#🗡️ : soldier

[thenothlng]

where did you guys get those. guys

up-close shot cause i draw everything so fucking big or whateva

everyone say i love you beatriz and i love you vincent

[natequarter]

"[in 1547] memories of 1483 were all too vivid" well it doesn't help that he's called edward and you gave power to his fucking uncle

[sapphire-dagger]

By @icarus-lizard btw !

[sunflowersunite]

:')

A Gentle Cradle of the Night

Silver twists from the moon,

And drapes the night in its silken folds,

He knows she'll be coming home soon,

And standing in the snow, a promise he holds.

She glides down to the forest floor,

Radiates a warmth that seeps into his heart,

He'd promised they'd stay together for evermore,

United for eternity and never to part.

Their promise unravels as they sway in the night,

He reads her eyes and they hold a tale,

A tale of sorrows and love and delight,

And they dance in the snow as his feet leave a trail.

In small glowing steps she walks upon the air,

She giggles and smiles as he drinks it all in,

Her presence, her light, a sight so rare,

Her fingers skim over his and he thinks what could've been.

If he had held their promise carefully in his hands,

If he hadn't let her go into the dark and the deep,

If he had somehow evaded fate's cruel strands,

Then he wouldn't have been left all alone to weep.

So just like each night, she slips out of his grasp,

Leaving the snow as dead as before,

A tear falls down and rips out a gasp,

Regret eats him up and he shivers to the core.

[simp4konig]

Self-aware König X Gender-neutral Reader

Word count: ~2800

König slowly comes to the realisation that he was in a game, that he was never real, and that he'll never be with reader.

His sense of self deteriorates as all he wishes for is to escape from the boundaries of his code and be real.

In this instance, ignorance really *was* bliss.

*Slow burn

*König has a mental breakdown at one point lmao

Edit on same day: HOLY SHIT thank u for so many notes!!!!!!!!!!! 🥹🥹💞💞💞💞💞 You guys are so nice 🫣🫣

*Self-aware AU belongs to @puff0o0 !!!🥳🥳 (The girl behind the disguise🥸... Was rthis loser all along!!!!! 😈😈imagine giving permission to 👍THIS 👍idiot to write Ur fic idea lol u made a mistake 💀💀💀ok but idid my best not to ruin their awesome au with this pathetic controbution and jope I honoured it well 😭😭 but fr i had been stalking their profile since the begigning of their self aware! au and ivloved their acc 🥺🥺I love their imagines and how they fulfill the request yet leave enoith for imaginstion !! (which, don't mind if I do🤠all of the König scenarios added tovmy incessant daydreamimg hhhhhhhhh oh no),, and when they followed me I was staring at my phone with the BIGGEST goofy grin on my face 🥹🥹Thank YOU sm!!!!! 🫂MUCH LOVE!!!!!!!!!!💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞

*To anyone waiting (I've gotten such lovely messages from people saying they liked my first fic (which made me so happy as it was the first ever fanfiction I published online🥹🥹)), Part TWO of my first fic is on its way !!!,, I didn't want to make u guys all fluffy 🥰🩷💘✨🤗 inside only to tear your hearts 💔🥀🗡️🗡️😭 in two witj this 😿 dw I promise to reward u guys with another fic and cute himbo (and absolute menace while on the battlefield 👹)König <33, with King X König having more wholesome interactions in the near future!!

If you had told König that he wasn't real, he would have looked at you blankly and said nothing, passing off your suggestion as a joke of sorts that he possibly couldn't understand.

Perhaps if he was ever faced with a situation like this he'd question you about it, but nothing more, and drop the subject at hand.

Honestly, the likelihood of him ever thinking over this twice would have been slim, as he would not pay your philosophy much thought shortly afterwards.

In fact, he believed that his life as a Kortac operator was indeed a real one, and he wore his embroided Austrian flag on his shoulder with something next to pride, always praised for his outstanding efforts by his superiors in the same tone of voice. To König, however, it meant nothing, and he'd only nod his head in an attempt at gratitude, turning his back to the commemoration in indifference.

Despite not remembering anything of his childhood, his upbringing — hell, even any of his past prior to becoming a soldier — König didn't ever think over it too deeply. The overwhelming pressure to make sure missions went without a hitch and constant deployments to foreign countries left no time to reminisce, especially not when his work was so demanding, and it only made sense to him that they were the reason for his forgotten memories.

Besides, even if he had time to spare and be inactive, he had to stay focused, as being an operator meant that he couldn't let any nostalgia or softness distract him from his tasks.

On the battlefield, König worked on autopilot, performing finishing kills with efficiency and with machine-like precision. Reacting quickly to enemies ambushing him from behind or an enemy that was laying on the floor behind the corner waiting to shoot him in the head, he'd eliminate the targets with bullets to spare. Really, he was unstoppable, and he was on a killing streak.

Until he was shot in the head one day.

The moment it happened, the shot was like an explosion that almost obliterated his eardrums, outside noise deafened like his head was underwater. All he could hear was the high-pitched ringing, and it held an uncanny resemblance to the beeping of a heart rate monitor machine that he would never lay next to, dying instead on a bed of cold rubble and broken shrapnel.

