#1 MalereaderxHermioneGranger (5/6/24)
#1 Hermionexmalereader (28/6/24)
Sometimes you don't need light to fight the darkness. Sometimes you need a different type of darkness.
Y/N L/N.
Leader of the rebel group The Phoenix Bearers. Lord of the Ancie...
A young Spartan soldier looked over the canyon before him. He smiled at the sight laid bare in front of him by the fast rising sun.
Ups! Gambar ini tidak mengikuti Pedoman Konten kami. Untuk melanjutkan publikasi, hapuslah gambar ini atau unggah gambar lain.
The soldier's attention was drawn to an English accent close to him:
"Astinos, you know you are creepy as shit when you smile like that, right?"
Astinos chuckled at his young British friend and replied:
"A red sun rises. Blood has been spilt this night."
Y/N chuckled and shook his head. He pointed to the hundreds of dead orcs that lay strewn across the bloody battlefield in front of them.
"You need the sun to tell you that? Did you miss the action? Likely offering your backside to the thespians"
"You didn't see me Y/N? Perhaps I was too far in front of you?" Astinos shot back.
Y/N laughed loudly, his mirth only subsiding as the ground shook.
"Earthquake?" Astinos asked the young British Lord.
"No my friend. Battle positions. SPARTANS TO ME. ANOTHER WAVE!"
AROO!
AROO!
AROO!
The sounds of the hundred warriors charging from the rear echoed across the canyon.
"Phalanx on me! Dilios to my left. Stelios to my right! Today no Spartan dies!" Y/N barked orders to the warriors under his command.
AROO!
AROO!
AROO!
Wands clashed with orcish enchanted spears. The orcs behind screamed 'forward', the ones in front screamed 'back'. Slaves didn't make for good warriors. It was another massacre.
—~—
Y/N wiped the black orcish blood from his brow. The remnants of this horde had fled. The Spartans under his command were dispatching any survivors remaining alive from the bloodbath.
Y/N bit into an apple as he kicked an orc onto its back. It clung to life- it's face and the right side of its chest burnt beyond recognition.
Foul creature. Too stubborn to die.
Y/N's attention was drawn to the spy he had dispatched to the hill above the orc camp who ran back to the battlefield, out of breath, panting:
"My Lord. My Lord!"
"Calm yourself boy. Catch your breath" Y/N said calmly as he took another bite.
The Spartan was likely ten years older than Y/N. However, in the strictly enforced chain of command he was but a child to a Lord of the realm, a descendant of Holy Leonidas.
