Tyrosh, The Purple Palace, Iron Gate Corridor
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
Under the desperate orders of Saeraes Moss, a group of Tyroshi light infantry—men Jon had overlooked in the shadows—suddenly hurled dozens of heavy leather satchels over the iron portcullis. Moss had been so traumatized by Jon's supernatural defense that he had abandoned wooden barrels, fearing they would be intercepted; these flexible leather bladders were harder to track in the dark.
"It's broken! The barrier is gone!" "Charge! Now, while he's vulnerable!"
A roar of triumph erupted from the Tyroshi lines. Jon glanced back and realized that the "Light Aegis" magic circle he had deployed earlier had finally flickered and died under the sustained pressure.
Boom—!
The victory was short-lived. As the first wave of regulars surged forward, they triggered a Fire Mine—a tactical trap Jon's spiders had buried earlier. A 3x3 meter blast of magical flame tore through the corridor, reducing the front rank to charred bone.
Realizing the enemy was now fully committed to a zerg-style rush, Jon shifted Dark Sister into its scepter form. A sphere of swirling, obsidian-black energy gathered at the tip as he channeled the Dark Magic spell: "Molten Flow."
Vrr-vrr-vrr—!
"What is that black light?" "Get back! Something's wrong!"
The Tyroshi, having never seen Dark Magic, hesitated for a crucial few seconds. That hesitation was their death sentence. The Molten Flow erupted, a wave of liquid shadow that didn't just burn—it dissolved. Panic rippled through the survivors, and in the frantic shuffling, a soldier dropped his torch into the sea of leaked Fire Oil from the leather satchels.
K-BOOM!
The corridor turned into a furnace. Hundreds of men were instantly transformed into screaming, sprinting human torches.
"CURSE YOU!" Saeraes Moss screamed from the safety of the rear. "Throw the barrels! Use the levers! Launch everything! I want that sorcerer baked in his own skin!"
Moss was no longer trying to take the gate; he was trying to turn the Inspection Room into a kiln. He believed that even if Jon's armor could deflect a sword, the radiating heat would eventually roast the man inside.
The Breaking of the Gates
Clang... Clack... Clack...
Beneath the roar of the fire, the massive iron gates of the Purple Palace finally groaned. A gap wide enough for a man to squeeze through appeared.
Outside, the siege had reached a fever pitch. Allied mercenaries, fueled by the promise of Tyroshi gold, pushed modified Siege Mantlets forward. These were heavy wagons with reinforced roofs covered in wet hide and thick mud—a primitive but effective defense against Fire Oil and arrows.
Inside the mantlets, soldiers carried buckets of sand. Whenever Fire Oil splashed over the sides, they shoveled sand onto the flames, a grueling, life-and-death game of endurance. Jon's earlier destruction of the bastion's heavy weaponry meant only 30% of the city's defenses were active. It was enough for the mercenaries to make their move.
As the first mercenary squeezed through the gap in the iron gates, he raised a heavy ox-horn to his lips.
Awoooo—!
The sound echoed through the stone tunnel, a death knell for the Tyroshi defenders.
"We're in!" "The Palace has fallen! Kill the masters!"
The mercenaries flooded into the breach, their war-cries drowning out the crackle of the flames.
"Now! IGNITE IT!" Moss shrieked.
Using improvised catapults and levers, the Tyroshi launched a final, massive volley of Fire Oil barrels at the base of the Inspection Room. Torches followed.
WHOO-OOM!
A wall of fire, more terrifying than any magic Jon had yet cast, roared up toward the ceiling. The heat was so intense that the mercenaries at the far end of the corridor had to shield their faces. The Inspection Room was completely engulfed.
"Surely he is dead now," Moss whispered, a savage, hopeful smile crossing his face.
Creeeeeak...
Through the roar of the inferno, the sound of heavy metal grinding against stone emerged. The Tyroshi watched in horror as the iron portcullis—the one Jon was supposed to be guarding from within the fire—began to slowly rise.
"How? How can a man breathe in that hell?" Moss staggered back, his mind fracturing.
Suddenly, a localized gale of freezing air swirled within the heart of the fire.
CRACK—SHATTER!
The thermal shock of the sudden cold meeting the blistering heat caused the stone masonry of the Inspection Room's front wall to explode outward.
Jon stepped through the smoke and flame, his black plate armor glowing a dull, angry red, but his blood-red cloak remained untouched. He held his scepter high, and a magical Blizzard began to howl around him, suppressing the flames until they were nothing but dying embers.
"I am Aegon Targaryen!" Jon's voice boomed, amplified by the stone corridors. "I am the blood of the True Dragon! Fire cannot consume me! Blood and fire have witnessed my rise! Who will stand with the Dragon? WHO WILL FIGHT FOR THE KING?"
The mercenaries, witnessing what looked like a literal god emerging from the pyre, erupted in a religious frenzy.
"WE WITNESS! FOR THE DRAGON KING!"
Jon didn't wait. He shifted Dark Sister into its flaming greatsword mode.
Squelch!
He moved like a phantom, decapitating the nearest Tyroshi officer before the man could even raise his shield. The head spun through the air, trailing a ribbon of blood.
"Our homes are behind us! Stand and—!" A purple-haired sergeant tried to rally the troops, but Jon's blade sheared him in half from shoulder to hip before the sentence could finish.
"MONSTER!" "RUN! THE DRAGON IS UNBURNT!"
The Tyroshi regulars, who had mocked the fleeing guards earlier, now understood the primal terror of their brothers. They turned and fled into the palace depths.
"Cowards! Stand your ground!" Saeraes Moss screamed, striking a fleeing soldier with his own blade, but the tide was too strong.
"Archon! Look out!" his bodyguard yelled, pointing at the dark silhouette of Aegon Targaryen leaping toward them through the smoke.