Chapter 27: Apotheosis

7th day of the 11th moon, 296 AC. Disputed Lands.

There was some kind of irony in the fact that a real god didn't really need to do anything to be worshiped, while a fake one had to work his ass off.

That was why Harry was in the Disputed Lands this day, to manufacture a miracle that would leave no doubt as to his divinity. For the people living here anyway.

Because truly, getting Lys, Myr and Tyrosh to stop fighting over this prime chunk of real estate would be a miracle. They had been at it for centuries with very little in the way of breaks or sign of resolution.

It had been going on long enough for a whole culture to develop around the unceasing war. The villages and towns dotting the land had long since stopped giving a shit which of the three they theoretically answered to, knowing that it would likely be a few years at the absolute most before such a claim was contested. Often enough, they just invited whichever mercenary company was 'besieging' them for a feast and 'surrendered' and life would go on.

That wasn't to say that life in the Disputed Lands didn't suck for the civilians, because it definitely did. Mercenary companies were, in general, poison to the lands they operated in. They were rootless outsiders with no concern but for the coin they received for their services, and as such far more likely to abuse non-combatants. And regular armies were bad enough about that as it was.

That was Harry's goal today. He was going to banish all mercenaries from the Disputed Lands, so that if Myr, Lys and Tyrosh wanted to keep fighting over them, they would have to do it themselves.

And he knew they were too much a bunch of pussies to do that. Myr was full of craftsmen, Lys was full of whores and Tyrosh was full of weirdoes that dye their hair in bright colors like edgy teenagers trying desperately to be 'unique'. All three had been hit hard by the elimination of the slave trade and were still far from recovered. That tended to happen when your population was 3:1 in favor of the slaves.

Despite that, the wars in the Disputed Lands had hardly stopped. Sure, there was a brief pause as the finances of the three cities took a dip, but that was quickly followed by a drop in the price of sellsword companies as their captains were forced to lower the cost of their services due to the sudden lowering of demand. In a matter of years, equilibrium had reestablished itself.

At the current moment, Harry was standing just outside a large-ish village. Both Lys and Myr claimed dominion over it and its crops. As was typical, they had been unable to settle the matter peacefully and had hired sellsword companies to do it for them.

The sellsword companies in question were the Windblown and the Company of the Cat. The latter of the two was worse in its conduct towards non-combatants, but only in the same way that molten magma was hotter than regular fire.

The villagers themselves had noted his presence some time ago, but none had the courage to approach him. That was for the best, as he was meditating in preparation for the magic he would cast.

Throwing around fireballs and threats of death would be simple, but not effective or grandiose enough. Something a bit more sophisticated would be required.

The hours passed while he prepared. His body stood there as motionless as a statue while his soul sank into the Astral Plane, weaving strands of magic around the borders of the place known to humanity as [The Disputed Lands]. This particular working was only possible because his alter ego as the Father of Freedom was worshiped as the main god in Lys, Myr and Tyrosh. The people didn't know it, but by doing this they had given him mastery over the land that they all laid claim to.

It was past midday when the two sellsword companies arrived to do battle. Harry could feel their bafflement at his glowing figure even from a distance.

Eventually, they decided to approach under a banner of truce. The Tattered Prince of the Windblown with his most trusted subordinates and advisors and Bloodbeard of the Company of the Cat with some guards to back him up. The violent man had little use for other people's opinions.

The two parties approached cautiously from opposing sides, clearly not knowing what to make of him. Finally, the Tattered Prince decided that you couldn't go wrong with politeness.

"Good day to you." He said jauntily, not letting any nervousness leak into his tone.

"A good day it is, and a good day it will remain." Harry responded, his voice echoing for miles around, although the volume stayed consistent. "There will be no battle."

Bloodbeard and the Tattered Prince exchanged looks of puzzlement. The contracts they'd taken said that there would be battle.

"We were contracted to fight for Lys." The Tattered Prince said.

"Aye, and we for Myr." Bloodbeard chimed in with a bloodthirsty grin, fondling the handle of his sword.

"There will be no battle." Harry repeated firmly, preparing to complete what he had come here to do. "This is my Edict: no sellsword shall aspire to violence in these lands. Not now, not ever again."

The ward he had spent hours setting up snapped into place with that decree. In function, it was fairly simple, anyone in [The Disputed Lands] who identified as a [sellsword] fell under its authority. The difficulty was in the sheer scale of territory it covered. If Harry did not have access to the Astral Plane, it would have taken him months of work to set it up and if he didn't have the worship of the people, it would fall in a matter of days.

The sellswords all felt something when the ward went up and became spooked.

"What did you ARRGH!?" Bloodbeard began demanding and drew his sword, falling to his knees screaming in pain as soon as violent intent entered his mind.

With the Tattered Prince, Caggo, his Dothraki second, experienced the same thing.

Stupidly and predictably the majority of the others reacted on instinct and also tried to draw their weapons. They, too, fell screaming to the ground.

In the distance, both sellsword companies reacted to the screams by drawing weapons…and thus fell screaming to the ground. A great many horses fled in panic.

Only the Tattered Prince and Denzo D'han, his third in command, had retained the presence of mind to not go for their weapons.

"Who are you?" the Tattered Prince asked in an awed tone.

"I am the god of this land." Harry declared, casting a brief illusion to make his form flicker into the image of a bearded old man in a toga. "I suggest you leave quickly. While you may not aspire to violence, others may still inflict violence upon you."

It was no accident that the nearby villagers heard him loud and clear, as did the slaves both sellsword companies kept.

The Tattered Prince realized it, too.

"Get up!" He ordered his slowly recovering men. "We must move quickly."

Out of everyone's view, Harry smiled. With so many witnesses, everyone in the Disputed Lands would know about this incident within a matter of months.

Perhaps he could have used the mercenaries elsewhere. There was always a need for fighting men, after all. Unfortunately, most of them could generously be described as undisciplined killers. A god had to be above such things. A man claiming to be a god needed to have an unassailable reputation.

A sellsword was an honest vulture that made his living off the conflicts of others. Harry could respect that honesty, but a god must disdain it. A sellsword had no home and no ties of blood or culture to the land, so he was not part of a god's realm.

XXXXX

16th day of the 12th moon, 296 AC. Meereen.

The Ghiscari cities of Slaver's Bay, Mereen, Yunkai, Astapor and New Ghis, along with the Valyrian remnants of Mantarys, Tolos and Elyria were the last significant bastions of slavery in Essos.

The Free Cities had been the target of a concerted, secret, decades-long effort to undermine the practice politically, religiously, economically and culturally. The old guard who still wanted slavery kept around knew better than to say anything these days, as the Father of Freedom was now the primary god in most of the Free Cities and any advocating for slavery would provoke a religious lynch mob.

Aside from the now burned Volantis, Qohor had been the trickiest to work with due to their Black Goat religion, but the slave trade had also not been quite as strong there.

That was Harry's preferred method for putting an end to slavery; systematic, thorough and seemingly internal. That way it was far more likely to stick than if some outsider came in and went rampaging against the slaveholders. Even if he was now compelled by his own nature to fight slavery wherever he found it, there was no reason to be bullheaded about it.

Unfortunately, he no longer had the luxury of doing that with Slaver's Bay. The practice was so deeply rooted in Ghiscari and Valyrian culture that it might still take decades to properly undo and he didn't have that kind of time.

Adrastia had first spread word through street oracles and subverted priestesses that an avatar of the gods was coming to show them the way, then a few months later a few doomsayers to spread the word that divine punishment was coming to the Good, Great and Wise Masters if they did not abolish slavery. Predictably, the only thing that achieved was a few brutal executions.

Now it was time to make a few brutal executions of his own. More than just a few, actually.

Before the great gates of Mereen, a circle of bright blue-white flame flared into existence, drawing attention from the guards manning the walls.

A few seconds later, Harry appeared in the teleportation circle, fully decked out in his archangel cosplay outfit. In his hand burned Fakebringer, the overly flashy sword whose main purpose was to look cool.

