Wars Of Love

Sweet Mother

The heat of the sun was almost unbearable, making us gasp for breath as we fought. Beads of sweat dripped down our bare chests, glistening in the sunlight, and the sound of our spears collided with a resounding clash.

Achilles gripped the golden spear with a fierce intensity, his knuckles turning white as he felt the weight of the weapon in his hand. The spear was a thing of beauty, crafted by none other than Hephaestus himself, the greatest blacksmith in all of Greece. Its metal surface gleamed in the sunlight, a testament to the skill and artistry of its maker.

But there was something else about the spear that made it even more special. It seemed to hum with a strange energy, as if it had a life of its own. Achilles mentioned he could feel the power coursing through it, as if it were alive and eager to be used.

Hephaestus, the legendary blacksmith of the Greek world, was renowned for his unparalleled craftsmanship. His skill with metal was unmatched, and his creations were coveted by all who desired the finest weapons and armour. Sadly, the great Hephaestus had passed away less than a decade ago, leaving a void in the world of blacksmithing that no one had been able to fill.

Peleus and Hephaestus had been close friends for many years, and the blacksmith held a deep respect for the king. As a token of this friendship, Hephaestus created a weapon for Peleus' son, Achilles - the deadliest weapon he had ever crafted. And it was also his last.

This act of generosity was a testament to the bond between Hephaestus and Peleus, and it spoke volumes about the blacksmith's character. Though he was gone, his legacy would live on within his creation.

Achilles stood before me, his posture relaxed and at ease, as if he were waiting for a friend to arrive. I couldn't help but feel a sense of frustration at his nonchalance. We both knew that I was no match for him in combat, yet he seemed to relish in his superiority, flaunting it with every move.

"Come on! Attack me already!" Achilles' face beamed with a smile as he taunted me to attack. His confidence was palpable, and it only served to fuel my own frustration.

"Can you stop?!" I charged at him furiously with my silver spear, feeling the weight of my inferior weapon in comparison to his bulkier, more ornate one.

As I lunged forward, I couldn't help but feel a sense of inadequacy. My spear lacked the intricate engravings that adorned Achilles', making it little more than a functional weapon compared to his work of art.

Despite my efforts, Achilles continued to toy with me, dodging my attacks with ease and taunting me with his superior skills.

"Stop, what?" He asked, feigning cluelessness as he continued to taunt me. His words only served to fuel my frustration, and I felt my anger boiling over.

Agitated with both him and myself, I threw my weight towards Achilles, thrusting my spear with all my might.

But Achilles was too quick, too skilled. With a deft sidestep, he evaded my attack, leaving me off-balance and vulnerable. In one swift motion, he used his superior strength to bump me to the ground, leaving me reeling and disoriented.

The hot sand beneath me seared my skin, sending waves of discomfort through my body. But in that moment, I was too consumed by my frustration to care. I had been bested by Achilles, and the sting of defeat was all I could feel.

With a determined effort, I pushed myself to my feet, coughing and sputtering as I tried to clear the sand from my mouth. My body was slick with sweat, and I could feel the grains of sand sticking to my skin, grinding against me with each movement.

My voice rose to a shout as I confronted him, my frustration boiling over into a torrent of anger. "Why do you always have to do that? Why do you have to act like you're better than me?" I demanded, my words ringing out across the empty beach.