A song of Fire and Blood

Chapter 19: The Storm of Blades (Part 3/4)

The battle at Volantis raged on, the clash of steel, the cries of the dying, the desperate efforts of the Dragon Company, and the overwhelming force of the Volantene mercenaries. The Dragon Company had no choice but to hold their ground, fighting for their lives, their honor, and the survival of their prince. Aerion, Monford, Naeron, and Clement fought through the chaos, each in their way, leading their men, determined to hold the line.

Clement Celtigar fought with the fury of a man who had seen too many battles, too much bloodshed. His claws—his axe—ripped through Volantene soldiers, cutting down one after the other. His silver armor, adorned with his house sigil, gleamed under the midday sun, and the red crab emblem on his chest caught the light. He fought beside his sworn brothers—Ser Guncer and Ser Naeron—his brothers in arms.

He moved with the grace of a knight, the strength of a warrior, cutting through the enemy as if they were nothing more than insects, his swords dancing through the chaos.

"There's no stopping us, old men!" Clement shouted, his voice carrying through the carnage as his blade cleaved through another foe. His men cheered, rallying to his side, pushing the Volantene back.

But then, amidst the chaos, an enemy archer let loose a deadly arrow, and the world shifted in an instant.

The arrow slammed into the air with a whistle, striking Clement in his right eye. He screamed out in pain as his vision exploded into white-hot agony. His hand instinctively shot up to his face, but the damage was done. His right eye was gone, replaced by a mess of blood and shredded skin, the arrow still embedded deep in his skull.

"Clement!" Guncer roared, trying to pull him out of the melee.

"I'm fine, you fool!" Clement shouted back through gritted teeth, his voice a hoarse rasp of fury. He grabbed for his sword with his left hand, still holding the fight, even as his blood dripped down his face.

"Get the wound patched up! You'll bleed out, you mad bastard!" Guncer shouted again, but Clement refused to give up, pushing the pain to the back of his mind. His comrades rallied around him as the battle raged onward.

"We will not fall today!" Clement yelled with all the strength he had left, using his rage to fuel him. Even blind in one eye, he fought harder than ever, showing the enemy that the Dragon Company would never break, no matter the cost.

On the right flank, Naeron Qoherys' battle with Mero, the Titan's Bastard, had reached a fever pitch. The man wielded his massive sword like a beast, hacking and cleaving through anyone who dared approach.

Naeron's poleaxe was sharp, his movements fluid and precise. But even his strength couldn't match the sheer power of the Titan's Bastard. The massive warrior was relentless, his attacks coming with such force that Naeron had to dodge, parry, and retreat with every breath.

"Come, Skull Knight! I've heard of you! Let's see if the rumors are true!" Mero bellowed, his voice carrying over the battlefield.

Naeron narrowed his eyes, tightening his grip on his poleaxe. "You'll find I am more than rumors, Bastard."

And then, with a roar, Naeron launched himself at Mero, his poleaxe swinging in a wide arc, aimed directly for the warrior's head.

Clash.

The sound of steel meeting steel rang out as Mero blocked the strike with his greatsword. The force of the blow pushed Mero back a step, but he quickly recovered, pushing forward again. Naeron's heart pounded in his chest as the two clashed again and again, each strike leaving a mark on the battlefield.

Mero's strength was incredible, but Naeron's speed and agility were his advantages. He ducked under another massive strike and drove his poleaxe into Mero's side.

"You're a good fighter, Qoherys! But I am better!" Mero roared, throwing a brutal punch to Naeron's face. Naeron stumbled back, but he was quick to regain his balance.

"You'll have to do better than that, Titan."

With a final roar, Naeron pressed forward with a relentless flurry of strikes, each one aimed to break Mero's defense. Mero, for all his size and strength, was beginning to slow. His sword swings were not as clean, his movements becoming more labored. Naeron had him.

Barristan Selmy watched from the center of the Dragon Company's defense, seeing the men fight with all their might. He could feel the tension in the air, the weight of the battle pressing in on him. The Volantene forces had not relented—they kept coming, and the Dragon Company was losing ground.

"Stay firm! Hold the line!" Barristan shouted, his voice booming across the battlefield. He was older, yes, but his skill and experience were unmatched. He swung his sword with deadly precision, cutting down enemies wherever they approached.

He glanced over to see Clement fighting on, despite the wound to his eye. The boy was a fierce warrior, though Barristan feared that he might not survive much longer at this rate.

"We can't lose!" Barristan muttered to himself, his sword cutting through another Volantene soldier. But his heart was heavy, and his thoughts were grim. The Dragon Company was holding—but for how long?

Bloodbeard stood at the edge of the battlefield, watching as his forces began to press the Dragon Company harder. The mercenary leader's face was covered in grime, sweat, and the blood of his enemies. He bellowed orders to his men, rallying them to strike harder, push further, crush the Dragon Company under their numbers.

He looked out over the battlefield, the flames of war lighting the sky.

But he could feel the tide shifting.

The Dragon Company wasn't done yet. They still fought with fury, with purpose. Even as the battle raged, their will did not falter. It would not be an easy victory.

"Crush them!" Bloodbeard screamed to his men.

But even as he said it, he knew—the Dragon Company had yet to reveal its true strength.

As the battle raged on, the Dragon Company was beginning to show signs of wear. Their bravery, their skill, and their resolve were unmatched, but they had been fighting for what felt like an eternity. Their numbers had dwindled, and each warrior that fell was a painful blow to their cause. Yet, despite the odds stacked against them, they fought on, unwilling to yield.

The Volantene forces pressed their advantage, pushing the Dragon Company back, their overwhelming numbers and war elephants driving a wedge between the men. But the Dragon Company was not so easily broken, and their leaders, those who had led them from the beginning, would never allow their men to fall without a fight.

Prince Aerion Targaryen, the Starborn, stood tall at the front of the line, his blade a flame of fury in his hand. His blood-red eyes gleamed with rage as he hacked through the Volantene soldiers who dared come close to him. The weight of the battle was heavy on him, the loss of so many comrades, the pain of the fight, but he did not falter.

"We hold!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the noise of war, pushing his men to fight even harder.

He fought beside Clement, whose face was stained with blood, his lost eye barely visible under the grime of battle. Clement's sword was still moving, still cutting down foes, despite his injury. Aerion could feel the rage in his friend's every swing, his pain turning into a weapon.

"You're still standing, Clement?" Aerion shouted over the din of battle, his voice filled with admiration.

"What's a little blood? It's nothing compared to what's coming," Clement replied with a grin, his remaining eye burning with the fire of a warrior.

The two of them moved as one, a blur of steel and fury, cutting down the Volantene forces wherever they found them. It was Aerion's fury that burned hottest, the fire of vengeance consuming him as he fought for every inch of ground. He had witnessed too many deaths today. His friends, his men, had suffered so much.

But the battle was far from over.