Chapter 3 –
Within Dragonstone's war chamber, a tense energy crackled amidst the flickering candlelight. Rhaenyra, her regal presence somewhat diminished by the lingering worry that creased her brow, leaned over a vast map of Westeros. Opposite her sat Rhaenys, 'The Queen Who Never Was', her stern demeanor softened only slightly by a hint of kinship in her dark eyes. She was representing her husband, Corlys Velaryon while he sailed to Blockade the Blackwater.
Rhaenyra began, tapping a fingernail against the symbols for the Eyrie and Winterfell. "The Starks have pledged their banners. Jacaerys has apparently made fast friends with Lord Cregan Stark. He has pledged an Army of ten thousand northern hands to my claim. With Jeyne Arryn pledging the Vale, our allies grow, even as Alicent and her usurping-up jumped Hightower father shrink into their corner of the realm." Her voice firmed, infused with the authority she sought to project.
A flicker of irritation crossed her face as she continued, "Though, I confess, my son Jacaerys may have promised a bit too much in the North. Joffrey betrothed to that Manderly girl... he could have had a better match."
Rhaenys cut her off, a touch of dry amusem*nt in her voice. "A small price for White Harbor and their mighty fleet, cousin. Besides," she countered, "with Lucerys bound for Storm's End, we can all but count Borros Baratheon's swords as our own."
Rhaenyra nodded, moving past the pang of guilt for bartering her youngest son's future. "And my husband..." Her voice warmed with a flicker of defiant affection. "Daemon flies to Harrenhal on Caraxes. Ser Simon Strong will yield, putting yet another dagger to Alicent's throat."
At Rhaenys' affirming nod, she continued, as she marked off the pieces on the map. "Once Harrenhal is ours, and Caraxes watches over the Riverlands, Tully will sing a different tune. With the Starks to the North, even Glover cannot be foolish enough to defy us openly. The Crownlands are well and truly surrounded on land." Her lips curled into a grim smile.
Rhaenys shook her head "Let us not forget that Lord Stark's army is pledged only once winter's worst has broken. Much will rest on your husband's shoulders to make the Riverlords kneel before then."
"You're right, of course." Rhaenyra nodded, refocusing from her procrastination. "And we mustn't discount Alicent too quickly. The Reach remains a potent force, and..." she hesitated, a frown furrowing her brow, "Ser Jason Lannister will pledge to them as well, his brother, Tyland is now master of Coin after Alicent had Lyman killed."
Rhaenys steepled her fingers, her eyes distant. "Then expect another ten thousand swords from the Westerlands to join the force from the Reach." She fixed Rhaenyra with a steady gaze. "And with my husband's fleet sealing off the Blackwater, and holding back the Royal Fleet, the Stormlords countering the Reach… the dragons will be our advantage that gives us the edge..."
"I do not crave war, Rhaenys..." Rhaenyra's voice held a thread of weariness, not entirely concealed by her determination. "Our dragons give us the advantage, true, but it is a brutal one. The realm is divided – while the Vale, Stormlands, and the North stand with me, the Reach backs Alicent, with the Lannisters waiting in the wings..."
Rhaenys shook her head, a hint of sorrow mingling with her usual pragmatism. "War is a beast with a hunger of its own, child. The moment you declined Aegon's demand, and sent Orwyle back to King's Landing, shorn of his maester's chains, conflict was carved into the very air we breathe. The question is not 'if', but 'when', and crucially, who strikes the first blow."
Rhaenyra bit back a sigh. "It will not be me."
Rhaenys nodded, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. "The wise play, to be sure. The usurpers must be cast as the aggressors. Now," she leaned forward, her eyes glinting, "with Harrenhal and, gods willing, the Riverlords firmly in your grasp, the noose tightens around King's Landing…"
Her strategizing was abruptly cut off by the urgent echo of a dragon's roar.
Ser Steffon Darklyn, commander of the Queensguard, burst into the chamber, his face flushed.
"My queens!" he gasped, "Dreamfyre and Shrykos approach. They wheel above the Dragonmont, preparing to descend."
Fear tinged with confusion washed over Rhaenyra. "Helaena? Has she come under a flag of truce?" Then a chilling thought struck her. "Shrykos is too young, surely? Who…"
Rhaenys was already on her feet. "Where do they land, Darklyn? Is Dragonstone under attack?"
