The massacre on the road was merely the prelude. While the bodies of the German soldiers still smoldered in the mud, Heron walked among the wreckage with an indifference that frightened even Diana. To him, this wasn't a tragedy; it was simply the removal of ants in his path.
As they reached the outskirts of the small French town, the sound of machine guns and mortar explosions filled the air. An Allied battalion was pinned down in a makeshift trench, surrounded by Nazi forces advancing without mercy.
Diana did not hesitate. She was not the diplomatic heroine of legends; she was a warrior princess bred for the hunt. With a superhuman leap, she plunged into the heart of the conflict. Wherever Diana passed, the steel of her sword severed limbs and pierced chests with icy efficiency. She moved like a blur of silver and leather, leaving a trail of blood in her wake.
Heron stayed behind, leaning against a charred tree with his arms crossed. He watched Diana with a gaze of possessivity and pride. He liked this version of her—the version that didn't apologize for being superior.
In the center of the carnage, Diana stopped before an American soldier who was about to be executed. With a circular motion, she slit the aggressor's throat and reached out to the fallen man.
"Get up, soldier," she said, her voice firm while the blood splattered on her face accentuated her savage beauty.
The man, stunned and breathless, took her hand. He looked as if he had seen an angel and a demon at the same time.
"I... I'm Captain Steve Trevor," he stammered, his eyes locked on hers, completely mesmerized. "I've never seen anyone... you saved my life. You are the most incredible woman to ever walk this earth."
Steve's gaze was one of pure adoration, an enchantment bordering on lust, yet held back by shock. Eron, from above, noticed everything. He felt the mortal's desire for Diana, but he felt no jealousy. To a demigod, Steve Trevor was merely an insect admiring a star. As long as the soldier kept his hands off and his respect in place, Eron would allow him to live. After all, lions do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep.
Eron descended the hill slowly, his footsteps making the scorched grass crackle. Steve Trevor looked away from Diana for a moment, feeling a crushing pressure in his chest as Eron approached. The presence of the son of Zeus was like the weight of an imminent storm.
"Who is he?" Steve asked, his voice failing under the weight of Eron's aura. "Is he your husband?"
Diana looked at Eron, a knowing smile appearing on her lips before she answered:
"He is my brother."
Eron stopped beside her, placing his hand on the princess's shoulder with an intimacy that made it clear that "brother" was merely a technical term in that relationship. He looked Steve up and down, a lopsided smile loaded with contempt.
"Steve Trevor, isn't it?" Eron's voice was a low rumble of thunder. "I hope your information about this war is more useful than your skill with that weapon. Otherwise, you'll be just another body for us to bury in this mud."