Apparition was faster, but that method of teleportation was actually rather dangerous and vulnerable to outside influence. To say nothing of how it relied on visual knowledge of the area. Plus, it really didn't look cool enough for the purpose.

Harry ignored the shouts of the guards and floated over to the gates. Unsullied, too mentally broken to feel awe, began pelting him with arrows upon a panicked command from a sergeant.

Said arrows were turned away by the protective enchantments of the Iron Halo mounted behind his head. It would take a projectile with much more conceptual weight to breach it than mere arrows.

Once he stood before the gates, oil was poured down on him. Not boiling, because they didn't have time to warm it up, but it would still have been quite a problem. The Iron Halo turned that away too, making the oil flow around him as if he was holding up an umbrella.

Harry laid a hand on the gates and dissolved the molecular bonds holding them together. The way was open. Beyond, the guards were only just beginning to gather. He could almost taste their terror.

The normal ones anyway. The Unsullied were as blank as ever, simply leveling their spears at him. The only thing he sensed from them was a dead emptiness, their humanity suppressed to such a degree that they could barely be called sapient.

"I come to pass judgment." Harry declared, his voice augmented with magic so that it could be heard all across the city. "Bow down before the avatar."

"K-KILL HIM!" The commander of the small group shrieked in panic. No doubt he was from one of the ruling families and none too keen on being judged.

"So be it." Harry swung his sword, lashing out with an arc of white fire that cut through all of them at once. "You are unworthy."

XXXXX

Galazza Galare, the Green Grace of Meereen, was rushing, which was an extremely difficult thing to do in a tokar, especially for a woman of eighty years.

The reason for her uncommon haste was the apparent living god that had attacked their city.

For decades, there had been sects to that new god, the Father of Freedom, cropping up and pushing for the abolition of slavery. She had thought little of it and worked to suppress the cult.

Recently, several of the younger priestesses had reported dream visitations from the gods foretelling the arrival of a divine avatar, but she had been skeptical.

Doomsayers had cropped up foretelling divine retribution, but she had been skeptical.

Now there was no more time to be skeptical.

As she made her way towards the central market plaza near the Great Pyramid of Rhazdar, she heard news of what had happened.

The city watch had been swiftly defeated, most of its commanders either killed or surrendered. The people had quickly bowed to the will of this 'god' and obeyed him. Chains were being stricken from the slaves and the noble families of Meereen were being brought to the plaza to be judged, including her own.

When she finally made it, Galazza balked at what she saw. She hadn't been sure what she was expecting, but the luminous figure with glowing, wing-like tendrils coming from his back and hair so black it was like a river of darkness flowing from the top of his head was not it. It truly did look like a god had descended from the heavens.

He stood impassively upon the podium that was often used to display new slaves, flaming blade stabbed into the wood. As the masses parted for her guards, blank white eyes turned in her direction and Galazza would have thought him blind if not for the sensation of something looking through her.

"Your Radiance." She addressed him cautiously. The title used for royalty felt more appropriate than ever and as he had effectively conquered the city by himself, he was already king in all but name. Hopefully, he was a merciful one.

"Priestess." He returned in a voice that made her bones tremble. "You have a request."

It was not a question.

"I ask only for your mercy. Meereen will bow to your will."

"Mercy has already been shown you, and you squandered it. You will not gainsay that the signs were more than clear, but they did not please you, so you ignored them." He replied implacably.

Galazza felt sweat bead on her skin. This was exactly what she had feared. "Ghis is old and slow to change. With Your Radiance to guide us, we can move into the future an enlightened people."

She could hear the quiet grumbling of the nobles around her, even though they were being held at spearpoint. They did not want to give up their ways, did not want to bow to the will of this apparent god who hated slavery.

How foolish. Galazza knew that Meereenese nobility was riddled with bloodthirsty idiots, but she had not fathomed that they could be arrogant enough to fail to notice the danger they were all in.

"You wield humility like a weapon, Priestess." The god stated and it did not sound like a compliment. "What of kindness? What of charity, patience and temperance? What of diligence and chastity? Will you try to use them to stay my judgment as well?"

Galazza was acutely aware that Meereen was sorely lacking in those qualities, particularly among its oldest families. Their city was a crumbling memorial to something that had once been great, a dying beast bleeding in its den. A slow death that had been dragging on for centuries, one that they had all felt creeping near in recent years.

Perhaps being struck down by a god was the best they could expect. In any case, she knew that there was only one answer she could give. The mob of common people was already under the luminous man's sway and his tone had a note of finality to it. "I bow to your wisdom, Your Radiance."

The god nodded in acknowledgement and turned to look back at the crowd. "Who will be the first to be judged?"

It sounded like he was asking for volunteers, but a group of slaves – former slaves, she reminded herself – pushed forward a man.

Galazza recognized him by the distinctive ram horn styled hair. She did not expect him to be judged favorably.

The former slaves threw the struggling man roughly to his knees before the god. He attempted to rise, but a gesture froze him in place.

"State your name." The god demanded.

"Oznak zo Pahl, of that ancient and noble family." The kneeling man spat defiantly. "You murdered my father!"

Ah, of course. Oznak's father had been commander of the city watch.

"I judged your father." The god corrected. "Are you repentant for the cruelties you committed in life, Oznak?"

"I have done no wrong!" Oznak claimed defiantly.

There was a moment of stillness, then the god swung his flaming blade through Oznak's neck. There was no spray of blood and even the body itself quickly crumbled away like cloth set aflame.

"Lying is a sin."

The mob erupted in roars of approval and another noble scion was marched to the podium.

Galazza feared that Meereen's noble families would have nothing but young children left to their names before this was over.

XXXXX

Harry spent the whole day chopping heads and he still hadn't finished purging Meereen of every cruel idiot that would cause trouble as soon as he turned his back. This is why he preferred to act from the shadows.

Sure, this method was quicker, but it was sloppy and these fucking Ghiscari were almost guaranteed to regress back into idiocy without constant monitoring.

Must…not…genocide!

"Please spare me, Your Radiance!" An especially fat man blubbered, the current head of House Dhazak, grabbing his plated boots and kissing them in a truly disgusting display.

"Are you repentant for the cruelties you committed in life?" Harry asked. He could already tell what the answer was just from the 'greasy' feeling of the man's soul.

"Yes, I am repentant!" The fat man cried.

"Lying is a sin."

Whoosh.

"The next one to be judged will be the last today before I leave you to reflect." Actually, he just needed a break. A god could not be seen eating, drinking, pissing, fidgeting or generally doing anything that would humanize him. Needless to say, it was exhausting.

"Hizdahr zo Loraq." The Green Grace said to him as the man was pushed forth. "He is a good, gentle man."

This dried out bitch…

While he could certainly understand the desire to save as many of her people as possible, her methods were more than a little irritating. She'd placed herself just close enough to him to make it seem as if she was fully onboard with him, while at the same time constantly pleading for mercy. She was effectively trying to play both sides.

Fucking Ghiscari, they were worse than the Jews and Muslims put together. That was a feat he hadn't thought possible. Or maybe he was just cranky because his nose itched and he couldn't scratch it.

Must…not…genocide!

No matter how good it would feel, it would upset Luna if he committed an ethnic cleansing for fun. She hadn't said anything when he did it for political convenience, national security and to have the apocalypse happen on his terms, but she definitely wouldn't be happy if he did it because he was lazy.

"Are you repentant for the cruelties you committed in life?" Harry asked.

The rather skinny man felt less afraid than many of the others, but he had a slippery feel to him. This one had a schemer's mind.

"I have never been a cruel man."

Huh, truth. I am shocked, shocked, I say.

"Do you understand the evil inherent in enslaving your fellow man?"

"I do."

Harry held back a disappointed sigh.

"Lying is a sin."

Whoosh.

XXXXX

Harry didn't even bother to take off his armor before collapsing in his favorite armchair with a gusty sigh.

"Was it that bad?" Sarella asked, obviously torn between sympathy and amusement.

