The Viper Fortress demolition task was originally Euron's test of loyalty for newly-surrendered pirates.
Yet when Euron's declaration—"Henceforth, the Iron Islands need no walls, no fortresses, because upon the great sea, with me, none undefeated!!!"—thundered like lightning, the entire Iron fleet erupted.
Could such ignited passion and blood-fervor be contained by mere observation?
Unknown who first roared: "Tear down walls! Tear down fortresses!"
Like opening floodgates, countless Iron folk—from ordinary soldiers to island-elite, even minor officers—eyes blazing, howled toward centuries-old Viper Fortress.
They no longer regarded this as labor imposed upon surrendered troops, but sacred ritual practicing new belief.
Hammers, axes, even thick ropes directly wrenching... frenzied Iron folk like surging tides instantly overwhelmed ancient stone-walls.
Stone-collapse thunder, excited roars, ripped pirate-flags symbolizing old-era—interwove destruction's symphony.
Beneath such destructive fervor, this fortress witnessing centuries' storms, within mere hours, lay in ruins, leaving only jagged debris like giant-beast-gnawed remains.
Amid dust-clouds, Iron folk standing upon wreckage, gazing at empty ridge, their chests filling with bold creation-of-new-era sentiment.
Walls erased, exactly as Euron stated: this sea-domain itself was Iron Islands' most formidable fortress.
Tear Island:
The island's south bore High Valyrian's ruins, once colonial outpost of Ghis Empire and Valyria's Free Fortress.
In 25 BC, Red Death first erupted among slaves at High Valyria, sweeping Tear Island, then spreading throughout Serpent Isles, eliminating ninety-percent population.
Red Death victims: every skin-pore bled endlessly, skin wrinkled like soaked parchment-fragments, unbearable pain throughout, finally dying with anguished screams.
Deep within Weeping Citadel:
Whale-oil lamps cast twisted shadows upon damp cliff-walls.
This fortress, nestled against "Tear Peak" and "Tear Cavern," congealed the entire island's sorrow into cold stone-walls. Now it gathered the Serpent Isles' final resistance-forces.
Besides the Tear-Blood Brotherhood's leader seated upon black-stone throne, leaders from Axe Island, Toad Island, Claw Island, Skull Island, and Serpent's Corner all attended. The seven-island pirate-forces, after Fly Island and Howl Mountain's successive falls, concentrated all remaining strength here.
Had any other choice existed, these five leaders would never walk the death-path confronting Iron Islands directly. Essentially calculating "businessmen," they understood precisely what enemy-status with Euron Greyjoy meant—endless anxiety, every voyage potentially permanent farewell, completely contradicting their profit-pursuit intentions.
Their original calculation: temporarily avoid the onslaught, escape to Slaver's Bay, Lys, or Ghis, restart elsewhere leveraging accumulated wealth. But as ships entered deep-sea, ancient shadows surfaced from murky depths. Sea-Kings' mountain-like spines silently severed all escape-routes. Faster longships became fragments; fortunate trailing vessels retreated terrified.
Then they comprehended completely—Euron already sealed all life-paths using these deep-sea giants. The choices offered were ice-cold and brutal: either kneel submitting or feed fish.
For deck-level struggling rabble, or those forced raising skull-flags by blades at necks, world-changes held no relevance. They merely sought survival, food, drink, and women. Wind-direction determined sail-angle—which leader mattered for blood-licking maritime folk? This Beast-Lord paid generously, commanded thunder-loud renown, dealt harshly with enemies yet never wronged subordinates. Following Euron offered better prospects.
Yet for island-dominating pirate-kings, this presented entirely different choices.
Kneeling like most-humble soldiers, raising prized curved-swords overhead? This transcended merely losing face.
It meant positions cultivated years would collapse thunderously, hundreds of attached swift-boats would change allegiance, mountain-treasures hidden in caves would face confiscation, all dependent-forces and fearsome reputations... everything possibly evaporating with this single knee-bend.
Their clenched fists, nails deeply gouging palms. Not merely unwillingness, but fear bone-deep—fearing loss of current possessions, fearing submission offered no guaranteed survival either.
Within dark Weeping Citadel:
Six figures surrounded a black-stone circular table, whale-oil lamps stretching shadows, twisted against damp cliff-walls.
Tear Island leader, Tear-Blood Brotherhood master—"Tear-Lord" Maurice.
