The yellow walls of Yunkai rose from the desert like a mirage made real, their golden stones gleaming in the afternoon sun. But it wasn't the city's beauty that caught my attention—it was the delegation riding out to meet us under a banner of parley.
I raised my hand, and eight thousand Unsullied came to a halt with the precision of a single organism. The sound of their synchronized stop echoed across the plains like thunder. Behind them, my Gondorians adjusted their formations, steel glinting as they prepared for whatever came next.
Aserion circled overhead, his wings casting shadows that danced across the yellow stones. Even from this distance, I could see people on the walls pointing and shouting. They'd never seen a living dragon before—most of them probably thought they were myths.
They were about to learn otherwise.
The delegation approached cautiously—five riders on white horses, their silk robes billowing in the desert wind. At their head rode a man whose obesity made Kraznys look lean by comparison. His multiple chins wobbled with each step his horse took, and sweat stained his elaborate tokar despite the desert breeze.
They stopped twenty paces away, just outside the range where I could have leaped from my saddle and killed them all before they could react. Clever, in a cowardly sort of way.
"I am Grazdan mo Ullhor, Voice of the Wise Masters of Yunkai," the fat man called out in heavily accented Common Tongue. "I come to offer terms for the peaceful passage of your... army."
I urged my destrier forward a few steps, Rhaenys matching my movement. Up close, I could smell the perfumed oils they'd doused themselves in—a futile attempt to mask the stench of fear-sweat.
"Peaceful passage?" I asked, my voice carrying easily across the gap between us. "I haven't come here to pass through, Grazdan mo Ullhor. I've come to free your slaves."
The Wise Master's face went through several interesting color changes. "Your Grace is... misinformed. Yunkai has no slaves, only teachers and pupils. We train bed slaves for the pleasure houses of Lys and Volantis. Surely this is not the same as the brutal chattel bondage of Astapor?"
I laughed—a sound like breaking glass that made his horse shy nervously. "Slavery by any other name still reeks of chains, fat man. Tell me, do these 'pupils' choose their profession? Can they leave when they wish? Are they paid for their services?"
His silence was answer enough.
"I thought not." I leaned forward in my saddle, letting my enhanced senses read the micro-expressions on his face. Fear, yes, but also calculation. They had a plan. "So here are my terms: surrender the city, free every slave within your walls, and I might let some of you live to see tomorrow's dawn."
"Impossible!" another Wise Master sputtered—a younger man with the look of someone who'd never faced real adversity. "Yunkai will never—"
"Silence, Yezzan," Grazdan hissed, then turned back to me with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Your Grace, we understand your... divine mission. But surely we can reach an accommodation? Gold, perhaps? Ships? We have connections throughout the Free Cities that could prove valuable to your cause."
"The only thing valuable to my cause," I said softly, "is watching slavers burn."
Grazdan's false smile never wavered, but I caught the slight gesture he made with his left hand—a signal to his companions. Whatever they had planned, it was about to begin.
"Then I fear you will die here in the desert, Dragon God," he said, his voice dripping with false regret. "The Wise Masters of Yunkai did not build their fortunes by yielding to every barbarian with a few soldiers and a lizard."
"Lizard?" I raised an eyebrow. "ASERION!"
My dragon dove from the sky like a falling star, landing between our groups with enough force to crack the hardpan earth. His obsidian eyes fixed on the Wise Masters' horses, which immediately began screaming and rearing in terror. The riders fought to control their mounts, their own fear now matching that of their beasts.
Aserion was magnificent—nearly fifteen feet from nose to tail now, with wings that could span a small ship. When he opened his maw and let loose a small jet of flame, the heat was enough to singe the silk of Grazdan's tokar.
"Still think he's just a lizard?" I asked pleasantly.
To his credit, Grazdan managed to keep his seat as his horse danced sideways in terror. "Impressive," he admitted, though his voice shook. "But dragons can die, as history shows us. And you are still only one man leading an army far from home."