Somehow conscious enough to look around, his mind was completely empty, eyes attempting to adjust. What he'd assumed would happen in a time like this was his mind flashing with memories like a movie reel in his last moments, his entire life playing out in his final dying seconds.

Yet he remembered nothing. No Mama, no Papa, no childhood or any his life trials, nothing that had changed him and moulded his character, not even his motive for enlisting into the military in the first place.

The part that was most unnerving about all this was his complete apathy to it all.

Did he even care that he was dying? Shouldn't he at least feel regret at having essentially been the one to pull the trigger, cutting his own life short with the lifestyle he had committed himself to? Why wasn't he scared, sad, even bewildered at the very least, shocked that his life would soon end so unceremoniously? Fuck, not even mild disappointment at least at not even had travelled the world, and failing to ever explore any place besides abandoned buildings housing hostages and terrorist bases swarming with foes? Nothing at all?

Unable to process his situation, König just... laid there, unmoving, while his surroundings moved in double speed. Nondescript figures holding rifles wearing camo and balaclavas blurred in his vision, and he couldn't differentiate the enemy from his own.

Slowly losing consciousness, he felt his world darken around him, dulling his senses to the mayhem unfolding in real time. He'd accepted his fate, and could do nothing about it. That was that. And this was it.

It was a shock to his system when a silhouetted hand pulled him up by the arm limp by his side and shouted in his face, "Get up, soldier! This is no place to die!"

König didn't need to be told twice. He nodded his head robotically, his eyes looking ahead of him with a thousand-yard stare, and not even sparing a glance to the anonymous ally that saved him, he picked up the his gun off the floor and loaded another magazine into it with a satisfying click.

In his delirium, he worked on autopilot after that, shooting at anything that shot at him first. Too much in a daze, he was past the point of realising that the gaping bullet wound had suddenly sealed itself, vanishing entirely and leaving no mark that it was ever there.

After that, König didn't realise that he wasn't real when any injuries still didn't affect him. He assumed that his insensitivity to wounds was a result of a high pain tolerance, and his body healing miraculously was his ability to regenerate fast.

Although he would lay on the ground, his arm outstretched while through gritted teeth shouting: "Scheisse! Ich brauche hier Hilfe! I need some help over here!"; truth be told, he'd only do so when he after getting used to seeing so many bodies writhe in pain like so, and something for some reason told him that it was the right thing to do.

Waking up moments after not far from the spot he supposedly died in a daze, all bullet wounds gone, he didn't have time in the moment to think over the specifics of his death. Maybe he was hallucinating, or remembering things incorrectly.

König began to suspect that something was wrong when he'd hear his operators say the same sentence word for word. He rationalised that the constant shooting that never ceased even late into the night and dangerous missions that left him with far too many close calls put pressure on his mind. This mania amongst soldiers in the military was a common phenomenon after all, so it shouldn't have been as much of a surprise for König when he felt waves of déjà vu at hearing statements he could have sworn were related to him before at one point, and going to infiltrate areas that were vaguely familiar.

At some point, he thought something was REALLY wrong when he was storming a military base with... a sniper rifle.

Time stood still as he inspected the weapon in his hands, eyes wide.

That... was impossible. He had never been a sniper. True, he had wanted to be one from the beginning, yet he had adapted to his role as the main means of assault, always on the offensive rather on the defensive. So then... Why?

Adding to that, his appearance would differ. They were subtle changes at first, yet still noticeable: a red helmet instead of his black; an ochre hood instead of his black veil with its signature red streaks; a sniper camoflauge when that disguise had never been in his possession before; and even a gas mask with a hazmat suit when he had been wearing something else altogether on the helicopter heading towards its destination.

Although König hadn't know it yet, his reality was slowly shattering along the cracks, but he stubbornly fought the gnawing feeling that ate him up from the inside. He had to stay focused, he repeated to himself. No time to ponder when a task was at hand.

"All units ready your weapons, and in position immediately." Through his walkie-talkie, a voice began counting down the time left before the mission would begin. "60 seconds."

König checked all of his gear, making sure that everything was in place and he was fully equipped. A rifle, a side-arm, ammo, grenades, a med kit for an emergency and a knife. "40 seconds."

Looking up into the sky and straight into the sun, he didn't need to cover his sight as his eyes weren't affected by it at all. Yet, his eyes squinted in confusion, sensing that he was seeing something that he wasn't meant to see behind the glowing eye. "20 seconds."

He saw more than an eye. An ear, a nose, then a mouth. A face.

He saw you.

You were looking at him through a screen, holding a controller and waiting to start playing your game.

His reality shattered all at once, and he stumbled on his feet, unable to regain his balance, feeling himself go weak in the knees. He tuned out the all-important seconds through the communication device, unable to compose himself as for the first time ever he struggled to breathe.

Suddenly, all of it made sense.

People telling him the same things and never deviating from the topic of the mission, the reawakenings, the pain insensitivity — all of it was because none of it was never real.

People never branched off into other topics of conversation because their sole existence was limited to a few hand-selected voiceliness and idle animations. With each upgrade and level up, König had gotten praise from from him superiors, which explained how emotionless their announcements always sounded and why they were so constant.