"Yes, yes it was." He nodded. "Three people. Three! That's how many I was able to spare out of four hundred twenty-six."

"At least you have someone to keep an eye on things for you." She offered, trying to see the bright side.

"One of them was ten." Harry deadpanned.

"He will grow?"

He sighed again and decided to change the subject to something less aggravating. "Anything interesting happen while I was gone?"

"Well…" Sarella hesitated.

"What?"

"Arianne has been complaining to me about you neglecting her." She finally admitted. "She says you promised her more children and so far you have only given her one."

Personally, she thought that her cousin was being just a little ridiculous. Mankind was in serious danger of being wiped out and she was – to put it crudely – thinking with her cunt.

Harry scratched at his beard with a plated finger. "That's true."

Between jumping across all over Westeros and now Essos playing god, he also spent a large amount of time in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, brewing up more goodies for the men on the Wall to use against the Others. It was rather easy to lose track of things and he knew that he spent maybe two hours a week with Arianne, Tyene and their kids.

And it would be a shame to waste her most fertile years.

"Do you think Doran would mind if I took over another room and turned it into a sex dungeon?" Because Ari was really into that kind of stuff.

"Yes."

"Great, could you ask Luna to take care of that for me if I'm not here when she shows up? I have a feeling that the Ghiscari problem is going to need a lot of personal attention."

"Harry, I said that Uncle Doran would mind."

"Just tell him that Oberyn can have it after we move back into Dol Guldur."

"That would only upset him further!"

"Well then don't tell him at all and let it be a surprise."

"I wonder if Uncle Doran still thinks associating with you is worth it." Sarella muttered to herself in exasperation.

"What was that?"

"Nothing!"

XXXXX

29th day of the 12th moon, 296 AC. Astapor.

Harry invaded Astapor the same way he had done to Meereen and Yunkai and did not expect anything to be particularly different.

True, Astapor was where the Unsullied were trained, so there would be a larger amount of warriors to overcome, but not as many as there would have been a couple of decades ago. Back then, Astapor could maintain a garrison of ten thousand Unsullied, now they were down to a tenth of that.

Without the Dothraki to constantly sell them the slaves they took in their raids and without the Free Cities buying them, their power was much reduced. Harry had little issue bulldozing his way through the resistance in pursuit of the fat little piggy in charge of the Unsullied and their training.

Harry let him run and was amused to find that the fat bastard hadn't even made it out of the training area proper before needing to catch his breath.

Curiously, he had a little girl with him, one that was not at all out of breath from the brief jog. He could actually sense a faint amusement at her master's misfortune from her.

"Your Radiance, wait!" The slaver wheezed. "I, Kraznys mo Nakloz, beg that you stay your hand."

Oh, so now that force and flight had failed, it was going to be begging? Typical.

"Bow down before the avatar." Harry demanded and was unsurprised when the fat man immediately fell to his knees. Or crashed, if you want to be accurate.

"All I have is yours, Your Radiance." Kraznys declared, slightly less wheezy. He threw the ornate cat o' nine tails at his feet, which Harry knew was a ceremonial symbol of ownership. "You as well, girl. Go to your new master."

The little girl momentarily hesitated before jogging over to him. She felt nervous, but not especially scared. Curiouser and curiouser.

"Kraznys mo Nakloz, you are unworthy." Harry proclaimed and cut off the horrified fat man's head.

Then he summoned the whip to his hand and incinerated it. "You Unsullied are free to do as you will. I go now to free the slaves and strike down the masters."

There were only a few dozen Unsullied present in the immediate area, but his voice boomed over the entire city. Some would likely still fight, but most were liable to simply stand still in confusion. Some might even help him in his task. Either way was fine with him.

Harry looked down at the little girl that still stood at his side, noting the way she stared back at him. Intelligent, thinking, analytical, curious. He could sense a strong, if immature, mind in her and could almost hear the wheels turning as she tried to figure him out. There was awe there, yes, but she was still thinking.

This little girl had more going on between her ears than most adults and she couldn't be more than eight years old. He hadn't come here looking for diamonds in the rough, but he would not hesitate to take it now that he'd found one.

"What is your name, young one?" He asked.

"This one is Missandei." She replied with far more courage than her youth should allow.

A Naathi? Harry wondered, recognizing the style of name and the thick, curly hair his sensing magic told him she had.

"Were you taken from Naath by pirates from the Basilisk Isles?" He asked, deducing the likely chains of events that led to her being here. The seas more to the west were dangerous for slavers and pirates these days, but the Basilisk Isles were far enough out of the way to survive.

Maybe it was time to burn out that pirate nest again. He'd done it before, but that place attracted scum like a magnet. Short of sinking it all under the sea, it was always going to be a problem.

"Yes, along with three of my brothers." She answered, tone becoming tinged with sadness. "They were to be made into Unsullied. One has already died."

Harry decided that he would find those two brothers of hers and restore them if they had already been castrated. It was an easy enough thing to do and it would make Missandei feel indebted to him. Probably unnecessary, but he didn't want to risk losing the chance to raise up someone with her potential. Plus, Luna would no doubt love her and Sarella will probably enjoy having a junior apprentice.

"Take my hand, Missandei." He said, smiling approvingly when the brave little girl only hesitated a moment before wrapping her tiny digits around two of his mailed fingers. "We will find your brothers as we purge this city of evil."

"They are this way, Your Radiance." She said happily and tugged him along, back towards the slave pens.

Harry held back another amused smile. What a brave little girl.

XXXXX

"She's soooo adorable!" Luna squealed and swept Missandei into her arms before Harry could even begin explaining. She knew him well enough to guess the relevant bits anyway.

More importantly…that dusky skin, the curly hair, the cute round face, the molten gold eyes! It was all too much for Luna. She had to cuddle the little girl immediately!

Missandei yelped in surprise and a little fear when she was grabbed like that, but Harry – as she had learned was the living god's name – had warned her that this might happen, so she quickly settled into the strong embrace.

"Greetings, this one is Missandei." She introduced herself in the language of Westeros that she had learned not long ago.

"Too cute." Luna whispered to herself and pressed the curly-haired head against her breasts. "My name is Luna, but you can call me 'Mom', 'Mommy' or 'Mother'."

Despite her uncommon intelligence, Missandei was rendered speechless at the abrupt adoption.

"These two are her brothers." Harry informed his wife in a deadpan, gesturing to the boys in question with a complete lack of surprise.

Luna had been suffering from an increasingly bad case of baby rabies for decades, as seen by how happy she was to emotionally bond to the children he had with other women despite knowing that they would eventually grow old and die. It was only a matter of time before she cracked and demanded that he fill up her ovaries with fresh eggs so that she could get pregnant again herself. The instant claim she made on Missandei, as if afraid that someone else would beat her to it if she didn't hurry, was proof enough.

Said brothers stepped forward with the blank faces of the Unsullied. Their training had not been completed, but they had long ago learned that any show of emotion would be punished.

"This one is Marselen." The older one introduced himself cautiously in bastardized Valyrian, expending more courage than one would think to overcome his Unsullied conditioning and use his true name.

"And this one is Mossador." The other one followed suit, equally cautious.

"Well come over here and give me a hug." Luna urged, gesturing with her free hand. "I'm going to be your mother from now on, alright?"

It was almost funny how they mechanically obeyed and joined in on the hug, clearly way out of their element.

"You kids have fun with Luna while I go prepare things to restore Marselen and Mossador's balls." Harry interjected. "No sons of mine are going to be walking around without their nuts."

"Are you hungry?" Luna asked, paying little mind to her husband's exit from the room. All her focus was on her impulsively adopted children. "What kind of food do you like? I could make a potato salad!"

By this point, Missandei had managed to reboot and gave her apparent new mother a shy look. "What is a potato salad…Mother?"

She might be still be reeling in shock from everything that had happened today, but one thing she did know was that being adopted by what were by all appearances a pair of gods was a vast improvement over slavery and she wasn't going to argue with the stroke of good fortune.

