In the torrential rain, Aemond began to control the reins.
"(Easy, Vhagar.)"
Vhagar's enormous nostrils, cavernous like caves, expelled two streams of scorching white vapor, and she let out a deep roar like the collapse of distant mountains.
Then her gigantic wings—whose span was nearly a hundred ters and yet seed disproportionate to her massive body—beat again with full force!
Ancient muscles bulged beneath her scales. The shrill scream of her wings tearing through the air overwheld the wind and rain, and the colossal dragon's body turned into a gray shadow ripping across the night sky, carrying a suffocating sense of pressure as she chased toward Jacaerys and the others.
On Vhagar's left side, slightly ahead, the black dragon Lothorne flew in an entirely different posture.
He did not possess Vhagar's crushing heaviness, but instead had a heart-stirring, astonishing speed and agility.
With a wingspan already nearing twenty ters, he moved freely through the torrential rain. His pure black scales revealed their smooth, powerful outline only in the instant when lightning split the sky, along with the dark red-gold vertical pupils burning with the fury of his master—whose anger he could feel.
He let out a series of low, short roars, filled with nace and the thrill of the hunt.
He did not need explicit commands. The connection within their blood allowed him to fully understand his master's intent—death.
Helaena's Dreamfyre struggled to keep up. The silver-blue she-dragon seed sowhat uneasy, occasionally letting out soft whimpers.
Helaena's face, illuminated by lightning that occasionally tore across the sky, was pale as paper.
She saw the firelight of the Dragonpit growing clearer and clearer. She saw, in the eastern sky, the silhouettes of three small dragons desperately fleeing eastward.
"Seven gods…" she murmured in a lost voice. She brought Dreamfyre to a hover.
At this mont, Aemond's mind was in a state of extre concentration.
Three targets. Three young dragons. Injured. Panicked. Fleeing east…
Their routes, speed, and condition instantly ford a clear hunting plan in his mind.
Let Vhagar pressure them head-on, while Lothorne pursued and cleared the flank… the tactic was simple and direct.
His gaze locked particularly onto the black speck flying last, its posture clearly staggering.
Tyraxes was injured… the most vulnerable—and the best point of breakthrough.
"(Fly, Vhagar. Catch them.)" he whispered again.
At the sa ti, Aemond glanced toward Lothorne flying beside him. With a single exchange of looks, Lothorne completely understood his master's intent.
The target—the one at the back. Kill it.
The blood-red light in Lothorne's vertical pupils flared brightly.
He no longer roared. Instead, he concentrated all his power into his wings and began to beat them with full force!
The black dragon's speed instantly soared. His already leading position rapidly widened the distance from Vhagar as he cut through the curtain of rain, tearing apart the howl of the wind.
Along a straight and rciless pursuit path, he lunged directly toward the staggering figure at the rear of the fleeing group—Joffrey and his Tyraxes!
"Joffrey! Behind you! Speed up!" Lucerys was the first to look back and saw the small black dragon Lothorne breaking through the rain.
That speed… it was too fast—so fast it exceeded his understanding of dragons!
Joffrey also heard the unusual tearing sound of the air behind him and turned back in terror.
In the darkness, he saw only two vertical pupils rapidly growing larger, burning with golden flas.
"Tyraxes! Quick! Hurry!" he urged with a trembling voice, nearly crying, frantically striking the dragon's neck.
But the wounded Tyraxes had already exhausted his strength.
The severe injury to his hind leg not only brought intense pain and blood loss, but also seriously affected his flight balance and his ability to exert force.
Not only could his speed not increase—it was slowly decreasing.
Within a few breaths—only a few breaths! Lothorne's ferocious dragon head, sharp horns, and cold gleaming fangs were already clearly reflected in Joffrey's eyes.
He could even sll the sulfurous scent coming from the black dragon, different from Vhagar's—more youthful, more violent—mixed with a pure predatory hunger.
There was no probing, no warning, not even ti left for the prey to feel fear.
Lothorne's execution was clean and decisive.
The instant he entered optimal attack range, he slightly adjusted his posture. With an extrely violent diving acceleration, the dragon claw of his right hind limb—harder than steel—tore through the rain curtain and viciously clamped toward the relatively slender and fragile back of Tyraxes's neck.
It was the place just in front of where the rider usually sat!
"No!" Joffrey let out the final scream of his life.
The next second—
RIP!!
CRACK!!!
The combined, brutal sound of muscle and sinew being forcibly torn apart and cervical bones being crushed and shattered by imnse force overwheld the wind and rain—and even briefly drowned out Tyraxes's abruptly cut-off wail.
Lothorne's claws sank deeply into Tyraxes's flesh and scales, steadying himself. At the sa ti, his powerful jaws—far stronger than those of dragons his age—snapped open and bit down on the spot above where his claws had pinned Tyraxes's neck.
Then, using the montum of the dive and the full explosive force of his neck muscles, he perford a motion so cruel it was almost beyond belief—he jerked his head and tore.
Pshhk—shrrk!
The dragon's head, together with a large mass of flesh, bone, and the rider seated upon the dragon's neck—Joffrey Velaryon—was seized by an irresistible and brutally savage force. Half of Joffrey's body was violently torn and ripped away from the dragon's body.
The blood did not rely pour out—it burst forth like a breached flood, exploding into a vast cloud of blood that sprayed violently through the torrential rain.
The headless Tyraxes stiffened abruptly. All strength vanished in an instant. His wings drooped, and the uncontrolled corpse—together with the lifeless remains of the boy still clutching the dragon's neck—began to tumble and spin as they plunged toward the ink-black waters of Blackwater Bay below.
Until a dull "splash" rose from the sea.
All traces of Joffrey Velaryon and his companion Tyraxes were swiftly swallowed by the waves of Blackwater Bay.
"Brother!!!"
Jacaerys and Lucerys looked back at the scene and cried out at the sa ti, their voices torn with grief.
Lucerys's vision went dark. The violent surge of grief nearly caused him to fall straight from Arrax's back.
That was their youngest brother! The one who had always been a little timid, who followed behind them, eyes shining as he listened to his older brothers tell stories!
Right before his eyes, in such a cruel and casual manner, he had been torn apart—erased.
Witnessing such unimaginable bloodshed.
The last remnants of Lucerys's courage and reason began to collapse completely.
Jacaerys's single eye instantly filled with bloodshot veins. Boundless hatred drowned the first shock of grief, and a beastlike roar burst from his throat.
"Ah!!!"
But after delivering the fatal blow, Lothorne did not stop.
His dark red-gold vertical pupils shifted toward the remaining two targets. Blood dripped from his jaws, drawing fleeting crimson lines in the rain.
And higher above them, the mountain-like shadow of Vhagar—heavy with overwhelming oppression—was closing in with a pace that seed slow yet was in truth unstoppable, beginning to envelop Jacaerys and Lucerys.
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