His Return

10. Warrior

Howls.

Cries.

Those were the only sounds audible as the smell of burning carcasses filled the air. Perseus opened his eyes, proud of himself. The battlefield was clear. No one but the members of his army stood.
There was a loud, cheering, uproar. The soldiers and Hemera held their weapons overhead and chanted victoriously. Nyx made her way up to the General, who stood with his head held high as he pridefully watched his army boast of triumph. The woman wrapped her arms around Perseus, and he resisted the urge to smile. She buried her head into the crook of his neck.

"You did it. Thank you. So much. I knew that you would be the one to save me. I knew that we couldn't have possibly won without you."

He pulled away so he could look at her beautiful face. Even in battle, the primordial of Night looked gorgeous. He caught himself staring at her, a longing desire burning inside of his chest. He knew that now was the right time. He knew that if he didn't do this now, he might never have the opportunity ever again. Ignoring all the voices that told him no, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.

««•••»»

It was no surprise to him when she immediately returned his impulse, as if she was either expecting or waiting for him to do so for a long time. They were so fervent against each other that they could barely feel the dark presence that grew stronger with every second that passed. The cheering went silent. And the ground began to vibrate slightly, but the eagerness for each other burned so deep inside them, that they completely lost touch with what was happening around them.
He guided her backwards, his hands on her waist and his lips never leaving hers. He pinned her against a large, stagnant boulder, completely disregarding the fact that they were in an open area. She rubbed herself against him as he grabbed her wrists and held them over her head. He ran his free hand along the covered flesh of her inner thigh, making her in need of friction. He separated his lips from hers and latched them to her neck, but it was only now as their mouths parted that he began to sense the stirring of something behind him. Something powerful.
He halted abruptly, his eyes turning steely cold. He had felt this presence only once before.

««•••»»

Perseus turned around, noticing his army as they stood unmoving, their gazes fixed upward. He followed their gaze, starting at the lower region of the being's body. Black iron boots, each one as large as a coffin were worn on its feet. His legs were covered in dark greaves; his flesh all thick purple muscle, like the ground. His armoured skirt was made from thousands of blackened, twisted bones, woven together like chain links and clasped in place by a belt of interlocking monstrous arms.
On the surface of the figure's breastplate, murky faces appeared and submerged – giants, Cyclopes, gorgons and drakons – all pressing against the armour as if trying to get out.
The arms were bare – muscular, purple and glistening – his hands as large as crane scoops. A helmet of twisted rock and metal with no particular shape – just jagged spikes and pulsing patches of magma. His entire face was a whirlpool – an inward spiral of darkness.

This was the humanoid manifestation of the primordial god of the pit.

This was Tartarus.

But what surprised the soldiers, was when they averted their eyes to their General.

They expected him to be in awe or at least having the slightest bit of worry, or uncertainty on his face, but that was not the case. For the army watched as Perseus stood tall, unfazed, and blades ready for battle. Because a man that stood confidently in the presence of Tartarus, was a man that was truly broken. A man without care.