The first rays of sunlight painted King's Landing's walls the color of fresh blood. I stood before the Dragon Gate, Blackfyre naked in my hand, watching as the city woke to its final day under Lannister rule. Behind me, one hundred thousand soldiers waited in perfect silence—an army of liberation, conquest, and divine judgment.
Overhead, three dragons circled in lazy spirals, their shadows racing across the stone like harbingers of doom.
"Any movement?" I asked Boromir, who studied the walls through his far-seeing glass.
"Gold cloaks are abandoning their posts," he reported, his Ned Stark features grim with satisfaction. "I count maybe three thousand still loyal to the Lannisters. The rest have either fled or joined the mob forming in the streets."
"And the mob?"
"Growing by the minute. Our Dragon Priests estimate twenty thousand citizens now openly calling for your entrance. They've been chanting through the night."
Perfect. Fear and faith, working in tandem to rot the city's defenses from within. By the time Tywin realized he'd already lost, it would be far too late.
"Your Grace," Ser Jorah approached, his crimson Custodes armor gleaming in the dawn light. "A rider approaches under flag of parley."
I turned to see a lone horseman emerging from the Dragon Gate—which had cracked open just wide enough to let him through. He wore the armor of a gold cloak captain, but his face was pale with the kind of fear that comes from standing between gods and kings.
The rider dismounted twenty paces away, dropped to one knee, and spoke in a voice that carried clearly across the space between us.
"Your Grace, I am Jacelyn Bywater, Commander of the City Watch. I come bearing Lord Tywin's terms for surrender."
"Tywin wishes to negotiate?" I asked, letting amusement color my voice. "How generous of him to offer terms when he has nothing left to bargain with."
Bywater flinched but continued. "Lord Tywin offers the following: King Joffrey will abdicate the throne and take the black. Lord Tywin and Lady Cersei will retire to Casterly Rock, renouncing all claims to power. The crown's debts will be forgiven, and House Lannister will swear fealty to House Targaryen. In exchange, you spare the city and allow the transition of power to occur peacefully."
The silence that followed was broken only by the distant sound of dragons roaring.
Then I laughed—a sound like breaking glass that made Bywater's horse shy nervously.
"Tywin Lannister doesn't get to dictate terms," I said, my enhanced voice carrying to the walls where gold cloaks and citizens alike watched in breathless anticipation. "He doesn't get to send his bastard grandson to the Wall like some honorable lord making a noble sacrifice. He doesn't get to retire in comfort to count his gold while the realm remembers his crimes."
I took a step forward, and Bywater actually recoiled.
"Here are MY terms," I declared, and now my voice thundered across the landscape, amplified by whatever divine power flowed through my veins. "KING'S LANDING OPENS ITS GATES WITHIN THE HOUR! EVERY SOLDIER LAYS DOWN HIS ARMS! KING JOFFREY, QUEEN CERSEI, AND LORD TYWIN PRESENT THEMSELVES FOR JUDGMENT!"
I gestured to the walls, to the city beyond.
"ANY MAN WHO RESISTS DIES! ANY MAN WHO SURRENDERS LIVES! ANY MAN WHO OPENS THE GATES EARNS MY GRATITUDE! THE DRAGON GOD HAS SPOKEN!"
Aserion descended from the sky like a falling star, landing beside me with earth-shaking force. My black dragon spread his wings—now spanning nearly one hundred feet—and released a jet of flame that scorched the very air. The heat was so intense that Bywater's horse screamed and bolted, leaving the captain stumbling backward on foot.
"One hour," I said quietly, but my voice still carried. "Tell Tywin he has one hour to decide whether King's Landing falls with honor or burns with shame."
Bywater didn't wait for dismissal—he ran for the gate like a man fleeing the hells themselves.
-----
**King's Landing - The Red Keep Throne Room**
Tywin Lannister had faced down rebellions, plotted the downfall of kingdoms, and maintained iron control over the Seven Kingdoms for decades. But standing in the throne room, staring at the Iron Throne that his grandson would never truly sit upon, he felt something unfamiliar crawling through his chest.
Fear.
"He refused," Bywater gasped, still breathless from his panicked run back to the keep. "He wants you, King Joffrey, and Queen Cersei brought before him for judgment. He gave us one hour."
"Judgment," Tywin repeated flatly. "Not negotiation. Judgment."
"The gates won't hold," Tyrion said from his position near the throne. He'd been drinking steadily since dawn, but his eyes remained sharp. "The mob is already trying to open them from the inside. The gold cloaks are deserting in droves. We're not defending a city anymore—we're prisoners in our own keep."
Cersei paced like a caged lioness, her golden hair disheveled from a sleepless night. "Then we fight. We make them pay for every inch. We—"
"We die," Tywin cut her off with brutal honesty. "We die, the city burns, and House Lannister ends. Is that what you want for your children, daughter? For Myrcella and Tommen to pay for your pride?"
"They're MY children!" Cersei shrieked. "I carried them! I birthed them! I won't hand them over to—"
The distant roar of dragons shook the very stones of the throne room, cutting her off mid-sentence. Through the high windows, they could see black shapes circling, waiting, patient as death itself.
