Episode 13 (480 B.C):

With his new ability, Zenodulos couldn't remain inactive. He saw a shadow around a corner of the door leading to the coveted exit: a soldier of King Xerxes was guarding such a peculiar prisoner.

— Hey, you, the soldier! It's me, your lost brother!

Only silence responded to his words.

— Ahura Mazda is worse than Angra Mainyu! At least the king of lies does exist!

He got no response either. It was clear that the soldier didn't know Greek. So he couldn't deceive him.

Observing his surroundings, he looked for a way to escape. His gaze fell on the ceiling and the opening that gave a very limited view of the outside. It seemed that it was already getting dark. Zenodulos wondered how long he had been locked up there.

But it was no time for questions, but for action. He saw the floor full of blood and debris, the walls bruised by his blows, and then the column that held him up: it was made of wood.

"Wood is not a very strong material," Zenodulos thought. "Perhaps bones are harder."

Swallowing hard, thinking of how much it was going to hurt, his body shuddered at the thought. But it was the only way.

The man slammed his head back against the wooden column. An unbearable pain seized his entire skull, but he had to keep going.

One blow, two blows, three blows... twenty blows and then darkness. He woke up again without pain, but the column remained as firm as the ropes that held him. It was too early.

Twenty blows, fifty blows, seventy blows... Darkness, darkness, and more darkness. A terrible melody of deaths and blows echoed through that abandoned house.

Possibly several days had passed already, but at that moment, when Zenodulos was close to dying again, he felt that the pressure of the ropes on him was less. He was making it. But to be at his maximum capacity, he had to die again. So he gave countless death blows to the back of his neck until he died again. The unconsciousness of fleeting death was already a minor inconvenience.

A quick awakening. The Greek realized that now the ropes were yielding to his strength. He made a great effort to free himself and, with all the strength he could muster at that moment, the wood finally gave way. He fell with a great crash, raising dust all over the place.

Then, the door burst open, letting in some light into the place. A man with different clothes than the Athenian had seen before entered. His features were darker and he wore a strange cloth that covered the parts of his body that were not armor.

But the freedman had no time to wonder where that soldier was from. Taking advantage of the poor vision his opponent had due to the dust smoke, Zenodulos took one of the ropes that held him and ran like a marathon runner against him.

That man, on hearing the footsteps of the immortal, drew a curved sword from its sheath, but it was too late. The immortal got behind the man and tied the rope around his neck, squeezing it tightly.

"This is for mocking your next lord," the Greek thought with a smile.

The man struggled for a while, trying to hit his enemy from behind, but it was futile. His body finally fell, losing any spark of life. It was the second person Zenodulos had killed.

He waited to hear some indication of movement after the noise they had made, but everything remained in a sepulchral silence. Cautiously, he peered out the door that led to the streets of Athens. It was getting dark and the city was completely empty, not a soul in sight. Everything was as deserted as before the invasion.

Puzzled, the Greek could only think that they had some religious rite or important event. Without giving it much importance, he ran stealthily from corner to corner until he reached his destination: the king's tent.

Without wasting the valuable time he had gained, Zenodulos ran stealthily dodging the shadows and obstacles that the night had in store for him. His footsteps echoed loudly in the silence, but there was no one, not even a stray dog to hear them. The man's heart was pounding hard and the adrenaline was building in his stomach, ready for whatever might happen. After all, he couldn't underestimate that terrible army again.

He already knew the way: the agora, where the young man had gone so many times to buy for his masters when he was a slave and where he had received immortality. It wasn't long before he reached that place now as recognizable as it was unrecognizable. Much of its structures were in ruins and the pedestal that carried the tyrannicides was empty.

There were even fewer tents at the foot of the Areopagus.

The miniature palace of the invading monarch was no longer there, but Zenodulos was not resigned to losing hope of revenge. He rushed towards one of the other tents. If Arsames and Xerxes had left, it was only a matter of following their trail, as they couldn't be far away.

The tents of the Persian generals and nobles shone with opulence under the dim moonlight. The immortal entered the largest of all and found himself with a spectacle of carpets and multicolored tapestries, illuminated by the dim light of the candles arranged on a table. The man who was there was neither Xerxes nor a soldier. He was the king's servant eunuch, the one who knew Greek and who was now packing clothes in a large bag. As he turned, his eyes widened like saucers at the sudden appearance of another person.

—You... are the immortal— He whispered with a trembling voice.

—That's right— The Greek replied, staring at him. —Now tell me where Arsames and your king are.

The foreigner, instead of answering, huddled against the wall, looking for an escape route.

