The Chronicles of Theon Pastajoy: The Ballad of the Ultimate Cringe

Here is the translation of the next part: ========== I’ve Had Enough ========== The Resurrected Theon did not look like a zombie or a broken slave now. He looked like a man who had swallowed time itself and was now digesting it. The evening in Dreadfort passed in a strange tension. Ramsay, attempting to restore the usual order of things, ordered a feast in honor of the “Pink Prince.” Theon was forced to sit at a table covered with a black tablecloth. He wore no clothes — Ramsay wanted everyone to see his defenseless, tender skin. But Theon did not tremble. He sat straight, staring ahead. When a bowl was served to him, he didn’t even glance at it. — I no longer eat what you offer, Ramsay — Theon said when Bolton tried to joke about his appetite. — In No One’s Heavens, I fed on silence. Your food smells of decay and your own fear — — My fear?! — Ramsay jumped up, knocking over his goblet. — You forget yourself, Reek! Have you forgotten who your master is?! — Theon slowly turned his head. His pink neck tensed. — I have no master among the living. You are but a small, noisy shadow against that gray eternity from which I came. You think you are the master of this castle? You are but a temporary occupant of a room I shall soon vacate — Cersei Lannister, watching what was happening, whispered to Jaime: — I don’t like this. He’s too calm. There’s no more of that «cringe» in him that we used to laugh at. Something… iron has appeared in him — Theon was indeed changing. His pink skin was turning coarser right before their eyes, taking on the shade of old bone. The black threads of the worms under his skin began to glow with a dull, crimson light. He felt the power of the Red God and the cold of No One’s Heavens entering into a chemical reaction inside his body. At night, when Dreadfort plunged into a troubled sleep, Theon remained sitting in the Great Hall. He did not sleep. He no longer needed sleep. He looked at his hands and felt not rage boiling within him, but a cold, calculating resolve. He remembered everything. Every blow. Every noodle. Every one of Ramsay’s «skis.» Every mockery from Cersei. But now, these memories did not cause pain. They were blueprints. A plan for the reconstruction of this world. «You wanted me to disgrace myself again, Ramsay?» Theon thought. «You wanted to watch me break? But you forgot that what has already been broken, remelted, and tempered in the void no longer breaks. It only cuts.» Theon rose. His movements were smooth and silent. His bare pink feet made no sound as they stepped on the cold stone. He approached the weapons rack in the corner of the hall. His fingers touched a heavy battle axe. The metal responded to his touch with a light hum. The black threads on Theon’s arm pulsed stronger. — Theon Pastajoy… — he whispered to himself. — Yes, let it be so. Since you gave me this name in mockery, I shall make it your final nightmare. I am Pastajoy. And I have come for my kingdom! — He felt the ancient power of the Greyjoys awakening in him, mixed with the madness of the Boltons and the magic of the East. He was no longer anyone’s prisoner. He was a hunter. He looked up toward Ramsay’s chambers. In the silence of the castle, he could distinctly hear Bolton tossing in his sleep. He heard Cersei’s steady breathing and Jaime’s snoring. He heard everything. Every heartbeat in this castle was like a drumbeat to him, calling for the start of the harvest. Theon took the axe. It was not heavy. It was an extension of his arm. — Kraken-Invader — he said, and his voice sounded metallic. — The first of my kind — He began to climb the stairs. Dark patterns began to appear on his pink body — the coal he had collected in the courtyard began to seep through his pores, drawing the outlines of a giant kraken on his chest and back. This was his crest. His brand. His promise. Winter in Dreadfort was preparing to change masters. The one considered the laughingstock of Westeros was preparing to become its most terrifying lesson. Theon Pastajoy went to kill his former life, and neither gods nor men could stop him. Dreadfort plunged into that very silence that precedes not a storm, but the end of the world. Theon Pastajoy, pink, hairless, and terrifyingly calm, stood in the shadow of the main corridor. His new body felt no