While the North hailed the Domesticated Hellhounds as their new guardians, the news reaching the South was far more distorted. In the Red Keep, Aerys II clutched the armrests of the Iron Throne, his long, jagged fingernails digging into the metal until they bled.
"Bones!" the Mad King shrieked, his voice cracking. "The Starks are arming their men with the ribs of the dead! They weave the remains of monsters into their steel and call it 'honor'! They think to march on me with a legion of ghouls?"
"Bones!" the Mad King shrieked, his voice cracking. "The Starks are arming their men with the ribs of the dead! They weave the remains of monsters into their steel and call it 'honor'! They think to march on me with a legion of ghouls?"
Aerys turned his crazed gaze toward the wildfire alchemists. "If the Wolf uses the dead, I shall use the sun! Burn the messengers! Burn anyone who whispers the name Lancaster!"
In the West, however, the reaction was far more calculated. At Casterly Rock, Tywin Lannister read the reports from his spies with narrowed eyes. The news of "Demon Dogs" protecting Northern children didn't make him scream; it made him go cold.
"Fire-breathing hounds that obey a boy's command," Tywin whispered, his fingers steepled. "If Ned Stark has tamed the monsters of the Abyss, the balance of the Seven Kingdoms hasn't just shifted—it has vanished."
In the deep, freezing caverns beneath Winterfell, Philips stood before a massive archway etched with shifting, volcanic runes. This was a Sovereign Portal, a stabilized rift designed for one purpose: the mining of Infernium.
"Common iron and silver will only take us so far," Philips explained to the gathered volunteers. "Infernium is the blood of the Abyss. It is the only metal that can forge the Great Demon Slayer weapons. But to get it, you must go into the pits themselves."
The volunteers were not soldiers, but miners—hardy men from the Rills and the Mountains. They looked at the swirling red vortex with pale faces, but they did not run. They had seen the Hellhounds protect their children; they trusted the boy.
"To survive the heat and the pressure of the Abyss," Philips continued, "Satan will grant you his mark."
The King of Chaos stepped forward, his human form flickering with a violent, orange heat. As the miners knelt, Satan pressed his glowing palm against their chests.
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[SYSTEM: PACT INITIATED – SATAN X MINERS]
[CLASS UNLOCKED: ABYSSAL EXCAVATORS]
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The miners let out a collective gasp. Their skin turned the color of cooled lava, and their lungs adapted to breathe the sulfurous air of the rift. They stood up, picking up their heavy picks, and marched into the red light of the portal without a single flinch.
While the men prepared for the pits and the front lines, a different kind of line had formed in the courtyard of Winterfell. It was a silent, determined procession of women—high-born ladies and smallfolk alike.
They stood before Asmodeus, the Priestess of Suffering. In her human form, she was breathtakingly beautiful, yet her eyes held a sharp, predatory intelligence.
"You seek the power to protect when the walls fail," Asmodeus purred, her voice like silk over a razor. "You seek to turn your vulnerability into a weapon."
One by one, they knelt before her. Asmodeus didn't use a brand; she shared a drop of her own violet-tinted blood, touching it to their lips.
"The pact of the Rose," Philips whispered from the balcony, watching the ritual. "They will gain the Sanguine Veil. They'll move faster than the eye can follow, striking at the vital points of any beast that dares enter their homes."
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[SYSTEM: PACT INITIATED – ASMODEUS X NORTHERN WOMEN]
[CLASS UNLOCKED: SISTERS OF THE PIT]
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As the women stood, their movements became fluid and lethal. They didn't look like monsters, but there was a new, dangerous sharpening to their gazes.
Ned Stark watched the lava-skinned miners disappearing into the rift and the women standing with the poise of assassins. He looked at the Hellhounds sleeping by the hearth.
"We are no longer the people we were, Philips," Ned said, his voice heavy with the resonance of Beelzebub.
"No," Philips replied, watching the first baskets of glowing Infernium ore being hauled out of the portal. "You are becoming something better. You are becoming survivors."
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[SYSTEM: RESOURCE ACQUIRED – INFERNIUM ORE]
[ALERT: A LARGE-SCALE TEARING IS OPENING AT THE TRIDENT. TOTAL COLLAPSE IMMINENT.]
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The air in the Winterfell smithy had changed. It no longer smelled of soot and coal, but of sulfur and the metallic tang of Infernium. Philips stood before the Great Anvil, the glowing red ore from the Abyssal Portals casting long, dancing shadows against the walls.
"The time for simple silver is over," Philips announced to the gathered smiths. "Nivlatth steel saved our walls, but to close a Mega-Rift, we need the Great Demon Slayers. Bring me the base weapons!"
At his command, the smiths brought forth the heavy steel: the Bestial Axes, the heavy-bladed Torture Cleavers, and the jagged Ferocious Slashers. These were brutal, masterwork weapons, but against the Archons of the Abyss, they were still just cold iron.
"Now," Philips said, his eyes glowing with the blue fire of Leviathan. "The catalysts."
He reached into a leather satchel and pulled out the Demon Teeth harvested from the Hellhounds and the wild ravagers. Beside them, he placed the pulsing, volcanic Infernium.
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[SYSTEM: UNKNOWN BLACKSMITH'S FORGING INITIATED]
[Ingredients: Base Weapon + Demon Tooth + Infernium Ore]
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Philips didn't use a hammer. He grasped the air, and the Infernium liquefied, swirling like molten blood. He forced the liquid metal into the steel blades while pressing the Demon Teeth into the hilts. The screech of the metal was like a dying god's scream.
When the violet light faded, the new weapons sat upon the anvil:
Bestial Axe: The blade was now twice as thick, etched with veins of Infernium that throbbed with a dark heat.
Orc Lord Evisceration Cleaver: A massive, terrifying blade that felt heavier than it looked, designed to split even the thickest demonic plate.
Ferocious Cleaver of Ancient Demon: A jagged, curved weapon that hummed with a predatory hunger, its edge sharper than a razor.
"Take them," Philips whispered to the elite Wardens. "These are the only blades that can bleed an Archon."
Philips climbed the battlements and looked out over the courtyard. Thousands of soldiers stood ready—knights with Beelzebub's strength, scouts with Baal's poison, and the Sorcerer-Maesters with Leviathan's lightning. The Domesticated Hellhounds paced at the front of the column, their eyes glowing like balefire.
"Listen to me!" Philips's voice boomed, carrying the resonance of the Infernal King. "A Mega-Rift is opening at the Trident! It is a gateway to the deep Abyss. Normal silver will shatter against what is coming! If that rift opens fully, it won't just be the Riverlands that fall—it will be the world!"
The soldiers didn't cheer; they struck their shields with a rhythmic, metallic thud.
"We march for the Trident!" Ned Stark bellowed, mounting his horse. His Infernal Warden armor was now adorned with the Trophy of Death, and he carried the Bestial Axe strapped to his back. "For the North! For the Living!"
As the Legion marched out of the gates, the people of Winterfell—the women of the Sanguine Veil and the lava-skinned Abyssal Excavators—lined the walls. They didn't toss flowers; they knelt and began a low, humming prayer to the Old Gods.
"Come back," a young girl whispered, clutching a stone her Hellhound had broken for her.
Philips looked back one last time at the home he had fortified. He felt the weight of the Forbidden Ritual Daggers at his waist and the countdown in his vision.
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[SYSTEM: MISSION – THE TRIDENT MASSACRE]
[Objective: Destroy the Archon of the Mega-Rift.]
[Time to Emergence: 48 Hours.]
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"Lucifer, Satan," Philips said, his human form beginning to flicker as he prepared to toggle. "Let's go kill a god."