Chapter Two: The Ghoul of Sparta
That night, rain and lightning smashed the cliff side with such fury, I couldn't sleep. Instead, I walked out of my tent into the night. Stories of this battle survived to be told and retold. I had a chance to curb the defeat at The Hot Gates and make Xerxes rethink his situatIon. There was one thing I needed though: stealth and tactics. I grimaced at the thought. Damn it, brother, I thought as I climbed my way up the infamous path at the Greek backline. I could really use your head for an attack plan right now. As I climbed, I was struck by a cutscene from a game I found challenging but loved to play regardless.
Go quiet, I heard Jun-A226 mutter as if I was still playing the game. I could still remember that stealth mission usually going south in a hurry every time I played it, but it was the best plan I had at the moment given my limited resources and intel. I never was good with those stealth missions in-game. My strategies if one could call them that got me turned into Swiss cheese most play throughs because of my desire to muscle through the mission with the biggest gun I could find on the map at the time of the mission. Now, I wasn't afforded the option of a respawn if I died. This was true combat, and I needed to treat it as such. As much as much as it pained me to admit, I needed to think like my best friend for this if I was going to survive.
Yeah, yeah, take the hat off an Elite at 300 yards, I thought. You DO understand that 300 yards is child's play for an experienced sniper? Also, that would be meters, Jun. NATO combat doctrine has been active for five centuries in the Halo timeline at the point of Reach, give or take. You should know that on an almost instinctual level at this point. I shook my head. Now, I'm talking to an NPC in my head. Maybe I have finally lost it.
"(You have not lost your mind, young warrior.)" I gritted my teeth at the voice as power vibrated my bones and turned to see a woman with a hoplite helmet at an angle on her head with a long dory in one hand and a massive shield lashed to her other arm. Her grey eyes glowed in the darkness of the storm and seemed to grow more vibrant every time lightning flashed behind her. "(You are simply drawing wisdom from what you know.)"
"(Lady Athena,)" I said calmly as I met her eyes and steeled my gaze. "(I know of you only by reputation, one not well-liked.)"
She looked down at my crutches. "(You're not going to last with metal staves as your weapons.)"
I looked down and finally noticed I was still using them, though I no longer needed them. It was so familiar to me I tended to see the crutches not as canes or sticks but as extensions of my body. Reluctantly, I took them off and handed the walking aids to the goddess. In her hands, they glowed brightly until the crutches morphed into a pair of xiphe in the goddess' hold. When I took them back, the twin swords felt natural in my hands, as natural as the crutches from which they spawned. I nodded my thanks as she vanished when I heard the cheers of the Spartans and Greeks below as Zeus fought for them.
Something in me turned sour at the thought of actual Greek immortals. Are they simply sentient expression of The Living Force in the region of Greece considering how tightly the immortals seem bound to their domains? What does that make The Father, The Son, and The Daughter? I growled and shoved the thought down. Implications can wait, I reprimanded myself. Right now, there's a traitor I need to find and kill.
I growled, "I have no fangs or claws, yet?" I then laughed and smiled as the cackle echoed deep into the canyon and beyond. Then, I willed my form to shift, still in the stained and ripped tunic one of the men gave me. Fur covered my body from head to foot. My face grew feline and full of rage as my ears migrated from the side to the top of my head. I may not be a full Dragon for another seventy-nine years, but this should be enough to watch Spartan backs. I promised to myself before I looked around and smiled as I slipped into the Persian camp.
In the dark of the night as the storm raged on, scent washed out into an unintelligible mire for my nose. My ears, however, picked up the odd pitch and roll inherent in Middle Eastern languages. I couldn't understand what the people said, but the tone told me much. The army seemed usually jubilant for the storm. A few called to gods of their own which I only knew from scant reading on the subject back home, but one man stuck out like a sore thumb. His cadence and pattern were stilted and seemed simplistic when compared to the other speakers.
There you are, Betrayer! I growled as new instincts told me to go for the beast's head and spare no one on my blood track to get to him. I hissed at the instinct and closed my eyes to focus. Think, I told myself. You may be stronger than you once were, but rashness will kill if you let it. I closed my eyes and took a cleansing breath. Then, I looked around the camp and sighed as I looked down at my ample chest and shapely form. My innermost being hated with absolute passion the plan my mind offered, but I didn't have time to refine it or concoct a Plan B. Fuck… I thought as I laid down my weapons and made myself look as haggard and warn as I possibly could. Then, I stooped and began to lim into the camp with practiced ease from years of being a cripple.
