Chapter 365: Deathwing – Cannibal

"Roar--"

Cannibal dove aggressively, unleashing dragonfire that swept across several nearby tower buildings.

Inside those towers were scorpion crossbows, their steel bolts glowing with deadly intent.

"Aim! All of you, gather your strength!" bellowed the guard commander, his voice hoarse as he rallied the terrified soldiers, urging them to prepare their crossbows and fire.

Boom!

No sooner had the order been given than a wave of ghostly green dragonfire engulfed the tower, reducing it to rubble and ash.

As the Dothraki cavalry charged through the breached and melted city walls, their war cries mingled with the eerie sounds of destruction. Wielding swords, they surged forward, following the shadow of the pitch-black dragon into the heart of the city.

Still, scattered remnants of the city guard dared to mount a defense. As swords clashed and heads rolled, their desperate courage mirrored that of the barbarian savages.

"Attack! Storm the city towers!" shouted Robb, leading a squadron of Second Sons. The Dothraki cavalry thundered through the streets, their presence signaling the beginning of a ruthless assault.

As was typical in the cities of the Triarchy, the landscape was dotted with densely packed crossbow towers, usually the first target to cripple the city's defenses.

"Roar..."

The city's gates were overwhelmed as more cavalry and infantry poured in. The four colossal dragons roared in unison, spreading chaos as they blasted towers with dragonfire.

Rhaenys, clad in red battle armor and wielding Dark Sister, reveled in the fray. Her excitement was palpable, the thrill of battle lighting up her visage—the Queen Who Never Was, was fearless in the face of war.

"Dracarys!" she shouted.

Meleys responded with astonishing speed, streaking across the sky like red lightning. Scarlet dragonfire rained down in deadly arcs, sweeping through the bustling inner city.

Caraxes and Sea Smoke moved in concert, capitalizing on the momentary disarray of Myr's defenders to deliver devastating blows, effectively crippling the city-state's defensive capabilities.

The Grey Ghost, flapping its wings erratically, unleashed a barrage of orange fireballs. Its vertical pupils locked onto targets below, creating a bombardment that felt apocalyptic.

Within moments, the combined fury of the dragons had obliterated a third of Myr's outer city.

From above, Rhaegar's purple eyes focused on a tower armed with a scorpion crossbow. "Cannibal, Dracarys!" he commanded coldly.

"Roar--"

Cannibal's green eyes blazed with tyranny as it swooped low, scattering green dragonfire that enveloped everything in its path.

The fire, relentless and indiscriminate, devoured both stone structures and fleeing civilians alike, reducing everything to charred remains.

Screams of agony rose from the streets as those touched by the dragonfire writhed helplessly, their fate sealed by the infernal blaze.

The city, now a veritable hell on earth, echoed with the cries of the damned.

In the midst of the chaos, amidst the sea of green flames, countless slaves broke free from their chains. Overwhelmed by a mixture of terror and reverence, they fell to their knees before the majestic terror of the pitch-black dragon, hailing it as the "Breaker of Shackles."

Three years had passed, yet they vividly remembered the Black Dragon and the silver-haired youth—hailed as the Breaker of Shackles, a liberator in the eyes of the enslaved across the Triarchy.

"Roar--"

Cannibal, the dragon, thrashed its head, sending swirls of green fire cascading down as its  body cut through the air with reckless abandon.

In a high tower, the garrison scrambled to their posts, hurriedly aiming their scorpion crossbows at the menacing black dragon.

The next moment was disastrous.

A huge, pitch-black wing unfurled and struck the tower like a siege hammer. The impact resounded with the force of thunder, splitting the towering spire in two.

"No, no..." The garrison's efforts were in vain; the tower shook violently, and falling masonry buried the soldiers before they could fire a single bolt.

"The evil dragon is here..."

Freed slaves poured from the streets, prostrating themselves in worship. As they witnessed the dragon's wings demolish the stone tower, cries of "Death Wings!" echoed through the chaos.

"Deathwing..." The name spread quickly among the slaves, who gazed upon the dragon and its rider with a mixture of fear and awe, as if they were gazing upon gods.

"Roar..."

Cannibal's roar was one of fury as it collided with another tower, its thick tail smashing the top with a resounding crash. The dragon's pitch-black wings spread wide, casting shadows that mingled with green streaks of fire.