Marselen and Mossador stayed silent, the absolute obedience they had been conditioned for preventing them from questioning things too much. They retained enough humanity to care for their little sister and follow her lead.

XXXXX

17th day of the 1st moon, 297 AC. Some distance away from Mantarys.

Mantarys was a city on the western edge of Slaver's Bay, directly north of the shattered Lands of the Long Summer.

This was a problem, because they were dangerously close to the volatile magic residue of the Doom. Too close.

Many of the people living in Mantarys were twisted and monstrous, either in mind, body or both. When he had first seen them, he had been fascinated and only observed, sometimes running experiments on how outsiders reacted when exposed to it or how the locals responded to certain spells. The usual stuff.

When he had returned from his detour into godhood, he had tried to work against the slaver culture present in it. That had been a resounding failure. By all indications, they were beyond saving…or, they weren't worth the effort at any rate.

"Are you ready, Grigori?" He asked his favorite dragon.

The gigantic red lizard roared a confirmation and plopped himself on the ground with an earth-shaking crash. His massive tail slapped against the rocks like an excitable puppy and Harry could almost imagine his golden eyes shining with eagerness.

What a ridiculous beasty. There were spells to keep him from being bound into service as the Valyrians had done, but he still liked giving rides to Harry and Luna.

"Then we ride." He said, pulling himself up on the dragon's sinuous neck.

Grigori roared again and began beating his wings. The amount of air being moved was enough to start a veritable dust storm as the physically impossible feat of a fire-breathing lizard weighing over five thousand tons lifted off.

Behind him, more dragons followed suit. Scales of blue, green, white and gold glinted in the sun as they followed their 'big brother'.

Yes, Mantarys wasn't worth the effort of attempting to save, but it would certainly make a fine example. Tolos and Elyria, the other two remnants of the Valyrian Freehold, should be feeling more compliant when they heard about it. And if they continued to be difficult? Well, there was no pressing need for their continued existence.

XXXXX

10th day of the 2nd moon, 297 AC. Qarth.

It took the better part of two months before Harry considered the situation in Slaver's Bay to be stable enough to no longer need his constant presence. Some of that was visiting smaller settlements and the rest of it was putting a system in place to prevent the big cities from collapsing into anarchy after his purges.

This was a relief, as he still needed to make appearances in Westeros and the Free Cities in order to maintain the image of a divine avatar. Fortunately, people in a medieval world were used to going weeks or even months without news. In a world with internet, disappearing for a week would already have the easily-distracted sheep losing interest.

Still, he had no doubt that he would need to keep an eye on Meereen, Yunkai, Astapor, Tolos, Elyria and New Ghis. He was almost ready to believe that the Valyrian and Ghiscari leftovers were genetically predisposed to being shitstains. While he hadn't been counting, Harry would not be at all surprised if he found out that he had personally shortened more than ten thousand necks over the past two months.

In just Meereen alone, he had killed off almost the entirety of the aristocracy, the clergy and the merchant class. Basically everyone above the regular background citizenry. Finding someone to take over afterwards had been a nightmare. The urge to throw up his hands and say 'fuck it' before giving them all the Mantarys treatment had been strong, but he had resisted. Barely.

And only because Luna had been giving him that wide-eyed pouty look. He hadn't been able to see it, of course, but he could feel it drilling into his soul.

And now here he was in Qarth, the greatest city that ever was or ever will be…according to the locals. Apparently, nobody had ever informed them that proclaiming yourself the best thing ever was pretentious as hell.

Harry may have taken more enjoyment than usual in rubbing their faces into the dirt. Metaphorically speaking. Mostly.

But there was one group in this city that wouldn't be falling for his theatrics. The House of the Undying and its warlocks. They would have to be dealt with in a permanent fashion.

After forcing his way through the gates and overwhelming the city watch through shock and awe, he demanded that everyone assemble in the central plaza, knowing full well that the warlocks would not come.

"So, it seems I must confront the rats in their den." Harry said musingly once that happened. "So be it."

He could feel the mood of the crowd shift. Everyone from newly freed slaves to the so-called Pureborn, the rulers of Qarth were a mix of hopeful and apprehensive. The House of the Undying had steadily been regaining its old strength and the rest of the city was not terribly enthused about that. Everyone hoped that the living god would destroy them, with the Pureborn also hoping that he would destroy himself in the process and leave them be.

Harry strode towards the ancient seat of the Undying and stopped before the door, knowing that someone would come to meet him shortly.

Less than a minute after his arrival, that was exactly what happened. The…thing…that slunk out of the door was shaped like a man, but felt like a half-decayed corpse. The creature's aura was saturated with the magical signature of a mind-altering potion drunk in such excess that it had become part of its being. A crutch to gain the insight necessary to work magic without an attuned catalyst, no doubt.

Moreover, his divine domain allowed him to sense a powerful binding on it. This former human was under geas, likely by the Undying Ones deep below.

"Greetings, Crowfather." The thing spoke, probably making some ghastly facsimile of a smile if the tone was any indication. "Have you come to seek audience with the Undying?"

"I've left you alone all these years out of respect for fellow magic practitioners, but now you've become an obstacle in my plans." Harry replied honestly, not bothering with the theatrical magic voice enhancement. They had known of each other for decades. "I've come to kill you all."

The warlock didn't seem fazed. "Many have tried and failed, but if you wish to make the attempt, then by all means." He stepped aside and gestured at the door.

Notably, he did not offer directions or Shade of the Evening, which Harry knew was their standard procedure for visitors. Not that he would drink something that shady.

Puns, glorious puns.

"Thank you for your cooperation." Harry nodded and swung Fakebringer, bisecting the warlock.

The Undying Ones obviously didn't value their minions, which was a terrible shock. No, really, it was.

Now that he was alone, Harry took a moment to examine the Palace of Dust. That it was a magical Territory was beyond obvious, which meant that just barging inside was dangerous and risky. While it was possible that he might learn something new from doing so, the inherent risk wasn't worth it.

He laid his hand upon the stone and tried to disintegrate it. Destroying the building itself would make things a lot easier.

Unfortunately, as he had halfway expected, his magic fizzled out before it could do anything. It was no mere warding that could be broken down with some effort, but a rejection of his will. Bugger.

Perhaps brute force would work, then? He could always lob giant boulders at it from a distance.

A swing of his sword disabused him of that notion. While Fakebringer wasn't as good as the weapons he made for his sons, it wasn't a bad weapon by any means. Its edge and hardness should easily be enough to cleave through stone, yet the Palace of Dust wasn't even scratched.

He knew what was going on now. The building was linked to something inside, most likely the lifeforce of the Undying themselves. As long as they lived, the structure was impervious to harm.

"Hard way it is, then." Harry grumbled and walked up the stairs immediately behind the doorway.

The Palace of Dust felt much like any magically saturated building – almost alive and disdainful of physics. Hogwarts had felt like this, although more mischievous and less hostile. His old tower back on Earth, Ravenhead, had felt like this. Even Dol Guldur felt like this, albeit in the same way that an infant and an adult both feel human.

It was a foolish thing to do, invading a wizard's lair like this. Even if he knew himself to be far more powerful than the warlocks and the Undying, there was no telling what could go wrong and his magic would be greatly weakened.

Harry spared a moment to focus on the reassuring presence of Luna's life bracelet on his forearm, something that he never left home without. If anything went wrong, he could use it to give her blood a tug and she would come charging to the rescue. No amount of trickery would be able to beguile that link.

The first room was oval-shaped and he sensed it held three doors in addition to the one he just came through, although the passage behind him twisted and soon as he stepped over the threshold. If he turned back, there would be no stairs leading down.

Amusingly enough, the fact that it was enemy Territory helped him now. The Undying were not used to dealing with anyone who had senses as attuned as him and were not bothering to hide their intentions from him. Every door except the first one to the right felt like a trap.

