The flames were burning, yet they radiated a soul-freezing chill.
The interweaving black and red Blood Flames spread silently, licking everything in the ruins—rocks, corpses, armor, and the living.
That was no earthly fire; it had no heat, no hope brought by light, only a darkness and cold that devoured all.
Aegon knelt on one knee in the center of the flames, his body trembling violently.
Every breath carried shards of ice; his lungs felt as if they were being frozen and torn apart.
But more terrifying than this was the explosion of information flooding his mind.
Countless images, sounds, and sensations poured in like a black tide—
A mother's final gaze as she held her infant against a blade;
The warmth of blood spraying as a soldier's throat was slit;
An old man curled in the corner of a cage, weeping silently;
Tens of thousands of faces twisting in their final moments amidst fire and blades... fear, pain, resentment, and grievance.
The dying emotions of hundreds of thousands of souls, mixed with the dust of centuries, turned into the most vicious mental toxin, madly washing over and tearing at Aegon's soul.
His head felt like it would explode, his consciousness like it had been thrown into a millstone to be ground repeatedly.
This was the sensation of the soul being devoured in the death playback of the Torregar survivors.
No, it was worse—he was the source that had actively detonated all of this, standing at the mouth of the volcano enduring the most direct eruption.
"Ugh... ahhh—!" Aegon let out a non-human whimper, his hands clutching his helmet tightly, his nails scraping harshly against the Valyrian Steel.
The world before him spun and shattered amidst countless death illusions and black-red flames.
Why wasn't he dead yet?
According to the "memories," the moment that Torregar descendant used blood to awaken the dead, their soul was torn to shreds.
But now... though every second felt like a thousand cuts and his consciousness was like a small boat in a storm ready to capsize at any moment, he still existed, could still feel pain, and could still think.
Was it the "abnormality" of a transmigrator's soul? Or the system... No, now was not the time for thought.
Aegon suddenly bit the tip of his tongue; the sharp pain and the taste of rust forced a sliver of a crack in his chaotic consciousness.
He raised his head and looked forward through a vision blurred by blood and illusions of the dead.
A hellish scene met his eyes.
The black-red Blood Flames were like living vines, coiling around every Ironborn.
They screamed in terror, slapping and rolling, trying to extinguish the eerie flames, but the cold fire only burned brighter, slithering into their bodies through noses, eyes, and wounds.
"Save... save me..."
"Crows Eye! Crows Eye, save me!"
"drowned god—!!!"
The screams rose and fell, soon becoming weak and distorted.
Those figures completely enveloped by fire gradually stiffened, the light of life in their eyes flickering out like a candle in the wind.
Their bodies weren't charred, but something more fundamental had been "ignited"—
Their souls.
Aegon could even "see" blurry, struggling humanoid shadows of light being forcibly pulled from the fallen husks, instantly assimilated and devoured by the surrounding malicious flames of the dead, becoming new fuel for this purgatory.
The five or six remaining Ironborn completely collapsed.
They threw away their weapons, ignored Euron's presence, and ran around the confined ruin like headless flies, futilely trying to escape this invisible incineration.
Some slammed their heads against walls, some frantically dug at blocked exits, and more curled up, letting out meaningless wails as they waited for the end.
And Euron Greyjoy... he stood there, but his composed air of having everything under control had utterly vanished.
The black-red Blood Flames were also coiled around him; in fact, because of Aegon's deliberate guidance and Euron's own powerful vitality, the flames burned exceptionally "vigorously" on him.
Eerie black-red frost condensed on his expensive leather armor, and cyan-black patterns resembling frostbite appeared on his exposed skin.
In his one good eye, there was initially the shock of things spiraling completely out of control—like a diver seeing a deep-sea behemoth for the first time, his pupils contracting violently because he couldn't comprehend the supernatural sight before him.
Then, the shock was quickly replaced by a more primal fear.
Facing this eerie power that directly scorched the soul and couldn't be fought with blades, this tyrant who delighted in torturing others couldn't help but show the most instinctive tremor in the depths of his eye.
The hand holding his dagger trembled slightly, and his blue-purple lips moved soundlessly, unable to issue any meaningful command.
But in the depths of that fear, a spark of greed, like a ghost light in the abyss, suddenly flared up.
A greed mixed with extreme longing and fanatical inquiry.
He stared fixedly at the flames burning on his body, then suddenly looked up at the struggling Aegon nearby, his gaze seemingly trying to pierce through that Valyrian Steel armor to reach the core of the power.
"This power... if it could be controlled..." A mad, sacrilegious thought sprouted in his heart.
