King's Landing. The Ruins of the Dragonpit.
THUD. SLAM. CRACK.
Heavy blows echoed through the hollow, lightless chambers of the Dragonpit. Jaqen H'ghar was no longer the composed assassin of legend; he was a frantic animal. The three Undead Warriors Jon had summoned were relentless, their spectral blades carving through the air from three different angles.
Jaqen's physical resilience was inhuman, but the sheer aggression of the summons kept him from mounting a counter-attack. Had he known the truth—that these warriors were "glass cannons" whose spiritual tether would shatter with a single direct strike to their armor—he might have turned the tide. But the unknown bred caution, and caution was a death sentence.
"If you keep dancing like that, you're going to run out of floor," Jon remarked, his voice echoing with a cold amusement.
"A man... agh!"
Jaqen's concentration broke. A rusted spectral blade caught his left arm, opening a jagged gash.
Hiss...
Instead of red blood, a thick, oily black mist hissed from the wound. Jaqen clamped his right hand over the injury, his eyes wide with a frantic, desperate light.
"The boy plays with fire... the Many-Faced God's wrath is... cough... cough..."
The death energy from the Undead Warriors acted like a catalyst, rupturing the "skin" of the vessel. Black sludge erupted from the wound like a dam bursting, dissolving the human features of Jaqen H'ghar.
In heartbeats, the man was gone. In his place stood a three-meter-tall monstrosity, a shifting mass of ink-like fluid that undulated like a giant, sentient slime. Dozens of half-formed human faces bubbled to the surface of the viscous black mass, their expressions twisted in a cacophony of silent, weeping rage, all staring at Jon.
Squelch. Pop.
The entity lashed out, tendrils of black ichor shooting forth like high-pressure needles. They punched through the armor of the Undead Warriors as if it were parchment. The black fluid was corrosive; as the warriors dissipated, their physical vessels—the spare armor—hissed and melted into stinking, warped slag.
The monster paused, seemingly surprised by how easily the warriors had fallen, before letting out a roar that shook the very foundations of the pit.
"Impressive," Jon said, his hand glowing with the power of the Magic Stone. "Now, let's see how you handle a real predator."
Tendrils of shadow spread from Jon's feet, pulling from the soot and the century-old remains of plague victims buried beneath the floor. From the darkness emerged five nightmare creatures—Giant Poison Spiders.
These weren't the "Ice Spiders" of the far North. These were heavy-set, bone-armored tanks with massive, serrated mandibles. They were the heavy cavalry of Jon's growing bestiary.
Hiss!
One spider was struck by the entity's acid, melting half its head and thorax, yet it continued to advance. The Magic Stone's energy kept it functional, even as its internal organs leaked onto the stones. The pain only served to ignite its predatory fury.
"Kill it," Jon commanded.
The spiders swarmed the slime-beast. The entity reacted with a terrifying adaptation—it surged into the open wounds of the injured spider, liquefying its internal structure and hijacking the bone-husk from the within.
The hijacked spider stood up, its eyes glowing with a malevolent black light, and turned on its kin. It was a parasitic take-over, one that could have wiped out Jon's entire squad if the entity could perform it indefinitely.
Jon didn't hesitate. "Tear it apart!"
The remaining four spiders lunged. It was a visceral, chaotic pile-on of snapping bone and splashing ichor. The hijacked spider lost limbs to the serrated mandibles of its brothers, while it drove its own stingers into their skulls.
Squelch. Rip.
As the black mass began to leak out of the ruined spider husks, Jon stepped forward. The entity, sensing a final chance, exploded outward in a massive, ink-like web—a "Venom-like" shroud designed to entangle and consume the boy.
HUMMM—!
Just as the black web was about to envelop him, Jon raised a transparent, egg-shaped crystal: a Sealing Stone.
The crystal erupted with a blinding, solar gold light. The black mass shrieked as it hit the radiant barrier, looking like a fly caught in amber. It thrashed, trying to pull away, but the golden light acted like a vacuum, dragging the essence of the "Many-Faced God" into the stone's core.
For a full minute, the Dragonpit was bathed in a divine glow. Then, silence. A pitch-black gemstone fell into Jon's palm.
[Sealing Stone (Occupied): Imprisoned Entity: Avatar of the Many-Faced God. Effect: Generates 1,000 Life Energy units per month.]
Essos. Braavos. The House of Black and White.
In the center of the temple, the black-and-white pool—usually a mirror of perfect stillness—began to boil. Thick, acrid black smoke choked the air.
SCREECH—!
Every Faceless Man within the temple walls suddenly collapsed, their faces twitching and blurring in a horrific, high-speed montage of identities. Finally, every single one of them settled on the face of Jaqen H'ghar.
"The intruder must die," they spoke in a singular, hollow unison that shook the temple's foundations. "The Alien God's power must be purged."
The House of Black and White groaned as if the building itself were in pain, its ancient stones trembling under the weight of a divine wound.