Day-1 Loss

Mahon's hands spread out with a flash of quiet, the moisture in the air freezing into a thin wall, the small partition between the cornered soldiers allowed the voices of the generals to break through chanting orders to fall back, the troops rushed back as a split second later the wall shattered. The men behind him rushed back, but Mahon stood his ground, with a snap of his fingers the silence enveloped a few of the men, their puzzled shouts and confused stumbles. He rushed forward in a quiet sprint his small frame darting under their eyes the small sword slashing through skin, his arms wrapping across the huge warriors and plunging the steel through their necks blood running across his body. Each blow carving through his body and flooding his body with pain, but each slash and stab from him cut through them, leaving nothing behind but a pile of corpses, his armour shredded to reveal the perfect pale skin. Like he had never stepped outside in his life.

The clear are of silence pulled in soldiers, a bloodied mess of a battlefield. Corpses strewn left and right, their blood gashed across the floor the helmets and clothes sprinkled around, the swords shattered or abandoned.

"Quite impressive."

"Thank you,"

The two stared at each other, the new language filling the sheltered void. A metal mask hung on his face the gaps filled with a pitch black in the sheltered canyon, his body plated in thick armour, but his body moved easily like a ship carving through water, his back lined with swords, spears and bows. The way he moved, and held himself, the pure confidence exuding from every movement.

"I did not think Spartan dogs like you could speak my tongue."

"I did not think Persian worms were capable of carrying so many weapons,"

"Well, then again, you don't look spartan."

"Oh no?"

"No… but you could not possibly be Persian, such a fair skinned boy would burn in a harsh heat."

"Child, I have lived millions of your life span in a desert much hotter than yours. <Such insolence for you to claim you live in heat.>"

The words splashed across the Persian's face, even behind the mask, as he was almost pushed back by the ancient language. His body almost shuddered in fear.

"Babylon… I didn't think they would be backing Sparta. But it doesn't matter, I am an immortal,"

"<Hahaha, Boy, you do not know the meaning of the word>"

Mahon walked forward, the sword hanging by his side, and the immortal picked up a giant shield, the ornate paintings in the wood outlined with a magnificent gold. Mahon's sword smashed into the shield, the wood splintering as the sword sliced through. Making the shield look like bread. Mahon let go of his sword, the steel lodged in the wood, his arm thrusting him over the huge protector, his fist slamming down onto the mask. But hardly before he had pushed over the shield, his chest sprang alive with pain. His mouth sputtering with blood, his body slid down the pole like a kebab, his fist still smashing into the metal mask. His body was thrown to the side, clattering into the floor, dust and blood splashing around him as his body regenerated.

"Wow, Babylonian swords are something else, as if it was made by Ahura himself."

The Persian immortal picked up the sword, twirling the light blade in his hand the flashing waved steel spraying an array of colours, the different shades of silver bouncing off Mahon's face.

The light poured out of his eyes, veins popping from his arms as he stood up, the hole in his stomach reforming.

"<YOU IMPUDENT CHILD!!! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!!>"

"See, you may be immortal, and I have heard about you. But you can revive all you want, but you will not be able to touch a hair on my head."

Trumpets echoed through the pass, a military melody rocking through the battlefield.

"You Spartans are better than I thought, The battle is over for today. Thank you for the sword."

Mahon dropped to his knees. His face expressionless as he stared at the retreating forces. The shouts of celebration fell on his deaf ears. His mind focused on only his sword.

And that ended the first day. The first day of three, an untold battle of two immortal men.