to protect life.

As the creatures hit the first line of defense, powerful swords sliced them in half, making them fall where they stood. Shouts of orders came fast and furious, wailing screams could be heard over the rumble of the ground shaking beneath his feet. He could not longer stand there, people we dying by the hundreds.

The Giant moved forward, ready for whatever came next. With his big hand, he knocked a dozen creatures out, the club moving in a crisscross pattern, taking other White Walkers down, too. Snow began to fall, the wind picked up, pelting them all as the fierce battle raged. Blood soaked the snow from the fallen warriors, but their efforts were not enough to stop the Night King. As their numbers faltered, the Night King made his move, heading straight into the fray.

The Giant saw one of the FreeFolk get attacked by a dozen creatures, chewing and ripping the flesh like it was a feast. They were falling all around him, it took everything he had to stay upright as a dozen White Walkers moved on him. He stepped on the fallen, trying to move and get out of the path of the dead singling him out. He swung his club once, twice, and the dead fell, only to be replaced by others instantaneously. It was a blood bath, and they were losing. There had to be an escape.

More riders arrived, and the snow came down in blinding sheets as he felt the first White Walker jump on his back. Others joined the fray, at least a dozen of the dead attacked him from every angle. The club continued its brutal bashing, left and right, making some of the deadfall again, but more and more came, and he was overrun.

He made eye contact with Jon Snow, nodded, knowing his fate was now sealed. He would fall tonight, and of that, he had no doubt. He only hoped he’d take more of those beasts with him and give the warriors time to make their escape. His arms and legs were heavy as Walkers clung to him, pulling and biting, ripping at his flesh. From a distance, he heard the horns and saw the glow of the fireline in the trench they’d set up.

One Walker clawed his face, then his neck, the nasty stench of the dead filled his nostrils, making it hard to breath. He fell to his knees with the next few bites of flesh, the club fell from his hand. They pounced then, pushing him all the way down to the snow-covered ground. The Giant tried to hit them, kick them, roll around, and take some of them with him. It became harder to move, his body not obeying the commands from his mind. The white of the snow was replaced with darkness; his life was leaving him now, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Death and come, and death had won.

WC: 833