Eros: A Name To Remember

Content Warning: mention of blood, fighting and death

The first man Eros killed had a jagged scar across his forehead. The second man wore armour twice his size. The third man had the face and body of a God, but the fighting skills of a farmer. The fourth had teeth as large pennies, protruding from his mouth. The fifth fought like he was dancing, too graceful and happy. The sixth swung his sword like it was an axe, with no precision, only brute force. The seventh had a limp and lost his footing as he swayed from side to side. The eighth squinted as he drew back his bow and arrow. The ninth howled like an animal as he drove his shield into Eros' chest, rather than using his sword. The tenth had no distinguishing feature for Eros to remember. Or so Eros thought. But the truth is that Eros stopped noticing these things. He stopped remembering what the men looked like and how they fought. Because to him they were his prey. And he, the predator.

It wasn’t until his one hundredth kill that Eros thought about the man he was killing. He had shining armour. The type of armour men dreamed of owning; those who wore this kind of protective gear were men of riches and fortune. But just because the armour was golden in the sun and sported fine jewels of turquoise and amber didn’t mean the soldier who wore it could defeat Eros. He was struck down like the rest, tumbling to the floor with a gaping hole in his neck and a sword lodged in his stomach. Eros wouldn’t have thought anything of killing this man if it wasn’t for the eerie silence that followed.

Eros looked up, his gaze heavy and warranted on the still soldiers that surrounded him. Every one of them was as still as the statues of Gods watching them from the palace above. Swords clattered to the floor, arrows stopped flying through the air, the screams of the dying faded away. Through the crowd of men huddled around him came a burly man, one seven feet tall and built like an ox. He sported the purple crest on his chest, like any other soldier fighting for the Queen. But his logo was greater, stronger, more dazzled in jewels. And his face was recognisable. Eros had seen him in meetings and speeches. It was the face of the Queen’s son, the heir to the throne. Up close he was hard to recognise, but Eros knew in his heart who it was.

“What is your name?” The beast of a man demanded.

“Eros.”

The Prince looked down at the corpse of the King’s son and laughed. Laughed. He knelt down, pulling the sword out from the man’s body. Blood cascaded outwards, pouring from the wound and dripping from Eros' sword. Before a moment had passed, Eros once again held the weapon his own father had crafted for him. His eyes made contact with the blood. The blood of royalty. The blood of a once future king.

The ground shook beneath them. An aggressive rumbling shouted from behind. Men’s heads turned, their mouths agape. Stone crumbled and rolled down from the palace that had loomed over this battle… this war. The statue of a woman, curved and unforgiving, shifted. She lifted her arms into the blue sky, causing a crackle of thunder and an unexpected flash of lightning. Droplets of rain flew down from the heavens. Her solemn face looked over the soldiers from both sides of this war. Eros stared into the smooth stone that formed her eyes. He lingered over the cracks that trembled over her soft, porcelain features. She appeared so delicate, yet her actions were powerful. Domineering.

The woods that sat to the left of the palace began to change. The trees rose taller, reaching up towards the grey clouds. Viridescent leaves multiplied, and vines wrapped themselves around the thick bark that made up the forest. The grass they stood on soaked up the blood and swallowed the dead and dying into the earth. Flowers bloomed where they laid. With a flick of the woman’s fingers, the whole natural world around them altered, changing in front of the men’s very eyes. All the soldiers could do was stand and stare.

Fire soared into the air as the rain stopped pouring and the sky opened up to allow Heaven to stream golden light down to earth. The flames were controlled and celebratory, as wooden sticks lit the way up towards the palace that the Queen’s army was now to take over. As the law states, once the heir has been killed in battle, it is the murderer who wins. Eros could swear he saw the stone statue smile, but after he blinked, her face was straighter than before..

Eros could hear waves crashing around him. But there was no sea for miles. He spun on his heels, and so did the men around him. They were looking for something that was not there. The living statue’s fluid movements in the air made her appear so graceful and kind, while she celebrated through causing the changes around her. In the distance, miles and miles North across the grassy, flat plain, the fighters could see waves of water circle in the sky before crashing down once again. She had control of everything, with her connection to the natural world. She was the God of Nature, the God of everything natural. And war was the most unnatural thing. But now, it was over. She could let her cracked, stone surface lie down once again and be a statue once more.

No longer was Eros one of the faceless soldiers that followed his Queen blindly. No longer was he a forgettable man, a man with no name. Because around him, the men yelled his title in unison. They held his name in their coarse voices, and Eros watched them in confusion. In awe. In amazement. He was now known. And his name would go down in history for ending this war.

This is where the story of Eros began. From this day, he will be remembered.

About The Author:

Chloe D'Inverno is the Founder and Editor-in-chief of Everywhere Publication. She created this online blog to create a community for writers, so she could share their work as well as her own. Working full-time in marketing, this is a side project of hers. In her spare time, she loves to read and write (and work on Everywhere Publication!).