Arthur: I had every intention of posting this chapter during the superbowl lmao. But this chapter is very action packed and the story will pick up speed after this chapter. Enjoy!

Jon

He did not know how long he sat in the darkness with his hate. Jon didn't think it mattered. His fury burned within him as his wounds blistered and his stomach growled with lack of food. He was beginning to feel nauseous from poor nutrition, and his eye feels heavy with sleep. But Jon did not want to sleep. He latched on to his hate. It made him feel wrathful, made him feel focused. The anger made it easy to use his glass eye to peer inside the ship when his grey eye cannot. Jon focused on his glass eye as it sharpened into a tunnel vision as it phased through the door of the room and into the hallway.

The atmosphere of the Silence was grim and dim with naught a sound to be made. There was a creak there, and the sound of the water hitting the hulls of the ship, but there was not a peep of human noise. Based on that alone, there can be an assumption that there weren't any humans present at all. "But I know better. The beast has them chained somewhere, hidden away to be played with later." Jon gritted his teeth at that, urging the eye to go deeper into the ship. He came upon one room, where a mute stood still as the dead, eyes unresponsive. He had no life in him.

He came to another room where a naked woman was held in the air by a pair of chains on her wrists. Bloody strips lined her abdomen and her rear. Her head was hung low, eyes lifeless. Her body slowly turned and turned, very like a goose roasting over a fire, as the Silence swayed.

Another room was even more gruesome. A lone trestle table sat in the middle. A dead body buzzing with flies laid there, eyes, feet, ears, hands missing. Needles and knives and other materials were next to the body crusted with old blood. The eyelids were stitched shut. The mouth even more so but manipulated in a way so it bore a wide smile. The sigil of the Crow's eye was branded on the head, red and bloody. Euron even took it further by doing artwork on the body with more blood. The chest was decorated with blood, splattered in ways that it looked like elegant writing but in another language. It was disturbing.

"He's playing with the dead."

In the next room, Jon was exposed to a scene of a warlock chained, bound at the mouth, as a mute steadily separated his fingers at the joints with a big cleaver. The pale and bloody fingers were discarded to a corner where a pile of other pieces of bodies lay.

Jon found out that the other rooms were the same way. It was a bunch of savagery done in silence. Heaps of body parts were collected, and the blood was saved and stored. He had no doubt that other ships in Euron's name were doing the same. "He is preparing for the monster," Jon thought grimly. "He is going to do blood magic once again. It's going to be big."

A deep uneasiness settled in his gut. "Is it going to be enough? Magic didn't help the Valyrians. And we have no dragons to try to escape."

"I will do my part. I will learn and survive. I have experienced too much to be killed here…before I give others pain that they have given me."

He withdrew his glass eye from the room and sought out the main chambers of the ship. When his eye entered the room, Jon immediately noticed the change in atmosphere. It felt heavier, absurdly. And it was not just because of the head mounted on the wall.

Euron sat at the desk, a candle flickering in front of his face. A goblet was near, the strangest blue liquid Jon had ever seen. Euron's blue eye was rolled to the back of his head. He was still. "He's warging," Jon realized. Then a terrible notion struck him. "Is he warging the mutes? Is he controlling them every damn second?" He wasn't sure. The mutes didn't seem to be like normal people, not to mention the absence of tongues. They were from all over the world, even as far as Sothoryos. But they have no light in their eyes. They were broken puppets, controlled by Euron with strings. Jon felt like he was missing something about it, but he wasn't sure.

Just then, Euron's eye flicked back to the front. Jon watched him roll his shoulders to crack the stiffness in them, stand up and walk over to observe the mounted head on the wall, the head with toenails and fingernails in them, and the rubies and opals in its sockets. "Enjoy your gruesome artwork for what you can. Your head will be next to it soon enough," Jon promised.

Euron crossed his hands behind his back. He whistled a long, strange tune that stood Jon's hair on end. "Do you like it?" He said to no one. Euron whistled again, the long note filling the void when the silence stretched.

Jon pushed his eyebrows together. "Who is he talking to?"

