Ares stood in silence, watching the others. One by one, they escaped their trials.
Some stumbled, gasping for breath, their faces pale with exhaustion. Others barely moved, their minds still trapped in lingering fear. A few never got up at all.
The first to escape after Ares was the soldier, his body drenched in sweat, his fists clenched. He looked around, breathing heavily, before muttering, “Damn…”
Next was the office woman, her legs shaking as she collapsed onto the marble floor, whispering to herself, "It wasn’t real… It wasn’t real…"
The young girl followed soon after, her body trembling, tears streaming down her face. She flinched when she saw Ares, avoiding his gaze.
Then, the God of Order spoke.
“Enough.”
The remaining mortals snapped back to reality—except for the ones who had already crumbled.
Their eyes were open, but their spirits were broken. They stared blankly, unable to move. They had lost.
There were no punishments, no divine punishments from the gods. But it didn’t matter.
This was enough.
The hall was divided now. The ones who remained standing were strong. The ones who didn’t? Weak.
Ares smirked. He already knew which side he was on.
The God of War chuckled, his arms crossed. “That was fun. I wonder how many will last in the next trial.”
The Goddess of Mercy sighed, shaking her head. “This trial was to test their will. But some of them… were barely holding on.”
The Goddess of Wisdom adjusted her glasses, eyes sharp. “Most recovered in minutes. But him?” She gestured toward Ares. “He escaped in seconds.”
The God of Order remained silent, but his golden eyes flickered with interest.
Then, there was Irkalla.
She was still smiling, her crimson eyes locked onto Ares with a twisted kind of satisfaction. "Ah, my dear Ares… You were beautiful."
Ares barely reacted, simply giving her a glance before looking away. He didn’t need her praise.
What mattered was what came next.
The Second Trial: Battle of Power
The God of Order raised his hand. “Now begins the second trial. The Trial of Power.”
The moment the words left his mouth, the entire hall shifted again.
The marble floor cracked, splitting apart as massive stone pillars rose from the depths below. The Divine Hall transformed into an ancient coliseum.
Ares took a deep breath. So this was it.
The Trial of Power.
This time, it wasn’t about the mind.
It was about strength.
A voice echoed through the arena.
“Survive.”
And then—
The monsters appeared.
The divine arena trembled as the gates of war opened.
From the shadows, they emerged.
Not monsters. Not beasts.
But warriors.
The gods’ soldiers. The chosen of past eras.
Each one was a former champion, once like them—summoned by the gods, given divine power, and forged in battle. But they had survived.
And now, they were the enemy.
Ares’ smirk widened. “So that’s how it is.”
This wasn’t a trial.
This was a massacre.
The moment the trial began, the battlefield exploded into action.
The strongest of the newly summoned warriors rushed forward, their instincts screaming at them to fight. Swords clashed. Spells ignited the sky. Blood splattered against the ancient stone.
Ares?
He stood still, watching.
His eyes scanned the battlefield, observing how the gods’ warriors moved. Years of experience. Battle-hardened. Precise.
Compared to them, the newly summoned were nothing but prey.
A soldier rushed past him, roaring as he lunged toward another mortal. The fight was brutal. Fast. Within seconds, the mortal was on the ground, screaming.
Ares smiled.
He could feel it.
The suffering. The pain. The fear.
And as the mortal's agony reached its peak—
Ares’ power surged.
The Goddess of Cruelty whispered, her voice dripping with amusement. “Show them, Ares. Show them what suffering truly means.”
Ares lifted his hand.
The wounded mortal screamed louder.
The pain doubled. A small cut turned into a burning agony. His muscles spasmed, his nerves igniting in unbearable torment.
The gods' soldier, the one who had wounded him, stumbled back in shock.
He could see it—the way his opponent's injury was no longer just a wound. It was an execution.
The mortal collapsed, his body twitching.
Ares exhaled slowly, feeling his strength grow.
Their pain was his power.
And in this battlefield?
There was nothing but pain.
The battlefield slowed for just a second. The warriors near Ares took a step back.
The ones who saw what he did?
Their faces paled.
The God of War grinned. "Now that's a talent."
The Goddess of Mercy looked disgusted. "That power… it's vile."
The God of Order watched with intrigue. "He doesn't just hurt. He makes suffering inevitable."
And Irkalla?
She was laughing. "Oh, how lovely! You're truly my perfect champion."
Ares ignored them.
He moved forward, stepping over the fallen.
And as the next enemy rushed toward him, sword raised, Ares only smiled.
“Come.”
And so the true battle begins.
The moment Ares stepped forward, Irkalla’s voice echoed in his mind.
"You’ll need a proper tool for my kind of work."
A flash of black light shimmered in his hand, cold and unnatural.
A dagger.
But it was no ordinary blade. Its edge gleamed like liquid shadow, the surface rippling as if it was breathing. The handle fit perfectly in his grip, crafted for precision, for elegance—for cruelty.
Irkalla whispered, "Let them feel your touch, my dear Ares. Make them beg for an end that will never come."
Ares didn’t respond.
He simply moved.
The battlefield had become chaos—flames, steel, blood.
The warriors chosen by the gods clashed against the newly summoned mortals. The weak fell instantly. The strong struggled.
Ares?
He danced.
His dagger was light, almost weightless. It moved like an extension of his will—silent, swift, precise.
His first opponent was a towering knight, clad in golden armor, the sigil of the God of Justice burned into his chestplate. A veteran of countless wars.
The knight raised his greatsword, prepared to strike—
Too slow.
Ares stepped in, sidestepping the swing with unnatural grace. A single flick of his wrist.
The dagger barely grazed the knight’s arm.
A wound so small, so meaningless—
Until it wasn’t.
The knight froze. His breath hitched.
Then, he screamed.
The small cut on his arm turned into an inferno of pain. His nerves ignited, his muscles locking as agony overtook him. He collapsed onto one knee, clutching his arm as if it had been severed.
But the wound was still there—small, harmless. Yet, he felt as if his entire body was being torn apart.
Ares exhaled slowly, feeling his power surge once again.
More suffering. More strength.
This was his battlefield.
The other warriors hesitated now. They had seen what Ares had done. Fear spread like a disease
But fear wasn’t enough to stop war.
A second warrior rushed at him—a woman wielding twin daggers, a devotee of the Goddess of Shadows. She moved fast, flickering between the pillars of the arena, striking at Ares from the darkness.
Ares moved faster.
He turned, dodging her first attack by a breath, then twisting away from her second.
A flicker of his dagger.
A cut across her side.
She gasped—then collapsed, writhing. The pain multiplied. Twisting. Expanding. Devouring.
Her body convulsed, her eyes rolling back as she choked on her own agony.
Ares stepped over her, unfazed. "Next."
The battle raged on, but wherever Ares moved, the fight changed.
The warriors avoided him. They turned their weapons elsewhere, refusing to engage. They had seen what happened to those who did.
And the gods?
They watched in silence.
The God of War grinned. "A warrior who makes wounds meaningless? I like him."
The Goddess of Mercy covered her mouth. "He's a monster."
The God of Order was calculating. "He doesn't fight. He doesn't struggle. He simply... ends them."
And Irkalla?
She was ecstatic. "Ah, my beautiful Ares. My masterpiece."
By now, the battlefield was different.
The newly summoned warriors were dying.
The gods’ chosen warriors were winning.
Ares stood amidst it all, his dagger dripping with blood that was barely his own.
He exhaled, watching the carnage unfold.
The trial was far from over.
But he had already proven something.
He wasn’t prey.
He wasn’t even a warrior.
He was pain itself.
And there was nothing more beautiful than that.
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