"Are you threatening me?"
"I am informing you," he said, some of his composure returning. "The Second Sons, the Stormcrows, and the Company of the Cat have all accepted contracts to defend Yunkai. Three of the finest sellsword companies in all of Essos, commanded by captains who have never known defeat. Your Unsullied are impressive, but even the best slaves cannot match free men fighting for gold."
I pretended to consider this, stroking my chin thoughtfully. "Three companies. How many men total?"
"Four thousand," Grazdan said with obvious pride. "Veterans all, with armor and weapons that—"
"When do I meet them?"
The question seemed to catch him off guard. "Meet them?"
"The captains," I clarified. "Surely they'll want to parley before battle? Professional courtesy and all that. I understand sellswords prefer to negotiate before bleeding."
Grazdan and his companions exchanged glances. I could practically see the gears turning in their heads—here was a chance to eliminate their enemy without risking their own precious lives.
"They... could be convinced to meet," Grazdan said slowly. "Under a flag of truce, of course."
"Of course." I smiled, and something in that expression made his horse take another nervous step backward. "Shall we say sunset? Halfway between our camps?"
"It will be arranged."
As the delegation rode back toward their yellow walls, Rhaenys urged her horse closer to mine. "You know it's a trap," she said quietly.
"Obviously." I watched the Wise Masters disappear through Yunkai's gates. "They'll try to kill me during the parley, probably with poisoned wine or hidden crossbows. The sellsword captains will be in on it—they'll expect easy gold for putting a bolt through the Dragon God's heart."
"And you're walking into it anyway?"
I turned to look at her, noting the concern in her violet eyes. It was nice to have family who actually cared whether I lived or died.
"Niece," I said gently, "I'm not walking into a trap. I'm setting one."
---
The sun was a bloated red orb hanging low on the western horizon when I rode out to meet the sellsword captains. I went alone, as agreed, with only Blackfyre at my side and the Super Soldier Serum coursing through my veins like liquid fire.
The meeting place was a small hillock roughly equidistant between our camps, marked by a single scraggly tree that somehow managed to survive in the desert heat. Three men waited for me there, their horses tied to the tree's gnarled branches.
I recognized them from the show's descriptions. Prendahl na Ghezn of the Stormcrows—a lean Ghiscari with ritual scars covering his dark skin and a curved arakh at his hip. Sallor the Bald of the Second Sons—exactly as his name suggested, with arms like tree trunks and a greatsword strapped to his back. And Mero of Braavos, the Titan's Bastard, captain of the Company of the Cat—a tall man with elaborately waxed mustaches and the swagger of someone who'd never met a woman he couldn't charm or a man he couldn't kill.
All three of them radiated the confidence of professional killers who'd never lost a battle.
They were about to experience a new sensation.
"The Dragon God comes alone," Mero called out as I dismounted. "How trusting of you. Or how foolish."
"Neither," I replied, approaching the small circle they'd formed near the tree. "Just efficient."
A table had been set up—rough wooden planks balanced on two barrels, with a jug of wine and several cups waiting. The kind of setup that screamed "ambush" to anyone with half a brain.
"Wine?" Prendahl offered, gesturing to the cups. "Dornish red, I'm told. Quite good."
"I don't drink with men I'm about to kill," I said conversationally.
Sallor laughed—a booming sound that echoed across the desert. "Kill us? Boy, you're outnumbered three to one, and we're the finest fighters in Essos. Your dragon isn't here to save you now."
"No," I agreed, letting my enhanced senses catalog their positions, their weapons, their stances. "But then, I don't need saving."
The silence stretched for a moment, broken only by the evening wind whistling through the tree's branches.
Then Mero moved.
He was fast—faster than any normal man had a right to be. His hand shot to the long dagger at his belt, the blade clearing leather in a smooth draw that spoke of years of practice. In another world, against another opponent, it might have been enough.
