The roar that broke from Death's army was less a cry of men and more like the bellow of beasts finally unleashed from their cages.
Thousands surged forward in an unbroken tide, their weapons flashing in the morning light, banners whipping violently in the rising wind.
Carthage's outermost soldiers, who were still scrambling to regroup after the earth had been torn apart and their layers pulled into the open, were caught unprepared.
The clash was immediate and violent. Death's warriors crashed into the front lines like a hammer through glass.
Carthage's soldiers fought valiantly, but the disarray was fatal. Screams echoed as weapons tore through flesh.
In the chaos, some of Death's vanguard broke away from the main lines, their eyes glinting with cruelty. They sprinted into the exposed districts where civilians cowered, and there the butchery began.
Children were ripped from their mother's arms. Doors were smashed open, homes defiled, streets running slick with blood.
