Chapter IV: Athena versus Ares
Blood, sweat, and tears was the routine for Achilles for weeks on end. His training with Philoctetes had been going for a solid three months now, and he was in the best shape of his life. His biceps were tree trunks, his pectorals firm as a statue, and his legs were like those of giants. Achilles had trained with every weapon under the sun. He had thrown spears, shot arrows, and sword-fought with Phil until he was blue in the face.
Which just left one question. "When am I going to be done training?"
"I told ya, kid, it ain't up to me. This is strictly goddess-ordained, understand?"
"You always say that," Achilles grumbled, "and I'm left waiting."
The wait was agonizing. Every second that he wasted training was another second that his precious Patroclus was endangered overseas in Troy. Every moment he spent lifting weights, sword practicing, and arrow-shooting was a moment that Pat could be killed in a battle between the Greeks and the Trojans across the sea.
"Do you understand that Pat's life is in danger?" Achilles asked the satyr. "Do you understand that keeping me here is putting him at greater risk?"
"Kid, I understand, I really do, but this is on Athena's orders."
"To the Underworld with Athena! I want to leave now!"
The moment the sacrilege left his mouth, the cave home of Philoctetes was flooded with blue light from the heavens. In the smoke and shadow, an image of an angry goddess formed. It was the familiar Aegis-shielded, armored Athena, and her face was full of displeasure.
"You dare curse my name? You forget yourself, Achilles," Athena hissed like the snake-hair of the gorgon on her shield. "You are a demigod, not a god. You are my inferior and you shall respect my sacred name."
"But you don't respect me!" Achilles threw back at her. "You have me training for months on end while Patroclus is in danger!"
"I am all-powerful and all-knowing," said the goddess, "and I can assure you that Patroclus is alive and well."
"If you were really all-powerful, you'd end this war yourself and return all the Greek soldiers home. Maybe the gods of Troy are stronger than you."
Athena's face twisted, the owl on her shoulder rotated his head, and the goddess slapped the demigod so loud that the smack echoed throughout the cave. Phil quivered in the corner, for he had never been in the presence of an angry goddess. He was afraid to speak up in Achilles's defense for fear that she would fry him into roast satyr to serve on Olympus.
"How dare you," she seethed, "you insolent boy."
Achilles had never been slapped in his life. He was the prince of a city-state; such a thing was unthinkable. He was stunned speechless, unsure how to respond, and words failed. Finally, Achilles shoved past the goddess and stormed out of the cave.
"Kid! Come back! It'll be dark soon!" Phil called hopelessly.
Achilles ignored him. He was seeing red, blood boiling through his veins, and only the thrill of rampant destruction could satisfy him. He went deep into the surrounding forest.
"Stupid Athena!" he shouted, swinging his blade at a tree and hacking the trunk.
"Stupid Phil!" he cried, slicing and swiping until the tree splintered.
"Stupid Dad!" he yelled, and finally the tree was felled.
The trunk made a satisfying crash as it hit the ground. Sweat mixed with tears on his face as he cried, trying to hold back the sobs, but it was futile. He kept imagining Patroclus dead on the beaches of Troy, killed by a Trojan soldier. His love was a healer, not a fighter, and war was unforgiving. Athena's reassurance did nothing to comfort him.
The forest was quiet after the tree trunk had been felled. Then slowly, shrewdly, blood red smoke began rising from the forest floor. Achilles barely noticed it through his tears, but finally, it was unmistakable. It was the divine smoke of the gods, but this wasn't Athena.
"So you're the Achilles I've heard so much about," said a gruff voice.
The red smoke condensed into the figure of a man dressed head to toe in war armor. He was short and bearded, pot-bellied and middle-aged, dressed to kill. Achilles recognized his form from the statue that had been erected in Phthia. "You're Ares."
"Guilty as charged," the soldier god bowed politely. "I've been watching you, and I gotta say, I'm impressed. A warrior always recognizes a fellow warrior."
"What do you want?" Achilles asked impatiently.
"Cutting to the chase. I respect that," Ares chuckled. "I'm here with an offer."
"I think I've had enough of the gods' offers for a lifetime."
"Hey, hey, don't knock it till you've heard it." The god folded his arms. "I understand my half-sister has been training you. How's that going so far?"
