Whale-oil lamps hissed, firelight dancing uncertainly.
When "Hawk Eye" Coz stumbled back into the Bone Brothers' grim hall, every eye fixed upon his empty hands and deathly pale face.
He pushed through silent crowds toward leader "Old Bone" Colin, his cracked lips trembling as he recited Euron Greyjoy's irrefutable response word-for-word. With each rejected condition, the hall's air thickened further.
When the final words—"kneel to welcome us, raise your blades high"—fell, someone in the corner crushed a ceramic cup in their fist.
"Old Bone" Colin's sunken eyes flickered in the dancing firelight, deepening into abyssal shadows. His skeletal fingers slowly traced yellowed human jawbones embedded in the chair's armrest, remaining silent for a long time.
Finally, he released a sigh seeming to emerge from grave depths, carrying the weight of acceptance.
"It seems..." he lifted his clouded eyes, sweeping each face written with fear and madness, "...besides bloodshed, there's nothing left to discuss."
Fly Island was the Serpent Isles' most unremarkable rotten tooth.
Approximately fifteen miles north-south, merely eight miles east-west, gourd-shaped overall—broad north, narrow south, like a flattened snail shell.
Two-thirds the island lay covered in dark-green marshes. Shallow water, deep mud. Waist-high poisonous reeds and rotting mangroves choked the landscape.
Creatures—ulcerated monster-fish—swam through the mire. Bubbles drifted across surfaces; approaching, one heard subcutaneous bubbles bursting—methane from decaying corpses.
The island's southern end was narrow hardland, barely half-mile wide, called by the brotherhood—the Life-Death Line.
Dense, impenetrable poisoned-thorn thickets grew there. Beneath: thousands of toxin-coated wooden stakes. The brotherhood's first defense.
The gourd's center rose a turtle-shell-shaped plateau of volcanic rock—hard as iron. Steep cliff-faces ringed it; only eastern, western, northern slopes were scalable. Here lay the brotherhood's core. The castle stood here.
The Bone Brothers' fortress: Bone Citadel—built into the plateau, merging defense and habitation through terrain and materials. No brick-or-stone came from outside. Entirely constructed from island's rotted wood, volcanic rock, and pirate skeletons.
The outermost layer: semicircular outer-city, volcanic-rock foundation, rotted-wood-and-bone exterior. Twelve-foot walls with sharpened whale-ribs planted every three paces, bone-gaps wound with poisoned vines.
Three gates:
East Gate—Bone-Shattering Gate: Hidden behind mangroves, usually disguised by thorn-thickets, opened mid-battle by cutting vines.
West Gate—Venom-Dripping Gate: Directly facing the toxic tide, woven from rotted mangrove roots, soaked in swamp venom—touching caused skin-burns.
North Gate—Life-Death Gate: Connected the Life-Death Line. Beyond: narrow stone path, both sides deep fathomless marsh, barely two people wide.
War came punctually as promised tides.
Euron personally led six thousand Iron folk—like a slowly unsheathed blade—advancing steadily toward the Bone Citadel's core.
Their advance eerily bypassed every carefully laid trap. Hidden iron-spikes beneath shallows, deceptive rope-snares disguised as rocks, toxin-coated arrow-shafts—either effortlessly avoided or silently dismantled.
The entire army seemed to possess an invisible map, knowing this "death zone" intimately.
Fly Island lived up to its name. Countless flies produced irritating buzzing, but deadlier were poison-insects lurking in shadows—rainbow centipedes, scorpions with gleaming stingers, blood-thirsty swarms of gnats.
This was "Poison Bait" Lila's proudest defense.
She'd used blood-magic commanding the island's insect colonies. Only those coated with her special medicine escaped attack. Confidently, she watched enemies enter this death-realm, anticipating their shrieks.
She underestimated Euron. Underestimated the Iron Islands.
Among Euron's forces marched red-robed priestess Gwendolyn and shadow-bound Evelyn.
When insects swarmed like blood-scenting clouds, Gwendolyn chanted ancient Light King prayers. Scarlet flame danced her fingertips, igniting Iron torches—poison-insects dared not approach the flames. Meanwhile, Evelyn whispered shadow-realm secrets. Surrounding shadows seemed alive, coiling around her, extending outward. Where shadows reached, insects automatically retreated.
Two invisible forces interweaved a barrier. The swarming insects crashed against an unseen wall, suddenly losing ferocity, becoming restless, spinning helplessly, daring not cross the line.
The distant witch suffered magical backlash. Blood streamed her eyes.
"Poison Bait" Lila's blood-magic defense—evaporated like morning dew under sunlight before deeper, ancient powers.
As troops advanced deeper, marsh-sludge began churning. Murky bubbles continuously ruptured.
With tooth-aching shrieks, two-hundred-plus swamp-lizards slowly rose their scale-covered massive frames from viscous mud. These blood-magic-nourished monsters bore malicious red glints in their eyes, venom dripping from fangs, hissing away surrounding mud.