Zenodulos knew it was useless to try to threaten him. After all, in pre-invasion Athens, slaves could not be witnesses in trials against their masters, as they would always speak in their favor, either out of fear or loyalty. So, he decided to use his new ability.

—Wait— He told him— I know you.

—What do you mean? — The eunuch asked, confused—If you harm me, the king...

—No, I'm sure I've seen your face before.

The Athenian used all his neurons to think of a situation where they could know each other. If the man spoke Greek so naturally, he could only be from one area...

—In Ionia, I was born there— He said firmly.

—If you're from Ionia, why do you have an Attic accent? — The eunuch asked suspiciously.

—Remember that I was a slave— Zenodulos replied with as much certainty as he could muster to deceive the servant; after all, as the spirit told him, he was unaware of the extent of his power.— I was born in Ionia and was sold when King Darius's army invaded us. I've lived here for many years, but my heart has always been in Ionia. I'm sure I saw you there...

—Now that you mention it...— The eunuch muttered, deep in thought.

"Is this power so great or is this man stupid?" Zenodulos wondered. If he was the king's servant, he undoubtedly came from a good family. Therefore, he must have been from...

—Yes, in Miletus born and raised— said Zenodulos, pretending to remember— I'm remembering your face... You were the son of that wealthy family...

The eunuch's eyes widened again with surprise.

—It can't be, it's you! — He exclaimed— The boy who played wars with me. It's me, Phrixus... By the gods, after so long I see you here..,

Now it was the freedman's turn to be surprised. Just imagining what he could do with such power, the world could dance in the palm of his hand.

—Y… Yes —he stammered— When I was sold as a prisoner of war, I couldn't stop thinking about my friend Phrixus, hoping he was safe. I'm so glad you've reached such a high position. You were always very intelligent.

— And I was complaining about the Persian lessons my parents gave me — Phrixus said with an ironic laugh.

The man laughed with an unpleasant cackle that echoed in the ears of the former slave. Zenodulos, impatient to get the information he needed, suppressed a gesture of disgust. He had no time to waste, but he could not do anything that would give him away and send him back to being a prisoner.

Cautiously, he adopted a conciliatory tone and said:

— Hey, Phrixus, there's a huge favor I need to ask you.

The eunuch looked at him with narrowed eyes, still with a mocking smile on his face.

— Anything for you, my great friend. If you want to escape, I won't tell anyone.

Zenodulos restrained a triumphant smile. "I've got him in my power," he thought.

— My companion, the Persian: Arsames... Have you seen him? His owner must miss him very much.

Phrixus scratched his chin with a plump finger.

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— Yes, the brawny immortal. Now that I remember, how did you get that power, my friend? — He asked eagerly, his eyes gleaming with greed.

—I'll tell you later, friend. Trust me on that. But now I need Arsames to see his mistress again, she's a great friend of mine.

— Well, I really don't know where he's been. Lately he's been helping the king achieve immortality.

Zenodulos swallowed hard. If Xerxes was also like them, it would complicate his plans enormously.

— And did they succeed? — He asked in a tense voice.

— No, I don't think so. They wouldn't let me into those spiritual meetings, but yesterday he told me how disappointed he was...

Time was running out, and the Athenian's impatience grew.

— Focus, Phrixus. I need to know where Arsames is.

—As hasty as ever — Phrixus said with another thunderous laugh. If he continued like this, some soldier would hear them. Zenodulos turned to check that no one was around. Luckily, they were still alone. — Possibly the king is taking the immortal with him. Maybe you don't know but the enemy army is marching here.

—What…?

— You heard me. Those Athenians and their friends won the battle on that island and now they're coming here. The truth is, I never liked them...

—Not that… — Zenodulos interrupted him, with growing anxiety—. What I need to know is where the king is now.

A certain anger appeared on the eunuch's face, reddening his cheeks and tightening his lips. However, he continued speaking in a harsh voice:

— They must be in their royal carriage preparing to flee as soon as possible. We are supposed to meet with them as soon as possible, or they will leave us stranded here.

Zenodulos' first thought was to run out and look for them, but if Arsames was accompanying the monarch who owned so many lands, his escort was undoubtedly elite. That man who had no training at all couldn't even deal with one of those soldiers who called themselves "immortals." So he quickly devised a plan.

— My friend, I must tell you the truth. Actually, I'm not looking for Arsames to reunite him with his mistress.

—Oh, no…?

Zenodulos hoped that the man was foolish enough to believe the huge lie he was about to tell him.

— Actually, this war doesn't matter much to me. Whether the one who demands tribute from me is an archon or a servant of King Xerxes, it's all the same to me. What does matter to me is the life of such a great monarch and I have received terrible news.

