Aegon's POV
We can't stay here, Aegon thought, looking at the wooden platform beneath him, before turning up toward the flying shapes of winged monsters slowly approaching. The wooden wharf groaned under the weight of dozens of armed, and panicked men.
"Men retreat to the port and form up!" He barked out.
The words snapped at his men like a whip through the air. Around him, dozens of stunned eyes turned toward Aegon, and like wildfyre being poured on top of a fading ember, a great fire was reignited as trained sailors, and soldiers backed off the main wharf in a tight, and orderly fashion.
"Quenton, get every archer on top of those roofs." He said once they're back on solid ground, pointing to the higher buildings lining the port. "I want arrows in the air the moment I give my order."
Quenton stiffened as he protested. "My lord, we should get you to safety first."
Aegon turned to him, his gaze as sharp as Valyrian steel. "I gave you an order, Ser Quenton."
There was a beat of silence, then a resigned sigh. "As you command, my lord."
Quenton turned and sent a runner toward the rally point where most of the archers had first gathered when the ships appeared out of the fog. Then with a steady hand, he pulled out a bullhorn whistle to his lips, and waited for his liege's signal.
"Visenya would be wroth with rage if she sees this brother." Orys chuckled in quiet amusement as he said to Aegon.
Aegon grinned at the mention of his wife as he glanced at Orys with a meaningful smile. "She won't have the energy to be mad at me for long."
"And why, pray tell, is that?" Orys asked, confusion, and curiosity on his face.
"Not really a good time to say this, but you're gonna be an uncle Orys, Visenya is with child." Aegon chuckled, a wide smile on his face as he joyfully said.
An incredulous expression passed on Orys' face before the giant of a man steeled himself with a hardened resolve. "All the more reason for you not to fall here then, brother."
"Same to you dear brother, I want my child to have his uncle by his side when he grows up." Replied Aegon as they both nodded toward one another, silently making a solemn promise to protect each other's back.
Sword hand tightened on Blackfyre, Aegon waited as tensed seconds turned to minutes, before the flock of monsters got into his archer's range.
"Now Quenton!!! Loose"
Quenton inhaled, and blew into the horn as the sky exploded with hundreds of arrows tearing through the air in a single unified volley. Unnatural screeches followed, as the thudding sound of steel meeting flesh sounded out. Half a dozen of the creatures dropped like stones, with arrows riddled their bodies, before the rest scattered with unnatural dexterity.
Loud cheers of his men rang out, before being silenced by the scene of about two and a half dozen of the creatures left alive, diving down into the sea.
"Shit," Aegon cursed, watching the last of them vanishing beneath the wave. "They can swim?"
He turned, hands clenched nervously as he ordered. "Ready your weapons and tighten our formation."
His soldiers obeyed. They pulled in closer amongst each other along the stone edge of the dock, spears, swords and shields angled down toward the ocean beneath.
The sea foamed silently in front of them, before the first blur came. A dark shape launched from the water like a loaded crossbow at a soldier, before veering to avoid the thrusted steel tip of his spear, and grabbed the man by his throat using its jaw. The creature's tail coiled around him, as the monster flapped its wings, lifting the man into the air.
An agonizing shriek came out of the man as the creature bit down on his neck. Blood sprayed in an arch, as the man went limp. Before anyone could do, or say anything, more shapes came out of the water, grabbing men left and right into the air, and killing them on the spot.
Arrows were loose without any signals, as the sound of steel meeting flesh rang out. Although this time, it was not monster flesh that the archers hit.
"They're using them… they are using our men as shields!!! Aim for their wings!!!" Aegon bellowed out a desperate guttural shout, as he prayed that the archers heard his order.
One, two, then more arrows shifted as they started flying toward the two dozen creatures' wings. But with a much smaller target, accompanied with the monsters' superhuman agility, most of the archers missed their marks, with only a few punching small holes into the monster's webbed wing membrane.
As the volley rolled to a stop, the flock of creatures descended closer on the rooftops, before all opening their jaws, revealing rows of sharp teeths dyed with flesh, and blood. The monsters then inhaled, and let out high pitched screeches that generated small funnel shaped supersonic screams that ruptured his archers' eadrums, knocking many of them off the roof.
On the ground, men watched in horror as a group of two dozen flying monsters slowly dismantled more than a hundred of their long ranged troops. Mutters of prayers, and frightened screams rang out around Aegon, as he looked on in wonder.
"Magic" Aegon whispered, amazed, and fascinated as he felt the wind aligned chaos increasing in concentration at the battle in the sky.
