He is ready. He can sense the air around him, the air of a battle. He is ready for one. He was born for this. To live out like a war machine. A man created soley for war. A true image of the mighty Achilles. The mighty Ajax. He stands motionless. Waiting for the forces to charge. Waiting for the next in line to feel the cold of his steel. Sensing all that is around him. Taking in all the sounds, the movements, the momentum and the magnitude of the battle. Of the blood fest that will surely follow.
He can see them now. An army of men without a mind of their own. Sent forth by the king who sits behind the safety of his own fortress. Men without the ability to judge what they get into. Men who don’t even know at times who they fight for. Pity, but they were born on the wrong side from him. And he can’t help that. Aries would enjoy this probably. He doesn’t. He was just born this way. He was simply created for war. It is in his nature. In his blood.
He stands ready. His form perfect. His blade cutting through the wind. His armor sun drenched. His eyes focused on the faces of the men who are about to die, those who he will show the courtesy of his sword. Men whose faces he will long remember after killing them. Each and everyone of them. The mindless drones who died without a cause of their own. But does he himself have a cause? This real life force. This human war machine. The only answer is: he was born for this. Created soley for war.
A hero of every battle, of every war. Even if the next king is a far better man then the one leading the army he fights for, he doesn’t care. Because he was born for this. If not them, then someone else. He was created soley for war. Soley to engrave his name into history through the instrument of war. Battle. Blood.
No warlord dare mock him. No warlord dare lose his alliance. For he is the perfect warrior. He was born the perfect warrior. He was created the perfect warrior. A hero of every battle. Of every war. The warrior, who even the mighy herculeus would have found a mighty match in. A warrior who even the King of all Gods, Zues would not reckon with. The perfect soldier. The perfect warrior. His gaze, his form, his blade, his agility, all perfect. All in tandom with another.
The first of the lot come. 10, perhaps 12 of them. The fools. They thought it’s just one man for now, we don’t need to guard for one man. They draw their swords, spears and bows. They point it towards him. Each a master in his own right. The first one swings and then, the war machine sparks to life. His purpose is about to be fulfilled, once more. He moves swiftly to dodge the tip of the enemy’s blade and thrust his own into the centre of his chest. Piercing through his armor. Quickly retracts his sword and raises his shield against the second’s attack, pushing the sword from the top of his shield into his face. Before the other’s can react, he is already racing towards them, at a head on. He jumps, far more than a normal soldier, and throws his sword like an axe, cracking the helmet and skull of the other 2. And then uses his dagger to slice the front of all the archers and spearsmen. A matter of mere seconds. The 12 are down. He is standing. His form still perfect. Still ready. The blade back in his hand, wielded to kill. His armor sun drenched in the blood from around him. His eyes still focused. Beyond these mindless drones. His prize, waits beyond them. The prize of another battle, a hero once again of the battle. The carving in time becoming more and more concrete with each victory.