Harry entered that one and found himself in an identical oval room. Actually no, it was the exact same room, he could still sense lingering traces of his own presence in it. Cute, it was one of those. He used a similar trap in Dol Guldur.

Once again, he took the passage to his immediate right and once again found himself in the same space. Now, most people would start getting flustered by this walking in circles bit, but Harry could still sense that only the door to his immediate right was safe to enter, so that's the one he went for again.

This time, the room he found himself in was square-shaped and had six doors, including the one he just came from, which once again no longer led back to the same place.

This room was trickier, because not all the doors were traps. Three led someplace.

"Hmm." Harry pondered the conundrum and decided to open some doors since none of the non-trap ones felt like they had spell triggers on them.

His sense of pattern recognition told him to try the one to his immediate right first, which revealed another stairway going up. That was promising. He knew from personal experience that egotistical wizards always liked stairs going up, and all wizards were egotistical.

One of the others revealed a stairway going down, which he assumed was the way out, and the last revealed an ominously dark hallway. There was no danger immediately present, but a gut feeling told him it was not a place he wanted to go.

Harry trusted his gut and went through the door with the stairs going up. These stairs felt longer than the four before them and ended in a straight hall with doors only to the left. He could hear and sense the torches lighting it up, but they obviously did nothing for him.

With nothing else to do, Harry started walking, paying more attention to the bare right wall of the hallway than the doors to the left. So far, it had been the first door to the right four times in a row and he knew how complacent magic users could get. It was entirely possible that the warlocks thought they were being clever.

Some of the doors to the left were open and he could sense illusionary magics latching on to him. Some of the doors showed him things from other parts of the Palace of Dust, but he was blind and they failed. Others tried to dig into his memories, but his mind was protected by mental defenses that had been honed for centuries and found no purchase. The last type was both the most interesting and the most useless, being a type of divination meant to induce visions of past, present, and possible futures.

From an academic perspective, that was some pretty good magic, but for the sake of a trap it was trash and received only a disgusted snort. He knew how prophecy worked and knew that allowing any knowledge gained from them to influence your decisions was the path to ruin. Plus, blind.

Finally he reached the end of the hallway, a dark staircase leading down. It had the feel of some great beast waiting to swallow him, so it was obviously not the way to go. As curious as he was about what kind of traps they had here, it was simply not worth the risk to find out. He was far from unkillable, after all.

The torches started going out and a vague sense of dread pressed down upon him, urging him to pick a door.

Harry ignored the petty intimidation tactic and considered his choices carefully. The doors leading up to this point had been either false, traps or only looked like doors, but were actually spells to induce visions. There was no going back, because this hallways had the same 'one-way' feel that the rest of the place did.

Well then, it would have to be the last door on the left then. One could even argue that the last door on the left was the first on the right, although that didn't make sense in a clockwise/counter-clockwise perspective. It would for a circular room, but not for a hallway.

Eh, whatever. He opened the door and was gratified when it revealed another staircase upwards. At this point, things were starting to look pretty damn predictable.

Once again he found himself in a small room with multiple doors. Testing his theory on how the Palace of Dust was laid out, he went for the first door on the right and found, as expected, another staircase leading up. Making the correct door the same one every time was a bit lazy, but he wasn't going to complain.

The trip continued in this vein, the first door on the right always being the right one. Harry still kept his senses on high alert just in case, but it never proved necessary.

Finally, he came to a larger room, where he sensed some active magic.

"Follow me, Crowfather. I will take you to the Undying Ones." The illusion said, in the voice of the warlock he had slain outside.

That was weak. Who used a dead man's image?

Harry ignored him and went to the door on his right, which predictably led to a staircase. This one was slightly different, however, the climb being significantly longer and terminating at a door made half of weirwood and half of some other wood.

That rather tacky door led to a great hall that was much too large to fit into the Palace of Dust. Four warlocks awaited him there, their bodies rotting from overindulgence in Shade of the Evening. All bound by geas.

"You go no further, Crowfather." One of them spoke in a tone of sick satisfaction. "Your blood and magic will feed the Undying."

"Ignorant slaves, selling your souls for scraps of knowledge." Harry smiled benignly. "I will set you free."

Their response was to lob spells at him.

Illusions to trick his eyes. Useless since he was blind, so it must be habit that led them to cast it.

Confusion to confound his thoughts. Dangerous against most, useless against the mental fortress protecting his mind.

An especially nasty curse that he was rather familiar with. Harry would have called it Abi-Dalzim's Horrid Wilting and it was designed to suck the moisture right out of the body, leaving the victim a dessicated husk. The only difference was that this version was single target instead of area-of-effect.

The last warlock drew a dagger and went invisible. Maybe they didn't realize he was blind? It was admittedly hard to guess based on his actions.

Harry didn't bother trying to cast spells. The Undying had been lurking here for ages and their mastery of it was deep. Casting spells would be like sucking cement through a straw. Instead, he stepped forward and swung his sword to intercept the attack spell.

The magical blade cleaved through it, its own highly magical nature disrupting it. In the next step he was upon the Warlock, not giving him time to cast another attack spell as the flaming blade cut through him.

The other warlocks panicked, trying to use magic to impede him, but it was clear that they had never really been in a fight. The moment that things didn't go as planned they went to pieces, it took them too long to decide on a course of action and they didn't adapt well to changing circumstances. They were dead in a matter of seconds.

"I must be getting close." Harry muttered to himself, making for a door that was yet again on the right side of the room.

Behind this one, he finally found his quarry, the Undying Ones of Qarth.

"What a sad bunch you are." Harry sneered in disgust. He'd always known there was something fishy about the warlocks and their masters, but this was more pathetic than he'd expected.

He had thought that he would have to fight a cabal of ancient magi who, while perhaps not as good at combat magic as him, would still be formidable.

But there was nothing in the room except a stone table, above which floated an oversized human heart, bloated with rot and corruption. Given how strongly the thing reeked of Shade of the Evening, it was probably saturated with the stuff through and through. He'd never seen the like of it, but it was beyond doubt the thing that the building was linked to.

Seated at the table were numerous corpses, just as saturated with Shade of the Evening as the heart. The recent uptick of magic in the world had done nothing at all for them, although their warlock minions were definitely stronger if their increased influence in Qarth was any indication.

What a miserable form of undeath, by far the worst he'd ever seen. Immobile, withered, helpless, able to do nothing except languish in a state of eternal torpor. Had he known before what these idiots had done in pursuit of immortality, he'd have come to kill them sooner out of sheer principle. Stupidity this bad should not be allowed to exist.

"Crowfather, Raven Lord, Hanged Man." The whispered words seemed to come from every corner of the room, but Harry knew better. They were no longer capable of speech, so they relied on a form of telepathy that they could probably only work inside this room, close to the heart that held their souls. Their thoughts were like spikes of cold iron, ages of undeath having stripped them of all humanity long ago.

Prying fingers of magic came, trying to dig once again into his thoughts and into his very soul, attempting to induce visions of both his past and possible future. Useless, as his defenses were ironclad.

Along with it came a pull from the heart, tugging at his life force. Ah, so that's how they sustained themselves.

Harry responded with a wave of fire, exerting massive effort to push past the suppressive effect of their will and setting the room alight, although the flames avoided the heart. Of course, it was too powerfully magical for such a basic flame to harm.

"Just sit back and relax." He punned, taking a vial of Silver Fire out of his hammerspace. "It'll all be over soon."

Embarrassingly, the thrown vial missed the heart and crashed against a wall instead, quickly melting it to slag instantly.

"Oops." Harry muttered. Good as his sensing ability was these days, his accuracy with ranged weapons of any kind was still garbage.

Fortunately, he had workarounds. A spell on the next vial propelled it towards the heart with unerring accuracy, setting the foul construct alight immediately. A supernatural shriek of pain echoed in the chamber as the Undying were devoured by the Silver Fire.

Harry spared one last sneer of disgust at the withered creatures and made towards a passage on the other end of the room from where he entered. If his senses were correct, that was a sort of master passage that led to wherever the person using it wanted. He used something similar in Dol Guldur.

