HĀROS BARTOSSI | DAEMON T.

[ 𝟏𝟎 ]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐍 - 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐑

── •✧• ── ⋆⋅༻✦༺⋅⋆ ── •✧• ──

(TW: This chapter includes mentions of violence, war, and blood. If you are uncomfortable with such topics, please do not continue.)

The land around Bloodstone bore its name in full; every surface was smeared with blood. The stone ground was slick with it, and the rock walls were painted in dark streaks. The air itself was dense with the stench of death— an acrid mix of blood and saltwater, fused with the pungent tang of the carbon smoke and burning flesh.

The flames devoured everything, brutal and unforgiving. From the remnants of the wrecked Seasnake's fleet, to the majestic but tattered blue Velaryon flag that fluttered pitifully, all was lost in the crackling flames, all of its vibrant colours fading in the smoke. What had been a symbol of power now lay abandoned in the filthy mud, trampled in dirt and blood beneath the weight of its own disgrace. The silver seahorse sigil, once so proudly displayed, was reduced to ash, indistinguishable from the charred remains of the devastation.

Triarchy soldiers stormed the blood-soaked beach, their boots sinking into the soft earth as they looted what was left of the Velaryon vessels. They took everything— locked chests, weaponry, crates full of supplies, and anything and everything they deemed useful. No one was spared, not even the remaining captured Velaryon soldiers. Their silver armours were stripped away, their bodies left cold and exposed before they were executed with relentless efficiency, one by one.

Hundreds of Velaryon prisoners were lined up along the shores, shackled and defiant. Prince-Admiral Craghas Drahar— known to all as Crabfeeder— moved amongst them, his cold eyes darting at every face, watching their expressions falter. The conqueror of the Stepstones, a man whose reputation was built on terror, approached each prisoner with the twisted cruelty of a butcher. With grim precision, he drove his stakes into the sand, pinning his victims to the ground like sacrificial offerings.

The sound of their screams rang into the night, an agonized chorus that echoed across the bloodied battlefield. Crabs, monstrous and ravenous, poured over their bodies, their pincers snapping, tearing into skin and muscle. They devoured what they could like the Triarchy looters, scraping away the flesh until only bones remained— bleached white under the pale moonlight.

The prisoners could do nothing but struggle against the weight of their fate. With their dignities stripped and bared of their honours, they writhed and screamed like trapped animals, their voices breaking as they begged for the Crabfeeder's mercy that would never come. Some even cried for help, while others cursed their captors, but all of them were doomed, their pleas falling deaf in their executors' ears. Eventually, their excruciating misery would numb away like their senses, their cries would soon grow hoarse, then silent and before they knew it, their bodies stilling as the last of their life slipped away into the eternal abyss.

In the end, there was nothing but the ebb and flow of the tide against the sand, the flicker of flames in the distance, and the silent bones of the fallen, left to rot beneath the stars. 

"House Velaryon is coming for you!" one of the Velaryon soldiers spat at Drahar as he drew near to deliver judgment. Blood soaked his clothes, his body slick with sweat, his every breath a tremor of fear and fury. Yet, despite being defeated and stripped of his weapons and protection, his loyalty to Lord Corlys and his house was unyielding, just as his honour was. "The Seasnake will have your poxy fucking head! You and your fucking crabs!"

Drahar crouched low, his broken mask concealing the twisted, dreadful scars of a disease long past. His bloodshot eyes narrowed with contempt towards the nameless Velaryon soldier before him, and a muffled snicker passed through his lips. The soldier's threats were feeble, hollow things, spoken through clenched teeth, yet trembling with fear. Nevertheless, Drahar's gaze never wavered, his silence was terrifying enough than any spoken words, and it was enough to break the bravado of his prisoner.