Chapter 54: The Dragon's Fury and the Gates of Ash
The defiance of Magister Erando Drahar was a fleeting whisper against the roar of the Dragon. Maegor stood before Noronos City, his army arrayed behind him, a disciplined storm of steel and horse. Balerion, now a colossal beast easily the size of three adult elephants, landed with a thunderous impact beside his King, his black scales shimmering in the morning light, his massive head turning towards the city walls. Smoke curled from his nostrils, and a low, guttural growl vibrated through the very ground.
Maegor raised Blackfyre, its dark blade pointing at the defiant city. His voice, amplified by Royal Authority (Uncommon) and his Conquest Aura (Epic), carried across the plains, a chilling pronouncement of doom.
"Dracarys!" Maegor commanded, the ancient High Valyrian word for "Dragonfire" ripping from his lips like a physical force.
Balerion's massive jaws opened. A searing, orange-red inferno erupted from his throat, a torrent of pure, liquid fire. It struck the main gate of Noronos City with unimaginable force. The thick oak timbers, reinforced with iron, instantly burst into flame, not merely burning but vaporizing. The stone walls immediately adjacent to the gate, thick and ancient, began to glow with an incandescent heat, then shimmered, bubbled, and finally, flowed like molten wax. The very air around the inferno shimmered with heat, distorting the view.
The screams began instantly. The guards manning the gate, the archers on the wall above it, the unfortunate civilians caught too close to the inner side of the gate – all were consumed. Their armor glowed red, their flesh blackened and then dissolved, their forms melting into the flowing stone. The air filled with the sickening stench of burning flesh and superheated rock. In mere seconds, where a formidable gate and solid wall had stood, there was now a gaping, smoking breach, a river of molten stone, and a horrifying, charred void. The heat radiated outwards, wilting banners and scorching the ground.
Panic erupted within Noronos City. The defenders on the walls, who had moments before stood defiantly, now screamed in terror, throwing down their weapons and fleeing in disarray. This was not war; this was the apocalypse.
"Maenyx!" Maegor roared, his voice cutting through the chaos, pointing Blackfyre at the molten breach. "Blood Wyrms! Through the gate! Show them no mercy! Commander Brundo, your Spear-and-Shield Infantry will follow the Wyrms, secure the breach! Lord-Commander Blackwood, oversee the advance!"
Commander Maenyx, his face grimly resolute, spurred his armored mount forward. The 250 Blood Wyrms, a thunderous wave of Valyrian steel and muscle, charged towards the glowing, smoking gap. Their heavy lances, tipped with dark Valyrian steel, were leveled. The heat was immense, but the Blood Wyrms, with their Dragonblooded Riders and Unbreakable Will, did not falter. They crashed through the molten debris, their armored horses splashing through still-glowing stone, their riders a terrifying, silent vanguard.
Behind them, a terrifying, guttural roar erupted from 3,000 Dothraki raiders, led by Khal Drogo. They surged forward, a wild, screaming tide of horsemen, their arakhs glinting, their faces contorted with battle lust. They poured through the breach, a relentless wave of death, eager to claim the terrified city. The remaining 6,000 Dothraki were held in reserve outside the city walls, ready to encircle or pursue any who attempted to flee.
As the Blood Wyrms and Dothraki streamed into the city, Maegor turned to his infantry and archers. "Brundo!" he commanded, "Lead your 413 Spear-and-Shield Infantry through the breach! Secure the main thoroughfares! Corlys! Your 430 Myrosh Archers will advance, providing covering fire for the infantry! Laenor! Your 400 Sword-and-Shield Infantry will follow, clearing any pockets of resistance!"
The Myrosh forces, though not as terrifying as the Blood Wyrms or as numerous as the Dothraki, moved with disciplined precision. The archers, under Ser Corlys Stone, advanced to the edge of the molten breach, loosing volleys of arrows into the fleeing defenders within the city, driving them deeper into the labyrinthine streets. Commander Brundo's spearmen, their shields raised, marched through the smoking gap, their disciplined formation a stark contrast to the chaos around them. Ser Laenor Waters led his sword-and-shield infantry, their blades ready to engage in the brutal street fighting that was sure to follow.
Maegor watched the initial surge, his eyes cold and calculating. The Conquest Aura (Epic) radiating from him caused a palpable morale drain in the few remaining defenders who dared to stand, their courage dissolving into abject terror. He saw Commander Maenyx and the Blood Wyrms, an unstoppable force, cutting a swathe through the panicked Noronos garrison. The Dothraki spread like a plague, their screams echoing through the streets, hunting down any who resisted.
He then spurred his Sand Steed forward, Blackfyre a dark, humming presence in his hand. He rode through the still-smoking breach, the heat immense but harmless to him, thanks to his Flame Adaptation (Tier 2). Ghost, the direwolf, ran silently at his side, a low growl rumbling in his chest. Balerion, having completed his task, soared high above, a terrifying, watchful guardian, occasionally letting out a triumphant shriek that sent shivers down the spines of the remaining defenders.
The city was a maelstrom of terror and conquest. The defenders, caught between the unstoppable charge of the Blood Wyrms, the relentless fury of the Dothraki, and the disciplined advance of Maegor's Myrosh forces, quickly broke. Street fighting was sporadic, desperate, quickly crushed by the overwhelming might. Those who surrendered were taken prisoner. Those who fought were cut down.
Maegor rode through the main thoroughfare, his eyes scanning for any sign of organized resistance. He saw Commander Balio's personal guard, a small, elite contingent, attempting to make a stand near the central square.
"Maenyx!" Maegor roared, pointing with Blackfyre. "Crush them!"
The Blood Wyrms, their Valyrian steel gleaming, crashed into the desperate defenders. Maegor, with Blackfyre a dark blur in his hand, plunged into the fray. The sword moved with unparalleled precision and speed, every strike lethal, every parry flawless. Its subtle drain on the foe's will was devastating; men simply lost the will to fight, their minds clouding with terror. He cut down any who dared to stand before him, his presence radiating an absolute, terrifying authority.
The battle for Noronos City was over within hours. The Magister's forces were shattered. The city was taken. The Duchy of Qehes was his.