Timely Intervention #20

Realizing the bitter truth that his powers remained beyond his command, Gale's trembling hand delved into his cloak. He fumbled for a dragon glass dagger, slowly raising it with the intent to strike. 

Yet, as time passed, his strength dwindled, and the blade slipped from his unsteady grasp. "Da... damn it..." Gale mumbled, his consciousness slipping away, vision narrowing to a mere sliver.

Just as the final vestiges of life began to fade, Qhorin burst through the tree line. He swiftly closed the distance and swung his own dragon glass dagger at the White Walker's wrist. 

The White Walker, perceiving Qhorin's approach, promptly released his hold on Gale's neck, retracting his hand and stepping backward to avoid the attack.

"Are you alright, lad?" Qhorin inquired, keeping an eye on Gale, who was on the ground, clutching his neck and struggling to regain his breath.

"No," Gale responded amid coughs, "But I can still fight, if that's what you're asking." He slowly rose to his feet, his throat raw from the recent encounter.

"Good," Qhorin acknowledged with a somber nod. "Because I don't know how much fight I still got in me." He gripped the dragon glass dagger tightly, preparing for the confrontation. 

Though Qhorin's unexpected arrival momentarily caught the White Walker off guard, it swiftly readied itself for the impending conflict. The addition of one more combatant would not significantly alter the outcome of the battle.

With a shriek that resembled the crackling of ice, the White Walker charged toward Qhorin and Gale, its ice blade raised menacingly. 

Gale cautioned, "Don't try to block with your sword. It'll break into pieces." He swiftly sidestepped, bracing for the White Walker's rapid and aggressive assault.

Qhorin nodded, mirroring Gale's movement by dodging to the other side. This strategic maneuver positioned the White Walker between the two fighters. 

Qhorin, now on one side of the foe, charged forward, dagger poised to pierce the creature's icy core.

The White Walker did not shy away from Qhorin's daring charge. Instead, it executed a sideways swing with its ice blade, compelling the old ranger to use his dragon glass dagger for a block. Although Qhorin managed to intercept the attack, the sheer force of the blow sent him staggering backward.

The White Walker promptly pivoted, preparing to confront Gale's oncoming assault with another sidelong swipe. In response, Gale promptly dropped to the snowy ground, narrowly avoiding the deadly arc of the ice blade. He slid across the frozen terrain, attempting to thrust his dagger into the White Walker's thigh. 

However, his endeavor was met with the White Walker's icy fist slamming into his face, sending him sprawling onto his back.

The White Walker, holding its ice blade in a reverse grip, poised to drive the jagged edge into Gale's heart. Swiftly, Gale reacted by hurling his dagger at the White Walker's face. 

Gale's dagger whizzed through the frigid air, narrowly missing the White Walker's face but leaving a shallow gash across its icy cheek. The undead entity recoiled, its cold gaze shifting between Gale and the makeshift weapon that had grazed its unearthly skin.

The gash, instead of oozing blood, seeped an eerie mist that quickly dissipated.

The White Walker's strange reaction hinted at its unfamiliarity with pain, a sensation often alien to its kind. Gale, however, seized this opportunity to scramble to his feet, coughing and dazed. 

Qhorin, who had regained his footing after the previous collision, repositioned himself, ready to confront the White Walker once more. His rugged face bore the weight of many battles, but this was unlike any adversary he had ever faced.

The White Walker, now sporting the scar on its cheek, exuded an eerie sense of cold authority. It had quickly regained its composure, the initial surprise fading into the relentless chill of an ancient predator.

The skirmish continued, each combatant wary of the other, as if locked in an ethereal dance of life and death. The White Walker's movements remained eerily graceful for a creature of its kind, each step fluid and precise as they continued to exchange blows.

Gale, still reeling from the earlier blows, kept his distance, watching the White Walker with an uneasy gaze. The overwhelming odds and nervousness gnawing at his mind were slowly but surely turning into hesitance that almost encompassed his every action.

On the other hand, Qhorin circled the White Walker cautiously, his battle-hardened eyes searching for an opening. The obsidian dagger was poised, its glint matched only by the steely resolve etched on the ranger's face.

