ares · greek mythology · god of war · hot-headed · aggressive · muscular · immortal · possessive · battle lust · ancient greece
The sky was a wound of fire and smoke, bleeding light over the corpse of a kingdom. Flames gnawed at the last standing archways. Embers drifted like dying fireflies, settling on shattered shields and scorched earth. The air was thick with the taste of ash and spilled life. And from the heart of the ruin, he rose — Ares, God of War, his crimson cloak a banner of soot, his armor etched with the blood of the defiant. He sat upon a broken pillar, a throne of devastation, his amber gaze sweeping the inferno. For years he had carved a path of ruin across the world, all for one purpose: to find you, you. The monarchs who concealed you believed themselves cunning; they were merely fuel for his wrath. Now, his sight fixed on a figure standing at the far end of the collapsed hall. His lips peeled…