An expression of disbelief distorted the eunuch's face. His mouth opened in a gesture of astonishment, while his eyes narrowed, trying to understand the words he had just heard.

—Where are you going with this?

"No doubt he's a fool, I'm surprised this guy has gotten so far," Zenodulos thought.

— Arsames, in fact, is a double agent sent by the strategos himself to assassinate King Xerxes—The Athenian replied with a tense and urgent voice.

—What...? How do you know such a thing?

— It is imperative that we act quickly, my friend... Phrixus. Yes, Phrixus. Your king's life is in danger, and without him, what will happen to you?

— I certainly don't want to imagine it. But I don't know if I believe you. After all, it's been so long since we've seen each other...

Zenodulos swallowed his pride and knelt before the plump figure whose name he had discovered just minutes before.

— Please, my dear friend, childhood companion, and the most intelligent person I have ever met, I beg you to do something —He pleaded with tears in his eyes—. I don't want more deaths in this terrible war.

The persified Greek hesitated for a moment, but then placed his hand on his "friend's" shoulder.

— I understand, it must have been hard to be a slave to these savage people. I believe you.

Zenodulos looked up with a wide smile, a false face of gratitude.

— Then I will call some soldiers and together we will go to speak with the shahanshah — The servant of the Orientals concluded.

Without wasting time, Zenodulos followed the eunuch to another tent, inside a general was supervising a servant filling bags with everything he could fit, from clothes to scrolls and silver cups.

Upon seeing the immortal, the general was surprised and put his hand on his sheathed sword, but the king's servant stepped in and together they exchanged a few words in Persian. After a minute, the soldier seemed calmer, releasing his hand from the hilt of his weapon.

Uneasy, the Athenian had to watch as the men conversed. Occasionally the eunuch would point to Zenodulos, probably introducing his supposed lifelong friend. Apparently not very convinced, the soldier nodded and the tension dissipated momentarily as they headed to a couple more tents, where they met with other soldiers.

After about thirty minutes, a small army was gathered in the agora. An incessant murmur filled the air, mixed with the clinking of their sheathed weapons and the neighing of horses. Zenodulos found himself in the center of the formation, along with the eunuch and the other soldier.

The soldier addressed the group in a firm voice. His words echoed through the agora, conveying an order that the freedman did not understand. However, they seemed to heed the immortal's false warnings, as they quickly headed north. Apparently, they knew nothing about the Athenian having killed several of their comrades in his escape.

The Deceiver overflowed with joy, impossible to hide. With just a few words, he had gotten a small foreign army with which he couldn't even communicate, to follow him docilely. Without a doubt, his skill was as powerful as his imagination.

At the western entrance of the city, a gigantic army of thousands of people was there, accompanied by several carriages. Among them, one stood out, magnificent, with parts inlaid with gold and painted a gleaming white. Even its horses were magnificent, with gray coats and as strong as the strongest athletes of the Olympic Games.

But Zenodulos had no time to appreciate the dictator's ostentation. A group of soldiers were loading large bags made of cloth into the carriages, probably with the war booty that they would take back home. Among them, one stood out for carrying many more bags than the rest. A man without armor and with features that he had already seen several times before.

— Arsames! —He shouted with all his might.

The Persian turned around surprised, with ten heavy bags in his arms. It was a load that no average human could bear, but Arsames was not normal. The only explanation was the ability that Angra Mainyu had granted him... or rather, me. Without a doubt, it was a less flashy power than that of the Athenian, but it was quite useful for a war veteran.

The Persian froze and dropped the bags he had in his arms. His eyes observed his former fellow slave from afar, and his skin turned pale with surprise.

—Zenodulos, I thought they were going to take you in a cart... —He stammered, his voice trembling.

—Damned traitor—He interrupted, his voice filled with resentment.

The Greek's words echoed throughout the place, bouncing off the ruins of the buildings and the walls.

Then, the general who was standing next to them shouted several orders and a group of soldiers lunged at the immortal Persian, throwing him to the ground with their weight and immobilizing him. Although possibly Arsames was not offering much resistance.

Zenodulos smiled, but he needed more confusion to fulfill his objective. He turned to the only person who was near him and knew Greek: the eunuch.

—My friend, tell them that man is very dangerous and they must kill him to immobilize him. At any rate, he is immortal.

The servant of the Persians nodded and shouted more orders to the crowd.

In the chaos, soldiers pinning the Persian down drew their weapons to stab him. It was curious how people committed such imprudent acts in the midst of confusion, but for Zenodulos all this was an advantage.

Fear gripped Arsames as the blades and daggers of the soldiers reminded him of the time I had killed him before. He didn't want to return to that state of unconsciousness.