Euron flipped out a dagger, valyrian, with its steel rippling in the candlelight. Euron flipped the dagger in the air and caught the handle in the palm of his hand. He repeated it over and over, whistling that strange tune. "The body is an art but flawed, very flawed. What does a master do when his work is not satisfactory? He makes it better of course. But how?"

"He is getting madder with each day that passes," Jon thought, still confused as to who Euron was talking to.

Something shifted in the corner. Jon paid it no mind, focusing on what Euron was babbling about.

"This used to be a merchant by the name of Xaro Daxos. He displeased me. I gave him a command to bring me three dragon eggs, and he had the audacity to return to me empty-handed. Three dragon eggs that I would have hatched here in Valyria for a certainty. See, Xaro came into this world with imperfections. That imperfection led to him failing me. So, what does master Euron do?" Euron chuckled. "I chopped off his balls. I chopped off his fingers. I wrenched out his teeth. I chopped off his head and put his toenails and fingernails in his mouth. You would think that I only created more flaws. But no, I erased them." He whistled again.

The shadow in the corner shifted and stood. Jon immediately zeroed in on it. His breath stilled in his chest.

A pale thing limped forward, naked for all that can see, jerking with every shuddering step. Blood writing lined it, from the neck all the way to its missing genitals. The joints where the fingers connected were ruthlessly severed. The place where the head was supposed to be…was empty, but instead, there were stitches. Right below that was the bloody brand of the Crow's Eye, shimmering and bright. It was something out of every child's nightmare. It stopped right behind the Greyjoy, like a loyal hound. Jon's mouth was slightly ajar. "What is this…"

"This is what a god does. He makes his subjects perfect. I made you better by taking your eye out, didn't I?"

Euron looked straight toward Jon, a playful grin on his lips. "But are you really perfect yet, Jon?"

Jon was so startled his glass eye 'closed' and he was back in his chains. "He saw me." Jon couldn't believe it. "How is this possible? Is…is he really a god?" But then he remembered what Euron had said about glass candles being used to communicate. "I have a glass candle for an eye…and so does he. Of course, he can see me!" Jon wanted to smack himself. "I have to be smarter if I want to live, I have to."

"Or else he is going to make me into that thing." Jon stopped himself from shivering. "He chopped the merchant's head off and made his dead body his servant. This is the work of necromancy." Jon shut his eyes. "Killing him only gets more difficult. But I will find a way." He clenched his burned hand.

As the days stretched on, he practiced using his glass eye, weaving in and out of the ship, exploring the world he was being kept away from. He mainly swept around the area of the smoking ruins, saw the alien architecture, and saw weird, grotesquely shaped animals. Jon saw shadows of monsters who leaped away out of sight every time the eye gets near as if they sense him.

Jon took it to the next step by using the glass candle to peer at the birds in the sky and warg into them. It was vastly different from using his normal eye to look at the target. It was like hanging upside down on one hand and using one leg, opposite of that hand, and using it to grab a sword. Most days he failed and only received a migraine, with no progress in making his vengeance real.

But he was nothing but determined.

Jon was so angry at the world that he did what he used to think wasn't possible. While his weakened body throbbed with scars, his mind was being sharpened in the skies. That bird he used to struggle with, he took it by force, shoving his mind into the birds without mercy. The bird's mind had cried in pain, but Jon squashed it with no pity and made the body his. He did it with other birds that circled above the ships. Some of the birds couldn't take it, and their consciousness broke, leaving only an empty cask behind.

It felt like being a monster.

And Jon welcomed it.

"Father was wrong," Jon thought. "Life does not go as far as your honor goes. Your life will go as far as your power. Euron has power. And I am going to be the most powerful of all."

Jon scratched at his face weakly. He can feel the stubble of a beard growing in. He does not know how long they have been in Valyria. It could be days, weeks, or moons. The length of his dark hair that reached his back told him it must have been a long time.

