Then the orb cracked.
BOOM.
The explosion was small in sound, but vicious in result. Flame erupted outward from within her, the chemical fire taking to flesh and blood in a blink. Her body seized once, just once, and then convulsed violently, smoke and the stench of burning meat filling the cavern.
Her screams never came. They could never with that mouth.
In seconds, she was a thing that burned.
"Oh, Gods! Why am I so Merciful?!"
Viserys muttered under his breath, a tight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. That filthy, desert-faced whore thought he'd let her crawl away after trying to kill the blood of Caesars? The beloved son of Rome?
She had to be insane.
He rolled his neck once, the bones cracking loud in the silence. "Fucking mad," he said, voice dry.
His eyes shifted toward Daenerys. She was crumpled where she'd fallen, limbs awkward, face pale, her breath shallow. Her hands twitched every so often, but she didn't move beyond that.
"This girl…" he muttered again, quieter this time.
"She's going to be a bit annoying."
Without another word, he turned and stepped over the blood trail leaking from Castratus' ruined groin. The man was still unconscious, twitching now and then.
The blood had soaked through his robe, pooling around his head. It looked like he'd been dragged through a slaughterhouse.
Viserys' boots left thick, dark smears of blood with every step he took. The wet prints followed him like a trail of rot as he made his way toward Daenerys.
Halfway there, his vision blurred for a moment. His eyes watered—not from grief, not from anything soft or noble.
Maybe it was the sting of the smoke, or maybe the sharp stink of blood and burnt flesh in the air. Definitely not emotions. He blinked it away.
He stopped.
Daenerys lay right at his feet, her head barely an inch from his boot. One nudge forward and her skull would split like a melon on stone. That close.
He looked down on her the way a god might look at some crawling thing far below. Small. Soft. Pathetic.
This world, he thought, was full of dull, stupid creatures. These people, their kings, their priests, their banners, they were all blind rats gnawing at each other in a collapsing barn.
And her. Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. Royal blood. A girl raised by knights and taught the high tongue. Yet she couldn't piece together the simplest thing.
She didn't see it, how Castratus, his bastard, his whore, his foppish little gay singer-boy, had set her up. Had tried to kill them. Tried to snuff out the fire of targaryen's bloodline like it was nothing.
And instead of asking questions, instead of listening—she attacked him.
She dared to raise a hand against him. Against Viserys. The CAESAR.
He shook his head slowly, staring at her unconscious form.
"Shame on House Targaryen for birthing such a stupid little thing," he muttered. "Shame."
He curled his lip.
"Filthy, stupid girl." Viserys muttered, low but clear, shifting his eyes from Daenerys without sparing her another glance.
He turned toward the ruined hall, the air thick with smoke, blood, and the scent of scorched meat.
"I shall grant all of you salvation," he said, louder now, his words bouncing off the stone walls and echoing. "I shall end the barbarity in this foul world."
His voice was cold and certain, the kind of tone that made men go quiet and kneel.
The Rome-glorifying bastards who had watched Oversimplified's Punic Wars would most likely get a boner just from hearing his voice.
"I shall…" he stepped forward, boots slapping against the wet stone as he moved toward the twitching mess that was Castratus, "...rebuild Roma."
He didn't say it with fanfare. It wasn't some speech meant to rouse cheers. It was a.... promise.
"In the future... from the rivers to the seas, everything will be Romani." His tone never rose, never broke. Just steady. Certain. "The holy city will rule all that this cursed world has to offer."
He stopped at Castratus, whose limbs were spasming, his chest rising and falling like a fish dragged from the sea.
The blood beneath him had run in every direction, soaking into the floor. His face was pale, lips twitching, mouth half-open in pain he couldn't voice.
Viserys crouched slowly, his shadow swallowing the twitching body whole. He leaned in close, just enough to speak into the man's ear.
"But, Barbari..." he whispered, his voice still cold and deep, "...you won't live to see that perfect world."
Then came the scream.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHH! AHAHAHAHAA!"
Castratus wailed as Viserys drove his fingers into his eyes. Not with a strike, not fast. He pushed slowly, letting the nails sink in, tearing into the soft jelly until both eyeballs collapsed inward.
Squelch
Squelch
The sound was wet, like pressing into a bowl of overripe fruit.
Blood sprayed out in thick, pulsing squirts. The man howled, thrashing wildly, arms flailing without direction.
His heels scraped against the stone as his back arched. He tried to roll away, but Viserys planted his left hand on the man's chest and pushed down hard.
The weight was crushing. Bone popped. Flesh caved. A deep red imprint spread across the man's chest in an instant.
Still, he screamed.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Castratus screamed like a dying pig. His arms thrashed, heels scraping against the blood-slick floor, but it didn't matter. Viserys kept him pinned with one hand pressed down on his chest, steady, firm, like a man holding down a sack of grain.
The barbari's eyes were ruined. Nothing but torn flesh and red holes left in the sockets. Blood streamed down the sides of his face, mixing with tears and sweat, soaking into his beard.
He tried to form words, to beg, maybe, no one could tell through the sounds choking in his throat.
Viserys didn't even blink.
"Did… you…" he started, his voice flat as he pulled his finger out of the socket like a butcher pulling a bone from a joint.
