The grotesque spectacle before Rayder was unlike anything he had ever imagined.
A dragon eating another dragon.
At first, the sight struck him as absurd—almost comical in its savagery, like some twisted parody of the natural order. But beneath that fleeting sense of grim amusement, there was also something deeply disturbing, something cruel and primal that unsettled him to his very bones. Even for someone who had seen countless battles, who had ridden through fire and blood with monsters at his side, this was a vision out of nightmare.
Cannibal tore into the charred corpse of the green sub-adult dragon with the casual arrogance of a predator that feared nothing in this world. Each crunch of bone reverberated across the beach like thunderclaps. Flesh ripped, scales cracked, and the smell—oh, the smell—was overwhelming. A sickening blend of roasted meat and coppery blood filled the air, rolling in heavy waves that clung to the nose and tongue. It was nauseating, and yet… enticing.
Rayder caught himself swallowing. His stomach twisted in confusion. He had eaten a hearty meal earlier that morning, yet now, watching Cannibal feast, an inexplicable hunger gnawed at him. The sizzling steam rising from the corpse, the smoky char layered over the metallic tang of blood—it awakened a barbaric curiosity inside him.
What could dragon meat taste like?
The thought intruded on him before he could stop it, almost shameful in its audacity. Cannibal devoured its own kind with such relish, such abandon, that Rayder's mind refused to let go of the question.
If even a beast as ancient and cruel as Cannibal savored the flesh of dragons, then perhaps it was not only sustenance—it was a delicacy.
The more he watched, the more the temptation swelled, until it outweighed his earlier caution.
Rayder slid down from the massive back of Black Dragon Im, his boots landing softly on the rocky ground. His three dragons moved with him, their colossal forms casting vast shadows under the gray sky. Im and Red Dragon Yigen flanked him like loyal sentinels, while Kidora, with its three snapping heads, followed closely, each golden eye fixed on Cannibal.
Rayder's confidence swelled as he advanced. He was no ordinary man standing against this terror of Dragonstone—he was the rider of three great beasts, each of whom could unleash destruction on a scale mortals could scarcely comprehend. Even if Cannibal attacked, the balance of power would not be so one-sided.
Or so he thought.
Cannibal, for all its engrossed feasting, had been aware of their approach for some time. Those molten eyes—burning like pits of volcanic fire—had tracked every movement. It had chosen to ignore them only because the distance was tolerable, and because its hunger was greater than its rage.
But now, less than ten meters separated predator and intruder.
That invisible threshold was crossed.
Cannibal's head snapped upward in an instant, jaws smeared with gore, teeth glistening wet and sharp. The air trembled as it released an earth-shaking roar, a sound that seemed to tear the sky itself apart. The force of it blasted Rayder's hair back, tugged at his clothes, and rattled in his chest like war drums.
The roar was not just sound—it was fury made manifest. A warning that any further intrusion would mean death.
Rayder did not falter. His eyes narrowed, his stride steady. He pressed forward, every step deliberate, every breath controlled.
Im and Yigen responded instantly, their own throats rumbling with guttural growls. Twin gouts of smoke curled from their nostrils as they lowered their heads, wings flexing in silent challenge. In their massive jaws, light flickered—black fire and red fire gathering, condensing into spheres of lethal brilliance.
The air grew suffocating, charged with heat and malice.
Cannibal answered in kind. It opened its cavernous maw, green flames swirling in its throat like a storm contained within a cavern. The intensity of its heat warped the air, painting the world in a shimmering haze.
The standoff was unbearable.
One spark, one misstep, and the world would erupt in apocalyptic fire.
Rayder's pulse hammered against his temples, but his voice, when it came, was steady, commanding. He raised his hand, summoning the authority of an ancient tongue that rolled like thunder across the beach:
"Stop! All of you, stop!"
The words, spoken in High Valyrian, carried the weight of command, of will forged in fire and conquest. They struck the dragons like invisible chains, pulling them back from the brink.
Cannibal's flames sputtered out, though its throat still glowed faintly, hot embers smoldering within. Im and Yigen snapped their jaws shut in unison, smoke hissing through their nostrils as they restrained their fury.
The tension did not vanish, but it lessened, the world hanging on a fragile, trembling balance.
Cannibal lowered its head slightly, though not in submission. No—this was the instinctive motion of a beast protecting its kill. Its gaze, molten and merciless, locked onto Rayder. Every breath it exhaled was heat and hatred.
Rayder, heart pounding like a war drum, advanced another step.
Five meters now.
Cannibal reacted immediately, retreating just a fraction—its massive head pulling back, neck tensing, eyes narrowing. Its body language was unmistakable: this corpse is mine.
Rayder's lips curved in the faintest shadow of a smile. The temptation, the ambition, the madness—once again the thought returned.
What if I could tame it?
The black colossus before him was no ordinary dragon. It was ancient, untamed, a living nightmare. Its very name was spoken in dread: Cannibal. If he could bend such a creature to his will, if he could add this apex predator to his command, then even the proud Targaryens would tremble.
He inched closer, raising a hand slowly, palm outstretched, aiming to touch the thick-scaled snout of the beast.
That was the breaking point.
Cannibal's entire body coiled like a tightened spring, its muscles bulging beneath the obsidian armor of its scales. A guttural snarl rumbled deep in its chest, vibrating the ground itself. Its head lowered, jaws parting just enough to expose a forest of fangs, each one slick with blood.
Every instinct in Rayder screamed danger.
The air thickened with menace, his sixth sense shrieking alarms as sharp as blades. It was not the vague unease of risk—it was the certainty of death. One step further, and Cannibal would strike with all the force of an avalanche.
Rayder froze. His hand hovered in the air, trembling ever so slightly. He withdrew, retreating just enough to keep the space between them at three meters.
The fragile equilibrium reasserted itself.
Above Dragonstone's gray sky, the tableau stretched into eternity: three behemoths—Im, Yigen, and Cannibal—forming a deadly triangle of power, with Rayder and the golden-eyed Kidora at the center.
Every movement mattered. Every glance carried weight.
Rayder's mind sharpened. He remembered, with perfect clarity, the lessons he had carved into his soul while taming dragons:
First—the gaze. Never show fear. Never flinch. Dragons smell cowardice like blood in the water.
Second—boldness. One must test, and push, and probe, but always with patience. Too fast, and death would come instantly.
Third—the stare. Never lose the contest of eyes. Even if your legs quiver and your bladder betrays you, the eyes must remain unyielding.
He stared into Cannibal's burning gaze, his own unflinching. Time stretched, distorted. Seconds felt like centuries.
One step. Another.
Slowly, inexorably, Rayder shortened the distance.
Two meters.
One and a half.
The scent overwhelmed him now—blood, ash, scales scorched by dragonfire. The air shimmered with heat radiating off Cannibal's body. His skin prickled, sweat beading along his brow despite the cool winds of Dragonstone.
Finally, less than one meter separated them.
Rayder could hear its breath—ragged, molten, the exhalations of a living furnace. He could see every detail of its monstrous form: the ridges of its scales, the cracks where old scars had healed, the faint glow in the gaps of its teeth.
The beast before him was death incarnate.
And yet, he did not retreat.
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