Notice: Dude, if you're an animator, please make an animation for Survive. There are basically only two animations, and this song is so good. Not that the existing animations aren't great, it's just that this song deserves more of them.

That said, I'm using Mircsy's animation as the base.

I also want to invite you all again to join the Discord. If you're looking for casual conversations about Epic, Greek mythology, stories, or other topics you want to discussjust click on the link in my profile

The tension in the room was still high. No one wanted to waste time—they needed to know what was coming next. Without further delay, the screen began to glow, and the words "Survive" lit up in red.

My brothers!
The rest of our fleet
They wait at the beach
And if we're defeated, they're good as dead.

Odysseus turned quickly to his companions as the cyclops let out a deafening roar that echoed through the cave. Gathering them hastily, they formed a tight circle, their expressions a mixture of tension and expectation. Odysseus began explaining his plan, his eyes moving from face to face, ensuring everyone understood.

The crew members who had remained outside the cave exchanged glances filled with discomfort and mild resentment. Doubt lingered in their minds: did their captain not trust them?

Odysseus tried to muster the strength to reassure them, but the words wouldn't come. It was as if his mouth was locked, the sounds suffocated by something invisible. The agonizing screams of the cyclops still echoed in his ears, loud and deafening, reverberating like waves crashing over any coherent thought. He pressed his temples, trying to drown out the sound, but it only seemed to grow louder.

His breathing became shallow and rapid, his lungs burning as if the air around him had vanished. His heart pounded erratically in his chest, each beat a painful thud. His hands began to tremble, and cold sweat trickled down his forehead, like the turbulent sea. The edges of his vision started to blur, and a suffocating sensation gripped him, as if he were being pulled into the same abyss he had faced so many times before.

Suddenly, he was back there: the smell of blood and ash, the cyclops' roars, and absolute terror. He tried to ground himself in the present, but the floor seemed to slip away beneath his feet. It was as if the past were dragging him back, pulling him into a place he desperately wanted to escape. He gasped for air, but it felt like nothing was reaching his lungs.

Sensing his rising tension, one of Scylla's heads, gently coiled around him, let out a soft whimper. The sound was a mixture of concern and comfort, as if the creature were trying, in its own way, to ease the burden he carried.

Eventually, he managed to calm himself, his hand moving slowly to stroke the head of the creature beside him. Gradually, he approached his wife and son, seeking solace in their presence. However, his breathing remained slightly uneven, and his vision occasionally blurred, as if the weight of the moment still clung to him.

Straight ahead!
That is who we're fighting
No backup

The screen showed images of the cyclops, the cave, and Odysseus with his crew.

"Why not ask for reinforcements?" Telemachus asked, the confusion clear in his voice. To him, it seemed logical. Wouldn't it be easier to call the rest of the crew?

Athena shook her head, her expression serious. "The ships are not anchored," she explained patiently. "Sending someone to fetch reinforcements would waste valuable time. Furthermore, dividing this group, which is already small, would only increase the risk. It would be far too dangerous."

No chance for support
So draw out your swords
Our foe must be thwarted right here and now
Show me how great is your will to survive

The screen showed more scenes before cutting to Odysseus and his crew, their weapons aimed directly at the cyclops.

In the room, many spectators leaned forward, absorbed by the growing tension. The music and Odysseus's words intensified, carrying a palpable weight of anxiety and expectation that seemed to hold everyone captive in the moment.

Eurylochus squeezed his wife's hand tightly, his trembling fingers betraying his outward calm. He knew what that fight represented — the risk, the sacrifice, everything they could lose. The bad feeling from the last song returned in full force, tightening his chest like a silent warning. His heart raced, each beat synchronized with the tension filling the air around them.

Six hundred lives at stake!
It's just one life to take!
and when we kill him then our journey's over!

The screen showed the remaining fleet, sailing under a tense sky, before focusing on the figure of Odysseus holding a child in his arms. However, in the blink of an eye, the image shifted. The child disappeared, replaced by the imposing figure of the cyclops. Odysseus advanced with firm steps, a determined and eager smile on his face, like someone ready to face the impossible. Behind him, his soldiers followed in close formation, weapons raised and pointed directly at the monster, their every movement carrying a mixture of courage and desperation.

