Outside Warsong Keep – Southern Plains
Pierce's seven-hundred-man army stood in perfect formation on the open ground in front of their new camp's wooden palisade.
Small in number, but they looked like a single block of thousand-forged black iron—cold, sharp, and ready to cut.
They formed a wide "goose-wing" array, both flanks slightly forward.
The most intimidating sight was the line of ten heavy ballistae up front, crouched like sleeping monsters. Their massive bolts gleamed under the gray sky.
Behind them: three hundred mixed longbowmen and crossbowmen, calm-eyed, quietly checking strings and mechanisms.
On the wings: one hundred heavy cavalry and two hundred light cavalry, men and horses armored, lances like a forest.
At the center of the goose formation: one hundred heavy infantry in a steel wall—thick shields locked tight, spears bristling outward like a deadly hedge.
These five hundred core mercenaries were Pierce's true elite—hand-picked with gold and battle, veterans of Essos' open plains and the terror of screaming Dothraki khalasars. This rabble in front of them barely registered.
On the Boggs side, nearly two thousand men sprawled in messy clumps, trying to form a few bloated squares.
Their gear was a joke—mostly leather and studded leather, a few chain shirts counting as high-end. Weapons ranged from fish-spears and wood-axes to rusty longswords.
They had almost three times the numbers, but the sloppy noise and disorder made Pierce's silent, disciplined lines look like gods of war by comparison.
At the front of the Boggs army, "Old Fishspear" Hollan Boggs stood surrounded by his chiefs, staring at the smaller but terrifying force across the field. A heavy stone seemed to press on his chest.
Beside him, "Raider" Quentin Hardy waved his curved blade and shouted for attack, while "Iron Anchor" Togg frowned, clearly uneasy.
The smaller chiefs Gray Shadow had already flipped were trading sly glances, half-heartedly yelling while doing nothing useful.
Gray Shadow himself lurked in an unremarkable corner, watching like a shadow, a cold little smile on his lips.
Quentin looked jittery. He kept glancing at Pierce's lines, then at his own backstabbing "allies," sweat beading in his palms.
While the Boggs side was still shouting and struggling to get organized, a sharp attack horn ripped across the battlefield from Pierce's ranks.
THWUNK—BOOM!
Ten ballistae fired at once. Those castle-smashing bolts screamed across hundreds of yards like tearing cloth and slammed into the densest Boggs squares.
SQUELCH! CRACK!
Flesh and bone stood no chance. Limbs, guts, and shattered torsos exploded everywhere. The bolts carved bloody tunnels straight through the packed men.
One volley alone killed or crippled dozens and sparked total panic.
And that was just the opening act.
Before the ballista echoes faded, Pierce's signal flags changed again.
"High angle—loose!"
Three hundred longbowmen released together. A black cloud of arrows arced high and rained down on the already-chaotic Boggs front.
The shafts fell like deadly hail. Men without proper shields dropped in droves, screams rising everywhere.
Still not over.
"Crossbowmen—flat volley!"
The crossbowmen stepped forward in the gaps between longbow shots and fired point-blank, lethal and precise.
Heavy bolts punched straight through leather and light chain, dropping chiefs and tough fighters like sacks of meat.
Three waves of ranged death plowed the Boggs front line into bloody ruin before the two armies had even properly met. Morale was shattered.
At this point, the Boggs vanguard was still over two hundred yards from Pierce's heavy infantry wall.
"Forward! For Warsong Keep! Kill them all!" Old Fishspear Hollan roared until his voice cracked. He knew if they didn't charge now, the whole army would collapse.
Under the whips and shouts of their chiefs, the Boggs squares finally lurched forward in messy, stumbling waves.
On Pierce's side, the ranged troops pulled back in perfect order behind the palisade, still pouring fire down. The heavy infantry stood like an iron cliff, sealing the camp entrance.
And then the cavalry on both wings moved.
Heavy cavalry in front, light cavalry behind—two iron fists slowly picking up speed.
Hooves thundered. The charge built from trot to gallop until the ground itself shook under the weight.
The Boggs side sent out their own riders—actually more numerous—but mostly light, poorly equipped, hoping to use speed and hit-and-run.
Pierce's cavalry commander was too experienced for that. The heavy cavalry formed a moving iron wall and slammed straight into the Boggs riders' center with brutal, no-frills force.
BOOM!
Steel met flesh in a deafening crash. Against superior armor, weight, and discipline, the Boggs light cavalry shattered like driftwood on rocks. Lances punched clean through bodies, armored horses bowled men aside. In one collision the entire Boggs cavalry charge broke apart into scattered, desperate fights.
Almost at the same instant, the Boggs main infantry finally reached Pierce's heavy infantry line, howling.
"Shields—up!"
THUD! A hundred shields slammed down in unison. Spears thrust out through the gaps like striking snakes.
SQUELCH! SQUELCH!
The front rank of Boggs soldiers ran straight into a wall of spikes. Men were skewered instantly.
Their fish-spears and axes bounced off the iron-rimmed shields, leaving only shallow scratches.
Meanwhile, longbow arrows kept raining into their crowded rear ranks, carving fresh casualties.
The center fight turned into a one-sided slaughter.