chill from the stones. Black magic pulsed in his veins, and the worms that had become his nervous system whispered names to him. Every name was linked to a moment of shame. Every name was to be erased. He began with those who had committed the most terrible crime — returning him to the world of the living. The Priests: Melisandre and Beric Dondarrion. They were praying in the small hall by the brazier. Melisandre froze, staring into the flames, while Beric sat nearby, sharpening his flaming sword. Theon entered silently. His pink skin glowed dimly in the gloom. — Prayers will not help — Theon said. His voice vibrated like a taut string. Melisandre turned. In her eyes, usually full of confidence, a shadow of primal terror flickered. She saw not the savior she expected, but the embodied insult to life. — Azor Ahai… — she whispered. — No — Theon stepped closer. — I am Pastajoy. And I have come to return your «gift.» You ripped me from the gray void where I was king. You forced me to feel this stinking world again. Why? So Ramsay could laugh again? — Beric Dondarrion jumped up, his sword flaring. — The Lord of Light gave you a chance for redemption, Pastajoy! — — My redemption is silence — Theon moved faster than the human eye could follow. He intercepted Beric’s arm. The black threads on Theon’s arm pulsed, and Beric felt life literally being sucked out of him back into the void. Theon pressed his palm to Dondarrion’s face. — You have died many times, Beric. Let me show you the death from which there is no return — Beric crumbled into dust right in Theon’s hands, turning into a pile of cold ash. Melisandre tried to summon the flames, but Theon grabbed her by the throat. — Your god is a liar, Red Woman. The only light I’ve seen is the green flame of uranium in the pipe of my head. Burn in your own deception — He threw her directly into the brazier. The fire she loved so much did not warm her — it consumed her with a fierce roar, as if the magic of the Lord of Light itself had renounced its priestess. Theon walked on. His next target was Jaime Lannister. The very man who had started his path into the abyss by selling him a sack of pasta under the guise of Essosi horseflesh. Jaime was sleeping, his golden hand resting on his chest. Theon did not wake him gently. He simply ripped the door off its hinges and entered. Jaime jumped up, reaching for his sword, but Theon was already standing over him. — Remember the market, Ser Jaime? — Theon asked, tilting his head to the side. — Remember the «white horseflesh from Volantis»? Because of your joke, I was beaten over the head with a sack until pasta poured out of my ears. You thought it was funny — — Pastajoy… — Jaime tried to smile his signature smile, but it came out crooked. — It was just a deal. You were a fool, Theon — — Yes. I was a fool. But the fool died. Now, I am here — Theon grabbed Jaime by the golden hand and, with incredible strength, crushed it like parchment. — You sold me flour and water for the price of gold. Now you shall know the taste of your own lie — Theon pulled a handful of those same dry noodles from the folds of his rags, which he had kept as an artifact of his downfall. He began to stuff them into Jaime’s mouth, one by one. — Eat, Lion. Eat your «white horseflesh.» Dry. Without water. Until your throat becomes as empty as your promises — Jaime was choking, his face turning blue. Theon did not stop until the Lannister stopped struggling. Jaime died, choking on the symbol of his most successful prank. Theon looked at him without pity. — Greyjoys pay their debts too, you see — Cersei was in her room, staring at the «Mirror of Moments.» She was just about to post the video of Theon’s «blue tan» when she felt a chill at her back. — Hashtag #DeathOfAQueen — Theon said, stepping out of the shadows. Cersei shrieked, dropping the artifact. — Get out, monster! My guards… — — Your guards forgot who they were when I passed them — Theon picked up the mirror. — You liked putting my shame on display? You liked how all of Westeros laughed at my «hedgehogs»? — — It was art! — she screamed. — No. Art is what I’m going to do now — Theon crushed the mirror in his palm, and it shattered into thousands of sharp shards. He took the longest shard, in which the image of his own weeping face still flickered. — You wanted to see the world through this