The resurrection was instantaneous.
One moment the courtyard of Winterfell was filled with the bodies of the fallen brave men who had died holding the walls. The next moment those bodies were jerking upright with the puppet like motion of the undead.
"Back to back!" Robb Stark screamed slashing the throat of a wight that had once been a Karstark spearman.
Jon Snow spun around parrying a rusty axe swung by a dead Dothraki.
"They are inside!" Jon yelled. "The perimeter is breached!"
It was chaos. The disciplined lines of the trench warfare had dissolved into a brutal melee. It was no longer a battle of range and ballistics. It was a knife fight in a graveyard.
Andar stood on the catwalk above the slaughter. He dropped the empty RPG launcher.
He reached into a crate and pulled out a weapon he had been saving for this exact nightmare.
The Type 100 Submachine Gun.
It was crude stamped metal ugly and cheap. But it fired 9mm parabellum rounds at nine hundred rounds per minute. It was a hose of lead designed for sweeping rooms.
Andar slid down a ladder and landed in the mud.
A dead Unsullied charged him spear raised.
BRRRRRT.
Andar fired a short burst from the hip. The wight's chest disintegrated.
"Move!" Andar shouted to his personal guard. "We have to get to the Godswood! He is going for Bran!"
They fought their way through the press. Every step was a struggle. The dead were everywhere clawing biting and stabbing.
Daenerys was on the ground now. She had lost Drogon in the crash. She stood amidst a circle of dead wights holding a heavy dragonglass machete she had been issued. Her face was smeared with black blood.
"Your Grace!" Andar shouted firing over her shoulder to kill a wight behind her. "Get to the Keep! Barricade the doors!"
"I am not hiding!" Daenerys screamed back. She looked wild a true dragon in human form. "Where is he?"
"He is hunting!" Andar pointed to the Godswood.
The Night King was walking. He did not run. He did not fight. He simply walked through the chaos. His White Walkers formed a phalanx around him shattering any sword that came near with their ice blades.
In the Godswood the silence had been broken by the roar of flamethrowers but now the tanks were empty.
Theon Greyjoy stood alone.
His Ironborn were dead. They lay in heaps around him their ammunition spent their lives sold dearly.
Theon breathed heavily. His Type 3 Rifle clicked empty. He threw it down.
He pulled a pair of dragonglass daggers from his belt.
"Bran," Theon said without looking back. "It has been an honor."
Bran sat in his wheelchair beneath the weeping red leaves of the Weirwood.
"You are a good man Theon," Bran said.
The gate to the Godswood shattered.
The Night King entered.
He was flanked by four White Walkers. The air instantly froze turning the mud to iron hard stone. The fires that had been burning the wights flickered and died.
Theon looked at the monster. The Night King looked at Bran.
Andar burst through the side entrance of the Godswood. He was fifty yards away. Too far.
He raised his submachine gun.
BRRRRT.
The bullets sparked off the Night King's armor. The ice plate was too thick for 9mm rounds. The Night King didn't even flinch.
One of the White Walkers turned and threw an ice spear.
Andar dove. The spear smashed into the tree behind him exploding into razor sharp shards. A shard cut Andar's cheek.
"Covering fire!" Andar yelled to Jory.
Jory and the guards opened up but the Walkers moved with supernatural speed deflecting bullets with their ice swords.
Theon screamed a desperate battle cry. He charged.
It was suicide. He knew it.
He ran straight at the Night King daggers raised.
The Night King didn't use a weapon. He simply caught Theon's spear thrust with his bare hand. He snapped the dragonglass blade like a twig.
Then he drove the broken shard into Theon's side.
Theon gasped. He fell to his knees blood pouring onto the white snow.
The Night King stepped over him. He walked toward Bran.
He reached for the sword on his back. An ice blade that radiated cold so intense it cracked the air.
"No!" Andar scrambled to his feet. He fumbled for a grenade.
But suddenly a shadow detached itself from the darkness of the tree branches above.
It was small. Silent.
Arya Stark dropped from the sky.
She fell directly behind the Night King. In her hand was the double ended dragonglass spear Gendry had made.
She struck.
But the Night King was fast. Unnaturally fast.
He spun around catching Arya by the throat. He lifted her into the air. Her spear fell from her hand clattering uselessly on the roots.
The Night King looked at her his blue eyes devoid of mercy. He squeezed.
Arya choked kicking her legs.
But she smiled.
She dropped the snub nose revolver from her left hand.
She caught it with her right.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Point blank range. Three shots.
But not lead bullets.
These were special rounds. Hollow points filled with Dragonglass dust and Valyrian steel filings suspended in wax.
The bullets hit the Night King in the chest. They punched through the cracked armor.
The Night King froze.
He looked down at the holes in his chest. Blue light began to leak out of them.
He looked at Arya with an expression of genuine confusion.
Then he shattered.
He exploded into a million pieces of ice. The shockwave blew Arya backward.
Behind him the four White Walkers shattered simultaneously turning into piles of crushed ice.
Outside the walls the wights stopped moving. The magic that bound them was severed. They collapsed like puppets whose strings had been cut.
Silence fell over Winterfell.
Andar stood up slowly. He lowered his gun.
He looked at the pile of ice that used to be the god of death.
"Gunpowder," Andar whispered wiping the blood from his face. "Beats rock paper and scissors."
Arya sat up rubbing her bruised throat. She looked at the revolver in her hand.
"Gendry," she rasped. "I need to kiss him."
Bran looked at Andar.
"You changed the story," Bran said. "It wasn't supposed to happen this way."
"I don't like tragedies," Andar said.
He walked over to Theon.
The Ironborn prince was bleeding out. His eyes were dim.
"Did we win?" Theon whispered.
"We won," Andar said pressing a bandage to the wound. "Hang on Theon. We have penicillin. We have blood transfusions. You don't get to die today."
Andar keyed his radio.
"Medic! Medic to the Godswood! Priority One!"
He looked up at the dawn breaking in the East. The artificial night was dissolving. The sun was rising over a world that was broken bloody but alive.
[Quest Complete: The Long Night]
[Target Eliminated: The Night King]
[Method: Kinetic Projectile (Modified)]
[MVP: Arya Stark / Gendry Waters]
[Casualties: High]
[World Status: Saved]
The war for the dawn was over.
But as Andar looked at Daenerys walking into the Godswood her eyes scanning the survivors he knew the peace would be short.
The dead were gone. Now the living would fight for what remained.
.…..
Author Note
Hi guys! Thank you for reading my fanfiction.
This could be the end of this fic, but I could also continue with The final conflict between the Industrial North, Daenerys's Ambition, and the Lannister remnants in the South.
This would approximately take 10-12 chapters. If you want to see that, let me know. <3