The Boggs had the numbers, but they couldn't break the iron wall. Instead they died in droves under precise spear thrusts and endless arrow fire.
Old Fishspear Hollan watched his lines crumble, face turning ashen.
Then—dust clouds boiled up from the northwest.
A savage banner appeared on the horizon—the Brave Companions! Five hundred bloodthirsty mercenaries under Vargo Hoat thundered onto the flank.
"It's the Brave Companions!"
Hollan's face lit up with desperate joy. "The lord in King's Landing kept his word! Hold, lads—help has arrived!"
The old man looked reborn. His remaining chiefs perked up too, smelling a chance to turn the tide.
But their joy didn't last.
Almost the second the Brave Companions appeared, a low, mournful horn sounded from the northeast.
Another five-hundred-man force came charging in from that direction.
Their banner… was Pierce Celtigar's golden crab—though the stitching looked crooked and almost comical.
But sharp-eyed Boggs men recognized it and screamed in terror: "It's… it's Dagos Peake! The traitor! He joined Celtigar!"
Dagos Peake and his surviving warriors had arrived exactly as Pierce planned, threatening the Boggs rear.
At the same moment, thick black smoke erupted without warning from the eastern settlement inside Warsong Keep. Shouts and steel clashes rang out—Gray Shadow and his turned insiders had struck on cue.
And it still wasn't over.
"Look at the sea! The sea!" a Boggs soldier wailed, pointing at Crab Bay.
A fleet was cutting straight toward the docks under full sail. The lead three big ships flew the golden crab banner—Pierce's naval squadron.
Around them, dozens of lean longships swarmed like wolves. Some were clearly stolen Boggs vessels.
Ballistae on the big ships began thundering, hurling massive bolts into the docks and shore defenses.
The longships used their speed to ram and board the anchored or fleeing Boggs ships, hooks flying, boarding parties leaping across in savage hand-to-hand fighting.
"It's over… it's all over…"
"Iron Anchor" Togg went deathly pale, muttering. Quentin Hardy gripped his weapon tighter, eyes complex as he stared toward Pierce's lines. His moment to switch sides was almost here.
In the middle of the total chaos, with Boggs morale completely broken—
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Pierce's war drums suddenly beat faster and wilder.
The camp gates flew wide open.
A brand-new nightmare formation stormed out like a prehistoric beast breaking its cage—fifty Tyrants marching in perfect lockstep, each heavy footfall shaking the ground.
At their head rode Pierce Celtigar himself.
Today he wore a dazzling suit of golden plate armor. Sunlight broke through the clouds and blazed off the metal like a war god descending.
In his hand: the strange-patterned Valyrian steel axe—Bloodstorm.
Flanking him and forming the tip of this unstoppable spear were the fifty Tyrants.
Tall. Silent. Heavy. Their spike-covered bodies were moving fortresses. They carried custom heavy weapons, eyes burning blood-red.
This personal strike force Pierce led charged straight at the heart of the already-shattered Boggs main square like a red-hot lance.
"For Celtigar!!" Pierce's roar shook the battlefield. Bloodstorm became a spinning crimson whirlwind of death in his grip.
Wherever he passed, no one lasted more than a single blow. The Valyrian steel edge sliced through leather, chain, and iron helmets like paper. Limbs, broken blades, and heads flew in sprays of blood.
The fifty Tyrants were fifty tireless, fearless killing machines.
Their strength was monstrous. Every swing sent men and weapons flying. Valyrian steel spikes tore bodies apart.
This spearhead charge was the final straw.
The Boggs lines—already crumbling—collapsed completely under the unstoppable steel avalanche.
Soldiers screamed, threw down weapons, and ran in every direction, cursing their parents for not giving them more legs.
Pierce's eyes cut through the chaos and locked onto "Old Fishspear" Hollan Boggs, still surrounded by his last guards, desperately trying to rally.
Hollan watched the golden war god carve toward him like a legend come alive. He saw his soldiers melting away like snow in spring. He saw his ships burning in the bay. He heard the slaughter inside the eastern town…
His mind went blank. Even the thought of running never formed.
"No… please…"
His fish-spear clattered to the ground.
A heartbeat later the golden figure was on him like a whirlwind.
Pierce didn't even slow down. He simply swung Bloodstorm in a casual arc.
A dark-red crescent flashed.
Hollan Boggs' head—still wearing an expression of pure terror and despair—tumbled skyward on a fountain of blood.
The headless body swayed once and toppled into the bloody mud.
Chief dead. The last spark of resistance died with him.
"Chief Hollan is dead!"
"We surrender! We surrender!"
The rout was total.
House Boggs—the pirate clan that had ruled Crab Bay for years—ended in this single decisive battle.
Surviving soldiers dropped to their knees in waves, throwing down weapons and begging for mercy.
Quentin Hardy and the handful of chiefs he'd flipped immediately started shouting surrender and "helping" restore order.
Pierce stood over Hollan's headless corpse, golden armor splashed with enemy blood like blooming flowers of death.
He swept his gaze across the battlefield—now reduced to moans and pleas—then looked at his fleet mopping up the bay and the dying smoke over the eastern town.
Slowly he raised Bloodstorm, still dripping.
Victory horns rang out once more over Crab Bay.