Game of Thrones: Killing to the top

"Fire and blood determine the greatness of a kingdom, a true king seeks peace but isn't afraid of war, the harsh reality is all periods of peace follow a great war. and then the wars begins again."

 Aegon Targaryen to ***************

Four-chapter release.

Bharso was a giant of a man, his muscles rippling beneath bronzed skin. His braid was long, thick, and adorned with golden rings, a mark of his countless victories. His dark eyes burned with arrogance, and his face was adorned with scars that were trophies of battle.

Behind him stood his three bloodriders, each one as formidable as the next, their arakhs gleaming under the dying light of the sun.

Khal Bharso stepped forward, his heavy boots kicking up dust as he looked at Aegon from head to toe.

"What is this?" he boomed, his voice thick with contempt. "A child foreigner comes to my camp unarmed? Have you come to beg for mercy, or does your mother weep for a fool who rides to his death?"

Laughter erupted from the surrounding warriors. The Dothraki were merciless in their humor, and Bharso's words only fueled their amusement.

Aegon dismounted slowly, his movements deliberate. He could feel hundreds of eyes on him, watching, waiting.

Then, he spoke.

"I am Aegon."

The laughter died instantly.

Aegon's voice was calm, and steady, yet filled with undeniable power. The sheer weight of his presence silenced the mockery as every warrior instinctively recognized something dangerous in him.

He met Bharso's gaze, his next words cutting through the air like a blade.

"I have come to kill you."

A hush fell over the camp.

For a moment, only the crackling fires and the distant neighing of horses could be heard. Then, Bharso threw his head back and roared with laughter.

"You?!" he bellowed. "A lone foreigner, with no khalasar, no warriors at your back, comes to challenge a Khal?!"

His bloodriders grinned, their hands resting on their weapons, eager for blood.

Aegon remained still, unfazed.

"I need no army," he said simply. "Only my sword."

The Dothraki murmured amongst themselves. Even for their savage customs, this was unheard of.

Bharso's grin faded. His pride, and his status as a Khal, had been challenged in front of his people. He could not ignore this insult.

If he did his people would start to doubt him, which would lead to more problems down the road.

His mind was already made he would accept the challenge of this foreigner and kill him brutally.

His fingers curled around the hilt of his arakh.

"You wish to die so soon?" he growled, stepping forward. "Then I will grant your wish."

Aegon smirked.

"Come, Khal Bharso. Show me if you are worthy of being a Khal."

The circle cleared, forming an arena of blood.

Aegon and Bharso stood across from each other, their shadows stretching long against the earth. The crowd pressed in, hungry for the battle, their voices rising in a chant of bloodlust.

Bharso cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders as he unsheathed his massive arakh, its curved blade gleaming in the firelight.

Aegon, in contrast, drew his sword with eerie calm, his body loose yet coiled like a serpent ready to strike.

A moment of stillness.

Then Bharso charged.

His arakh sliced through the air, a brutal, sweeping strike meant to cleave Aegon in half.

Aegon sidestepped, the blade missing him by inches. In the same breath, he twisted his body, his sword lashing out like a viper.

Steel met Steel.

Aegon was surprised.

Aegon jumped back, Bharso was having none of it as he charged once more.

He sliced through the air with a strike meant to decapitate Aegon.

Aegon raised his sword blocking the blow.

Bharso's strength was immense, the strongest Aegon had encountered since his reincarnation.

But it wasn't enough, Aegon pushed the arakh aside and swung upward.

Causing Bharso to stumble two steps forward as Aegons sword met bare flesh.

A deep gash opened along Bharso's ribs, as the Khal managed to move out of Aegon's attack range before he could attack again.

The Dothraki crowd seemed surprised as the shouts became low.

It was Aegons turn to charge and soon he was upon the great Khal, his sword came swinging down on Bharso who dodged and returned a cross slash aimed at Aegon's unguarded stomach.

Forcefully changing his sword direction Aegon managed to knock the arakh down to the ground causing it to be embedded in the soft earth.

Seeing the opening Aegon didn't stop spinning around with a cross slash of his own that came faster than Bharso was expecting, still of balance he released the grip he had on the arakh and rolled to the side.

The distance between the two opened up once again, and as Bharso got back to his feet the difference was clear. Aegon stood unharmed clean and breathing as normally as possible, Bharso on the other hand was bleeding out covered in mud, and breathing heavily.

Aegon walked to the arakh and pulled it out of the ground and threw it at Bharso's feet.

"Pick it up, let's finish this." says Aegon.

Bharso looked at him gritted his teeth and picked up his weapon.

Bharso snarled, lunging at Aegon, his strikes faster, more desperate but Aegon was faster.

He weaved through the attacks, his sword carving mercilessly into Bharso's flesh. Each cut was precise, each wound deliberate.

Within moments, Bharso was on his knees, his body trembling, his braid soaked in his own blood.

Aegon stood before him, untouched.

The Khal looked up, pain and disbelief warring in his gaze.

"You fought well better than anyone I've met thus far."

Aegon's voice was cold but it held truth.

Then with a single, swift motion he severed Bharso's braid, then his head.

(Ding!!! one Khal killed + 10 points)

Silence.

Then the Dothraki roared.

Khal Bharso was dead. A new Khal had risen.

Aegon turned to the gathered warriors, holding the severed braid high.

"Follow me, Khal Bharso is dead I am the new Khal!!"

The Dothraki roared!!!!