This story was written for the journeystory big bang on livejournal. My thanks goes to nickygabriel for organizing the big bang, tinypinkmouse for betaing this monster within a couple of weeks, my dear friend HaloFin17 for supporting and encouraging me throughout the project, and mangacrack for creating really awesome art for it! Thank you so much everyone! The art can be found on AO3 under the title "Into the Unknown" by mangacrack.

Warnings: Use of torture, slavery, murder, killing of animals, blood drinking

Chapter 1

A couple of days before Troy was turned into a bloodbath, dark clouds from the east overshadowed the area. Day seemed to turn to night, and it was strange, for neither rain nor thunderstorm followed the clouds. Moreover, it was summer, when rain was rare. Priests were called for, in Troy as well as in the Achaean camp on the beach. Troy's priests interpreted the strange phenomenon as the gods gathering to eradicate the Achaeans; meanwhile, Greek priests read them as omens of Troy's impending fall, and Agamemnon called for another series of attacks on Troy.

Achilles and his men stayed in the camp. The leader of the Myrmidons was still bitter at the King of Kings and refused to fight for him until Agamemnon had made amends. Patroclus disapproved of this, and once again loudly voiced his displeasure.

But even as the Achaeans made their preparations, they felt the ground tremble beneath them. The men were alarmed, but the priests insisted that the tremors announced the gods preparing to ruin the walls that kept the Greeks out of the city. Achilles had his doubts. In his experience, men knew little of gods. And it seemed that he was right because Troy managed to once again defend their city and eventually drive off the Achaeans.

But even Achilles did not think more about the tremors. Later he would wonder why, be furious with himself for neglecting his duty to his men so badly. But as it was, he was just as surprised as the rest of the Greek encampment, just as surprised as the Trojans, when they were woken the next morning by strange trumpets to a blood-red dawn barely discernible through the clouds.

The dark clouds had settled firmly above them and it had started raining for the first time in nearly a month. The sun rose behind Troy in the east, and in the north an army stood bathed in an eerie, red light. After years of war, it did not take the Achaeans long to shake the sleep off, but they never stood a chance. There were too many of the attackers, at least as many as the sons of Greece that had come to Troy's shores before hundreds of them had fallen in battle. Moreover, this foreign army had more than men. They did not have horse-drawn chariots, but colossal beasts with large tusks. They were much larger than any horse, nearly as large as the very gates of Troy.

To everyone's mutual horror, they attacked indiscriminately, both Greeks and Trojans falling to their blades and arrows. It was a bloodbath, and despite everything Achilles had thought himself and any other Achaean capable of, they found themselves helpless against this enemy. For a long time Achilles would wonder who they were, where they had come from, and what their intention had been in attacking them.

The beasts destroyed their ships first, walking right over them and splintering and trampling the wood as if it was nothing more than grass. Next was the Greek camp, and not even Achilles' Myrmidons were a match.

They fought fiercely but were ruthlessly squashed on the ground by the beasts. Achilles slaughtered the men that he could reach, slitting throats, only to jump away in the next moment from an approaching beast. He was forced to discard his shield, as it hindered him in moving fast enough to evade the beasts, which seemed to be immune to his blade.

The Myrmidon reached for a spear lying forgotten on the ground. It was nothing like those he owned himself but it would have to do. The beasts were led by men sitting on the animals' backs, so he took aim at the nearest one and threw. The spear caught the rider in the chest and he fell off the animal. But the attack had drawn the attention of the archers on the beast's back.

Achilles evaded the first couple of arrows but even he could not deflect them all without a shield. He heard a voice cry his name and he swung around just as an arrow hit him in the shoulder. He was lucky that he had turned, otherwise it would most likely have hit him in the chest. He didn't see the shooter, as he was distracted by Patroclus.

He had been the one to shout his name; he was right in the middle of the raging battle, blood dripping from his side and Achilles ran towards him. Grasping him by the arm, he said:

"We need to get out of here. We don't stand a chance. None of us stand a chance."

"But-"

His cousin's protests were cut off by a loud crash of stones from the city. They looked up and gasped to see that one of the large beasts had crashed right through the gates of Troy. Stones tumbled down in its wake.

"They... they broke into the city!" Patroclus stuttered.