But I wasn't another opponent.
The Super Soldier Serum made his lightning-quick draw seem sluggish. I stepped inside his reach, caught his wrist in my enhanced grip, and twisted. The sound of breaking bones was audible across the hillock—radius and ulna snapping like dry kindling.
Mero's scream died in his throat as my other hand found his neck. I lifted him off the ground with casual ease, his feet kicking uselessly in the air as my fingers tightened around his windpipe.
"You were saying something about being the finest fighters in Essos?" I asked pleasantly.
Prendahl and Sallor were moving now, shock giving way to survival instinct. The Ghiscari's arakh cleared its sheath in a whisper of steel, while the Second Son went for his massive greatsword.
I threw Mero's body at Prendahl with enough force to shatter ribs. The two men went down in a tangle of limbs, the arakh spinning away into the sand.
Sallor managed to get his greatsword up and swung it in a mighty overhead chop that would have split a normal man from crown to groin. But I wasn't there when the blade fell—I'd sidestepped at the last instant, letting the weapon bite deep into the wooden table.
While he struggled to free his sword from the planks, I stepped behind him and wrapped my arm around his throat. The sleeper hold was one of the first things they taught in basic combat training, back in my old world. Applied with Super Soldier strength, it was devastatingly effective.
Sallor fought like a bear, his massive hands clawing at my arm as his face turned purple. But enhanced muscle and bone were beyond his power to break. Within seconds, his struggles grew weaker, then stopped entirely.
I held the position for another thirty seconds, making sure he was dead, then released him. His body hit the ground with a heavy thud.
Prendahl was struggling to get out from under Mero's corpse, his face bloody from the impact. I walked over and hauled him to his feet by his scarred throat.
"Please," he gasped, his earlier arrogance completely gone. "Please, I have children—"
"So did the slaves you helped keep in chains," I replied, then drove my fist into his solar plexus.
The punch folded him in half, driving every bit of air from his lungs. While he wheezed and gasped, I grabbed his head in both hands and gave it a sharp twist. The vertebrae separated with a wet pop, and he went limp in my grasp.
Three professional killers, dead in less than two minutes. I stood among their corpses, not even breathing hard, and marveled at what the serum had made me. I was still human in most ways, but I was becoming something more—something deadlier.
Movement in the distance caught my eye. Riders approaching from both camps—scouts, probably, sent to check on the parley. They'd find their captains dead and their trap sprung.
But first, I had a message to send.
I dragged the three bodies to the scraggly tree and propped them up against its trunk, arranging them so they faced toward Yunkai's yellow walls. Then I drew Blackfyre and carved a message into the tree's bark, the Valyrian steel blade parting wood like silk:
"Your champions are dead. Your gold cannot save you. Surrender or burn. - The Dragon God"
By the time the scouts arrived, I was already riding back toward my own lines, leaving the corpses as my answer to their trap.
---
The attack came at dawn, just as I'd expected.
Four thousand sellswords poured out of Yunkai's gates in three separate columns, their banners streaming in the morning breeze. They moved with the disciplined precision of professional soldiers, their formations tight and their weapons ready.
But they moved like men who expected to fight other men. They weren't prepared for what they actually faced.
I stood atop a small rise overlooking the battlefield, Aserion perched beside me like some nightmare made manifest. My dragon had grown again during the night—the constant presence of violence and death seemed to fuel his development. He was now large enough to carry a rider, with claws that could tear through steel plate and flame hot enough to melt bronze.
"UNSULLIED!" I roared, my enhanced voice carrying across the desert. "SHOW THEM WHAT DISCIPLINE TRULY MEANS!"
Eight thousand bronze-capped heads turned toward me in perfect unison. Eight thousand spears came up to the attack position. Eight thousand voices rose in the war cry that had echoed through the fighting pits of Astapor:
"BLOOD AND FIRE! BLOOD AND FIRE! BLOOD AND FIRE!"