Steffon shook his head, "There is no attack, Your Grace. The dragons are riderless ...they appear agitated."
Rhaenyra's hands clenched. "Ready a party, Ser Steffon. I shall go to the Dragonmont myself. Something is amiss, and I intend to discover what."
The trek up Dragonmont was laced with an unsettling mix of unease and determination.
They were accompanied by the Queensguard, led by Ser Steffon Darklyn.
Ser Lyonel Bentley, Ser Harrold Darke, Ser Adrian Redfort and Ser Loreth Lansdale flanked them followed by fifty guards.
They even had some dragon wranglers in the party, in case this turned out to be some maddened scheme involving the two dragons.
Rhaenyra and Rhaenys exchanged worried glances.
Why would two Green dragons seek refuge on Dragonstone, of all places?
The possibility of it being a distraction gnawed at Rhaenyra's mind, yet she dismissed it. Corlys' fleet held Blackwater Bay – no enemy ships could have slipped past unnoticed.
As they neared the summit, the sight stole the breath from them. Syrax, Meleys, and even little Tyraxes whipped through the sky, their panicked cries joining the dissonant chorus emanating from Dreamfyre and Shrykos. The entire scene was a frenzy of beating wings and piercing shrieks.
A cry tore from Rhaenyra's throat, sharp and desperate. "Syrax! Zaldrīzes! Ñuha dīnagon ao!" Her Valyrian carried the ancient tongue's power, the command echoing across the trembling mountainside.
But her beloved dragon, once so fiercely responsive, remained lost in the panicked dance above.
Rhaenys mirrored the commands. "Meleys! Dohao ivestragon ao!'' The Red Queen's voice boomed with a strength that belied her years, yet her dragon, like her cousin's, seemed deaf to the plea.
Ser Steffon's voice, rough with fear, cut through the chaos. "Your Graces, the mountain! It trembles beneath us–"
"No!" Rhaenyra snarled, a flash of her Targaryen temper cutting through the despair. "Syrax, obey me! Ōdrys!"
The earth seemed to scream in answer to the dragon's cries. A tremor surged up from below, throwing Rhaenyra off her feet and sending a wave of panic through the assembled men. Horses reared, eyes wide with terror, the cries of their riders mingling with the roar of displaced rocks tumbling down the mountainside.
Ser Steffon, his voice a strained shout above the din, lunged for Rhaenyra, his grip on her arm bruisingly tight. "Come, Your Grace! This is madness, we must–"
His words were cut off as Rhaenys stumbled against Ser Erryk. The seasoned knight barely kept his feet, his grim shout joining Steffon's. "My ladies! To the horses – retreat while there's still time!"
Rhaenyra's head snapped up, a surge of mingled hope and dread cutting through her despair. Before she could process this new development, Ser Lyonel's trembling voice confirmed her worst fears.
"Moondancer! It's Lady Baela!" His bellow pierced the din, a note of terror undercutting his usual steadiness.
There, silhouetted against the smoke-choked sky, was the pale silhouette of the young dragon. Baela, her figure barely visible atop the writhing beast, seemed swallowed by the chaos. She was another leaf caught in the whirlwind, her voice joining the discordant chorus.
"Baela!" Rhaenyra's voice cracked, a mix of command and a terrified plea. "Jagon! Land, child!"
Beside her, Rhaenys echoed the cry, desperation momentarily replacing her steely composure. "Baela, hear us! Kesrio sȳz! Meleys!"
They watched in frozen horror as Moondancer, ignoring Baela's frantic calls, twisted into a wild climb, then dove towards the peak of Dragonmont.
Each dip and spiral spoke of the young dragon's maddened state, of Baela struggling desperately against an unseen force.
Then, Dragonmont delivered another violent tremor, a guttural bellow rising from its depths. Ser Steffon's fear was now unconcealed. "The mountain, Your Grace! It will erupt! We must flee!"
Rhaenyra's voice tightened with desperation, "But...this is impossible! Dragonmont cannot–"
Another monstrous roar tore through the air, a guttural echo of the trembling earth itself.
From the fiery depths of Dragonmont emerged a trio of ancient beasts: the Cannibal, Sheepstealer, and the legendary Silverwing.
Terror seized the company.