His door opened, and a mute stepped in, holding a container of disgusting heap what they considered nourishment. Jon glared at him, hate boiling over. "You are a part of his crew. You are to blame for my pain." Then an idea struck him. Jon stared at the mute's chainmail, the sword at his hip. "I can use him, just like how I used the birds."

"I never used a human as a host," Jon said, voice croaky from disuse.

The mute stared at him. His eyes were lifeless, with no comprehension whatsoever.

"You are yourself to blame for the pain."

Then Jon surged his mind forward. The mute flinched violently, but Jon found it remarkably easy to slip into its mind. It was night and day compared to warging into birds. It was as if it was a breached wall, open for any access. "Euron broke its mind," Jon realized before his eye changed.

He stood taller, and had heavier weight from the chainmail. He looked at himself on the ground chained. He looked scary. His ribs were poking through his skin. His brown hair littered with blood and dirt was almost to his arse. His lips were cracked. His face was marred by the long scar that ran from his eyebrow to his cheek. His black eyepatch was a stark contrast to the eye that was now rolled back, pure white.

He turned away from the pitiful sight and into the hallway. One mute stood across from him, staring aimlessly at the wall. Jon/mute drew his sword and swung without a single thought. Blood splattered on the walls as the sword bit into the other mute's face. A low groan, the removal of the sword, and the mute lay dead on the floor.

Jon/mute stalked down the hallway, bloodied sword in his huge hairy hand. The next mute received the sword in the back of the head. The third Jon/mute took the time to two slashes, one to the knee and one to the throat, spilling the mute's lifeblood on the floor. Every mute he saw he slashed down with not the slightest bit of mercy. As he swiped left and right, smearing blood on his face, Jon felt good. He felt good. He felt good. He felt good. He felt good. He felt good.

He felt justice. He felt fury. He felt anger. He felt glee. He felt fucking free. He felt like a wolve out of a cage, and they were all going to hear his howl. "Look at me now, father! Look at what you have brought to the world! A bastard, full of bloodlust and violence! The stain on your honor!"

Jon/mute opened his mouth to scream in triumph, but the absence of tongue made it only sound like a high rasp. He cut down another mute in wordless fury. The blood on his lips tasted as good as water. Everybody he left in his wake fed to his glee.

"Just when I think you were never going to do this," Euron said, standing a few feet away. He was in his valyrian armor and holding his valyrian sword in a lax grip. "I would've been very disappointed." He did not seem to care that six of his mutes were sprawled across the floor. In fact, the delight in his blue eye was very apparent.

Just the sight made Jon's anger boil to another level. He lifted his heavy hand with his sword to strike him down, very intent to rid the plague of his life. But Valyrian steel was Valyrian steel. As Jon/mute was pulling back for the swing, the Valyrian sword was already at his throat. There was a silver blur and a HISS before his vision went dark.

Jon blinked his grey eye, and he was back inside his body. Frustration boiled in him. "He beat me AGAIN!" Every time he took a step, Euron was there to remind him he was not there yet. "Not there yet but I will be," Jon told himself. There is no option. He must be better. If he had to learn the darker arts like Euron, he will.

And so, he did. Chained in the darkness of the room, Jon used his eye to watch the happenings on the ship. He watched the mutes, watched how they operated under the influence of the Crow's Eye. He watched the slaves on the ship, watched them whimper in their chains. Mainly he watched Euron. Jon watched the Greyjoy experiment on his subjects. He watched him warg into them, breaking their minds, making them holler in agony, before submitting them to his will and cutting out their tongues. Jon watched as Euron cut them piece by piece, starting with the heart, throwing them in the fire, stitching on oddly shaped body parts, and using their blood to write on their bodies, before chanting languages that made the bodies jerk.

Jon watched it all.

Euron knew every time he was spying. He would work slowly, peering up at the exact spot Jon was looking through, pointing, and saying, "This is how it is done. Blood is the most important part." The Greyjoy would smile through it all, blood on his face, as if he was teaching his son how to ride a horse for the first time.

Jon hated that. But he comes back every time to observe and learn.

