The bay where the shipyard lay was broad and exposed, lacking the jagged defenses of Torturer's Deep.
The two small vessels from Jawbreak Island fled frantically under the looming shadow of Lo Quen's fleet, only to be torn apart in an instant by a storm of crossbow bolts and precisely aimed stones.
Lo Quen had been lurking offshore for some time, watching as several oared ships departed the dockyard to reinforce the main harbor. Roro had clearly succeeded in drawing Caggo's attention.
It was time to strike.
"Land!" Lo Quen's command thundered across the flagship's deck.
Pirate infantry roared as they boarded skiffs, surging ashore like a black tide.
But what truly froze hearts with dread were the Dragon Soul Guards marching behind them, silent and unyielding as stone.
Once ashore, they locked into a tight, disciplined square, their Valyrian steel weapons flashing with lethal light.
Shipwrights still bent over repairs, sailors on watch, even a few low-ranking pirate captains—all of them blanched at the sight. Their courage broke instantly, sending them fleeing in panic without the slightest attempt at resistance.
The Dragon Soul Guards advanced like machines of war, hunting down the fleeing pirates.
Valyrian steel blades carved through leather armor and wooden shields as though they were paper. Spears drove through bodies one after another, harvesting lives with every thrust.
Those who survived screamed in terror, scattering like rats, their formation shattered, their will to fight gone.
Lo Quen himself did not hurry ashore. He stood tall upon the stern of the Nest of the Crab, overlooking the battlefield.
His eyes swept across the dockyard, searching for stragglers.
When a larger Jawbreak Island warship attempted to break free of the docks to rally a counterattack, Lo Quen dispatched his oared ships to cut it off.
The boats surged forward at his command, hemming the vessel in.
Bolts and stones rained down on it; the hull split open, the deck caved in, and even the mast snapped in half. The falling timber crushed men beneath it before they could even react, spraying the planks with blood.
With the harbor cleared and the beach secured, victory seemed all but assured.
But just as Lo Quen's main force pressed inland, chasing down the broken remnants, disaster struck.
From the mouth of the bay, where the waters had lain calm, a forest of sails burst into view without warning—far more than the remnants of Caggo's fleet could account for.
Pale banners whipped in the wind, marked with the image of a twisted sea serpent coiled around a skull.
Weeping Reef Island. The Salt Widow, Marla.
At their head surged the Widow Queen, a flagship even larger than the Nest of the Crab, its prow carved into the shape of a monstrous sea serpent ram.
Behind her followed a vast fleet—no fewer than thirty or forty ships of varying size. They struck at the precise moment when Lo Quen's forces were most scattered and their formation weakened by the assault on the docks.
They had been lying in wait. Now their lines unfurled with swift, deadly precision.
"It's a trap."
Jorah Mormont's grim voice carried from the shallows. "He knew we'd come for the shipyard. Withdrawing the ships was bait. Caggo has joined forces with the Weeping Reef."
Marla's fleet tactics left no doubt.
They made no move to ram the shore or grapple for boarding. Instead, exploiting their sheer numbers and superior maneuverability, they spread wide and closed in, forming a massive tightening noose.
Then came the storm—crossbow bolts and catapult stones, falling like a hail of death upon Lo Quen's ships still trapped at sea.
The sturdy oak planks of the Nest of the Crab splintered under a barrage of stones, shards flying in all directions. The Reefbreaker's hull was pierced clean through by a massive ballista bolt, seawater rushing into the breach. Sailors struck by splinters screamed as they toppled into the sea.
On the beachhead, the landing force that had just secured the advantage was suddenly plunged into peril.
Cut off by the sudden appearance of a vast fleet, they stood exposed on the open shore, turned into living targets.
Arrows from the Weeping Reef pirates whistled down in deadly volleys, felling men one after another.
From the stern deck, Lo Quen watched his warships buckle under the siege, saw the beachhead troops forced into a desperate fight with their backs to the water.
His mind grew sharper, colder.
He saw the truth of it instantly.
The fleet at sea was split and encircled, the troops onshore pinned down. The deadlock had to be broken.
And the only way to break it was to strike at the enemy's command—Marla.
"Pass my order! All ships rally to me! Form a defensive ring around the Nest of the Crab! Dragon Soul Guards, hold the beachhead—do not yield an inch!
All soldiers aboard—retaliate with the ballistae!"
Lo Quen's voice cut through the chaos and the screams, carrying clear to every ear.
The warships of Torturer's Deep heaved toward the flagship, drawing together for cover, their hulls shielding one another as arrows and stones poured down from the enemy.
Onshore, the Dragon Soul Guards once again proved their worth as instruments of war.
Ignoring the storm of arrows, they lifted their heavy shields in silence, shielding the pirate infantry behind them.
Locked into a tight phalanx, their Valyrian steel weapons rose and fell, each strike unleashing a spray of blood, hacking down Weeping Reef pirates who tried to storm ashore in skiffs, cutting them down in the shallows.
Jorah Mormont fought like a maddened bear, sword cleaving through foes as he led from the front. Side by side with pirate soldiers and Dragon Soul Guards, he held together a line that bent but did not break.
But Marla's numbers were overwhelming, her followers famed for their brutality.
Shrieking like banshees, they charged in wave after wave, heedless of losses.
Several skiffs broke through the barrage, and Weeping Reef pirates leapt ashore, howling as they clashed with the soldiers of Torturer's Deep in vicious melee.
The battle devolved into a brutal deadlock, every heartbeat spilling blood.
Lo Quen's gaze cut through the smoke, the screams, and the carnage, fixing on the towering stern of the Widow Queen.
There, a figure stood unmistakable.
A powerful woman, tall and broad-hipped, her bronze skin bared beneath rough leather armor.
On her head sat a helmet made of skull, in her hand a great curved scimitar that gleamed as she barked commands, orchestrating the slaughter.
The Salt Widow—Marla.
She stood on her flagship with supreme confidence, her face lit with cruel delight as she watched the beachhead drenched in blood.
Now.
A cold fire blazed in Lo Quen's eyes. He wasted no breath, no thought.
Reaching behind him, he drew the Dragonbone Bow.
The ashen frame shimmered with copper runes that seemed to drink in the light, radiating a power that made the air itself shudder.
He pulled forth a single arrow, black as ink, its tip glimmering with eerie starlight.
His will surged. Magic poured into the bow.
"Vmmm—!"
A strange hum rippled outward from the Dragonbone Bow. Swirling sigils and runes came alive, flaring blood-red as fire coiled silently around the black arrow.
Lo Quen's arms strained, muscles taut as he drew the bow to a perfect full moon.
The bow creaked under the strain, ready to snap.
"THRUM!!!"
A detonation beyond the reach of human hearing split the battlefield, hurling its scream across hundreds of yards of sea in an instant.
In that moment, time itself seemed to stop.