Some guards, their courage crumbling, bolted down the mountainside with desperate cries, accompanied by all the Dragon wranglers.
Rhaenyra's own breath hitched, the image of the Cannibal, its vast jaws agape, promising swift and brutal carnage.
Yet, the wild, insatiable hunger they expected never materialized.
Instead, the three giants joined the frenzied dance, wheeling around the volcano's peak with a desperate urgency that spoke of a different sort of threat.
Rhaenys was the first to break free of her fear. "Baela!" Her voice cracked with maternal anguish. "Look! She's trapped."
There, clinging to the back of her maddened Moondancer, was the child Baela, face streaked with tears, her cries of terror barely audible over the dragon's shrieks.
It was as if the mountain itself heard their despair. The dragons, with a unity born of desperation, turned their fury into the volcano's fiery depths.
Blazing streams of dragonflame lashed into the steaming crater, meeting cries of agony with a counterpoint of scorching power.
Rhaenys stared up at them in wild horrified wonder, for a moment she feared the dragons were intent to set off another Doom to end her, as Valyria had once been.
Then she heard Baela's scream. She seemed to be staring into the very heart of the volcano, clearly horrified by what she saw within.
Then, the impossible happened.
The mountain itself seemed to answer.
A surge of movement, a chittering chorus that drowned out even the dragons' roars – not lava, but something far, far worse erupted from the volcano's depths.
It was an infestation made flesh. Legions of insectoid horrors poured forth, their glistening carapaces catching the firelight in a grotesque dance of shadow and flame. The sheer number of the writhing, chittering abominations was a dizzying sight. Even the dragons, those magnificent beasts, seemed momentarily dwarfed by the scale of this monstrous tide.
Horror replaced confusion.
Her remaining Guards screamed.
"MONSTERS! GODS HAVE MERCY!" Some shouted, as others soiled their breeches.
Rhaenyra didn't begrudge them, she was close enough to it herself.
She needed to escape. Rhaenys needed to escape.
She needed to get to Joffrey.
Rhaenyra watched the swarming monsters, her stomach churning as realization dawned. This was the source of the chaos, the primal fear that drove even the mighty dragons mad.
Ser Steffon's barked order broke through her paralysis. "Mount, my ladies! Retreat! Ser Erryk, lead them back!"
Then, turning to the remaining Queensguard, his voice was the last bastion of disciplined bravery. "We hold them as long as we can!"
Another rumble, and an ear-splitting shriek, this time rising from the very heart of Dragonmont itself.
Their dragons were trying to set the monsters ablaze, but clearly, they were not enough as no matter how many they burnt, twice more seemed to pour from the mouth of the Volcano.
An ancient protective instinct, stirred within Syrax and Meleys.
They broke from their frenzied dance, twisting with surprising agility towards their riders.
Their cries were tinged with the same panic that whipped through the humans below, but there was a desperate focus too - a wordless plea for salvation.
Even Moondancer, lost to fear moments ago, managed a strained turn, bringing Baela within reach.
The primal cry tore from Rhaenyra's throat. "Syrax!" In that single word was a desperate hope, a plea for the impossible. The dragon responded, twisting in the smoke-choked air, wings straining to turn towards her queen.
Rhaenyra didn't hesitate. The Queensguard needn't fight against these monstrosity aimlessly.
She grabbed Ser Erryk by the belt, her voice strained but resolute. "Up! Now!" He clambered awkwardly onto the great dragon, his eyes wide with terror, a panicked, "My queen...my lady..." escaping his lips as she shoved him into place.
Ser Steffon fared no better.
Rhaenyra hauled him up with the same urgency, her fingers digging into his armor. "Hold on!" she commanded, her voice almost swallowed by the roar of dragon fire and the chittering horror of the insects below.
Both knights were whimpering incoherently, their vaunted courage shattered under the weight of a terror born from ancient myths.
Ser Erryk choked out a half-prayer, "...Blessed Father...save us...",
It was a far cry from the disciplined Queensguard, the finest knights of the realm.
But in this moment, in the shadow of an impossible horror, they were simply men – terrified and clinging to the faintest thread of hope, embodied in the straining form of a dragon whose own cries echoed their mortal fear.
Beside them, Rhaenys moved with a speed that belied her age. "Ser Harrold! Ser Adrian! Mount – now!" Her tone brooked no argument, snapping the knights from their horrified stupor.
