Episode 15 (480 B.C):

Let's travel back in time, my dear reader. While Zenodulos roamed the streets of Athens, using his deception to try fulfilling his goal of revenge, an indispensable battle was being fought, not only for the future of Greece but also one that decided between life and death for its participants, or at least for most of them.

The narrow cape of Salamis was the scene of a bloody duel between Greeks and Orientals. The triremes collided with each other due to lack of space, and death was a common sight. Even people like Demosthenes, who had never witnessed a battle before, quickly became accustomed to the slaughter.

As a child, war seemed to him like the promise of an epic adventure, where he could be the protagonist. Now reality was hitting him hard. For what he was witnessing was nothing more than senseless violence.

Hours had passed since the battle began and it could only be described as chaos, one that only an omniscient being could see some order from on above... or King Xerxes himself, from a high point, although for him there was no difference between a god and himself.

On top of the ships, men fought desperately against each other, their only difference being to whom they paid tribute. Meanwhile, ships crashed their prows into the sides of other ships, in an attempt to sink them.

Demosthenes' first real combat was when an enemy ship pulled up alongside his own and the foreign soldiers boarded quickly. Taking a deep breath, the Athenian put aside all his doubts and drew his sword. He lunged at the first "barbarian" he saw, in a fierce dance of steel where victory meant life for one of them.

Between defensive and offensive positions, the Athenian used his sword to stab the enemy. The blade sank into an exposed part of the armor, near his neck. The foreigner, coughing up blood, prayed to a certain Baal before life faded from his eyes, frozen in a grimace of terror.

That's right, Demosthenes could understand what he was saying. Since that is the ability I have given him: to understand and speak any human language. Quite useful for someone fighting foreigners, isn't it?

But there was no time to feel bad for the enemy. Demosthenes would apologize somehow later. It was time to keep fighting, for his own well-being and that of his loved ones. For although he and his wife were immortal, the slavery they would suffer if the Persians conquered them was a more than terrifying fate.

And so Demosthenes' sword gleamed with the blood of people from different ethnicities and languages, which sounded like Greek to his ears. Arrows wounded him, but he did not stop, as death was not the end for this warrior.

Ship after ship sank before his eyes. Whispers of fear and confusion could be heard from the mouths of the foreigners, as they were not witnessing the easy victory that their "king of kings" had promised them.

Suddenly, Demosthenes' ship sank and all those aboard were wounded by arrows. In the deep sea, full of debris and shapeless human parts, the Athenian closed his eyes and his consciousness faded. It was the first time he had died. But quickly his eyes opened again and he felt his body falling towards the seabed.

"So this is how Arsames felt," he thought, now better understanding why his friend was so scared. Then, using the swimming lessons his superiors had given him, he propelled himself upwards and grabbed onto the first Greek ship he saw. Climbing to the deck, his bloody and wet body received surprised faces from his Hellenic companions.

—Whoa, friend! You're alive, it's a miracle —Said a guy with an accent that wasn't Attic.

— I was lucky —The Athenian replied with difficulty, with no desire or time to explain his immortality.

The chaotic battle continued and the sea became a hell, worse than Hades. The fight lasted for hours, although for all its participants it seemed like an eternity. Listening to the cries of King Xerxes' cohorts, Demosthenes could notice that the enemies were becoming increasingly worried and their ships were retreating even further, towards the open sea.

The sun was high in the sky, red as if reflecting the bloody water, when the foreign soldiers decided to flee in disarray towards the Athenian coast. The Greek man, exhausted and already dead a couple more times, watched as the Greek fleet divided into two groups.

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The first group, guided by a vengeful hatred, went to hunt down the Persian soldiers who were waiting on another island, who had been sent to intercept any Greek ship that tried to escape. To their surprise, they were the ones who were hunted.

At the same time, Demosthenes' ship joined the second group, whose objective was to recover the port of Phalerum, intercepting the fleeing Persians. Upon seeing his city at the distance, the Athenian thought of his wife, his slaves and his friends. There was no time to lose.

As he collided with an enemy ship, he launched himself furiously against the invaders. Swords clashed, shields shattered, and arrows pierced the air in a cacophony of screams and shouts. The soldier, with the strength that had always characterized him since childhood, opened a path through the enemy ranks, together with his companions.

