Heracles held his legendary bow with one hand, the weapon was almost as long as an adult man, forged for the hero's tremendous strength. With a steady motion he took an arrow from his quiver and, drawing the string with the power of his muscles, aimed with the calm of one who has brought down monsters and entire armies.
He released the string.
The arrow shot forward with such violence that the air burst around it, producing a roar like thunder. It tore across the battlefield like a lightning bolt, leaving an invisible trail of devastating force; it was a projectile capable of bringing down giants. But Heracles was not facing a giant. His opponent was something much smaller… and much faster.
When the arrow was only centimeters from its target, Achilles disappeared.
It was not a jump nor a simple sidestep. His body vanished from the spot where he stood with such absurd speed that it seemed like an act of teleportation. The arrow continued its path without meeting resistance and ended up crashing into the ground with brutal impact. The earth exploded beneath its force, throwing up a cloud of dust and debris as a crater opened in the terrain, as if a small meteorite had fallen from the sky.
Heracles was already preparing another shot.
A second arrow went roaring through the air. Then a third. And then another. Each projectile was launched with a power capable of splitting rocks and tearing mountains apart, shots that would have annihilated any army that dared face him. Yet Achilles moved among them like an impossible shadow, dodging every arrow with movements so fast that even lightning would have seemed slow in comparison.
While avoiding them, the Achaean hero advanced.
His figure became a flash that drew closer and closer, devouring the enormous distance that separated them. The battlefield seemed to compress in his wake, as if space itself yielded to the speed of the son of Thetis.
Heracles slightly frowned when he saw him approaching.
When Achilles was dangerously close, Heracles fired one last arrow.
Achilles managed to dodge it by the narrowest margin. The projectile did not touch him, it did not even graze his skin, but the pressure of the air it dragged was so brutal that it struck him like an invisible wave. The warrior was pushed back several meters, his body dragged by the violent current of wind generated by the shot.
Achilles spun in the air, regaining his balance with the grace of a predator. His feet touched the ground for only an instant before launching forward again, exploding into one final burst of speed.
In the blink of an eye he was already in front of Heracles. His swords flashed.
With a precise motion, Achilles executed an upward slash aimed directly at the hero's neck. The blade cut through the air with deadly precision, a strike that would have decapitated any other man without the slightest resistance.
But Heracles was not just any man.
The sword opened the flesh, yes, but only enough to leave a superficial wound at the side of his neck. The hero's skin withstood what would have been a fatal blow for any mortal. Heracles brought a hand to his neck almost by instinct.
When he withdrew it, he looked at the blood staining his fingers.
For a moment he remained silent, contemplating that dark red as if it were something curious. Then he raised his gaze toward Achilles, and in his eyes appeared a spark of amusement… mixed with a growing challenge. A slow smile spread across his face.
Achilles did not respond. He remained in front of him with his swords ready, his breathing steady, his eyes as cold as steel.
This was a battle that should never have existed. The two warriors belonged to different eras, separated by generations of history and by the mists of myth. And yet, the gods had torn the heroes from the myths so that it could happen.