"Interesting... so fucking... interesting!" A rattling sound came from Crows Eye's throat, and he actually grinned, revealing a distorted smile of mixed pain and extreme excitement.
He coughed up a mouthful of black blood containing ice shards, but his single eye grew even brighter.
He stared fixedly at the patch of flesh on his left forearm that was "ignited" most vigorously by the Blood Flames, already showing an eerie crystallization.
What came from there wasn't a burning pain, but a more terrifying, cold emptiness, as if something deep in his soul was being slowly pulled away and frozen.
"Cut it off..." he rasped, madness and morbid "logic" interweaving in his single eye, "Cut off the flesh tainted by this damn thing!"
Before the words had even faded, driven by that sliver of greed and shock at the unknown power, he made an extremely bloody and mad move!
Gripping the dagger in his right hand, he aimed the tip at the flesh on his left arm where the Blood Flames burned most intensely, then, with all his strength, stabbed down and gouged!
"Squelch!"
The sharp dagger instantly sliced through skin and severed tendons, making a sickening, dull sound.
Dark red blood sprayed out, splashing onto his own face and chest.
A palm-sized piece of flesh, burning with black-red Blood Flames, was brutally gouged out by him. It landed on the obsidian floor with a wet "thud," the Blood Flames on it still burning coldly.
The intense pain caused Euron's face to contort instantly, veins bulging on his forehead, cold sweat and blood mixing together.
He gasped for breath, his single eye bloodshot, staring fixedly at the wound on his left arm where blood poured out, revealing pale bone and dark red muscle.
"Ha... haha..." He let out a strange laugh, a mix of pain and the anticipation of relief, panting, "Useless little thing... burn, go burn that piece of rotten meat!"
However, the distorted smile on his face froze in the next second, like a frozen ice sculpture.
It was useless.
The bloody wound on his arm didn't heal, and the intense pain remained.
But that wasn't the most terrifying part.
The most terrifying part was that from inside the wound, from the deeper layers of muscle, bone, and even marrow, strands of new, more solid black-red Blood Flames were seeping out slowly but steadily, without any obstruction.
They re-covered and licked the fresh wound and began to spread to the healthier skin around it!
Cut off the flesh where the fire burned, and the fire would ignite from even deeper!
This fire had never been burning the flesh itself!
What it scorched was something more fundamental, attached to this body and closely linked to the bloodline and soul!
Cutting the flesh was merely futilely creating a new wound, providing more "fuel" and "pathways"!
"No... Impossible!!" Crows Eye finally lost his voice and cried out, his voice filled with unbelievable absurdity and deeper fear.
He looked down at the piece of meat he had cut off, still burning on the ground, then looked up at the Blood Flames reigniting on his arm, as if mocking his foolish behavior.
Physical damage was ineffective against this fire.
No, it might even be counterproductive.
The despair brought by this realization, along with the pain of his soul being slowly incinerated, finally ignited his suppressed fear and shock, transforming into a desperate, ultimate madness!
"Not enough! This isn't enough!"
"Power, I need power!"
He growled hoarsely, his single eye bloodshot, his gaze suddenly sweeping across the floor and landing on the dragon horn he had picked up at some point and was clutching tightly in his left hand.
"The power to control dragons!"
Under the light of the Blood Flames of the dead, those distorted runes on the horn seemed to come alive.
Just then, Aegon moved.
"Ah—!!" he roared, not out of bravery, but to suppress the screams of hundreds of millions of dead souls in his mind and the intense pain of his soul being incinerated.
He gripped the cracked longsword burning with black-red Blood Flames with both hands, pulled it from the ground, and then, step by step, dragging his almost senseless left leg, he walked toward Crows Eye.
Every step was as heavy as a thousand catties.
The illusions of the dead madly assaulted his consciousness, the cold flames scorched his soul, and the blood loss and injuries devoured his strength.
But his violet eyes, staring through his visor, were fixed on Crows Eye, with only one thing remaining in them—
You must die.
Seeing Aegon approaching like a vengeful wraith crawling out of hell, the last of Crows Eye's reason completely snapped.
It was an ultimate madness born from the fear of approaching death, the anger of being unable to control power, and a greed that devoured everything!
"Come on!!"
"You Targaryen remnant who crawled out of a rotting coffin—!!!"
Crows Eye roared, no longer trying to understand or fight the flames on his body, but pouring all his madness into the dragon horn in his hand.
He suddenly shoved the mouthpiece of the horn into his blue-purple lips and, using all his strength, pumped the remaining air in his chest!
