My Promises To Captain Malfoy || DRARRY

Chapter 15

In the early morning, as the first pale light breaks over Dublin, the streets are already tense. A thick fog clings to the cobblestones, muffling footsteps and making every sound feel closer, sharper. The city, usually calm at this hour, is alive with tension. Groups of Irish rebels gather in tight clusters, their faces set with determination, eyes watching every corner.

The British soldiers, led by Captain Malfoy, begin to move through the main streets. Their boots hit the ground in unison, breaking the quiet with steady, disciplined steps. They carry rifles close, their expressions firm as they prepare for confrontation. It isn’t long before they meet resistance. The first shouts ring out from behind makeshift barricades, where men and women have armed themselves with stones, bottles, and anything they can find. The air grows thick with anger, and the clash begins.

A bottle flies through the air, shattering near the soldiers’ line, and almost instantly, cries echo down the street as the first charge is met with resistance. Smoke rises as soldiers fire warning shots, but it only seems to fuel the crowd’s fury. Irish rebels surge forward, the sound of their voices filling the streets, a wall of defiance against the soldiers who stand ready with bayonets and rifles.

Soon, the streets are filled with the sounds of shouting, scuffling, and the clash of fists and metal. Tear gas drifts through the alleys, a heavy cloud that stings eyes and forces many back. But some push forward, unwilling to yield, and the battle only grows more intense. The British soldiers try to hold their lines, their faces tense with the strain of containing the crowd.

In this chaos, Captain Malfoy shouts orders, directing his men as they press against the crowd. The morning is no longer quiet, it has turned into a battleground, the city of Dublin caught in the first light of day under a shroud of conflict and rebellion.

The clash deepens as the sun begins to rise, casting an eerie light over the smoke-filled streets. Captain Malfoy shouts commands to his men, his voice cutting through the chaos, directing them to hold their positions as the rebels press forward, undeterred by the show of force. The soldiers advance in careful, rigid lines, trying to push back the wave of defiance, but every step is met with fierce resistance.

Rebels dart in and out of alleyways, using their knowledge of the city to their advantage. They throw stones and bottles, their makeshift weapons no match for the soldiers’ rifles, but their spirit unbreakable. The soldiers struggle to keep the crowd contained, their shields and bayonets barely enough to hold back the swelling masses.

Gas canisters hiss as they’re thrown into the crowd, releasing thick plumes that burn eyes and choke the air. Some rebels stagger back, coughing and wiping at their faces, but others press on, covering their mouths with cloth and urging each other forward. Shouts echo off the buildings, the sound a mixture of anger, determination, and the raw desperation of a people fighting for their land and freedom.

Captain Malfoy watches the scene unfold, his jaw set as he evaluates the situation. His usual calm is replaced with a look of steely resolve, but beneath it, there’s a flicker of something else, a tension, as if he knows this fight is different. The streets are filled with smoke, shouts, and the metallic clang of metal against stone. For every step forward the soldiers take, the rebels push back, refusing to let their city fall quietly.

As the sun climbs higher, the battle rages on. The narrow streets of Dublin become a warzone, a place where neither side is willing to yield. The noise, the heat, the anger, all of it builds, filling the air with a powerful energy that seems to grip every person in the streets.

As the morning stretches on, the streets of Dublin are swallowed by the sounds and sights of battle. The fog of dawn has lifted, replaced by thick clouds of smoke from tear gas and scattered fires, casting an ominous haze over the city. The rebels' shouts rise into a deafening roar, joined by the echoing blasts of rifles and the sharp clang of makeshift weapons clashing against the soldiers' bayonets and shields.