Ruthlessness - PJO

𝒊𝒊. the horse

⚔︎

LIGHT DANCED ACROSS THE WOODEN WALLS as a small match was lit. Epithemus watched Alexander's gray eyes contrast with his face, which glowed along with the flame of the stick. Much like a storm above men with torches and pitchforks.

Epithemus could almost still see the ships with his friends sailing away despite sitting inside the large wooden horse commissioned by Alexander as the stars watched them from above. He knew that it was simply the distraction, that they had not been sailing away for good. Yet, it still pained him to see them leave.

In fact, Epithemus wasn't even supposed to be inside the stomach of the great horse. However, the darkness in Alexander's eyes almost commanded Epithemus to join them.

To keep him in check.

That had been the whole reason the man had even agreed to go. Desma begged him, with her hands together and on her knees. She knew Epithemus was Alexander's dearest friend and she knew Epithemus' morals. Desma was a smart woman, she knew her own husband's mind better than anyone despite her own mortal blood. She knew that something would happen and she knew that Epithemus was the only other person Alexander would listen to, not even hearing his own brother.

Epithemus loved Desma like she was his own sister, he would hate to bring her down. So, he agreed.

Now, as he watched Alexander explain his plan, he was sure that what Desma feared would come soon. The men listened to Alexander's plan closely, hanging onto his words as if they were their life source.

He listened to the chants around him, all preparing for the battle to come. All Epithemus could think about is a later battle, one that is simply unavoidable.

⚔︎

ALEXANDER BLEW OUT THE MATCH.

He waited one second. Two seconds. Three seconds.

Moonlight peeked through the cracks in the wood, giving Alexander a small idea of where the Trojans were.

Four seconds.

Alexander's grip on the hilt of his sword tightened as he waited.

Five seconds.

The breaths of his fellow warriors sounded from all around him, their impatience tingling in the air.

Six seconds.

Desma's face filled his mind, she was his reason to fight.

Seven seconds.

He must get home to her.

Eight seconds.

Metal shined, moonlight bouncing off of it.

Nine seconds.

An owl screech.

"Attack!"

Alexander's cry echoed throughout the whole city, waking up the drunken Trojans as their enemies burst from their war prize.  The nearest Trojans scrambled for their weapons, only to be slain before they could raise the very blade that had slaughtered so many men.

Despite the swift sounds of blades clashing against each other, the sound of running boots joining the rest of the men in the city as Damocles opened the gates, Alexander's mind remained calm.

Silence.

A battle surrounding the one man was only drowned out as he picked off men one by one, leaving them to others, or dodging them altogether. He does not think during this time, letting his body do the work.