Just as they lunged toward Iron forces, Euron stepped forward.
He didn't draw his weapon. Simply raised those heterochromatic eyes, gaze pressing like substance toward twisted jungle.
Conqueror's Haki—activated!
"Begone."
One word.
No roar, yet it thundered like lightning through every creature's heart. Two hundred swamp-lizards' massive bodies simultaneously froze. Their crimson pupils contracted sharply. Fear from blood-deep origins instantly overwhelmed blood-magic control.
The leading lizard released an anguished cry, its enormous head burying deep in mud. Immediately, the entire monster-army retreated like tides, dragging heavy frames back into marsh depths, leaving only trembling water-surfaces and successive terror-bubbles.
Two brotherhood scouts, hiding nearby anticipating Iron soldiers' plight in traps, stood slack-jawed watching this army pass through unopposed.
Before transmitting alerts, iron-fisted soldiers materialized behind them.
Lord Barron didn't bother interrogation. He waved thick arms casually—like brushing deck dust. Blade-light flashed. Two heads, frozen in shock, rolled across sand.
The army finally halted before Bone Citadel's skull-stacked walls.
Beneath countless terrified garrison faces, Barron's confidants raised lances, hurling two scouts' bloodied heads violently over the walls.
Twin scarlet arcs traced through air—Iron Islands' ice-cold declaration landing heavily upon blood-and-sand-soaked earth within.
Eastern and Western Gates
No ultimatum. No pre-battle declarations. Direct assault—matching Iron folk's directness.
Garrison barely reacted before dozens of stone containers arced skyward like death-rain, landing precisely inside and outside gates.
Alchemist-crafted stone jars containing wildfire.
As jars shattered, dark-green wildfire scattered. Subsequently, flaming arrows whistled—
"Boom—!"
Wildfire ignited into blood-gold, edges flickering eerie blue.
Flames suddenly erupted like awakening fire-dragons, instantly engulfing both gates. Carefully-applied toxins, poisoned vines—all released shrill cries amid inferno, transforming into acrid smoke and ash.
While garrison staggered in confusion amid sudden flame-sea, a heavy sound thundered like lightning.
"Boom! Boom!"
Two iron-sheathed battering-rams, like beast-horns under firelight, simultaneously savagely smashed the burning gates.
Splinters mixed with sparks scattered. Amid tearing explosion, Eastern and Western gates simultaneously shattered, completely tearing Bone Citadel's sturdiest defenses open. Through collapsed gates, garrison glimpsed forests of swords beyond and Euron Greyjoy's remarkably calm heterochromatic eyes reflecting firelight.
Gate-collapse thunder hadn't faded when Iron battle-cries flooded like tsunamis. Hastily-formed garrison defenses crumbled like sand-castles before storms.
Euron charged foremost, deep-colored cloak fluttering in bloody wind. Each swing of his simple-appearing longsword brought precise death. Approaching pirates typically only glimpsed cold light before severing.
No parrying. No prolonged combat. Wherever his blade pointed, no one withstood his advance.
"Iron Islands bastards!" "Blood Axe" Sol roared from flank, dual axes screaming through air in rapid succession. Euron's form shifted slightly—observers blinked—Sol's charge froze. A blood-line diagonal-crossed from shoulder to waist. His upper body slowly slid downward, entrails spilling.
"Butcher" Buk seized opportunity, viciously slashing. Euron casually raised his blade defensively. As dual weapons crossed, Buk felt throat-chill—his vision spinning to view his own headless corpse still standing.
Amid chaos, "Hawk Eye" Coz turned to flee. A thrown axe, screeching past Euron, precisely embedded in Coz's back-heart, pinning him against the mottled wall, limbs still twitching slightly.
Soldiers slaughtered through streets, directly storming the Brotherhood's great hall.
Leader "Old Bone" Colin wielded bone-staff attempting final resistance when the Stonehelm Island lord roared forth. Giant axe with enormous force split downward, cleaving this years-long Fly Island pirate-master and staff cleanly in half.
Just then, "Poison Bait" Lila completed her final ritual.
Amid blood-light surges, two human-bodied, serpent-headed monsters materialized shrieking. Scales gleaming with ominous oil-sheen, they moved too-fast for ordinary soldiers' perception.
Euron frowned for the first time—not from threat, but pure revulsion toward this vile creation.
As monster-claws approached his garment, he sidestepped, swung, kicked—movements flowing like dance. Blade-light flashed; one monster bisected at waist; the other kicked skyward, then cleaved mid-air by pursuit-blade-energy. Both halves fell twitching, releasing acrid black smoke.
"Poison Bait" Lila knelt in horror. "Don't kill me! I understand blood-magic—"
Before completing her plea, Euron's blade swept her slender neck. Her beautiful head, rolling away, lips still slightly parting.
Euron flicked blood-drops from his blade, surveying this hall transformed into blood-pools and meat-mountains, quietly commanding: "Clean thoroughly. Every Bone Brothers member—slaughter them all!"