The barbari's eyeball came out along with it, jammed around his finger like a donut.
"…Did you really think you'd be spared? Just because you faked being unconscious?"
He shoved his finger back in. Not the same socket, he went for the other side, digging around in the pulp like a man testing the ripeness of fruit.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"
There was a crunch, and Castratus's legs kicked up weakly before flopping back down.
"Look at you," Viserys muttered, shifting his weight slightly. "A big man. Muscles. Hair. Rings on your fingers. You looked like someone important just some moments ago."
He twisted his finger slowly. Castratus bucked again, but his strength was long gone. Still, he tried to scream.
"Ahhh!!! ahhhhhh!!! "
What came out sounded more like pitiful moans.
His body just spasmed, a puppet with the strings cut halfway through.
"But now?" Viserys said, looking down at the mess under him. "You're nothing. No eyes. No balls. No use."
Viserys' fingers curled around Castratus' throat like a vice, the skin folding under the pressure, veins bulging as if ready to burst.
It looked like he could rip the man's neck open, pull the spine out like a rope, just as quickly as any Rome-hating coward would blow his load in bed.
Pathetic. Just like their pride.And their "shinlongs"—as small and disappointing as Carthage itself.
But then…
"P-Ple-Please… let me go…" Castratus stammered, his voice hoarse and broken. He couldn't see, his eyes were gone, just empty, bleeding sockets.
But he still looked forward, still faced the man crushing his throat, as if begging blindly would somehow change the outcome.
His trembling hand gripped Viserys' wrist. It was a weak grip, but desperate.
"I don't desire gold anymore," he gasped. "I don't desire my son… Just… please, let me go…"
The words spilled out like a child's prayer, pathetic and trembling. "I'll live my days as a blind man. I'll beg. I'll crawl. I'll—PLEASE—LET ME GO!"
His voice cracked. His body twitched. His mind, What little of it remained, was unraveling faster than a Carthaginian siege line under Roman steel.
"PLEASE! LET ME GO!" he howled, his nails digging weakly into Viserys' arm. His heart pumped frantically, half with blood, half with whatever shattered hope kept him breathing.
Not that it mattered.
Because Viserys didn't move. Didn't flinch. Didn't soften.
Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his voice dropping to a low, mocking murmur.
"Wow…" he said, dragging the word out like a yawn. "You barbari just keep setting new records for pathetic."
There was no sympathy in his voice. Only boredom. Disgust. And mockery.
His expression remained cold, hard lines carved into his face like chiseled stone, but the look in his eyes was sharp. Disdainful. Disgusted.
"No true son of Roma would beg like this. No matter how many legionaries we lose, ten thousand, a hundred thousand, we raise another army before the blood even dries."
He leaned in closer, his breath hot against the dying man's skin.
"Because we always have more. More steel. More men. More bastards ready to gut your kind just for sport."
Then, casually, Viserys added, "And you think I'll let you live?"
"Haha. No."
Viserys' response was dry, almost amused. His hand moved fast—snatching Castratus' wrist, the one clutching his arm in desperation—and then…
CRACK.
A disgusting, sharp crunch echoed out. Bone splintered. Flesh gave way.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"Castratus screamed again—no restraint, no pride, just pure pain.
It was the kind of scream that clawed at your ears. The kind of scream that made even the rats scatter. His body convulsed violently, twitching and writhing like a dying animal on fire.
"PLEASE! PLEASE! MAKE IT STOP! PLEASE!" he shrieked, his voice cracking into high-pitched sobs.
The scream carried down the silent streets, so loud it could be heard past the blood-soaked courtyard, past the columns and alleys. But no one came. Of course they didn't. Why would they?
The nobles behind those stone walls mistreated their slaves just the same. Why would they stop one of their own from doing what they all enjoyed in secret?
Then—THUD.
Something hit Viserys across the back of the head. A dull smack, glass shattering instantly on impact.
A wine bottle.
The blow barely made him blink, but it had landed. Wine splashed across his face, ran down his hair and neck.
His once white silk shirt, already streaked with blood and drool, was now soaked in dark red wine. It clung to his skin, outlining the shape of his muscles underneath like a second layer of skin.
Behind him, her chest rising and falling with anger, stood Daenerys. She was gripping another bottle in her hand, knuckles pale, ready to throw again.
"STOP THAT, YOU MONSTER!" she screamed.
Viserys turned his head slowly.
He didn't say a word.
Just stared at her, blankly. The kind of look a father gives a child who just touched something they were told not to.
The kind of stare that said:You really shouldn't have done that.
A long, cold silence followed.
Even the readers were watching now, probably shaking their heads in collective disappointment.
They all knew what came next.
Daenerys.... Was fucked.
{A/N:
Hey guys!
The chapter is finally here, sorry I couldn't upload anything or reply to your comments yesterday. I wasn't feeling too well and kept throwing up on and off, so writing was kinda impossible.
But I pushed through and managed to finish this chapter, and honestly, it was your comments on the last one that gave me the energy to sit down and do it today. So seriously, thank you.
If you enjoyed the chapter, don't forget to drop a comment, it really helps motivate me to keep writing more for you all!
Stay awesome,– Your (still slightly nauseous) author.