Chapter 21: Battle of Yates

"Aphrodite, not here." Ares said sternly to the Goddess of Love.

In the sky on a throne made of clouds, Ares and Aphrodite are watching the first encounter of the Trojans and Achaeans, Ares keenly watching a young blonde warrior.

"Hmm? But little Ares begs to differ." Aphrodite purred seductively, her hand stroking the Little Prince's hardening little Prince.

Ares was silent. She was right. No matter how much he tried to focus, his little brother had very different thoughts.

Trying his best not to moan, Ares spoke, "Nows not the time Aphrodite. I'm trying to stop a boy from doing something foolish." He finished, his eyes glued to the head of a young blonde warrior currently impaling another Trojan warrior.

Noticing her teasing didn't work, Aphrodite began sulk, turning forward on Ares' lap, and watching the silly mortals her Ares is so fond of shed blood.

Seeing Aphrodite sulk, Ares smirked to himself before grabbing her plump ass and turning her around so she was straddling him.

With his index finger, Ares guided Aphrodite's chin lower and lower until their noses were touching. "All I said was not right now, not never." Ares whispered into her mouth as he moved forward, grabbing Aphrodite's plump ass, and kissing her deeply.

Ares could feel the sweet nectar trickling from Aphrodite's honey pot and wanted to ravish her right there, but he couldn't. Well he wouldn't. 'There's only one Achilles.' He kept repeating to himself over and over.

Breaking the kiss, the flustered Aphrodite turned her attention to the ongoing battle.

"Who's the foolish mortal taking your attention from me?" She asked, with slight disappointment in her voice, as her index finger followed the contours of Ares' sculpted chest.

"Him." Ares said, his finger pointing to a young blonde warrior, said warrior's sword cleaving thorough multiple Trojan soldiers.

"Achilles."

On the beach of Yates

"Come on men! Before they gain reinforcements disembark from our ships and attain your glory!" The King of Ithaca, Odysseus said, standing on a shield he threw onto the Trojan beach.

Like the prophecy brought to Agamemnon, the Greek forces too were subject to a saddening one.

"Which ever Greek steps on to Trojan sand first, would be the one to die first."

This was the prophecy. And as anyone would, when the Greeks arrived at the beach, no one stepped foot on Trojan sands; fearing they'd be the first to die.

It wasn't until King Odysseus' brilliance did a Greek finally step on Trojan sand. But, in fact, he wasn't on the sand. He was on his shield on the sand.

Dodging arrows that were volleyed at him by the Trojan forces lined on the beach, King Odysseus instilled courage into his soldiers. And the first of them to actually set foot on the sand was Protesilaus, son of Iphicles.

Giving a battle cry, Protesilaus rushed off of his vessel, his men in tow, and caused havoc among the Trojan shores, slicing and cleaving his way through the arriving Trojan soldiers.

Others now confident in their chance of surviving, began to disembark from their vessels, a battle cry of thousands of men in unison echo in the air as a war that will be talked about for millennia to come commences.

In the sky

"Barbaric." Aphrodite spat from Ares' lap.

She doesn't know why Ares likes this sort of thing; maybe she does. To him watching these barbarians fight, this bloodshed, is like when she watches mortal, or even Godly couples in love.

When she watches people in love, when she feels their genuine care, she feels empowered, euphoria, completion; it's an intoxicating feeling.

She knows when Ares watches these, barbarians, he feels the same way.

'This is his first experience into his divinity, I must help him. When you feel it at first, it's hard to let go of. My Ares will not be like the others.' She thought resolutely, her hand squeezing his bicep.

"Barbarians? No, this- this is art" Ares said, his smile splitting his face as he watches Achilles slaughtering soldiers, leaving piles of Trojans in his wake.

Aphrodite was slightly jealous of the look Ares was giving to the mortal battle, but she knew she had him all to herself. She's the Goddess of love, of course she did.

'Oh, it seems it held true, Protesilaus died first.' Ares thought to himself, running his fingers through Aphrodite golden locks.

Protesilaus had made his way through many men, like Achilles, he too was a formidable warrior.

As he slashed through his last man, the champion of Troy, who also happens to be its Prince, Prince Hector, was standing in his way, he too leaving a trail of enemy bodies behind him.