"Tedious," Achilles said. He didn't know why he was talking to Ares, but he was so mad at Athena that it felt good to disparage her. "She's holding me back from the war. I should be a part of it! I should be fighting! I have to save my boyfriend."
"I hear you, loverboy. If anything happened to my Aphrodite, I'd swim through the River Styx to rescue her," Ares said. "There's nothing like love to motivate war."
"So what's your offer?" asked Achilles, intrigued.
"You're tired of training with my sister, right? I would be, too." The god began circling him, and Achilles raised an eyebrow, his muscles tensed. "Well, why not quit training with a girl and start training with a man? A real war god, not some sissy strategist."
"You're offering to personally train me?"
"What can I say? I'm impressed by your rage."
"What can you do for me that Athena can't?"
"Well, for starters, I won't assign you to some satyr. I'm talking about personal training from the God of War," Ares said with a bow. "I can train you faster, harder, and better."
Achilles mused over this offer. He was certainly tired of training with Phil, and Athena had never even offered to train him personally, which was quite flattering from the war god. He may have looked like a fat old man, but he could sense there were taught muscles in this god's form , a broad body fit for brawling and bruising. He would make an excellent trainer.
"Very well," Achilles said. "I accept your offer."
For weeks, Achilles lived in the forest. He survived by gathering nuts and berries and using his bow and arrow to hunt wild game to roast over an open fire. It was summer, so he could sleep under the trees without worrying about the cold of night. His hair became disheveled, his muscular body smeared with dirt and leaves, and he hadn't bathed in days. He lived as a barbarian, and he was trained by a barbarian.
Ares was brutal. If training with Phil had taken the wind out of him, Ares stole his breath away. Constantly he was running laps through the woods, climbing trees and hauling trunks to build his upper body, and doing squats with small boulders. He thought he'd been in the best shape of his life training with Phil. Ares proved there was more muscle to refine, more fat to lose, more body to build. Now Achilles was a beast of a man.
"On your left!" Ares struck at his left side with his sword. "On your right!" He struck to the right. "Left!" This time, Ares slashed at his right side again.
"You said left," Achilles grumbled between panting breaths.
"Your enemy won't tell you which way!" Ares cried. "You — must — learn — to — read — your — opponent!" He swiped at him with his sword between every word.
Achilles caught the blows on his shield or with his own arms and legs, which were immortally protected due to his mother dipping him in the Styx. They still hurt, but the god's sword did no damage to his body. Finally, Achilles caught Ares's sword with his bare hands.
He twisted and bent the metal in his palms.
"Oh, very good." Ares smiled wickedly. "You're coming along well. That's Olympian steel you just bent."
"I feel I could fight for hours," Achilles grinned. "I want to fight."
"Good! You must feel the fight in your blood." This time Ares leaned back and threw a punch directly at Achilles's chin. "You must feel it in your soul!"
The blow connected but barely affected him. Achilles was like a marble statue, his body like a rock. He punched Ares in the gut in retaliation.
The god actually stumbled and had to catch his breath. Ares growled like a mad dog, but then he began laughing. His laughter was cold and cruel, amused even, for Achilles was playing into the god's plan without knowing it. He had the hero exactly where he wanted him — angrier than ever, full of unbridled rage and retribution, the perfect pawn.
The divine light flooding the forest changed from red to purple. Achilles didn't notice it at first, but slowly, the purple faded out into two distinct lights, the red from Ares and the blue welling up in between them. The blue light materialized into a feminine form.
"So this is where you've run off to, Achilles."
Athena was radiant as ever, bearing her sword and shield with the owl on her shoulder blinking his round eyes. She looked positively furious, armed for battle.
"I see you've found another god to train you," she hissed.
"What can I say? I made him an offer he couldn't refuse," Ares chuckled.
"This has gone on long enough. I'm putting an end to your training."
"You can't make him!" Ares laughed. "He prefers me, not you."
"But I can make you back off." Athena drew her weapon.
Ares raised his sword and shield. "Is that a challenge?"
"It most certainly is," she said. "I challenge you to the most brutal and devastating kind of battle known to man." A smile crept onto her face. "I challenge you to a rap battle."
The war god smiled back. He was prepared for all kinds of battle, rap included.
The god and the goddess flew into the air on winds of red and blue, their weapons drawn and their shields ready. Athena was terrifying with her Aegis shield bearing the head of the gorgon Medusa, a horrific sight, and her sharpened sword. Ares was equally armed with his brutal war hammer and shield and the sword strapped to his side.