"Wooooo————————!!!!!"
An ancient, desolate sound of a horn, as if from the dawn of the world's creation, suddenly rang out!
The sound wasn't loud, yet it carried an eerie magic that pierced the soul, instantly drowning out the whimpering of the dead and the "silence" of the burning flames!
The stripes of red-gold and dark steel on the horn erupted with a blinding light, and those distorted runes seemed to come alive, scurrying madly across the surface of the horn!
However, Crows Eye, who blew the horn, began to twitch violently!
"Ugh... guh..." His single eye bulged, and all color instantly drained from his face, turning it a deathly, ashen gray.
He felt no "power" from the horn, only an indescribable heat—not from the cold Blood Flames outside, but from within!
From his throat to his chest to his abdomen... it was as if someone had poured molten iron into his internal organs!
"The legends say... dragons will obey the command of the horn's master... but the one who blows the horn will die from their internal organs being incinerated..." Aegon stopped his steps and watched this scene coldly, his raspy voice ringing out, "It seems... the legends are true."
"The things of the Dragonlords are not for just anyone to touch."
"Im... possi... ble..." Crows Eye rasped out a few words, blood gushing simultaneously from the corners of his mouth, nostrils, eyes, and ears. The blood was an eerie dark red, like burning lava!
Beneath all of his skin, something seemed to be writhing and burning, emitting a faint red glow.
"Bang!"
He could no longer hold himself up; his knees buckled, and he knelt heavily on the ground.
The dragon horn rolled from his limp left hand, its light fading quickly, and those scurrying runes also became still, as if they had never been alive.
Euron Greyjoy, Crows Eye, knelt there now like a pile of mud.
His head was bowed, and blood as dark red as lava, mixed with ice shards, dripped continuously.
He tried in vain to raise his right hand holding the dagger, but his arm only twitched a few times before hanging limply.
Aegon walked up to him.
Looking down from above.
He could see Crows Eye's back, heaving violently as if it were burning, and hear the "rattling" sound like a broken bellows coming from his throat.
It was filled with extreme pain, unbelievable absurdity, and a greed and grievance that reached the bone for the power that was so close yet forever beyond his control.
"Heh... pow... er..." Crows Eye struggled, using his last bit of strength to raise his head.
His single eye had lost focus, yet it still stared fixedly in Aegon's direction, or rather, at the churning, cold black-red Blood Flames behind Aegon.
His blue-purple lips moved, spitting out broken syllables, "...should have... been mine..."
Aegon watched him in silence. There was no joy of victory, no pleasure of revenge, only a cold exhaustion and a void before his soul was completely incinerated.
He slowly raised the longsword in his hand, which was burning with the Blood Flames of the dead and about to shatter.
The flames flowed quietly along the blade, reflecting Euron Greyjoy's dying face.
"Your game is over."
The sword light traced a cold arc.
"Slice—"
The edge accurately swept across the throat.
There wasn't much resistance, as if cutting through frozen leather.
Dark red blood sprayed out, instantly freezing into eerie black-red ice crystals in the cold black-red fire.
Euron Greyjoy's body stiffened for a moment, then, as if all his bones had been removed, he pitched forward onto the ground.
That single eye, which had once been full of madness, greed, and cruelty, saw its last light completely extinguished, leaving only a hollow, deathly gray.
It was over.
Aegon stood in place, looking at Crows Eye's corpse, looking at the black-red Blood Flames still burning around him, and looking at the countless malicious faces of the dead flickering within the flames.
The intense pain of soul incineration and the blurring of his consciousness surged once more like a tide, more violent than before.
He swayed, nearly falling.
Crows Eye was slain.
So... next, it would be his turn.
This awakened, all-consuming flame of curse, this overwhelming resentment of hundreds of thousands of souls, had to be pacified eventually.
And the best sacrifice seemed to be himself, the "culprit."
Aegon slowly took off his blood-stained helmet and threw it on the ground.
His silver-white hair danced wildly in the cold flames.
He closed his eyes, preparing to welcome that final, complete devouring.
Carrying the grievance in his heart... his consciousness was like a candle in the wind, about to be extinguished... However, just an instant before his consciousness sank into darkness—
Ding!
A clear, crisp notification sound, completely out of place with the surrounding purgatory, rang out in the deepest part of his mind.
Then, a line of cold, faintly golden text forcibly pierced through the screams of the dead and the pain of incineration, branding itself into his dissipating consciousness:
[Deep within the Valyrian Ruins—Sign-in successful!]
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