Baela, small and frail atop Moondancer, was a picture of tear-streaked terror. "So many..." she whimpered, her gaze fixed on the monstrous swarm below. "Ser Lyonel...Ser Loreth...please..." Her voice broke as she extended a trembling hand.
Something in Rhaenyra shattered at the sight of the child, as Ser Loreth scrambled to get atop Moondancer.
The battle below raged on – the Cannibal, Sheepstealer, and Silverwing, their fiery blasts momentarily holding the swarm at bay.
But it wasn't enough.
Even the ancient Cannibal's fury seemed to falter before their sheer number.
Baela's tear-streaked face, that pitiful plea for the remaining knights, shattered something in Rhaenyra's soul. A child shouldn't face this horror. Not her niece, not any child. Her heart turned to ice, a desperate resolve hardening beneath the crushing weight of despair.
Above, near the mouth of the volcano, the battle raged with terrifying intensity.
The Cannibal, even with Sheepstealer and Silverwing joining the onslaught, seemed overwhelmed.
Dragonfire turned the chittering masses to ash, but for every insectile body that fell, a dozen more surged upwards into the acrid air.
The Cannibal itself, that terrifying legend, was starting to falter.
The monsters were descending with a terrifying speed.
"Enough!" Rhaenyra's voice was a whipcrack, echoing the snap of breaking resolve within her. "Ser Lyonel! Enough!" The knight was a grotesque sight. Shame clung to him more putridly than the stench of his soiled breeches.
His muttering litany, "Doom...Gods...Doom come again...", was a haunting soundtrack to their desperation.
Rhaenys felt a surge of unexpected empathy twist through her own gut.
Shame had no place here, not when she herself was mere moments from succumbing to a similar paralyzing, soiling terror.
Her hand snapped out, from the back of Meleys, delivering a sharp slap across Lyonel's face.
"Save your fear for the grave, knight! Mount Moondancer! Now!" It wasn't kindness, but her words held the brutal sting of necessity. Lyonel, spurred by the shock, scrambled to obey, his terrified whimpers echoing Baela's own.
Rhaenyra's gaze fell on the last few guards that had remained frozen staring up at the mountain, swords dropped. "Retreat!" she commanded, breaking most of the seven out of their trance. "Seal the way! Fall back! The castle!"
Their hesitation lasted only a heartbeat.
As the guards spurred their horses to frantic gallops down the mountainside, Rhaenyra's voice cut through the chaos one last time.
"Seal the path! Close the lower gates!"
Then, Syrax and Meleys took flight.
Just in time.
Another shudder ran through the mountain, sending tremors through the very air beneath their wings.
Rhaenyra, her gaze locked on the inferno below, risked a glance behind. Syrax bore her burdens well – Ser Erryk, teeth gritted, whimpered another terrified prayer, while Ser Steffon clutched the dragon's scales, his eyes filled with wide-eyed horror.
The castle loomed into view, but it was a castle in chaos.
Panic-stricken figures streamed outwards, abandoning the ancient fortress as guards and servants alike ran from the castle in droves.
Some screamed "The Doom has come for us all!"
While others shouted prayers, to whatever gods they suddenly built faith in.
Rhaenyra's eyes narrowed as she surveyed the carnage.
Dreamfyre and Shrykos, had now stopped spewing whatever flame they could, and were fleeing further north.
Then, in a final gut-wrenching moment, even the mighty Cannibal, Sheepstealer, and Silverwing abandoned their desperate battle, beating their massive wings as they too gave up and fled East ward, and beyond.
As their fiery blasts ceased, a monstrous shape began to emerge from the volcano's depths.
It was vast, a chitinous nightmare that dwarfed even the Cannibal. Massive spidery legs, at least fifty feet long, crawled over the lip of the crater, pulling a grotesque body into the light.
Beneath it, pulsating with an eerie green glow, hung a bulbous sac that made Rhaenyra's blood run cold.
Wildfire.
This creature was a walking weapon.
Ser Erryk's terrified shriek echoed her own silent horror. "The Doom is upon us! The Stranger has come for us all!"
Beside her, Rhaenys was shouting orders. "Baela! Flee to Harrenhall! You father will keep you safe there!"
