A sea of humanity surged across Aegon's High Hill.
The crowd seemed endless. Thousands of hungry, desperate commoners pressed forward like crashing waves, their curses and screams shaking the streets of King's Landing.
"Bread! We want bread!"
"Long live bread! Down with the Lannisters!"
"Long live King Robert!"
"Give us food!"
"Get out of here, Kingslayer's whore!"
The cries grew louder with every passing second.
Stones flew through the air. Rotten vegetables splattered against armor. Eggs, garbage, and even buckets of filth rained down upon the Gold Cloaks and the nobles trapped within the procession.
This was no ordinary protest.
This was a city on the verge of collapse.
Tyrion Lannister had witnessed riots before. King's Landing was famous for its unrest, and he had seen countless outbreaks of violence over the years.
But this was different.
The people were hungrier than ever.
More desperate.
More furious.
And far more dangerous.
The mob had grown beyond control.
Bronn rode close beside Tyrion, sword already drawn, guarding him against the crowd threatening to overwhelm them from every direction.
Tyrion scanned the chaos and immediately found his sister.
"Back to the castle!" he shouted toward Cersei. "Now!"
Cersei gave a quick nod.
Beside her, Ser Lancel drew his sword.
At the front of the procession, Ser Jacelyn Bywater barked orders at the top of his lungs.
"Longspears forward!"
"Form ranks!"
"Protect His Grace and the Queen Regent!"
The Gold Cloaks reacted instantly.
Mounted guards lowered their spears and formed a wedge-shaped formation.
Like the point of an arrow, the cavalry drove forward into the crowd.
The rioters were forced apart as horses pushed through the sea of bodies.
For the first time since the attack began, a narrow path opened toward safety.
Tyrion released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Thank the gods Ironhand was in command.
If Janos Slynt had still been leading the City Watch, he would have abandoned everyone and fled long ago.
A panicked voice suddenly echoed through the chaos.
"My Hound!"
"Where's my Hound?!"
King Joffrey sat atop his horse looking terrified.
His royal dignity had completely vanished.
Filth covered his clothes.
A smear of human waste stained his hair.
His crown hung crookedly on his head.
For once, he wasn't screaming threats at everyone around him.
He was simply afraid.
Hands reached through the defensive line of Gold Cloaks, grabbing at his clothes and legs.
One rioter successfully seized Joffrey's boot.
For a split second, it looked as though the king would be dragged from his horse.
Then steel flashed.
Ser Mandon Moore's sword cut downward.
The attacker's hand fell to the ground.
Blood sprayed across the street.
The severed hand twitched briefly before becoming lost beneath trampling feet.
The crowd recoiled in horror.
Only for a moment.
Then the mob surged forward once more.
"Ride!" Tyrion shouted.
He struck Joffrey's horse hard across the flank.
The grey stallion reared up, neighing wildly before charging forward.
The cavalry followed.
Tyrion urged his own horse after them.
Bronn remained close behind.
The group raced through the opening created by the Gold Cloaks.
A jagged stone whistled past Tyrion's head, grazing his scalp.
Pain exploded across his skin.
Nearby, a rotten cabbage smashed against Ser Mandon's shield and burst apart.
The entire world had become madness.
Knights, nobles, and guards alike cared about only one thing.
Survival.
Several rioters fell beneath pounding hooves.
No one stopped to help them.
No one even looked back.
Meanwhile, another battle was unfolding deeper within the crowd.
"Fuck all of you!"
Sandor Clegane swung his longsword with terrifying force.
Unlike the nobles fleeing toward safety, the Hound had become trapped within the heart of the riot.
Blood splattered across his armor as his blade carved through attackers.
The commoners feared him.
But there were simply too many of them.
For the first time in years, Sandor realized he was fighting completely alone.
"Out of my way!"
"The Hound is killing today!"
He wasn't afraid of dying.
Never had been.
What disgusted him was the idea of being beaten to death by an angry mob.
That was not how a warrior should fall.
His sword slashed through another attacker.
A spray of blood painted his cloak.
The only route to survival was obvious.
The Red Keep.
He had to reach the castle.
Ahead of him, several Gold Cloaks were overwhelmed.
The crowd poured over them like floodwaters breaking through a dam.
Men and women trampled fallen guards without hesitation.
The cobblestones disappeared beneath bodies.
Then Sandor saw another horrifying sight.
Ser Allar Santagar, master-at-arms of the Red Keep, had been dragged from his horse.
The Baratheon banner had already been torn from his hands.
"Ser Sandor!"
"Help me!"
Allar's screams echoed through the chaos.
Four rioters pinned him to the ground.
Again and again they smashed cobblestones into his helmet.
The metal dented inward.
Blood poured from beneath the visor.
One strike.
Two strikes.
Three.
By the fourth, fragments of bone and flesh sprayed across the street.
Sandor cut down one attacker with a single swing.
But it was too late.
Allar was already dying.
The crowd closed in once more.
Even the Hound couldn't save everyone.
"Damn you all!"
He fought onward.
His white cloak had become stained red.
A deep tear along his sleeve leaked blood.
Yet he continued cutting his way toward freedom.
Behind the escaping nobles, conditions grew even worse.
The High Septon had been thrown from his ornate litter.
His enormous body worked against him.
He could barely move through the crush of people.
The starving citizens hated him.
They hated his wealth.
His feasts.
His gold.
His hypocrisy.
To them, he represented everything wrong with the realm.
"Save me!"
"Father protect me!"
"Mother protect me!"
"I am the High Septon!"
He began reciting prayers desperately.
"The Father reached into the heavens and placed seven stars upon the brow of Hugo—"
The prayer ended abruptly.
The mob descended upon him.
His crystal crown disappeared first.
Then his golden jewelry.
Then his robes.
Within moments, the High Septon vanished beneath hundreds of grasping hands.
The crowd tore him apart.
"Bread!"
"We want bread!"
"Down with the High Septon!"
The sacred leader of the Faith of the Seven died screaming in the mud.
No miracle came to save him.
No divine intervention appeared.
Only rage.
Only hunger.
Only chaos.
And throughout King's Landing, the riot continued to spread.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)