Athena observed her pupil with a whirlwind of emotions. There was pride in his intelligence and charisma, qualities he displayed effortlessly even under extreme tension. But at the same time, something about that scene deeply unsettled her. It was hauntingly familiar.

"T-Thena?"

The voice, trembling and broken, cut through the air like a whisper from a distant time. For a brief moment, the vision of Odysseus vanished. In his place, Athena saw a younger version of herself, one she desperately tried to forget. The cyclops, meanwhile, transformed into the figure of a young woman — a face she had worked tirelessly to erase from her memory.

She blinked, and the illusion dissipated. Odysseus was back, facing the monster with his usual determination. But the memory lingered, vivid and heavy, like a shadow in her mind.

Athena forced herself to focus on the present. She knew all too well — better than anyone — that all of Poseidon's children and descendants carried something monstrous in their essence. It wasn't just a matter of appearance; it was something deeper, an indelible mark of the lineage they shared.

A treacherous thought whispered in the back of her mind, insistent and painful: "once, long ago, she too had been considered part of that monstrosity."

Athena took a deep breath and buried the thought as deeply as she could. There was no time to revisit buried memories. She needed to concentrate because, once again, a battle between wisdom and the descendants of the sea was about to unfold.

No dying on me now!
Defeat is not allowed!
We must live through this day so
Fight fight fight!

Penelope smiled, proud of her husband. With nothing but his words and charisma, he had transformed men who were paralyzed with fear before the cyclops into warriors determined to charge into battle. She had caught glimpses of this talent in the first song, but in that moment, he had to push himself to the limit to reignite the courage of his crew.

Fighting in a war was one thing; facing a monster was something entirely different. In a war, the enemy was human, someone whose strength, agility, and skill could be matched, where strategy and ability often determined the victor.

But monsters were another story. Against them, there was no physical balance. Sheer strength was rarely enough. Facing monsters required intelligence, determination, and an exceptional ability to think quickly in impossible situations — qualities that, fortunately, her husband possessed in abundance.

Penelope knew that was what made them victorious. And that was why, even in that tense moment, she felt so proud of him.

Surround him!
Attack from behind!
Keep distance in mind
And stay in his blind spot
And strike his heels

The cyclops roared with fury as the men quickly spread out, following their captain's precise orders. In a coordinated dance of courage and strategy, they surrounded the creature, attacking with swords and spears. Some focused on his heels, forcing him to move with difficulty, while others distracted him, striking different parts of his body. Odysseus and Eurylochus, positioned on opposite sides, commanded the battle with skill, ensuring that every movement of the crew was calculated and effective. Their voices rose above the chaos, directing the men with precision.

Outside the screen, Telemachus watched with wide eyes, a mix of admiration and anxiety. He tried to take it all in — his father's strategies, the men's precise movements, how each weapon was used against the giant. But his anxiety made it hard to focus, turning the learning experience into a challenge amidst the tension of the moment.

Circe, on the other hand, watched the scene with genuine interest. Cyclopes were not creatures she was very familiar with. Studying Odysseus's strategies and his crew's methods of confronting such a formidable foe could prove invaluable. If a powerful cyclops were ever to threaten her island, these observations might make all the difference

Show him that we're deadly!
Exhaust him!
Don't let him get close!
He's strong but he's slow!
He can't land a blow if we're out of reach!
Find a breach!

The scene now showed Eurylochus throwing a spear with precision into the cyclops's back, causing the creature to roar in frustration as it felt the impact. In a clumsy movement, the cyclops tried to grab some of the crew members, but its slowness allowed them to dodge with agility. Its failure seemed only to fuel its fury.

Anxious murmurs echoed among the crew watching the screen. Their eyes were fixed on the battle, each holding their breath as they followed the unfolding fight. The cyclops was visibly exhausted, its body covered in wounds that now bled relentlessly.

A spark of hope began to ignite among them. Perhaps it was possible. Perhaps they could truly defeat the cyclops, bringing an end to the ordeal once and for all. And if that happened, then finally, they could go home.