"They're picking our archers apart, Aegon. Without them, we're sitting ducks waiting to be slaughtered." Orys spoke up, a firm hand on his shoulder, snapping Aegon out of his thoughts.
"Ser Orys is right, my lord. Plus with what's going on right now, there's a real chance of mass desertion, leading to a rout on our front." His commander, Ser Quenton whispered, and looked to Aegon with a pleading gaze, practically begging him to retreat before he's in any more danger.
Aegon gave a once over at both Quenton, and Orys, noticing the trembling hands holding onto their weapons in stark contrast with the determined gaze on their faces.
I'm blessed with loyal men, Aegon thought before shaking his head.
"No, I still have a plan." Aegon muttered, before diving into the bond between him, and Balerion.
'When are you coming back buddy? I kinda need you right about now.'
A series of images flashed through his mind, as he saw black spear-like claws dropping a giant whale into the ocean, before Balerion himself flew in the direction of what could only be Dragonstone.
To think he's out hunting at this hour, what a shitty day, Aegon thought as he concentrated, and pulled on the fire aligned magic in the air to buy more time for his dragon to get back.
A vivid imagination of an eastern dragon blossomed forth in Aegon's mind as he held out his hand, sweat dripping from his brows. Usually what he's trying to do would be impossible without either being on Balerion, or inside the Dragonmont itself. But with the increased magic in the air, Aegon felt like he could attempt a spell that, although not as impressive as his dragon's flame, could wipe out a small squad of armored knights on horseback.
All around Aegon, men started sweating in the cold winter weather, as an orange ball of flame bloomed into existence. Said ball of flame grew bigger, and brighter, until it's twenty times the size of a man's fist, and stopped. The flame then lengthened like a whip, before turning into a serpent like shape with a dragon's head that is thirty feet long.
"By the gods…" "Impossible…" "Magic, our lord can use magic!!!" "He's blessed, Aegon flame bender, we're saved!!!!" Whispered all his soldiers in amazement, and worship, as they too noticed the commotion around Aegon.
By the time he opened his eyes, an empty area had been cleared around him, as the heat itself became too much for normal men to bear barring himself, and Orys.
"Since when have you been able to do this, brother?" Orys mumbled in amazement at the scale of magic being performed before his very eyes.
"Qui-quiet Orys." Aegon muttered, his mind, soul, and very body struggled with the task of keeping this flaming construct under control.
Fire magic, or pyrokinesis, while is the easiest for a Targeryen to use, Aegon finds, is also the most volatile type of magic that he has come across. He himself suspected that if one does not bear the blood of the dragonlords of old, one would find fire magic next to impossible to control on a larger scale.
Taking a deep breath, Aegon pushed his hands forward, the orange dragon construct flew forth at his gesture toward the assaulting monsters.
Crackling sound of fire reverberated through the air, as temperature increased everywhere the serpentine dragon went, setting flame to woods, and charring stones itself. It took all told, less than a second for the flaming construct to close in on its first prey, before opening its maws, and engulfing the monster whole, leaving nought but ashes in its wake.
On and on his spell went, chasing, and preying on the 'sirens' in the sky, killing four and ten of them, before the flock of monsters finally noticed the abnormality. The remaining six and ten fled, ascending into the sky in a desperate attempt to escape the fiery death.
Seeing this, Aegon raised his hand, sending the construct after them, sweat dripping down his brow in the process. Bit by bit, his construct was gaining on the flock before it happened. Like some sort of pre rehearsed play, they turned, all at once, the sirens spun in the air, before letting out high pitched screeches that combined to create a giant wind funnel that pushed against his spell like a tidal wave.
Aegon staggered, his heels digging into the scorched stones. His knees buckled, but he didn't fall, no. Aegon refused to fall. His fingers curled into a fist as he pushed forward, drawing on his rage, on the images of dead men torn, and ripped apart in the sky, His men!!
How dare they?
How dare they take what's his?
Aegon raged as he pushed forward, letting out a roar of his own. Blood dripped down from his nose as Aegon's construct that was in a tug and war game with the monsters finally tore past the sonic attack, slamming into four of the sirens, instantly turning them into ashes.
And then— nothing.
Aegon's breath hitched, the strength in his legs gave out, as the flaming dragon slowly flickered, then vanished in the air.
Falling onto one knee onto the scorched stone, he felt his vision blur as screams, shouts echoed around him.
Before blackness took him, Aegon heard it.
A roar.
A bone shaking, terror inducing roar that far surpassed any siren's cry
A smile bloomed on his face then, as the world went dark.
An unnamed mage's POV
In a dark hallway strewn with corpses piled atop one another, sounds of fighting, and steel clashing can be heard, as blood flowed like rivers along the cracked stone.