mirror? Now the world will see you through it — He methodically and coldly began to «edit» Cersei’s face with the shards of her own artifact until she looked like that very portrait of Brienne she had mocked so much. When he finished, Cersei could no longer scream. She looked at him with eyes full of terror until life left her mangled body. Theon left her lying in a puddle of wine and blood. Joffrey and Tyrion were drinking in the small hall. Joffrey was just telling how he would order a living scarecrow to be made of Theon when the Pink Kraken appeared in the doorway. — Ah, Geyser! — Joffrey hiccuped, raising his crossbow. — You come to oink? — Theon didn’t even flinch. He just stepped forward, and the bolt Joffrey fired passed through his pink shoulder, leaving no trace; the wound instantly healed, overgrown with black threads. — Your laugh, Joffrey — Theon said, approaching him. — was always too shrill — He grabbed Joffrey by the jaw. — Remember how you laughed at my «intestinal rope»? Let’s check how much stronger your guts are than mine — It was fast and bloody. Tyrion, turning pale, tried to speak. — Theon… we can negotiate. I’ve always appreciated your… uniqueness — Theon turned to the dwarf. — You appreciated my shame, Tyrion. You used your wit to make my suffering even funnier. You called me the «Odyssey of Crap» — — It was a metaphor! — Tyrion cried. — Your life will become a metaphor too — Theon took a heavy jug of wine from the table. — You always wanted to drink and know things. Now you will know only one thing: how deep wine can go — Theon forced Tyrion to drink the entire supply of wine in the hall until the dwarf’s lungs filled with liquid. Tyrion died as he had always wanted — with wine in his stomach, but not quite as he had expected. He found Ellaria in the corridor. She tried to flee, but Theon blocked her path. — «Devil in a sack», Ellaria? — he reminded her. — Do you remember how you insulted me when I was heading toward my «greatness» in the centrifuge? You called me a filthy brat — Ellaria spat at him. — You ARE a brat! — Theon only smiled. His hand lashed out, and Ellaria learned what a real «serpent’s grip» felt like. He didn’t waste time on more dialogue; her neck snapped with the quiet sound of a dry branch, reminiscent of the moment with Madam Hooch. Brienne was waiting for him in the armory. She was in full plate, sword in hand. — You are a monster, Theon Pastajoy. No matter what they did to you, it does not give you the right to do this — — You didn’t appreciate my portrait, Brienne — Theon said, slowly circling her. — I saw a warrior in you. I saw courage. But you only saw a beard and got offended like a common southern lady. You ruined Ramsay’s deal, and he took his rage out on me. All my shame from that day is on your hands — Brienne struck, but Theon simply took the blow on his forearm. The sword «Oathkeeper» clanged against his skin as if striking dragon bone. Theon wrenched the sword from her hands and drove it into her chest. — You wanted to be a knight. Die like a knight — by the sword that could not protect its own honor — Hearing the commotion, Sansa locked herself in her tower. She heard the screams below. She knew they were coming for her. When the door splintered into shards from the blow of a pink fist, she didn’t even scream. — Theon… — she whispered. — I pitied you. You were good once, long ago in Winterfell… — — Pitied me? — Theon entered, his skin covered in the blood of his enemies. — You told Ramsay about the worms. That day in the stables, I found my only moment of peace. I was collecting worms, Sansa. They were my friends. They didn’t laugh at me. But you… you snitched on me. You told Ramsay I wasn’t working. And because of you, he made me count them, hit me on my brows, and turned me into a «bald hedgehog.» You gave me back to him again — — I didn’t know he would do that! — — You knew him better than anyone — Theon approached the window. — You betrayed your foster brother for the approval of a monster. You watched as I was peeled off the roof with urine, and you felt «sick»? You were sickened by my shame, but you created it yourself — Theon took her by the hand. — Remember how you looked down on me? Now it’s time to look down for real — He didn’t push her. He simply let her feel the full weight of her own words. He forced her to look into Cersei’s