Just before entering it, he turned back and held out his hand, deciding to add a little extra to the already blazing room, something that would leave the entire Palace of Dust destroyed. "Fiendfyre."

With the heart burning and the Undying sent to final death, the suppressive effect was almost gone and the Dark fire roared forth eagerly.

Harry jogged down the corridor, focusing on his desire to go outside. He sensed the spatial fold as it twisted to suit his desire and he found himself stepping out into the sunlight a few seconds later.

Luna was there to greet him, quickly checking him over for injuries. "Did you have any trouble?"

A great Fiendfyre dragon burst from the room of the Palace of Dust just then, twisting around the building as it devoured every last brick.

"None at all." Harry smiled at his wife. "Sorry for bringing you over for nothing."

"I don't mind." She smiled back. "It was actually a bit nostalgic."

"Heh, I guess it was." He knew she was referring to their century-long walk across Earth. All sorts of things had happened during that time. "Now if you'll excuse me, I should go capitalize on the shock and awe."

"Okay, dear." Luna agreed and gave him a peck on the lips. "Have fun."

"You know, I think I just might." If nothing else, he had discovered that killing slavers en masse felt rather soothing to his soul.

XXXXX

28th day of the 2nd moon, 297 AC. Yi Ti, city of Yin.

Western Essos – that being all of Essos west of the Bone Mountains – really was a very convenient place for a man proclaiming himself a god. Sure, there were plenty of villages and even some small towns dotted all over the place, but the vast majority of the people were concentrated inside the cities.

Essos east of the Bone Mountains was somewhat more…problematic. In this specific case, Yi Ti.

Nominally, it was an empire. Realistically, it was a fragmented mess that was only being kept together by shared cultural ties. If Harry wanted them to worship him as a god, he was going to need to do something about that.

But to do that he needed authority. And not authority that came from looking like a glowing humanoid squid or authority born of intimidation. No, he needed legal authority. Royal authority. The kind of authority where people felt compelled to obey because it was part of their culture.

"Your weakness, and the weakness of those before you, has brought Yi Ti to the brink of ruin." Harry decreed to Bu Gai the current 'god-emperor'. The currently cowering man was really rather undignified, but somewhat understandable seeing as he had barged into the man's humongous palace and tossed his guards around like they were a salad.

"I will be taking your throne, then I leave to bring all the rebellious territories to heel." He continued, not failing to notice what he assumed to be the army's top general perking up with interest at that. "When I return, I will take your daughter as my bride so that divine blood once more rules these lands."

That part of the plan was the most irritating. Political marriages, administration and statesmanship…. as annoying as Slaver's Bay had been and continued to be, there was something to be said for the simplicity of brutally imposing your will on people.

XXXXX

Pulling Yi Ti back together would be an arduous task, one that would take several years to manage. Harry could take the heads of every brigand, sorcerer, general, warlord and tax collector who had the balls to resist his takeover of the empire, as well as the two ambitious bastards trying to take the throne for themselves, but that alone wouldn't get him what he needed.

For that, he would have to actually sway the people and that wouldn't happen until they started seeing some improvement to their quality of life. Just strutting around in his pimped out armor and killing dissenters was a start, but the real faith would not come until people believed him to be the God-on-Earth come again.

And that, unfortunately, was going to take some time.

In the meanwhile, there was another group of people in the area that had to be brought into the fold. At the very least, this one would be easier….

XXXXX

19th day of the 3rd moon, 297 AC. Kayakayanaya.

The last of the Great Fathers fell with a look of bewildered fear on his face, his body quickly burning up from the disintegration enchantment on Fakebringer.

Harry placed the tip of his sword on the ground and rested his hands on the hilt, waiting for the guards to come running.

It took only a few moments for the palace guard to show up, women with iron rings in their nipples and rubies in their cheeks. They were ready for a fight, but faltered upon seeing his glowing form.

"My daughters." He greeted before they could get their wits about them. "You have strayed from the path I wished for you."

"Hyrkoon?" The leader of the palace guard whispered disbelievingly.

A natural conclusion…after Adrastia had spent the past nine months or so spreading rumors and visions that Hyrkoon the Hero would come again to lead them.

The shock wore off enough for the women to genuflect.

"What is your will?" The guard commander asked fervently.

"You have grown weak." Harry stated plainly and it was the truth. The Patrimony of Hyrkoon was largely defunct and on the brink of oblivion.

"The seed of the Great Fathers has grown stale." She said, bowing her head in apparent shame.

Harry almost wanted to laugh. Sure, that was the problem and not the fact that they castrated 99% of their men. Still, this kind of idiocy was exactly why this chunk of humanity required so little effort.

"Bring me the city's young women." He commanded. "They will bear my seed and from their wombs will spring children so mighty as to shake the very foundations of the world."

The guardswomen's heads shot up and he knew they were staring at him with looks that mixed fervor and jealousy. Fervor, because there was no greater honor in their culture than to bear the children of their legendary founder and jealousy, because they were past child-bearing age themselves. He had no doubt that they would throw their own daughters at him first.

While the women were processing his command, Harry sent a small compulsion their way, for a joke that he had no hope of resisting in this situation.

"At once, Allfather." The commander acknowledged, unknowingly using the title he had implanted in her head.

It really was too good of a joke to pass up.

Once the women rushed off, Harry allowed himself an exasperated sigh and rubbed a hand across his face. It was going to be a long day of fucking starry-eyed young girls, and there were two more cities where he would have to regularly do the same thing…. for years.

It was almost enough to make him wish that he still had the runes jacking up his libido.

This culture…he was going to either fix it or wreck it and he didn't much care which it was after he got what he wanted from them.

They were so easy to sway only because he wasn't rocking the boat yet. Killing their breeding studs and taking over? That would only serve to appeal to the dumb bitches. It was female nature to go for the strongest possible man after all, just as it was male nature to eliminate the competition.

The problems would start when he forbade them from castrating any of his male children. With their testosterone production and sex drives intact, it wouldn't be long before the men started rebelling against the oppressively matriarchal culture.

Harry intended to help them do it. Just the thought of an all-female army was so offensively stupid to him that he would rather see this entire crumbling civilization collapse into gender-driven civil war than allow it to continue now that he had to associate with it.

There was a good reason why the armies of Kayakayanaya, Bayasabhad and Samyriana never left the walls of their cities, and it wasn't because playing defense was always a good idea. It was because unless they had an absurd numerical advantage over the enemy, they always lost. The physical advantage of men in a low tech battle wasn't something that could be overcome with wishful thinking.

To say nothing of the gigantic rapefests that always happened after the battle was lost. Little wonder that the women preferred to huddle behind the walls and pat each other on the back, assuring themselves of their own badassery. Their 'armor' left their tits hanging out for fuck's sake! What was the point of wearing armor if you were going to leave your chest exposed?

He would play along with their delusions for now and take the role of a divine breeding stud; something they could gawk at in awe and admire, but also something that was ultimately no threat to the established order. But as the 'only game in town' so to speak, he would have any easy time of turning the women against each other. They were jealous creatures at the best of times and competition for his seed was going to be insane. He would have all the leverage in the world to flip this backwards culture on its head and turn it into something more sensible.

XXXXX

25th day of the 12th moon, 297 AC. King's Landing.

Aegon resisted the urge to tug at his clothes, knowing it they were perfectly comfortable and it was just a bout of anxiety.

It was not every day that a man was crowned, after all.

He did not truly feel ready, despite years of preparation for this moment. It was only recently that he had even become a man and he would have preferred to have a few more years as a prince to shadow his father.

Alas, his birth father was long dead and his stepfather was not the same kind of king that he would need to be. Still, Aegon understood the need for this to happen. Lord Rickard had done a good job as regent, but now that he was of age it was time to take up his duties.

"Your Grace." The voice of Jaime Lannister startled him out of his thoughts. "It is time."

"Lead the way, Lord Commander." Aegon said, taking a final deep breath and following behind the Kingsguard. His Kingsguard.

