Three colossal dragons, bearing their riders, plunged toward the chaotic Dothraki horde.
"Blooddancer, Dracarys!"
Lo Quen's command rang out amid the roaring winds.
"ROAR—!!!"
Blooddancer answered with an ear-shattering roar. The largest and fiercest of the crimson dragons lit up once more, the depths of its throat glowing with a hellish red light, burning as fiercely as the heart of a furnace.
Instead of striking the Dothraki locked in combat with Lo Quen's vanguard, it fixed its sights on a distant cluster of cavalry regrouping to bypass the trench traps and launch another charge.
BOOM—!!!
A torrent of blood-red Dragonfire, thicker and hotter than before, erupted from Blooddancer's fanged maw. The inferno swept across the field, spanning dozens of feet.
The air itself ignited, screaming with a high-pitched shriek as heat distorted the world. Riders and horses caught directly in the flames were reduced to charcoal and ash in an instant, like wax statues cast into molten steel.
Those caught at the edge became writhing, blood-red torches, letting out inhuman wails as their bodies twisted and melted in the unbearable heat.
Terrified warhorses reared and screamed, throwing their riders before being crushed under the stampede of their own ranks. Within moments, that stretch of land turned into a smoking wasteland—a death zone reeking of scorched flesh.
Dozens of elite howling warriors, along with their prized steeds, vanished in a single breath from Blooddancer.
The Dragonfire did more than burn flesh—it broke the spirit. The sheer force of it shattered the will of all who saw it, leaving them trembling in terror. The path of its flame carved a blackened scar across the earth, smoke rising in waves, thick with the stench of sulfur and death.
On the other flank, Jaelena guided Silverfall high above a group of Dothraki horsemen showering arrows upon the infantry ranks.
"Silverfall, Dracarys!" Her voice rang clear and cold as ice.
"ROAR!"
Silverfall answered with a piercing cry, twisting gracefully through the air to evade the arrows streaking toward it. Its massive jaws opened wide, and a flood of blinding, silvery-white fire erupted forth.
The flames, hot enough to melt steel, shone with an eerie silver radiance as they cascaded downward. In an instant, the Dothraki cavalry below were engulfed—men and horses alike consumed by silvery fire.
Seeing Lo Quen and Jaelena already in action, Janice urged Duskshadow into a steep dive.
Duskshadow roared as it descended, circling over an elite Dothraki detachment attempting to flank the main force. Its mouth opened, and a torrent of dark violet flame poured downward like a living storm.
BOOM!
The deep purple fire clung to everything it touched, burning with feral intensity. The Howling Warriors caught beneath it melted like butter, their screams drowned by the roar of the flames. Warhorses shrieked in agony, thrashing wildly before collapsing into blazing heaps of purple fire.
Blood-red, silver-white, and deep violet—three dragons, three infernos. Their flames intertwined, turning the battlefield into a molten crucible.
Each dive, each breath of Dragonfire, ripped massive wounds through the endless tide of Dothraki warriors.
Fear spread like wildfire.
Even the fiercest of the Howling Warriors, faced with such overwhelming destruction, could only succumb to pure, unrestrained terror.
"Dragon! A fire-breathing demon!"
"Khal! Great Khal Drogo, save us!"
"Run! Run now! Get away from this burning hell!"
Panic erupted like a collapsing mountain and surging tide. Countless Dothraki horsemen wheeled their mounts around, fleeing in blind terror. They trampled over one another, their formation disintegrating into chaos.
Yet, at the very heart of the battlefield, one man stood tall and unmoving.
Khal Drogo stood bare-chested, his bronze-hued body sculpted like forged iron. Muscles coiled and rippled beneath his skin, and the countless scars crisscrossing his frame gleamed like the hard-earned badges of a warrior's glory.
His braid—long enough to brush his ankles and adorned with silver and gold bells that marked his undefeated record—whipped violently in the hot wind, ringing with a clear, lethal rhythm.
Beneath him, his warhorse snorted and pawed at the ground, the beast's strength and agitation barely held in check by Drogo's iron grip on the reins and the strength of his legs.
No fear darkened Drogo's face—only the burning fire of fury and exhilaration.
His hawk-like eyes pierced through the smoke and chaos, fixing on the largest dragon in the sky—the crimson beast that breathed rivers of flame—and the rider astride its back: Lo Quen.
"Coward! A coward who hides behind his fire monster!"
Khal Drogo's voice thundered in Dothraki, a roar that shook the air itself.
"Bring me my bow!"
At once, his bloodriders moved to obey.
Among them, the short, stocky, bald Cohollo swiftly unfastened a massive, double-curved bow from his saddle.
Its body was a deep, glossy black, its limbs curving with perfect symmetry—smooth, powerful, and deadly. The bowstring, woven from nearly transparent strands of sinew, shimmered faintly in the light.
A Dragonbone Bow.
Unmatched in all the world, its power was legendary. The arrows it loosed could pierce even the thickest plate armor.
Cohollo held it out with both hands, his eyes blazing with devotion and faith.
Khal Drogo took the heavy weapon, his gaze hard as tempered steel.
He drew in a deep breath. His arm muscles bulged, veins rising beneath his skin as he began to pull the bowstring back. The mighty Dragonbone Bow, which would take several strong men to bend, yielded slowly, inch by inch, to his strength alone.
The bow arced like a full moon, vibrating with a low, humming resonance—as if the weapon itself recognized the will of its master.
A Ko stepped forward, handing him a specially crafted arrow, its barbed tip gleaming with cold, lethal light.
Drogo's eyes locked on his prey like a hunting hawk's. Through smoke and distance, his gaze fixed on the figure atop Blooddancer's back—Lo Quen.
He steadied his breathing, adjusted his aim to account for the dragon's movement, and poured every ounce of his strength, rage, and pride into that one arrow.
"Die!!!"
With a roar like thunder, Drogo released the string.
WHOOSH—SHRIEK!
The Dragonbone arrow screamed through the sky, the sound splitting the air like a banshee's cry. It flew so fast that it left a shimmering blur in its wake.
The scorching air tore apart before it as the arrow shot forward, carrying lethal power, aimed precisely at Lo Quen atop Blooddancer.
Cohollo, Haggo, Qotho, and the other bloodriders held their breath, their eyes wide and unblinking. Their hearts pounded violently in their chests, every beat echoing their unshakable belief—
The great Khal would strike down the dragonrider with this single arrow.
But—
Just as the arrow was about to hit its mark, Blooddancer's massive neck, covered in dark red scales thick as armor, suddenly lifted, as if reacting by instinct alone.
CLANG!!!
A sharp, metallic crack rang through the heavens like clashing steel.
The arrow, carrying all of Drogo's strength and fury, struck squarely against one of Blooddancer's broadest scales.
The head, forged to pierce even the finest armor, twisted and crumpled on impact.
The shaft snapped in half, spinning helplessly as it fell from the sky.
On Blooddancer's neck, the strike left only the faintest pale mark—no crack, no wound, nothing at all.
...
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