Chapter 452: A Sacrificial Altar? No, It’s a Blood Sacrifice to a Dragon Mountain

After this day, a shadow fell over Dorne, casting a pall across the Red Mountains and Boneway.

"Run! Get into the tunnel!"

"Wait for me..."

Hundreds of Dornish soldiers, armed with bows and arrows, cried out in distress as they fled in panic along the steep cliffs.

Roar...

A scarlet dragon shadow flew past, accompanied by a commanding female voice: "Dracarys!"

Meleys, swift as lightning, unleashed her Dragonfire.

At that moment, a younger voice echoed: "Dracarys!"

"Roar..."

A light blue dragon swooped down, and the orange and blue Dragonfire cascaded like a waterfall.

Helaena's eyes were serious and determined as she performed her task with precision. The Dorne soldiers, unable to reach the tunnel in time, were incinerated in moments.

Rhaenys, exultant, shouted, "To Wyl! Burn their lair to the ground!"

Meleys roared, leaving a red afterimage as she sped away. Helaena, not to be outdone, flapped Dreamfyre's wings and followed close behind.

The two, steadfast and relentless, pressed on with unwavering resolve.

...

The Broken Arm, Ghost Hill

The low, sandy brick castle and the sprawling, disordered town stretching for miles marked the fiefdom of House Toland.

Suddenly, a deafening roar pierced the air.

"Dracarys!" Daemon, clad in black steel armor and wearing a defiant expression, looked down at the city below.

Caraxes's pupils gleamed with cruelty as the serpent-like dragon descended upon the town, spewing Dragonfire from its maw.

"No! Run!"

"The dragon is coming..."

The civilians of Ghost Hill screamed in terror, fleeing the town in a desperate attempt to escape the fiery destruction.

"Haha," Daemon laughed from atop Caraxes, directing the dragon with ease. Having mastered the binding spell, he no longer needed to shout to control the dragon, their bond now seamless.

Caraxes slowly crawled, its scarlet wings like two bloodthirsty scythes, harvesting lives with every passing moment. Dragons are merciless, and Daemon even more so.

Half a month ago, after a new prince was elected at Sunspear, it was declared that Dorne would be brought under the rule of the Iron Throne. Rhaegar issued a decree: those who willingly submitted would be relocated to Skyreach, Yronwood, and Sunspear. The Iron Throne would provide food and living space, concentrating the population to strengthen management.

And the rebels? Every inch of Dorne that the dragon flew over would be burned to the ground, leaving no castles or villages.

"Roar..." Caraxes slithered across the ground, its massive form dominating the landscape.

Aemond, his left eye now healed and covered with an eye patch, shouted, "Dracarys, ugly beast!"

Sheepstealer swooped down with a sideways glance, spreading brown dragonfire across the city like a stain.

In a matter of moments, half of Ghost Hill was engulfed in smoke. Aemond, adjusting his eye patch - a black cloth held in place by two straps, one of which his sister had embroidered with a peaceful blue flower - looked down at the scene.

"Roar..." Sheepstealer performed a somersault, gliding close to the ground. Its claws snatched a Dorne soldier, tossing him into the air before biting him in half. Blood and flesh splattered Aemond's face.

Unfazed, Aemond wiped his face slowly, maintaining his composure. "Dracarys," he commanded calmly.

He was now a mature Targaryen, not one to be easily disturbed.

"Roar..." Sheepstealer, seemingly surprised by Aemond's newfound maturity, continued its charge.

Below, Caraxes wreaked havoc. The archers of Ghost Hill organized a counterattack, unleashing a dense rain of arrows.

Crackling... Caraxes shielded herself with a wing, then unleashed a torrent of dragonfire. The screams of the archers were quickly silenced as they were consumed by the flames.

"Roar!" Caraxes, growing bored, flapped its wings and ascended, its body winding like a serpent.

Daemon, seizing the moment, yelled at Aemond, "Hurry up! We need to burn down Tor by this afternoon."