"Yes," Achilles replied grimly. They truly stood no chance. He wondered whether Hector fought uselessly on the ground, and whether Paris would be on the wall with his bow.

All around them, the camp lay destroyed. Their ships were useless. Their men were dead. Achilles couldn't even see or hear Agamemnon.

Achilles pulled Patroclus along. "Come on."

They made for the ships. They were useless for sailing, but they could provide them with cover at least. His cousin was in such shock that he did not resist and only stumbled along with Achilles. The Myrmidon had prided himself in having never lost a battle, having never turned his back on the enemy and run; now he found himself in a position where he had to do exactly that.

They slipped into a broken hull. Achilles could only hope that none of the beasts would run over the shipwrecks again but it seemed that now that the Greeks had been largely vanquished, the foreign army turned its gaze on the city of Troy.

Achilles watched through some gaps in the wood as they stormed the city. It gave him the chance to finally study who they were up against. The men's heads and faces were covered with dark cloth, but Achilles could see on their naked arms that they were tanned and dark-haired. Most of them carried long pikes and large, rectangular shields. The shields they carried on their backs in order to have both hands free to wield the pike. Many had swords longer than the Greek blades, while others carried bows and arrows; some of the warriors threw balls of fire. Their greatest weapons however were their huge animals. They did not have many of the beasts, but so far no one had managed to kill one; the arrows seemed to be as flies to a horse—annoying but not fatal. Achilles found that what he hated most was how the soldiers fought anonymously with covered faces.

He wished to return to battle, but they had no hopes of achieving anything. He won battles; he did not fight in ones he was bound to lose, especially not with his cousin in tow. The arrow in his shoulder was beginning to hurt, his battle fever no longer masking the pain. He wanted to take it out, but he would risk breaking off the head of the arrow.

He turned to Patroclus. The younger man was lying on his back, chest heaving but visibly trying to refrain from breathing too loudly. His eyes were wide and panicked, and Achilles shifted closer to him. He picked at the tunic, drawing it aside to see the wound. It was a slash caused by a blade but thankfully not very deep. It would need stitches eventually.

Achilles turned to his own injury. He still had a knife and his sword on him; cutting a strip off from the bottom of his tunic was a task of a few moments. Then he grasped the shaft of the arrow and quickly yanked it out; he bit back the cry of pain that wanted to escape. As he had feared, the arrow head was still lodged inside. With some difficulty he pressed the cloth to the wound anyway.

A closer look at the wound revealed that the blood moved sluggishly and that it was dirty. He wondered whether the arrow had been poisoned.

"Patroclus," He began, "the arrow I was shot with may have been poisoned."

"What?!"

His cousin pressed against him.

Achilles was already beginning to feel dizzy: if he was right, moving the arrow head had only increased the poison's speed.

"I'm going to pass out. Don't move from here, don't risk yourself," Achilles rasped. "I will survive." He grasped Patroclus' chin and forced him to meet his eyes. "You hear me: I will survive!"

To be truthful, he did not know whether he would. He did not know what poison the foreigners had used, or what the desired effect was—unconsciousness or death. But he was a demigod, strong and healthy. He had very good chances of surviving.

Black spots were already beginning to dance in front of his eyes. He leant backwards in hopes of getting through the dizzy spell without actually passing out. His desire was not granted; everything went black and suddenly he was gone.

When he woke, it was dark. With great effort, he turned his head to the side to look out through the planks and saw that it was night. A whole day at least must have passed then. But more important than that, he was alone.

Where was his cousin?

The beach was deserted, which was a miracle in itself. Had he been leading the army, he would have used the beach to rest. But perhaps they had not liked to remain, for countless bodies of Greeks still littered the sand.

On closer observation, though, he realized that he was not as alone as he had thought: there was someone out there in the distance and they had had started a fire big enough to be a funeral fire. Could it be a survivor?

Achilles stumbled to shaky feet. He reached for his sword—and found that it was gone. How could that have happened? He surveyed his surroundings and only then did he notice the number of footprints in the sand, the chaos which seemed to have increased since he had blacked out. It didn't take him long to figure it out: somehow the enemy had found their hideout and taken Patroclus away—unless his cousin had run, which Achilles doubted. Achilles they had assumed to be dead and taken his weapons.

