POV Atreus
When Aatrox's blade crashed against my shield once more, a tremor shot through my body. The blow was so powerful it hurled me back several meters. I barely managed to stay on my feet. Aatrox's mocking gaze pierced through my battered defense.
I lowered my eyes and saw a long, deep gash cutting almost across the entire surface. The deepest part of the cut had struck my forearm only now did I feel the searing pain. Blood slowly drenched the shield and dripped down my fingers. The first drop fell to the ground.
"Your defense is weakening. How much longer can you hold out?" Aatrox sneered, making no move to press the attack.
"As long as I fight you, the army of Persia will be destroyed. Just like all the dark gods," I panted, barely tightening my grip on my spear.
"And who will destroy them? The Olympians? Do you think I do not know of this place?" he smirked.
His words made me frown. Was he lying? Or trying to sow doubt? Yet for some reason, I believed him. Why lie to someone you intend to kill?
The fight raged on. We traded blows, but I was forced to dodge more and more often rather than meeting his strikes with my shield. I saved it for those attacks that simply couldn't be avoided.
Once again, my spear pierced Aatrox's chest, sinking in too deep. I didn't have time to tear it free before leaping back from his counterstrike. The weapon stayed lodged in his body.
I tried to summon the spear back to my hand, pouring all my will into the call but it didn't even quiver.
Aatrox slowly pulled it from his chest. Not a single muscle on his face twitched. Before my eyes, the wound closed, leaving behind only a pale scar.
"Our battle was glorious," he intoned, gripping the spear in his hands.
I saw the shaft tremble. Under that alien power, it began to crack, then crumbled to dust. With a dull thud, a fragment of the handle and what was left of the spearhead hit the ground.
"But all things must end," Aatrox added calmly.
I took a deep breath. With one last effort of will, I summoned a manifestation of my spear. For a fleeting moment, a weak spark flickered in my hand an echo of the power I'd put into the call.
"A pitiful attempt," he said coldly.
His wings unfurled wide, and the darkness deepened. A maelstrom of grim energy rose around him, hurling dust, ash, and shards of stone skyward. The earth groaned, splitting with jagged scars. Everything was swallowed by thick, choking ash, and the world seemed to suffocate.
Instinctively, I raised my shield. The blow struck with such force it knocked me off my feet. I crashed to the ground, rolling over and over, gasping for air. When I finally lifted my head, the spear's manifestation had already vanished. My once sturdy shield had begun to rust and crack as if time itself had caught up with it in an instant.
With effort, I rose to my feet, bracing for the next attack.
Aatrox's blade whistled through the air and came crashing down, splitting my shield in two.
Through the pain, I felt steel bite into my chest. Hot blood poured from the wound. My legs wavered, but I stayed standing, swaying. I tried to do something take a step, swing, anything but there was no strength left. My breath came ragged and shallow.
Aatrox reached out, ripped the helmet from my head, and flung it aside. It struck the ground with a hollow clang, rolled, and came to rest.
"You have fallen. Like all before you," he spoke coldly.
He pulled the blade free from my chest, and I collapsed to my knees, then face-first into the dust and rubble.
I tried to rise. Failed. My body wouldn't obey. Each breath came with pain, breaking into hoarse gasps.
"Leave nothing of this world," Aatrox commanded, turning away as he stepped into the portal that had opened behind him.
All around me, chaos still raged. Demons roamed the ruins, finishing what was left after our battle. With great effort, I managed to roll onto my back.
"Come on, Atreus… Get up. Since when have wounds ever stopped you?"
Soft grass sprang up beneath me. I half-opened my eyes. Demeter was leaning over me. Her body was wounded, yet she was alive.
"Atreus!" she whispered, gently brushing her bloodstained fingers across my face, leaving crimson streaks on my skin.
"I lost," I forced out. My tongue felt heavy, my fingers numb and unresponsive.
"No. You haven't lost," she replied firmly, pressing her hand to my chest. "Didn't you once say that your fate is to be struck down so that you might rise again? Then rise. And keep fighting."
She was right!
Was it really meant to end so easily? Was I truly ready to surrender? I tried to sit up, but her hand stopped me gentle, yet unyielding.
Then she picked up a broken fragment from the ground the handle of Hephaestus' hammer. I recognized it instantly: an instrument as stubborn as its master.
"Take all of our strength," Demeter whispered.
A gentle green light glowed from her palm, and at that moment, the hammer fragment flared with flame the heat of the forge, the fire of creation.
"What are you doing?" I whispered, barely understanding.
"Become the Pantheon," she continued.
Part of her face began to crumble, turning to ash. She took my hand in hers, and I felt her press something small and warm into my palm.
"Plant this…" Her voice trembled. "To restore your world. And may you be a better father… better than I was. I was a terrible mother…"
The last tear slipped down her cheek. A heartbeat later, her body turned to dust. And in my hand remained only a tiny seed.
I stared at it in disbelief.
She had sacrificed herself for me.
In the next instant, two powers ignited within my chest the essence of Demeter's nature and the flame of Hephaestus. They wove together, flooding my soul with boundless will. The pain vanished, the wound on my chest began to close but I left the scar, as a memory.
The shield and spear lying in the dust stirred. The broken spearhead rose into the air, and around the fragment, particles gathered, forging a shaft from ash. Rusted scraps of the shield floated together, reassembling into wholeness. The shield returned to my forearm, the spear settled into my hand. The spearhead blazed with Hephaestus' fire.
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