Elected: A Divine Assembly NFT Fan Story Collection

The Greek Demon

Carnage.

If Hagnon could paint what he was seeing, that would be the name of the artwork. The savages from the North were ruthless, inhumanly so, and their chances of survival were slim. The crimson sunset was upon them as both parties retreated to their encampments. The day was over, and the Greeks were defeated.

As Hagnon laid down his spear and removed his helmet, he wondered if he would ever see his wife and children again. Two sons he had, both with hearts of steel and spirits of warriors. Two more in the path of Ares, just like their father.

But he was desperate. He thought that Ares was with them, that they could push the savages back to the frozen hell they came from, that gods would punish their enemies for even thinking of setting foot in their fertile lands... But on that day, gods were not watching.

He took a deep breath. It was a miracle that he was not injured, but they had to retreat behind the river. Hagnon was only a foot soldier, but he took pride in his fighting skills until this day. Their commander Epikrates was long dead, his severed head was showcased right before they had to retreat. Watching their enemy set a camp on the land they were trying to defend, Hagnon clenched his teeth. His pride was hurt, and his heart ached more than any wound ever harmed him. He felt ashamed for being here alive, and not there dead.

The medics were tending the wounded. Occasionally they would stop by him to check, and he laid his head down everytime before saying "I'm not hurt."

The river between them and the savages roared as the last rays of the sun brushed over the crimson battleground. They received the news of another battalions arrival in two days; they were told to hold the land for just for that amount of time. Two days, they had said. Hold your ground for two days and don't let the barbarians cross the river. Spartans are coming.

As a half Spartan, Hagnon knew what the last sentence meant. That was what shamed him most. You don't need to win, we have Spartans for that. We know you can't win anyway.

He cursed the politicians, the intellectuals and all those drunk philosophers who never held a sword in their hands. They knew nothing of war, and yet, they were the ones to decide the warriors' fate.

Disgusted, he stood up once more to take look at their enemy's camp. He could hear their cheers over the stream's sound. They were singing, they were laughing, they were celebrating as if it was only a game for them. As if they didn't lose anyone. As if they thrived...

All the while their camp was filled with the moans of agony and the whispers of survivors. He took a walk among the ranks and maybe increase morale, but to his surprise, their numbers were drastically thinned. Only then he learnt that many had fled after witnessing the death of Epikrates. Their enemies, albeit being savages, were smart enough to attack their spirits over their bodies.

It was the darkest night of their nation.

Hours passed without any sleep. Hagnon could see some soldiers sneak out every now and then, but he did not interfere. He knew a coward soldier would only hurt his own army, and like his father always said 300 brave warriors is a better army than a thousand slaves. Hagnon knew this was not a metaphor; this was a direct reference to the history.

Hours passed as he was thinking about the legends of the past. Sleep was not an option. After breaking out of his chain of thoughts, he realized the night had gotten silent. He listened around to hear the river, hear the whispers, hear the moans... But something was missing.

The savages were silent.

He spotted movement accross the river, and jumped to his feet. Blood rushed to his head as he raced to the bridge. How could they? He thought. How could they be ready for a night assault? They lost as much soldiers as we did, if not more. Don't they tend their injuries?

His legs were shaking when he stopped by the bodies of two scouts they had near the bridge. Each had been hit by two arrows; and such precision under the dim moonlight had Hagnon wonder if these barbarians were truly human.

His gaze then turned towards across the river. Multiple stealthy figures moved in the darkness; and Hagnon knew if they crossed the bridge, his unprepared comrades stood no chance. Realizing the first lights of the day were barely over an hour away; he took a step towards their camp to warn his brethren. If they fled to East where Spartan troops would come from, they could regroup with them to claim the lands back...

But Hagnon knew this would never happen. He stopped at the one step he took and turned back to the bridge. He searched the body of a scout to find a horn and blew it for retreat.

Time paused as the sound filled the air.

The Greek camp boiled with the noise of chaos immediately after the sound, and the warcries of the savages followed. An arrow flew past his head to snap Hagnon out of the shock he was in. He ducked immediately, grabbed the spear and shield of a fallen scout and took cover. Arrows kept flying by and the savages rushed to the bridge.

At that moment, Hagnon felt a spark in his very core. The clarity hit him hard, but he was calm. He was never going to see his sons again, or feel the touch of his beloved wife. His fate was decided long ago by the gods, and this was the moment for Hagnon to embrace and even show graditute for it.

As he rose to his feet, he no longer felt human; and if anybody could see him there and then would surely believe that he was indeed a man posessed by a war god. With only a spear and a shield, he walked over to the bridge and stood in the middle. It was a narrow bridge, barely three men wide, and Hagnon knew that if Leonidas did it with three hundred warriors, he could do it here.

After all, he didn't need to win, he just had to hold long enough.

The half Spartan took position and let out a battlecry as the first of the savages set foot to the bridge. The barbarian towered over him, armed with a battleaxe and encouraged by his comrades to duel him. Hagnon was not here for entertainment though. He didn't hesitate to pierce the giants throat with his spear and return to his position.

Frustrated, the savages charged with no remorse. But the lone Greek had an advantage. They could only come at a maximum of three warriors at a time, and three versus one was an odd Hagnon favored at that moment. His spear was sharp and precise with each swing, and his shield was almost impenetrable. The savages on that night witnessed a warrior knock on Olympus' door and walk on the line between the man and the gods.

Hagnon fought tirelessly, slaying one enemy after other. After slaying the first dozen, the mood among the overwhelming crowd started to shift from cheer to anger, and then into pure terror as the Greek champion still stood firm.

On that night, a lone warrior held his ground for over an hour against overwhelming odds, holding ou. He did not succumb to his wounds until well after the sunlight illuminated the bridge, and the horns of Spartans blew in the distance.

The Northmen were forced to retreat with the sound of the horn, defeated by the nameless warrior they'd later remember as the Greek Demon. It was a shame that none of his people were there to witness it. Nobody was going to know that it was Hagnon that held the bridge. Nobody would remember him. Nobody watched. At least that was what he thought

Hagnon let himself fall to his knees after the last of the savages fled from the bridge. The stampede by the Spartans shook the ground and he smiled. He would never see his children again, but at least he knew they were now safe; and he knew he did his job well as a father, a husband and a soldier. He felt at peace and laid down to the ground face up, feeling the warmth of the sun. He closed his eyes as a tear escaped. He was going to get back up soon. He just needed a second to catch his breath...

As the life left his body with his last breath, Ares, The God Of War walked among the bodies Hagnon had slain. He crouched over the fallen warrior and rested a hand on his chest.

"Hagnon, son of Peritas, you have fought well. Not only have you truly fight like a champion, you have done it with no expectation of becoming a legend. Your efforts are not unnoticed. For your bravery and your skills, I reward you with an eternity under my wings."

So Hagnon, a nameless legend of his time, rested by the son of Zeus for millenia, until the day he was summoned once more as a Brave. This new world "metaverse" was a dangerous land, but the half Spartan delighted that he was chosen to fight among the ranks of The Divine Assembly.