I do not own Game of Thrones or any of the things I use


As Eddard Stark's head rolled, bouncing on the step, a being sighed

in annoyance.

In a red realm of fire and pain, atop a throne of swords, thorns, and gore, with a crown of spikes embedded into their skull, was a monster. With red, bloody flesh clinging to blackened, jagged bones, the demon looked on in annoyance, its hollow, black eyes watching in disgust as this man, whose fate shaped Westeros, was given such a clean, crisp death.

It disgusted him to no ends.

Too few people wanted revenge on him, too many people wanted to avenge him, and too many people were becoming objects of vengeance. Joffrey Lannister being one of them.

"No." It stood, swords and thorns falling out of him, allowing him to move once again.

"Not again." Too many people in this world were going to get away without revenge being served. True, there were people who got away all the time, and there were people who did get punished, but the ration of the two was far too low for his liking.

And he knew just what to do to change that in an amusing, entertaining way.


Eddard Stark awoke and hissed in pain, clutching his neck. Where was he? The last thing he had remembered was King's Landing, being at the Sept of Baelor an-!

It all came rushing back to him, and with a fury he arose, looking around frantically, only to grow wide-eyed and despair at the sight he saw.

Hell, it could only be hell. Fires danced in the sky, a black and red sun shining down onto this hellish world. Dragons and demons and monsters he dare not name roared and raged in the valley below, the land red, the seas red, the sky red. And in the distance, towers of black protruded out of the earth, with a thousand hands reaching out in fury, some giant, some smaller than a rock, but all contained and writhing in the cages.

As he watched it all, pale, and breathless, he heard something chuckle behind him. He spun around, and came face to face with…a man?

The man had a sharp face, with greying black hair, and a goatee o-! Baelish!? Aye, it could only be Baelish, with that smirk and intelligence in his eyes.

"Who do you see?" Eddard blinked before Baelish chuckled.

"I said. Who. Do. You, SEE?" Eddard stepped back as the face rippled, revealing a grotesque, hideous visage beneath the face of Baelish.

In a surprised and terrified stupor, he said,"P-Petyr Baelish." The face froze before pulling its head back and laughing, a dry, gravely thing.

"But of course! Forgive me Eddard Stark, but I believe introductions are in order." 'Baelish' bowed extravagantly, before coming back as a young man with blonde hair an-!

Joffrey!? The thing laughed again as he watched his face's expression, "Terribly sorry, Eddard Stark, but I do so love watching people react to the change. It is my way of confirming who I am." And with a twirl, he was suddenly a completely different man. Dressed in black armor with a robe like half covering his legs, a square helm with a crown of spikes atop it and curling horns, the demon spread out its arms as if in welcome and said, "Welcome to my Realm, Lord Stark. I am the Aspect…of Revenge." The demon put its hands together and took hold of Ned with one arm, a feeling of utter revulsion shooting through the Stark at his touch.

"You see Lord Stark, my master is…unhappy, with the amount of vengeance in your world." Eddard Stark was still incredulous but nodded enough in understanding, he heard 'master' and 'unhappy' and knew someone was displeased.

"And it's all because of you." Eddard blinked before looking at the demon, baffled.

"Me?" The demon nodded.

"Do not misunderstand, Lord Stark. You are not even a morsel with the amount of people who hate you. But your death? That causes far too many to escape revenge, and far too few to have vengeance. Only one person gets their revenge fully, and that person couldn't get her revenge until years later. No, the reason you are here is so vengeance may be served fresh, for serving it cold will be all too time-consuming for my master." Ned blinked again, before seeming to regain his composure.

"What would you have me do…?" The demon chuckled.

"Daemon, will do. And what you can do? Is to dish out said vengeance." Eddard Stark furrowed his brow.

"There are many people who must be punished, but now? You have two different paths to take, Lord Eddard Stark, of House Stark. You can either try to fix everything as you are, while trying to cause as much pain and agony to those who deserve it, or…you can live through some of your punishment, and be sent with…powers." The Stark narrowed his eyes as a worry grew in him.

"What are these 'powers'?" The demon laughed again.

"Worry not, the powers my master bestows upon you are not of his make. Though, at least one will be a tad unfavorable for you. But you may only receive these powers if you survive the vengeful plans of those who hate you." That same worry wormed his way back into him, but with a steel resolve, he nodded his head.

"Are you sure? Rather quick don't you think?"

"I will give anything to make sure my family is safe, anything to make that horrible occurrence something in my memories only." The demon seemed to think before removing his helm, revealing a face that made him gag.

With no skin to speak of, and daggers stabbed into every hole he had, the demon grinned at him, before reaching into its throat, up to the elbow, and pulling out a small dagger.

"For my kidneys. And for you to draw your blood here. The promise must be made with someone's blood in my Realm, for the pact to be complete. But first, what path do you choose." Two portals seemed to appear, one with him, as he was, and another with him, a glow surrounding his body.

He looked at the dagger, before steeling himself and cutting his right hand, letting the blood drip. As it dripped, the whole land seemed to shake, and Ned scrambled back in horror as a swarm of maggots burrowed out of the ground and consumed the blood, merging into a small, fungus covered wolf. It howled at him before running off, joining a pack of flaming hounds in a hunt.

