"Achilles! I will return this armor that has already fused with my flesh to you. Take it and use it to deal with the War God.
Even Ares will have nothing more to say. Only when you don this armor again will you truly be the fleet-footed Achilles at your strongest!
When we meet again on the battlefield in the future, I shall inflict the whiplash of total defeat upon you while you are at your absolute peak!"
Night shouted this clearly, and then, facing the mottled sunlight filtering through the forest, he reached into the magma-colored edges of the glowing armor fused to his skin, plunging his fingers into the flash of heat and tore.
Blood and flesh split open as he began to forcibly rip the armor from his own body.
Achilles and the others stood frozen, staring in total shock.
Although it was too painful,
Night merely frowned slightly, maintaining his calm expression as he continued the work with cold, clinical precision.
It had to be said that the imagery of a self-sacrificing hero peeling armor from his own flesh is a scene that hits hard in any time or place.
Even in this Greek world, with its different social structures and customs, it remained a shockingly stylish and dramatic act.
Night only felt a twinge of regret that this wasn't happening in front of a massive crowd of heroes and gods, the "coolness factor" would have easily tripled if he had been performing this for a captive audience of the divine.
But a show like this was hard to pull off.
He could have done it on the battlefield, but that would have felt too intentional and out of character.
Any "cool" act, if it didn't feel natural and unfold at the perfect moment, would seem awkward, childish, or even cringe-inducing.
Just like Aizen in Bleach, every line was classic.
It was very cool when placed in those grand battles, but if two children holding wooden Zanpakuto shouted things like "Now I stand above the heavens."
That would truly be a black history scene that children could recall years later when grown up.
Or like "With one thought flowers bloom and I reign supreme, at the end of the immortal path who stands at the peak, all heavens and myriad realms are trampled under my feet,
I am the Heavenly Emperor who shall suppress all enemies!"
Two great emperors fighting to the edge of the universe, even the great dao erased!
In the end, all the above descriptions were just two elementary school students fighting.
No matter how domineering the lines, they would seem absurdly ridiculous and comical.
Back to the main topic...
The reason was sufficient, the behavior was reasonable!
When Night had finished speaking and truly begun to tear the armor from his skin, the blood flowed slowly, adorning his strong limbs and chest with a tragic, beautiful intensity.
The scene perfectly captured a hero too proud to take advantage of others, one who would endure gruesome, bloody flesh-tearing and give up a powerful divine artifact just for the sake of a friend's safety, displaying nothing more than a faint frown.
The impact of the visual was already intense, but when combined with Night's overwhelming mental strength and his ability to suppress pain, the display of sheer resilience created a crushing level of charisma.
Briseis covered her mouth with both hands, tears welling up in her eyes.
The sheer pain of watching it was more than her empathetic heart could bear.
And Night's handsome, silver-haired visage, paired with that blood-drenched chest and abdomen, was far too lethal a sight.
If Athena hadn't been in the form of an owl, he would have surely seen this ever-composed goddess lose her composure for the first time.
The owl's eyes were blank, staring intently at the man, completely unable to look away.
Achilles, of course, was the most affected of all.
Although he was not a homosexual, not a homosexual, not a homosexual, important things said three times.
But...
At this moment, he was the one with the most intense and violently fluctuating mood.
His mouth hung open as
Night finished the final tear.
The solidified blood and skin that had been ripped away transformed into the familiar, gleaming armor in a flash of light.
However, the patterns on the armor were now stained with streaks of crimson, making it look even more ancient and sacred, imbued with an old, mythological beauty.
Compared to its previous "Golden Saint" shine, the armor now held a restrained brilliance, no longer gaudy, but masculine, textured, and truly refined.
When Night handed the armor back and plunged the divine spear into the earth, Achilles stood rigid, unable to recover for a long time.
Seeing the blood at the tip of the spear and the gold-and-red armor, it seemed as though the weapon's power had been sublimated and made even stronger.
But thinking that the power had been fused with the blood of his friend, Achilles found the divine artifact in his hands to be unbearably heavy and scalding hot.
For the first time, he felt like a pathetic thief, even though he was holding his own possession.
It felt as if this armor had always belonged to that destined hero, and yet he, driven by jealousy, greed, and an inability to let go, had forced Night to endure this agony.
His pupils contracted and his body shook violently.
Infinite, dark emotions rose within him, a thick and complex sense of guilt and nausea.
'What... what have I done?!'
Even Night's final, domineering promise, that they would meet again and he would inflict the "whiplash of total defeat".could not immediately lift Achilles's spirits; instead, it left him even more dazed.
"I..." He swallowed hard, his throat feeling incredibly dry.
His usually confident, proud, and carefree soul couldn't even squeeze out a full sentence.
"Thank you!" he finally managed to say to Night, and then fell into silence.
Athena was moved. "Griffith—you!"
The owl's eyes locked onto Night with a burning intensity.
She flew silently onto his shoulder, landing close to him, and began to heal his wounds with her divine power.
She could no longer restrain her admiration and affection for this perfect hero.
The endless possibilities of humanity she had hoped to see, the noble spirit, the courage, the intellect, the martial prowess, and even his surprising musical talent, the more she learned about this hero, the more she realized that not a single soul in all of Greece could compare to him.
Even if there were one or two flowers similar in some aspects, they would be much inferior in other aspects.
Simply the ultimate rare among rares, with rare skin, plus mirror fragments, plus UR plus human rights card multiple rare overlays, the supreme hero!
Ah, Artemis, why was it not me who discovered Griffith before you?
This fate was really too unfair!
.
.
.
(End of the Chapter)