A man could hardly see through the heavy fog that morning, yet, for Nikolaos, the shapes of the enemy galleys were as clear as day. They had struck twice before in the previous days, but, this time, there was something about them that seemed out of place. They were approaching the walls in good order. Before long, he could see from atop his tower the first volley of projectiles hurled at his walls by these monsters of doom. His own archers responded, and, before long, volley after volley of arrows and projectiles of all sorts covered the sky, lighting it up when the projectiles where covered in fire and turning it pitch-dark when they weren’t.
The enemy’s floating towers soon reached the walls, and fierce fighting began. Swords and shields, maces, clubs, daggers, spears and pikes clashed as if the day of Armageddon had come. His men though, most of them inexperienced, quickly began to give ground, even as he entered the fray. All around him, friends and comrades fell, even his horse was cut down from under him once the fighting took to the streets. Yet, he persevered and set up barrier after barrier before the approaching barbarians, only to see it pushed back again and again.
Through the dust, he caught a glimpse at the enemy, and saw them led by a knight of terrifying height, with a helmet that seemed to strike fear into the heart of any Roman as if it was crafted in the workshop of the Devil himself. Sensing that killing him would turn the tide, he charged forward with all the fury and rage of a lion, cutting down man after man, until he reached him, the devil’s spawn. Lifting his sword, he tried to strike him, but felt unable to, as all around him his men were running in fear, leaving him alone amongst the enemy.
The next thing he knew, he was near the altar of the Great Church. His family, friends and brothers in arms were there, as were the patriarch, most of the senators. Soldiers he couldn’t see that many around, only a couple here and there. Among them, Ecgbert and Gudrik, who, along with a few other Varangians, were at his side. Then came the noise. The cries of women and children, the screams of those injured and, most importantly, the constant battering of the churches large doors. He felt trapped in this golden cage, filled with the scent of death as well as that of fire and burning flesh coming from outside.
His men were trying to hold the doors in place, but with every knock it became clearer and clearer that death would pay them all a visit that day. As the gates were finally battered open, his men fell back. A shield wall was attempted, as every man capable of standing drew some weapon. Behind them, others were praying to God for a miracle, for deliverance, for anything. Yet the miracle failed to come, and Nikolaos saw the barbarians tear through Rhomania's last line of defense, killing everyone in cold blood, as no one was spared: not bishop, priest, nun, man, woman or child. Only he was left, bleeding on the floor, with the blood-stained barbarians around him, who made him watch as they desecrated the bodies of his loved ones, broke up the altar for its gold content, smashed the icons, threw the Holy Gifts to the floor and tore mosaics and tapestries from the walls. Horses and mules were brought into the church the better to carry off the sacred vessels, gold, silver, and whatever else they could gather. Drunken soldiers drank from chalices and ate from patens while riding asses were draped with priestly vestments and even a mocking prostitute was placed on the Patriarch's chair to dance and sing obscene songs.
He could then feel them taking him, carrying him all the way atop the column of Theodosius. Muttering something in a language he could not understand, the demons pushed him off the top. Falling towards the ground, he saw everything grow bigger and bigger. With his heart racing, he screamed from the top of his lungs, a scream which was heard across the palace, waking everyone and scaring to death his beloved wife who was, until then, sleeping peacefully beside him.