The Skies Above Blackwater Bay.
In the torrential rain, Aemond took firm control of the reins.
"(Quiet, Vhagar.)"
Vhagar's nostrils, large as caverns, snorted two jets of scorching white steam, letting out a rumble like the collapse of a distant mountain.
Then, her colossal wings, spanning nearly a hundred meters, beat the air with full force.
Ancient muscles bunched beneath her scales; the shriek of her wings cutting the wind drowned out the storm.
The massive draconic frame transformed into a grey shadow, tearing through the night sky and surging toward Jacaerys and his brothers with suffocating pressure.
To Vhagar's left and slightly ahead, the black dragon Morghul flew with a starkly different grace.
He lacked Vhagar's crushing weight but possessed a heart-stopping, lightning-fast agility.
With a wingspan now nearing twenty meters, he maneuvered through the storm with ease.
His pitch-black scales were only visible when lightning flashed, outlining a sleek, powerful silhouette and the dark-red golden pupils burning with his master's fury.
Morghul let out low, short roars, shouts of threat and predatory excitement.
He needed no explicit command; the blood-bond allowed him to fully grasp his master's intent: Death.
Helaena's Dreamfyre struggled to keep up. The silver-blue dragon seemed uneasy, letting out soft whimpers.
Helaena's face was as white as paper in the intermittent flashes of lightning.
She saw the growing fire of the Dragonpit behind them and the three specks of the fleeing dragons ahead.
"Seven save us..." she murmured, eventually pulling Dreamfyre to a halt.
Aemond's concentration was absolute.
Three targets. Three hatchlings. Wounded, panicked, flying east. Route, speed, status, a clear hunting pattern formed in his mind.
Use Vhagar to suppress them, use Morghul to intercept and clear the flanks.
His gaze locked onto the black speck at the very rear, the one flying with a visible stagger.
Tyraxes was wounded... the weakest link, and the perfect breach.
"(Fly, Vhagar. Catch them,)" he whispered again.
Simultaneously, Aemond caught Morghul's eye. With a single look, the black dragon understood.
Target: the last one. Kill.
The blood-red light in Morghul's pupils flared. He stopped roaring, focusing every ounce of energy into his wings.
His speed surged instantly, pulling away from Vhagar to cut through the rain and tear the wind apart.
He took a straight, merciless line toward the swaying figure at the end of the line: Joffrey and his Tyraxes.
"Joffrey! Behind you! Faster!"
Lucerys was the first to look back, seeing the black form of Morghul breaking through the rain.
That speed... it was too fast, beyond anything he knew of dragons!
Joffrey heard the strange whistle of air behind him and turned in terror.
In the darkness, he saw only two rapidly expanding points of golden-red fire.
"Tyraxes! Fast! Faster!" he urged with a sob, frantically patting the dragon's neck.
But the wounded Tyraxes had given everything he had.
The injury to his hind leg brought not only pain and blood loss but also shattered his balance.
Instead of accelerating, his speed was slowly dropping.
A few breaths. It took only a few breaths!
Morghul's head, sharp horns, and glinting teeth were now clearly visible to Joffrey.
He could even smell the younger, more violent sulfur scent of the black dragon, a scent mixed with pure predatory hunger.
No testing, no warning, and no time for the prey to process their fear. Morghul's execution was crisp.
At the optimal strike distance, he adjusted his posture.
With an explosive burst of speed in a final dive, his right hind claw, harder than forged steel, tore through the rain and slammed into the slender, fragile neck of Tyraxes.
It struck just ahead of the saddle.
"NO!" Joffrey shrieked his final scream.
The next second.
SHRED!! CRUNCH!!!
The sound of muscle tearing and the cervical spine being crushed by sheer force drowned out the storm, and even silenced Tyraxes's dying wail.
Morghul's claws buried deep into the flesh and scales, anchoring himself.
Then, his jaws, stronger than any dragon of his size, snapped shut over the spot where his claws held the neck.
Using the momentum of the dive and a burst of neck-muscle power, he performed a movement of sickening brutality: a violent twist and rip.
Squelch! Splash!
The dragon's head, along with a massive chunk of neck, bone, and Joffrey Velaryon himself, was torn away.
A brutal, irresistible force sheared Joffrey's body in half as he was ripped from the dragon's back.
Blood didn't just spill; it fountained like a dam breaking, a massive red mist exploding in the rain.
The headless Tyraxes went rigid, all life force vanishing instantly.
The wings went limp.
The uncontrolled corpse, along with the lifeless lower half of the boy still clinging to the neck, tumbled and spiraled down toward the ink-black waters of Blackwater Bay.
With a dull, heavy splash, every trace of Joffrey Velaryon and his partner Tyraxes was swallowed by the waves.
"BROTHER!!!"
Jacaerys and Lucerys turned to see the scene, letting out heart-wrenching roars.
Lucerys's vision went dark; a wave of grief so sharp hit him that he nearly tumbled from Arrax's back.
That was their youngest brother! The shy boy who followed them, eyes bright as he listened to their stories!
Before their eyes, he had been erased in a manner so casual and cruel.
Witnessing this bloody scene beyond their imagination, Lucerys's remaining courage and sanity began to disintegrate.
Jacaerys's single eye turned bloodshot, a boundless hatred drowning his initial grief as a bestial roar tore from his throat.
"AAAAGHHH!!!"
But Morghul did not stop.
His dark-red golden pupils turned toward the remaining two targets, blood dripping from his jaw in red lines that vanished into the rain.
Above them, Vhagar's mountain-like shadow, with its endless weight of oppression, closed in with a speed that felt slow yet utterly unstoppable, beginning to shroud Jacaerys and Lucerys in darkness.
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