Pyrrhus awoke to silence.
No battle.
No blood.
Only the endless void of the afterlife.
Before him stood Rhea, the great mother of the gods.
"You sought to be Achilles," she murmured. "But did you ever live like a man?"
Pyrrhus clenched his fists. "I lived for war."
"And what did it bring you?"
His breath faltered. "Glory."
Rhea stepped forward. "No. It brought you nothing."
Pyrrhus, ever defiant, drew his sword.
Rhea sighed. "You will not fight me."
The mist swirled around him, his body turning cold.
His flesh hardened, his legs stiffened.
He gasped—but no sound came.
Rhea's voice was a whisper in the wind.
"You sought immortality, Pyrrhus. Now you shall have it."
And with that—the last warrior of Epirus turned to stone.