War is a beast that never tires. It does not sleep, does not yield, does not weep for the fallen. It stretches on, consuming everything in its wake. Days had passed, and still, the battlefield was soaked in blood and the wails of the dying. Divine essence clung to the air like a suffocating fog, thick with the power of gods clashing. I had seen enough war to know that it would not end today, nor tomorrow, nor in a thousand tomorrows. But this battle—this battle would be one to remember.
A roar shattered the cacophony of battle, a sound so guttural and raw that it sent tremors through the very earth beneath my feet. I turned, my gaze cutting across the battlefield, searching for the source. And then, through the thick trees, a figure emerged.
Ares.
The God of War stomped out of the forest, dragging the shattered remnants of his divine sword behind him, its fractured edge carving jagged scars into the soil. His aura pulsed around him, thick with the scent of battle—sweat, blood, rage. And yet, he was not alone.
Perched upon his shoulder was a woman.
She was unlike any I had seen before. Her presence did not just radiate divinity—it commanded it, shaped it, bent it to her will. She sat with an air of amusement, her legs crossed, one hand propped under her chin as she observed the battlefield with the eyes of someone who had seen too many wars to be impressed. A slow smile curled her lips as her gaze landed on Tyr.
Tyr, standing opposite them, let out a laugh, unshaken by the sheer force of Ares' entrance. He stood tall, clad in armor that shimmered with the light of celestial fire, his one hand gripping the hilt of his sword.
"You think you can best me?" Tyr asked, his voice filled with amusement rather than fear. His blade pulsed with divine energy, the embodiment of justice and honor.
The woman atop Ares' shoulder chuckled, the sound light, playful, but there was an edge to it—something sharp and dangerous hidden beneath the amusement. She leaned forward slightly, her gaze locking onto Tyr's.
"This is the man?" she asked, her voice rich with intrigue. "This is the god who believes himself to be the better warrior?"
Ares grinned, a savage thing full of teeth and bloodlust. "He is. And I'm going to break him."
The woman laughed, a sound that sent a chill down my spine, though I could not say why. "Then waste no more time. Let us crush him."
Ares let out a thunderous laugh that shook the heavens. As he did, the woman raised her hand, and the very air around them shifted. A surge of divine energy poured from her form, tendrils of pink-hued power weaving through the battlefield. It curled around Ares, latching onto him, sinking into his very being. And then—
His broken sword glowed as a new blade grew from where it was broken, though it was made of this pink light that ended the large sword with this crescent moon end. The blade was split in two, and in the center of the sword where a heart symbol was placed-
Wait, was that woman on my nephew's shoulder who I thought that she was? No there was no chance that she would have just shown up out of nowhere, when we were in the middle of a war!
Forged of pure, crackling divinity, it gleamed with an ethereal pink radiance. Ares rolled his shoulders, testing the weight of the blade before flashing a wicked grin. Tyr's expression shifted—not to fear, but to exhilaration.
"At last," Tyr said, summoning his own weapon—a colossal longsword, its edge glowing with the purity of divine justice. "Let us see who the true god of war is."
And then they clashed.
Their battle was unlike any I had witnessed before. It was not simply strength against strength, skill against skill. It was raw, unbridled carnage. Every blow sent shockwaves rippling across the battlefield, shaking the very foundations of the earth. Ares fought with the relentless fury of war itself, each strike of his blade carving through the air with a force that could sunder mountains. Tyr met him with unwavering discipline, his every move calculated, every parry executed with precision honed over eons.
The woman remained perched on Ares' shoulder for a time, watching with an amused expression, as though she were observing a performance. Then, as if growing bored, she rose, stepping lightly into the air as though it were solid ground. She moved toward Tyr, her presence alone warping the battlefield.
Tyr saw her approach but did not falter. "Who are you?" he demanded between swings, his voice steady even as he dueled Ares.
She merely tilted her head, smiling. "Does it matter?"
Then she moved.
Faster than sight, she appeared behind Tyr, her fingers brushing against his back. A surge of pink energy exploded upon contact, sending Tyr staggering forward. Ares seized the opening, driving his blade toward Tyr's exposed flank. But Tyr twisted, blocking the strike in the last possible moment, his feet carving trenches into the ground as he was pushed back.
I watched, my mind racing. Who was this woman?
Tyr's breath came harder now, his movements losing a fraction of their precision. The battle had become a storm, and Ares—empowered by the woman's divine touch—was the hurricane at its center. Every strike, every movement, pressed Tyr further and further back, forcing him onto the defensive.
Then, the inevitable happened.
Ares' sword crashed down, and this time, Tyr was too slow. The blade bit deep into his side, divine ichor spilling onto the ground. Tyr let out a sharp breath but did not fall. He raised his own sword once more, refusing to yield.
The woman sighed, almost disappointed. "You're stubborn. I admire that. But you've lost."
Tyr did not answer, merely charged again. But it was over.
Ares met his strike with terrifying speed, knocking the blade from his hands. The god of justice stumbled, for the first time looking uncertain. And in that moment, Ares struck the final blow. His divine blade slashed across Tyr's chest, sending him crashing into the dirt. The ground beneath him cracked, and for the first time in an eternity, Tyr did not rise.