"Have you chosen?" The Stark of Winterfell looked between the two…before heading for the glowing version of him.

"Goof. Now" As he entered, his eyes widened at the excruciating pain exploding through his chest.

He looked down, and watched as a whole arm waved at him, with his heart in its hand.

"lET tHe ToRtuRE bEeGinn!!!" He screamed as a searing pain spread throughout his body, as tendrils of molten steel wormed their way through his veins, into his brain.


He awoke with a start, eyes wide, and looked around. He was in his bed, at House Stark. But…something was wrong.

"Why…Ned…" He turned to where his wife was, and looked in horror as his wife's blood seeped from a red line in her neck.

"CAT!?"He threw off his covers and ran for her, catching her as she fell.

"Why? How…how could you?" He held her close, fighting back tears.

"What have I done?! What is wrong?! Who has done this!?" She looked at him, those blue eyes draining of their life, using their last sliver of energy to look confused.

"Y-You…" Her eyes turned grey, and Eddard watched as a flaming hand grabbed her and ripped her heart from her chest, turning it into stone.

"NO!" He charged for the hand in a fury, only for the floor to fall beneath him and into darkness.


He awoke with a start, and looked around frantically, only to find himself…at the Wall? Yes, that massive blue structure could only be the Wall. Going for miles upward. He was at Castle Black, outside. He expected this was some strange and long form of punishment, to have to stay at this frozen wasteland. Perhaps that could be pro-!

Seven Hells! Was all he could think as a giant swung around a body, the man no doubt dead. But as he stepped back, he saw someone rush forward, and was astonished when he saw the face of his bastard. Jon Snow.

Jon? But then, a terror went through him, remembering his wife, her throat slit, and Ned could only watch on as one of his own Black Brothers came at him and sunk a dagger deep into his chest.

"For the Watch." And as more and more of them stabbed him, he could only watch as yet again, that flaming hand came, plucked his body up, and began changing him, blood gushing from his wounds.

"Gods no." And then, he fell again, into the darkness, a tinge of red lighting it this time.


He awoke with a start, but calmed down, used to the routine. He looked around and found himself at…a keep? Wait, he knew this place. It was the Twins! But, why was he…oh gods no he watched as Robb stood there, filled with bolts, a bloodied mass in his arms, a women beneath him filled with cuts and slices..

"Why?" His heart tore at him as Robb looked at him, his eyes full of tears.

"Why would you do this? Why couldn't you just let them be? Why didn't you come back to us? Why didn't you deny the position of Hand?! Why!?" Eddard stepped back, his son showing fury only a seasoned warrior would know. That only a man of war would know.

"I-Its was my du-"

"YOUR DUTY, YOUR PRECIOUS HONOR, HAS TORN US APART!" For but a moment, as the floor beneath him fell, his son was not Robb, but his namesake, Robert, with the tusks of a boar and the scales of a dragon, breathing thunder and flames.

But it was the last time he awoke, without his heart beating fast, that he realized this was most likely the last, and most painful, of the scenes. When he looked around, he found himself in a chamber of sorts, with small shelves. But when he looked at the shelves more closely, he felt a dread seeping into him when he saw a head on each of the shelves, themselves fashioned just for a head. No, not heads…faces.

'Father!" Eddard slowly turned, locking eyes with a young, beaming Arya.

"Arya, you…can see me?" She tilted her head, confused.

"Of course I can see you father! What kind of silly question is that?" Eddard blinked but nodded…only to widen his eyes and look around.

"Arya you have to leave befo-" But he couldn't get another word out as a sharp pain went through his stomach.

He looked down, shocked at the rapier in his gut, and followed the offending arm to its owner, his child, Arya.

"After all…" A grin spread on her face as she pulled out a knife, stabbing it into his face and causing him agony as she peeled it off.

"How could I make you suffer if you're dead?" And as his face was peeled off, he saw his children's struggle, how they died, how they suffered, and how one word came from each of their minds.

Why did we leave Winterfell?

But he awoke once again, within a massive chamber, the white roots of a Weirwood intertwining around him. And he watched on, a his Bran, crippled, broken, and afraid, become intertwined and crushed between the roots of the Weirwood, the claws of wights, White Walkers, and a white demon, a crown made of swords atop its head.

And as the floor fell, as the branches fell, he watched as bear was entrapped by a score of wolves, and while a massive wolf stalked closer, the bear roared in fury, glaring at the wolves as it ran

And then, he fell.

And as he fell, he screamed in agony as his right arm was torn from him, black hands ripping it off. As his very soul was ripped apart, formed into something else. And as his body was covered in a vile, consuming red and black essence, his mind was assaulted with knowledge he knew not of, he didn't want, but that he knew he would need.

For the Cold Winds were Rising, and Vengeance was Due


Soul

[Aura]

Mind

[Alchemy]

Body

[Prototype…without the hunger…or is it?]

And to the angry boi who thinks this is bad, look where you are!

ITS FAN FICTION!