The frequent brushes with death weren't a matter of luck, and instead it was just his entity respawning until a certain condition was met, until either Kortac or Specgru came out victorious — otherwise, he could "die" as many times as it took until the time ran out.

He was unfazed by bullets that grazed him and knives that tore though his flesh as he could physically feel no pain, his very existence artificial, his skin composed of pixels with no human matter hidden beneath them.

And, his inability to trace back to before he was transferred to Kortac was all because it was all he was programmed to know. There was no childhood. There was no Mama or Papa. It was just him in this world, and he had been manufactured, his thoughts and behaviours fabricated.

For a moment, he considered you the creator of his word, his God, and felt forsaken. He wanted to curse you, to snap your neck in his hands and watch your head drop lifelessly in his hold.

Yet it became apparent that you weren't the one behind this realm. Seeing the headphones strapped to your head and the controller held in anticipation in your hands, you were simply indulging in a past time, and weren't to blame for his state in any way. It wasn't your fault that you were unknowingly playing as a König trapped in the game.

You let out a groan of frustration, mashing buttons on your controller in an attempt to get König to move.

"What the fuck is going on?!" You hissed, trying in any way you could to start playing. Checking your router and the game's ping, you saw that your connection was secure, and that there was no reason for König to be frozen in place. "Fucking piece of shit console."

König shook his head, still disbelieving and unable to accept his fictional reality, yet hearing the sound of your voice made everything an even tougher pill to swallow. He had to stay in character. For you; it was the least that he could do.

After the initial lag at the beginning of the match, the game went smoothly and you couldn't find any faults. However, you suddenly noticed that your movements over König improved, moving with more fluidity and suddenly taking less damage than what you would normally use to. Headshot after headshot and kills all of the time poured onto on your screen until you'd find yourself being ganged up by bitter players wanting to ruin your streak as revenge.

Still, you topped the leaderboards with a new personal record that night. 97 kills to 0 deaths flashed on your screen, and you jumped up from your gaming chair, ecstatic, almost knocking it over in the process.

König felt butterflies in his stomach seeing you smile and jump around excitedly, and that's when he had found his purpose.

From that moment on, you became his lifeline. You gave the unfeeling König something to live for, a motive to keep fighting that he hadn't been given when being created in the game — for you and your greater good.

Really, you made him feel things: made him feel alive; made him fight with more passion and determination when your happiness was on the line.

He fell... In love.

The feelings and emotions he felt in his chest chest were genuine, and weren't pre-written in a script or manipulated by a third-party. Even the bullets that would pierce through his gear and leave him on the ground withering in agony was worth it, and he'd exchange his invincibility any day to feel what he felt when he saw your face, and the smile that tugged at your lips when you were revived or got a difficult kill.

His love for you was immortal, and it would persist through generations and could last for a lifetime, and König was almost certain that you could feel all of his energy channelling through your TV.

He found himself lovingly staring at you through the screen, admiring you as if you were an ephemeral being, a beautiful angel, even when your hair was greasy, your old tee had armpit stains and your eyes were bloodshot from how long you had been playing. Really, none of that put König off — if anything, all of those made you so distinctly you, so human.

Yet, König was in love with someone that was practically in another dimension and he would never speak to them, never touch them, never share thoughts and pass the time doing everything and nothing with them. None of that, because he wasn't real.

Had his life improved now they he had grown self-awareness? Had his ignorance really been bliss before his revelation? Perhaps if he had been another NPC that only gained manipulated consciousness whenever the player spawned in the map he wouldn't be so stricken with grief and crouched over in agony, the knuckles on his hands turning white from how fervently he was gripping his mask. He'd hyperventilate off-screen, sometimes the torment being too much.

Being so close to you yet being restricted to his three-dimensional world was bittersweet at the least, and internal suffering at most. His insatiable craving to be with you, and you with him only, fuelled his desperation, and he tried to keep you with him for as long as possible through any means necessary.

When you selected an operator that wasn't König, your game glitched heavily and would even crash whenever you made the mistake of even complimenting their design, and God forbid whenever you tried to play as someone other than him, as your console would near explode.

When you'd boot up a different game on your PlayStation, your loading screen would suddenly transport you back to the one of MW2, König greeting you with a voiceline that he reserved and perfected just for you:

"Welcome back, schatz. I have been waiting for you." Because he treasured you, and you were the only person that he could ever have feelings for.

Perhaps a recent update was fucking up your console, or it was just malfunctiong due to age. Either way, playing on an eight year old PS4 meant it could only run for so long and glitches like this were inevitable, yet you persisted in keeping the console running, not in your budget to afford to upgrade.

You'd search frantically on the internet for any information about the new König voicelines and whether there was any resolution for your problem when playing CoD, something telling you that your game was not functioning in the way that it should.

A thought crossed your mind that König had gone rogue, and you tried to laugh it off. Swallowing thickly, that still didn't relieve the deep pit in your stomach. If anything, the mere idea made it worse for you, and you'd get an intense gut feeling that would make you feel dizzy whenever König would make eyes contact with you and stand there, making you question whether he was acting out of character or not.

