The news of Achilles' death spread through the world like a wildfire. The gods of Olympus were in an uproar, their rage shaking the very heavens. The other pantheons, who had been watching the conflict with a detached amusement, were suddenly silent, their eyes now fixed on the small, upstart kingdom in the west and its terrifying, god-slaying monarch.
Nox, however, was not celebrating. The victory over Achilles had been a hollow one. It had been a victory of knowledge, not of strength. He had won because he knew the hero's story, his secret weakness.
'If I hadn't known about the heel,' he thought, sitting in his silent throne room, 'he would have killed me.'
The thought was a cold, sobering one. He was strong, yes. But he was not invincible. There were beings out there, gods and monsters, whose stories he did not know, whose weaknesses were not written in any book.
He looked at his own status.
[Designation: Nox]
[Level: 45]
