With the return of the Persian soldiers to the field and the re-forming of the shield wall, Kourosh saw from the watchtower that the appointed moment had arrived.
The Median army had completely lost its military formation.
They had arrived, like a shapeless and dense mass, at the best spot on the plain, right within the firing range of the city walls.
He looked at the drummer beside him and, with a cold and ruthless voice that was lost in the clamor of the field, commanded:
"Signal!"
The drummer, with all his might, beat the war drum three times, quick and short.
A dry, penetrating sound that was different from all the other sounds on the field.
This signal was like a key that unlocked a sleeping beast.
On the high walls of Pasargadae and the surrounding hills, the dark cloths that had been hiding the war machines suddenly fell away.
Under the merciless light of the sun, five giant ballistas, like wooden eagles ready to launch lightning bolts, were revealed.
And beside them, two thousand crossbowmen stood in orderly ranks.
Cambyses and Arash, who had been waiting for this very signal, re-formed the ranks with incredible speed.
Their shouts, now full of confidence, turned the soldiers into cohesive corps.
"First Hezarbod, right flank! Second Hezarbod, center! Prepare for the counter-attack!"
Just at that moment, the Median army, which was arriving drunk with victory and without any order for the final pursuit, found itself in the full firing range of these war machines.
For a moment, a deathly silence fell over both armies.
The Medes stared at these strange and terrifying weapons with eyes wide with terror and disbelief.
Kourosh raised his hand.
Then, with a swift motion, he brought it down.
"Fire!"
This command was the beginning of the roar of Persian thunder.
With a sound that resembled the sky splitting apart, the five ballistas fired simultaneously.
Five heavy spears with cast-iron tips cut through the air with unimaginable speed and landed in the heart of the dense Median army.
Each spear carved a path of death through the enemy's ranks.
It pierced through shields, armors, and bodies like paper.
With each impact, it threw several soldiers into the air.
Simultaneously with the roar of the ballistas, the two thousand crossbows also sounded.
Their sound was not like a roar, but like the deadly buzz of a thousand steel hornets.
A rain of short, heavy bolts began to fall upon the Median army.
These bolts, unlike the arrows of ordinary bows, passed through even the strongest armors.
The Median soldiers, who were proud of their bronze armors, watched in disbelief as their chests were pierced.
A hell of death and chaos erupted in the heart of the Median army.
The soldiers screamed in terror and fled blindly in every direction.
But there was no escape.
Their military formation had completely disintegrated.
They were just a terrified mass of humans with death raining down on them from the sky.
Azhidahak, who was witnessing this scene from afar, his face had turned white with terror.
He shouted with a trembling voice, "Magic! This is the magic of Ahriman!"
But no one was listening to his voice anymore.
The great Median army was disintegrating under the steel rain of the Persians.
Their pride had turned into a blind terror in an instant.
And Kourosh's painting was being completed with the crimson color of blood.