Wars Of Love

Infection

As the first rays of morning light pierced through the somber sky, a suffocating atmosphere of darkness and despair still engulfed the scene before my eyes. The sheer magnitude of lifeless bodies that we had to burn, weighed heavily on my soul, each one a haunting testament to the mercilessness of Apollo's wrath.

Desperate for solace and guidance, I turned my gaze heavenward, beseeching the divine forces that governed our fates. With fervent devotion, I directed my entreaties to every deity imaginable, hoping that even one would heed my plea and offer respite from this grim reality. Yet, the heavens remained silent, their celestial inhabitants seemingly indifferent to the suffering below.

Amidst the chaos, a chorus of voices rose, imploring, Agamemnon, to seek absolution from Apollo. The weight of guilt and regret hung heavy in the air, as many believed that appeasing the wrathful deity was the key to ending this unnecessary bloodshed. However, the stubborn resolve of the King remained unyielding, unswayed by the desperate pleas of his subjects. 

The sickness had momentarily released its hold, but the lingering fear of its return or the emergence of an even greater affliction weighed heavily on my mind. The sleepless night had been filled with anxiety and restlessness, and so seeking refuge, I made my way towards the sacred temple, hoping to find a moment of tranquility within its hallowed walls. However, just as I approached the entrance, a deafening explosion shattered the air, its thunderous reverberations jolting me from my thoughts.

In an instant, the calm atmosphere was shattered, replaced by a frantic flurry of activity. Soldiers scrambled to arm themselves, hastily grabbing their weapons and donning their armor, their faces etched with a mixture of determination and trepidation. Amidst the chaos, I caught sight of the two kings as they emerged from their tent in a rush.

Driven by a sense of urgency and curiosity, I hurried towards them, my footsteps echoing in the tense atmosphere. As I approached Menelaus, his expression betraying a mixture of concern and resolve, I mustered the courage to inquire about the cause of the commotion, desperately seeking answers in the midst of uncertainty.

"The airships have been destroyed! The Trojans are launching an attack!" Menelaus' voice reverberated with urgency, carrying the weight of the devastating news.

"Destroyed?! How?!" I questioned as my voice shook and heart skipped a beat with disbelief and confusion. How could such marvels of technology, seemingly impervious to destruction, meet such a fate? The Trojans, formidable as they were, lacked the means to accomplish such a feat.

"It had to be Apollo. We've angered him and you haven't made this situation any better by refusing to apologise to him!" Menelaus declared, his voice tinged with accusation as he turned his gaze towards Agamemnon. The tension between the two kings hung palpably in the air, their disagreement a reflection of the tumultuous times we found ourselves in

Agamemnon's face hardened, his resolve unyielding as he vehemently defended his stance. "I will not bow to a God who sides with those barbarians! Do not fret brother, we will win this war! We also have deities on our side, I can feel their presence."

As everyone readied themselves for battle, I could see the Trojans riding towards us with a ferocity and determination that sent a chill down my spine.

Suddenly,a voice pierced through the clamor, calling my name with a sense of urgency. I turned, my heart pounding in my chest, to see a fellow Myrmidon soldier approaching me. His face bore a mix of concern and urgency, as he delivered the news that sent a wave of panic crashing over me.

"Lord Patroklos! You must come to the infirmary. A young soldier is calling for you." 

In that moment, time seemed to stand still as the weight of my forgotten duty bore down on me like an oppressive weight.

Without a moment's hesitation, my body moved on its own accord, propelled by a surge of adrenaline and a desperate need to rectify my neglect. The chaos around me faded into the background as I sprinted towards the infirmary, my mind consumed with guilt and worry. How could I have forgotten about Eurypylus? I had been so preoccupied with assisting others that I had forgotten to check up on him.

I reached the infirmary and saw several soldiers on the verge of death. Although the infection hadn't claimed them yet, their fate was inevitable. Even our potent ambrosia potions couldn't act swiftly enough to save them.

My eyes darted desperately from one bed to another, my heart pounding in my chest as I searched for Eurypylus amidst the sea of suffering. Finally, I spotted Eurypylus, his once vibrant figure reduced to a mere shell of his former self. The infection had taken hold across his face and body, transforming him into a grotesque figure. My heart shattered at the sight, a mixture of guilt and sorrow washing over me like a tidal wave.

Falling to my knees by his side, I clutched his hand in mine, the touch offering a fleeting connection amidst the chaos. His effort to speak was met with a harsh cough, his lips tainted with blood, which I tenderly wiped away from his mouth with my garment.

As my hands trembled with a mixture of fear and desperation, I became acutely aware of the dry blood that coated my skin. The crimson stains stood out starkly against the pale backdrop of the infirmary, a gruesome reminder of the horrors that surrounded us. It was a chilling realization, the fact that I had been immersed in this sea of blood and suffering without even noticing.

"Don't speak, Eurypylus," I pleaded, my voice choked with emotion. I held onto his hand with a grip so tight that my own fingers grew numb, as if trying to anchor him to this world. But his attempts to communicate were met with wheezing and violent coughs, each expulsion of breath accompanied by a spray of blood. It was a horrifying sight, a visceral reminder of the infection's relentless grip on his frail body.

In one swift, heart-wrenching moment, Eurypylus' hand slipped from mine. I shook him, my voice filled with desperation as I called out his name, but it was futile. The boy who had once been full of life had succumbed to the infection, releasing his soul into Thanatos' chilling embrace. The weight of his loss settled heavily on my shoulders, a burden I could not bear.

I looked around the infirmary, the scene of tragedy unfolding before me. The air was heavy with the stench of death and despair, the groans of the wounded mixing with the anguished cries of those on the brink of their final breath. It was a sight that tore at my soul. 

In that moment, a fire ignited within me, fueled by a determination to make a difference. If Achilles, consumed by his own ego, would not step up to help these wounded soldiers, then I would be the one to do it. I would not let their sacrifices be in vain.