The sound was like thunder, rolling across the desert and making the sellswords' horses shy nervously. But the Second Sons, Stormcrows, and Company of the Cat were veterans. They held their formations and advanced.
Right into the trap I'd spent all night preparing.
The sellswords had expected a simple battle—two armies meeting on open ground, with superior numbers and professional skill carrying the day. What they found instead was a carefully orchestrated slaughter.
My Unsullied had spent the pre-dawn hours digging concealed pits along the most obvious approach routes, each one filled with sharpened stakes and covered with sand and brush. The sellswords' advance formations hit them at full charge, horses and riders disappearing into the earth with screams that echoed across the battlefield.
But that was just the beginning.
As the sellswords' formations wavered in confusion, I gave Aserion his head. My dragon launched himself into the sky with a roar that shook the very stones of Yunkai's walls, then dove into the center of their largest formation.
The carnage was indescribable.
Dragonfire washed over steel and flesh alike, turning armor into furnaces and men into living torches. Aserion's claws raked through the packed ranks like scythes through wheat, each swipe sending bodies flying through the air. His tail lashed out and shattered shields, bones, and weapons with equal ease.
The sellswords broke and ran within minutes.
But I wasn't done with them yet.
"GONDORIANS!" I shouted, raising Blackfyre high. "PURSUE AND DESTROY!"
Fifteen hundred steel-clad knights erupted from concealment behind the low hills, their lances lowered and their horses thundering across the desert sand. They hit the fleeing sellswords like a hammer blow, cutting them down from behind without mercy.
It wasn't a battle. It was an execution.
By the time the sun reached its zenith, four thousand professional soldiers lay dead in the desert. My own losses were negligible—fewer than fifty men, most of them from the pit traps that had caught a few unfortunate Unsullied along with the enemy.
I walked among the corpses, Aserion padding beside me like some great hunting cat. The dragon's obsidian scales were stained with blood, and his eyes glowed with the satisfaction of a predator well-fed.
"Gather the survivors," I commanded Grey Worm, who had emerged from the slaughter without so much as a scratch on his bronze armor. "Any sellsword still breathing gets a choice—serve me willingly, or join their captains in death."
"It will be done, Your Grace."
As my soldiers began the grim work of sorting the living from the dead, I turned my attention to Yunkai itself. The yellow walls were packed with spectators—Wise Masters, free citizens, and countless slaves all pressed against the ramparts to watch the destruction of their mercenary protectors.
Time for the final act.
---
The gates of Yunkai opened without resistance an hour after the battle ended. The Wise Masters came out in a procession of silk and gold, their hands raised in surrender and their faces pale with terror.
I met them in the same place where I'd killed their mercenary captains, Aserion coiled around the blood-stained tree like some ancient symbol of judgment. The dragon's eyes tracked the approaching delegation with predatory interest.
"Your Grace," Grazdan mo Ullhor said, his voice barely above a whisper. "We... we yield. Yunkai surrenders to the Dragon God."
"Too late," I replied.
Before he could react, my hand shot out and grasped his throat. The Super Soldier Serum made lifting his considerable bulk as easy as picking up a child. His feet kicked uselessly as I held him aloft, his face turning purple as my fingers tightened.
"You had your chance to surrender with honor," I said conversationally, ignoring his desperate struggles. "Instead, you chose to hire sellswords to kill me. That was a mistake."
I squeezed harder, and something vital gave way in his neck. Grazdan mo Ullhor's body went limp in my grasp.
The other Wise Masters began backing away, but there was nowhere to run. My Unsullied had surrounded them in a perfect circle, their spears pointed inward like the teeth of some great trap.
One by one, I killed them all.
Some I strangled with my bare hands. Others I broke like kindling, their spines snapping under enhanced strength. A few I fed to Aserion, who accepted the offering with evident pleasure.