Baela, clinging desperately to Moondancer with the two terrified knights, didn't hesitate.
She spurred her dragon into a frantic climb, disappearing towards the west.
Upon her command, Syrax banked sharply, descending towards the fleeing throngs below.
Rhaenyra's voice boomed through the chaos, "Joffrey!"
Then, she saw him.
Her youngest son, a blur of terror amidst the crowd.
He was running towards them, his small form momentarily dwarfed by the monstrous shadow the creature cast upon the fleeing populace.
"Mother!" Joffrey's cry mingled with the rising wail of sirens from the castle watchtowers.
Ser Steffon, with surprising agility, hauled the boy up behind him, clinging precariously to the saddle.
Rhaenyra gave the command, and Syrax was airborne once more, the terrified screams of those left behind fading beneath the thunderous beat of her wings.
Without another parting glance, all the riders, and dragons were fleeing from Dragonstone, to the closest place where they would find sanctuary.
Driftmark would see them safe, surely.
Then, a sudden darkness descended.
The sun vanished, swallowed by four colossal shapes blotting out the heavens.
The fleeing crowd shattered like glass beneath an unseen hammer.
Cries that were already screams spiraled into wails of pure terror. Some collapsed where they stood, legs refusing to carry them further.
Their choked prayers mingled with the terrified sobs of those beside them.
"Blessed Mother, save us!" a woman shrieked, her voice ragged.
A man, eyes wide and filled with a primal desperation, tore at his hair, shouting, "The Stranger! He walks among us! Doom has come!"
Others echoed his words, their voices joining in a chorus of madness and fear. The very air vibrated with their collective terror, amplifying the chaos below.
Rhaenyra and Rhaenys stared upwards, their own terror mirroring that of the people below.
Frozen in fear, just like the dragons they were settled upon.
Her son, Joffrey whimpered in terror, at the sight of the objects far in the sky.
Hearing his whimper broke her out of her reverie, "Soves!" She tried to rouse Syrax too, but the dragon was frozen in fear too.
The monstrous insects were a nightmare, but this...this felt like a divine rebuke.
A cosmic punishment. Despair gnawed at Rhaenyra's resolve.
Was she the cause? Had the gods deemed her ambition, her very existence, an abomination? Her sons, those sweet boys – were they a stain upon her soul? Or was it her rightful desire, that burning need to claim the throne stolen from her?
Then, the heavens wept fire.
From beneath the impossible shadows in the sky, four streaks of crimson light plummeted toward them.
Screams pierced the air, a desperate chorus accompanying the meteoric descent.
Rhaenyra yanked Syrax into a harsh turn as he stood on the ground, but the dragon was slow, burdened by the weight of four riders and the crushing fear twisting in her own belly.
Meleys was no better, her movements sluggish with the same icy terror.
The fiery projectiles smashed into the cobbled road leading away from the castle, shattering the stone with bone-jarring force.
They burrowed deep, leaving glowing craters branded with a chilling emblem: half a skull.
The terrified whispers turned to screams. Some hailed them as the Stranger come to claim their souls, while others saw salvation, perverse divine intervention in their darkest hour.
Then, with chilling precision, the sigils split open.
Four figures emerged, clad in gleaming black and yellow armor. Their forms were alien, encased in metal and draped in dark cloaks.
A strange cry pierced the chaos. "DEMOCRACY HAS LANDED!" The voice, amplified by some unseen device, echoed over the petrified crowd.
Rhaenyra's heart pounded like a war drum. Who were these beings, wielding such power and speaking words she didn't understand? As the armored figures emerged from their fiery pods, Rhaenys gasped beside her, mirroring her confusion.
Another armored figure spoke, a woman if the voice was any indication. "Be at peace, for we come to free you from your burdens! To deliver you into true, everlasting democracy!" Her words, though strange, had a soothing melody that cut through the terror.
A third voice broke the bizarre spell. "Yo, check out the glowy freaks up the hill and their weird-ass castle! Anybody still in this dump?" The figure turned his gleaming, visored head towards Rhaenyra, his tone a jarring mix of nonchalance and wonder.
Rhaenyra's mind, already reeling, seized upon this as proof.
These were not harbingers of doom, but angels.
Sent by the very gods those below were now frantically invoking.
Her voice barely above a whisper, she croaked, "They have gone…fled."