mirror, which he had brought with him, until she realized she was a part of this Dreadfort no less than Ramsay. When she finally broke, he simply ended her breath. Finally, only he remained. Ramsay was waiting for him in his solar. He was calm. He had laid out all his knives, tweezers, and that very uranium pipe on the table. — Well, Pastajoy? — Ramsay smiled. — You killed all my guests. You ruined my evening. You’re really offended, aren’t you? — Theon stood in the doorway. His pink body was now covered in the black patterns of the Kraken. — Offended is too weak a word, Ramsay. You turned my life into an endless joke. You made me forget my name. You made me gallop on invisible horses and gnaw on coal — — And you liked it! — Ramsay jumped up. — You always came back, Geyser! You always asked for more! — — Because I didn’t have a crown — Theon stepped forward. — Now I do — The battle was brutal. Ramsay was a master of the knife; he sliced Theon’s pink skin, but the wounds healed faster than the blood could hit the floor. Theon used no weapons. He used his hands. He grabbed Ramsay by his famous long sausage-feet. — Remember how I pulled them at night? — Theon growled. — You laughed. You said anatomy was cruel. Let’s see how stretchable it really is — Theon began to slowly, inch by inch, stretch Ramsay’s feet, breaking joints and ligaments. Ramsay screamed; for the first time in his life, he made the sounds he usually extracted from others. — Look at your skis now, Ramsay! — Theon forced him to look at his own mutilated limbs. — Now you’ll shuffle with them in hell! — In the end, Theon took that very uranium pipe. — You wanted me to blow into it? Now it’s your turn — He pressed the pipe to Ramsay’s lips and forced him to inhale all the madness he had experienced in his nightmare. Ramsay Bolton died, glowing with green fire from within, choking on his own laughter which turned into a death rattle. LMAO. The morning over Dreadfort rose cold and clear. The snow stopped. Theon Pastajoy stepped onto the balcony where Ramsay once stood. He was dressed in a heavy cloak made of the skin of his enemies, and on his head shone a crown forged from the scraps of the centrifuge, Cersei’s mirror, and Jaime Lannister’s golden hand. He looked down at the surviving servants and guards who knelt in terror in the courtyard. — Listen to me! — his voice rang out over the frozen lands. — Reek is dead. Ramsay Bolton is dead. Your whole world of mockery and shame has burned — — I am Theon Pastajoy, Kraken-Invader I. First of my name. King of No One’s Heavens and Lord of Dreadfort — He raised his hand, and the black threads on his pink skin glowed with a crimson light. — From now on, there will be no pasta in this castle. There will be no coal. There will be no pipes. There will be only one law — the law of silence. He who laughs in my presence shall know the taste of «white horseflesh.» He who calls me by the name the Boltons gave me in mockery shall become part of my cloak! — He sat on a throne he had ordered remodeled, decorated with the long, dried feet of Ramsay instead of armrests. Theon closed his eyes. He felt the gray void again, but now he had brought it with him into this world. He was no one’s laughingstock anymore. He was a horror born of shame. And Westeros would soon learn what happens when the most humiliated man in the world decides that he’s had enough. An old Maester approached him, trembling, and asked: — Will you take a new house name? Bolton, Stark, or Greyjoy, perhaps…? — Theon smiled. — No, Maester, certainly not. I am above those names. I am Reek, Pastajoy, Lord of Empty Tubes, the Noodle Baron, the Pastajoy-Sculpture, the Diarrhea Geyser, the Fountain of Dreadfort, the Intestinal Rope, the Prodigal Gut, What’s-in-the-Bag, the Heel-o-ween Shuffler, Lord of the Hedgehog Brows, Shepherd of Two Bald Hedgehogs, the Pasta Centrifuge, the King of the Meat Grinder, the Wormy Redemption, the Back-and-Forth Traveler, the Prisoner of Amnesia, Prisoner #0 — Dangerous to Mental Health, the Blue Kraken, the Ice Tan, the Uranium Pranker, the Uranium Pastajoy, the Glowing Idiot, the Great Boot Thief, the Muffin Lover, the Degenerate Artist, the Pink Prince, the Pink Piglet. I am Theon Pastajoy, Kraken-Invader I, King of No One’s Heavens — Theon replied proudly. The end of the cringe, the beginning of the reign