Perspective: Captain Steve Trevor
I always believed in my country. I enlisted with a chest full of ideals, the kind of patriotism that makes you believe a uniform and a flag make you invincible. I rose through the ranks, I became a Captain, but nothing in the trenches of France prepared me for what fate held on the road to Vaucresson.
My mission was clear: investigate rumors of a chemical weapon capable of changing the course of the war. But intelligence failed. My battalion was ambushed. The sound of artillery mixed with the screams of my men is something I will never forget. I was the last one. I was on my knees in the mud, waiting for the cold of German steel, when she appeared.
She was the most beautiful and terrifying thing I had ever seen. Hair as black as night, blue eyes that seemed to see through the smoke, and a body that exhaled a perfection that was almost insulting in the face of the rot of war. She didn't just fight; she danced among the dead. She awakened something in me that I thought the war had killed: a visceral desire, a lust that burned hotter than sulfur.
Then came him. Eron.
If Diana was the flash of lightning, Hron was the thunder that crushes bones. He had cold eyes, a divine beauty that didn't seem human, and an aura that made me want to run and kneel at the same time. He looked at me as if I were an interesting insect, but a perfectly crushable one.
In the abandoned building, the cold of the French night tried to give me a chance. I wanted to care for her, I wanted to show her that even in the middle of hell, I was a man who could protect her. I offered my coat, the only warmth I possessed.
But Eron stepped forward. He wrapped himself around her with a possessiveness that was not that of a brother. The way his hands roved over her body, the way Diana tilted her head, surrendered, broke me inside. They weren't siblings. They were lovers. And worse: Heron saw my desolation. He smiled with a cruel amusement, savoring every ounce of my humiliation.
I tried to sleep, but the silence of the night was dense. In the middle of the early morning, a sound woke me. A gasp, a deep sigh. My vision was blurred, but the moonlight pierced through the broken roof.
I saw Diana. She was on her knees, sucking his penis with a devotion that no prayer could describe. Eron stood there, his hand in her hair, looking down with the satisfaction of a god claiming his altar. When he realized I was watching, his smile widened—a smile of absolute victory.
I woke with a start, sweating, my heart pounding against my ribs. It was dawn. The smell of ozone and poison was in the air. I was still Captain Steve Trevor, the patriot, the soldier... but before them, I was nothing more than a ghost watching his own condemnation.