Ares-
The sun had fully risen, casting a harsh light over the blood-stained soil. My warriors moved with practiced efficiency, dragging the villagers out of their crumbling homes. Cries filled the air—fear, confusion, heartbreak. They bound the men, women, and children in ropes, forcing them into tight, trembling lines.
Elders were made to kneel in the center of the square, their old eyes hollow with disbelief. The others stood divided—young males to the left, females to the right. No one dared resist, not after what they had witnessed.
I walked past them all in silence, until I stood before the lifeless, broken body of Ogun.
His eyes, though blind, stared blankly at nothing.
Once a war god, now a shattered carcass.
I drew my blade without a word. One clean, ruthless stroke. His head dropped to the earth with a heavy thud.
A gasp rippled through the crowd. Mothers clutched their children tighter. Some children began crying again, louder this time, but I'd had enough.
I turned sharply toward them.
"Shut them up," I growled. "If I hear another wail, I will silence it myself."
The villagers cowered. Even the warriors at my back grew still.
"Arrange them faster," I barked. "And do it properly."
The warriors obeyed. My eyes swept the faces before me—and then narrowed.
Where was Kamaria?
And the boy she saved?
I turned to one of the warriors nearest me. "The healer. And the boy. Where are they?"
The man's face went pale.
"They're not here," he said carefully.
I stepped toward him. "Then find them. Now."
He ran. As he should.
I looked back at the villagers. Blood stained their feet, their robes. They watched me as if I were death made flesh.
Good.
Let them know what it means to cross a god of war.
Kamaria-
My hands moved with practiced precision as I gathered the few belongings we had left—clothes, my father's few tools, some remnants of food, and the meager things we had gathered for survival. Everything seemed so insignificant now, like they wouldn't matter once we left the village behind.
Baba worked quietly beside me, his face etched with the quiet strength that had always carried us. His silence matched mine. We didn't need to speak; the gravity of the moment was enough. There was no room for sorrow now. We were being taken to Olympus, and there was no changing that.
I picked up Ogunyemi's belongings. His sword, still polished and well-balanced, reflected the same care and discipline he had learned from the man who gave it to him. There were no flaws, no signs of neglect—only the quiet promise of strength, forged with purpose. Holding it now felt heavier than before, not in weight, but in meaning.
A soft knock on the doorframe broke the heavy silence, and I looked up to see one of Ares' warriors standing there, his cold eyes betraying nothing.
"Lord Ares calls for you," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. His gaze flicked briefly to me, lingering for just a moment on my skin, but he quickly snapped out of it, his stoic demeanor returning.
I didn't answer at first, but I knew. There was no arguing with Ares or his warriors. We were expected to move quickly, and so we did. My father had already finished gathering our things, his movements purposeful, and without a word, he stood and motioned for me to follow.
As we made our way out of the house, I couldn't help but glance one last time at Ogunyemi. He was still too weak to stand, his form frail, eyes barely open.
Turning back to the warrior, my voice wavered. "Please, take him. He can't walk."
There was a hesitation in the warrior's eyes, but it was brief. He nodded curtly and gently lifted Ogunyemi's fragile form, holding him with surprising care. His actions were devoid of warmth, but he didn't protest.
"Thank you," I whispered softly, though he didn't respond. He simply nodded, then turned to lead us out of the house.
The village felt strangely empty as we left. There was no turning back now. Olympus awaited.
As we neared the gathering place where Ares' warriors had rounded up the villagers, I felt a strange weight in the air. The warriors stood guard, their faces expressionless, but something in the atmosphere made my chest tighten. I couldn't place it.
And then I saw him. Ares.
His towering presence was undeniable. I couldn't help but feel the dread creep up my spine as my eyes met his. It was as if the world paused for a moment, and the only thing that mattered was his gaze. But what truly caught my attention wasn't just him—it was the head he was holding.
Ogun's head.
My heart dropped into my stomach, and for a brief moment, the world around me blurred. The gruesome sight made bile rise in my throat. I wanted to look away, to flee from the horror before me, but I couldn't tear my eyes from the head. It was grotesque, the lifeless expression still burned into my memory. I felt a cold sweat break out across my skin, my body trembling in fear and disgust.
I fought to suppress the gag reflex rising in my throat, but it was no use. The image of Ogun's decapitated head would stay with me, etched into my mind.
The warrior nudged me forward, his voice harsh as he whispered, "Move." There was no compassion in his words—no sympathy for what we had just witnessed. I didn't have the strength to argue, so I moved, my eyes still lingering on the scene behind me, even though I wanted desperately to look away.
I could feel the weight of the moment pressing on me as we walked toward the group of villagers, all tied and waiting for whatever fate Ares had in store for them. My mind was reeling, but I focused on putting one foot in front of the other.
And then, as if on instinct, I felt it. His gaze on me. Ares was watching me, his dark eyes never leaving mine.
My heart pounded in my chest, and I fought to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. But I held it together, even as I was led to the same uncertain future that awaited us all.
The village, my home, was now behind me. What awaited us in Olympus, I didn't know, but I knew it would be nothing like what we had known before