His attempts to keep you with him were commendable, yet none of it could change the fact that it would never be anything more than one-sided pining, a deep longing for a person whose world kept spinning while his stopped once you logged off the game, his day ending abruptly and being consumed by darkness.

For now, König had to content himself with being stuck behind a screen. He wished so desperately to be able to touch you, to escape this human generated world that trapped him in these bounds, and to find who he really is when with you. Shrouded in this deep black void, all he could do was wait patiently until you'd boot up the game again.

A hand was placed on his side of the screen longingly, resting it gently on the face on the other side.

Note: this wasn't meant to be so sad ,how did an idea of König popping out from the screen turnvto this 😭😭

[daeyumi]

[Soldier; Saviour] 🦋🛡️🗡️

My full piece I did for the Lucina zine over on twt~! Lucina is so special to me as a character & I was so happy to be able to contribute to the zine!

[lethiepie]

Soldier 🗡️ Poet 🖋️ King 👑

[cleoriaart]

The Archeron sisters as The poet The Soldier and The King 🗡️🥀👑

[veinsfullofstars]

🗡️ Kirbtober 2024 Day 17: Galaxy (Soldier Army) 🗡️

(ID: Kirby: Right Back At Ya! fanart of the four Generals of the GSA, all floating and posing in a white void, their capes flared and armor gleaming. From top to bottom, Sir Arthur soars up with his sword held high, a determined expression behind his golden armor; Sir Dragato stylishly leaps to the side with his falchion held back, looking at the viewer with a confident wink; Sir Falspar jumps in excitement, pumping his fists and his sword in the air; and Sir Nonsurat hovers with his back to the viewer, glancing inscrutably over his shoulder as he wields his battle axe at an impractical - if cool-looking - downward angle. END ID.)

Previous Day | Next Day | Prompt List (made by @/paintpanic)

Started on 09/24/24, finished on 09/25/24. | Kirbtober 2023 Comp

[batinasweater]

BatFam x What We Do In The Shadows Quotes

Dick Grayson: *When asked about Wally West* He’s my best friend, my pal. He’s my homeboy, my rotten soldier. He’s my sweet cheese, my good time boy.👬

Jason Todd: I go for a look which I call “Dead But Delicious” ✨💅🏼

Tim Drake: One of the best ways to drain people’s energy is via the internet💻

Damian Wayne: A joke has a punchline. And you wouldn't know a punchline if it ran over your scrotum with a penny-farthing!

Duke Thomas: Why aren't they wearing capes? Looks like anyone can be Superman in Metro-polis!🦸‍♂️

Cassandra Cain: If I ever find out who did it, I will take a dagger and stab them 5,000 times with this hand, switch hands, and then stab them another 5,000 times!🗡️

Stephanie Brown: You people are as much fun as the plague. Remember the plague? And how much fun it was? That's this.

Bruce Wayne: And we are truly sorry, and we are taking this very seriously, and these are our serious faces. Serious. Serious. Serious.

[stygmatus]

even more disco elysium inspired portraits! this time we got GRIM REAPER, BROKEN SOLDIER, ADORING LIEUTENANT, and MATAGI WARRIOR 🍡🗡️

[natequarter]

retelling of the iliad from sisyphus's point of view

[mina-m]

Literally so grateful to @silvereyesofelivostis for finding the best tumblr games and tagging me, I would've NEVER come up with anything like this but here we go,

🩷🗡️👑TODAY'S SPREAD 👑🗡️🩷

Links under the cut, please consider yourselves tagged if you guys want to do this!!!

[shelbgrey]

My MasterList of Stories

Master List part 2

~request are open

Grey's Anatomy

The Sopranos

Cobra Kai (adult Johnny and Hawk only)

Codes:

Smut=❤️‍🔥 Fluff=💕 Angst=💔 Funny=💖 Horror=🫀

🔬Bones💀

Dr. Lance Sweets:

Smut Alphabet❤️‍🔥

Caught in the act ❤️‍🔥

Dating Lance Sweets HC💕❤️‍🔥

Adventures in babysitting💕

You belong with me💕

Lance Sweets as a Dad headcanons💕

Dream Warriors💔🫀

Bones Halloween Special🫀💖

Code baby Part 1 💕

Let me take your pain away💕💔

Dr. Jack Hodgins:

Can't buy me love💔💕

Jack Hodgins Having a little sister💕

What's it gonna take to get you out of his lab?❤️‍🔥

Agent Seeley Booth:

Dating Seeley Booth Headcanons💕❤️‍🔥

Being Seeley Booth's Best friend HCs💕

Friends to Lovers Headcanons💕

The day we met💕

In the name of love💕

Agent James Aubrey:

Falling in love with James Aubrey after losing Lance 💔💕

Falling in love with James Aubrey after losing Lance Sweets part 2💕❤️‍🔥

Smut Alphabet❤️‍🔥

Unspoken desire❤️‍🔥

Dr. Wendell Bray:

Witchy Squintern HCs💕

Dr. Camille Saroyan:

who broke the coffee pot?💖

The Squinterns:

Adventures in babysitting💕

Being Hodgins sister and being a goth Squintern💕

Dr. Zack Addy:

I've got your back💕

Who's got him smiling like that?💕

❤️‍🩹Grey's Anatomy🩺

Dr. Derek Shephard:

Halloween special💖🫀

Injured💔

The Ballad of Jayne💔

Stuck in the middle💔💕

Stitches💕

This is Why I Don't Go To The Gym💕

Baby on the brain💕

Dating Derek after he broke up with Meredith💕

Love at first sight💕

Dr. Mark Sloan:

November Rain💔

Faithfully💔💕

We are family💕

Christmas Special💖

Dr. Owen Hunt:

Trauma 101💖

Dr. Jackson Avery:

Love Story💔💕

Dr. Alex Karev:

Heaven💔

Dr. Miranda Bailey:

Your my favorite💕

Dr. Nick Marsh:

Secrets out💕

🗡️Once upon a time🍎

August W. Booth:

Hidden secrets❤️‍🔥💕💔

Killian Jones:

Smut fic with Killan Jones❤️‍🔥

Prince James:

Hysteria💔💕

🩸Twilight🌲

Cullen family:

Fire safty💖

Going to the zoo💖

Cats in the cradle💕

Being Carlisle and Esme's daughter and having the Volturi wrap around your finger. 💖💕

Cullens:

Emmett McCarthy Cullen:

Next to me series💖💔💕❤️‍🔥

Forever now💕

Being Emmett and Rose's daughter HCs💕

Carlisle Cullen:

Being Carlisle and Esme's youngest daughter HC💕

Carlisle as your husband HCs💕

Jasper Whitlock Hale:

Jasper dating Bella's sister HCs💕

Edward Anthony Mason Cullen:

Dating Edward Cullen HCs💕

Crushing on Edward Cullen HCs💕

Rosalie Lillian Hale:

Being Emmett and Rose's daughter HCs💕

Denalis:

Eleazar Denali:

Glory of love series ❤️‍🔥💕💔💖

Dating Eleazar HCs❤️‍🔥💕

Garrett:

Voice of an Angel💔💕

Being Carlisle and Esme's youngest daughter and dating Garrett HCs💕

Wolf pack:

Seth Clearwater:

Perfect 💕

Volturi:

The Volturi:

Being Carlisle and Esme's youngest daughter and having the Volturi wrap around your finger💕

��Ghostbusters👻

Peter Venkman:

When unspoken rules are broken💔💕

Dr. Egon Spengler:

Hold on, I love you💔

Two Nerds falling in love headcanons💕

Ray stantz:

Dr. Jelousey❤️‍🔥

Something strange💕💔

🦁🐍Harry Potter🐦‍⬛🦡

Draco Malfoy:

Say Something💔

Dance the night away💕

Just keeping an eye out💕

The truth doesn't always hurt💔💕

George Weasley:

Welocm to Gryffindor💔💕

You belong with me - part 1💔💕

Fred Weasley:

Being a Potter twin and falling for Fred💕

Neville Longbottom:

Your Breaking My Heart💔

Weasley family:

Being adopted by the Weasleys💕

⚔️Supernatural🌘

Gabriel "the Trickster":

Hyper girl💕

The Winchester and the Trickster💕

Love of a lifetime💔

Dean winchester:

Dating Dean Winchester Headcanons💕❤️‍🔥

Castiel:

Being in a love triangle with Dean and Cas💕💔

🎶Elvis Presley🎸

Austin!Elvis Presley:

Love me tender💔💕

💥Marvel🦸

Scott "Cyclops" Summers:

Dating Scott Summers💕❤️‍🔥

A not so White Wedding💕

Clint "Hawkeye" Barton:

Secrets out💖

Whatever it takes💔💕

Tony "Iron man" Stark:

All of me💔💕

Bucky "winter soldier" Barnes:

Treat you better💔💕

Howard Stark:

Time In A Bottle💕

Dr. Stephen Strange:

I won't say I'm in love💔💕

Avengers:

Ohana means family💕

Six avengers and a baby💔💕

[thesirenwithnovoice]

There will come a soldier who carries a mighty sword She will tear your city down, oh lei, oh lai, oh Lord 🗡️🐎

I love the rare moments in which Elza appears with a horse, so I drew them together again (also, I'm the enemy of straight lines, so please don't stare at it too much *sweats*).

[lisalamona]

𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 - I

Chapter I: The Horse And The Infant

. Summary: Despite your brother's insistence, you stubbornly decided to join him and his men in the war. Now, are you prepared to face the consequences of your actions? . Pairing: Various x Fem! Reader (platonic) . Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, death, trauma, and other sensitive content. . Notes: I'm starting to upload this story here on tumblr, I am really sorry for clogging the tags.

Previous chapter │ Next chapter

Masterlist

Ten years. Ten years of fighting and barely surviving, only for it all to be ruined by some stupid wooden horse. "It'll never work!" "They'll burn it first!" "By far the stupidest-"

Exclamations and murmurs erupted around you at the captain's proposal, the voices of roughly six hundred men booming with disbelief and anger.