The clash was brief, Protesilaus was exhausted, swinging his word wildly. The Prince of Troy easily evaded each wild swing, his movements calm and precise.

With a finishing strike across his chest, reaching his heart, Protesilaus was the first Greek to die, just like the prophecy said.

"This isn't art Ares. Art is love. Art is expression. This- this bloodshed; this is not art." Her voice was cold, as if Ares was insulting her very existence.

"Relax, Dite." Ares said softly as he continued to run his hand through Aphrodite's hair, bringing her head to his chest. "What you see before you maybe unsettling, yes. But if you watch the young Achilles closely, instead of him moving through mortals, butchering them as he goes; it could also be seen as him dancing through the crowd, flailing his swords in an enchanting manner; so enchanting in fact, the crowd one by one could only drop in awe." Ares finished, squeezing Aphrodite's ass suddenly, excited at the sight of Ajax get entering the fray.

"Kyaa!"

On the beach of Yates

"With me!" Achilles shouted towards his Myrmidons as they attacked the left side of the Trojan army.

Quickly dropping to one knee, Achilles avoided a sword aiming to pierce his throat and from his position, bisected a Trojan warrior while using his shield to bash another.

Rushing toward the only building in the area, a temple of Apollo, just as he was about to place his foot on the first step, Cycnus, a son of Poseidon, played blockade and stood in his way.

Wearing armor he was gifted to by his father, a black metal cuirass with a trident emblazoned on the front, and a round shield of the same color, Cycnus without word, hefted his spear toward Achilles, the latter using his shield to deflect projectile.

With a smile on his face, Achilles returned the gesture, throwing his spear at Cycnus chest, followed by pulling his sword from his waist and rushing toward him, rhythmically swinging his sword, dancing around the now frustrated Cycnus.

Letting the spear bounce of his chest, Cycnus blocked each every sword swing, returning them in kind, but couldn't seem to find an opening.

Screaming a fierce battle cry, Cycnus swung his sword over head with his strength, aiming to spilt Achilles from head to toe.

Holding his sword horizontal, Achilles blocked the strike that would have surely ended his life, dropping once more to one knee, his arms trembling under the weight of Demi Gods strength.

Thinking fast he let go of his sword, causing Cycnus to stumble forward, and from his kneeling position maneuvered to Cycnus's back, jumped on, and wrapped his arms around his neck, choking the son of Poseidon to death.

Moving from under the body of Cycnus, Achilles proceeded to walk to the top of the stairs to Apollo's temple, his Myrmidons following closely behind.

"Men, take what you want! This temple is now yours to do as you please." Achilles shouted towards this men. "OOOOHH!" Was the resounding response he got.

But before any man could step foot in the temple, a deep, commanding voice was heard, stopping them in their tracks.

"Achilles and his Myrmidons, that's enough. You may kill on sacred steps and not be punished. But to desecrate or even steal from a temple of the Gods, you all, especially you Achilles, will surely meet your demise because of it." The deep voice finished.

All the fighting stopped. Trojans and Achaeans alike looked toward the roof of Apollos temple.

A giant man, with long blonde, and a physique any warrior would kill for, accompanied by an equally beautiful woman was standing there, exuding an aura worthy of only a God.

"How do you know me?" Achilles asked, his voice loud as the battle field was silent.

"Does it matter." The man replied nonchalantly, "You are a great warrior, I would hate to see you die so young. Prophecies don't always have to come true you know." The blonde man said, his gray eyes staring directly into Achilles'.

Hearing what the man said his eyes widened, "How-". "Once again, it doesn't matter." The man cut Achilles off. "What you would have done, what your men would have done, would have directly led to your death. I'm just here to keep you from doing so. Your entertaining." The man finished, a twisted smile on his face.

As the man looked up and began to float away, a voice could be heard, "Who are you?" It was Achilles who asked. Everyone present wanted to know as well. This man could only be a God, but which one?

"Me? I am Ares, God of War. Do entertain me more Trojans, you too Achaeans. I'll be watching." The now identified Ares said, as he floated towards the clouds, the beautiful woman wrapped snugly under his arms.

"Retreat! Trojans, retreat!" The voice of Prince Hector could be heard throughout the battlefield knocking everyone out of the daze they were in.

"Don't let them leave this beach!" Odysseus ordered his men.

And so the battle of Yates continued.