One after another, the Greek ships rammed into the Persian navy. Ships crashed into each other, and debris once again filled the Aegean Sea. Demosthenes observed the terror of such a massacre amidst the fighting, a terrible spectacle no doubt, but it seemed to be the only way to defend his homeland.

As he watched the last Persian ship disappear into the horizon, and with the Orientals on the coast showing clear fear on their faces, Demosthenes took a deep breath as his ship came to a halt in the middle of the sea, awaiting orders from his superiors.

The immortal looked towards the mountains to the north and saw the sun setting. The battle seemed to be over.

His brief moment of peace was interrupted by the commotion among his companions. The "barbarian" troops, cornered on the coast, clung to a last act of resistance: throwing huge rocks into the sea to create an improvised bridge to Salamis.

— They want to invade the island by land— shouted the captain of the ship, another Athenian. — How pathetic these damned barbarians are.

— What do we do, sir? — Asked a man next to the immortal.

— The same as the others, look.

The captain pointed towards some Greek ships near the coast, where archers were firing at the invaders from their decks, sowing chaos and confusion among the enemy ranks.

Desperately, Oriental merchant ships tried to join the improvised bridge, but with almost supernatural coordination, they were quickly sunk by the Hellenic triremes. Demosthenes' ship joined the battle, ramming the small ships and destroying them with ease. The cries of the Persians mingled with the sound of splintering wood and clashing metal. The fury of the battle was unleashed once more.

By nightfall, the Greek confederation had regained control of the Attic coasts, so one of the captains ordered them to disembark to face the followers of Xerxes who, in the light of torches, were still throwing rocks from the coast in a vain attempt to fulfill the orders of their lord.

Demosthenes' ship positioned itself in front of the rocky beach. The Greek soldiers threw their sandbags that served as anchors and disembarked; fighting fiercely against the Persian troops.

In the end, the invading soldiers defending the beaches surrendered or were exterminated. In the midst of the din of amphibious combat, several of the immortal's compatriots set fire to the Persian constructions. The flames devoured everything, creating a huge bonfire that illuminated the night. Only a mound of ashes and burnt wood remained. An improvised monument to war.

Exhausted, Demosthenes surveyed the scene, unsure whether to be glad for the victory or saddened by the blood of so many young men on his hands, who were merely following orders. In the distance, he could see several of them fleeing towards Athens. It was already more than evident that they had no chance of defeating the Greeks, at least for that day. From the shore and the ships, cries of victory and praise to the gods reverberated. The soldier removed his helmet and sat down on the beach sand, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

His gaze turned towards the shore. He remembered a day, many years ago, when his father had taken him to that same beach and they had bathed together in the salty water. A deep sadness washed over him as he recalled that his father was no longer in this world. His eyes filled with tears as he watched his superiors set up camp on the shore.

A high-ranking soldier, with armor adorned with elaborate decorations and of a superior quality to Demosthenes', approached his position. The Athenian hastily dried his tears and stood up, aware that the battle was not over yet.

— Soldier, join the others to reclaim the city — He said in a commanding tone.— It is not time to rest.

— Yes, sir! — His subordinate replied instinctively, as it was his daily routine to speak to his superiors as if they were gods.

Putting on his helmet, he walked away from the beach, following a troop that was advancing towards the southern gates of Athens.

You already know what happened next. The Greeks entered the destroyed city and fought against those who were acting as bait while their king escaped. Demosthenes did not encounter his former slave, as the troops divided when they reached the labyrinth of alleys. The slaughter began again.

In the midst of the annihilation of the invading troops, Demosthenes could contemplate the devastation they had caused in just three weeks. His city was now a landscape of ruins and rubble, and the royal standards they had planted in the ground were now accompanied by the bodies of the men who had placed them there.

Seeing that all his opponents had fled, were captured, or were dead, the warrior took the time to sit on one of the ruins and observe the tragic panorama, remembering what it was like when those who had to flee lived there. He was also eager to go home to see if it had been spared from destruction, but he knew that a superior would scold him severely if he did so, calling him a deserter.

However, the image of Zenodulos and Arsames occupied his mind. Anguish gripped him as he thought about the uncertain fate of his immortal companions. He had to find them immediately.