"Enough." Odysseus's attempt to regain control fell on deaf ears, seeming only to make the men talk louder. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, exhaustion practically radiating off him, with dark bags shadowing his eyes like bruises from sleepless nights.

"Brother." You placed a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. Despite years of learning to keep his guard up, he still jumped slightly, startled.

"Yes?" He turned to you, focusing intently, his voice tired and strained from days of argument and tension.

"Is it really true that Athena told you this?" You glanced at him, uncertain and weary of the plan. Were the Trojans really so gullible as to believe that a wooden horse big enough to hold thirty soldiers was a peace offering? And was your brother really so bold to think that just thirty of you could hold off the whole city of Troy, even if only until the rest of the soldiers arrived?

He nodded. "Every single detail. Believe me, I didn't think it would work either, but—"

"I believe you." He took the hand still resting on his shoulder and gave it a small squeeze, leaning his head toward it in appreciation.

"Thank you." He looked at you, clearly grateful that at least one person was on his side. "But you don't count. You're my sister."

You rolled your eyes, playfully pushing him away, and you both chuckled despite the tension.

But the moment of peace was short-lived. Around you, men were beginning to shove each other, voices rising into angry arguments, some even leveling threats.

"Captain!" Both you and your brother turned to see Polites pushing through the crowd, struggling to make his way to you. He was a young man you'd come to consider a close friend after all these years of war. "I tried to calm them down, but they won't listen!"

"You need to do something," came another voice, sharp with urgency. Eurylochus was close behind Polites, giving you a brief nod in acknowledgment before returning to the matter at hand. "Captain, this is getting out of hand," he added, voice stern.

You glanced around at the men, watching as tempers flared and fists clenched. Ignoring your brother's warning look, you grabbed one of the chairs from the table he'd been using to explain the plan. Using it as a platform, you propelled yourself on top of it and brought your foot down as hard as you could. The booming sound echoed through the tent, a noise loud enough that you half expected they'd hear it from Troy.

"ENOUGH!"

All heads turned toward you, the crowd freezing, save for an awkward cough echoing from somewhere near the back.

"Would you all like to shut up for five minutes?" You took a breath to compose yourself. "Your captain was saying something."

The men turned toward Odysseus, who let out an exasperated sigh. "Thank you, [Name]. You can get down from the table now."

You shot him a mockingly sweet smile as Eurylochus reached up to help you down.

"Did I do good?" you asked with a grin.

"You did great," he replied, sounding almost relieved.

──────🗡️──────

Hours passed, hours that felt like days. The only thing keeping you awake were the occasional screams of joy from the people outside.

Eventually, all noise subsided. It seemed that night had fallen, and the Trojans had gone to sleep—most of them, at least.

Odysseus stood up as quietly as he could, avoiding the trap door below. "Alright, everybody, listen closely," he whispered, his voice barely carrying in the cramped space. No one knew exactly what might be waiting for them outside. "Tonight, we make the Trojans pay. Ten years of this cursed war... They've been chipping away at us, grinding us down slowly."

He looked around at the faces surrounding him, men who had once been young and filled with hope, now weary and weathered by battle. Some clutched their swords with white knuckles, while others cast brief glances to each other, finding strength in their shared purpose. The weight of those lost years was written in their eyes, etched in lines on their faces.

"Think of your wives and your children, they're out there wondering where you have been. They're lives keep going and yet you're still here. If you do as I say you'll see them again. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir!" Even in your relatively quiet voice, you held a tone of unwavering resolve.

Odysseus turned to the group, his gaze intense and commanding as he laid out the plan one last time. "Diomedes will lead the charge. Agamemnon, you're on the guards. Menelaus, open the gates and let the rest of our men in to take over the city. Teucer, you'll cover us, shoot down any ambush. Little Ajax, you stay back." He paused, looking each man in the eye, emphasizing his trust — and the weight of their roles.

"[Name] and Nestor," he continued, "your job is to find Helen and make sure she stays safe."

"But—"

"I'm not done talking," he cut you off, his tone firm. "We won't argue about this right now. It's enough that I allowed you to come."

"Yes, sir." You held back, swallowing your frustration. Though you weren't pleased with your brother's decision, you knew it wouldn't help to challenge him now.

Beside you, the older man, Nestor, gave you a sympathetic glance. His hair was streaked with gray, age softening his once-dark features. Despite his years, he could still hold his own in battle — though Odysseus clearly wanted someone experienced and careful watching over you. The thought irked you. You wanted to prove yourself, to show that you were just as capable as your brother. But you also knew that openly defying him wouldn't win that trust.

Odysseus turned his attention back to the group. "And lastly, Neoptolemus, avenge your father. Kill Hector's brothers."

He scanned each of you with a final, resolute look. "We'll move soon. Stay alert. When I give the signal, don't hesitate."

"Yes, sir!"

"Dig deep now," he continued, his voice low and commanding. "Find that inner strength. Tap into your pride. Push through the pain. And ask yourself: What do you live for? What do you fight for?"

──────🗡️──────

"I just don't understand why he wouldn't let me actually fight." You and Nestor had managed to sneak into the palace undetected. A young servant had revealed Helen's exact location with little hesitation after seeing your drawn swords.