It was Maester Gerardys, kneeling amid the terrified throng, who answered the strange warrior's question. "Ser…angel…the castle is indeed empty."
The figure jerked a hand upwards, a gesture that was both militaristic and oddly casual. "Sweet Super Earth, that's one less thing for us rookies to worry about!"
Suddenly, one of the warriors shouted, "Shields down!" Simultaneously, the other bolted towards the now empty castle, a frantic bellow following him. "Calling in a Hellbomb! Clear the LZ!"
Rhaenyra's stomach lurched.
Her eyes shot skyward just as two more meteors streaked down.
One landed with terrifying force amongst the panicked crowd and the dragons.
Then, a shimmer of light coalesced, forming a golden, dome-like barrier that encased them in a seemingly protective shell.
The other fiery object smashed near the base of the castle.
From the crater sprang another strange device, tall and angular, its matte black form stark against the ancient stone.
A wave of relief rippled through the crowd. They had been saved! The gods, moved by their pleas, had sent their mighty angels to deliver them! Triumphant shouts of "Blessed Mother!" and "The Stranger has been turned away!" mingled with the cries of the truly devout.
Rhaenyra's own relief bordered on a strange euphoria. She was alive. They were all alive! But as the shimmering dome flickered, casting their armored saviors in an ethereal glow, a new fear took root within her.
The woman-angel stepped forward, her powerful voice ringing clear. "This is not the work of your gods. This is the power of true, managed democracy!"
Confused whispers echoed through the crowd. A man, emboldened by their survival, called out, "Democracy? What manner of sorcery is this?"
Before the woman could answer, the final armored being bellowed a phrase that twisted Rhaenyra's stomach into a knot. "Bugs and a Bile Titan, stand by for some good ol' fashioned nuclear justice!" He fiddled with a device on his arm, its surface shimmering with strange, unearthly lights.
The woman-angel shouted "WAIT! L1, no you fool!" She tried to stop him, but the man had already thrown a blowing ball in the direction of the castle.
"Uhhhhh, Oops?," the man said, scratching his helmet.
The woman strike against the warrior's helmet was decisive, a hollow clang echoing beneath the now quietened golden dome, none of the gathered wanted to speak a word, men and dragon alike.
"Owww, Z2, back off. It's an honest mistake!" He shouted, as the woman smacked him on his helm again.
"Honest, my democracy loving arse!" She screamed "That's a waste of resources and you know it! Be careful next time, we need to catch up to Liberty Squad!"
The man scoffed "Liberty Squad are legends Z2, there is no catching up to them! They have Victor, V3 leading them! The man's been kicking since Malevelon Creek!"
Then, the warrior who had run towards the castle had started to sprint. "Hellbomb primed! Evac in T-minus thirty seconds!" he bellowed, his voice shaking. Then he saw the ball that had rolled by his feet.
He stopped, sighed then stared at his friend "Seriously, bro?"
A blinding flash ripped through the air, followed by a concussive boom that shook the very earth beneath them.
Within the golden dome, chaos reigned once more. Some collapsed to their knees, renewed sobs wracking their bodies. Their mournful prayers to the Seven echoed against the shimmering barrier.
Others, their eyes filled with a desperate, fanatical light, shouted praises not to the gods they had known all their lives, but to this strange new power.
"Democracy, save us all!" A woman's voice rang out, shaking with a mix of fear and awe.
"Blessed be this new god, Democracy! Deliver us from evil!" An old man, his voice rough and trembling, joined the chorus.
With each repetition of the word 'Democracy', the fervor grew.
It spread through the crowd like wildfire, a bizarre counterpoint to the scene of devastation beyond their golden sanctuary.
"HELL YEAH! DEMOCRACY WILL SAVE US ALL" The mad man who had caused the explosion shouted.
The castle was gone.
In its place, a yawning crater smoldered, spitting smoke and ash into the choking sky.
The mountain itself was forever changed, the landscape scorched and twisted as if by the claws of some colossal beast.
The monstrous insectoid creatures, those the warriors had called 'bugs', were no more.
Their chittering hordes, moments away from breaching the castle itself, had simply ceased to exist, snuffed out with brutal finality. The sight brought no comfort to Rhaenyra.
Rhaenys had fallen unconscious.
