Ares-
I stood at the edge of Ife-Ikoro, the ground beneath me firm, the air thick with the scent of earth and anticipation. I felt the pull of this place—the raw power it exuded. This wasn't just any battlefield. This was the land of warriors, of strength carved into the very bones of the earth.
I could feel it, the potential for something greater than I had ever encountered. This wasn't just a fight for Olympus—it was a fight for the very essence of power itself. And it was a challenge I couldn't afford to lose.
Ahead, the warriors of Ogun gathered, their eyes cold and determined. I could sense their resolve, each one of them as ready for battle as I was. But there was one in particular who stood out.
Ogun.
His presence was undeniable. Strong, solid, a force of nature that could bend the earth itself. I felt his energy before I even saw him—like a storm on the horizon, waiting to break. A mortal god, perhaps, but one who carried the weight of his people and the land itself.
A man stepped forward from his ranks, his face hardened with purpose, his eyes like steel. There was no fear in him, only a cold certainty that he had a message to deliver. The silence that fell over the field was thick, as though the very air was holding its breath.
"Ogun sends his regards," the man spoke, his voice firm. "He offers you a choice, Ares. Kneel before him. Apologize. Walk away, and you may leave this place in peace."
I laughed—a sound that rang out across the quiet. The audacity. Kneel before a mortal god? Apologize? It was unthinkable. There was no surrender in me, no retreat. I was Ares, the god of war. I did not bend.
"Tell Ogun that I don't kneel to anyone," I growled. "Least of all a mortal who thinks he can stand against me. I will fight him, and I will win."
The man's eyes didn't flinch, and neither did Ogun's warriors. They were used to this—a defiance that ran deep in their blood. But I was unshaken. They had made their challenge, and now they would face the consequences.
The man spoke again, the words a chilling promise. "Ogun says if you refuse, he will gladly bathe in your blood."
I felt a rush of excitement. Good. I wasn't here for peace or apologies. I was here for war, and I would carve my victory from the battlefield.
With a swift motion, I raised my sword high, the blade glinting in the sun. I turned to my warriors, shouting over the growing tension.
"Then it is settled! To battle!"
The charge was inevitable. My warriors surged forward, ready to tear through Ife-Ikoro, their blood hot with the fire of impending combat. But even in the heat of the moment, I couldn't shake the feeling that this would be more than just another battle. Ogun would be a challenge like no other, and I wanted to feel the force of his power, to prove that even a god of war could fall. But not by my hand.
…
The sun was swallowed by smoke.
It wasn't fire—no, not yet—but the churned-up dust, the blood sprayed from countless bodies, the war cries rising like funeral songs. It made the sky feel low, oppressive, as if even the heavens were watching this slaughter with bated breath.
I cut down a man who looked barely twenty. He swung wide. Rookie. Desperate. I buried my sword in his chest and twisted. His scream cracked halfway through, and I let him fall, faceless among the dead.
Another came. And another.
They fought like their souls were on the line. And maybe they were.
I took a cut to my side—deep, sharp, a kiss from someone who would never get a second chance. I turned and rammed my shoulder into him, slamming him to the dirt, then crushed his skull with the heel of my boot.
This war was a beast with a thousand heads, and every time I severed one, another snapped at my throat.
"Hold the flank!" I shouted. "Push them back!"
My men obeyed like hounds loosed from a leash. They drove forward, screams and chants and the clash of steel becoming one massive heartbeat. I fought beside them, not above them. I bled with them. Olympus had sent us as gods, but Ife-Ikoro reminded us what it meant to bleed like mortals.
I wiped blood from my eyes—mine? Someone else's? I couldn't tell.
Across the field, I saw a woman fall, her war cry morphing into a broken sob. She had been fierce—her blade struck one of my lieutenants down earlier—but now she bled from the throat, clawing at the red-soaked ground. A boy ran to her, crying out for "Mama."
He didn't make it.
I don't know which of my men ran him through. It didn't matter. This was war. War devours.
But even as I pressed forward, crushing skulls and severing limbs, something inside me shifted.
Not guilt.
Not mercy.
Just… a weight. A pressure deep in my chest, like I was walking into something even I couldn't define. Something ancient, older than Olympus.
Like the land itself was watching.
And it didn't want us here.
I saw it in the eyes of the Ife-Ikoro warriors too. They weren't just defending land. They were defending life. Not pride. Not politics. Spirit.
But I couldn't stop now.
Another swing. Another scream. My sword was heavy with blood. My lungs burned. My rage sang.
And still… I hadn't reached him.
Ogun.
He was a mountain in the distance of this chaos, and every time I stepped closer, the storm thickened. The air around him crackled—like the sound of chains dragging across stone. Like thunder rumbling beneath the skin of the earth.
The distance between us was closing.
But the earth wouldn't make it easy.
And neither would he.
I carved a path through the battlefield, every step soaked in blood, every breath a drag of heat and iron. The screams didn't stop. The ground shook with the charge of men, the crash of steel against shields, the thud of bodies hitting earth.
Then—
Something shifted.
A flicker. Not just in the air, but under it. Beneath the flesh of the world.
I paused. Just for a heartbeat.
And in that space between moments, I saw him.
A warrior I had cut down not ten minutes ago—a clean slice to the gut, he'd fallen clutching his intestines, gurgling his last. I knew that face. I remembered the blood pooling under him like dark wine.
He stood.
Not staggered. Not trembling like some broken reanimated thing.
He stood like nothing had happened. His back straight. His wounds gone.
And he wasn't alone.
Around him, more began to rise. Dozens. Then scores. Bodies that had been sprawled across the battlefield—stabbed, slashed, broken—lifted their heads, rolled to their knees, and stood up.
Their eyes… gods, their eyes.
They didn't glow. They didn't look possessed. That would've made sense.
They looked normal.
Calm.
As if death had been a short nap.
I took a step back. Not out of fear. No, never that. But confusion. Shock.
One of my men—a strong one, well-trained, favored by Apollo himself—charged at one of the risen.
He didn't last two seconds.
The dead warrior moved faster than before. Cleaner. More precise. His blade caught my soldier in the side of the neck, and the body dropped like meat, twitching.
"What is this?" I muttered.