Rhaegar, observing from his mount, saw thousands of cavalry flood into the city. They obeyed his orders, cutting down guards in a brutal onslaught.

His gaze swept over the white stone buildings of the inner city, the architectural grandeur clearly marking the administrative heart of Myr.

Patting Cannibal's back, Rhaegar directed, "Cannibal, look there!"

In unison, the dragon turned its gaze toward the white stone complex and roared, soaring towards it with lethal intent.

Meanwhile, a dozen towers managed to launch their bolts in a desperate attempt to halt the dragon's rampage.

But Cannibal, the insatiable beast, was undeterred; steel spears clattered harmlessly against its scales, igniting mere sparks.

With a casual flick of its tail, Cannibal demolished another tower spire. It then swooped down, unleashing a torrent of dragonfire on the white stone complex.

"Scorpion crossbow! Quickly, aim!"

Inside the complex, thousands of garrison troops scrambled to position their scorpion crossbows, readying for a confrontation, but, they were ill-prepared to win against a fully-grown dragon.

"Roar--"

Dozens of steel spears flew toward Cannibal, only to be met by a fierce blast of dragonfire that reduced them to molten iron droplets.

With a powerful flap of its dark wings, Cannibal descended, its massive feet crushing the ground beneath and raising billowing clouds of dust.

The monstrous dragon reared its head, unleashing dragonfire that incinerated guards and scorpion crossbows alike, reducing the building to ashes.

"Quickly escape!" the survivors cried.

"The fire... it's so intense..."

The dragonfire spread rapidly, engulfing half of the white stone complex. Garrison soldiers and officials alike were caught in its merciless embrace, their cries of agony echoing as they perished.

"Heh, is that all?" Rhaegar remarked, a cold smile playing on his lips as he stood atop his dragon, surveying the chaos around him like one taking a leisurely stroll through a park. Everywhere his gaze landed, people screamed in misery, desperately struggling to survive in the flames.

At this moment, resistance was futile.

Holding the reins firmly, Rhaegar guided Cannibal like a commander leading a siege engine. Wherever they passed, screams of terror followed.

Together, one man and his dragon, they brought about the apocalypse of Myr.

"Charge! Seize the Magister's Mansion!"

As Cannibal scorched the earth, Grey Worm led two thousand five hundred Unsullied and Fearless, their faces set with grim determination as they charged through the fire-ravaged complex.

Rhaegar watched as Grey Worm and his troops charged into the sea of fire, destroying any Myr soldiers hiding in the surrounding towers.

"Roar..."

A roar from Meleys filled the air as it landed forcefully, its talons crushing a tower beneath it as it spread its wings wide.

Atop Meleys, an exhilarated Rhaenys called out to her nephew, "Rhaegar, the southern part of the city is aflame, and the Vale Knights have taken control!"

Married to a fierce warrior, the Queen Who Never Was, who had been to war only a few times, finally unleashed her pent-up rage. This battle reaffirmed her faith in her nephew and ignited her hope for his future reign on the Iron Throne.

Rhaegar nodded in acknowledgement and glanced at the two city centers.

The northern center was overwhelmed by the fury of five dragons, with cavalry rampaging through the streets. He and Cannibal had secured the heart of the city, turning the tide decisively in their favor.

Now it was up to Daemon and Laenor to break through the defenses in the eastern and western sectors. If they succeeded, the fall of Myr would be inevitable, sealing their victory.

...

The next morning dawned, the sun casting its light on the remnants of the night's devastation.

Myr lay in ash, with tendrils of smoke curling into the sky, a stark reminder of the intense emotions - grief and madness - that had consumed the city.

In square, amidst the ruins of the Magister's Palace, lay the once magnificent garden, now a desolate sight. Springs that had bubbled joyously lay dry, and the vibrant foliage was reduced to ash.

"Roar..."

Cannibal stretched its neck and closed its vertical green pupils, its massive, pitch-black wings folded beside its body as it settled into a state of rest.

In front of the dragon, a crowd had gathered. The elite of Myr—the Magister's family, merchants, and those who had profited from slavery and smuggling—were now kneeling, heads bowed in defeat.

They had witnessed their city burn and now faced captivity.

Around them stood notable figures: the Sea Snake, Corlys; Rhaenys; Daemon; Grey Worm; and the Fearless Cavalry.