They left the Red Keep and passed through the city, the Kingsguard clearing a path through the throngs of people that had come to watch his coronation.

Aegon caught a wildflower and smiled at the girl that had thrown it at him, feeling that the adoration directed at him was unearned. These people did not know him after all, why were they cheering? It was very different from Angmar, where nobody got praised unless they actually did something worth praising. It made him feel obligated to justify their faith in him.

The walk to the Great Sept of Baelor seemed to take forever and the crowds of people kept getting denser. By the time they reached the plaza, the press of humanity was almost suffocating and the Kingsguard occasionally had to slap away the errant hand that reached out to touch him.

His friends and family awaited on the steps of the sept, flanked by the other high lords of the realm. Those whose duties permitted them to attend in the current dark times at any rate. Mother was there, as was Grandmother Rhaella, both of them dwarfed by the giant beaming form of Luna.

Near them were Rhaenys and VIsenya, as well as the three former slaves that Luna had adopted recently. Uncle Doran and the members of the Small Council were also there. Several important lords and ladies stood more to the sides, including the Tyrells with his future bride.

The only people of importance that was conspicuously absent were Adrastia and Harry. The former because she was intending to stay in the shadows and the latter because he was waiting to make a dramatic entrance.

Aegon did no begrudge his stepfather the use of this opportunity to make a spectacle of himself and deceive the people of King's Landing into believing that he was a god. Considering what was at stake and that he certainly had no wish to make any attempts at being the savior of the entire world, that would be ridiculous.

Besides, he actually much preferred this to being crowned by the High Septon. It would feel more genuine.

Mere seconds after he reached the steps of the Great Sept, there was a shocked exclamation and people began pointing at the sky.

Harry descended gracefully, the glowing wing-like tentacle things attached to the back of his radiant armor splayed outward to make him seem bigger. An awed hush overtook the congregation as they stared at the seemingly divine being.

Aegon noticed the barest hint of a twitch in his stepfather's cheek and had to fight down a grin, knowing how much the wizard hated putting on appearances. Judging by the brief glance of the man's blind eyes, he must have noticed his amusement.

Aegon wiped any expression off his face and went down to one knee.

"Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of His Name." Harry began solemnly, his voice booming across all of King's Landing, visibly startling the crowd. "Son of Rhaegar and Elia, last of his line."

Well, there were still Rhaenys and Visenya, but they would not carry on the Targaryen name.

"You were born at the start of a dark time for your House, and now come of age during a dark time for the world. Man is besieged by an ancient foe, one determined to see him consigned to the annals of history. Only one who has greatness in him can hope to carry the weight of a crown in such times."

Here he made room for a dramatic pause, his ominous declaration and ever lengthening silence causing a build up of tension. For someone that so disliked putting on a show, he was rather good at it.

"You have proven to me that you do possess the seed of greatness." Harry finally resumed, just a hint of pride and approval in his previously neutral tone. "To be king is a burden, anyone who thinks otherwise is either a fool or a tyrant. This lesson, and all others that I have taught you, you have learned well. Are you ready to take up your duty?"

"I am." Aegon replied firmly, staring up at his stepfather's blind eyes.

"Do you swear to guard the Seven Kingdoms?"

"I swear."

"Do you swear to preserve the peace?"

"I swear."

"Do you swear to cast aside all selfish ambition and dedicate yourself only to the good of the realm and its people?"

It was different from how previous kings had been crowned. Usually the High Septon would drone on about the Light of the Seven and the divine grace that entitled the king to rule. Aegon was grateful to be spared the empty prattle about gods he cared little for.

"I swear!"

Harry produced a crown from out of nowhere, fortunately one that was more restrained than some of the ostentatious monstrosities certain ancestors of his had favored. It was a circlet of smoky black Valyrian steel inlaid with bright red rubies, the colors of House Targaryen.

"Then rise, Aegon VI Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm." He said as he laid the crown on Aegon's brow. It was not a heavy, but the new king felt a great weight press down upon him.

He rose to his feet to the cheers of the people, ready to turn around and address them when Harry spoke up again.

"But a king needs more than a crown." He said, sparking a moment of panic in Aegon's chest at the unplanned addition. What was the sneaky old wizard up to? "A king should also have a sword."

Just as with the crown, Harry produced a sword from out of nowhere. A sword that he had only heard described before.

"Blackfyre…?" Aegon said in disbelief, staring at the long lost blade.

"It has been a long time since House Targaryen has had a man worthy of wielding Blackfyre, the king's ancestral blade." Harry's voice was still as even as ever, but Aegon could see the faint twitch of amusement to his lips. The old man was enjoying his shock. "I am proud to be able to present it to you."

He must have tracked it down just so he could spring this surprise on him now. It was just like him to do that.

"I accept it gratefully." Aegon said solemnly, taking the sword and fastening it to his belt.

The crowd cheered again, apparently loving the plot twist of Blackfyre's reapperance. That made him recall a lesson on ruling that both Harry and Adrastia had gone over several times, one that they called 'bread and circuses'.

And he realized that the surprise presentation of Blackfyre had been part of the 'circuses', whereas the bread had already been planned in advance.

Aegon turned to face the people, his people, and spoke loudly. "To celebrate this momentous occasion, I invite all of you to join me for a feast outside the city walls!"

The crowds got even louder at that, having not expected such a generous act. Feasts were generally too wasteful to be held during winter, especially on such a vast scale, but a bit of magic had easily multiplied the available food so that they would be coming out ahead.

A story that Aegon knew would be circulated during the feast itself so that it looked like Harry was trying to hide his 'generosity'.

Well, no matter. Even if this entire coronation and feast was a ploy by his stepfather to gather more worshipers for his ultimate goal, Aegon was still happy with how things went.

XXXXX

20th day of the 2nd moon, 300 AC. Sunspear.

It was almost time for the last act, but before then, Harry and Luna felt the need to do something they hadn't done in quite a while; talk to their long dead spouses/sister wives.

"Nymphadora and Fleur." Harry said solemnly, activating the Resurrection Stone.

The two spirits faded into existence.

"Harry, what the hell did you do to yourself this time?" Dora demanded immediately.

"You'll have to be a bit more specific." Harry said. He had done a lot of things to himself since the last time they had been summoned.

"You feel somehow both more… and less." Fleur spoke up.

Ah, yes, his soul would feel rather different than it had the last time, wouldn't it? It was telling that they said nothing about Luna though, despite the change in body. Apparently, spirits couldn't really see, only feel. It made sense, since they didn't have eyes.

"A lot has happened." Harry admitted. "I got into a fight with a god, had to briefly become one myself, ended up having to sacrifice my sight and now I'm cosplaying as a god again."

"The long version please." Dora sighed.

And so the events of the past forty-plus years since the two dead women were last summoned got quickly glossed over.

"You two have been alive for too long." Dora shook her head once they were finished narrating. "And so has Adrastia."

Harry and Luna's smiles dimmed a little. This always happened, the spirits called by the Resurrection Stone would urge the living to join them a few minutes after they were summoned. Their summary of events had taken too long.

"Well we can't join you yet, there's still a lot to do!" Luna stated with some force, although she kept her tone bright.

"Oui, it does sound like you are in quite the situation." Fleur agreed, albeit with the tacit implication that they could join them in death afterwards.

"Well, we just wanted you to know what was going on." Harry said, already preparing to dismiss them. "Until next time."

"Don't leave us waiting too long." The two shades said and faded away.

Luna scooted into his lap the way she used to do when she was still a tiny thing of 5'2'', which was just a little bit awkward now that she was 7'.

"They barely lasted a few minutes this time." The uncharacteristically despondent woman muttered.

"I guess it was only a matter of time before this happened." Harry sighed. "Maybe we shouldn't summon them anymore."

Souls were, on some level, not just mysterious, but also unknowable. Whether they unraveled and returned to nothing or simply passed beyond the reach of both men and gods, he could not say. It certainly felt as if Dora and Fleur were somehow less every time they were called. A few more decades, maybe a century, and the only thing left would be shades carrying their image, bereft of life and vibrancy.

