My hands locked tight on the hilt. I swung—not wildly, not in desperation, but with purpose. With fury.
The bronze whistled through the air and struck true.
The edge bit clean through his neck.
For a heartbeat, he stood upright, eyes wide, shock frozen on his face—as if even death itself had surprised him.
Then his head tore free, spinning through smoke before it thudded into the mud. His body crumpled after it, folding into the blood-soaked earth.
Silence descended, thick and suffocating, pressing down on the aftermath.
The Sea Peoples froze.
Their chants died mid-breath.
Their steps faltered mid-stride.
The battlefield itself seemed to hold its breath.
They stared at the severed head—wide-eyed, uncomprehending—as it rolled to a stop at one warrior’s feet. The man dropped his weapon, collapsed to his knees, and retched violently beside the head that had once commanded their death march.
I turned toward them.
And the silence broke beneath my voice.
“No more!” I roared. “Your warlord is dead. We have won this war!”
For a long, breathless moment, they didn’t move. Their eyes—painted in dried blood and coal-black pigment—shifted from their fallen chief to us. To the line of battered, dust-caked, bloodied warriors behind me. What was left of us.
The scorched earth seemed to hold its breath.
Then—a sound.
Not a howl. Not anything living.
The wind shifted—dry and sharp, slicing through the battlefield like a whispering blade. It caught on broken banners, stirred dust from the mouths of the dead. It wasn’t a voice, but it felt like one—an ancient warning carried across the cracked desert plain.
Still, the Sea Peoples didn’t move.
Until one of them dropped his sword.
Then another.
And then the chaos broke.
Like a dam bursting, they fled—tripping over bodies, stumbling through sand, screaming curses to gods who had already turned away. They tore off armor, discarded weapons, and clawed over corpses just to escape faster. Some slipped in the gore and were trampled by their own.
The enemy scattered across the dunes like shadows with nowhere left to haunt.
We had won.
For a breathless second, the world stood still.
And then—eruption.
A roar surged from the army of Ugarit—not of order, not of command, but of raw survival—wild, unchained, and desperate to prove it was still alive.
Cheers rose across the battlefield like thunder. Blood-soaked men dropped their weapons and clutched each other in disbelief. Some screamed. Some wept. Some fell to their knees and pressed their lips to the burning sand.
