Beneath the pitch-black night sky, the Dragonpit atop Rhaenys' Hill loomed like some slumbering beast, crouched in silence over the Red Keep.
Its great walls were hewn from massive blocks of black stone, the entrance gaping wide like the maw of a monster.
Through this grim air strode Maegor, his body drenched in blood as he walked straight toward the lair.
Along the way, the Dragonkeepers moved as if to approach him, but he brushed them aside with a rough wave of his hand, forcing them back.
His eyes burned with grim resolve, fixed on his goal—the den of the Cannibal.
After weaving through several twisting corridors, the broken, pitiful bulk of the Cannibal came into view at last.
The beast's tail was gone, leaving only a mangled, bloody stump where strength once lashed with fury. Its left wing had been ripped clean away by the Black Dread, the raw wound curling outward in grotesque folds of dark red flesh.
The once-dreaded dragon now looked both hideous and pitiful, its massive frame trembling as it lay sprawled across the stone floor.
When it saw Maegor approach, it loosed a low, guttural bellow. "Hrrrroooow!"
From its slightly open jaws, strands of green, corrosive spittle dripped to the ground. Each drop hissed as it burned small pits into the stone, wisps of acrid smoke rising into the air.
Maegor's face remained cold and unreadable. He stepped closer, fixing his gaze on the crippled beast.
"I need your strength, Cannibal," he whispered.
At his words, the dragon tilted its enormous head, staring back at its master with something like confusion.
Maegor gave no further answer.
Suddenly, molten gold began to pour from his body. It surged like a river of living metal, flooding the lair with blinding radiance.
The brilliance unsettled the Cannibal. It shuffled backward instinctively, its talons scraping deep furrows into the stone floor.
Maegor's form swelled beneath the molten glow, rising to more than three meters, his giant frame encased entirely in liquid gold.
The Cannibal watched, uncomprehending, as Maegor's awakened body suddenly collapsed like liquid, cascading to the ground with a splash. The golden torrent pooled into a narrow stream and slithered toward the dragon.
The molten stream reached its talons first, then, as though alive, began climbing slowly up the creature's body.
It wound between its scales like threads of gilded leaf, wrapping the dragon in a gleaming coat of false splendor.
But when the molten gold seeped into the scabbed wounds, horror followed.
The golden fluid burrowed inward, driving into veins and flesh.
The Cannibal shrieked in agony, thrashing violently. Its massive body rolled across the stone, smashing against the floor, trying in vain to scrape away the molten gold that clung like a swarm of maggots feeding on its flesh.
Its roar shook the Dragonpit itself.
Yet the molten gold held fast, crawling deeper, gnawing at its body, drowning it in unending torment.
From outside, Maegor ordered the Dragonkeepers back, forbidding them to set a single foot near the Cannibal's lair.
They could only stand far off, listening helplessly as the dragon's anguished roars pierced the stone walls, echoing through the pit with a sound that chilled the blood.
Time passed slowly within the lair.
At last, the Cannibal's thrashing ceased. It lay slumped like a carcass, motionless, its once-mighty form reduced to ruin.
The light in its eyes was gone, extinguished into lifeless emptiness.
Across its body stretched the vast net of molten gold that was Maegor—cold, unyielding, gleaming faintly in the darkness of the Dragonpit with a light both strange and terrible.
Suddenly—"puff!"—a muffled burst shattered the silence.
At the edge of the wound on Cannibal's left wing, a fleshy tumor bulged out without warning, swelling and twisting grotesquely. From it burst a massive, pale human arm, its muscles hard as stone, golden veins bulging hideously beneath the skin.
"Ahhh…" A deep voice rumbled through the lair. Along Cannibal's long neck, a human face—identical to Maegor's—slowly pressed itself outward, as if carved cruelly into the dragon's flesh.
The dragon's vast body convulsed violently, the molten gold flickering faintly between its scales. Gradually, its hulking frame heaved itself upright.
But its head still hung limp against the ground, dragged upward only by the rising body—like a head that no longer belonged to the creature at all.
When the giant dragon, stretching dozens of meters long, finally stood fully upright, the human face on its neck was complete, every feature clearly defined. Its lips trembled slightly—then spoke.
Maegor let out a chilling, twisted laugh. "Such a perfect body... keh keh keh~"
Blood dripped steadily from Cannibal's hanging head. Suddenly, molten gold surged through it, saturating its flesh. The once-ridged head jerked stiffly, then began to rise—but at an unnatural angle, jaw up, horns down, like a human arm bent back upon itself.
The massive human arm jutting from its back reached for the dragon's head, thrusting straight into its throat.
With a sickening squelch of flesh and blood, the arm drew forth a colossal sword of living meat. Its surface writhed with tentacles, squirming like exposed entrails, whipping through the air with a stench that turned the stomach.
"Hahaha~ The ultimate power of this world can only be claimed through my Molten Gold! I alone am the strongest!" Maegor roared from the face upon Cannibal's neck.
With that, he drove the monstrous fusion forward, out of the lair.
Each ponderous step shook the ground with thunderous force, the echoes carrying far across the night and drawing the Dragonkeepers at once.
But when they laid eyes on the warped abomination—the dragon twisted into a horror—they froze in terror. Then, panicked, they turned and fled.
Too late.
With a howl of wind, the massive flesh-blade cleaved downward, its sheer force cutting down several Dragonkeepers in an instant.
Tentacles lashed out like venomous serpents, ensnaring the men before they could scream. One by one, they were dragged screaming into the sword's pulsing mass, swallowed whole.
