Danaerys screamed in primal fury as a walltower crumbled beneath Drogon's breath. Through the hellish haze the buildings were warped and distorted, and in the rising smoke she saw the mocking, jeering faces of her every enemy, every man and woman who had ever wronged her, ever belittled her, ever hurt her, ever abandoned her, ever betrayed her. Cersei, Varys, the Night King, the Wolf, Vyserys, Euron, Jon, the khals, Robert Baratheon, the slavers of Mereen, Miiri.
They would scream, they would burn, and she would enjoy every second of it.
The dragon settled on a small turret of a building inside the city and bellowed. Tiles fell from under the dragon's claws and into the packed street below, the citizens frozen at the horrific sight.
A sound then seemed to fill the world, beating in Danaerys' mind with the force of a hammer. Though she jerked and Drogon squealed, the sound continued. Only when she had made Drogon lift off and fly away did it fade. Shaking her head, the faces of her tormentors surrounding her again, she pushed forward.
In the belltower where Drogon had landed, the desperate bellringers shared an incredulous look, and started ringing the bells louder. In the streets below, a hooded man pointed at the belltower, shouting over the clanging.
"Dragon-witch fears bells! Ring them loud! Tell others!"
The panicked citizens ran, some into the ringing tower, some to spread the word, others still looting abandoned stores.
The man who had called out turned into an alleyway. There was a flash of purple, and he was no longer there.
As Danaerys' fleet advanced, the soldiers manning the catapult closest to the winch towers noticed that their comrades remained inactive, the great chain blocking the mouth of the Blackwater still underwater despite the approaching danger. Finally one ran inside to wake them up.
He emerged seconds later, vomiting profusely.
His squadmates ran to help him, and saw their fellows had been brutally murdered in the night, their corpses mutilated further by being shoved into the massive windlass, the gears sticky with dried gore, every lever and handle snapped off.
There was nothing they could do to remove them or restore the mechanism to close off the river, and Davos led the flotilla upriver to attack the River Gate unimpeded.
The city streets were a blood-slicked nightmare. Unsullied impaled screaming men and women on their pikes, Dothraki trampled soldier and civilian alike beneath their hooves, and soldiers emerged from shops and houses with reddened blades.
Jon saw a woman scream as a soldier pushed her down, fumbling to pull down his trousers. Running to her side, he shoved the soldier off and started as he saw the sigil of Winterfell. The soldier drew his blade, and Jon slew the man by reflex.
There was a bellow as of an enormous bull. A woman dragging two small children fled out of an alleyway. One of the Wolf's marauders emerged behind them, his axe dripping with blood. In a single lunge, the huge man cleaved through the girls and their mother. A Deathbound bloodrider who had been about to spear them goggled in surprise, then gurgled as the madman smashed his weapon through rider and horse.
There was utter chaos as Danaerys' forces realized the berserker no longer held allegiance to any side but his own.
A Winterfell spearman found his face enclosed in the marauder's grip, then his skull shattered against a stone wall. Two Unsullied left off butchering a woman and her screaming children and tried to flank the madman, but their weapons bounced off his armor. Burying his axe in one's face, he turned on the other. Fearless as his mutilation had made him, the eunuch screamed as the marauder smashed both fists into his head, gore spurting from his eyes and mouth.
The berserker pulled his axe out and held it aloft, roaring in an unmistakable gesture of challenge, swinging his head left and right. His face was locked in an expression of murderous frenzy, snapping to the family the Unsullied had been about to skewer. He took a step forwards when Jon moved between them, sword drawn, and threw himself at the marauder.
The Wolf's man snarled as the sword met his axe, cleaving a notch from its head. He struck out again, nearly jolting the sword from Jon's hands. Jon thrust forwards, puncturing the marauder's breastplate, but the madman showed no reaction save fury.
Jon circled back. No other soldier seemed to want to intervene. A marauder with a broken nose was on the scene as well, carrying a lumpy sack and a viciously barbed harpoon. But where the others were staring in fear, the man's eyes were calm, looking disinterestedly at the duel.
The light dimmed for an instant as Drogon passed over the scene, entirely unnoticed. The sound of bells grew louder in the distance.
Jon noticed a bruise on the marauder's left arm, as though it had recently been injured and not given time to heal. Grabbing the hilt in both hands, he swung at the madman's arm, which spurted blood and fluids as the Valyrian steel carved halfway through it, exposing bone. But the marauder ignored the injury, driving his other elbow into Jon's cheek. Jon was unable to stop himself yelping, but leaped back, the sword blocking another savage swipe from the axe.
The marauder bulled into Jon, slamming him into an abandoned storefront. The axe rose into the air, but bit into the eaves above as it came down. Jon sidestepped and jumped back to the open street as the madman grabbed his weapon with both hands and heaved, despite the flow of blood spurting from his injury.
The axe came down, as did the eaves. The marauder turned, heedless of the timber crashing on his shoulders, and hurled himself at his foe.
"CORN!"
Jon had no time to ponder the madman's words before the marauder's axe swung low. Jon leaped back again, but his foot slipped on the uneven cobblestones and he fell on his back. The marauder was on him in an instant, dropping his knee into Jon's stomach and grabbing his face in his free hand, forcing it into the stones again and again.
Scrabbling for his sword, Jon's hand closed on the hilt, and swung in desperation. A blow to the head that would have made a man a drooling idiot for life had no effect on the madman, who only snarled louder and redoubled his efforts to smash Jon's head open.
Even as his head was rammed into the cobblestones again, Jon turned the sword around, the blade now resting against the marauder's neck. With a final effort, in spite of the splitting pain at the back of his skull and the spots in his vision, he pushed upwards.
The Valyrian steel cleaved through skin, flesh, gristle and bone. The berserker's arm trembled and his grip finally loosened, the headless body collapsing on Jon.
Panting and swiping blood from his eyes, Jon stood up, shoving the marauder's corpse off himself. The citizens had fled, ignored by the soldiery as they watched the duel. Danaerys's surviving troops stared at Jon with awe before scurrying away to find easier targets, but he had eyes only for the broken-nosed marauder, still carrying a sack of plunder. The barbarian met his gaze, then looked at the corpse, and nodded.
The madman's head had rolled until it ran into a wall. The broken-nosed marauder picked it up and placed it in his sack without a word. A Winterfell soldier, the only bystander remaining, approached the corpse and started to undo the straps keeping the marauder's armor on.
As soon as the breastplate had been wrenched off the berserker's corpse, the marauder rammed his harpoon through the soldier, taking his fellow's axe and armor and putting it in his sack. Then he pulled the harpoon from his screaming victim, turned around and left, as though he had lost all interest in the scene.
Still carrying his sword, Jon looked around helplessly. A vast shadow blotted out the sun as Drogon passed over again with a scream. He saw movement through a broken window. A tiny boy, his face horrified, peeped out and withdrew his head when he saw Jon looking at him. Jon went to the window.
"Come wifhl-"
He spat blood and tried again. The boy's parents were looking at him now, their faces just as terrified.
"Come with me, I'll take you to safety."
Progress was slow at first, as Jon had to kill several looters and rapists, but the growing crowd of refugees took up weapons from the dead and managed to call out to neighbors and relatives all the way to the River Gate. There Danaerys' fleet had made its landing and established a beachhead, the crews prevented from joining in the pillaging thanks to Davos Seaworth.
A plume of multicolored smoke flared up from the decapitated Red Keep.