[@Breo] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/aExv3Zs.png[/img][/center] [h1][center]In The Woods, Church Outskirts - Site of the Spear[/center][/h1] The army of Persia swarmed over the forest, swarming like locusts and devouring all that was present. Idols and talismans were thrown into the door. Skeleton warriors clutched various spirits in their hands and dived into the tomb that was the final resting place of Darius the Third, adding the energy of the spirits to their liege. More and more the Athánatoi regrew, warrior after warrior manifesting in response to the magical energy claimed, plundered and redistributed. But it all paled to the grandeur of one prize. He stood before the spear, a ragged growl of a breath coming from him, his chest heaving for a bestial growl. The spear was a work of beauty. A peerless treasure among treasures. As a relic, as a legend it was certainly unmatched. Connected to one of the greatest heroes in the world whose name was celebrated everywhere the light of civilization reached. Any would hold it in awe, and any hero would hold it in high regard out of respect for that man. Even those who held him as enemies, those who absolutely detested him and died with their last moments dedicated as a grudge to him would feel awe at the weight of his legend. Yet what he saw was something that was more poginant, more valuable to him. What was a legend? The muddled thought went through his mind. [color=2e2c2c]Iskander… Iskander.. Iskander. . .[/color] A legend was something that struck awe, that one admired. The spear before him was indeed a legend of humanity. But more importantly it was a legend to that man [h2][color=a187be][i][b]"ISKANDER!"[/b][/i][/color][/h2] His roar shook the forest, sending a few of his men flying. Passion, absolute passion was filled in him as he took the spear in hand. This time he would strike at what was valuable to him. This time he would plunder that which formed his dreams. To go beyond his legend. To go beyond opposing the dream of okeanos to plunder the dream of the man who dreamed of the Iliad. The spear sunk into the door. Achilles saw the spear. It disappeared. In its place came the legend of Darius, in full strength. No, exceeding the power that it held as a legend. The magical energy that surged was enough to blind as suddenly the ten-thousand immortals walked the earth once more. Wreathed in a potent magical energy that exceeded their normal limits. He would become more than just a wall that withstood the dreams of that man. No. Darius turned towards the man who would no doubt come to avenge the plundering of his spear. He would destroy the adored dream of that man. He would never accept that king's authority. He would never allow him to conquer and win peacefully. It was not a matter of hatred, it was not a matter of jealousy as that man ruled in the way that he himself admired and longed for. In a sense he opposed his own ideal, that man similar to the First King that he saw as the station of a ruler to emulate as an ideal. He became a king that existed as something to turn his emperor into an engine of war. He was the final wall, the wall that contained an ocean, the world. So long as he lived the man who conquered so much of the world would be denied and defied. That was his hatred. That was his love. His axes crackled with electricity and his army formed themselves into a menagerie of monsters. Twisting the various works of Persia into that which slaughtered, that which warred. The door that held the riches that allowed him to defy the greatest conquerer. The tomb where he rested after that long endless battle, undefiled even as he was slandered by all the people. The mercy, the respect and acknowledgement that he earned from his rival with his life. The army that stood before him as an endless sea of war. Undying, unrelenting. If they had to match the endless war of the Illiad they would do so. If they had to overcome it they would do so. [center][h1][color=bc8dbf][b]Athanaton Ten Thousand[u] Immortal Ten Thousand Soldiers[/u][/b][/color][/h1][/center] The noble phantasm’s name was declared. It was not an invocation for the army was already there. But it was a challenge. This was his power, this was his empire that would conquer the dreams of the conquerer. So he turned towards Achilles. Even if he could not put it to words. Even if it was a twisted thought. Earnestly for this moment he believed fully. “I will defeat you.”