Skeletal frame wrapped deep-purple cloak, pale slender finger-joints silently caressing a teardrop-shaped blood-crystal ring.
Axe Island leader, Giant-Axe Pirate-captain—"Mountain-Splitter" Agalon.
Seven-foot giant, muscles rippling like ancient roots, face scarred thoroughly, turbid left-eye radiating ferocity. Former slave-trader's enforcer, too brutal, now standing beside him: massive double-edged battle-axe.
Toad Island leader, Black-Sail master—Tolkin.
Unhealthy dark complexion, heavy eye-bags, habitually nail-tapping table-surface producing annoying clicking, calculating every gain-loss.
Claw Island leader, Crocodile-Tail Pirate-captain—Vic.
Lithe and agile, poison-coated throwing-knives lining waist, eyes like swamp-lurking crocodiles—cold, patient.
Skull Island leader, Anvil Pirate-captain—Brun.
Robust frame, bald head gleaming under lamp-light, taciturn, knuckles covered thick calluses.
Serpent's Corner leader, Fang Brotherhood master—"Bedrock" Orado.
Crude features, rough skin like sandstone, capable of bare-handed scaling steepest cliffs. Currently arms crossed, brow furrowed, steady as his title yet rigid stubbornness evident.
These six: Serpent Isles' remaining core-force.
Maurice's fingers pressed dead against stone-table, voice squeezing from cliff-crevices like cold-wind: "Euron Greyjoy... leaves us no life-path!" His gaze swept everyone. "Fly Island, Howl Mountain's fate, you've all witnessed. That's not conquest—massacre, extermination! He doesn't seek submission, he wants us all crawling like dogs, licking his boots!"
Anvil Brun's callus-covered fists crashed table, producing dull sound: "Given his strength, submitting to masters, I'd accept! But what of our current possessions? Ships, brothers, business, treasures... must we surrender everything? Then become castrated livestock, running his merchant-fleets? Conducting legitimate business?"
He spat. "This old dog spent lifetime pirating, now wants me calculating ledgers? Dream on!"
Mountain-Splitter Agalon released low-grinding laughter like scraping stones: "That's logical. Had I his fleet-strength, commanding such giant sea-beasts, I'd do identical—crush every obstacle into submission, conclude matters." His turbid eye swept everyone, cold clarity emerging. "Heh, unfortunate we're now receiving beating. Anyone believing they could solo fight entire Iron Islands wouldn't sit here."
Black-Sail Tolkin slowly raised his wine-cup, sipping murky liquid, his expression numb-resignation of seeing fate: "Since raising black-sails, weren't we always pursued by various 'heroes'? Navy, mercenaries, even other pirates... today merely swapped crueler character." He set cup down, eyes empty. "Death tomorrow changes nothing. This is pirate-fate—should've understood long ago."
Crocodile-Tail Vic grinned, showing yellowed teeth: "That's true, but who prefers death if survival exists?" His fingers unconsciously worked. "My wine-cellar's still half-full, island-acquired ladies not yet exhausted, feeding them to fish seems wasteful."
Silent Bedrock Orado suddenly raised his head, arm-muscles tensing, voice like cliff-cracking: "Stop spouting useless rhetoric! Whether death or life, kneel becoming dogs or stand as men—one battle determines everything!? Debating here won't make Euron's fleet turn away!"
Black-Sail Tolkin slowly set cup down, eyes flash-fierce: "Orado speaks truth. Fighting is inevitable. Winning, we maintain sea-dominion. Even defeating..." his fingertip lightly traced table's wood-grain, voice lowering further, "means tearing flesh from their bones, aching their core. Only thus would high-lords sit discussing our conditions."
"No defeatist talk!" Anvil Brun growled, massive frame leaning forward, nearly blocking all light. "Six allied forces combined—numerically we match them! His sea-Kings' control—so what? Keep battles firmly on land, those deep-sea giants become useless decorations!" He surveyed everyone, attempting igniting confidence. "Honest direct combat needn't be one-sided slaughter!"
Tear-Lord Maurice's pale face finally flushed slightly, taking deep breath, his voice carried desperate resolution: "Precisely! Tear Island is our domain, every stone supports us. On land, sea-Kings' advantages disappear, numbers we match equally."
He suddenly stood, deep-purple cloak unfurling bat-wing-like:
"No time hesitating. Immediate action, utilizing Tear Peak and Tear Cavern, constructing defenses—"
"They arrive tomorrow at our gates!"