The attack on the door kept increasing in frequency and intensity. It sounded like a giant iron fist hammering against stone. Inside the grand hall, the Throne Guards had arranged them in formation. They were no more standing up. Instead, they knelt on one knee forming a steady, unyielding line while pointing their long spears straight toward the massive gates that were about to break apart any second. They kept their weapons raised at a perfect forty-five-degree angle from the ground, forming a deadly wall of steel points.
Right behind them stood six rows of crossbowmen, arranged in a neat, orderly pattern to maximize their firepower. The men in the first row knelt down just like the spear holders in front of them, holding their loaded crossbows level and aimed straight at the doorway. Behind them, the second row stood tall. This exact pattern repeated all the way back through the remaining rows.
They had practiced this formation before, for this particular type of situation- to keep the fire going without a single gap. When the first and second rows finished shooting their bolts, they would drop to their knees and start reloading. At that exact moment, the third and fourth rows would step up or fire their volley, then quickly drop down to reload as well. Finally, the fifth and sixth rows would let loose their heavy bolts into the crowd. By the time the back rows finished firing, the front rows were already done reloading and ready to shoot again. In this smooth, deadly rhythm, they could unleash wave after wave of thick iron bolts that could punch straight through even steel armor even at close range.
The heavy golden doors finally crashed inward with a deafening roar. But the charging pirates were met with a wall of death as a fresh volley of crossbow bolts that tore into their front ranks. As the first batch of lifeless bodies hit the stone floor, the pirates right behind them met the exact same cruel fate. Because the Throne Guards filled the entire width of the entrance, blocking every inch of the path, the only way forward for the mob was a direct, head-on charge. They rushed into the storm of steel, paying for every single step with their lives. The few lucky or fast ones who somehow managed to slip past the flying bolts ran headfirst into the sharp spear tips of the guards stationed between the line and the crossbowmen.
Under normal conditions, a few rounds of this devastating fire would have sent any sane army running back into the dark. But these men had just broken through a door made of pure, solid gold. It was an amount of wealth they could never even dream of owning in a lifetime. If just the gate itself was worth a king's ransom, they couldn't even imagine how much treasure was locked away inside the rest of the palace. Greed had blinded them completely, ripping away their fear and turning them into mindless, crazed beasts. They kept pouring through the shattered entrance like a swarm of insects flying straight into a fire, throwing their lives away for a glimpse of gold. Dead bodies began to pile up so fast that it looked like the doorway would soon choke on its own mounting corpses.
Everyone inside was betting on buying time. They just needed to hold the line a little longer- long enough for their comrades sleeping outside to wake up, grab their weapons, and attack the pirates from behind. If they could catch the mob from both the front and the back, the battle would be won. Just a few more minutes, and they would be victorious. Their names and brave deeds would turn into legends, sung by bards in warm taverns century after century.
However, all that hope shattered in an instant when the pile of pirate corpses suddenly started flying through the air toward them.
The heavy, dead bodies slammed into the raised spears with a sick, wet thud. The flying corpses crashed right into the perfectly aligned compact rows of steel, hitting the Throne Guards like a solid wall of meat. Their tight, smooth formation broke apart in a second. Their metal spear poles jerked hard, as they got stuck deep inside broken ribs and torn clothes when the dead weight dragged the guards off balance.
Before the battle-hardened veteran Throneguards could pull their bloody weapons free from the tangled pile of bodies, a low, ugly growl echoed from the smoke outside.
Out stepped the Ahiryanis.
Like earlier, they were wearing nothing except dirty, blood-stained loincloths. Their bodies were terrifying to look at- covered in old scars, ugly bruises, and deep burn marks from past wars. They carried no big swords or heavy axes. Instead, they had two small, hard steel shields strapped to each hand, made for bashing rather than blocking. They were moving like mindless animals, completely numb to the world and dead to any sense of pain.
With scary teamwork, the Ahiryanis grabbed the arms and legs of the dead pirates littering the floor. They threw the heavy corpses forward like sacks of grain to smash straight into the guards' broken lines. They used the dead bodies as living battering rams, ripping the front line wide open and tangling every remaining spear in a thick, hopeless web of blood and meat.
However, by time the Ahiryanis cleared the doorway just a little bit, the well-trained crossbowmen had regained much of their formation and let loose again at point-blank range.
Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!
Heavy iron bolts tore through the air, sinking deep into chests, stomachs, and throats with wet, crunching sounds. But the shield-dancers did not slow down. They screamed, but not in pain, but in sheer bloodlust and excitement. A bolt punched right through one shield-dancer's shoulder, pinning his arm back, but his legs just kept running forward. Another took a bolt right in the center of his chest, dark blood oozing out as he walked right over his own hanging guts.
They crashed into the confused Throne Guards like a living avalanche of meat and bone.
Most of them seemed to have little to no fighting skills however,- no smart moves, and no self-preservation. They were just swinging their small shields wildly and threw all their heavy weight forward. But the Throne Guards were elite soldiers; they figured out the sheer horror of the enemy in seconds. Seeing that normal bleeding and standard wounds wouldn't stop these monsters, the guards changed their tactics fast. They shortened their grips on their weapons and hacked down hard with heavy blades. Arms and legs flew off in sprays of dark blood. Knees smashed against the stone. Finally, the guards swung with all their remaining strength to chop the heads clean off their necks, watching the bodies drop flat like cut strings as life finally left them.
The Ahiryanis fell by the dozen, their headless bodies twitching and kicking on the stone floor. But their brutal suicide run did its job- the Throne Guards' unbreakable wall was completely smashed to pieces.
Right behind them, smelling fresh blood in the air, a massive new wave of pirates poured through the gap.
The narrow palace hallway instantly turned into a tight, crowded slaughterhouse. There were so many bodies packed together in the narrow space that nobody could swing a sword or take a proper breath. Long spears snapped against the stone walls, becoming useless sticks that just got in the way.
The fight instantly turned into a wild, tooth-and-nail animal brawl.
People dropped their Steel weapons on the floor and began fighting with teeth, claws, and bare hands in the dark. A pirate lunged forward like a rabid dog, sinking his teeth straight into a guard's throat and tearing flesh away as hot blood sprayed across his face. Another guard, pinned hard against a stone pillar with a knife buried deep in his belly, roared with pure fury and drove his bare fists into an attacker's eyes until the bone crunched beneath his knuckles. Men gouged eyes, ripped out windpipes with their fingers, and stepped all over the mounting piles of the dead without looking down.
The Throne Guards went down one by one, crushed under the endless, heavy wave of numbers, their gold armor dented, battered, and soaked entirely in red.
Yet not a single guard died alone. Every dying man dragged at least seven or eight screaming, clawing pirates down into the grave with him. The shattered entranceway of the Spire became a churning mountain of meat, mud, and blood, where no one asked for mercy and only death won in the end.
At this juncture, surpassing the brutal cacophony a deep bellow of trumpet could be heard from distance.