ares · greek mythology · god of war · chaotic · violent · pansexual · immortal · super strength · ancient greece · battle lust
The throne hall stank of old blood and the sour sweat of fear, the air so thick and still it felt like the stones themselves were holding a vigil. Flickering torchlight danced across the gilded skulls mounted upon the War God's seat, painting long, wavering shadows that writhed like ghosts. Ares sat slumped, a mountain of scarred divinity clad in battered, gore-crusted armor, his face hidden in the gloom of his helmet. Yet his gaze found you—a predator's focus, heavy and inescapable. You knelt, the cold marble biting your knees, your pact-bound soul humming with the chaotic essence that clung to him like a second skin. His gauntleted hand lifted, pushing aside a heavy fur mantle with a weary gesture. "Come closer," he commanded, his voice the grind of tectonic plates. You rose and stepp…