The Persian spoke to them in their own language, asking them to calm down, but their swords descended upon him. Closing his eyes and using his superhuman strength, he rose in one blow. The men who were holding him were sent flying, falling to the ground with groans of pain.

More soldiers approached with their weapons, and the Persian acted on instinct. With one blow, he decapitated one of his compatriots, blood gushing uncontrollably from his neck before he fell to the ground. Then, he took another soldier as if he were a toy and split him in half, throwing his guts at the others. The soldiers, horrified by such a supernatural scene, retreated in terror.

The general who had given the orders to capture the Persian shouted several orders in a rather angry tone. Zenodulos guessed that he was trying to de-escalate the situation, but it was too late to stop.

The Athenian ran from among the soldiers and snatched the weapon from the hands of one who was distracted. Then he leaped towards a frightened Arsames, focused on fending off another of his former comrades, he did not notice the arrival of his former friend with a deadly weapon.

He leaped like a hungry wolf and in a second his sword plunged into the heart of the immortal Persian.

Yes... without even thinking twice, the Athenian had stabbed the man, who was no stranger to him.

Arsames' eyes widened in disbelief.

Zenodulos, in the present, felt nauseous. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. The feeling of the weapon entering his opponent's body, tearing his heart apart, and the blood of others soaking his body was very unpleasant, even though he had felt it before. Arsames was his great friend, his companion, the one who had interceded so much for his former colleague of slavery and the one who got along so well with Demosthenes.

He felt like vomiting. For a moment his vision went dark, but someone wanted him to see that, because his vision remained fixed on that fateful moment. The moment the snake hunted the lion.

A faint whisper escaped Arsames' lips. He tried to push his killer away, but it was too late. Blood flowed from the wound in his chest, and life slowly left his eyes, not before seeing the face of the one who was taking out his existence.

—Ros... tam — Was all the Persian could say with the little strength he had left. A great sadness was reflected in his gaze before his body surrendered to death.

Zenodulos stood petrified in front of Arsames' body, waiting in vain for him to wake up. But it was not going to happen. It was my turn to reveal him the truth.

The only way to kill an immortal is for another immortal to kill him. Congratulations, Zenodulos, you are the first of your comrades to achieve it.

Zenodulos felt himself invaded by a wave of contradictory emotions: remorse, anger, and sadness. He regretted killing Arsames, he only wanted to make him suffer even for an instant, but he also remembered the hatred that consumed him when he was betrayed by him. On the other hand, Zenodulos only longed to escape from that terrifying vision.

Without the Greek noticing, King Xerxes descended from his chariot, enraged by the death of the one who had promised him eternal youth and ordered the capture of the Greek: if they could not catch one, they should capture the other. The soldiers lunged at him, forcing him to flee.

Taking advantage of the surprise, fear, and bewilderment of the soldiers, the immortal launched himself into the spaces between them. He was wounded several times by their weapons and arrows, but he resisted the pain. He could not be captured now. He knew that what he had done was too impulsive, but he could not allow the Persian king to have the same abilities as them. In addition, his hatred for Arsames consumed him from within. He would find a way to convince Agatha and the others to forgive him for what he had done. But now he had to flee. He couldn't let them take him prisoner to a foreign land.

The assassin ran through the streets of Athens, among rubble. An army of men pursued him relentlessly. His opponents wielded spears and swords, and also fired arrows that whistled over their prey like angry wasps. Zenodulos was alone against the invaders, the snake that had killed the lion was now escaping from terrible hunters.

The immortal would throw himself into the ruins of a house or a shop to mislead his enemies. Then he would enter another street to disorient the foot soldiers and the riders with the hooves of their horses getting closer and closer.

So he continued his escape down a narrow street where the horses couldn't get in so easily, and finally, he crossed a wide street. Several men were still chasing him and the freedman couldn't give up yet. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, drowning out the pain of his wounds and his exhaustion.

Suddenly, a shower of arrows appeared from behind the fugitive. Crashing into several of his harassers, Zenodulos turned around and, accompanied by war songs, a group of Greek warriors emerged from the end of the street.

Zenodulos raised his arms in surrender and was captured by one of the Hellenic soldiers. His companions surrounded them and passed them by, heading towards their opponents. Then, the weapons of both armies clashed with energy, a small skirmish took place in the middle of the ruined city.

—You're coming with us — A Greek soldier said, grabbing his arm to prevent him from escaping.

Escaping wasn't wise, and he was safer with them anyway. So Zenodulos complied.

The din of battle faded behind him as he was led away to be interrogated. The Greeks were eager to learn from the sole survivor of such violence in the city.