With five leaders fallen, the Brotherhood's remaining will completely collapsed.
These fundamentally disloyal pirate rabble now only sought survival. Like frightened rats, they scattered fleeing, desperately wriggling into hidden passages throughout the fortress—tunnels once used hiding plunder, evading pursuit, now their sole hope.
But emerging dust-covered with lingering luck from each concealed exit, they encountered Iron soldiers' cold faces and unsheathed blades. Euron had already woven his net. Every known exit thoroughly sealed.
Those fortunate enough penetrating encirclement, diving into forest beyond, found no escape either. The three sisters' crows silently circled treetops, their sharp eyes detecting every swaying leaf, every hurried footstep. These black messengers periodically shrieked or dove-circled, precisely directing ground forces.
Iron soldiers, following crow-guidance, conducted leisurely hunting, dragging out one-by-one those hiding in tree-hollows, buried in mud, or camouflaged with vines. Desperate screams rose through forest, then abruptly ceased.
As for those escaping seaward—considerably more unfortunate. Sea Kings enjoyed small snacks!
Beneath this heaven-and-earth net woven from steel and wings, no pirate escaped.
The once-feared Bone Brothers systematically erased from existence.
Dungeon depths:
Murky air nearly congealed—blood-scent, mold-rot, despair mingled inseparably.
Hundreds of slaves huddled in dark cells. Most barely clothed, bare skin covered whip-marks and filth.
Over half bore Nas people's distinctive dark skin and fine bone-structure, now huddled together, whispering homeland comfort.
Remaining were Braavos sailors, Summer Islands merchants, several eastern-faced Wildlings—all hollow-eyed from hunger and fear.
In crowd-corners, two men hung heads, deliberately coating faces with mud, mimicking surrounding slaves' numbness. They privately calculated: when Iron folk arrived inventorying, mixing among slaves meant liberation—clearly the safest escape.
Suddenly heavy footsteps echoed from dungeon entrance. Torch-light dispelled darkness.
Warrior-Queen Alicia, leading, swept across the scene. Her sword-hilt-gripping knuckles turned white. Behind her: document-bearing scribes and Iron soldiers carrying food and fresh water.
As soldiers opened cells beginning registration, Alicia suddenly halted, her sword-tip precisely targeting the two impostors:
"Restrain them."
Her voice ice-cold as iron.
"True slaves have tame death in their eyes—not this predatory-dog wildness you display."
Toward such heinously-wicked pirates, naturally no mercy applied.
Seeing disguise exposed, one's eyes flashed fierce light. He suddenly extracted a hidden dagger, roaring toward Alicia. Before his blade descended, Alicia's spear already snake-struck—its tip precisely pierced his throat, eternally choking his incomplete shriek within his chest.
The other, seeing danger, slithered like a catfish toward corners, suddenly seizing a frail Nas girl, rust-spotted blade pressed dead against her slender neck.
"Back away! All back away!" he shrieked hysterically, veins bulging his arm, blade already pressing a blood-line across her neck. "Let me leave! Otherwise this Nas bitch accompanies me to death!"
The Nas girl clenched her eyes tightly shut, thin lips trembling slightly, seemingly offering final prayers to peaceful gods.
The dungeon fell utterly silent—only the pirate's heavy breathing and torch-fire crackling.
Alicia slowly lowered her spear, eyes cold as eternal permafrost.
Dungeon air seemed congealed.
Alicia's gaze locked upon the rust-blade at the Nas girl's neck, internally weighing hostage-release-then-pursuit risks against immediate-assault consequences.
Unhurried footsteps echoed from behind.
Euron's silhouette appeared within torch-light's flickering corridor-entrance. He didn't even glance at the tense standoff, simply walking beside Alicia, lightly patting her shoulder.
He turned toward the cornered pirate, showed no anger, only spoke with voice that seemingly pierced bone-marrow: "Release."
Two words struck like tangible impact—not through volume, but through irrefutable absolute will contained within.
Conqueror's Haki!
Invisible pressure—like a sea-beast's gaze upon prey—sufficient to shatter any weaker-willed person's spirit.
The pirate met his gaze. His entire body suddenly shuddered as if struck by invisible giant-hammers. His eyes suddenly rolled upward, exposing whites of eyes. Consciousness briefly separated within ultimate terror. His hand gripping the dagger loosened. The rust-blade "clanged" falling to stone.
Before the Nas girl escaped, Alicia already surged forward like a hunting leopard. Her waist-sword unsheathed with ringing clarity. Cold-light flashed, precisely piercing the pirate's heart, tremendous force hurling him backward, finally pinning him dead against damp cold stone-walls.
Euron didn't spare the twitching corpse a glance. His gaze swept the dungeon's shaken slaves. To Alicia, he spoke calmly: "Once cleanup finishes, it's time for real business. Their subsequent arrangements—handle them yourself."
Alicia nodded heavily.