“Hector –
whipping the fight and fire in each man like a huntsman
crying on his hounds, their white fangs flashing,
harrying savage game, some wild boar or lion –
so at Achaea's ranks he drove his fearless Trojans.”

Of these heroic souls now competing for Lucifer's hellish throne, many are connected.
Some through blood. Others knew each other in life. Some were lovers, even.
Nevertheless, no bond is profound as the one between Hector and Achilles.
And no hatred is purer.

For long years, they were enemies, the former guiding the Trojans, the latter assaulting
them.
Hector killed Achilles' lover, Patroclus. Achilles killed Hector, dragging his maimed
corpse behind his chariot, insulting his honor and the honor of his house.
Even after they both died, Achilles' blood continued to add insult to injury: Troy was
burning, women wailing and men dying protecting them, when Neoptolemus, Achilles'
son, ripped Hector's newborn baby away from his mother's hands and hurled him down
from the high walls of the city.

One cannot fight in the Nether. That place is too lifeless, too soft, like a vaguely
remembered dream. There is no hatred there, only a reminiscence of it, only a pale
shadow.
Had it not been so, Hector would have tormented Achilles' soul until he obtained the
vengeance he surely deserves.

The time has finally come. They both walk the fiery slopes of Hell now. This time, Hector
will prove to himself and his wife, loving Andromache, that he does not only surpass
Achilles in righteousness, but in strength too.
Once he becomes the Lord of Hell, he shall restore the beautiful city of Troy, and give his
son the future that the bloodied hands of the Achaeans have stolen from him.

Life

The first son of Priam and Hecuba and first among his sixty-seven brothers and eighteen
sisters, Hector was supposed to become the new king of Troy, inheriting the title of his
father.
Unfortunately, he had a brother, Paris, whose birth was greeted with ill omens and dark
prophecies. Unfortunately for the city of Troy, the one tasked with killing the infant was a
just and gentle man, who could not, as anyone with a shred of soul, kill the baby.

Paris grew up, living as a young shepherd, and his royal family thought him dead. Until he
won the favor of Aphrodite, and she granted him the hand of the most beautiful woman
on Earth, and Paris chose to take her hand, even though it had been given to someone
already: Menelaus, the belligerent king of Sparta.

Paris ran back to his family with Helen, his precious prize. They were both victims, and
both executioners, for their love ruined them and destroyed everything around them.
From their arrival, Troy began its course toward its doom.
Menelaus summoned his brother, Agamemnon, and he summoned his allies, relying on
every pact and every oath he could count on.

Many times, in the heat of battle, Hector proved himself. Always he showed to be the
strongest of the Trojans, respected among his and the enemy ranks alike.
Sometimes, he could not hide his hatred for his cowardly brother, but still he protected
him. The gods found him just and proud, and many sided with him, but to no avail.

His life ended the day he killed Patroclus. Oh, he went back to the soft arms of
Andromache and the cooing laughter of his son Astyanax that night, but his fate had been
chosen. Achilles came to claim his life, and not even the strongest of the Trojans could
win against him.
The city wept, when Hector fell. For everyone knew that it signified Troy's defeat.

Regalia

Hector was a simple mortal. He was brave enough and strong enough to challenge many
warriors blessed with divine blood, but he had no magically enchanted shield, and no
lethal bow.

The armor he wears now? It belonged to Achilles. Patroclus stole it from its rightful
owner to save the Greeks, and he stole it from Patroclus's body to fight against them.
He died in it two days later.
Somehow, it linked the armor to him. Is it a curse? Is it a blessing? Only Hector knows.