And every time, chunks of the boy Jon used to be died. "This is not who you want me to be father. You want me to be as honorable and just as you. But that cannot happen. I am here with the stranger himself. I must be the monster." Jon couldn't find it in himself to feel bad. He can feel himself becoming nonchalant to watch Euron slice open intestines and wove blood magic. Other times, he can almost be eager to learn what can give him power.

Jon had been in thought when he felt the ship lurch to a stop. It was such an odd feeling. The Silence had been in constant motion until now.

The door opened to enter Euron. The Crow's Eye was yet again adorned in his Valyrian suit of armor, ornate patterns, and dancing scales. Euron smirked down at him. "Time for some fresh air, don't you say?" He threw something glittering at Jon's reach.

Jon's chains rattled as he grabbed the objects. The first was a plain leather jerkin, devoid of any dirt or blood, and new breeches. That he put on his body gratefully. The third was chainmail, but it was different. It was the darkest chainmail Jon had ever seen. And it felt lighter than a feather in his hands.

"Valyrian chainmail, the best of its kind," Euron told him. "Did you really think the Valyrians would've created full armor plates of Valyrian steel without a complementary chainmail?"

"Makes sense."

"Is that what you are wearing under your plate?" Jon asked.

There was a glint in Euron's blue eye. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Jon pulled the chainmail on and did not feel the slightest difference in weight. Mutes in ordinary chainmail came to unlock his manacles. When Jon stood, he was alarmed to see that he and Euron were almost looking eye-to-eye. He was shorter by just a hair.

Euron held out a bastard sword. Jon grasped it. However, Euron tightened his grip on it. "For your sake, you have best remember how to swing this," Euron said. "There are worse things than a warlock out there."

"Yes. There is you." Jon snatched the sword away. "And there is not a better monster to swing at."

Jon stood at Euron's shoulder as they made for the deck. Mutes were waiting in storms, rows of organized lines, and blank eyes staring at Euron waiting for his command. The rest of the ships were anchored beside theirs.

Jon saw that they were anchored on the shore of what looked like a random island. The sand was rough, and Jon can see the outlines of bones and skulls peeking through the surface. The greenery of trees and whatnot stood ahead. Strangely, Jon can see splintered wood of warships on the far side of the shore, numerous of them. Banners were trampled in the sand. Swords and pikes were strewn all over the place as if a battle issued.

"What are we doing here?" Jon asked as they walked down the plank.

"I saw something that peaked my eye," Euron only said.

Jon clenched his burned hand. "Blood and brains peak your interest. Today it is sand."

Euron saw the clenching of his hand. "I see that bothers you." He snapped his fingers. One ugly mute came over with two black gloves. "Why wear one glove on one hand and not the other?"

Jon slipped them on. And he can tell he can grip better. But he couldn't help but think, "I wouldn't have needed gloves if you were slightly less mad."

Euron selected about fifty mutes to with them and left the rest to guard the ships. They started their trek through the deep press of trees. Jon did not like the taste of this place. Nor did he like the deep fucking imprints on the earth. It wasn't wide. Rather, it had to be something long and sharp to make that print.

Euron knelt to examine it. "This isn't a bear, that I can tell you." He looked at Jon. "What do you think?"

"A monster," Jon said at once.

Euron barked a laugh. "Nice observation." He stood up. "We will find this monster."

"WHY!" Jon screamed in his head. What is common sense and safe, Euron Greyjoy likes to sail away from that. It was maddening to go headlong to danger when Jon's every instinct told him to go in the opposite direction.

The farther they went, the more Jon noticed the destruction. Trees were snapped in half, rocks shattered, and the earth torn and thrown. Skeletons in red and gold armor. "The armor looks familiar," Jon thought.

Up ahead there was a huge cavern. The path of destruction led there.

Euron laid a hand on Jon's shoulder. "Go in there."

"What?" Jon wasn't sure he heard.

"I want you to go in there. There is something of great value that I want you to retrieve."

