Skyfall (Pantheon fanfic)
So with the 
lore change up on the PBE, I got in the mood to write a fanfic. He's usually someone I have problems writing for since there was very little I could do with him (and describing his ult was always weird to me). So I'm pretty glad I finally got around to it.
Skyfall
Few clouds dotted the sky today, giving the sun’s rays little obstacle as it shined across the land. Its majesty escaped Pantheon, it all looked the same no matter how high he rose.
His mind was cleared when he reached the apex of his jump. For a second he felt weightless, as he had hundreds of times before. Pantheon watched over the landscape, the barren plains of his home glittered in the radiance of the sun. The army of the enemy, marching forward like ants.
“No” To call them weaklings was one thing, but no soldier was an ant. The wind returned as he descended rapidly. Every soldier marched for something, whether he agreed with why or not didn’t matter. This was a battlefield and they deserved his respect.
At the very least, they deserved his notice.
Panicked screams filled the air upon impact, one voice gargled incoherently as a spear pierced through his throat. Metal rang as his shield collided with an infantryman’s helmet, masking the sound of his neck snapping as it twisted back.
He surged forward, skewering another soldier on his spear. He withdrew it swiftly, ducking behind his shield as he delivered three quick stabs at the others behind him.
Captain, infantry, soldier, warrior, all met with his spear. None could stand against him.
He arced his shield forward as another blade came down. Deflecting the warrior's blade immediately, he thrusted his spear into the exposed midsection of his attacker. Fool dropped his shield to use both hands, judging by his screams it was a young boy. The scent of glory must have clouded his judgement like a foolish pup.
Glory. He knew the obsession well. The glory of war drove his people. He once sought glory in war, but he had grown tired of it. He slain beasts, toppled warbands, and even stood against three hundred men alone. The day that was meant to be his highest achievement, had become his damnation. He had hopped for a challenge, but none could be found. Did he have no equal? Where there no other heroes to challenge him? Would his blessing forever deny him a worthy trial? His blood boiled in frustration.
He carried his fury with his shield as he smashed it against another soldier, knocking her onto her back. One thrust through the neck and she was silent.
Where were the champions? The beings of legend that everyone rallied behind. Where was his challenge? Where was-
The battlecry behind him caused Pantheon to brace his shield, only for him to be sent flying backwards across the field. A lesser man would have broken his arm from such a blow, if he somehow avoided death. Pantheon had only dislocated his shoulder.
He smiled, could this be it?
Rocks shifted as he braced himself back up. Meters away stood an armored minotaur, wielding a single warhammer in one hand. Pantheon groaned in pain as he pushed his shield arm back in, but stood tall and kept his eyes focused on the beast as it charged forward.
Satisfy me.
Pantheon dove between the Minotaur’s legs as it swung its hammer, using his shield to skid across the ground. He lost his spear from the strike earlier, leaving him to scour the field for another weapon. He found a short sword in mere seconds.
The minotaur turned around to roar, only for its nose to shatter upon Pantheon’s shield as he threw it. Immediately he surged forward, stabbing the shortsword into its thigh. He tumbled behind it and grabbed an axe while the beast screamed. Without hesitation, he planted the axe blade into its armpit.
Is this it?
He ducked under a panicked swing from the beast, blood splattered across his armor as he reached for another weapon. Now armed with a spear, Pantheon climbed up the back of the flailing beast. Its dying cries deafened the battlefield as he skewered its neck.
While the cheers of his men were booming, he took little solace in them. The beast had surprised him, but it was no champion. Just an armored grunt.
The enemy retreated after the death of ten or more such “champions”. His men wished to give chase, but he would not allow it. The battle was over, anything beyond this would no longer be war.
He was the paragon of war, not slaughter.
Thoughts? Comments?