Achilles closed his hand around his spear.
The muscles in his arm tensed. In front of him, embedded in the stone crater, Diomedes raised his shield with both hands. His fingers dug into the bronze rim until his knuckles turned white.
He clung to it as if his life depended on it, because it did.
The Pelid took a step forward and attacked. The first thrust came like lightning; the second before the echo of the first had died; the third left no room for thought. Then they ceased to be individual strikes; they became a storm.
Achilles launched thrust after thrust with inhuman speed, pouring all his strength and fury into every lunge. The spear became a blurred streak of steel.
The shield of the Tydid vibrated under the assault, shaken by impacts so rapid they seemed like projectiles fired from a machine gun. Sparks burst with every contact; the sand rose in gusts around them both.
Diomedes grunted. The sound was low at first, drowned by the clashes of steel. But soon it turned into a shout.
"Agh…!" his teeth ground together as he endured the rain of steel. "Is that all you've got, Achilles?!"
Thrust after thrust, the Pelid's arm did not tremble. His eyes burned with an implacable coldness.
The shield began to sink millimeter by millimeter. Diomedes' legs dug into the sand so as not to be crushed. Every impact ran through his body like thunder, numbing his muscles.
From above, Calliope's voice burst forth, vibrant with tension:
"What is this?! A rain of edge and steel is harassing the mighty Diomedes! Achilles' spear falls like divine punishment! Will this be the end of the Tydid?!"
In the Olympic box, Hephaestus struck the arm of his seat with irritation.
"Quick…!" he growled through his teeth, leaning forward. "Do something, damn it!
At his side, a female voice replied with absolute calm."
"Calm yourself, Hephaestus."
It was Athena, the goddess of strategic war. Her gray eyes did not blink; they analyzed every movement as if it were on an invisible board.
"The battle is not over yet."
The smith looked at her, incredulous.
"Are you watching the same fight I am?" he replied, pointing toward the arena.
Athena did not answer immediately; instead, she pointed toward the other end of the box.
"Look at Ares."
The god of war did not move. His eyes were fixed on the arena with an almost savage intensity. There was no mockery, no smile, no impatience, only expectation.
"And look at the stands" Athena continued.
Hephaestus obeyed.
In the front row were the Achaean heroes who had fought beside both of them in Troy. Faces hardened by a thousand battles. Men who had seen cities burn. All of them watched with the same restrained tension as Ares; as if they were waiting for something.
Athena then spoke, without taking her eyes off the fight.
"You are a master at forging weapons and armor, Hephaestus. No one surpasses you in that. But you have never paid much attention to what happens on the battlefield."
The smith frowned.
In the arena, Achilles redoubled his offensive, harassing the Achaean with even greater ferocity than before. Diomedes' shield was marked, dented, covered with fresh scars. And even so… it did not yield.
"All of us who saw Diomedes fight in Troy know it" Athena continued in a firm voice. "If Achilles does not seize this opportunity to kill him now… he never will."
________________________________________
The rain of steel did not relent. Achilles' spear, turned into a tireless lightning bolt, struck without pause against Diomedes' shield, each impact more savage than the last, as if the Pelid's fury grew with every heartbeat.
"Yield!" Achilles growled between thrusts. "Yield already!"
With a guttural roar, Achilles gathered all his divine strength into a final thrust. He planted his feet in the bloodstained sand, his whole body turned into a drawn bow, and drove the point toward the center of the Tydid's shield, determined to split it once and for all.
"But it was the spear that broke."
The bronze tip snapped off with a dry crack and shot away, spinning through the air like a wounded bird before vanishing into the dust. The shaft remained mutilated in Achilles' hand.
A growl of pure frustration burst from his throat.
Diomedes, panting, seized the moment. He lowered the shattered shield slightly, his chest rising and falling violently, his mouth full of the metallic taste of blood. Every muscle burned; every bone felt as if it had been struck by a hammer.
"Do you yield already?" Achilles asked, his voice hoarse, almost a challenge.
But when Diomedes raised his gaze above the dented rim of the shield, Achilles was no longer in front of him.
In a blink, the Pelid had crossed the entire arena. Now he stood at the opposite end of the combat circle, his silhouette cut against the dusty light, the broken shaft still in his hand like a useless trophy.
"I do not want to kill you, Diomedes!" Achilles shouted. "I ask you once more! Do you yield?"
Diomedes did not answer immediately. He slowly straightened, leaning on a trembling knee, his breath escaping in ragged whistles. With the back of his forearm he wiped the blood that ran from the corner of his lips.
"Achilles!" he finally said, his voice rough but firm.
He paused, staring straight at him.
"Tell me something" Diomedes continued, still breathing with difficulty. "Why do you fight?"
Achilles did not answer.
"You already achieved eternal glory in Ilion" the Tydid went on, taking a step forward. "Your name resounds louder than that of any other hero. Why did you accept this tournament?"
Achilles clenched his jaw.
"Because I want to" Achilles replied, curt, almost cutting.
Diomedes let out a short laugh, bitter, almost amused.
"If you are going to kill me…" said Diomedes, letting his shattered shield fall, "at least grant me the truth."
The metal rang heavily against the sand, striking it with dead weight. It was so battered it barely kept its shape.
Achilles watched him in silence, eyes narrowed, evaluating him. Finally he spoke, his voice lower, more intimate.
"When I was young… they gave me a choice. A long but mediocre life… or a short and glorious one. I chose glory."
Diomedes, without taking his eyes off him, began to walk slowly along the edge of the arena. His eyes searched for something among the dust and fragments of broken weapons.
"But…" Achilles continued, and his voice broke slightly, almost becoming a whisper. "I always wondered what would have happened if I had chosen the other."
His eyes drifted for a moment to the ground, as if he saw there the years he never lived.
"I never knew anything but war" he went on. "I wish I had seen my father grow old. I wish I had shared my life beside Patroclus. I wish I had seen my son… become a man."
Diomedes stopped. His fingers found what he was looking for: another shield. He lifted it with effort, testing its weight.
"But above all…" Achilles' voice faltered slightly. "I wish I had not caused my mother so much pain."
He paused for a long moment. When he spoke again.
"I can reunite with all the others in the Elysian Fields… but not with her. Do you want to know why I fight? Because I want to see her again!"
Diomedes slowly turned toward him. He placed the new shield on his left arm… and then, with a deliberate movement, picked up another shield from the ground and strapped it to his right. Two shields, one on each arm. Two round shields so large and heavy that they almost covered the warrior completely.
"Do you regret your choice?" he asked softly.
Achilles did not answer with words.
He only looked at him. And that silence said more than any oath.
Diomedes sketched a tired smile, almost fraternal.
"How curious…" he murmured. "I would have chosen glory too."