Drogon quickly scanned the corridor, then flapped his wings and soared past the Son of the Harpy facing Barristan. Without pausing, he landed beside Grey Worm, extended a small black claw to block the longsword aimed at the soldier, and unleashed a blast of black flame directly onto the man's head.
Even as a hatchling, Drogon's dragonflame was nearly as hot as the Golden Crown Khal Drogo had once melted onto Viserys's head.
The moment the dragonflame touched the golden helmet, the Son of the Harpy shrieked in agony. He dropped his weapon and clawed at the helmet, but as soon as his hand made contact, the metal began to melt. He instinctively recoiled from the searing heat.
Yet, the excruciating pain in his skull forced him to seize the helmet again and yank it downward. He managed to pull it just a fraction before the skin and flesh of his face tore away, making it impossible to remove the helmet.
In that moment of hesitation, the Son of the Harpy's screams were abruptly silenced. His body collapsed stiffly to the floor, his hand still frozen in the gesture of trying to tear off the helmet. The helmet clattered to the ground, finally detaching from his head and revealing the raw, red flesh and a few strands of hair to the horrified onlookers.
The three other Sons of the Harpy surrounding Grey Worm felt a sharp pain in their necks the moment they saw their comrade's gruesome end. Blood sprayed out, and they quickly followed him into death.
Barristan's sole opponent, already paralyzed with terror after seeing his companions fall, was run through by Barristan's sword.
Just as Barristan turned to help Grey Worm, seven or eight more Sons of the Harpy charged into the corridor. They glanced at the corpse at Barristan's feet and then lunged at him.
Barristan was about to turn and fight when Drogon swept back to his side.
*You love your helmets so much? Then keep them on!* Drogon thought as he unleashed a continuous torrent of black flame. The newcomers, no longer able to focus on attacking Barristan, turned to flee, clutching their weapons as they scrambled back the way they came.
But no matter how fast they ran, they were no match for Drogon's speed. The dragonflame incinerated them in a single, searing line. Those who had been quick enough to rip off their helmets shrieked in agony, clutching their faces with trembling hands. Those who were slower died inside their helmets, baked alive.
Barristan, sword in hand and ready to charge, froze in shock at the sight. He stood there, stunned, until Grey Worm's pained groan snapped him back to reality, prompting him to rush to his side.
Drogon's timely rescue meant that Barristan suffered only a severe shoulder wound and a few minor scratches. Grey Worm, however, had taken a deep slash to his stomach and another to his leg, with several smaller cuts scattered across his body.
Barristan helped Grey Worm out of the granary, following close behind Drogon. In the distance, they saw Blue Pigeon leading a squad of several dozen men rushing toward them.
Blue Pigeon had initially brought a hundred soldiers for the rescue, but they had been repeatedly ambushed by the Sons of the Harpy along the way. By the time they reached the granary, only thirty-odd men remained. They took the severely wounded Grey Worm from Barristan's arms and slowly began moving toward the Great Pyramid where Daenerys was.
Seeing that Grey Worm was now safe, Drogon soared high into the air, surveyed the surrounding area and the path ahead, and then flapped his wings, flying toward the Great Pyramid.
When Drogon arrived, the pyramid was under siege by hundreds of Sons of the Harpy. Seeing the little dragon hovering above, they recognized him as the one by Daenerys's side. They ceased their assault on the pyramid and turned their blades toward Drogon.
They knew that storming the pyramid today was hopeless, but if they could slay the little dragon by Queen Daenerys's side, the blow to her would be devastating.
Watching the crowd swarm toward him, Drogon let out a silent sneer. *If you want to be dragon-slayers,* he thought, *you'd better be prepared to be slaughtered.*
With a powerful beat of his wings, Drogon charged into the frenzied Sons of the Harpy, heedless of the swords and spears raining down upon him. Even in his juvenile state, his hide was now tough enough to withstand ordinary melee weapons.
His wings swept left and right, ruthlessly slashing through arms and thighs. Each strike tore deep, exposing bone and shredding flesh, or severing tendons in hands and feet, utterly crippling his foes.
The Sons of the Harpy relied on stealth, donning their Golden Harpy Helmets only when they struck. Drogon spared them not out of mercy, but to keep them alive—to learn their true identities and uncover the families or factions pulling their strings.
One Son of the Harpy, who had managed to strike Drogon, felt his joy turn to shock. His blade had bounced off the dragon's hide as if hitting solid rock, and a moment later, a searing pain shot through his arm. His weapon clattered to the ground, his grip shattered.
Drogon tore through the crowd of hundreds, his presence marked by a continuous chorus of agonized screams. Even the densest among them realized something was horribly wrong. When the outer circle saw dozens of their comrades fall in rapid succession, they abandoned all thoughts of dragon-slaying or storming the Pyramid and turned to flee.
They knew Drogon's speed meant their turn would come soon. If they didn't run now, they would never get another chance.
Seeing them try to flee, Drogon gave them no chance. He targeted the fastest runners first, and despair slowly settled over the hundreds of Sons of the Harpy.
As they watched their comrades' tendons being sliced—hands and ankles—leaving them bleeding profusely, some of the Sons of the Harpy even fell to their knees and begged for mercy. But Drogon spared no one who pleaded. Since they had dared to attack, they would have to pay a price.
The Unsullied guarding the Pyramid only abandoned their posts and moved in to capture the Sons of the Harpy once they saw the enemy had lost the ability to resist.
With the opportunity to surrender finally presented, the vast majority chose to yield to the sword-and-spear-proof Drogon. The sound of weapons clattering to the ground echoed incessantly.
From atop the Pyramid, Daenerys and her companions witnessed Drogon's assault. Daenerys and Missandei were astonished; they had never imagined Drogon could be even more formidable than he had been against Mero the Throat-slitter. In such a short time, he had wounded nearly every Son of the Harpy who had besieged the Pyramid.
Standing beside Daenerys, Shireen watched with her mouth agape as Drogon unleashed his fury. The shock she felt was indescribable. *Was this really the same little dragon who loved to devour meat and drink wine, the one she used to pet and cuddle?*
Seeing Drogon's ruthless side for the first time, Shireen found it difficult to reconcile with the creature she knew.
Though Tyrion had heard Varys's descriptions of Drogon's growth and witnessed his intimidation of the Dothraki khalasar, seeing him swoop down on hundreds of Sons of the Harpy in person was still utterly shocking.
He hadn't expected Drogon's defense, speed, and lethality to be so formidable even as a hatchling. How powerful would he be as an adult?
Tyrion couldn't help but glance at Daenerys, who was watching Drogon with a tense expression. With Drogon by her side, what worry had Queen Daenerys in unifying the Seven Kingdoms?
Drogon waited until the Unsullied had completely subdued the Sons of the Harpy before leaving the pyramid to scout the rest of the city.
Along the way, whenever he encountered Unsullied or Second Sons mercenaries under attack, he would swoop in to help. If the odds were even, he simply flew past.
After flying for a short while, he spotted Jorah, who had just finished a battle. Judging by the corpses on the ground, the Second Sons had suffered significant losses, but were lucky not to have faced an enemy that outnumbered them several times over.
"Drogon! Is Her Majesty the Queen all right? Why are you here?" Jorah had sensed something was wrong during his fight with the Sons of the Harpy. Seeing Drogon, he immediately confirmed his suspicions.
Drogon extended his small black claws and made an OK gesture. Jorah understood him instantly; after spending so much time together, he had long grown familiar with Drogon's unique gestures.
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