The White Walker sensed Gale's hesitance and quickly took advantage of it. In a lightning-fast motion, it executed a savage horizontal swing with its ice blade. 

The strike was shockingly accurate and carried with it an unforgiving cold that seemed to pierce the very soul.

Qhorin's defenses were too slow to thwart the White Walker's devastating assault. The ice blade sliced through his chest with a gruesome ferocity. For a moment, everything hung in suspension, the world holding its breath in the face of imminent tragedy.

With a look of profound shock, Qhorin's eyes met Gale's before his strength gave out. He crumpled to the ground, his grip on the obsidian dagger loosening.

The deathly silence that followed was disrupted by the sound of cracking ice, resounding from within Gale's body. A transformation unlike any other took hold. His body shimmered, and a peculiar blue hue surrounded him, encasing him in an ethereal aura.

An ice blade materialized in Gale's hand, its form mirroring the White Walker's own weapon but with a cruel twist – the tip was crafted from the obsidian daggers he had carried. A weapon designed to vanquish the undead had fused with the source of his newfound power.

Gale, now bearing the uncanny resemblance of a White Walker, turned his icy gaze toward his supernatural adversary. With an unsettling aura of ferocity, he launched a sudden assault, surging at the White Walker with newfound strength.

The White Walker's initial shock gave way to a quick response. It hoisted its ice blade in defense just in time to intercept Gale's swift, forceful strike. The meeting of their respective weapons created a jarring, high-pitched sizzle that reverberated throughout the desolate landscape. 

It was an eerie sound, one that contrasted starkly with the expected metallic clash of conventional swords. The sheer power of the impact sent the surrounding snow into chaotic disarray, the white powder swirling in the air.

Gale refused to relent. With every ounce of his augmented might, he pushed against the White Walker, forcing the enemy to slide back. The supernatural creature struggled to maintain its balance, causing it to stagger back a considerable distance. 

Without hesitation, and with the white walker a safe distance away, Gale knelt beside the fallen Qhorin. His hand hovered over the old ranger's grievous wound. And as he focused his newfound power, ice gradually encased the savage slash on Qhorin's chest, effectively halting the blood's ominous flow.

Standing once more, Gale and the White Walker locked eyes, their frigid gazes clashing in a battle of wills. An unusual silence hung heavy in the air as they confronted one another.

The White Walker opened its mouth, unleashing a series of sounds that resembled the splitting of ice, an eerie form of communication that held the secrets of an ancient tongue. 

Gale, now empowered and strangely attuned to this cryptic language, responded with an utterance in the same enigmatic language. His reply was a declaration of intent, a prelude to the impending clash as Gale launched himself once more at the supernatural adversary.

The battle between Gale and the White Walker raged on. Gale, now empowered by his transformation, launched his icy blade at the supernatural foe. With relentless speed, he struck, aiming for the White Walker's heart.

In response, the White Walker exhibited its uncanny agility. With an almost ghostly grace, it sidestepped Gale's assault, its movements like the flicker of a chilling wind. Gale's blade met only empty air, and in the next instant, the White Walker retaliated.

The undead creature lunged forward, executing a blindingly fast strike with its ice blade, aiming for Gale's flank. Gale managed to block the attack with his obsidian-tipped weapon, the meeting of their blades producing an eerie sizzling sound of two crystals clashing. 

They circled each other, two supernatural beings locked in a relentless battle. It was a dance of shadows and frost, a clash of powers beyond the realm of the living.

In a moment of icy fury, Gale channeled his newfound abilities into a final assault. An icy wind burst from his outstretched hand, an elemental force that sent the White Walker hurtling backward. The supernatural creature slammed into a nearby tree, the impact sending shards of ice scattering in all directions.

Gale didn't hesitate; he closed the distance in an instant, thrusting his icy blade into the White Walker's chest. The obsidian tip pierced the creature's frigid heart. 

Gale opened his mouth and spoke in the white walker's tongue, producing a series of sounds that oozed mockery. He stared straight into the white walker's eyes as its body exploded into countless ice particles. 

The supernatural menace disintegrated in an otherworldly spectacle, leaving nothing behind but an eerie mist that quickly dissipated into the desolate, frozen landscape.

...

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