Thousands of feet in the air, the forests and mountains of Greece looked like children's toys. The divine siblings took their quarrel to the skies, where thunder raged and lightning flashed. Their father Zeus was watching their lyrical battle from atop Mount Olympus.
"I tire of you, brother," Athena sneered. "I think it's time you were smothered."
"So sorry, big sister," the bearded god laughed. "Aphrodite's got that covered."
The goddess of strategy drew her weapon and slashed at her half-brother, merciless in attacks both physical and lyrical. "Oh, you and Aphrodite? You like being tied? I heard Hephaestus gave you rope," she sang. "Some days I forget why I'm a virgin goddess. One look at you and I say nope." Her sword and insults stung at the war god.
"You wanna talk rope? How about a weave instead? Arachne and her tapestry." Ares snickered at the old wound, the story of the goddess and the weaver that had ended in Athena's humiliation. "Can't stand sedition so curse the competition. Made your skills look a travesty."
Ba-dum-ba-ba-dum, ba-dum-ba-ba-dum went the drums of the heavens.
"My skills are sublime. You can't plan or rhyme," she threw out.
"Who needs a plan when you're an alpha man?" he hurled back.
"I craft weaponry, plus killer strategy." Their swords clashed.
"Why craft a bow when you can stab the ho?" Slashed and crashed.
Ba-dum-ba-ba-dum, ba-dum-ba-ba-dum came the thunder in the sky, an interlude of cymbals smashing together like great claps from Zeus's mighty hands. Against a stormy sky, the god and the goddess fought on and on, physically and verbally.
"Think naught and fail. I think twice and prevail," she said.
"A girl needs a brain. Men are power and pain," he shot back.
"Men have no rules, you're just a pack of fools." Weapons stung.
"Girls are weak and soft. In a fight, you're offed." Shields rang.
Ba-dum-ba-ba-dum, ba-dum-ba-ba-dum sounded through the sky like powerful drums.
"I can think while I fight. Maybe try it sometime. I'll beat you and I'll savor it." Athena raised her gorgon shield to fend off the blows from her half-brother. "The real reason you've hated me for all these years? You know I'm Daddy's favorite."
That insult made Ares's lips curl into an unpleasant grimace. He growled at her like a wild wolf. "You're stuck-up, sister. The original hipster. A nerd girl taking on the jock." Growls became cackles at his final insult. "May not be the brightest, but I've figured you out. I think you wish you had a — "
"Vulgar and unrefined, brother," Athena hissed. With one last slash of swords, the fight ended. The rap battle was at an end. The god and the goddess flew back down to the earth.
"War is vulgar and unrefined," Ares laughed haughtily
"Warfare," the goddess said, "not warcraft."
The gods had returned to the forest below, where Achilles sat waiting for them. He hadn't heard their song but had watched from below, and to him, the entire aerial battle had been a blur of red and blue light, a divine inspiration. With each clash of color, he tried to figure out which god he was rooting for — Ares or Athena, red or blue, rage or logic, anger or strategy.
"Well, Achilles?" asked Athena when they had returned to the hero's presence. "Which of us do you want to be your trainer?"
"Tell her, kid," said Ares. "Tell her I'm the better coach."
"No, Achilles. Choose logic over anger," said Athena.
He couldn't decide on an answer, so his answer was not to decide.
"My answer is neither of you," said the hero. "I've trained for too long. My beloved Patroclus is in danger and I'm in Greece when I should be at Troy."
The god and the goddess both wore a frown. The Olympians were not used to rejection by mere mortals, and this insult was almost more than either of them could bear. Athena thought about slapping him again, and Ares wanted to test exactly how invulnerable his skin really was.
But ultimately, the gods stepped aside and let him be on his way. Achilles was within his rights to choose to go his own way, and neither of the gods would stop him.
So the hero packed up his belongings, which wasn't much — his hunting bow and arrow, his sword and shield, his bag of wild game — and took off through the woods, leaving both Athena and Ares and Philoctetes behind him. His plan was to march through the Greek wilderness until he came to the coast, and then he would catch a boat to take him to Troy. It wasn't a perfect plan, but it would get him to Patroclus.
Back in the woods, Athena and Ares were alone.
