A/N: The Siege of Troy is about to go down—a chapter more, then an epilogue. I love y'all for sticking around. This chapter may be very graphic. Reader's discretion is advised.
PERSEUS stood atop the crumbling parapet of the watchtower, the acrid stench of burning timber and flesh searing his nostrils. The copper tang of blood was so thick in the air that he could almost taste it. Below him, the once-great city of Troy was dying. Flames licked hungrily at the heavens, devouring the city's proud towers and mansions, their glow painting the sky a hellish orange. Screams of the wounded and the dying echoed, a symphony of despair. He gripped the hilt of his sword so tightly his knuckles ached, his breath coming in ragged gasps, a squadron of Achaeans dead at his feet.
The waning moon, once a beacon of hope for a better tomorrow, now cast a cruel, mocking light on the crumbling walls of Troy. His heart was pounding like a war drum. The once-impregnable city, a symbol of Trojan might, was now a wounded beast, bleeding and gasping for air.
The walls shook beneath his feet as another section of Troy's mighty defences collapsed. A Greek horde, monstrous and unrelenting, had opened a gate, spilling a flood of armoured warriors into the streets. They moved like a tide of death, cutting down everything in their path. Perseus's gaze locked onto a young Trojan soldier who fought desperately against two Greek warriors. His spear thrust was parried—he was drunk, and the next moment, a sword cleaved through his neck, sending his head tumbling into the dust. Blood sprayed in an arc, mingling with the ash that blanketed the ground like snow.
They had descended on the city like Thanatos. He didn't know how Sinon had escaped, he didn't know how he hadn't thought of the fact that the Achaeans could be hiding inside the horse. But here they were, and all the fighting and battling he had done to get to this part of the city seemed fruitless when they had already torn the gates off their hinges.
The Greek assault was relentless. A tidal wave of armoured warriors, their shields glinting in the sunlight, surged forward. The thunder of their war cries echoed through the city, a chilling dirge that sent shivers down Perseus's spine. He could see the fear in the eyes of his fellow Trojans, a fear that had slowly consumed him as he passed by so many of them on his way to the watchtower.
The first wave of Greek soldiers from the belly of the horse had been the worst, pouring into the city like a plague. The once-peaceful streets were now a battlefield, a macabre dance of life and death. The air was thick with the stench of blood and smoke, the cries of the wounded and the dying, and the screams of Trojan citizens who had been too drunk and too deep in sleep and revelry to put up much of a fight.
His chest felt tight, each inhale a laborious effort that threatened to unravel him completely. The light of the moon now barely pierced the billowing smoke that loomed over the city like a shroud of despair. Below, the city he once knew teemed with chaos. His stomach lurched as he surveyed the scene—carnage, death, and utter destruction.
The clang of swords and the screams of the dying filled the air, a symphony of agony and despair. Perseus's hands trembled, his knuckles white as he gripped the hilt of his sword. The Greeks had breached Troy's mighty defences, their relentless assault reducing once-proud structures to rubble. The scent of blood and burning wood was overwhelming, suffusing the air with a palpable sense of doom.
Perseus's chest tightened. His vision blurred. A roaring filled his ears, drowning out the chaos below. Breathe, he told himself. But the air felt like fire, and his lungs betrayed him. The city was falling, and with it, so was every bit of him—the shock seemed to block his ability to think, or even to move. The initial adrenaline which had allowed him to fight his way to the watchtower was gone, replaced by a mad rush of horror. Images of his family flashed before his eyes: his brother Aeneas, proud and unyielding, being sliced open; his sister-in-law Creüsa lost in the flood of fleeing Trojans, his nephew Ascanius, his laughter a faint memory. Hector's wife Andromache and his godson Astyanax, surrounded by leering faces and sharp swords. He had to find them. All of them. His father, Anchises, crippled, unable to move...he had to find his father.
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Perseus: Excidium Troiae
FanfictionPerseus. That was his name. Or at least, that was the name he was given. The Destroyer. When war comes knocking on his doorstep, Perseus is more than ready to aid his best friend Prince Hector, and lead the Trojan forces into battle against the Gre...