After a brief rest and leaving part of their forces behind, the great army of the Huns and their legions of Phantasmal Beasts, under the command of Avia and Attila, surged forth with thunderous speed toward the fiercest front of battle—the province of Fars.
In May of 426 A.D., the Hun host crossed into Fars for the first time. By then, the allied armies of the Gupta Empire and the Hephthalite Empire had already defeated the Sassanian forces along the southern coast of the Persian Gulf. Pursuing their routed foes, they crossed the waters and landed deep within Persia's northern heartlands.
The Gupta Empire, ruling over the Indian subcontinent, stood at the height of its glory. Under the reign of the illustrious Chandragupta II Vikramaditya, their might was recorded as half a million infantry, fifty thousand cavalry, twenty thousand charioteers, and ten thousand war elephants, supported by over a hundred warships. Despite the vast numbers, discipline remained relatively firm—without question, one of the most formidable empires the world had yet seen.
Together, the two empires not only conquered the key islands of the Persian Gulf but also raided the Sassanian heartlands, including the sacred city of Istakhr, birthplace of dynasties and stronghold of Zoroastrianism. Their deeds left the local people spiritually shaken.
But now—their days of triumph in Fars had come to an end. For the Huns had arrived.
At first, Avia did not intend to seek a swift, decisive battle. The treacherous terrain of the Iranian Plateau made such arrangements difficult. He would wait patiently for the opportune moment.
Accordingly, he tailored his strategy to the land, ordering the inhabitants of Fars to adopt the scorched-earth defense.
The locals, though unwelcoming of a Hun commander, found him preferable to the Indians and Hephthalites. At least this foreign king did not meddle with their faith. Zoroastrian priests, in particular, could never stomach the Hinduism and Mahāyāna Buddhism of the Gupta Empire.
For in those times, more than dynastic strife, it was in the realm of faith that struggles proved the most brutal and unyielding.
Thus, under Avia's orders, the land was stripped bare. Time wore on, and the immense armies of Gupta and Hephthalites grew restless. Sustaining such numbers in hostile, rebellious lands was ruinous to their supplies.
At last, in northern Fars, the Gupta–Hephthalite coalition gathered, intent on storming Istakhr—the Sassanian capital of the region, and a holy seat of Zoroastrianism.
At the same moment, Avia understood: the hour of decision had come.
In May of 427 A.D., after three years of bitter struggle, the final battle began in the northern plains of Fars—four great empires of Eurasia converging in one apocalyptic clash.
Each side was a strange union of so-called barbarians and civilized men. Each brought five hundred thousand troops.
In all the world, not only in the twilight of the Classical Age but in all pre-industrial history, such a battle of colossi was nearly without equal.
Both sides knew the truth: the cost of maintaining such hosts was astronomical. The war must be decided swiftly, or else one side would collapse under its own weight.
The Hun–Sassanian alliance boasted Dead Apostles, man-wolves, three-headed dragons, and legions of thaumaturges. Yet the Gupta–Hephthalite forces had their own Phantasmal Beasts and magi born of Indian tradition.
The Iranian Plateau grew colder. And when a searing radiance suddenly split the heavens, piercing the eyes of the Gupta–Hephthalite soldiers, they lifted their gaze—and beheld a sight beyond mortal imagination.
It was as though a tsunami had risen and broken upon the land. Countless white shadows swept across the horizon, surging like an all-devouring tide. The edges of the earth itself were painted white, as though the Asuras of Indian myth had descended to menace the world.
At their head rode a silver-haired man, his brilliance too dazzling for the eye. Expressionless, he advanced on horseback. His presence gave them a terrifying illusion—that even if he were to fall, his radiance would not fade, but would still hold the dark clouds, the cold, the vermin of night at bay. They could only surround him from afar, watching in shadow, waiting for his death.
With the war-cries of battle-steeds as its signal, the final conflict began.
The clash of uncountable thousands shook the earth. The roar of their multitude rose like waves upon waves, like sparks igniting a world-consuming fire. Blood flowed so profusely it seemed the land itself was stained red. Indeed, if there were ever a ritual to unmake the world, this would be its prelude.
Though the sky was bright and clear, the sun itself seemed crimson. Across the battlefield bloomed a sea of scarlet flowers—so terrible, yet so beautiful it drove men to madness.
In the chaos, Avia and Attila's eyes met—one pair blood-red, the other icy blue.
"It has been too long… since we fought side by side."
"…Indeed."
Amidst the storm of slaughter, Avia's voice remained calm, almost serene.
"Then from now on—we fight together."
Unstoppable, clad in the Typhon Armor, Avia led the charge. His legions swept forward like a force of nature, irresistible and absolute.
The Gupta–Hephthalite coalition collapsed. Nearly their entire host perished upon the field.
Chandragupta II Vikramaditya himself, and the Hephthalite king, were captured alive. Yet they were not humiliated, but treated with courtesy.
Soon, envoys from both empires came to sue for peace. As with the Sassanians, the silver-haired youth offered merciful terms: no loss of territory, no unbearable demands—only gold, and the withdrawal of troops from Sassanian lands.
Naturally, the defeated empires accepted. Yet the consequences were dire. Within a year, the Gupta Emperor—the glorious Chandragupta who had brought his dynasty to its zenith—died in grief. Without him, the empire unraveled. Nobles broke away, the king's authority waned, and decline set in.
To the Guptas, their conqueror, King Avia of the Huns, was remembered as:
The Source of Destruction in All the Worlds. The God of Death who comes to unmake creation. The Destroyer of Empires.
The Hephthalites fared little better. Driven westward, they turned to contest the Junger Basin and beyond with the Gaoju Turks, steadily losing their grip over the nomadic tribes.
The Sassanians, though spared dismemberment, were broken. The triple onslaught had left them ravaged: the economy ruined, taxes crushing, religious strife boiling, rigid caste divisions deepening, landlords growing unchecked in power. Their supremacy over West Asia was gone.
Thus, under the rule of the two Hun Kings, the Hunnic Empire had, by its own might alone, cast three once-mighty empires into decline.
And in the lands of song and revelry, in East and West Rome alike—no one foresaw it, no one could imagine it. Yet out upon the steppes of Eastern Europe, the Huns returned laden with triumph, still gazing with hungry eyes toward the empires of the West.
***************************
Read advanced chapters ahead of everyone else on my P@treon.
P@treon/GodDragcell