Stand up and fight for your lives!
(Six hundred lives at stake!
It's just one life to take!
and when we kill him then our journey's over!)
Push forward!
(No dying on us now!
Defeat is not allowed!
We must live through this day so fight fight fight!)
Captain

The sound of something being crushed echoed through the room. In the next instant, Polites's glasses fell to the ground, their cracked lenses reflecting the dim light. Drops of blood splattered across the screen, creating a scene that made time seem to freeze.

Polites remained motionless, his eyes fixed on the screen, disbelief etched into his face. He had never imagined he would witness his own death—not so soon.

Of course, he had always known he would die. From the moment he entered this room and saw Odysseus, he felt it. He had seen the look on his friend's face when their eyes met: a mixture of longing, sadness, and guilt. When it was explained that everyone would see glimpses of the future, everything clicked into place. Odysseus's expression wasn't just nostalgia; it was the weight of knowing what was coming.

And Polites accepted it. He was at peace with his own death. What he couldn't reconcile, however, was the impact it would leave behind. He hated the idea of hurting his friends, of seeing them suffer in his absence.

But he hadn't expected to be the first.

The shock hit him like a cold wave. He didn't want to believe he would be the first to leave Odysseus. He didn't want to accept that his departure would come so soon, that he had failed to protect his friends and his crew.

He didn't want to leave Odysseus.

He had been the first to find him... and now, the first to leave him.

Odysseus began to gasp, his breathing becoming short and irregular, as if the air around him was too thick to take in. His eyes fixated on the screen for a moment but soon darted away, trembling as he squeezed them shut and pressed his hands against his ears. The sounds—or were they memories?—invaded his mind: the cyclops's piercing roar, the sickening crunch of his comrades' bones being crushed. It all seemed to explode within his head, making coherent thought impossible.

He shook his head slowly, trying to escape the memories consuming him, but the suffocating sensation only grew. His shoulders trembled under the weight of something invisible, as though the monster still coiled around him, squeezing, crushing. Every muscle in his body felt taut, on the verge of breaking.

Penelope, without hesitation, wrapped an arm around him, her other hand reaching out to cover Telemachus's eyes. "Don't look," she whispered to their son, her voice wavering between firmness and concern. Her gaze landed on Scylla's head, still draped over Odysseus's shoulder. She tried to look away but hesitated, unable to fully distance herself from the horror.

"It's okay," she murmured, even though her own heart was racing, trying to maintain composure. "You're here, Odysseus. With us. You're safe." But he didn't seem to hear her. The words were like stones cast into an abyss, vanishing before they could reach the bottom.

Telemachus, confused and frightened, clung to his mother's hand, his small voice trembling: "What's happening to Dad?" But Penelope didn't answer. Instead, she tightened her grip on Odysseus's shoulders as he leaned forward, his eyes still shut, his lips moving as if praying to escape the nightmare surrounding him.

Odysseus opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Only the void—suffocating and inescapable—remained, as the memory of the cyclops, of the loss and the terror, dragged him back into the sea he had fought so hard to leave behind.

Enough
He's got a club!
He's got a clu-

Odysseus felt his stomach churn as his eyes landed on the screen. His vision seemed to blur for a moment, and he blinked several times, trying to focus. A shiver ran down his spine, the kind of cold that didn't come from the environment but from something deeper. He placed a hand on his chest, noticing his heart begin to beat a little faster. "I'm fine," he murmured to himself, as if the words could convince him.

What are our orders?
Captain?
Capta-

The sounds in the room began to blend with the memories in his mind. The echo of distant voices and agonized screams seemed to invade his ears, even though no one else seemed to hear them. Odysseus rubbed his temples, trying to push away the discomfort. His breathing became a little shorter, and he clenched his fists, as if he needed to anchor himself to something real.

You've hurt me enough
Six hundred lives I'll take

Odysseus began to lean forward, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, as if trying to hold something back that threatened to escape. His breathing now came in short gasps, and he ran his tongue over his dry lips. His hands started sweating, and he rubbed his palms against his legs, trying to hide it. "Just tired," he whispered, but his voice was low, almost inaudible.

