Crack-
The whip tore through the evening air before biting into Hidolf Hedley's back. The sound was sharp enough to make the nearest slaves flinch.
Hidolf staggered forward from the force of the blow, the heavy stones strapped across his shoulders grinding against raw flesh. Sweat and dust stung the lash marks, but he forced himself not to cry out. He would not give the overseer that satisfaction.
His breaths came in short, shaking bursts. His vision swam, darkening at the edges. Every bone in his body begged him to collapse.
But he remained standing.
He lowered his head, letting his matted hair fall forward to hide the fury burning in his eyes.
He had been working since sunrise, hauling stones, mixing mortar, dragging broken bodies away from scaffolds, and he had thought, foolishly, that he might rest tonight. But as the sun slipped behind the city walls, the slave master had appeared again, barking orders, kicking men awake, shoving shovels and stones into trembling hands.
No supper. No rest. No mercy.
"You useless animal," the overseer snarled, breath sour with wine. "Move! Faster! If the wall under my command isn't finished tonight, I'll flay your hide in the morning!"
Before Hidolf could even lift his head, the whip fell again.
Crack-
The pain knifed through him. His back was already a ruined map of welts and scars, layer upon layer, some fresh, some years old. This newest cut burned like fire.
And something inside him, some cord stretched thin by years of cruelty... finally snapped.
The whip lifted again.
But this time, Hidolf's body moved before his mind caught up.
He flung down the stone basket with a clatter that echoed against the unfinished ramparts. His hands shot to the ground, closing around a jagged stone nearly the size of his palm.
The overseer paused, momentarily confused.
It was the last mistake he would ever make.
Hidolf lunged.
The stone struck the side of the overseer's head with a sickening crunch. The man's eyes rolled back, legs buckling beneath him. Before he could scream, Hidolf struck again.
And again.
And again.
A raw, animal sound tore from Hidolf's throat as he hammered the rock down until the man's skull split like an overripe fruit. The final strike sprayed blood across the stones, warm and slick against Hidolf's hands.
Silence fell.
The slaves around him stared, wide-eyed, frozen between terror and awe.
Panting hard, Hidolf rose to his feet, chest heaving, blood dripping from his fingers. The reality of what he had done settled on him like a cloak of iron, but the fear that should have followed never came.
Only clarity.
"If we keep living like this," he shouted, voice hoarse, "we will all die on these stones... slowly, choking on dust! and on blood!"
No one spoke.
Hidolf turned, eyes burning with a fierce, desperate fire.
"But if we are doomed to die, then let us die fighting. Let us die! For freedom!"
His words struck something deep in the hearts of the younger slaves, those whose bodies had not yet been broken, whose hope had not yet rotted. They exchanged fierce, frightened looks, and without another thought, several bent to seize tools, stones, scraps of iron. anything that could be wielded as a weapon.
Hidolf did not wait to see who followed.
He snatched up an iron shovel still caked with dried mortar and sprinted toward the soldiers gathering under torchlight.
"Kill!"
The single word ripped from his throat like a war cry.
Behind him, the younger slaves echoed it. Some out of courage, some out of fear. Their voices blended into a hoarse, rising roar.
"Damn it! fight!"
"For freedom!"
This time, the sound rolled like thunder across the half-built wall.
But the older slaves hesitated. They had seen rebellions before, seen them crushed, drowned in blood, erased from memory. They knew what happened to those who dared to fight.
But even hesitation could not hold forever.
One old man, gnarled hands shaking, lifted a broken spear. Another took up a hauling chain as a flail. Another brandished a hammer used for shaping stone.
They had been afraid their whole lives. Tonight, at last, fear had no meaning.
When Hidolf's shovel collided with the first soldier's spear, sparks exploded into the night.
The first drop of rebellion became a flood.