As I neared the complex of tents and other things that detailed an army camp, I fought a raised eyebrow at the lack of alcohol in the air. Then, the real scent of body oder. My nose wrinkled at the body oder I did smell, thinly vailed by whiffs of scant perfumes. I willed myself to look Human and stepped into the light of the lamps. A few soldiers laughed while they grinned at each other and spoke in hushed tones. Then, one man walked over to me and put his hand through my hair. I shivered in revulsion at the contact and glared at him. The soldier slapped me and looked to Ephialtes.
The soldier glared at him and sniffed, "(You don't expect us to share one flower between all?)"
The dog turned to look at the soldier and met my eyes. I glared at him and felt my eyes flash gold into his face. I couldn't keep a smile from my face as the color drained from his. "(I did not send for her.)" He said as slight panic leaked into his tone. "(SHE IS A DEMON! KILL HER!)"
Finally, I thought evenas my form went full tiger. I roared and began to tear into as many men as my paws and claws found flesh. The rear ambush shall not happen!
The soldiers finally got their act together, but by then, I went back to my biped form. The men looked at each other and glared at the Greek. A sword went through his gut before he could scream. Then, the men turned their collective attention to me. Three men tried to restrain me. I struggled and gritted my teeth as I felt the men holding me shift with every I thrust I made to get out of their iron grips to maintain their own leverage. Then, the captain smiled at me and had his men stand me on my feet. Then, the man moved his skirts.
I only remember bits and peaces of the immediate aftermath. I do remember the man screaming and his blood-soaked, detached manhood in my hand. After that, the Tiger came out to play. I snarled and drew my blades to cut the men down in flashes of adrenaline. Power serged through my arms. Rage buried deep for so long surged to the surface in the bloodbath. I thought of my mother who put me through so much agony as a child in the name of "fixing" me. Pain turned to will in my mind. Every instance of pain turned to a dead Persian "immortal". I relived every break, every hour of intense physical and occupational therapy, every snide remark, every guilt trip, and every insult. It all bled together into a fog of blood and gore as my blades cut through all the soldiers in my path. The screams of the men as they died became my own screams of pain as a child. With every slice of my blades, they died and became vapors in the back of my mind. With only one man in the scouting camp left, I growled and hauled him to his feel.
The Persian didn't whimper or cry. He just looked at me with pure hatred. I matched his stare and amped it up a bit to boot with a deep draw on The Bogan. I stared at him and slammed my thoughts into his mind in a clumsy fusion of The Mind Trick and Dark Compulsion carried completely by my rage. You shall go to your commander and tell him the Greek led you into a trap and that his intel was nothing but a bit of bait. I bored into his mind for the final question. Am I understood?!
The man nodded at me urgently and began screaming even as I threw him out of the scout camp, sprinting back to his commander while he chanted something I couldn't understand but thought was him repeating the instructions I gave in his own tongue. I nodded and looked around the camp for some food. Thankfully, I found some bread and wine to take a break with the supplies generously provided by the enemy. I looked up to see the storm starting to break as the sun began to rise over the horizon. I growled as I looked over and saw Persian ships coming in to drop troops on the area. I glared at the ships, and for the first time, I wished I had the fire breath of a mature Draconus. What I wouldn't give for some artillery or a machine gun nest.
The cliffs around me flew by as I truly tested my speed in my new body. I also used the interim to find Balance and step out of the raging torrents of riptides in The Bogan. Then, I smiled as I looked at the loose rocks and boulders around me. Next, I closed my eyes and focused on The Force. A familiar surge pulsed in my body in time with the rhythm of the universe. In the dimness of my awareness outside of the Current of the Universe, I heard soldiers who noticed me gasp and stop fighting only for the Laconians to capitalize on the distraction and recover before the Persians. Then, I sent the floating stones raining down on the on a ships like cannon fire at speeds comparable to meteorite strikes.
With the Persian landing force crippled severely, I growled and turned my attention to the forces up front. With a Persian ambush dead on arrival, I didn't worry about an out flanking and shivered in delight at the power that rushed through me in defending my personal heroes from their harsh deaths at the hands of the Persian war machine. I wanted to personally spit in Xerxes' eyes if I somehow met him on the battlefield.
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