The men blinked at all the whiteness around them as their eyes adjusted to the light. If men were shadows in the underworld, Odysseus thought, they were seemingly alone in that here.
They had passed through the Realmgate into the land of the dead, here to find the slain soul of Achilles at the behest of his mother.
All were eager to begin the expedition, but now, among the gleaming white marble they were beginning to have their doubts. The air smelled sterile, the stones underfoot had no moss growing on them, there was no grass growing up near the bases of the monuments around them. There was not a soul in sight to take such thorough care of the place.
They spread out into a line until one of the men yelled and drew everyone's attention to a glowing green shape, floating and restrained by chains.
Odysseus saw that it was the spirit of his departed companion, he could almost make out his tortured face screaming before fading back to nothing in the shape.
Then a sound came to their ears. A horrid wailing with a chorus of moaning behind it. It was low at first, it thrummed along the ground, it almost felt like they could feel it through their sandal-clad feet.
Then the men began to cry out and Odysseus looked and saw what drove them to scream.
A translucent host arose from the ground just behind the bound-Achilles.
The moaning was coming from them. It got louder and louder and then their were piercing shrieks from the center of the mass and they stopped rising from the ground and started flooding over it and towards the Acheans.
The sight was monstrous as the creatures seemed to flow rather than move over the ground. They passed right through columns and pieces of rubble on the ground.
The Myrmidons on the left of the line braced for the attack and then charged forward to meet the enemy, the paen on their lips and their spears raised high.
Odysseus is at the forefront of his men as the two armies start to move towards each other in an inevitable clash.
The shock of the enemy colliding with the Greeks is un-akin to anything they have felt before. Where the force of one group of men hitting another is felt as shock under the glow of the sun, pain and heat and sweat all felt together, this is almost the opposite, the only thing in common is the pain. It is a slicing pain, not a thudding one and men are chilled to the bone by the presence of the undead horsemen they face.
Unaccustomed to such enemies the men are ripped apart by spectral blades that pass all too easily through unliving stone but leave jagged, unwholesome cuts when applied to mortal flesh.
In the first minute of the clash many a man is left with the usual cold sensation of exsanguination doubled as the chill of the dead warriors also creeps into his bones.
Soon the first wave of mortals is surrounded and nearly annihilated, their very death screams cut short by the freezing sensation of pain as their lives slip away.
Then the cavalry pass through them and are gone.
With only a moment to catch their breath the Myrmidons, heroes to a man, look around them and see a horde of ghosts moving with menace towards them. As they clash with this new foe, the cavalry wheel around and prepare for a second charge.
In the center of the Greek line the spearwall holds against the first undead assault.
But repeated assaults by the dead leave gaps that there are no reinforcements to fill. Slowly the Greeks are picked away, one man dropping beside another with no one to take his place. The dead quickly fill their ranks as they are destroyed.
Eventually brave Odysseus falls to the intangible general opposite him. His men give out a cry and push forward to try to reclaim his body. In the fighting more fall and the mounted malign intelligence plucks soul after soul from the bodies of the men to appease his dark master.
Soon only the champions remain on the left. Back to back they struggle to fend off the blows of the horsemen. One-by-one they fall to the cold touch of the reaping blades.
In the center things look less bleak for the Greeks, smaller forces gather for their destruction and they have overwhelmed the wraiths sent to destroy them.
They struggle on trying to keep the cask that will bring Achilles spirit back to his mother safe, but the enemy are too numerous.
On the right the last of the heroes fall to the overwhelming force of the dead.
With their leaders gone the remaining men drop their weapons and flee back to the Realmgate under the watching and watering eyes of Thetis they report their defeat.
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April 29, 2024, 11:48:06 AM