Jon's legs felt like mud. "My lord, I feel like I am not a-"

"I feel like you are properly equipped." Euron shoved Jon forward. A few mutes prodded Jon with the end of their spears to keep him walking. Jon took one step, then another, then another before he was at the entrance, staring at the darkness, his stomach sinking into his arse. A mute shoved a torch into his hand before leaving him there.

"This is not where I die." Jon mustered up his courage and went inside, one hand on his sword, the other holding the torch.

The stench hit him immediately. It was revolting. Though, Jon had been on the silence for far too long to let it get to him. The bodies hit him second. "This is where they made their last stand." The decayed bodies were somewhat grouped in a single place, armor and swords ripped to shreds, all of them rusted to brown. They have died long ago. Their empty sockets stared at Jon.

The same imprints from earlier were seen across the earth.

Jon took a deep shuddering breath to calm himself. "The monster killed them and left. It is not here any longer. The bodies looked like they have been here for years."

He neared the pile of corpses and saw a lance topped with a banner. Even as faded and disfigured as it was, Jon was well too educated to not know the roaring lion of House Lannister.

"House Lannister? What were they doing here? And who?" Jon's mind raced. "Matter of fact. There has been king Tommen Lannister who has taken an army here and never returned. And most recently, Gerion Lannister, who never returned either."

The glitter in the corner of his eye turned his head. There was a lone skeleton laid on a rock, crushed beneath another rock. In its death grip was a sword that took Jon's breath away. It was a great sword, gilded, with a golden lion for a pommel with ruby eyes. There was a rippled pattern in the sword, plus elegant scrollwork on its body. There is no mistaking the sharp edge. It was magnificent...

"A Valyrian sword," Jon had to say out loud, walking over quickly. He blinked at the beautiful sword, thinking it would disappear before his very eyes. "Is this Brightroar?!" Even saying it out loud didn't make it less ridiculous. Jon tried to look at the skeleton that held the blade last, but it was impossible as its entire being was crushed beneath the boulder. Jon dropped the torch and grasped the great sword, wrenching it free. There was a SNAP as Brightroar was yanked away along with the boney hand. Jon shook off the hand dismissively.

If Valyrian great swords weighed as much as regular great swords did, Jon had no doubt he would've dropped it based on his weakened condition. But it didn't. It was light and deadly. Jon held it with both hands to admire it, twisting it this way and that. It was remarkable. Jon looked at the large boulder and took a huge vertical slash. There was a CRACK as a chunk of rock was chipped away.

A laugh surged passed his lips. "A bastard is the one that reclaims the ancestral Valyrian sword of House Lannister?" Jon couldn't believe it. He had another good laugh.

Something dropped on his head from above, wet and sticky.

All laughter stopped.

The torch on the ground was still burning brightly. With his heart in his throat, Jon peered into the reflection of the sword. He angled the sword to the ceiling of the cavern.

He saw huge eight red arachnoid eyes peering down at him, blinking moving, crawling until it was right above where he stood. He can see eight distorted reflections of himself in those chilling bloody eyes. "Oh gods…"

Jon took off running at full speed to the entrance. A shift was heard above, the crawling of huge spiderly legs. The huge black monster crashed down at the entrance, cutting off Jon's retreat.

It was a spider, a giant black hairy spider with eight crawling red eyes, enormous clicking pincers, and eight spindle long legs. It was absolutely dwarfed Jon. It knew it too. The spider clicked, drawing closer slowly.

"A giant spider, what were the Valyrians thinking?!" Jon backed up cautiously, gripping Brightroar two-handed. He doubted he can kill such a creature outright even with a weapon such as Brightroar.

"I have to outsmart it."

"This is a spider. But just bigger. That's a start. What are spiders' weaknesses?" Jon thought of maester Luwin's teachings, trying to stay firm in the blunt of the spider's hungry eyes. "They have poor eyesight," Jon realized. Thinking that, Jon kicked dirt over the torch, reducing the light in the cavern immensely. He can see the outline of the spider pause, clicking its pincers in confusion. "They rely on smell. What will this spider do when I smell like the dead?" Jon backed into the pile of dead and snuggled in between them, making sure to rub himself to mix in the smell. "And I cannot run. They sense vibrations most strongly through their webs, but this is a giant spider. It will probably sense the vibrations of me running through the ground and eat me alive. I will have to kill it."