"Father," Tyrion said quietly. "There's still time. The secret passages—I could get the children out. Get them to safety before—"
"Before what?" Tywin asked. "Before the dragons hunt them down? Before the Dragon Priests find them and drag them back in chains? There is no safety, Tyrion. Not anymore. The old world is ending, and all we can do is try to survive the transition."
He walked to the Iron Throne—that ugly, uncomfortable symbol of power that had cost his family so much—and placed one weathered hand on its twisted metal.
"I built House Lannister into the most powerful family in Westeros," he said, his voice carrying the weight of decades. "I crushed the Reynes and Tarbecks. I sacked King's Landing and ended the Targaryen dynasty. I thought I had secured our legacy for generations."
He turned to face his children.
"I was wrong. We overreached. And now we pay the price."
"So we just surrender?" Joffrey's voice cracked with adolescent outrage. "We just let that pretender take everything?"
"He's not a pretender, boy," Tywin said wearily. "He's the rightful king, backed by an army we cannot defeat and dragons we cannot kill. The game is over. We lost."
Before anyone could respond, the sound of horns echoed across the city—not the ordered calls of military command, but the desperate, chaotic blaring of alarm. Then came something else: a roar from thousands of throats, rising in religious fervor.
"DRAGON GOD! DRAGON GOD! DRAGON GOD!"
The gates were opening.
-----
**The Dragon Gate - King's Landing**
The massive wooden doors groaned as thousands of citizens pushed against them from the inside. Gold cloaks who'd been holding the line moments before simply stepped aside, many dropping their spears and joining the mob in its fervor.
I watched from Aserion's back as the gates swung wide, revealing the churning mass of humanity beyond. They poured out like water from a broken dam—men, women, children, all screaming their devotion to the god who'd come to save them.
"HAIL THE DRAGON GOD!"
"BLESSED BE THE LIBERATOR!"
"BREAK OUR CHAINS!"
The Dragon Priests moved among them like crimson flames, organizing the chaos into something resembling order. Within minutes, a path had been cleared through the mob, leading straight to the Red Keep.
"Boromir," I said calmly. "Take ten thousand men and secure the walls. I want every gate controlled within the hour. No one leaves the city without my permission."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Grey Worm, take another ten thousand and begin sweeping the streets. Any Lannister soldiers who haven't surrendered get one chance to lay down their arms. After that, they die."
"It will be done."
"The rest of you," I addressed the remaining eighty thousand soldiers, "follow me. We're going to pay a visit to the Red Keep."
I urged Aserion forward, and my army flowed behind me like a tide of steel and purpose. The citizens of King's Landing pressed themselves against buildings and walls, some weeping, others reaching out as if to touch divinity as I passed.
The march through the city was surreal—everywhere I looked, I saw the evidence of the War of Five Kings' toll. Burned buildings still bore scorch marks. Refugees huddled in doorways. The streets stank of poverty and desperation.
But I also saw hope. In the eyes of the smallfolk, in the way they called my name, in the fervor with which they'd opened their gates. They wanted to believe in something greater than the petty squabbles of nobles. They wanted salvation.
And I would give it to them—on my terms.
The Red Keep loomed ahead, its crimson walls dark with age and shadow. The gates stood open, and I could see gold cloaks forming a honor guard rather than a defensive line. Smart. They'd chosen survival over suicidal loyalty.
I dismounted in the castle's outer ward, Blackfyre gleaming in my hand. Daenerys and Rhaenys flanked me, both in full armor, both radiating divine authority. Behind us, the Adeptus Custodes formed a crimson wall of enhanced muscle and steel.
"Send word to Tywin Lannister," I commanded one of the gold cloaks. "Tell him the Dragon God has come to take his throne."
-----
**The Red Keep - The Throne Room**
They were waiting for me when I entered—the entire sorry remnant of Lannister power, arrayed before the Iron Throne like actors in a tragic play's final scene.
Tywin stood at the base of the throne, his armor polished but his face showing every one of his years. Cersei huddled near him, her golden beauty marred by terror and rage. Tyrion sat on the steps, a wine cup in hand and resignation in his eyes.
And on the throne itself sat Joffrey Baratheon, the boy-king who'd never had a chance to become anything more.
The throne room was packed—lords who'd been trapped in the city, servants, guards, all pressed together to witness history unfold. They fell silent as I entered, the only sound the soft clink of my armor and the whisper of Blackfyre's blade.
I walked slowly down the center aisle, letting them all see me. The Dragon God made flesh, come to reclaim what was his. Daenerys and Rhaenys followed like vengeful angels, and behind them came enough armed soldiers to conquer kingdoms.
"Tywin Lannister," I said, my voice filling the throne room with supernatural resonance. "Do you yield?"
The Old Lion's jaw clenched, muscles working beneath weathered skin. For a long moment, I thought he might actually refuse—might choose death over submission. Then, slowly, he sank to one knee.
"I yield," he said, the words clearly costing him everything.