Thud. Thud. With each colossal step, Cannibal's body—warped and driven by Maegor—marched into the night, heading beyond the Red Keep.
Everything that crossed its gaze was slaughtered, devoured by the writhing sword.
The monstrous dragon scaled the Red Keep's towering walls with ease, spilling into King's Landing's outer districts.
Where it passed, ruin followed. Entire buildings toppled beneath its bulk, sending up choking clouds of dust. Screams filled the air as men, women, and children were butchered without mercy, blood flowing into the streets like rivers.
No force in the city could halt its advance.
Maegor's cold eyes swept over the humans below, as small as insects beneath him. The sword's countless tentacles writhed and lengthened, sweeping through the crowds, snatching up victims and feeding them into the abomination's gullet.
The garrison of King's Landing, roused by the chaos, gathered—but when faced with the warped Cannibal and the horror Maegor had become, they were powerless.
They stood frozen, forced to watch as the monstrosity advanced, devouring life step by step, unable to stop the spreading calamity.
"Look! It's heading straight for Aegon's army!" cried one sharp-eyed soldier.
"Gods… could this be King Maegor's blood sorcery? Aside from that arm, it's the Cannibal—it must be!" another shouted in terror.
But there was nothing they could do. The horror rampaged unchecked through their city, leaving only fear and despair in its wake.
Behind it stretched a long trench carved by its weight, flanked by ruins, broken walls, and collapsed houses—utter desolation.
And still it marched on, leaving the outer districts, striding upriver along the Blackwater Rush. Before long, its immense silhouette melted into the ink-black night.
…
From atop the Red Keep's walls, Tyanna stood silently, watching as Maegor's abomination drove the Cannibal's body further and further, until it vanished from sight.
At length, she lowered her head and whispered, "The final battle has begun."
Within the Red Keep, the king's absence and the Cannibal's monstrous transformation had been noticed.
Lords gathered in the Hall of Conquest, arguing furiously over whether they should dispatch soldiers after the beast, hoping to strike at Aegon's host.
But Tyanna soon entered, halting their debate.
Her face was grave. "The King often falls to madness in battle. His assault on Aegon's army alone may be his way of sparing his own men from his frenzy. We need only wait here, in King's Landing, for the outcome."
If the king returned safely, it would mean the war was won. But if not...
"Now that Maegor has become such a monster, should we still honor him as king?" a noble finally dared to voice his doubt.
Before he had even finished, Count Tars suddenly drew his sword. A flash of steel, and the noble's head tumbled to the floor. Blood spurted from his neck like a fountain, spraying several meters high and drenching those nearby. The hall fell deathly silent.
Count Tars rammed his sword into the floor. At once, his face began to twist and contort, his skin rippling like waves before morphing into the grotesque visage of a bat.
With a blur of movement, he lunged forward like a phantom, his razor claws driving deep into the dead noble's abdomen. He ripped free a still-dripping liver and, without hesitation, shoved it into his mouth, chewing greedily.
His blood-red eyes swept across the chamber as he let out a chilling laugh. "Who else dares betray the King? Haha~~"
"Demons! Gods above, you truly are demons!" one noble shrieked, his voice shrill with terror.
But before he could move, a single hand pierced straight through his chest from behind. It belonged to Lord Rosby, whose face showed no hint of emotion, as though he had done nothing of consequence.
Tyanna watched, her brow furrowing slightly, but she did not intervene. Several Awakened loyal to Maegor had begun their rampage through the hall, cutting down men without hesitation. Blood sprayed in all directions as screams echoed off the stone walls.
To Tyanna, these humans had outlived their usefulness. After witnessing Maegor's transformation into a dragon-monster, none of them would ever truly submit to his rule again.
Her thoughts had already turned toward the future—how to build a dynasty ruled by Awakened demons.
Perhaps she should emulate Wat the Woodcutter of the Faith of the Seven, forcing awakenings through brutal means. Dragon kin were already common among nobles, their risks considered low. If Maegor conquered them one by one, making their lords awaken into demons—or exterminating those who refused—then a demon-ruled empire was within reach.
Resolved, Tyanna let her own body twist and rupture into its awakened form.
A grotesque, bone-armored cheetah, crawling on all fours and bearing the skull of a human, took her place. With a snarl, she threw herself into the slaughter, tearing apart the human lords.
Moments later, not a single man was left alive in the Hall of Conquest.
The Awakened feasted like wolves, ripping entrails apart with savage delight. No shame touched their faces—only hunger and satisfaction.
When they had gorged themselves, Tyanna gave a sharp command. At once, the demons turned on the rest of the Red Keep, beginning an even more frenzied massacre.
Any dragon kin willing to awaken were spared, allowed to live. Under Tyanna's command, the demonic host swelled rapidly, growing like a snowball rolling downhill.
The Red Keep drowned in the stench of blood. It had become a vision of hell itself, rivers of crimson running across its halls.
Tyanna's demon host tore through the fortress in a tide of violence, cutting its way straight to the side halls of Visenya.
There, the two princesses Aerea and Rhaella resided.
Tyanna knew that even unawakened, the girls possessed strength far beyond many Awakened warriors.
So she summoned the bulk of her forces. In an instant, monstrous forms swarmed onto the roofs of the side hall—warped beasts with fanged maws and twisted limbs.
They bared their claws and fangs, letting out bone-chilling roars, ready to strike.
...
[Upto 20 chapters ahead for now]
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