The battlefield had fallen into an uneasy stillness. Smoke curled like ghostly fingers across the horizon, and the stench of blood and fire hung thick in the air. The scattered soldiers stared at Arion, their faces pale and eyes wide with a mix of terror, awe, and disbelief. Some clutched broken shields, others pressed trembling hands against their helmets, hoping to find protection that clearly did not exist.
One soldier whispered, voice barely audible: "Is he… really a man?"
A second voice muttered from behind a pile of rubble, "He… he's impossible. Everything… everything we know… it's wrong."
The commander, a grizzled veteran with scars running across his face, bellowed orders that sounded hollow even to his own ears. "Form ranks! Attack him together! Don't—" He stopped mid-shout as the ground beneath him subtly shifted, fissures splitting the earth where he stood. Panic flared in his eyes.
Arion's gaze swept across the terrified men, noting every twitch, every faltering breath, every hesitation. He observed their fear without judgment, neither cruel nor kind, merely curious. His power pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat, rippling through the air around him, and the soldiers felt it keenly—an invisible weight pressing down on their minds, testing them.
"Commander…" a young soldier whispered, voice quivering, "what do we do? He… he didn't even move to stop us before, and yet… we can't even think straight. It's like he's everywhere at once."
"Silence!" the commander shouted, though his voice lacked authority now. The earth cracked again beneath him, and he stumbled backward. He glanced at his men, panic flashing in his eyes. "Do… do not… do not let him see fear!"
Arion tilted his head slightly, noting the flustered reaction. A small smirk played at the corner of his lips, almost imperceptible. "Fear," he said softly, voice carrying effortlessly across the field, "is always louder than courage. And yet…"
Nearby, a soldier finally found his voice, though it shook violently. "What… what is he? Some cursed demon?"
Arion's eyes narrowed faintly, sharp as a blade. "Neither curse nor demon," he replied, voice calm but heavy with weight. "I am… something else. Something beyond your comprehension."
The soldiers exchanged terrified glances. Murmurs rose, almost blending with the crackle of distant fires. "He's… he's a god…"
"No," muttered another, voice trembling. "Gods… gods don't move like that… they don't… they can't…"
The commander's face twisted with rage and disbelief. "Enough of this nonsense!" he barked, though the bark held no power. "Form a line! If we die, we die together!"
Arion lifted a hand slightly, and the world seemed to respond. Stones shook, dust fell from ruined walls, and an invisible pressure pressed against the soldiers' chests. They stumbled instinctively, their formation breaking apart even as they tried to obey.
One of the braver soldiers shouted, attempting defiance: "You… you will not—"
His words caught in his throat. A subtle vibration of Arion's power seemed to freeze the sentence midair, leaving only disbelief in its wake. The man's eyes widened as he stumbled, tripping over the jagged rubble.
"Look at them," Arion murmured, almost to himself, watching the chaos ripple through the ranks. "They fight, yet they hesitate. They breathe, yet they tremble. Their fear is… deliciously clear."
Nearby, a young recruit whispered to his companion: "Do you think… he'll… he'll kill us?"
"I… I don't know," the companion replied, voice trembling. "I… I don't even think it matters anymore. Nothing matters… not against him."
Arion's attention flickered briefly toward a distant ruin where faint cries echoed. The sounds of the wounded and dying reached him, but they were muted, unimportant. His curiosity, however, lingered—there was life here, fragile and chaotic, and that was… interesting.
The commander's face turned red, veins bulging. "Attack him! Together! If we fall, we die with honor!"
"Honor," Arion repeated softly, almost a whisper. The word carried weight, but it felt alien here. He did not move toward them—not yet. The soldiers were not threats; they were observations, living reactions to his presence. Their fear, hesitation, and awe were notes in a pattern only he could read.
Another soldier whispered, barely audible: "I… I think he's judging us… seeing everything… knowing everything…"
Arion's gaze swept the battlefield again. Fleeing soldiers, trembling men, broken shields, and shattered swords—every detail was absorbed, cataloged, and analyzed by a mind that did not yet fully understand its own power.
Some soldiers ran, some froze, some collapsed entirely. The battlefield had become a theatre of disbelief, where the world itself seemed to bend around the one standing at its center.
A child's voice pierced the chaos from a nearby alley: "Who… who are you?"
Arion's eyes flickered toward the sound. Curiosity stirred faintly. The world was fragile, chaotic, and alive with small surprises. He considered the question for a long moment, then spoke softly, almost to himself: "I am… nothing… and yet, I am everything."
The soldiers, watching from a distance, shivered at the words. Their eyes—wide, terrified, and uncomprehending—followed him. They were not seeing a man, not seeing a god—they were seeing the awakening of something unbound.
And as the sun dipped lower, painting the ruins in blood-red light, one question lingered in the air, carried on the smoke and whispers: if even their eyes cannot measure him, how will they survive when he moves?