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THESUN hung high in the blood-red sky, casting a sickly hue over the battlefield of Myr, where the air thickened with the stench of sweat, iron, and the unmistakable tang of blood. Cries of agony echoed across the scorched earth, a cacophony of chaos and despair as Eleanor Targaryen stood at the forefront of her forces, her heart pounding like a war drum.
Myr had once been a vibrant hub of trade and culture, but now it lay ravaged, its streets littered with the remnants of a broken city. The clash of steel rang out, a symphony of death orchestrated by the merciless hands of warriors bent on bloodshed. Eleanor surveyed the battlefield, her gaze steely and resolute, as her knights surged forward, a wave of steel and fury crashing against the enemy lines.
The first clash erupted in a shower of sparks as swords met, the impact sending a jolt through the ground beneath their feet. Blood sprayed like a macabre fountain as a soldier fell, his throat sliced open, crimson rivulets pooling around him. The screams of the wounded filled the air, mingling with the roars of battle-hardened men and the shrill cries of dying horses. A dark satisfaction curled within Eleanor's chest as she gripped her sword, feeling the familiar weight of the weapon, its hilt slick with the blood of her enemies.
She charged into the fray, her heart racing with adrenaline, eyes narrowed as she sought out the enemy commander—a man she had sworn to kill. The battlefield transformed into a twisted canvas of carnage, limbs severed and bodies piled high, the ground slick with gore. A knight fell beside her, his head cleaved in two, brain matter splattering against her armor. Eleanor barely flinched; the sight was as familiar to her as the gentle lapping of waves against the shore.
With a fierce battle cry, she lunged forward, her sword slicing through flesh with a sickening squelch. The visceral sound resonated within her, driving her onward as she wove through the chaos. She spotted her target, a burly figure amidst the turmoil, his armor glinting like a beacon of death. He swung his axe with abandon, cleaving a man in half, and Eleanor felt a surge of rage coursing through her veins. This man, this monster, had taken too much from her.
"Face me!" she shouted, her voice cutting through the din as she closed the distance. The commander turned, surprise etched on his features, but it quickly morphed into a cruel grin.
"Ah, the princess returns! Come to avenge your fallen?" he taunted, hefting his axe as if it were a mere toy.
Eleanor's grip tightened on her sword, fury igniting her every nerve. "You will die here," she vowed, lunging forward with a speed that caught him off guard. Their blades clashed, the impact reverberating through her body as she pushed against him with every ounce of strength she possessed.
The battlefield continued to rage around them, bodies falling like wheat before the scythe. A soldier screamed as a blade pierced his gut, the weapon twisted savagely, tearing through organs, and he fell to his knees, clawing at the earth, the life spilling from him in a dark pool. Another knight succumbed to a brutal thrust, his armor failing to protect him from the cold steel that ripped through flesh. The sounds of dying men, choking on their own blood, painted a horrific backdrop to Eleanor's confrontation.
