Chapter Text
Moros looked over the battlefield. His form shifting in and out of focus and existence. Many men were meeting their fates on this day, and he watched over them all as they did.
The many Valkyries and Keres flocked, unseen by mortal eyes, over the scene. They each fulfilled their purpose with pleasure. The Keres laughed with glee as they dragged each damned soul away from their final resting place. The Keres passed like shadows through the blood pools and corpses. They contrasted the Valkyries in nearly every way, as the more benevolent beings glowed like moonbeams as they lifted the souls of the brave to a more exalted existence.
Everything was as it should be, and Moros was there to make sure it remained so.
Not a soul on, above, or beneath the earth dared go against Moros. He embodied all that was set and promised. To break with him was to unleash chaos. None dared risk it.
There was one Keres who was not as intent in her task. She picked through the dying like they were blossoms or fruit that she must choose only the best of. When she found a victim, she would attack with ferocity and animalistic force as she dragged them down. The screams of her victims rose above the noise, filling Moros’ ears and resonating in his ever shifting form.
Her dark hair fell from it’s loose braid in large curls around her face and shoulders. Her pale skin contrasted the dark blood that spattered over her as she walked among the bodies with the grace of a muse. Unlike the other Keres, this one did not wield a weapon. She seemed to prefer using her hands to tear apart those she deemed worthy of her wrath. Her physique was seemingly made for such activity. She was lithe and quick, yet strong and capable.
There was one moment when she, seeming to sense being watched, looked up and stared directly at Moros. Her eyes seemed to shine, vibrant green, before they turned back into a dark blue and she resumed her attack.
Moros was intrigued by this Keres.
No fate before had seemed so cruel. None so particular. He had seen them all, but this one struck within him like lightning from Zeus.
When the battle was over, and the barren field left desolate and blood-soaked, the counterpart warriors took their retreat. The Valkyries ascended to their home, and the Keres sank to theirs.
Moros would have to pay more attention in the future.
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Willow had never felt eyes on her before that day. As she selected those most worthy of a painful death, she knew she was being watched.
As she held the man who had killed many for no reason, holding him aloft with a hand, and a snarl on her lips, she turned to see who the spectator was.
Her eyes lit on a form of swirling darkness. She could see a shape in the midst of the black. A body of a man, she would have guessed. There were no eyes to be identified, but she knew it was they who watched her so raptly.
Her hair was too long. She wanted it to be shorter, but this was how to look as other Keres’. Maybe someday, she would have it shorter. As it was, the curls brushed against her cheeks and neck as she turned back to her victim and tore out his throat.
This man deserved everything she gave him as she shredded his flesh and ate his heart from his chest. His screams filled her ears and she devoured them as well. She dragged his soul down to hell and wished him the most miserable existence for the rest of eternity.
The eyes remained on her throughout the battle, and she ignored them. If she was to be reprimanded for not using a weapon, or for being slow to exact a fate, she would be told soon enough.
Blood splashed around her bare ankles as she maneuvered around the dead, searching for another who deserved her. She knew she was unusual in her methods. The others did not discriminate, simply taking those souls which were destined for Hades. They took an insurmountable amount of joy in their task, tearing flesh and spirit alike in their near frenzy.
No, Willow didn’t share in the tastes of the others. She did not delight in the shedding of undeserving blood. Those who had been cursed, or sold their souls on the behalf of a loved one, felt like innocents when she spilled their blood. She had once decided that only those truly worthy of it would fall into her hands. Those who were cruel to others of their own kind. Who chose injustice and wrongdoing over kindness.
As the battle commenced, Willow followed the other Keres’ down to Hades, glancing up a few times to watch as the Valkyries flew into the heavens. She had wondered what it might be like to have the task of finding those worthy of exaltation, but she found herself much more suited to the one she was assigned. She was inclined to righteous anger, which was much better for the task she had.
The eyes followed her until nothing could track her progress through the underworld.
She had never heard of anyone actually seeing Moros, but that was the only name she could think to give what had watched her that day. A figure of undetermined shape, radiating power and overseeing the countless deaths that occurred that day.
She had caught Doom’s eye, it seemed.
Perhaps she would have to tread more lightly.