The Myrmidon ducked outside through the hole of the wrecked hull. The man by the fire was focused entirely on the flames, and didn't hear him approach for a long time. There was no cover, and Achilles walked straight towards him, perhaps uncaring, perhaps feeling overly confident. Achilles recognized him even before the other man heard him.

"Odysseus!"

The Ithacan swung around with an audible gasp.

"Achilles! Brother, thank the Gods you're alive!" Odysseus grasped Achilles by the arm and pulled him into a heartfelt embrace. Thankfully it was on the Myrmidon's uninjured side. Odysseus was beaten and bloody but more hale than the younger warrior, and, unlike the Myrmidon, he was armed with a sword. His shield lay not far from them in the sand.

Achilles stared into the fire. He could detect Nestor through the flames, a man Odysseus had respected greatly. Achilles had respected him, too. Nestor had fought great battles in his youth and while he had left the fighting to the others at his advanced age, his council had been sound. He had tried to make Achilles reconcile with Agamemnon but in this he had not succeeded and now he never would.

Odysseus released Achilles but remained close enough that their shoulders touched. He, too, was looking into the fire.

"What happened to us, Achilles?" He asked, sounding tired, defeated and grim.

"I don't know," the warrior admitted, voice still hoarse.

Odysseus took a closer look at him then, and saw the shoulder wound. He lifted Achilles' tunic to study it, having to use a bit of force to lift the cloth stuck to the wound. Achilles bore it.

"It's poisoned," the warrior admitted. "And the arrow head is still inside."

Odysseus cursed. "We need to find something to wrap the wound with. And you need herbs. Did you have any in your hut?"

"Yes. If the army didn't loot everything they may still be there."

"They focused mostly on Troy. Out here, they just had their beasts trample everything."

"Have you ever seen or heard of such animals?"

Odysseus shook his head. "Believe me, before today, I didn't think anything like this could ever happen. Come on."

Together, they went in search of what was left of Achilles' hut. The improvised building had been destroyed, but it didn't look as if the beasts had stepped onto it directly. They threw the destroyed wood aside and unearthed Achilles' belongings, even his armour was still there and largely undamaged. Evidently the foreigners had not bothered searching the remains. Achilles knew where he kept his herbs and thus they quickly found the clay pot he had put them in. The clay pot was in pieces, and the herbs dirty with sand, but they could wash that off. They also found some bandages. Now they only needed water.

There was a small river leading into the river which the Greeks had used as a supply for drinking water. Walking there was exhausting for the Myrmidon, but with Odysseus' help he managed.

As the Ithacan tended to him, he drifted off again.

The next days he would only remember in flashes. From time to time he awoke, but his tongue felt leaden and he was hardly able to articulate words. He was thirsty, but unable to lift a finger. Odysseus had to put a flask to his lips and let the water trickle into his mouth.

He lay like this for seven days. Odysseus built a new hut over him, went hunting when Achilles slept and tended to his needs when he was awake. On the eighth day Achilles woke for the first time with a clear head and was finally able to sit up.

"You made it."

The Myrmidon only nodded weakly. He had made it.

Three days later they entered Troy, or rather, what was left of it. If anyone had survived, they had abandoned the city. It stank of decaying bodies, the heat not helping at all, and even for Odysseus and Achilles it was nearly unbearable. They went into the palace, stepping over bodies of warriors they had seen in battle, nephews and sons of the king, and even Priam himself. The old king had been slain in his throne room. Achilles wondered whether the army had even known who they were massacring.

It was impossible to take stock of everyone who had died. They noted that not all of Priam's sons were among the dead they saw. Odysseus had spent every free moment giving Greek warriors a pyre, although few had been given their own. Too many bodies lay on the ground, threatening to poison the ground and the waters, hence forcing Odysseus to burn many on the same pyre. It was not their duty to do the same in Troy, and Achilles had reason to wish to leave the beach as quickly as possible.

He had grieved when he was told that his commander Eudorus had been among the dead. Odysseus had kept his body wrapped in a blanked and buried him under a pile of stones until Achilles awakened, knowing that the Myrmidon would want to be there when they gave his faithful friend to the ferryman.

