Game of Thrones: I'm Dothrak King!!
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Melisandre stared at Lynn's back, her mind an absolute knot of panicked confusion.
An army playing with fire?
Just that?
Those were literal divine miracles! That was the absolute, undeniable power of a god!
If Stannis could actively, permanently wield that kind of apocalyptic power, it would be more than enough to drive the entirety of Westeros into absolute, psychotic fanaticism!
"My Lord, you absolutely cannot underestimate him!"
Melisandre's voice violently shook with anxiety.
"Stannis has completely lost his mind! He absolutely, personally witnessed a divine mandate, and he is now nothing but a rabid, apocalyptic zealot!"
"He will burn down the entire world to execute you! Because in his eyes, you are the ultimate heretic actively stealing divine power!"
Lynn slowly turned around. He closed the distance, gently but firmly gripping Melisandre's flawless chin.
"Do you believe that I am?"
Melisandre stared into Lynn's bottomless eyes—eyes that felt like they could effortlessly strip away reality itself—and her entire body violently shuddered.
"No! I absolutely do not!"
Melisandre shook her head aggressively, her crimson eyes completely saturated with ironclad conviction.
"Excellent."
Lynn released her chin, giving a highly satisfied nod.
"Then exactly what the hell are you panicking about?"
"What exactly makes the Lord of Light so terrifying? Does he have an extra dick?"
"If this so-called god hasn't personally descended from the heavens to permanently incinerate me, it means he is absolutely forced to rely on mortal pawns."
"And as long as I am dealing with mortals, I have an infinite number of highly lethal ways to crush them."
"A horde of brainwashed, psychotic idiots throwing around little fireballs? I genuinely don't give a single flying fuck about them."
"Where I come from, we have a saying: 'Play with fire, piss the bed.' We also have another saying: 'Play with fire, burn yourself alive.'"
"Let them come. In fact, I highly encourage Stannis to drag every single pathetic grunt he can possibly muster straight to my doorstep."
"I am currently in desperate need of some experience... combat experience."
Experience?
Melisandre couldn't fully comprehend the bizarre terminology.
But she could absolutely, physically feel the lethal, suffocating bloodlust actively radiating from Lynn's every syllable.
And then, it finally, perfectly clicked.
Lynn... he genuinely, absolutely did not view Stannis as a threat!
In Lynn's eyes, Stannis and his so-called apocalyptic army of fire were nothing more than a massive flock of braindead sheep actively marching to the slaughterhouse!
That single, reality-shattering realization instantly washed over Melisandre with an unprecedented, profound wave of absolute security.
She was right. Why the actual fuck was she panicking?
"I completely understand, My Lord."
Melisandre respectfully, deeply bowed her head.
"I was entirely overthinking the situation."
"As long as you understand."
Lynn lightly patted her shoulder.
"Go get some rest. Your physical body is still incredibly weak and requires heavy recovery."
"Yes, My Lord."
Melisandre offered a final, deep curtsy and quietly exited the cavernous hall.
She desperately needed to mentally process the apocalyptic, reality-breaking events of the day.
The main hall was now completely dead silent, leaving only Lynn and the three women who were absolutely terrified to even draw a heavy breath.
Cersei stared at Lynn, her inherently arrogant eyes currently completely saturated with profound, heavy anxiety.
She had actively listened to every single syllable of the exchange between Lynn and Melisandre.
Stannis had violently forged an army capable of wielding literal fire?
That was absolutely, undeniably catastrophic news.
---
As expected, the reality was incredibly close to the shattered fragments seen in the flames, except Stannis was operating on an infinitely more psychotic, extreme level.
Stannis Baratheon had officially, publicly manifested divine miracles on Dragonstone, aggressively declaring himself the absolute, chosen envoy of the Lord of Light.
The intelligence violently detonated across the entirety of Westeros like a literal apocalyptic bomb.
It hit the heavily entrenched nobility of the Stormlands and the Reach the hardest.
They had just violently lost their highly charismatic King, Renly.
And now, Renly's older brother—the exact, rigidly joyless man they had universally despised and written off—had suddenly, miraculously mutated into the literal proxy of a god?
Initially, absolutely no one believed a single syllable of it.
They universally assumed it was a pathetic, highly desperate fabrication meticulously constructed by Stannis to violently absorb Renly's leaderless army.
That was, until the very first wave of terrified, deeply traumatized followers of the Seven managed to flee Dragonstone and violently vomit their apocalyptic accounts across the realm.
"He is a literal demon! Stannis is a fucking monster!"
"He violently betrayed the Seven! He is actively worshipping a highly toxic, psychotic god from Asshai!"
"He can literally make his soldiers' hands violently erupt in fire! I watched it happen with my own two fucking eyes!"
"He issued absolute orders to permanently incinerate every single Sept on Dragonstone! He chained the most devout Septons directly to stakes and burned them alive!"
These horrific, blood-soaked accounts sent a violent, paralyzing shudder down the spine of the entire realm.
And it hit the deeply devout followers of the Faith of the Seven like a physical blow.
King's Landing.
The Great Sept of Baelor.
