Fire and Blood

Chapter 151: Hour of the Blood Moon (Part 5)

King's Landing ― Visenya's Hill...

With a bone-chilling, sudden roar, Vermithor unleashes a torrent of flames that engulf the chaotic rioters in front of him with a searing inferno. The air thickens with the screams of those caught in the blaze, their terrified yells echoing through the chaos as the flames dance wildly around them. The intense heat rapidly consumes their bodies, turning flesh to ash in a matter of seconds, leaving behind a gruesome pile of skeletal remains. Nearby, a group of barefoot lambs, trembling with fear, stumbled into the raging fire. Their desperate cries fill the air as they try to escape, but the merciless flames swallow them whole, reducing them to mere cinders in an instant. The scene is a blazing nightmare, a testament to the devastating power Vermithor wields in this moment of fury.

"Kill it! Kill the demon!" one rioter shrieked, his voice raw and hoarse, eyes wide and bloodshot with a terrifying blend of fear and religious fervor.

"Die, godless beast!" another bellowed, brandishing a broken spear, a pathetic twig against the dragon's might, completely oblivious to the futility of his defiance.

Vermithor's growl builds in his chest, a sound like grinding stones. He takes a slow, deliberate step forward, his immense head lowering slightly. His breath is hot and smells of sulfur and ancient stone. Vermithor's piercing golden eyes meticulously surveyed the sea of humans converging around him from every conceivable direction. This prompted the Bronze Fury to firmly anchor his talons into the earth, pressing down his body weight with calculated force to secure his stance and maintain impeccable stability, taking a heavy stomp with each step made. Every muscle and sinew was tense, poised to lash out or respond at a moment's notice to any threat or trigger. The air around him hummed with anticipation as the dragon prepared itself for whatever might come next.

"Circle the dragon! Overwhelm the beast with sheer numbers!" a desperate voice cried out, a futile command swallowed by the growing roar of the inferno and the screams of the dying.

Vermithor's nostrils flared. Now, in a frenzied state, the Bronze Fury continues his rampage. He snaps, bites, and breathes fire, burning and devouring the petrified barefoot lambs in front and around him. Their screams echo through the city. Buildings are demolished with every swing of Vermithor's tail, their stone foundations crumbling, their wooden beams splintering. The surrounding infrastructure began to flatten, reduced to rubble and dust. Civilians nearby, caught in the terrifying crossfire, reacted swiftly, scattering in every direction, desperately searching for any sliver of safety. Some, by sheer luck, managed to escape the immediate chaos, vanishing into smoke-filled alleyways. Others were tragically caught in the expanding ring of flames or crushed under falling debris, their lives extinguished in an instant, highlighting the raw, indiscriminate destructiveness of the scene. One stonemason, knocked off his feet by the initial concussive blast of the dragon's roar, scrambled back to his feet, seizing a dropped, still-burning torch. He bolted, a desperate shadow disappearing into a narrow corridor that led deeper into one of the labyrinthine back alleys of King's Landing. A lone crossbowman, his face grim with a fatalistic resolve, let fly a bolt at Vermithor's flank. Simultaneously, two score more of the barefoot zealots, emboldened by their fanatical fervor, closed on the Bronze Fury with crude pitchforks, rusted knives, and blunted axes. They hoped to dispatch the beast while he was still on the ground, believing their proximity would give them an advantage over the raging elder dragon. They paid for that folly with their lives.

Vermithor's massive head swung with terrifying speed towards the fanatics rushing him and lumbers forward, his breath hot on the air, preparing another blast of fire. But without his rider, without the guiding hand of Prince Jaehaerys, he couldn't discern friend from foe, so he indiscriminately unleashed his fury on everyone in front of him, spewing flames to the right and left, savagely turning on any man, woman, or child who dared even to throw a stone in his direction. Those who got too close, even just on the fringes of the blast, were instantly engulfed, their screams abruptly cut short as their clothes ignited, their flesh blistering and burning in horrifying testament to the dragon's overwhelming power. The acrid stench of burnt hair and cooked flesh thickened the air, clinging to everything. Vermithor, now in a frenzied, bloodthirsty state, continued his relentless rampage. He snapped, his colossal jaws closing on screaming figures, crushing bone and flesh with sickening, wet crunches. He bit, tearing bodies apart with brutal efficiency. And Vermithor breathes fire again and again, scorching every building and pathway, incinerating those too slow or too paralyzed by fear to move.