Amid the slaughter and chaos, an old man strolled leisurely.
Draped in a long dark robe, carrying a wooden staff in his hand, he walked with unhurried, and measured steps, a tune humming under his breath.
Then—steel flashed.
A blade burst from his chest, straight through his lungs, as he gasped, eyes widened in shock before his body fell limb.
"Die, freak." Muttered a dark hooded assassin, his voice filled with venom.
He yanked the blade free, ready to clean it—when the body at his feet shimmered, and vanished. In its place rose a swamp of butterflies, hundred in numbers, and diverse in colors as they twirled around the shocked assassin.
"Terribly sorry," a voice whispered behind the assassin's ear, before a hand reached from the shadows, gripping the assassin's head.
"but I'm afraid I can't die just yet."
The dark hooded killer's eyes turned glassy as the presumed dead old man stepped out from the darkness, and removed his hand from his "killer"'s head.
"Now," he said cheerfully, "since I'm but a feeble old man, and can't really compete with you young'uns in a physical confrontation—would you please do me a favor and slit your own throat? Save me some trouble."
The dazed assassin obeyed, as he ran his blade through his neck. Blood erupted in a fountain as he fell limb.
Satisfied, the old man gave the corpse a courteous nod, and resumed his walk toward the towering obsidian tower in the distance.
At the tower base stood a double wooden door lined with iron. The old mage, seeing this, raised his hand before it glowed a dark green glow. Runes and symbols flashed into being on the door's surface before fading away, alongside the sturdy door itself as the old man walked into his magic tower.
Passing through stacks of dusty tomes, rusted half finished contraptions, and books suspended midair, some flipping pages on their own, the old mage walked in silence only stopping when he reached a plain stone wall.
He tapped his staff once against it. The walls twisted sideways with a low grind, revealing a staircase descending toward the darkness. Walking down the depth, the old man saw a bloated, red-faced man, sweat slicking his cheeks as fears gleamed in his eyes.
"Stregobor!!!" The fat man croaked. "My loyal servant! Quick, get us out of here."
The old man, now named Stregobor, bowed low, a warm grandfatherly smile on his face.
"Patience, my king. It will take them days, if not weeks to breach my tower."
The king's shoulders dropped in relief before his expression hardened into venom.
"Good. Good! When we escape, I'll gather my loyal men, and strike back at the Thyssen. I'll burn their line to cinders, and you my loyal servant, will have whatever it is you desire."
Stregobor's smile didn't fade, but a hint of pity glinted behind it. He said nothing, and stepped into an adjoining chamber.
Floating wisp of flames illuminated the now grim laboratory, as carcasses of men, and monsters were cut open, and lined along the wall. At the center of the room laid a half dissected, horribly disfigured corpse of a woman. Her skins carved with runes, and geometric lines that pulsed faintly with light.
The king followed him in, mostly unfazed by the gruelly sight except for the slight squint of his nose from the smell of dead corpses
"I built you a grand tower fitting for a royal mage, yet here you are conducting your research at the bottom of a basement." He huffed, slightly annoyed at Stregobor.
Stregobor shuffled through a pile of notes, not looking back.
"Most mages often store their secrets at the top of their towers—too arrogant to think any ordinary mortal man can reach them. As a master of illusion art, I myself find that a little deception, and a little for the theatrics goes a long way in burying your secrets."
"No matter, when are we leaving? This whole place reeks of your foul experiments." Asked the king, shaking his head in dismissal.
Glancing over his shoulder, Stregobor clenched his fist, crumbling the papers in his hands, before setting them in flame. Fully turned now toward his king, the mage said, his voice much colder now.
"Me? In a moment." He extended his hand. "You, Your Grace, won't be leaving at all."
A shard of ice materialized in his palm, and with a whisper, launched itself toward the king's chest.
The king stumbled back, clutching at his wound, blood pouring down his fine robes.
"Wh—why?" He gasped, choking on his own blood.
Stregobor stepped forward, his expression unreadable. "I'm sorry. I truly am, but I just can't risk anyone leaking my work to the Brotherhood."
The king fell, twitching once, before he went limp, his eyes turned lifeless.
Stregobor turned away, conjuring a shimmering portal in the center of the room. As he stepped through it, he paused, looking southeast.
There, in the air, magic, and chaos rippled as a metaphorical great ball flame was birthed into being.
Stregobor narrowed his eyes, intrigued.
"Fascinating" he whispered.
Then the portal closed.
And behind him, the tower's foundation cracked and crumbled as his lab detonated in a surge of fiery flame, sending debris and bodies into the air.