Chapter 354: A Deadly Gift
Woooooooo!
The horn's piercing blast tore through the sky, its sharp resonance slicing into flesh and eardrums like a blade.
Out on the expansive waters of Slaver's Bay, atop the prow of the Iron Victory, a dark-skinned slave blew the horn.
The horn towered above him, taller than a man, its surface adorned with interwoven red-gold and black-iron stripes. Ancient Valyrian runes etched into the metal glowed with crimson light, pulsing in rhythm with the horn's deafening call.
The ship's crew had fled far from the slave, clutching their ears tightly in a futile attempt to block out the horrifying sound. It seeped into their skulls, threatening to ignite the very flesh on their bones.
Behind the slave, "Iron Captain" Victarion Greyjoy stood three paces back, his face twitching uncontrollably.
The horn's power was almost unbearable, even for him, despite the Red Priest Moqorro's assurances that Victarion now controlled the artifact.
Where are the dragons? Victarion turned to glare at Moqorro, his eyes demanding answers.
The red priest pressed his remaining hand to his chest, a calming gesture, silently urging Victarion to be patient.
Still, the horn continued its unrelenting cry, saturating the air above Slaver's Bay.
But the slave blowing it seemed near death.
His cheeks bulged, grotesquely inflated like overripe fruit about to burst. His entire body trembled, flushed a deep crimson, steam rising from his overheated flesh. He looked as though he were being cooked alive.
The runes on the horn ignited like blazing brands, white-hot flames shooting from every line.
Victarion clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth in frustration. His patience was almost at its limit.
Just as he was about to act, Moqorro tapped his shoulder and pointed toward Meereen.
Victarion squinted against the sun's glare, spotting a golden shape flying out from the city, growing larger as it approached.
A dragon!
His chest swelled with a silent roar of triumph, his eyes alight with greed and anticipation.
But then he frowned. Why is there only one?
Didn't the Dragon Queen have three dragons?
While he was thinking, the golden dragon was flying closer and closer, and in the blink of an eye it was clearly visible.
Victarion grinned despite himself.
But his glee was short-lived.
The golden dragon soared closer, passing over the Iron Victory without a single moment of hesitation, continuing westward at full speed.
What's happening?
As the golden dragon faded into the distance, Victarion spun to face Moqorro, his face twisted with rage.
Even the red priest seemed perplexed.
Then, suddenly, the horn's infernal wail ceased.
The slave collapsed to the deck with a thud, blood boiling from his mouth and nostrils, curling into thin wisps of smoke.
He lay motionless, a lifeless husk.
"What's the meaning of this?!" Victarion bellowed, ignoring the dead slave entirely. His bloodshot eyes fixed on Moqorro as he screamed, "You swore the horn would bend the dragons to my will! Where is my dragon now?"
Moqorro studied the corpse briefly before shaking his head. "There may have been…an unforeseen complication."
Victarion roared in fury, seizing the priest by his robes and shoving his face close. Spittle flew from his mouth as he growled, "Explain yourself, or I'll burn you alive and send you to your damn fire god!"
Moqorro remained calm, pointing to the dragon horn that lay discarded on the deck. "Let me examine it."
"Fine." Victarion released him with a snarl. "But if your explanation isn't satisfactory, you'll join the slave in death."
Moqorro knelt beside the horn, inspecting the runes etched across its surface. His brow furrowed as he traced his fingers over the glowing inscriptions, murmuring in Valyrian.
"Speak plainly!" Victarion snapped.
Moqorro rose slowly, his expression grave. "The runes say, 'Death is already aboard.'"
"Death? Aboard my ship?" Victarion's face darkened with suspicion. "What does that mean?"
"It is a warning, Captain. And one we seem to have ignored."
The words sent a shiver down Victarion's spine. He had heard something similar before—words spoken by Moqorro himself.
Before he could demand clarification, he glimpsed movement reflected in the polished surface of the horn.
A shadow, creeping closer.
Whirling around, Victarion saw her: the dark-skinned woman Euron Greyjoy had gifted him as a salt wife.
Her eyes gleamed with cold malice, and in her hand, she held a dagger that glinted like ice.
"Traitor!" Victarion roared, reaching for his axe.
But before he could draw it, searing pain erupted in his back. A second blade had pierced him from behind, stabbing straight into his heart.
He gasped, his vision blurring.
The woman before him smiled, her lips curling into an all-too-familiar expression: cruel, mocking, and maddeningly confident.
Euron's smile.
In that moment, realization struck Victarion like a thunderclap.
This had been Euron's plan all along.
The horn, the red priest, the salt wife—every gift had been laced with poison.
The owner of the Dragon Horn was Euron from beginning to end, not him.
He had played right into his brother's hands.
"Death is aboard," indeed.
Victarion's crew charged toward him, weapons drawn and shouting.
But the salt wife held him close in a mockery of an embrace, driving her dagger deeper into his chest. Then, with one final smirk, she dragged him overboard, plunging them both into the sea.
Splash!
Saltwater filled Victarion's lungs, his wounds searing as if aflame.
The Drowned God will save me, he told himself desperately. I will rise again, stronger than before.
But the woman's eyes glowed with an eerie light as they sank deeper. Tendrils of blackness curled from her body, writhing like tentacles of a kraken.
In the shifting darkness, a face emerged—Euron's face, grinning wickedly.
"Farewell, dear brother," Euron whispered.
Victarion's screams were swallowed by the sea as the woman pulled him further into the abyss.
"The gods will not forgive a kinslayer!" he managed to shout before his voice broke.
Euron's laughter echoed through the deep. "The gods? Did they save our other brothers? Do you think they'll save you?"
"You killed two of your brothers?" Victarion's eyes widened.
"Of course." Euron grinned. "Robin and Haroon, do you remember those two poor wretches? I killed them with my own hands, then ran to the seashore to piss, praying that the Drowned God would take me away. Unfortunately, he didn't. Wake up, my foolish brother, the Drowned God you worship is nothing but a lie."
No! You, a blasphemer, will be punished by God!"
"Look back now," Euron laughed. "And see what this Drowned God you worship is."
No, there is no turning back, Victarion told himself.
But the sea monster stretched out its tentacles and forcibly turned his head.
Then, he saw a pale creature at the bottom of the sea. It looked like a human, with swollen limbs, and a group of fish were gnawing at its face...
No! This is an illusion! Victarion's mind was fading.
For the first time, Victarion understood.
The Drowned God was silent.
And as the black tendrils consumed him, he heard Euron's final, mocking words:
"All gods are lies."
(End of Chapter)