Aemond, glancing over his single eye, urged Sheepstealer to intensify its efforts.

Daemon grinned as the dragon continued its fiery rampage against the fleeing Dornish people. This nephew of his was proving to be quite promising, just as he liked.

...

In the south of Dorne, at Hellholt, the sky was overcast, and the desert wind blew fiercely, raising a dark sandstorm. The sand and gravel rolled across the landscape, revealing the broken and dried bones of the dead. As the wind and sand intensified, the sky darkened further, and the air was filled with the smell of death.

Tapping...

A Dornish soldier, his face pale and covered in blood, ran out of the dust, his pupils dilated in fear.

Plop.

The soldier collapsed to the ground, sandcovering his mouth and nose. He shook violently, his mouth and tongue dry with thirst, on the verge of death.

"Monster... monster..." he murmured, his breath getting weaker, his eyes staring back in the direction he had come from. He died with his eyes wide open.

Through the swirling sand, a large shadow approached.

"Ah! Don't kill me, don't..." came the sounds of wailing, pleading, and gnashing of teeth. The desert was stained red with blood, and severed limbs lay scattered about, emitting a strong stench.

A large banner lay buried in the sand, depicting three black scorpions on a red background - the sigil of House Qorgyle of Sandstone, a noble house known for their insidious, cunning nature and expertise with poison, much like the desert scorpions.

"Roar..."

A gust of wind swept through, intensifying the sandstorm. A dark figure tore through the chaos. Dark as coal scales, green vertical pupils—the Cannibal. Its appearance was terrifying, with dark pupils like the abyss. Its dragon maw was stained with blood, chewing on something unknown.

The dragon gulped down a mouthful, blood spilling from its fangs and running down its chin and neck. The dragon's mouth twitched slightly, making it look even more sinister.

Rhaegar sat on the dragon's back, surveying the ground littered with flesh and blood. "This meat is very dirty. You must be really hungry," heremarked.

"Roar!" The Cannibal's pupils narrowed as its large wings flapped, scattering dust. Its huge body soared into the sky, soon returning to Hellholt.

"Roar..." Sunfyre danced through the air, spewing Dragonfire. Aegon, looking tired, yawned, relying on his dragon to do all the work.

Meanwhile, Ormund Hightower led his troops to defend the city. After occupying Hellholt for nearly a month, they faced constant attacks from civilians, including assassination attempts and poisoning. Troops from Sandstone in the west and Vaith in the east harassed them continuously.

It was clear that reinforcements had arrived.

Roar!

Cannibal descended from the sky, and a torrent of dark green Dragonfire, as intense as a volcanic eruption, blasted the gates of Hellholt.

The Dragonfire was searingly hot and highly corrosive, melting the gates at a visible rate. The Cannibal continued its onslaught, spreading Dragonfire over half of Hellholt.

The castle, reeking of death, was reduced to ashes, indifferent to the cries of the people within.

By dusk, the impregnable Hellholt had vanished without a trace, completely erased from history. All that remained on the banks of the Brimstone were solidified magma and sand-glass.

Ormund stood rigid, eyes fixed on the sight of the disappearing castle and town. Rhaegar landed his dragon and glanced at him casually. Ormund immediately straightened his back, adopting the demeanor of a wooden man who could neither speak nor move, his fear of Rhaegar's cruelmethods palpable.

Rhaegar laughed. This was nowhere near the end.

He stopped the drowsy Aegon and addressed Ormund, "Sandstone and Vaith have been reduced to ashes. Remember to send someone to transport the remains of the nobles and knights to Yronwood."

"Yes, Prince!" Ormund shouted, not daring to neglect a single detail.

Rhaegar pointed his spear at Aegon and lectured him, "Return to the Greenblood River tomorrow. The minor nobles by the river are eager to die."

Aegon shivered, snapping to attention. "Yes."

He was genuinely afraid of Rhaegar at thatmoment. Despite Rhaegar's gentle smile, his determination to carry out the Dragon's Wroth to the end was unmistakable.