Silence.
Then, Ares let out a triumphant roar, lifting his glowing blade high above his head. The woman clapped her hands together as though she had just witnessed an entertaining play.
I stepped from the shadows, the tendrils of darkness retreating as I emerged onto the battlefield. The sight before me was unexpected. Ares stood tall, dragging the remains of his once-broken divine sword behind him, its jagged edges glinting under the dim light. His crimson divinity burned like wildfire, but what truly caught my eye was the woman perched effortlessly on his broad shoulder, her radiant presence contrasting starkly with the brutality of our surroundings.
Ares turned, his grin widening as he spotted me. Without hesitation, he lowered his head in respect, offering a warrior's bow. The woman followed suit, albeit with an air of amusement that hinted at mischief.
"Well, well," I mused, my voice carrying over the dying battlefield. "I must admit, I am surprised, Ares. I half expected to find your remains scattered across the realm after your defeat."
Ares chuckled, his voice thick with unspent adrenaline. "You wound me, uncle. Did you really think I'd fall that easily?" He glanced at the woman beside him before gesturing lazily. "Allow me to introduce you to my savior. This is Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty."
My brow arched as I took in the woman before me. She was luminous, her golden curls cascading like silk, her presence both delicate and commanding. But beneath that beauty, I sensed something else—an undeniable force, one that went beyond mere allure. She was not a goddess of battle, yet something about her spoke of power far beyond mere aesthetics.
"And what," I asked, tilting my head, "is the goddess of love doing on a battlefield?"
Aphrodite smirked, slipping gracefully from Ares' shoulder. "Oh, I don't know, Lord Hades. Perhaps even war needs a touch of beauty." She eyed me with intrigue before continuing, "Ares happened upon me when he crashed near my shores. He was broken, bloodied, but not beaten. We spoke for some time, and I decided he deserved a second chance."
Ares scoffed, gripping the newly-formed weapon in his hands. "Second chance? More like a damn rebirth. Tyr shattered my sword, but Aphrodite—well, she gave me something new." He lifted the blade, the pink divinity pulsing through its core. It was unlike any weapon I had seen before, infused with something primal yet refined, a force that thrived on passion and emotion.
I let out a quiet chuckle, ruffling Ares' wild hair like I had when he was younger. "You did well, nephew. It takes more than brute strength to return from the edge of defeat." Ares grunted in response, but I could see the pride in his eyes.
"Come," I said, glancing over my shoulder. "The war is far from over."
As if summoned by my words, a war horn sounded in the distance, followed by the furious roar of Aesir warriors charging toward us. Ares grinned, his fingers tightening around his sword, while Aphrodite merely sighed, brushing dust from her ethereal garments.
"They never learn, do they?" she mused.
"No," I agreed, my own blade materializing in my grasp. "They do not."
The first wave of Aesir came like a flood, their weapons gleaming, their war cries shaking the battlefield. I stepped forward, my shadows coiling around me as I met their charge head-on. My sword cleaved through the first warrior, my flames reducing another to ash before he could even scream. Beside me, Ares fought with renewed vigor, his new weapon cutting through divine armor like parchment. Every strike was precise, every movement a dance of destruction.
Aphrodite, despite her lack of a weapon, was no mere spectator. With a single flick of her wrist, a pulse of divine energy rippled through the air, ensnaring warriors in a haze of enchantment. Their movements slowed, their minds clouded with an overwhelming sense of adoration. Some dropped their weapons entirely, sinking to their knees before her in worship, only for Ares to strike them down in their daze. Love, it seemed, was as much a weapon as any blade.
A warrior broke through the haze, his axe swinging toward Aphrodite's exposed back. I moved before thought, my shadows wrapping around his throat, lifting him into the air. He struggled, clawing at the darkness, but there was no escape. With a flick of my wrist, the shadows constricted, and he fell lifeless to the ground.
Aphrodite turned, her gaze meeting mine. "Chivalrous, are we?"
I shrugged. "Hardly. Just efficient."
More warriors came, their desperation evident as they threw themselves at us in waves. The battlefield became a symphony of chaos—Ares' laughter ringing out with every enemy he felled, Aphrodite's voice weaving through the fray like a melody, and my own silence, cold and unyielding, cutting through their ranks with merciless precision.
Hours passed. Perhaps days. Time was meaningless in the throes of war. But eventually, the battlefield grew quiet once more, the Aesir's forces retreating into the distance, their resolve shaken.
Ares let out a breath, rolling his shoulders. "That was fun."
Aphrodite dusted off her hands. "If you say so."
I sheath my sword, glancing at the remnants of the battle. "You both fought well. But do not grow complacent. Odin has yet to reveal his final hand."
Ares smirked. "Then let him come. I'm ready."
I exhaled, watching as the battlefield smoldered around us. "Enjoy your moment of victory, nephew. But be prepared. The true war has yet to begin."
With that, I stepped back into the shadows, my form dissolving into the darkness.