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SLW Chapter 33 : You Do Not Belong Here.
🕑 Added 2025-02-22 20:09:02 +0000 UTCAeron stood amidst the sea of corpses, his breath steady despite the blood-drenched battlefield. Around him, the remains of the Dothraki horde lay in twisted, lifeless heaps, their horses fallen beside them. The earth was stained red, and the cries of the surviving Lhazareen had long since faded into silence.
Then, the system notification appeared before his eyes.
[New Limit Unlocked: Shadow Army Capacity Increased to 200]
Aeron’s lips curled into a smirk. One hundred soldiers? That was more than enough.
He exhaled slowly and raised a single hand over the battlefield. The air around him darkened, the shadows stretching unnaturally toward him like living things.
Then, in a voice laced with absolute authority, he uttered a single word:
"Arise."
The effect was instantaneous.
A dark wave of shadow energy erupted from underneath his legs , surging across the battlefield like an all-consuming tide. Black mist coiled around the fallen.
And then, they came forth.
One by one, figures rose from the darkness. Not the bodies themselves, but shadows given form, emerging from the corpses like specters pulled from the void. Their eyes blazed violet, their bodies clad in an ethereal black mist that flickered and shifted like living smoke.
The Dothraki had been reforged into creatures of the abyss, now standing in perfect, unyielding silence before their master.
Even their horses, or rather, their shadows had been claimed. Black, spectral beasts with glowing violet eyes snorted, stamping their hooves on the blood-soaked ground. The Dothraki were known as the finest horsemen in the world, now, even death could not separate them from their steeds.
And then, as one, the Black Horde knelt.
Their new Lord stood before them, his Direfang resting against his shoulder.
The shadow of the former Khal, once proud and untamed in life, now knelt the deepest, his violet eyes flickering with a ghostly submission.
Aeron gazed upon them, his smirk widening.
"You were Dothraki," he said, his voice like a whisper of death itself. "Warriors of the Great Grass Sea. Unbroken. Unstoppable."
His eyes glowed even brighter as he took a step forward, his shadow stretching across them like an eclipse.
"Now? You are something greater."
The air crackled with unseen power as his violet gaze burned into his new soldiers.
"You are mine now. My Horde. My Shadows."
The kneeling warriors growled in inhuman unison, the sound carrying across the empty battlefield, a promise of death to all who opposed them.
****
The Red Waste stretched endlessly before him, a vast, desolate expanse of crimson sands and blistering heat. Even atop Garm’s massive form, the heat gnawed at his skin, yet Aeron paid it no mind. The desolation, the emptiness of the place—it was almost peaceful. Almost.
His gaze flickered to the lingering notification in the corner of his vision.
[Unknown forces seek your death. They will soon cross your path.]
Aeron clicked his tongue.’ As I thought.’
It had been there even before the slaughter in Lhazar. A warning. Yet, something about it unsettled him. The system had never been vague before—his quests were clear, objectives definitive. But this… this was cryptic.
"What is that supposed to mean..." he muttered.
Garm rumbled beneath him, sensing his unease.
And then he saw him.
A lone figure stood in the distance.
Aeron narrowed his eyes. There shouldn't be anyone here. The Red Waste was a graveyard to those who dared cross it unprepared. No food, no water. The very land rejected life itself. And yet this man stood, waiting.
His cloak billowed ever so slightly in the dry wind, and his head was tilted downward, as if in quiet contemplation.
Aeron slowed Garm to a halt, his voice carrying across the empty wasteland.
"Who the hell are you?"
No response.
The man did not move, did not even acknowledge him.
Aeron’s hand gripped Direfang’s hilt. There was something off about him.
And then he saw it.
For the briefest of moments, the man's face changed.
A flicker, a shift like a rippling reflection on the surface of disturbed water. His features twisted, molding into something else entirely before snapping back into place.
Aeron's breath hitched. His violet eyes narrowed.
"my mind isn’t playing tricks with me, I know what I just saw."
His blade slid free in a smooth motion, black steel catching the light of the dying sun. He dismounted from Garm with a practiced ease, his stance shifting into one of quiet readiness.
He approached, slowly.
"You're not going to speak?" Aeron asked, his voice laced with suspicion. "Fine. Then die in silence."
In the blink of an eye, he moved.
Direfang whistled through the air, aimed straight for the man's throat.
The figure reacted.
A dagger, small, swift flashed from his cloak, intercepting Aeron’s strike with unnatural precision. The force of the clash sent out a dull shockwave, dust kicking up around them.
Aeron smirked.
"So, you’re not just some wandering fool, yet this isn’t the strength of a normal human.."
He pressed forward, launching a rapid flurry of deadly strikes, each one precise, calculated. The man parried, dodged, his movements eerily fluid, too fluid. His silence unnerved Aeron more than anything.
"No fear, no hesitation… what are you?"
Aeron switched tactics. His free hand shot forward, crackling with the invisible force of Ruler’s Authority.
The man jerked unnaturally, his body twisting away as if yanked by unseen strings, narrowly avoiding the telekinetic grip.
But that brief moment of imbalance was all Aeron needed.
He closed the distance in an instant.
A single, brutal slash.
SHNK!
The man’s head separated from his body.
For the first time, Aeron heard something a whisper, almost inaudible, escaping from the lifeless lips before the head hit the sand.
Aeron stood there for a moment, his blade dripping with dark blood. He exhaled, staring at the corpse with narrowed eyes.
"Faceless Men?" he murmured, his mind racing. "Did Westeros send them? Dany?"
“No this doesn’t feel right.” ‘The Faceless Men didn't operate like this. They killed silently, from the shadows, without leaving a trace. A direct confrontation? It wasn’t their style.’ Aeron muttered to himself.
And then, he felt it.
A chill.
A presence.
Aeron spun around.
From the dunes, they emerged.
Figures clad in dark, tattered cloaks, faces obscured, moving in eerie synchronization. There were many. More than ten. Their footsteps made no sound, their presence heavy yet unnatural.
And then they spoke.
"You do not belong in this world."
Aeron froze.
His eyes widened not in fear, but in something far worse.
Irritation.
A nerve had been struck, sharp and deep.
His grip on Direfang tightened, his jaw clenched. The shadows cast by the setting sun seemed to lengthen around him, as if mirroring the storm brewing within.
Those words.
Not a threat. Not a warning. A statement.
They knew.
Somehow, these people knew.
His irritation boiled over into something sharp, dangerous. His violet eyes flashed, glowing ominously.
Aeron took a slow, deliberate breath, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the weight of their words.
Then he smiled.
"Oh? I won’t bother asking because i know you won’t answer me." His voice was low, taunting. He tilted his head slightly, a glint of mockery in his gaze. "so what will you do about it?"
No response.
They merely stood there, unmoving, their presence pressing in on him like a vice.
Aeron exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head.
Aeron exhaled, his irritation settling into something cold and merciless.
He glanced at the figures before him these nameless, faceless fools who dared to speak as if they understood his existence.
"You do not belong in this world."
The words still echoed in his mind, but now? Now they only fueled the rage simmering beneath his skin.
He scoffed. "You think you know me? What I am?" His grip on Direfang tightened. "Pathetic."
He took a step back not out of caution, but to make a point.
"I won’t even kill you myself."
And then, he raised his sword.
The earth rumbled. Shadows twisted and rose like living smoke, forming dark figures with glowing violet eyes. The air grew thick with their presence, a creeping sense of inevitability settling over the battlefield.
Aeron's voice dropped into something almost casual, as if he were ordering a simple chore.
"Annihilate them."
Then, he smiled, tilting his head ever so slightly.
"Slowly."
The shadows obeyed.