"You are fighting," Nestor replied calmly.

"Fighting what, exactly? This zone is completely isolated!" You gestured around the empty hall, emphasizing your frustration. Everyone in the palace had either fled in panic or joined the battle raging outside. "Now I'm stuck on a rescue mission with you. Not that there's anything wrong with you, but you're... you know..."

"Old?" Nestor raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"...Yes," you admitted.

He chuckled. "Fighting isn't just about swinging your sword around. You do understand that, don't you?"

"Yeah, yeah. That doesn't stop Odysseus from being a—"

"Hey!" A voice shouted from behind you. Both of you turned to see a Trojan guard. Though most of his face was obscured by his helmet, his anger was palpable.

"Looks like you'll get your fight after all." You let out a small, triumphant "Yes!" and drew your sword, settling into your stance.

The soldier drew his sword and started forward, his walk turning into a sprint. He didn't care that he was outnumbered—all he saw was red. You tightened your grip on your own blade, feeling your heartbeat thunder in your chest as adrenaline surged through you. And then—

...

An arrow whistled through the hallway window, striking him in the neck. He dropped instantly, collapsing to the ground in a lifeless heap. His momentum was halted as abruptly as his final breath.

"What?"

You and Nestor approached the window, peering out to spot Teucer on a nearby balcony. He grinned at you, his fingers deftly notching another arrow, already aimed at his next target.

You groaned, muttering a silent curse, which only made Nestor chuckle at your misery.

"We should get moving before things get any worse down there," he said.

The words made you glance down at the wreckage below. Troy was in ruins—homes consumed by flames, people fleeing in desperation, and bodies scattered everywhere, too many to count. Even though you'd known the cost when you signed up for the war, a pang of guilt twisted in your gut at the sight of so many innocent lives lost that night.

You sighed, your voice bitter. "I doubt it can get much worse."

"Never say that. You never know what could happen." His voice was firm, yet a touch of urgency lingered in his tone as he guided you away from the window. With a steady hand on your shoulder, he led you onward, the path tightening as you neared the place where Helen was supposedly being held.

As you approached the room, you noticed two men sprawled on the ground, a pool of dark red liquid seeping from their lifeless bodies. They were definitely dead. You exchanged a tense glance with Nestor before carefully stepping around the bodies, doing your best to avoid the sticky crimson trails that marked the floor. Together, you crept toward the door, steeling yourselves as you slowly pushed it open.

The room seemed spotless, unnaturally so—far too clean and orderly, as if no one had ever lived here. The bed was pristine, untouched, with not a single wrinkle to suggest anyone had even sat on it. The shelves were bare, devoid of trinkets or personal effects. In fact, there wasn't a soul in sight.

"Huh," you muttered. "See? This is why I said we should ask more than one perso—"

Your words were cut short as something heavy and ceramic smashed into your helmet, breaking into shards and sending you stumbling back, ears ringing. Nestor instantly drew his sword, the blade flashing as he braced for an attack, eyes darting around for the ambusher.

Shaking off the dizziness, you steadied yourself, blinking to clear your vision. Standing before you was a tall, blonde woman, her gaze sharp and unyielding, clutching another urn in her hands, poised to throw it again if you made a wrong move.

"Hey, hey!" You raised your hands slowly, keeping your voice low and steady, as though calming a feral animal. "We're here to help you—"

She shifted her weight, winding up for another throw, eyes narrowing.

"We come from Greece. We're here to get you home."

For a tense moment, her fierce gaze softened just slightly, though her grip on the urn didn't waver. Her eyes darted toward Nestor, clearly sizing him up.

"Drop your sword," she commanded.

With a wary glance in your direction, Nestor hesitated before lowering his weapon, his muscles tense, ready for anything.

"You're Helen, right?" you asked gently. She nodded, weariness and distrust shadowing her face as she held back any words.

"I'm [Name], and this is Nestor," you continued. "We need you to come with us so we can get you out of here." Your voice was soft, soothing, and you could see her shoulders relax, if only slightly. She nodded, a glimmer of hope breaking through her guarded expression.

"We won't hurt you. I promise," you assured her. Then, noticing the urn she clutched so tightly, you added, "You uh– you can bring the urn with you, if it makes you feel safe."

Helen gave you a small, grateful smile, a gesture that held more weight than words ever could.

The three of you moved swiftly through the palace halls, carefully distancing yourselves from the bloodshed and chaos unfolding outside. You kept to the shadows, ensuring no one would spot you sneaking her away. It was not just about hiding her from prying eyes—it was about sparing her from the weight of war, shielding her from the crushing burden of its cruelty.

Once you reached the bottom floor, the stench of blood and scorched flesh hit you like a wave. Screams of terror mingled with the guttural war cries of your comrades, a cacophony that filled the air with raw, frantic energy. You were so close to the battle now that you could almost feel the clash of steel and the heat of the flames licking at your skin.

Nestor, ever the protector, guided Helen carefully through the chaos, urging her to avert her eyes from the carnage around her. Instead, he directed her gaze toward the outer wall of the palace, acting as a shield from the violence. You were right behind them, moving swiftly yet deliberately, every step calculated to keep you unseen, just in case the tide of battle turned in an instant.