Ser Harrold held her limp body, his own face mirroring the horror etched upon those of his companions.
Ser Steffon's prayers had dissolved into a frantic, repetitive chant. "Democracy, heed our pleas! Grant us your protection, mighty one!" His voice was ragged, reflecting the desperation clawing at his soul.
Ser Erryk echoed the plea, his usual composure shattered. "Blessed Democracy, deliver us! Spare us from your wrath!" The valiant knight's voice quivered, the weight of the devastation bearing down on him.
Then, a small voice piped up, breaking the chorus of fear. "Thank you, Lady Democracy," Joffrey whispered, his voice thick with reverence. "Thank you for the angels, even if they were a little dumb. And thank you…for saving us."
"Hell yeah, kiddo! Damsel Democracy will shine the light of liberty on all of you" The other warrior, who had in all this horrifying hubbub walked up to the Syrax spoke up. "Say, do you want to feel the light of Lady Liberty herself?"
Her son nodded fervently, and before she could stop him, bounced off from Rhaenyra's lap and into the waiting arm of the angelic warrior.
"Damn it, L1, take a look at what you did!" The woman-angel, Z2, was a commanding presence even amidst the chaos.
Her voice, though laced with frustration, broke through the haze of fear that threatened to consume them all.
Z2's voice, normally so commanding, was laced with a desperate edge. "Look what you've done, L1! You vaporized an entire historical site! Those bugs were bad, but this..." She gestured wildly towards the smoldering crater, her words thick with frustration.
Her focus shifted, her hand fumbling with the device on her arm. "Gotta call in backup," she muttered, her thumb hovering over a glowing button. "Liberty Squad will never let me live this down..."
The air crackled with tension as another fiery streak split the sky. It slammed into the devastated remains of Dragonstone, though the golden shield absorbed most of the impact. The pod split open, and the cheerful voice of the newly emerged warrior cut through.
"Well, that's one way to clear a LZ! Yo, Z2, any of you guys need a..." His voice trailed off as he took in the scene. "Holy...uh, democracy, what happened here? Looks like someone got a little trigger-happy."
Z2's shoulders slumped, and she let out a sigh heavy with resignation. "Yeah, something like that... anyway, Primary objective complete!"
The new warrior, S3, gave a low whistle, then turned to Z2 with a playful smirk. "Looks like you need to chill out a little! Seriously though, Z2, you gotta head into that mess and pull some orichalcum samples now. Thanks for the extra duty."
Z2 shrugged, a mix of annoyance and resignation on her face. "It's the least I deserve, S3! I guess."
As the warrior named S3 turned towards the crater, L1 spoke up.
"That leaves the final objective." A weapon materialized in her hands. Long, white, and oddly shaped, all Rhaenyra could do was stare at it in fascination.
With a swift, fluid motion that reminded Rhaenyra of a hunting hawk, she aimed it at Syrax and Meleys.
Twin flashes of light, accompanied by sharp cracks, pierced the air.
The dragons let out roars of surprise…then slumped.
As did her Queensguard.
All around her, she could hear the panicked cries of her people, but they seemed distant as darkness crept into her vision.
"Mission successful, Calling in SEAF deployment." L1 declared, her voice echoing through the golden dome before Rhaenyra slipped into unconsciousness.
In the hazy space between wakefulness and oblivion, she glimpsed one final horrifying tableau. Joffrey, untouched by the warriors, was staring at the strange, gleaming object in a third warrior's hand.
The warrior was crouched beside him. The weapon, he said, was an M2012 hand cannon.
Joffrey, her sweet boy, stared at it in wonder.
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Hah, Done.
This fic will go on hiatus for a while, while I finish book 1 of my main fic, A Song of Sun and Stars.
Will come back to this as soon as that's done. (It's almost finished)
For those wondering, what just happened.
Helldivers inadvertently spread terminids wherever they go. (Theory goes that the eggs sneak on their ships)
And this planet already had an infestation in Valyria, that had remained dormant till now. Something, provoked them to come out. They will get progressively more difficult to deal with as we go forward. (this was maybe, a helldive level 4 or 5, just one Bile Titan (eliminate Bile Titan mission), for these people)
Super Earth's Ministry of Science wants as many dragons, and Targaryen captured to understand how the Targaryens managed to bond dragons to their blood.
