An eruption spread across the field as the two armies collided. The Northmen felt their legs weaken under the force of thousands of men charging at them. Nasr led from the front, his sword thrusting through the enemy lines. The overwhelming numbers of the South slowly encircled the North. Ali quickly took command, organizing his men to prepare a defence.
Under his command, the North tightened their defence, slowly retreating to avoid a full encirclement. Nasr and the South fought like ravenous beasts. He swung and stabbed his sword through gaps in the soldiers, each strike drawing blood. With cruel faces, they charged hard and fast, eager to restore their lost pride. Nasr ignored tactics, relying instead on sheer numbers to overwhelm the enemy.
Archer fire rained down from behind Nasr onto the North, creating shadows with each volley. It was a terrifying sight for the North, who struggled to block the arrows, their shields bristling with them. Each volley claimed many lives. Ali clenched his teeth, knowing retreat was impossible; turning their backs now meant death. Without his horse, he couldn't fight at his best. Stabbing his sword through the shield wall, he killed a man who had gotten too cocky, then quickly ducked back in.
"SHIELD WALL, HOLD! IF YOU SEE NASR, KILL HIM!" Ali screamed. His mind raced, searching for a way to break the deadlock. Nasr saw the panicked faces of the Northmen and smiled cruelly, sensing his revenge was near. He barely heard Ali's shout and manoeuvred towards the sound.
If he couldn't kill Harun, Ali was the next best target. The entire line would break without its commander. Spotting Ali through the shield wall, he screamed, "MEN, GATHER ON ME! PIERCE THE WALL! KILL ALI!" With a cry of acknowledgement, his men charged like a spear, piercing through the wall.
A brutal melee erupted. Blood flew, drenching the men; limbs fell, and cries of agony filled the air. Nasr kept his focus on Ali. Surrounded by some of the best warriors in the North, Ali fought fiercely. Any man who entered their range was quickly cut down. Confident in his personal guard, Ali charged Nasr; the war would end with his death. Their eyes locked, each filled with burning hatred.
Their swords clashed. Those around them were too busy with their own battles to interfere. Nasr could feel Ali's superior swordsmanship, the product of decades of experience. But Ali's strikes were now weaker, his tired arms and ageing body unable to sustain powerful blows.
Despite this, Ali's face remained defiant. He aimed for fatal areas, knowing his own weakness. Seeing an opening, he sliced towards Nasr's neck. Nasr barely had time to react. He lifted his heavy gauntlet, deflecting the blow upwards, slicing off the tip of his ear.
Blood flowed down Nasr's neck, but he ignored it. The battle excited him. Every attack he threw, Ali intercepted. Nasr needed to end this quickly; he still had to march south and needed a strong army. His attacks began breaking through Ali's defence, but the old man's resilience was formidable.
Their swords collided again. Nasr, thinking quickly, grabbed the collar of Ali's armour with his free hand. Ali, tired and unprepared, felt himself in Nasr's control.
Nasr threw him face-first into the ground. Ali didn't panic. Time seemed to slow for him. He knew Nasr would aim for a quick kill. Thinking quickly, he covered the back of his head with his armoured arms and rolled to the side. Nasr's sword pierced his left wrist.
With a cry of pain, Ali used his free arm to push himself up. He was lucky it wasn't his strong hand, but his left hand was now useless. Nasr swung again at the defenceless Ali. Sidestepping, Ali edged closer to his sword. He grabbed it, quickly turning to face Nasr again.
Pain engulfed his senses, slowing his movements. He cursed his old age, knowing he would have easily beaten Nasr in his prime. Pointing his sword at Nasr, he stabbed forward, aiming for a gap in the armour. Nasr knocked it down with a fist, the force sending the sword to the ground. Ali, weakened and with one less hand on his sword, struggled to keep it up.
Looking up, Ali saw Nasr's blade coming towards his throat. His eyes widened in shock as the steel pierced his neck. In his final moments, he couldn't believe he had lost, his last vision Nasr's arrogant smile. He wished to curse Nasr one last time but fell, unable to with the hole in his neck.
Nasr looked at the dead old man in front of him, suppressing a laugh. He swung his sword down, decapitating Ali. Lifting the bloodied head, Nasr's triumphant voice yelled across the battlefield, "GENERAL ALI IS DEAD! SLAIN BY THE TRUE SULTAN!"
Nasr's men heard him clearly. They smiled and fought more ferociously, inspired by the sight of the dead commander. The North either became enraged and charged or lost all morale and tried to flee. Many flocked to Nasr's side to cover him from the enraged Northmen. The chant soon spread across the battlefield, "GENERAL ALI IS DEAD! SLAIN BY THE TRUE SULTAN!"
The Northmen, now leaderless and disorganized, panicked. Without Harun or Ali to lead them, a full retreat began, leaving behind the wounded and unfortunate. Harun, in the back line, heard the distant chants. His face contorted in rage, but he knew he had to move. His brother was coming, and if he found him, it was over. His half-treated injury was the least of his worries.
Ensuring he was with his men, Harun saddled his horse and rode away, leading them back to a nearby fort under Northern control, blood dripping from his hand and a pained expression on his face the entire time.
Nasr forces chased, they were in a frenzy and wished to spill as much blood as they could. Those unlucky enough to fall behind didn't even have the chance to surrender, the anger of the Southern warriors being taken out on the stragglers. Nasr didn't reprimand his men, instead heading back to his tent with those who wished to remain behind. He had given himself some time and needed to plan on how to deal with Alfred.