Patroclus had not been one of the bodies on the beach. Chances were that the army had taken him away along with many Trojans as slaves. Achilles swore to follow them.

"I may be able to help with that."

The Ithacan led Achilles to the ship wrecks and entered the hull Achilles and Patroclus had hidden in. To the Myrmidon's surprise, it wasn't empty. A man bound with coarse rope glared up at them from his painful position on the ground. Even without checking Achilles could tell that the ropes were very tight.

"I found him while you were unconscious. I thought he might have some information for us but have not had the chance to interrogate him yet."

"If he even speaks our language," Achilles put in. He could not wait to try.

A glance at Odysseus was enough to receive permission. The blond reached out a waiting hand and accepted the knife Odysseus gave him. They did not have either the patience or the mind to ask politely.

They got what they wanted. The man had been a Phoenician mercenary before he had joined the passing army of a land called Harad, which had come looting and murdering from the east. They marched under the banner of the "Black Eye", although the Phoenician knew little about whom or what exactly that symbol stood for. Allegedly it stood for a great sorcerer in the north who had promised the Harad leaders power and wealth if they supported and fought for him.

"Was this sorcerer with the army?" Odysseus asked.

"No," the man panted through his pain. "He is awaiting them in the north, they said."

"Why did the army here turn back?" Achilles demanded, pressing the knife into a cut he had made himself.

"No ships! We have no ships! We were supposed to turn back earlier but then the commanders saw the city and the camp and thought it would be easy prey."

It had been easy, relatively. Besides Greek and Trojan bodies, they had also found many Haradrim. No Trojan or Greek had given up easily, but in the end, everyone had been overrun.

The bodies, however, had not revealed much. Their weapons and armour had been taken and carried off, and only some personal belongings and their clothes had been left untouched. Odysseus and he had looked at some of their faces, all of them unfamiliar and strange.

Most important to Achilles was the fact that they had not found Patroclus' body.

"Any other questions?" The Myrmidon asked Odysseus.

The older man shook his head and Achilles put the knife to the captive man's throat and slit it without leaving the man time to even anticipate the move.

They went outside.

"Do we know of anyone else who may be a captive?" Achilles inquired, gazing at the blood on his hand.

"No," Odysseus said. "You plan on following them then?"

He nodded gravely. "Yes. Until the end of the world if I must." He gave Odysseus a searching look. "Are you coming?"

"Nearly everyone I know died in a battle which lasted less than a day and you ask me whether I would follow you. By the gods, yes!"

The army had a head start of more than sixteen days. Odysseus and Achilles were badly equipped for following it; they had no horses, lacked in sufficient arms, let alone provisions and although Achilles would not admit it, he was not quite up to his normal strength yet.

Achilles and Odysseus assumed that the foreign army would not be able to travel at great speed either. They had spoils to carry, captives to transport, and cattle to drive. Achilles firmly wanted to believe that Patroclus would be among those people, but could he know for certain? No, he could not. All he had was hope, the most fickle thing in this world.

The army left a path of destruction in its wake and it marched east inland. As the days wore on, the two Greeks got used to seeing even more bodies and destroyed homes. But then they started to come across a strange thing: the army was leaving part of their spoils behind! Instead of taking the animals back home, they slaughtered some each night for the army and at the rate they were going, there would not be any cattle left for much longer; perhaps they did not have any left even now. Although they had to keep in mind that they did not know what the large beasts ate: if they ate meat, it was no surprise the cattle was being slaughtered so quickly.

But besides the animals, they found dead captives. Achilles and Odysseus did not recognize them personally, but the bruises around their wrists and ankles were proof enough that they had been tied. Both men and women had been killed, and the first they came across, either had injuries, or were a bit too old or too young to be of use. Perhaps that was why they had been killed. But why take them in the first place then? Apparently, for whatever reason, the army was now in a sudden hurry to leave the area.

What was it that had made them suddenly realize that they needed to hurry? The Phoenician had mentioned that a sorcerer commanded them. Did this man have a way of contacting his men?

Achilles and Odysseus also quickly noted with some discomfort that wherever the army went, dark clouds accompanied them. The advantage was that it made following them easier.

Still, it was as if evil gave them speed. It seemed as if Achilles and Odysseus were damned to follow them from afar and never catch up.