Chapter 10: Flames of Regeneration, Part 2
[Winterfell Tower - Dawn, Simulation]
[The system's message is a familiar hum in your mind, a silent confirmation: [SIMULATION ONGOING: BLOCK JAIME LANNISTER]. Your flames grow, the heat searing your hands, forcing Jaime back, his cloak smoldering. Bran descends, gripping the ledges, his eyes flickering to the fight below. Jaime slashes, cutting your arm, but Regeneration seals it, skin knitting shut, pain fading to a distant hum. You hurl a fireball, and Jaime dodges, cursing as his sleeve catches fire. The tower's stone blackens where your flames have touched it, the smoke a sharp tang in the air.]
He is enraged. He is a lion, all fury and raw power, and you are a ghost with a cheat code. He lunges again, his movements a blur of gold and steel, and you meet his attack with a torrent of flame. It isn't a fireball, but a wall of searing heat that forces him to halt, his eyes wide with shock.
"Damn your tricks!" he bellows, his voice a raw, angry sound.
"Tricks? This is talent, ser," you taunt, the words a playful jab that only fuels his rage.
"Fire's my ally, healing's my shield. Jaime's losing ground. He's used to fighting men. Men who bleed. Men who die. He's never fought a god before. He's never fought a man who can't be killed. This is his final lesson, and I'm the one who's going to teach it to him."
[Winterfell Tower - Moments Later, Simulation]
[You press forward, your flames roaring, Bran nearing the ground. Jaime tackles you, both of you crashing to the stone, your breath stolen, your ribs bruised. Jaime's dagger presses against your throat, but Regeneration heals the shallow cut, the blood vanishing as quickly as it appears. You kick free, hurling another fireball, Jaime staggering back, his face flushed with rage. He is a man of honor, a man of pride, and you have humiliated him.]
You stand over him, your flames dancing in your palms, a terrible beauty in the cold, grey dawn. He is beaten. He is a lion brought to his knees by a stablehand. He looks at you, his eyes filled with a new emotion. It is not rage. It is not contempt. It is fear. A cold, chilling, soul-deep fear.
"You're tough, I'll admit," he says, his voice a low, defeated whisper.
"Tougher than your pretty face," you reply, the words a final, mocking taunt.
"Healing's a cheat code, but Jaime's a damn machine. I've broken him. I've shattered his pride. He'll remember this. He'll remember me. I'm not just a stablehand anymore. I'm a force of nature. And this is just the beginning. The real game is about to start. And this time, I'm not just a pawn. I'm the king."
With a final, explosive burst of fire, you send him stumbling back, and you watch as Bran's feet touch the solid earth of the courtyard. The simulation is over. You have won.
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