The torrent of destruction struck the city wall with lethal precision.
There were no earth-shattering explosions, no thunderous booms.
Instead, there was only a teeth-grinding hiss.
The massive masonry that had once withstood the might of trebuchets crumbled like ice and snow beneath the scorching heat. In a fraction of a second, it transformed from brown to fiery red, then melted into flowing orange molten iron.
On the city wall, the commander who had been shouting in ecstasy moments ago, along with dozens of soldiers and the proud crossbow they had so meticulously prepared, were vaporized in the light and heat. There was no time for screams—no trace was left. Not even dust.
Their shadows were forever imprinted on the wall behind them, etched as eternal black silhouettes.
Then came the collapse.
A hundred-meter-long section of the city wall, once a proud bastion, was hollowed out by an invisible giant hand. It lost all support and, in a slow-motion fall, collapsed inward. A cloud of dust rose into the air, and countless buildings were crushed beneath its weight.
A gaping hole, billowing with smoke and molten lava, appeared in the heart of Meereen's once-impenetrable defenses.
It was a scar.
Silence.
A deathly silence.
The surviving soldiers—whether slave soldiers or disciplined Unsullied—stared blankly at the jagged gap, at the searing lava spilling into the city from the opening.
Their minds had gone blank.
Their faith—the strong city walls they had always trusted—was shattered.
In the sky above, the enormous black dragon that blocked out the sun slowly flapped its wings. Damian Thorne, the dragon's rider, looked down with cold golden eyes, surveying the ant-like city beneath him.
A fragment of a crossbow bolt slid off the indestructible scales on the dragon's abdomen, making a crisp clanking sound.
No harm was done.
But the offense was undeniable.
A reckless provocation from mere mortals.
Damian Thorne did not feel pain, but a cold, seething rage washed over him, as if a giant had been bitten by an ant—a ridiculous, irritating provocation.
He could have simply left.
The wall had been torn down; his purpose had been fulfilled.
But Damian changed his mind.
The punishment must fit the offense. Since these mortals were so confident in their "shells," he would personally shatter their defenses—leaving them naked and exposed to fear.
The black dragon's body sank slightly, then began to fly low along the outer walls of Meereen.
He wasn't moving fast—his flight carried the weight of majesty and oppression, as though he were patrolling his territory.
The remaining soldiers on the city walls watched in horror as the vast shadow of the dragon moved inch by inch above them. Some of them collapsed, dropping their weapons and turning to flee. Others were too paralyzed by fear to move, their legs giving way beneath them as they lost the strength to run.
The dragon opened its immense mouth.
This time, it was not a single concentrated pillar of fire.
Instead, it was like the wrath of the gods themselves—a continuous, sweeping fan of flame, like a burning whip falling from the sky, lashing across the outer walls of Meereen.
"Boom—!"
The torrent of flames tore through the city in an unstoppable wave.
It swept from one end of the city wall to the other. Everything in its path was consumed.
A towering arrow tower, once a symbol of Meereen's strength, began to melt the moment the flames touched it. The bricks and stones on the top of the tower softened and melted, flowing down in rivulets like candle wax. The entire tower collapsed, crashing into the city and triggering a series of chain reactions.
The Unsullied, renowned for their unbreakable discipline, stood helpless before this unearthly power. Their shields and spears, the symbols of their resolve, proved utterly useless. Flames licked at their ranks, turning their bronze masks bright red before the soldiers, along with their armor, were reduced to twisted charcoal—frozen in their final, agonized stance.
The slave soldiers screamed in terror, fleeing in all directions. But how could they outrun the flames?
One by one, they were overtaken, set alight as they ran—torches on the walls. And, in the end, they fell, consumed by the fire.
The screams of the dying, the crumbling buildings, and the roar of the flames fused into a symphony of doom.
Meereen was swallowed by a raging orange-red glow.
The great lords within the city rushed out of their pyramids, peering up in horror. They saw the black dragon, methodically dismantling the very walls they had so arrogantly relied on.
It wasn't a violent attack, but a cold, efficient, and contemptuous destruction.
It was as if Damian Thorne were declaring to them: "Everything you hold dear is meaningless to me."
"The walls built by mortals are but sand castles before the gods."
A grand, powerful voice, reverberating with ancient resonance, echoed directly in the minds of every Meereenese.
It wasn't spoken aloud, but it was felt—a voice beyond mortal understanding, one that carried the weight of ages, as if it had existed since time began.
The scholars and nobles who understood the ancient Valyrian language trembled violently. Their faces drained of color as they listened to the words, the meaning sinking in.
God?
It finally dawned on them what they were facing.
This was no wild beast.
This was a creature of unimaginable power, one who considered itself a god.
Zach Zo Glaze, the wealthiest of the lords, had fallen into disarray on the balcony of his pyramid. His once-proud silk tokar hung disheveled in the scorching wind. He stared at the dragon, his eyes wide with terror, as if the god of death itself stood before him.
He had finally realized how foolish his plan had been—to bribe the Dothraki with gold.
In the face of absolute power, money was nothing but dust.
Damian Thorne's dragon flame continued.
It wasn't the reckless fire of a mad beast—it was a calculated destruction, the work of a craftsman carefully dismantling the city piece by piece. The dragon's flame ensured every corner of the outer wall was scorched. Each defensive tower was reduced to molten lava. No section of the wall longer than ten meters remained intact.
But Damian was not aiming to kill everyone.
What he wanted was to break their spirit.
He sought to obliterate the city's defense system—and with it, the will to resist.
When the dragon had circled the outer walls of Meereen, he finally stopped and hovered above the city.
Below, what had once been the proud and mighty city walls were now a disjointed mess of smoking ruins. Huge gaps, some hundreds of meters wide, revealed the interior of the city.
What was once a defensive wall now looked like a shattered biscuit—each piece broken, unfit for shelter.
Damian lowered his head, his golden vertical pupils sweeping over the devastated city below, where panic and flames intertwined.
He let out a roar of triumph and defiance.
"Roar—!"
The roar was a tangible sound wave, blasting through the city. Countless windows shattered, and the statue of the harpy atop the pyramid cracked under the force, before it fell, shattering on the streets below.
Having accomplished what he came to do, Damian felt no regret.
His dragon wings flapped violently, sending a scorching wind that intensified the flames below, making them leap higher into the sky.
The black figure shot upwards, quickly shrinking into a dark dot, until it vanished into the crimson sky.
He came. He destroyed. He left.
What remained was a city stripped of its pride, trembling in fear.
After some time, the flames began to die down. The billowing smoke gradually dissipated.
The surviving lords and soldiers, like zombies, trudged toward the edge of the former city wall.
They stared, dazed, at the ruin before them.
There were no intact walls. No towering towers. Only endless molten rock, cooling and solidifying, and the charred remains of what had once been Meereen's strength.
A cold wind blew through the ruins, stirring up clouds of ash.
An old Unsullied soldier, who had seen countless battles, looked upon the hellish landscape. The spear in his hand fell to the ground with a sharp clang.
He slowly dropped to his knees, his bronze mask wet with tears as he whined desperately, "The walls of Meereen are gone…"
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