"This is your fault," the goddess scowled. "Now neither of us have him."
"You may not have him," the god laughed. "I have him right where I want him."
Athena narrowed her eyes at her half-brother. She suspected there was a greater scheme at play here, but she had no proof yet. Still, her watchful eyes were on Ares, and once her suspicion was aroused, there was no escape. She would discover his plan.
Waves crashed against the side of the boat, a large vessel that had just departed the southern shores of Greece, navigating through the many channels and islands that dotted the Greek coast. From the view of the gods on Mount Olympus, the ship looked like a toy swimming in a child's bathtub. From the view of Achilles aboard the ship, Mount Olympus looked like a faraway dot on the horizon.
The voyage across the seas took many weeks. Achilles was not the type to get sea sick, but even in his peak physical condition, he often felt like vomiting aboard the rocking vessel. He stood on the side of the ship, his golden hair flowing in the wind over his bronze skin. A few drachmas had paid for his voyage with a cabin all to himself.
"I'm coming, Patroclus," the prince said, standing with his arms on the rails.
Below where he stood, the sides of the ship were beautifully decorated. There were images of merpeople and hippocampuses, krakens and creatures of the deep, and on the helm of the ship, there were five women carved into the wood.
In a flash of light, the five women had sprung to life, moving their way around the ship. One was tall with her hair kept up by a band, one had flowing black hair, one was very large, one wore her hair in spikes, and one had a ponytail. These goddesses were alive with rhythm and blues, with the ancient power of song and dance, theatre and music.
"Oh, girls," said the tallest of the Muses. This was the beautiful Calliope, the muse of poetry. "The hero's journey has truly begun."
"Pray for him, ladies," another of the Muses said. "He's gonna need it."
"Sweet Achy," the large Muse said. "And Pat, his dearly beloved."
"We bemoan his fate. For if he goes to Troy, he will surely die."
"Oh, don't say that! Must he die? Must they all die in the end?"
"Die, he shall," said Calliope. "But he will become a legend."
The carvings below the helm of the ship moved with the decorations of waves, as though they were mermaids swimming in the ocean. The Muses were endowed with the knowledge of the story, for as narrators, they of course knew how the entire epic would play out. Sometimes knowledge was both a blessing and a curse.
"Oh sing, oh sing, oh sing the praise of that Achilles and his rage." Their song rang out over the stormy waters. "Oh sing, oh sing, oh sing O' Muse, of that Achilles and the Blues."
Some days later, the ship finally pulled into port. The crew unloaded, the passengers left with their belongings and a good deal of seasickness, and one prince-in-disguise jumped off board. Achilles had told no one his identity, for it didn't matter. He was a prince no more. He had given that life up the moment he ran away from home.
He wasn't here as a prince. He was here for Patroclus, and nothing would stop him.
Up ahead, Achilles saw the distant walls of a great city. They were armed to the teeth with soldiers, garrisons of soldiers, all defending the kidnapped Queen Helen.
"Troy," said Achilles. "Here I come."
"Athena versus Ares" by HeroicDisney
I
I tire of you, brother. I think it's time you were smothered.
I
So sorry, big sister. Aphrodite's got that covered.
I
[drum solo]
I
Oh, you and Aphrodite? You like being tied?
I heard Hephaestus gave you rope.
Some days I forget why I'm a virgin goddess.
One look at you and I say nope.
I
You wanna talk rope? How about a weave instead?
Arachne and her tapestry.
Can't stand sedition so curse the competition.
Made your skills look a travesty.
I
[drum solo]
I
My skills are sublime. You can't plan or rhyme.
I
Who needs a plan when you're an alpha man?
I
I craft weaponry, plus killer strategy.
I
Why craft a bow when you can stab the ho?
I
[drum solo]
I
Think naught and fail. I think twice and prevail.
I
A girl needs a brain. Men are power and pain.
I
Men have no rules, you're just a pack of fools.
I
Girls are weak and soft. In a fight, you're offed.
I
[drum solo]
I
I can think while I fight. Maybe try it sometime.
I'll beat you and I'll savor it.
The real reason you've hated me for all these years?
You know I'm Daddy's favorite.
I
You're stuck-up, sister. The original hipster.
A nerd girl taking on the jock.
May not be the brightest, but I've figured you out.
I think you wish you had a —
I
[record scratch]