The High Septon was standing aggressively before the towering, absolute statues of the Seven, his face violently warped by an unprecedented, apocalyptic rage.
"HERETIC!"
His roar violently echoed through the cavernous, vaulted ceilings of the Great Sept, dripping with absolute, irrefutable divine authority.
"Stannis Baratheon has violently betrayed the sacred Faith and thrown himself entirely into the arms of a demonic entity!"
"He is actively utilizing sickening, demonic sorcery to violently brainwash innocent soldiers!"
"This is the absolute highest, most unforgivable desecration of the Seven!"
The massive Sept was entirely packed with thousands of kneeling believers and clergy who had sprinted there upon hearing the apocalyptic news.
Every single face was completely warped by righteous, bloodshot fury and an absolute, deep-seated hatred for the heretic.
"We absolutely cannot permit this demonic heresy to exist for a single fraction of a second!"
The High Septon violently thrust his heavy crystal staff high into the air, pointing it directly toward the massive gates of King's Landing.
"I declare this in the absolute name of the Seven!"
"Stannis Baratheon is a permanent traitor to the realm, and the absolute, eternal enemy of the Seven!"
"Every single soldier who actively follows him will be permanently branded a heretic, forever damned to the deepest pits of hell without any hope of salvation!"
"I am officially calling upon every single devout believer to draw your steel and violently defend the absolute glory of the Seven!"
"March upon Dragonstone and completely butcher that demon!"
"FIGHT FOR THE GODS!"
The High Septon's roar was a masterclass in highly toxic, apocalyptic incitement.
"FIGHT FOR THE GODS!"
"FIGHT FOR THE GODS!"
The thousands of believers packed into the Sept completely lost their fucking minds, exactly as if they had been violently injected with pure adrenaline. They aggressively thrust their fists into the air, screaming with apocalyptic fanaticism.
A massive, highly contagious tidal wave of absolute religious psychoticism instantly began violently sweeping through the streets of King's Landing, rapidly infecting the entirety of Westeros.
Roving mobs began actively, spontaneously organizing, aggressively hunting down and violently assaulting anyone even remotely suspected of worshipping the Red God.
In a matter of days, the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms was violently plunged into apocalyptic, highly unstable chaos solely due to this brutal holy war.
---
Storm's End.
Stannis had already flawlessly, violently absorbed the absolute majority of the massive army Renly had left behind.
He was standing aggressively atop the massive, impenetrable battlements of Storm's End, staring down at the endless sea of heavily armed soldiers blanketing the horizon. His face was plastered with an entirely unhidden, deeply arrogant smirk.
Renly, that pathetic, arrogant idiot, had painstakingly manipulated and funded an army of one hundred thousand men, and in the end, absolutely every single one of them had fallen directly into Stannis's lap.
Right at that exact second.
Davos Seaworth, the fiercely loyal Onion Knight, slowly approached, his weathered face deeply etched with profound, heavy anxiety.
"My Lord."
"Urgent intelligence from King's Landing."
Stannis didn't even bother to turn around.
"Speak."
"The High Septon has officially, publicly branded you an absolute heretic and has aggressively called upon every single follower of the Seven to violently march against you."
Davos's voice violently shook with heavy concern.
"Because of this, a massive faction of the nobility in the Stormlands and the Reach have become incredibly hostile toward us solely based on their faith."
"They are completely terrified to openly rebel, but they are actively, aggressively ignoring your direct commands from the shadows."
"And... a significant number of our soldiers are so utterly terrified of being permanently branded heretics that they are actively deserting the camps under the cover of night."
"Is that so?"
Stannis slowly, deliberately turned around.
There wasn't a single ounce of rage on his face. There was absolutely nothing but dead, freezing apathy.
"They are nothing but a horde of brain-dead idiots entirely blinded by a false, pathetic god."
He locked eyes with Davos, and the gaze staring back was completely, permanently stripped of any recognizable human emotion.
"Davos."
"Do you believe in the Seven?"
Davos's heart violently slammed against his ribs.
He stared at Stannis's lethally cold, dead face, and heavily, agonizingly swallowed.
"I... I do."
He absolutely did not dare to lie.
"Excellent."
Stannis gave a slow, measured nod.
"Then let me ask you: do you still believe?"
Davos completely froze.
He had absolutely no fucking clue what Stannis was implying.
Stannis completely ignored his paralysis and turned away.
He marched down from the towering battlements, stepping directly onto the massive training grounds.
Tens of thousands of newly absorbed, highly anxious soldiers were standing in rigid, dead-silent formation.
They stared at the man who had just violently assassinated their previous King, their eyes heavily saturated with an incredibly complex, chaotic mix of emotions.
There was pure terror. There was heavy reverence. But there was also a deeply buried, violent resentment.
Stannis completely, entirely ignored their loaded glares.
He marched straight to the elevated wooden platform dead center in the grounds.
"I am fully aware that a massive portion of you are still actively clinging to the pathetic, laughable concept of the Seven."
"You are completely terrified of being branded heretics. You are terrified of death."
"Today, I am going to physically force you to see reality."