The battle was chaos, pure and violent. Slaves armed with makeshift weapons hurled themselves at Tyroshi soldiers trained for war. The first few guards fell beneath the sheer fury of the onslaught. But for every soldier cut down, another two flooded in from the alleys, reinforcements called by panicked slave owners.
Blood slicked the ground. Bodies thudded against the walls. Screams echoed between the narrow streets.
Yet for every fallen slave, another took his place. They fought like men who knew death would come no matter what they chose.
Better to meet it standing.
The rebellion surged toward the docks, where the city walls opened onto the sea. But the enemy did not break. The soldiers of Tyrosh came in ranks, shields locked, spears stabbing with cold precision.
Still the slaves pressed on.
Still they fought.
Still they bled.
But it was not enough.
A ring of soldiers closed around them in the torchlit dark, hundreds at first, then thousands. From rooftops and battlements, overseers shouted orders, sending more armed men into the fray.
The air stank of smoke, sweat, and terror.
Hidolf's arms ached. His hands were numb, fingers raw from gripping the shovel's haft. But he kept swinging, cutting a path through leather armor and flesh alike.
"We must break through!" he shouted, voice cracking. "Outside the walls! there we can scatter and survive!"
His men roared in answer, desperation fueling them as they crashed against the weakest point of the encirclement.
The Tyroshi commander, Kalom, watched from horseback, the torchlight glinting off his helm. His lips curled in contempt.
"Shields!"
A forest of shields slammed together, forming an unbroken wall.
Spears thrust through the gaps.
One slave impaled himself on a spear as he charged. Another fell with a spear through his throat. A third collapsed, legs folding beneath him, blood gushing from his gut.
The sound of spears piercing flesh, wet gore and merciless- echoed like a death knell in Hidolf's ears.
He tried again.And again.And again.
Each charge failed. Each time the shield wall swallowed them whole.
"Calm down," Hidolf whispered to himself, breathing through the iron taste in his mouth. "Think… think…"
He climbed a mound of fallen bodies, boots slipping on blood, and searched the horizon for a miracle.
Instead, he found doom.
Archers were running down the dockside street, bows in hand, quivers full, their captain shouting orders.
Once they formed ranks, the sky would darken with arrows.
And every slave still standing would die.
Hidolf's heart pounded like a war drum against his ribs. The world narrowed into a tunnel of torchlight and shadows. He tasted smoke. He tasted fear.
Not for himself. But...
For the men who had followed him. For the young boys who had picked up stones. For the old men who could barely stand.
They would all die here.
"NO!" he roared, as if sheer force could shatter fate. "NO!!"
He led another charge, teeth bared, desperation turning strength into madness.
The shield wall did not move.
Kalom raised his hand lazily.
"Close in," he commanded. "Finish it."
The encirclement tightened. The air grew thick with despair, a heavy, suffocating thing that pressed on every chest.
And yet none surrendered.
None dropped their weapons.
Everyone knew: surrender meant torture, execution, crucifixion, whatever punishment the Tyroshi masters felt like inflicting to make an example.
Better to die fighting.
Hidolf steadied his shaking hands around the shovel. Blood dripped from its blade. His legs trembled. His lungs burned.
But he stood.
He would fight until the last breath left his body.
He braced himself for the final, fatal clash-
When the world exploded with a sound not born of any human throat.
"Hissssss-!"
The cry rolled through the night like thunder from some vast, ancient beast. It rattled the stones beneath their feet. It sent torches flickering madly. It made soldiers' spears tremble in their hands.
Every head turned.
Hidolf froze mid-stride, breath caught in his chest.
Something was coming.
Something colossal.
Something that did not belong to chains or masters or fear.
His heart slammed against his ribs, blood roaring in his ears.
A shadow swept across the moonlit docks.
And for the first time that night- the battlefield went silent.
-------
A/N: The world is moving in shadows, schemes brewing, alliances breaking, and every soul chasing wealth or survival. No one knows what comes next…
Who wins? Who falls? Only time will tell.
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