By the time I was finished, the sand around the tree was stained red with the blood of slavers.
---
The great plaza of Yunkai was packed with every slave in the city—bed slaves, kitchen servants, field hands, trainers, guards, and countless others whose lives had been bought and sold like cattle. They knelt in perfect rows, their faces turned upward toward the platform where I stood.
I had changed into my finest clothes for this moment—black leather studded with silver, with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen emblazoned across my chest. Blackfyre hung at my side, still stained with the blood of the Wise Masters. Above me, Aserion perched on the remains of a golden harpy statue, his wings spread wide to cast shadows across the crowd.
"BEHOLD!" I shouted, my enhanced voice carrying to every corner of the plaza. "Your masters are DEAD! Their gold could not save them! Their mercenaries could not protect them! They who bought and sold your flesh like meat in the market have been judged and found wanting!"
A murmur ran through the crowd—not quite cheers yet, but not silence either. Hope, tentative and fragile, beginning to kindle in thousands of eyes.
"You were slaves!" I continued, my words ringing off the yellow walls. "Born in chains, raised in chains, trained to pleasure those who saw you as less than human! But I tell you now—NO MORE!"
The murmur grew louder, more desperate.
"I am Viserys Targaryen, the Dragon God, sent by the Lord of Light to break every chain and burn every collar! I am the fire that purifies, the blood that washes clean! I am your LIBERATOR!"
I spread my arms wide, and Aserion chose that moment to loose a jet of flame that painted the sky in shades of gold and crimson.
"Your chains are BROKEN! Your cages are OPENED! You are FREE!"
The explosion of sound was deafening. Twenty thousand voices rose in a roar of joy and worship that shook the very foundations of the city. I could see tears streaming down faces, could hear individual voices breaking through the chorus:
"BLESSED BE THE DRAGON GOD!"
"THANK YOU, MY LORD! THANK YOU!"
"WE ARE FREE! WE ARE FREE!"
"BLOOD AND FIRE! BLOOD AND FIRE!"
I let them cheer for several minutes, drinking in their adoration like wine. This was what I lived for—not gold or land or titles, but this moment of absolute power, of being seen as a savior by those who had nothing left to lose.
Finally, I raised my hand for silence. The crowd obeyed instantly, twenty thousand people hanging on my every word.
"I offer you a choice!" I declared. "Serve me willingly, and I will make you strong! Follow me, and I will give you purpose! Those who wish to take up arms in my service will be trained and equipped as warriors! Those who have other skills will help build something greater than this city has ever known! And when we march from here, we will carry freedom to every slave market in the world!"
The cheering began again, even louder than before. But I wasn't finished.
"But know this!" I shouted, my voice cutting through the din. "I am not just your liberator—I am your GOD! The Lord of Light made flesh, sent to lead you from darkness into the dawn! Worship me, and you will know prosperity! Defy me, and you will know the fire that consumed your former masters!"
I pointed to the pile of gold and treasure that my soldiers had looted from the Wise Masters' palaces—chests of coins, bolts of silk, precious stones, and artwork worth more than most people would see in a dozen lifetimes.
"All of this was built on your suffering," I declared. "Now it serves your freedom! Every coin will go toward weapons and armor for those who fight! Every ship in the harbor will carry us to new victories! Every treasure will be used to spread the message of liberation across the world!"
The crowd was in full frenzy now, pressing forward despite the ring of Unsullied spears that held them back. I could see absolute devotion in their eyes—not just gratitude, but genuine religious fervor. They truly believed I was their god.
And perhaps, in a way, I was.
As the sun set over Yunkai, painting the yellow walls red as blood, I stood above my newest worshippers and felt the intoxicating rush of absolute power. Two cities down, one to go. And after that...
After that, it would be time to return to Volantis. Time to reunite the three heads of the dragon.
Time to claim what was truly mine.
Fire and blood had come to Slaver's Bay. And soon, they would come to the world.