At the summit of the High Tower.
Members of House Hightower were brutally driven by the Ironborn onto the central platform at the top of the tower.
Their once-luxurious clothing was torn and disordered, their faces filled with terror and humiliation.
Lord Leyton's eyes were bloodshot as he stared out over Oldtown, now a living hell awash in blood. "Euron, you damned Kraken, you blasphemer! The Seven will curse you! You will fall into the seven hells and never escape!"
His children and grandchildren, by contrast, could only weep and beg, collapsing weakly to the ground.
Some young noble ladies even tried to barter their chastity for their lives, only to be met with the Ironborn's public humiliation. Their cries were pitiful and heartbreaking.
Yet Euron, standing before them, merely wore a cruel smile.
"Curses? Hell?" he said lightly. "You'll soon learn that everything you believe in is nothing more than a hollow illusion. Your blood will become the foundation for the coming of new gods. That is the highest honor, old man."
He said no more, giving only a slight nod.
Victarion brought his arm down heavily.
The slaughter began.
The Ironborn surged forward with savage grins, their sharp axes falling without hesitation.
The noble blood of House Hightower splashed across the cold black stone floor.
Thick, warm blood pooled together, flowing steadily toward the massive black stone at the center of the platform.
Lord Leyton watched helplessly as his family fell one after another into the spreading crimson. His body shook violently before he finally collapsed to the ground.
Tears streamed down his weathered face as a wail tore from his throat, as though his very soul had been ripped away in an instant.
Beside him, Malora was in an entirely different state.
There was no fear on her face. Instead, a sickly flush spread across her cheeks. Her eyes were locked onto the black stone soaked in blood, her lips murmuring words no one could understand. She even tried to crawl toward it, reaching out as if to touch it.
"Get away!"
Euron kicked her aside in disgust, his attention wholly consumed by the black stone.
As the blood of House Hightower seeped into it, strange ripples began to spread across the surface of the massive stone.
They were deep, layered undulations.
Its dark luster grew ever more profound, faint patterns glowing within.
"Quick!"
Euron licked his lips, his single eye blazing with manic excitement. "Get it down. Move it to the shore of Battle Island. Let it soak in the sea. Now!"
Using thick ropes and levers, the Ironborn strained to lower the black stone, which had become unnaturally heavy, from the top of the High Tower.
At the shore of Battle Island, the waves crashed violently.
The Ironborn positioned the black stone where the tide could reach it.
Then more barrels were carried forward, each filled with blood gathered from all across Oldtown.
The Ironborn dumped these revolting offerings into the sea with wild abandon.
In an instant, the water turned a horrifying dark red, the heavy stench of blood surging into the air.
The blood seemed almost alive, swirling and seeping around the black stone at the center.
Euron stood knee-deep in the churning water, facing the stone.
He tore off the eyepatch that had long covered his left eye, revealing an eye that bore no resemblance to anything human.
The pupil was an unnaturally sinister crimson, within which countless tiny, twisted points of starlight seemed to spin and flicker.
He spread his arms wide and began chanting in a harsh, unfamiliar tongue drawn from some unknown tome. At times his voice was low and rumbling, like echoes from the abyss; at others it became sharp and shrill, like glass scraping stone, filling the Ironborn who heard it with an inexplicable fear and agitation.
As the chant continued, the black stone soaking in the sea of blood underwent a terrifying change.
The crimson energy clinging to it was no longer a faint haze, but thickened into something almost tangible, like boiling blood, rolling and churning.
The seawater around it began to boil violently, vaporizing as crimson steam hissed upward, shooting into the sky and forming a towering pillar of blood that seemed to link heaven and earth.
The blood in the sea seemed to be drawn out by some invisible force, turning into countless fine crimson threads that streamed madly into the black stone.
The patterns on the stone's surface flared to life, pulsing with a dreadful light, like the beating of a heart.
Thump… thump… thump…
With every pulse, a massive wave of magic spread outward, visible to the naked eye.
Boom!!!
At last, an indescribable surge of blood-red magical energy erupted from the black stone.
It did not shoot straight into the sky, but instead spread across the land of Battle Island.
Moments later, that malevolent energy flowed along the ground, pouring into the black stone foundation at the base of the High Tower. It resonated with the tower itself, climbing upward until it reached the summit.
A crimson pillar of light, a hundred times thicker than before, burst forth from the top of the tower, stabbing straight into the heavens.
It was as if the sky had been torn open.
The clouds were dyed a filthy blood-red and began to spin wildly around the High Tower, forming an enormous vortex.
At the center of that vortex, the blue sky was gone, replaced by a depthless darkness that seemed to lead beyond the stars.
Within that darkness, vast shapes beyond human comprehension seemed to writhe, casting a gaze so dreadful it threatened to shatter the mind.
Every Ironborn who witnessed this, even the fiercest warriors, felt a terror rise from the deepest part of their souls.
They collapsed to the ground, retching and convulsing, muttering incoherent words or screaming uncontrollably.
This was the most instinctive reaction of lesser beings when confronted with a cosmic horror far beyond their understanding.
Victarion's body shook violently as well. He gripped his battleaxe so tightly that his nails nearly cut into his palms.
Staring at the figure laughing madly amid the sea of blood, his thoughts screamed, What has he summoned? This isn't power. This is annihilation. Does he truly mean to turn himself into a god… or something far worse?
The summit of the High Tower was now completely shrouded in that dark crimson, malevolent energy.
Lord Leyton looked on in terror as Euron and the Ironborn returned to the top of the tower.
Malora, however, was in a state of utter frenzy. She crawled toward Euron, her face twisted with obsession and longing.
"It worked. It really worked!" she shrieked. "How did you do it? What does it mean? Tell me!"
Euron turned around. His blood-red raven eye looked down at her, filled with mockery and an inhuman coldness.
He burst into wild laughter. "What does it mean? It means the old gods are dead, and new gods shall rise. And I, here atop the High Tower, will draw power from the depths beyond the stars and become the one and only god of this world!"
"A god?" Malora's eyes lit up. "Like the Seven Gods?"
"The Seven Gods? Hahahaha!"
Euron's laughter grew even more unrestrained. "Those false gods? No. Every god in this world, whether the Drowned God, the Storm God, the Lord of Light, or the Seven Gods, is nothing but a hollow comfort, a lie woven by the weak. The true gods dwell among the stars beyond this world, cold, dark, vast, and indifferent. When the stars return to their proper places, their power can be called down. I will wield that power, become the world's only god, and wipe away every false god and all their lambs!"
Malora was shaken to her core by this mad proclamation, yet her lifelong obsession with the occult allowed her to accept it quickly, even with rising excitement.
"Let me help you," she said eagerly. "I know much ancient lore!"
A glint of amusement flashed in Euron's blood-red eye. "Help me? You certainly… can help me."
He turned his gaze to Victarion, who had just struggled up to the summit, his face pale.
"My dear brother, bring the two horns. It is time for the last Hightower of Oldtown to sound the anthem of my ascent to godhood…"
...
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