Screams filled the air as Achilles spearheaded the charge, his men on either side, tapering off into the wedge shape. His spear was wheeling death, and its whistle struck fear into the eyes of any poor soldier unlucky enough to face him. Blood coated the ground, creating a red mud that stunk of iron and piss.
As he felt the buckling lines begin to rally through sheer numbers alone, Achilles pushed harder, taking more and more of the burden upon himself as he invoked his path to its entirety, not only strengthening himself but also to bless his men. For them, it manifested as a strengthening in their armor, and the thickness of their skin, making them twice as hard to take down.
For him, the effects were much greater.
Glancing blows bounced off with not a mark to show for it, and the rare fatal blows Achilles allowed to land turned into mere scratches. Still, he pushed harder, urging his men to keep up in a bellowing voice, his gleaming chest plate and red-plumed helmet making him a prime target.
A rain of arrows bloated out of the sky, focused on him. While the men beside him hunkered behind shields, he roared and spun his spear so fast it appeared a giant aegis, sending splinters of shattered arrows spinning in all directions. He used the brief moment of shocked silence to rally his men with another roar and press deeper into the enemy ranks.
This general was the best of them yet, with the multi-ringed structure he had arranged his men in posing a serious challenge even to Achilles. His men were seriously pressed, even with his support. If they didn’t slay this general soon, Achilles feared the war wouldn't last much longer.
The general, knowing this, positioned himself in a nearly unassailable position. Atop one of the battlements of the Great Wall of Amaj, a steady stream of colored flags waved, giving the Amajan army a steady stream of instructions on how to slowly corner and annihilate Achilles' army.
Achilles roared like a beast, and knowing this was his last chance, abandoned his men to jump up and sprint across the enemies' helmets like a man sprinting over a raging sea. It was impossible, and yet he surfed that sea like the greatest of sailors, unheeding of the shocked cries.
He managed to gain nearly fifty feet while they struggled to counter the unorthodox technique, before they finally wised up, retreating the back ranks twenty feet to create a gap in the middle of their formation, setting up an armored wedge bristling with spears in Achilles’ way. Achilles only sped up as soon as he landed in the clearing, his sudden burst of speed allowing him to dodge a few spears. His face was set in resolute stone, but his eyes, to those that could catch a glimpse of them, blazed like newborn stars.
He reminded me of another once-young man in that moment, one long gone.
With impossible speed, he arrived at the bristling wedge, and then in a single deft movement extended his long spear through the forest of their spears and wedged it in the ground right in front of them.
Then with a mighty heave, he vaulted himself into the air.
Time itself seemed to slow as Achilles twisted in the air, pulling his spear up and using the momentum to spin in the air.
In a single moment, he saw everything in perfect clarity. The enemies looked at him in terror, like he was a demon descended to punish them. His men looked at him in awe as he soared through the air like a bird. The sun blazed as bright as ever, shining through a cloudless azure sky, warming his face, its purity a contrast to the red strained dirt. Dirt and dust extended in front of the city for as far as he could see, and for a second Achilles swore he could see a glimpse of the sea over Amaj’s mighty walls.
But mostly, he just saw the enemy commander, his handsome face once filled with proud disdain, slowly morphing into fear as he met Achilles’ eyes. He started to retreat, his hand going to the sword at his waist.
Too late.
With a mighty roar, Achilles channeled everything into his spear, his momentum, his will, his love, but mostly his path. It left his hand in a blur, and a small vapor cone formed along its head.
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Where fear had once inhabited the commander's eyes, terror replaced it as he saw the spear speeding at him. He swept his sword up in a desperate parry.
He was too late.
The spear crossed the hundreds of feet separating them in an instant and took his head off.
Achilles landed, weaponless, and thrust a fist in the air.
For a moment, there was silence. Then the world erupted into noise as Achilles' men threw back their heads, shouted battle cries, and rushed into the now disorganized Amajan troops to rescue their generals.
Achilles kicked up a discarded spear and joined them.
—--------------------------------------------
That night, the mood was joyous, with the sound of laughter and good cheer ringing throughout their camp, about a mile from Amaj’s wall, situated in a thick grove.
The mood at the officers' fire was much more subdued, but still, even they celebrated the day's victory. Achilles sighed as he saw some of them throw reverent gazes at him.
He had always been respected and admired by his men, but the last week at war had contributed more to his reputation than the rest of his achievements combined. At least the officers kept to mere reverence. Some of the common soldiers were starting to call him a demigod, a direct descendant of the gods of old. And his actions hadn't exactly done anything to disprove it.
After all, shrugging off fatal blows and fighting through entire armies were not feats typically attributed to mere men.
Still, Achilles could see the trend of the overall war, and it wasn't looking good. Amaj just had too many men, and their walls were too strong. Even Achilles couldn't counter absolute advantages like that. They had already lost a full tenth of their men and hadn't even made a dent in Amaj’s army. But that didn't mean that all was lost.
“Officers,” he started. “We need to consider another way.”
They immediately snapped to attention, looking at him in surprise. For a moment, nothing could be heard but faint laughter and the crackling of the fire. Finally, Gaius spoke, “Like what?”
“Our scouts have found a sewer tunnel leading into the city by the far cliffs. I suggest I lead an expedition of the Bronze Spears through the tunnel at night, and sow chaos, while you scale the walls under the cover of darkness and take the city.”
Many of the younger officers visibly recoiled at the suggestion, one even going so far as to speak up. “But general! The dishonor! Attacking at night! Sneaking men through sewers! How could we?”
“And who said that?” Achilles asked. “Who said minimizing casualties is dishonorable? Who said sparing innocents from an extended siege is dishonorable? Who said victory is dishonorable?”
The officer looked down, defiance still burning in his eyes, and when Achilles looked around, he saw that many agreed with him.
He sighed. “I do not fight for honor. I never have. I once fought to stay alive. Then I fought to keep my man alive. Then I fought to protect my people. Now I fight for love. But I never fought for honor. Do you know why?”
He looked around, taking in the confused expressions.
“Because honor is the tool of snakes. A lie to get good men to reveal their soft necks. The lie which they persuade men to die for. It is the lie that has provoked war after pointless war, ridding the earth of the peace it once resided in. If you are fighting for honor, there is no honor to be found. True honor is found in fighting for something greater than oneself. In fighting for one's comrade, In fighting for what's right, But never in fight for honor itself.”
He stood up.
“The love of my life is being held captive in that city. Is it honorable to make her wait, forcing my men to die for principles the enemy would abandon in a heartbeat if it suits them? Is it honorable to slay scores more of innocent men, brainwashed and pressed into battle by a power greater than them?”
He met every one of their eyes.
“No, it is not. I once dreamed of a past era, when truth was upheld as the highest of ideals. This is the path to realizing it, banishing the lies they have spoken over us for so long. It is in understanding that true honor is in doing the right thing, rather than following what has been enshrined in the ideals of the rich and powerful.”
He sat down once more and sighed.
“Would any of you consider me dishonorable?”
He was met with a series of resounding nos.
“Then trust in me, as your general, to lead you to victory.”
One by one, they started to nod thoroughly, even the young man who had originally objected to the plan.
“Good. We attack tomorrow night.”