"I am going to show you exactly how utterly, apocalyptically useless your so-called gods truly are!"
With those words, he aggressively signaled a heavy guard standing nearby.
"Go. Drag that pathetic Septon we captured out here."
Moments later.
An elderly man draped in the heavy robes of a Septon—his face violently beaten into a bloody, swollen pulp—was brutally dragged onto the platform by two heavily armored guards.
"Take your fucking hands off me! You demonic, heretical dogs!"
The elderly Septon was violently thrashing and continuously screaming a highly toxic stream of curses.
Stannis slowly walked over, staring down at the bleeding man with absolute, freezing contempt.
"Tell them."
"Is your pathetic god actually going to save you?"
"Spit!"
The elderly Septon aggressively hacked a massive wad of bloody phlegm directly onto Stannis's boot.
"You demonic heretic! The Seven will violently, permanently destroy you!"
"You will be dragged straight to the deepest pit of hell and burned alive for ten thousand years!"
"Is that so?"
Stannis smiled.
He slowly raised a single hand.
FWOOSH!
A massive, violently burning orb of bright orange fire instantaneously erupted directly from his bare palm!
"The hellfire you were just screaming about... does it look something like this?"
The Septon's psychotic screaming permanently, violently cut off.
His eyes nearly blew out of his skull, staring in absolute, reality-shattering disbelief at the roaring flames hovering just inches from his face.
Every single one of the tens of thousands of soldiers completely lost their fucking minds!
They had heard the terrifying rumors, but actually standing there and physically witnessing an absolute, undeniable divine miracle with their own eyes completely, permanently shattered their brains!
"Now. Pray to my God."
Stannis's voice dropped into an incredibly lethal, demonic whisper.
"Swear your absolute, unconditional devotion to the Lord of Light, and I will permit you to live."
"I... I... "
The old Septon stared at the roaring flames, physically feeling the apocalyptic, searing heat radiating against his skin. His ironclad faith violently, aggressively began to fracture.
But right at that exact second.
"NO! I WILL NEVER SUBMIT TO A DEMON!"
The Septon let out a sudden, bloodcurdling roar of pure defiance!
He violently threw himself upright, throwing his arms wide open, his face completely warped by the psychotic, euphoric fanaticism of a true martyr!
"DO IT, HERETIC!"
"INCINERATE ME WITH YOUR DEMON FIRE!"
"THE SEVEN WILL HAVE MY ABSOLUTE VENGEANCE!"
"Excellent."
The cold smile instantly vanished from Stannis's face.
He casually flicked his wrist.
The massive fireball violently shot forward, flawlessly impacting directly into the center of the Septon's chest!
"AGGGHHHH—!"
An entirely ungodly, completely inhuman shriek of absolute, apocalyptic agony violently tore through the silent training grounds!
The elderly Septon aggressively thrashed and convulsed within the roaring inferno, rapidly, permanently reducing into a completely charred, smoking corpse.
Every single soldier was currently staring at the man on the platform with the exact same look reserved for a literal, apocalyptic demon.
"Do you finally see it?"
Stannis's freezing voice completely shattered the dead silence.
"That is exactly what your pathetic Seven are."
"Weak. Completely, utterly useless."
"They are absolutely nothing in the face of true, undeniable divine power!"
He threw his arms wide open, exactly as if he were physically embracing the entire fucking world.
"And I, the absolute chosen envoy of the Lord of Light, can bestow that exact same omnipotent power directly upon you!"
"Make your choice right now!"
"Continue to blindly worship a pathetic, useless god, and be violently reduced to ash exactly like that piece of shit."
"Or, swear absolute fealty to me, swear fealty to the one true God, and rise to absolute supremacy!"
The sea of soldiers stared at the smoking, charred husk on the platform, and then heavily shifted their gaze back to Stannis's completely dead, ruthless face.
Absolute, primal terror violently, permanently crushed whatever pathetic faith they had left.
Thud! A single soldier aggressively threw his sword into the dirt and dropped heavily to his knees.
A second later, another followed. Then a third...
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Tens of thousands of heavily armed soldiers violently, simultaneously collapsed to their knees in a massive, deafening wave of absolute submission!
"WE... WE WILL FOLLOW YOU!"
"WE SWEAR FEALTY TO THE LORD OF LIGHT!"
The apocalyptic, deafening roar of absolute fanaticism completely shook the heavens.
Standing at the very back of the massive crowd, Davos watched the entire psychotic, reality-shattering scene unfold, feeling every single drop of blood in his veins turn into solid ice.
He perfectly understood.
From this exact second forward, Lord Stannis Baratheon permanently ceased to exist.
There was only a deeply unhinged, apocalyptic lunatic that his zealots were already calling the "King of Sacred Fire".
And this psychotic bastard was absolutely going to use his army of literal fire-wielding fanatics to violently drag the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms straight down into an apocalyptic, blood-soaked abyss!
Stannis stood motionless, staring out over the endless sea of kneeling soldiers. He slowly, deliberately raised his head, locking his dead gaze entirely in the direction of King's Landing.