Gendry's breath locked in his throat like someone had clamped a fist around his windpipe. He stared at Corleone, eyes wide behind the visor, certain the blood loss was making him hallucinate.
Kill Melisandre? The woman who'd taken his virginity, the red priestess who'd used him like a living blood bag? Even knowing it was all manipulation, the memory of her pale skin and those burning eyes still burned in his head.
Corleone's stare was ice-cold. No joke. No mercy. Just quiet expectation.
Gendry's heart slammed against his ribs. He turned toward Melisandre, really seeing her for the first time. The calm mask she always wore had cracked. Those red eyes flickered with something new—fear, maybe. Or understanding.
"I… I'm just a blacksmith's apprentice," Gendry muttered, voice cracking. The warhammer felt like it weighed a thousand pounds in his hands.
Corleone didn't blink. "Looks like you haven't figured it out yet."
The disappointment in those black eyes hit Gendry harder than any sword. He hated it. Hated feeling like he'd failed the one person who'd actually given a damn about keeping him alive.
"No—Godfather!" The word tore out of him before he could stop it. Gendry sucked in a lungful of blood-tinged air, gripped the hammer tighter, and forced his legs to move. "I'll do it. I swear."
He turned and walked straight at Melisandre, the hammer dragging across the stone with a grinding scrape that echoed across the silent terrace.
"Stop!" A knight with a bloody face and shattered armor threw himself in front of Gendry, arms spread wide. "I don't know who you are, but you will not touch Lady Melisandre!"
The man's voice shook with fanatic rage. "She is the Lord of Light's chosen! Her fire guides us through the Long Night. Without her, Stannis is lost and the darkness wins!"
Gendry didn't answer. He swung the warhammer in a brutal sideways arc. The steel head smashed into the knight's helm with a wet crunch. Bone and brain sprayed. The man dropped like a sack of meat.
"Get out of my way," Gendry said flatly, stepping over the body.
He stopped in front of Melisandre. She didn't flinch. Those red eyes locked on his, calm again, almost peaceful. Like she'd already seen this moment in the flames.
Gendry raised the hammer high.
Then he brought it down.
The blow caught her in the side with a sickening crack of bone. Melisandre flew backward, slammed into the stone wall, and slid down in a smear of blood. Her body twisted at an impossible angle, red robes fanning out like dying fire.
She lay still. Blood trickled from her mouth. Those glowing eyes stared at nothing.
Gendry stood over her, chest heaving. He'd done it. He hadn't hesitated at the end. He turned back to Corleone and dropped to one knee, hammer still dripping.
"I did it, Ser. Just like you said."
Corleone studied him for a long moment, then reached out and clapped him on the shoulder. The touch was firm, almost fatherly.
"You did well, Gendry. Learned fast. Cut the weakness. Executed clean. That's good."
Relief flooded Gendry so hard his legs almost gave out. He grinned under the helm.
Then Corleone's voice dropped, colder.
"But I still have one more lesson."
He walked past Gendry, straight to Melisandre's crumpled body. Stopped a few feet away and looked down at the broken red priestess.
"Never assume the enemy is dead until you're damn sure."
Before anyone could react, Corleone crouched and drove his sword into her chest with surgical precision, twisting the blade to pulp whatever was left inside. Then he yanked the ruby necklace from around her neck.
The stone flared once—bright, angry red—then went dark.
Melisandre's body convulsed. Her skin wrinkled and grayed in seconds. Hair turned brittle white. The proud, ageless beauty collapsed into an ancient husk, then crumbled into gray ash that scattered across the blood-slick stone. Only the ruined red robe remained, settling like a funeral shroud.
A final whisper drifted from the dust, barely audible: "The black hand… the hand in the dark…"
Silence swallowed the terrace.
Corleone flicked blood off his sword, tossed the dead necklace into the nearest brazier, and turned back to Gendry like he'd just finished mending a fence.
"Now she's dead," he said calmly. "Lesson over."
Gendry stared at the pile of ash that used to be the woman who'd taken everything from him. His hands shook, but not from fear anymore.
He'd finally done it.
He'd cut the last tie.