Jon watched with bated breath as the spider neared. The spider stopped. Jon assumed it was trying to smell him out. The spider couldn't and it clicked in frustration, marching past. Jon waited until he saw the last two legs and jumped up, slicing horizontally through hairy black legs. The spider shrieked hideously. Two of its legs were lost on the ground, seeping blood. Jon raised his sword. The spider sensed him and knocked him back. Jon was sent flying and landed with a thud, taking the breath out of him. The chainmail absorbed most of the impact, but it very much hurt all the same. The spider attached itself to the wall, trying to climb to the ceiling with the lost of two legs. It was slow and cumbersome. Jon got to his feet, ignoring his tired state, and moved after it. Sensing his vibration, the spider turned downward and Jon, in shock, watched it shoot a wide net of web towards him.

Jon rolled to the side, but he was rusty and not in the right condition, so the web caught enough of his foot to hold him there. SPLAT. "The web is strong," Jon grunted. The spider, sensing the vibration of its web, launched back to the ground. It twitched and shrieked at the pain of the landing. But it quickly got over it and crawled with speed toward Jon.

With a HISS, Jon severed the web with Brightroar and ran towards the pile with the bodies. But he was not as quick as he used to be and the spider caught up to him, knocking him forward onto the boulder. Jon used that momentum to crawl towards the top, scrapping and kicking away the spider's pincers.

SPLAT!

"SHIT" Jon found himself caught in another web, and this time fully covered in the sticky substance. He can see the spider's eight eyes shimmering with excitement and glee. It made Jon angry. "Even a damn spider is having its way with me! A damn Spider!"

Jon snarled and reached out with his consciousness, brushing against the spiders. The spider instantly fought back, blinking and clicking. It was ancient and old and proud, not giving in no quarter to Jon's attempt to control it. "I don't want to control you," Jon thought with a growl, "I want to BREAK you." With that he pushed, with his desperation, with his anger, with his fury, with his hatred, and he used all that to push against the spider's consciousness. The spider shrieked in pain. Pleased by that, Jon pushed even farther, enjoying its pain.

CRACK!

Jon felt the spider's resistance crack, its mind split. The spider slacked on its legs, shuffling brainlessly. Jon cut himself loose from the spider web. He glared down at the downed spider, meeting its eight lifeless eyes. Blood rushing through his veins, Jon grabbed Brightroar with both hands and dove, sword stabbing downwards in a flashing arc. There was a squelch as the Valyrian sword was shoved through the spider's eyes, driving Jon through the spider.

Jon landed on the ground, covered in spider blood and guts, wondering how he got there. He looked up, seeing a gaping hole in the spider's abdomen. Jon quickly crawled out from beneath it right before the corpse collapsed with a thud. "Fuck you," Jon said and meant it. Can't finding the energy, Jon rolled to his back, breathing heavily. Brightroar lay at his side, rippling with heat and monster blood.

"That was an amazing display, truth be told. You have made me proud." Euron walked into Jon's view, staring down at him with a slimy smile. "Congrats, Jon, you have killed your very first monster."

Jon couldn't tell what happened much after that. He was stuck in the void between reality and unconsciousness. He tried his utmost to stay awake to avoid Euron Greyjoy in his dreams. In a desperate effort, he resorted to using his glass eye. He watched Euron pick up Brightroar, contemplating. He watched as the mutes pulled the corpse of the spider along with chains.

Jon felt his eyes close. Darkness welcomed him. Though, he did not know it was a darkness that will change his life forever.

"Come to me," came a voice, ancient and evil and powerful.

And it wanted him.

"Come to me," the evil voice insisted. Jon didn't want to.

Flames and shadows flickered at his feet. They twisted, moved, and danced. "Come to me…"

"No," Jon said. He didn't know who this being was, but it was dangerous and crawling with the energy of something demonic.

"It is your destiny…It is promised…"

"Leave me alone!"