From the corner of your eye, you caught sight of your brother. He seemed to be holding his own, knocking a soldier to the ground and plunging his sword into his chest. But then you saw it—the glint of another soldier creeping up behind him, blade raised. Without a second thought, you dashed forward, ignoring Nestor's shouted warning. Your hand was already on the soldier's throat, pulling him away, before you drove your own blade through him, ending his life in one swift motion.

The heat of battle surged through your veins as you stood protectively by your brother's side, heart pounding.

He turned to you, his face caught somewhere between pride and frustration. "Why did you do that? I could handle him."

Adrenaline still surged through your veins, your hands trembling as you struggled to catch your breath. "I gave you strict orders to stay out of harm's way."

"But you're my brother! You think I could just stand by and do nothing?"

"Right now, I'm your captain," he snapped, his tone sharp but cracking slightly. "You wanted to play, so play by the rules."

"And what, let you die in front of me?" Your voice was thick with anger and fear, words spilling out before you could stop them. He let out a long sigh, and the hardness in his eyes softened.

"Thank you." His voice was low, and the weight behind it made it feel genuine.

"Where's Helen?" he asked, already moving purposefully toward an unknown destination. He motioned for you to follow.

"She's with Nestor." You glanced back in the direction you'd come from, searching for them. They were nearly halfway along the path. "They're almost there."

"Good."

"And where are we headed?" you asked as the two of you began to climb a steep stone staircase, spiraling up the tower.

"We need to make sure that no body's left in here."

As you both reached the top of the stairs, an icy wave washed over you, seizing your breath and making you shiver. The hairs on your arms and the back of your neck rose as your heart pounded, faster than it had all night. Instinctively, you squeezed your eyes shut and raised your arms, bracing yourself against the oncoming figure that had lunged at you without warning. But the blow never landed.

You opened your eyes, but the hallway before you was empty, lined with tall windows on one side, dimly reflecting your tense, wide-eyed expression. You turned to your brother, searching his face for any sign that what you'd just felt wasn't a trick of the mind. His expression mirrored your own: pale, unsettled.

"Who... was that?"

An eagle screeched, its call slicing through the silence as it landed on the nearest window sill. Behind it, lightning split the sky, though not a drop of rain had fallen. Its piercing gaze settled on you and your brother, unnervingly focused and unwavering. Despite being just a bird, it exuded a presence that filled the room—a silent authority that commanded attention. You didn't need to study it to know exactly who it was.

"A vision of what cannot be avoided; it can only be faced here and now."

"What do you mean?" You turned to fully face it, anxiety flickering with a reluctant curiosity.

The eagle's gaze lingered on you, heavy and unreadable, like a storm about to break. "I don't think you're ready," he said, his voice low, every word sharp. "A mission to kill someone's son, a foe who won't run—this enemy is unlike anyone you've faced before."

"Say no more, we're ready." Your brother's voice was firm as he stepped toward the door at the far end of the hallway. Without a moment's hesitation, you fell into step behind him, your resolve matching his. The eagle, ever watchful, soared next you two, its wings slicing through the air outside the palace as it followed your every move.

Odysseus gripped the handles of the door with all his strength, mentally bracing himself for whatever awaited him on the other side. You, too, clenched the hilt of your sword with equal resolve, your knuckles white, a silent promise to face whatever came next.

"I don't think you're ready," the voice echoed, repeating its warning from before.

He finally burst through the doors, the force of his entry sending a powerful gust that dissolved the eagle in an instant, vanishing as if it were nothing more than smoke in the wind.

In the room, there was nothing more than a crib, with toys scattered haphazardly around the floor. It was a miracle no one had entered this room earlier.

"It's just a boy. What sort of imminent threat could he possibly pose?" your brother murmured, his voice softening, as did your stance. There was no immediate danger there.

You approached the crib slowly, cautiously—taking care not to startle the child inside.

Through the single window, clouds swirled and shifted, forming the vague silhouette of the King of the Gods himself. His voice, deep and commanding, filled the room as if he were standing right there with you. "This is the son of Troy's prince Hector. Know that he will grow not just to a man, but to an avenger. One consumed by rage, as time itself consumes him. If you do not end him now, there will be no one left to save. Say goodbye to everything you hold dear."

Finally, you reached the crib and peered inside. It was just a small infant, his eyes still closed, sleeping peacefully—blissfully unaware of the storm that loomed beyond those four walls.

"I could raise him as my own." Your brother was quick to offer a solution, but the god was quicker with a retort, sparking a back-and-forth that left no room for doubt: Odysseus didn't want to face the consequences of what the god was implying.

"He will burn your house and throne."

"I could send him far away from home."

"He'll find you wherever you go."

"We'll make sure his past is never known."

"The gods will make it known."

"I'm begging you, please! Please don't make me do this!" Odysseus' voice broke, desperation rising in him as his last options bled dry. There was only one choice left, and he knew it, and you knew it.

The god's final words rang through the air, cold and unyielding. "The blood on your hands is something you won't lose. All you can choose is whose."