The Gates of Tartarus | I ✓

15. Knock Knock It's The Flu

So, like promised, another chapter in a day!

Without further adieu, here's the next chapter!

Edit: Guys I have so many books I'm writing and I'm literally not getting any of them done oh my god. I need to stop.

Also the illness Eden gets isn't specified in this chapter but the flu is more well-known so let's do that.

My dream shifted into another.

I was atop a horse, in front of my own and another army, a familiar bow in hand. The field we had chosen was bathed in the rosy rays of the yawning sun and blushing clouds, though there was some part of me that knew it would soon be bathed in by the rosy tint of men.

The line of war elephants before their army told me who I was facing.

Hannibal Barca, one of the greatest military strategists in history.

It was clear I was at the Battle of Zama, making me, logically, Scipio, the praetor that finally defeated Hannibal.

Carthage hardly stood a chance.

In an instant, the elephants were stampeding in terror; their secret weapon turned on their masters. I felt a strange smirk cross my face as I watched them smash their way through their own army, crushing dozens of soldiers in their panic, while my own army, having been arranged into maniples, easily moved out of their way due to their small size, locking shields and simply allowing the elephants to charge through our amy unimpeded. Any elephants that made it to the back were instantly slaughtered.

As chaos descended upon the Carthaginians, the Romans struck.

With no issue in dealing with the inexperienced soldiers, my army slashed down those who tried to turn and flee; I had spared them the trouble, really, given that desertion was punishable by death. Each one of my arrows found chinks in another's armor; two, three were felled by one of mine. Hannibal's voice rang loud and clear among the screams and shouts, ordering his men to stand their ground.

I could have laughed.

Did he really think he could win this war? This battle? This struggle for power, for fame, between the two of us? There was a reason I was famous even before thirty, famous even without having come from any of the gentesmaiores.

I was the greatest warrior the world had ever seen, with a thousand years of war guiding my decisions; I was no fool to think the gods had not smiled upon me, but if Hannibal truly believed he could defeat the champion of the gods, he was a fool. The gods may have abandoned him, but they still loved me so.

Suddenly, my cavalry charged forth under another's man voice; I felt, rather than heard, myself shout for him to stop, but my words weren't heeded. Instead, I was forced to watch them allow themselves to be lured off the field, a roaring wave of fury threatening to drown the world. I wasn't giving up—not by a long shot—but even having to change my plans to account for the absolute idiocy of him was irritating.

Certainly my cavalry would prevail over his, given his two lines were hardly a match for my three, especially if I had trained them myself, though the question really became how long it would take them to come back. As I drew my sword, having run out of arrows, my mind entertained a thousand different possible outcomes, wildly calculating the most possible one based on the events I could see—and then I smiled.

And then I laughed.

My subconscious gave a start at how cold it sounded.

Oh, how perfectly everything worked out! I had to simply delay, then; delay and force the Carthaginians to keep fighting, to give them even some semblance of hope to keep them on the battlefield, and my cavalry would take care of the rest. I needed them there to ensure that every single one of them would be on the battlefield when I slaughtered them all, and force them to endure the horror I had felt at Cannae.