CHAPTER 97: "DON’T CALL ME THAT,"

Mount Olympus — Throne Hall

The marble doors flew open like they were kicked by a storm.

Not pushed. Not knocked.

Blown.

The entire palace trembled as a shockwave cracked through the columns, knocking over silver vases and shattering crystal decanters. The guards outside didn’t even have time to react. They were on the floor before they saw him.

Ares.

His eyes were wild, glowing crimson, and black cracks pulsed from his neck down to his wrists like veins filled with magma. His armor was only half-buckled, his breathing loud—unnatural. Like something else was breathing with him.

Inside the throne room, Zeus looked up slowly.

He sat on his high seat, flanked by gods from other realms—Thoth from Egypt, Tsukuyomi from Japan, Odin from the north. They had come to speak of balance between pantheons.

Now they watched the God of War storm the sacred floor like a beast off its leash.

"Ares?" Zeus’s voice was calm, but sharp. "What is the meaning of this?"

Ares didn’t answer.

He marched forward, each step leaving a faint black burn on the white marble. His hand gripped the divine blade he stole from the Forge—Diosbane. A weapon not meant for use. Not since the Titan War.

Zeus stood.

The sky above Olympus shifted. Thunder rumbled softly. Wind gathered.

"I asked you a question," Zeus said. "Stand down."

Ares didn’t stop.

Odin narrowed one eye. Tsukuyomi’s fingers twitched toward his blade. Thoth leaned back, eyes calculating.

Then Ares moved.

Fast.

Too fast for words.

He leapt—straight at Zeus, sword raised, scream raw and vicious.

Zeus reacted at the last second. Lightning flashed and slammed into Ares midair, blasting him sideways into a column. The entire structure cracked, sending shards flying as he hit the ground.

Ares rolled, coughed blood, and grinned.

"You don’t get to act innocent," he spat, eyes wild. "You think I didn’t see it?"

Zeus’s expression didn’t change. "See what?"

"You and her." Ares stepped forward again, dragging the blade behind him. Sparks screamed against the marble. "You touched her."

Realization passed through Zeus’s eyes like a flicker.

Then he sighed.

"I did not."

"Liar!"

Ares lunged again, this time faster, sword slicing through the air.

Zeus raised his hand and caught the blade.

Barehanded.

Sparks exploded. The divine metal burned against Zeus’s palm, but he didn’t flinch. His other hand came down like judgment—BOOM!—and drove Ares into the floor with a single punch.

A crater formed.

Gods stood from their seats.

Ares lay there—twitching—then shoved himself up, blood dripping from his mouth. His pupils were no longer round.

They had turned to slits.

"You’re still holding back," he growled.

Zeus looked down at him, calm but stern. "Because you’re still my son."

That made Ares laugh.

It was ugly. Bitter. Twisted.

He stood, and for a moment, the cracks in his skin widened. Something was glowing underneath—black fire. It didn’t flicker like normal flame. It pulsed. Alive.

"Don’t call me that," he hissed.

Then he vanished.

Zeus barely tilted his head—CRACK!—as Ares reappeared behind him, slashing upward.

Lightning answered. Zeus’s body blurred into light, teleporting mid-strike. He reformed above the hall, hand raised to the storm.

BOOM.

A hundred thunderbolts fell at once, ripping through the chamber, blasting marble, shaking Olympus to its core. Ares shielded himself with his sword, but he was flung across the room like a meteor, crashing through a pillar and skidding down the stairs below the thrones.

And yet... he laughed again.

Stronger.

Faster.

The smoke around his body grew darker. His aura warped the space around him. He stood again, eyes glowing like eclipses.

Tartarus was watching now.

Zeus landed in front of the thrones, facing his son.

"You’re not thinking," Zeus said. "You’re being pulled."

"I’m seeing clearly for the first time."

"No," Zeus’s voice thundered. "You’re losing yourself."

Ares charged again—slower this time, but heavier. The blade swung down like it wanted to split Olympus in half.

Zeus caught it with both hands.

The impact cracked the steps, sent gusts flying through the hall. The other gods were shielding themselves now. The sky overhead turned red.

Ares roared and pushed harder.

Zeus pushed back—then kicked Ares square in the chest, sending him crashing into the sacred altar.

But Ares didn’t stay down.

Not anymore.

His skin started to peel.

Not like flesh—like something underneath was trying to escape.

The black fire spilled from the cracks, wrapping around him. Wings—not real wings, but skeletal things made of shadow—started to grow from his back.

His voice dropped.

It wasn’t fully his.

"You kept me on a leash," he said, distorted. "You made me your sword—but never your heir."

Zeus’s eyes narrowed. "You were never meant to bear this."

"You gave me away."

That landed.

Zeus’s silence said it all.

"You let her take me to that pit," Ares snarled. "You knew. You knew."

The shadows surged.

And for the first time, Zeus’s stance shifted. His fists clenched. His divine aura expanded—massive, golden, pure. The air became heavy. The winds stopped. Even the gods behind him stepped back.

But Ares didn’t flinch.

He raised his sword again—and this time, it howled.

Zeus moved.

Faster than light.

He appeared behind Ares, grabbed his shoulder, and slammed him into the floor.

The entire palace shook.

The mountain groaned.

Blood sprayed across the altar.

But Ares still stood.

Bleeding. Laughing. Changing.

"Do you feel it?" he whispered. "He’s here."

Zeus’s eyes widened.

"No..."

Ares’s shadow stretched unnaturally behind him—taller, wider, breathing.

Chains slithered out from it like snakes, wrapping around Ares’s limbs, his waist, his throat.

He dropped the sword.

And laughed.

As Tartarus’s voice echoed through the hall:

"The war begins with blood. Let my wrath wear his name."

Ares’s body spasmed once.

Then stopped moving.

His eyes turned black.

Zeus took a step back.

"...Ares?"

But the thing that looked at him...

Wasn’t his son anymore.

A/N

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