Parkour Style Sword Fight!

"To Pyke, then!" Robert bellowed, waving his arms expansively as if heralding a grand feast. "If the gates are open, who are we to decline such a generous invitation?"

With his proclamation, Robert swiftly descended the platform, making a beeline for a horse ferried from the mainland. Following suit, Ned, Tywin, and the other nobles hurriedly joined the procession. The entire army, caught in the fervor of the moment, scrambled to reach the gates and venture into Pyke.

Damian flowed through the chaos of the battlefield, his movements guided by the dance of Parkour Mastery. The first Ironborn warrior charged at him, swinging a broadsword with a menacing gleam. Damian sidestepped effortlessly, a blur of motion that left the attacker off balance. Before the Ironborn could recover, Damian countered with a swift diagonal cut, his sword finding the unprotected side of the enemy's armor.

As the defeated Ironborn crumpled to the ground, Damian's attention shifted to the next pair of adversaries closing in. The first swung a battle-axe in a wide arc, aiming for Damian's midsection. With a nimble leap, Damian vaulted over the sweeping attack, landing gracefully behind the Ironborn. Before the enemy could react, Damian delivered a powerful bash with the pommel of his sword, sending him stumbling into his companion.

Now facing four Ironborns, Damian's movements became a mesmerizing display of agility. He dodged a flurry of strikes, using walls and enemy themselves as launching pads for acrobatic evasions. His sword, an extension of his body, became a whirlwind of slashes and slices, each one accompanied by the distinct sounds of steel meeting flesh and armor—clang! rip! thwack!

The Ironborn, unaccustomed to such unorthodox combat, found themselves constantly on the defensive.

One particularly skilled adversary stepped forward to fill his dead subordinates' place, wielding twin cutlasses with deadly proficiency. Damian's eyes narrowed as he assessed the new challenge.

"Oi, Greenlander! I'm gonna carve you up proper and feed your bits to the fishes, you bastard!" The Ironborn threatened, his twin cutlasses gleaming in the light. 

"You should talk less, baldy," Damian retorted, goading his opponent.

Enraged by the remark about his shiny head, the Ironborn launched a rapid flurry of slashes, aiming to overwhelm Damian. Yet, Damian's mastery of Parkour transformed the onslaught into a graceful dance. Evading each strike with fluid movements, he sidestepped, ducked, and performed a low kick, causing the Ironborn to lose his footing.

With a swift backflip, Damian regained his stance, seizing the opportunity to engage the remaining three foes. The ensuing skirmish was a whirlwind of movement as Damian leapt, rolled, and somersaulted through the fray. His sword became an extension of his lethal dance, severing heads and piercing chests with unparalleled precision.

The once-confident Ironborn found himself standing alone, the lifeless bodies of his companions strewn around him. Fear flickered in his eyes as Damian faced him head-on. The Ironborn, torn between the dangers ahead and the peril of showing his back, hesitated, trapped in the deadly dance orchestrated by the Greenlander.

As the dust settled, Damian stood amidst the fallen Ironborn, his breathing steady and his focus unwavering. The onlookers, both friend and foe, watched in awe as Damian demonstrated not only superior swordsmanship but a seemingly supernatural command of movement.

"When did he start to fight like that?" Dacey inadvertently voiced her astonishment, prompting Jory to respond, "I've no idea. He seems to be improving each day."

Damian's recently acquired Parkour Mastery skill proved to be an invaluable asset. Navigating the chaotic battlefield with ease, he adeptly evaded swords, utilized obstacles to his advantage, and moved with a fluidity that defied the surrounding chaos. It was as if he were engaged in a playful dance with children, effortlessly outmaneuvering Ironborn soldiers.

The sequence of moves unfolded in Damian's mind with unpredictable precision. Each step was meticulously calculated, considering the landscape and obstacles. His execution was marked by finesse, leaving the Ironborn adversaries grappling to mount an effective defence against this agile and formidable opponent.

Damian and his group advanced swiftly, reaching the bridge leading to the Great Keep.

"Balon's holed up in the Great Keep. We need to nab him quckly before he scarpers off to the Sea Tower. If he does that and cuts the rope bridges, it'll be a proper struggle for us to reach him," Damian announced, his voice carrying authority.

As Damian and his comrades approached the bridge leading to the Great Keep, the foreboding sounds of Ironborn descending from the walls reached their ears. The Ironborn, in their intent to thwart the advance, were closing in. However, just as the clash seemed imminent, the piercing blast of a horn reverberated through the air.

Simultaneously, through the main gate of Pyke, the advancing forces of Robert, Ned, Tywin, and the Westerosi soldiers poured in. The Ironborn, caught in a dilemma, shifted their focus towards the newly arrived threat. The unexpected convergence of the two fronts created chaos, diverting the attention of the Ironborn away from Damian and his men, allowing them to proceed towards the Great Keep with less resistance.

"Raymond, Arsen, Dacey, and Jory, the four of you lead half of the men and head straight towards the Bloody Keep on the other side of the Great Keep, across another bridge. Your mission is to cut off Balon's retreat. I will take the remaining half and move towards the hall where he is likely present now. Is that clear?" Damian swiftly issued orders, delineating responsibilities.

Through Ace's eyes, he maintained a visual on Balon, seated in the Great Keep's hall on the Seastone Chair. However, the duration for which Balon would remain in that position, rather than retreating to the farthest tower, remained uncertain.

At this point, Balon should have received word about the breach of their gates. His decision to either surrender or prolong the confrontation by seeking refuge in the last tower's solar was still unclear.

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