Six hundred lives I'll break

Penelope noticed the change. She lightly touched his shoulder, but Odysseus reacted as if it were an electric shock, pulling away abruptly. "I'm fine," he insisted, avoiding her eyes. But his tone was tense, almost desperate. He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging slightly, while staring at the screen as if it might consume him at any moment.

And when I kill you then my pain is over

The scene on the screen began to blend with Odysseus's memories. He blinked, but now he could no longer distinguish the present from the past. The voices of fallen comrades, the roars of the beast, the smell of salt and blood – it was all back. He rubbed his eyes harshly, but it only worsened the chaos inside his mind.

You're dying here and now

His breathing was completely out of control now, short gasps that seemed to bring no air to his lungs. His heart pounded so fast he thought it might explode. His hands visibly trembled, and he began rubbing his arms as if trying to chase away a cold only he could feel. Odysseus looked at Penelope, but his expression was vacant, as if he didn't recognize her.

Escape is not allowed

Odysseus ripped the tunic from his chest, trying to alleviate the suffocating sensation. It felt as if an invisible rope was tightening around his throat, preventing him from breathing. Penelope, now alarmed, tried to hold him, but he pulled away, murmuring something incoherent. His eyes were wide, and he began to rock his body back and forth.

Athena finally noticed her pupil's condition. Concern overtook her face as she quickly rose from her seat, hurrying to his side. Her movement drew the attention of others who had not yet realized Odysseus's state. Worried gazes began to turn toward him.

Reaching his side, Athena took one of his hands firmly, trying to convey as much comfort as possible. Her gestures were careful, almost protective, as she had done so many times before in moments of need.

She silenced her own thoughts and memories, setting them aside for now. Nothing was more important at that moment than her pupil's well-being. He was, after all, more than a student to her — he was an essential part of everything she considered noble and great.

You won't live through this day now

Suddenly, Odysseus's legs seemed to give out. He collapsed to his knees, gripping the floor as if he were on a sinking ship. Tears streamed down his face, but he didn't seem to notice. Telemachus called out to him, but Odysseus only shook his head, repeating, "No, no, no…" like a mantra.

Die!

Now, Odysseus was practically curled up on the floor, arms wrapped around his body, trembling. He pressed his hands against his ears, trying to block out the screams only he could hear. "They're here… They're here…" he repeated, his voice choked, almost inaudible. Penelope knelt beside him, holding him tightly. Scylla's head nudged him gently, whimpering in an attempt to comfort him, but he seemed lost in a world no one could reach.

Diii-iii-ii-ieee

Thirteen men stared desolately at the screen, their faces marked by pain and the weight of what they had just witnessed. Those around them tried to offer some comfort, but the words died in their throats. The entire crew was silent. Each of them recalled the horrors of war, but until that moment, none had lost their lives. Now, only the hope of promised changes remained to alter the grim future they had just seen.

Polites felt a knot in his stomach. He had just witnessed his own death and that of thirteen of his friends. But something deeper troubled him: it was his death that caused Odysseus to freeze; his departure was the catalyst for the subsequent losses, and this made him feel terrible.

Odysseus finally let out a scream — a primal sound, laden with pain and despair. He was breathing so heavily that it seemed he might faint. Penelope held him tightly, tears streaming from her own eyes. "You're here, you're safe!" she repeated, but he could barely hear her. It was as if the past had completely consumed him, leaving only a broken man in the present.

But then, he felt something familiar in his hand — a warmth he hadn't experienced in a long time. A bark pierced the darkness surrounding him, and Odysseus instinctively clung to that comforting warmth.

As the screen dimmed, Penelope watched with a mix of emotions. Argos curled up beside her husband, finally sharing the reunion both had longed for.

Some timeline context:

Odysseus is from the end of Charybdis.

Calypso is from the beginning of Love in Paradise.

Athena, Hermes, Circe, Penelope, Telemachus, and Ctimene are from the end of Thunder Bringer.

Scylla is from the end of God Games

The Lotus Eater is from before Polyphemus

Jorge is from after the Revenge Saga.

The rest are from the beginning of Full Speed Ahead.