The Cannibal alone had burned three castles and destroyed countless fields. Rhaegar just smiled, even feeling inclined to pat Aegon on the head.

He, Rhaenys, and Daemon had split into three groups, each accompanied by a younger sibling, to accelerate the Dragon's Wroth while minimizing accidents. Rebellion was spreading throughout Dorne, with countless supporters. However, no castle or village was left standing.

The Sea Snake controlled the Greenblood River and the sea routes of the lower half of the Narrow Sea, blocking overseas reinforcements such as those from Braavos. The Prince's Pass was completely sealed off and temporarily under the jurisdiction of The Reach. The Boneway was still troubled by House Wyl, but Rhaenys and Helaena were expected to handle them.

Once the blockade plan was fully implemented, Dorne would be cut off from the outside world. Dragon's Wroth destroyed everything, trapping the Dornish rebels completely.

Resist, and you will all die.

...

In the blink of an eye, a month had passed.

"Roar..."

"Roar..."

Six dragons danced and intertwined in the sky.

Below, the Scourge and Vaith rivers converged, and the semi-ruined city of Godsgrace laydesolate.

Amid the ruins, Lord Allyrion stood dazed, supported by two of his men, barely conscious.

He was the Lord of Godsgrace, now reduced to rubble.

Roar!

Caraxes swooped down, his blade-like tail slicing through the three men's heads.

"Dracarys!" Daemon ordered nonchalantly.

Caraxes, brimming with energy, unleashed a torrent of Dragonfire, reducing the three corpses to ashes.

"Roar!"

"Roar..."

The other five dragons soared above, hunting down the Dornish men attempting to flee and pouring out their fury.

Rhaegar's eyes were full of murderous intent as he set about destroying the farmland and docks along the river.

The Dragon's Wroth was in full force. House Allyrion of Godsgrace was the first to surrender, bowing to the Iron Throne.

A few days prior, Lord Allyrion had secretly supported the Dornish rebels in the desert with food and maintained covert contact with Qyle Martell of Sunspear. This treachery did not go unnoticed. Tormund and Syrio, experts in intelligence, along with the Sea Snake, thoroughly investigated Allyrion's actions.

Just as Rhaegar and the others finished the first wave of Dragon's Wroth and returned toYronwood to regroup, House Allyrion in Godsgrace ran into the dragon's fury. Theybecame the first house in Westeros to endure the siege of six dragons.

In a twisted way, they made history, though it cost them their family.

After the ruins of Godsgrace were cleared, the bodies of Lord Allyrion and his Knights were collected and taken away.

Rhaegar drove the Cannibal to burn the Godsgrace into rock, while Daemon and the others rode their dragons back to Yronwood

Two months later, Yronwood had undergone a drastic transformation.

All civilians had been relocated, leaving behind an empty, desolate city. Broken walls and debris were left uncollected, with more rubble piling up. Stones were heaped into dense mountains.

When Rhaegar landed, Cole was directing soldiers to carry bodies into the city, piling them next to the stone heaps. There were many bodies, at least a thousand, hacked to death, burned toashes, and everything in between.

Rhaenys frowned and asked, "Rhaegar, what do you want with the remains of these nobles and knights?"

She worried her nephew was dabbling in some evil blood magic. Daemon, Helaena, and the others also stared at Rhaegar, their eyes full of curiosity.

Rhaegar did not hide his intentions. "I want to build a Dragon Mountain. Dragon dung is too far away to transport, and these noble corpses are better."

The raw material for Dragonstone was typically the byproduct of dragons, even their dung. Without these, flesh and blood could serve as a substitute. Dorne was now part of Targaryen territory, so it was only fitting to leave a Targaryen symbol behind.

Nothing would be more meaningful than a Dragon Mountain, especially one infused with the flesh and blood of countless Dornish nobles who had rebelled against Targaryen rule.

He wanted to remind all of Dorne how the Targaryens conquered it, and what fate awaited rebels.

(Word count: 1,999)