"YOU ARE THE ONE THAT IS PROMISED!" The evil voice erupted, as chilling and violet as a monster from the bottoms of hell.

The swirls of flames and shadows engulfed Jon with his screams.

Jon woke with a start. "What was THAT?"

The dream was strange to him. Jon somehow knew Euron had no part in it too. The being in his dream…it was otherworldly, far above him and Euron. And Jon could sense the darkness rolling off it.

Jon shook his head. "Nonsense. It is just a dream."

Before he can think too much about it, Euron entered calmly, Brightroar in his hands, clean and golden and swirling with sharp ripples. Jon eyed the sword warily. "I used that weapon to cut the giant spider open. Is he going to use it to open me up next? Maybe that's why he made me his slave. He wanted me to retrieve the sword and do all the dirty work."

"How did it feel to kill it?" Euron held the sword up to his eyes and used his fingers to carefully trace its length.

Jon knew he was talking about the arachnid. And Jon did not want to lie for the risk of punishment. "It felt good," Jon admitted and knew it was true. The monster wanted to eat him as it did the Lannister soldiers. It was either kill or be killed, and Jon was glad he did the first.

"As you must have figured out, warging depends on the emotion of the person. The emotions have to be strong and have to be real." A smile appeared on those pale blue lips. "And as it happens, hate and fear are the most potent. What were you feeling when that spider was about to make you its luncheon?"

"I was afraid as any man would. But then I got angry for being helpless, angry at the fact my life was going to end by an overgrown spider."

It was clear Euron was enjoying this. "And what did you do to stop it?"

"I tried slipping into its skin. It resisted…and then I broke its mind in the process." "It is what you do to the slaves. You break them, and leave them as empty shells with no resistance against your evildoings. But now I do the same thing. What is the difference between two monsters?"

Euron nodded along like a patient teacher. "What does not give in shall break. Most animals do not have the will to resist. Humans are entirely different. When you try slipping into their skin, you must know the outcome will be the ruin of their mind." Euron let Brightroar hang at his side. "You have learned much. You are becoming a threat."

Jon curled his burned hand. "A threat?" He did not like that word slipping out the lips of the Crow's Eye.

Euron's grin split his face. "Something wonderful, like a butterfly undergoing metamorphosis right in front of my eyes. You are not finished. There is plenty of work to be done."

"He talks as if I am some dog to be bred with," Jon thought, disquieted.

"I can see it in your eye," Euron whispered, coming closer. "I can see the hate." Brightroar was now inches away from Jon's grey eye. "Are you going to embrace it?"

"It is all I have." "Yes."

With a clank, Brightroar severed through the manacles on Jon's wrists.

"Now come with me to be reborn," Euron announced as Jon stood to his feet.

Jon was holding hope, just the barest, that Euron was going to return Brightroar to his possession. He did discover the Valyrian sword after all. But all he can do was seethe as Euron sheathed the sword on his back. "You prick. You have a Valyrian sword already."

When they emerged on the deck, Jon moaned and put a hand to his head. "What the hell?" Something was making him unstable.

There were black clouds forming in front of the small moving fleet. The rumble of thunder and lightning cracked in the sky, red and white. Euron's ships rocked and swayed on the rushing waters. Far in the distance, Jon can see a landscape, high and jagged. A heavy weight was in Jon's stomach at the sight of it.

"We are very close," Euron whispered.

"To the monster," Jon said. He clenched his hand.

"The ruin of Mount Valyr is where the monster was summoned. It is where the monster resides." Euron gave Jon a piercing look. "This is where our fate is decided. And this is where I shall become the god of all."

"And becoming the world's destruction," Jon knew.

Jon willed that Euron Greyjoy fail in his goal, that he will never ascend to the next plane of power.

"I hope that he doesn't get it…and that someone else comes along to take it from him."

"What monster is it?" Jon asked quietly, staring ahead for what awaited them.

Euron's grin was bloodthirsty. "The god of death."

Athur: There is that! What is this god of death? Let me know what you think in the review!