One by one, the rest followed. Cersei last, her face twisted with hatred, but she knelt. Tyrion with almost theatrical flourish. The assembled lords and ladies like dominoes falling.
Only Joffrey remained standing, his pale face flushed with impotent fury.
"I don't yield!" he shrieked, his voice cracking. "I'm the king! You can't make me—"
I was moving before he could finish. Three steps up the Iron Throne's base, and my hand closed around his throat. His eyes bulged with shock as I lifted him one-handed, the Super Soldier Serum making his struggling weight feel like nothing.
"You," I said softly, "are nothing. A bastard born of incest, a pretender raised on lies, a boy who played at kingship and failed. You were never a king, Joffrey. You were just a placeholder."
I hurled him down the steps. He tumbled, limbs flailing, and landed in a heap at his mother's feet. Cersei moved to help him, but my next words froze her in place.
"This throne was built by Aegon the Conqueror from the swords of his enemies. It was meant for dragons, not for lions pretending to be kings."
I climbed the remaining steps and stood before the Iron Throne—that ugly, asymmetric monument to conquest. For a moment, I simply stared at it, feeling the weight of history pressing down.
Then I sat.
The metal was uncomfortable, the angles sharp, the seat unforgiving. It was everything the songs said it was—a throne built to remind kings that ruling was never easy.
But as I settled into it, as Blackfyre rested across my lap, as every eye in the throne room fixed on me with awe and terror…
It felt right.
"By right of conquest, by right of blood, by right of divine mandate," I declared, "I claim this throne. I am Viserys Targaryen, Third of My Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, and God-Emperor of Mankind."
As if responding to my words, all three dragons roared in unison—a sound that shook the very foundations of the Red Keep. Through the throne room's high windows, I could see them circling, their shadows racing across the floor like living prophecy.
And then, as the last echoes faded, I felt something shift. Not in the room, not in the world, but in my very perception. The familiar blue glow of the Dragon King System appeared before my eyes, visible only to me.
**[MAJOR MILESTONE ACHIEVED]**
**[OBJECTIVE COMPLETE: CLAIM THE IRON THRONE]**
**[REWARD: 100,000 DRAGON POINTS]**
**[SPECIAL ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: KING OF WESTEROS]**
**[SYSTEM UPDATE INITIATED…]**
**[NEW FEATURE UNLOCKED: CIVILIZATION MANAGEMENT]**
**[PROCESSING…]**
The interface expanded, transforming before my eyes into something far more complex than the simple point-shop and summon system I'd been using. New tabs appeared, branching off into elaborate subsections:
**[CIVILIZATION TAB - UNLOCKED]**
**TERRITORIES:**
- United Cities of Dragons Bay: STABLE
- Volantis: STABLE
- Dorne: STABLE
- King's Landing: NEWLY ACQUIRED - REQUIRES CONSOLIDATION
**POPULATION:**
- Total Citizens: 8,347,291
- Loyal: 6,891,043 (82.5%)
- Neutral: 1,234,567 (14.8%)
- Hostile: 221,681 (2.7%)
**RESOURCES:**
- Gold Reserves: 847,392 Golden Dragons
- Military Strength: 287,456 Active Soldiers
- Food Production: 94% Self-Sufficient
- Trade Income: 12,847 GD per month
**TECHNOLOGY TREE:** [LOCKED - REQUIRES RESEARCH INVESTMENT]
**FAITH SYSTEM:**
- Dragon God Worshippers: 4,234,891 (50.7%)
- Converts This Month: +892,341
- Religious Authority: DOMINANT
**INFRASTRUCTURE:**
- Roads: 62% Coverage
- Fortifications: Varied by Region
- Production Facilities: [EXPAND FOR DETAILS]
**ONGOING QUESTS:**
- Consolidate Control of Westeros (0% Complete)
- Establish Divine Authority (23% Complete)
- Eliminate Hostile Factions (15% Complete)
I blinked, absorbing the sheer scope of information now available to me. This wasn't just a power fantasy anymore—this was empire management on a scale I'd never imagined. Every city, every soldier, every coin, every convert… all of it tracked, measured, optimized.
The system had evolved from a tool for personal power into something that could reshape civilizations.
And I had just unlocked it at the perfect moment.
"Your Grace?" Boromir's voice cut through my distraction. "Your orders?"
I focused on the throne room, on the assembled lords and ladies waiting for their new god-king to pronounce judgment. The game was just beginning. King's Landing was mine, but the Seven Kingdoms remained divided—the North under Robb Stark, the Iron Islands under the Greyjoys, Stannis Baratheon still plotting from Dragonstone.
And beyond Westeros lay an entire world waiting to be conquered.
"Secure the city," I commanded. "Begin the purge of Lannister loyalists. Establish the Church of the Dragon God in every sept and temple. And send ravens to every major house in Westeros."
I leaned forward on the Iron Throne, letting Blackfyre's blade catch the light.
"Tell them their god-king has arrived. Tell them to bend the knee… or burn."
The conquest of Westeros had only just begun.