Rhaegar, cloaked in black and his silver hair cascading naturally over his shoulders, surveyed his captives with a detached curiosity.

There was a murmur of discussion about their fate.

Corlys spoke with a stern resolve, "Prince, the Magister of Myr may have be executed, but this merchants and city magnates should also be rounded up and eliminated en masse."

The battle for Mir had been a tactical success, and he acknowledged the Heir Prince's strategic acumen but it was better to eliminate any potential threats now rather than deal with dissent later.

Rhaegar responded coolly, "Myr now belongs to the Targaryen House now. Keeping them alive serves no purpose."

He was well-versed in power dynamics and did not require guidance on such matters.

Eliminating these leaders will ensure that Myr truly becomes a Targaryen stronghold. There's no point in sparing them if they want to avoid future insurrections.

After all, if he had intended merely to make a show of force without real consequence, he would not have targeted the civilian infrastructure.

If manipulation of power was necessary, the enslaved populace, which constituted half the city-state's demographic, would suffice.

Swish—

With Truefyre drawn from his waist, Rhaegar approached the two governors of Myr. He raised his longsword high, declaring solemnly, "In the name of Viserys I Targaryen, I sentence you to decapitation."

A flash of black light cleaved the air, and heads tumbled to the ground with a dull thud.

Pfft! Pfft!

Grey Worm led the Unsullied forward, their spears thrusting through the chests of hundreds of merchants, drenching the once-dry ground with fresh blood.

"Roar—"

At that moment, Cannibal awakened, its green vertical pupils snapping open as it let out a thunderous roar.

"Roar..."

"Roar..."

The dragons Sea Smoke and Grey Ghost, circling the white stone building, roared in succession, as if answering the call of their king.

Then, the two dragons ascended playfully into the clouds, spewing streams of Dragonfire.

Atop the highest tower of the Magister's Mansion, a majestic three-headed red dragon banner unfurled, billowing in the wind atop Myr's most significant political edifice.

Rhaegar glanced sideways; the white stone tower, now stained with charred black, stood defiant. The three-headed red dragon on the banner seemed almost alive, its body twisting in the sea breeze, its wings flapping, all three heads fixed on him.

A sense of awe overwhelmed him, and his heart skipped a beat.

Rhaegar cleaned Truefyre's blade on the crook of his arm, removing the blood stains. A faint smile curved the corners of his mouth.

What Aegon the Conqueror had failed to accomplish, he had. From that day forward, the blood of the Targaryens would once again claim the lands of Essos.

Corlys' stern voice broke his reverie, "Prince, now that Myr has fallen, we must discuss the garrison and deployment of our forces."

Rhaegar nodded thoughtfully. "How many warships remain in the harbor?"

Despite the fierce inland battles, Myr's harbor had suffered minimal damage, leaving the warships largely intact.

Corlys' expression darkened further as he answered through clenched teeth, "Thirty-four battleships are currently in port, though some have been captured by mercenaries fleeing the battlefield."

Rhaegar assessed the situation. "Combined with the House Velaryon fleet, we have enough to assemble a force of fifty warships."

"That is correct," Corlys replied, inhaling sharply.

In truth, Velaryon House had less than twenty warships left-their main forces had been decimated in the battles at Lys and Tyrosh, where they had served effectively as sacrificial decoys.

Rhaegar showed no sympathy for Sea Snake's losses. "This number of ships is insufficient for a direct attack on Tyrosh. Once Myr is secured, we'll move immediately to retake the Stepstone Islands."

He was indifferent to the casualties of Sea Snake's troops. To him, using the Velaryon fleet as a decoy was a calculated move to weaken a potential rival's base during the war.

"Wait."

Daemon's voice cut sharply through the discussion, his intense gaze fixed on his nephew.

Rhaegar turned to face him. Daemon, clad in blood-stained armor, wore a grim expression. Beside him stood Pentos' trade minister, Rhodes, his golden scales gleaming on his chest.

Meanwhile, Sea Snake fidgeted, twirling his thumb around his ring.

Rhaegar's eyes narrowed slightly. "I propose we reorganize our forces and retake the Stepstones Islands immediately!"

Daemon held his gaze, the weight of the moment settling in silence.

(Word count: 2,215)