Necromancy was depressing like that.

Luna didn't protest and simply shuffled closer into the hug.

XXXXX

21st day of the 3rd moon, 300 AC. Isle of Faces.

Harry's body remained as motionless as a statue, sitting on the ground in lotus position with his breathing barely perceptible.

Almost four years now since he began masquerading as a god and the lie had gained much truth. Belief was a powerful force, one that was necessary to alter the flow of history. Even if mankind was just an insignificant blip in the vast stretch of eternity, it had power for the duration of that blip.

Power that was never meant to be wielded in this manner. Humanity was a chaotic beast, always fighting against itself, parts of it waxing in strength while others waned. Charismatic and strong-willed individuals rising up in an attempt to impose order on the base impulses that kept mankind chained to its animal roots. The blazing flame of youthful energy burning away the stale works of older generations, for good or ill.

Creating a unifying belief to direct all that chaotic energy into himself was no small thing. When moving in lockstep, people could be truly inspiring, even for a jaded old bastard like him. By becoming a channel for all that potential, he felt deeply humbled by his own species for perhaps the first time in his life. It was a decidedly odd feeling after centuries of sneering contemptuously at his fellow humans.

He knew, intellectually, that they were still the same deeply flawed beings they had always been, but feeling only their souls reaching out to him from all over the world left a few layers of separation between him and that knowledge.

Being a god could be dangerously addictive, but he needed to be more than mortal if he was going to finish what he set out to do.

That was why Harry was here, and why he had been here for the past month, meditating. He had not slept, had anything to eat or drink. He had not even twitched. Snow had long since piled up on him, almost completely burying him

By any reasonable expectation he should be long dead. The artificial body he was occupying needed more food than normal and was not good at stockpiling fat reserves for times of deprivation. Starvation should have killed him within two weeks, and dehydration within two days.

And yet he lived, his body held in a form of pseudo-stasis while his soul ascended to the Astral Plane. He could see so much now. With the entire dominion of man either converted to worship of him or destroyed, the entire world had become his Territory.

There was no more need for him to be present at a location in order to work magic now. Storms raged constantly over the western seas, lightning striking down any of the formerly Ironborn abominations that dared crawl out of the sea. At the Wall, men had found that the fires would burn forever without need of kindling if they prayed to them as Harry was now able to use their faith as a channel to impose his will on the world. The sick and the weary found succor at any shrine dedicated to him. Especially devoted people discovered that they had the ability to grant blessings.

His first foray into godhood had been nothing compared to this. Even though he had been more able to absorb faith energy then on account of his 'condition', there was so much more of it available now. Many a magic-capable Buddhist monk back on Earth had simply left his body and never returned in pursuit of spiritual awakening doing far less, leaving behind a mummified corpse. Not always intentionally, either.

Thus it was important that he cling to his earthly attachments – his wife and the other women in his life, his children and his students and, of course, his purpose in even doing this. Now with his consciousness so expanded, he could feel the divine curse the gods had left behind. It hung over the world like a creeping miasma, concentrated and solidified into blocks of greasy black 'stone' in the places where the curse had struck the worst…and where the men of old hadn't been smart enough to remove it.

Deeming himself ready, Harry opened his eyes – useless as they were – for the first time in a month and rolled his neck around to work out the stiffness. Metallic-sounding clacks resonated from his neck as the vertebra popped, a sound that never failed to amuse him. Snow tumbled off his head and shoulders and he stood up to give the rest of his body a stretch.

The world around him was as dark as ever, but he knew every rock, tree and patch of dirt. One spot stood out in particular, the stone pedestal upon which a fragment of the greasy black not-stone sat. How odd it was to think that it looked almost innocuous to physical senses, while his now much expanded spiritual ones told him that it cursed the world and everything in it. More than anything it cursed at him, as the representative of mankind.

The godlings created by worship in this world were with him, halfway in the Astral Plane as he stood, all together and able to fully perceive each other for the first time in history because of his unifying presence.

Most hated him and cursed him as a usurper, and hated each other due to the divisive tribal nature of humanity. Regardless, all had to support him now that he had made himself out to be their avatar on the mortal plane. The faith of their own worshipers compelled it.

Harry picked up the fragment and held it in his hands, staring down at it calmly. "There is a poetic irony of sorts to this. I don't know why you brought humans to this world – boredom? A science project? Pets? Regardless, it is only fitting that it led you to ruin. The tighter you tried to grasp, the more we rebelled and now the only thing left of you is spite."

The chunk of not-stone, once completely incomprehensible to his mind, was now a shriek of alien fury, hatred, fear. After investing so much of themselves into a mortal representative and his countless children, and then into the curse designed to punish the Bloodstone Emperor, the essence of the Dawn Empire's gods had been pulled into their own curse when their twisted descendant cast them down.

"You are not welcome here anymore." He continued softly.

The not-stone tried to tear at him, searching for something to latch onto. Its purpose was to reflect and magnify the darkness of man, so that was the only purpose left to the divine remnant held within. Without that purpose, the curse would disappear and the last of the true gods of this world with it.

But Harry hadn't spent a month in meditation without reason. He was a man as flawed as any – he could be as petty and spiteful as the best of them, could be overly proud and crossed over into arrogance with some regularity, was quick to judge and slow to forgive and could hold grudges for a terribly long time. The divine curse would have plenty to work with and as the fulcrum of man's faith, it could cause tremendous harm through him.

But his soul was a calm pool, with not a single ripple of disturbance for the divine curse to latch onto.

Yes, he was determined to survive and pursued it with vigor, but he wasn't afraid of the end.

Yes, he had done many things for the sake of his own ambition and pleasure, but he felt no guilt for it. Why should he? Self-flagellation did nothing except disturb your peace.

Yes, he was willful and stubborn, but that wasn't anything to be ashamed of, even if it got other people hurt. It was only natural to dig your heels in when you were challenged. The world does not heed the toothless.

Love, too, could have been used against him, because with love came grief. He felt it, but did not desperately wish that those he lost could come back. Life was a one-way road, and that wasn't the way it went.

Truth had always been important to him, yet it had been the thing that prolonged his meditation more than anything. Lies were dangerous, especially the ones a person tells themselves. He could not face a divine curse meant to punish man while shackled to falsehood.

The second greatest delay was his effort to gain insight into the nature of the divine curse. There would only be one try to get this right and flailing at illusions would backfire spectacularly.

The last was the most dangerous, albeit not very difficult for him. He had long since accepted the idea that all things must pass, that clinging to earthly attachment was to invite pain. The danger lay in walking the thin line between reaching a sufficient state of 'enlightenment' and permanently taking leave of his body, also known as death. The line between those two was rather thinner than one would think.

"Weak and twisted thing, you have overstayed your welcome." Harry stated.

The curse raged harder, the divine remnant inside it no doubt feeling its grip on the world fading. It reached out to anything and anyone it could, trying to anchor itself.

"I forbid you from touching mankind, you speak only to me." He decreed. As Sky-father over all pantheons and the living god of mankind, such was within his authority.

As the countless threads of connection to humanity snapped, it once again tried to latch on to him, trying to lodge itself into some kind of opening, any kind of weakness that would sustain it.

"The darkness of man does not belong to you." Harry responded to the desperate attempt, already feeling the curse and the withered gods inside slipping away. "Fade into nothing."

With something that could almost be called a mournful moan, the not-stone in his hands dispersed into mist and then disappeared. He could sense the same thing happening all across the world, from the tiniest fragment to the entire city of Stygai.

"Ah, how anti-climactic." Harry sighed. Of course, there was still the clean up since this wouldn't get rid of all the crap that had already been spawned, but it would be much easier now. No more divine magic resistance and no more usurping the natural order. Already he could feel that winter was over and that there would be no more wonky multi-year seasons.

It really was anti-climactic, though, even if the rest of the world would never know that the battle hadn't been won with swords.