A monster? Or a demon?

The chamber of Aeryn, the Goddess of Life, was a sanctuary unlike any other. A garden untouched by time, where golden petals floated endlessly in the air, carried by an eternal breeze.
The ground was soft with moss, and a great silver tree stood at the center, its branches pulsing with the glow of countless souls—the records of all who had lived and died.
Tonight, Aeryn was restless.
She had spent centuries in peace, watching over mortals, guiding them toward the light. But now, as she scrolled through the records of the chosen…
Her hands were trembling.
Because one name should not exist.
Anomaly: Ares 
Aeryn’s delicate fingers hovered over the glowing script. The divine records listed every summoned mortal—their origins, their past lives, their souls’ journey.
Ares had none of these.
No summoning ritual.No past reincarnation in this world.No mark of divine selection.
He was a ghost.
Aeryn’s heart pounded. This wasn’t just an accident. This was deliberate.
Someone—or something—had placed him here.
“…Who are you?” she whispered, staring at his name.
Her instincts told her to dig deeper. To unravel this mystery before it was too late.
With a wave of her hand, she called upon the Tree of Souls, commanding it to reveal his past.
The golden branches trembled. A strange resistance pushed back against her command, as if something did not want to be seen.
Aeryn narrowed her eyes. “Show me.”
The air rippled. The petals surrounding her burned away, consumed by a force she had never felt before.
And then—
The past unfolded before her eyes.

A world shrouded in mist. A town bathed in the scent of blood and incense.
And in the center of it all—a man.
Draped in black robes, his silver eyes gleamed like a polished blade. He moved with the grace of a saint, but his hands were stained with sin.
Wherever he walked, people knelt.
Not out of love.
Out of fear.
His name was whispered in trembling voices.
Ares, the Saint of Suffering.
He was not a killer. He was not a tyrant.
But he was a man who believed in pain.
Justice, to him, was not about judgment—it was about making the wicked suffer until they understood their sins.
A liar’s mouth was not sealed shut—it was twisted until every word was agony.A thief’s hands were not chopped off—they were made useless, broken beyond repair.A traitor’s heart was not pierced by a blade—it was forced to beat in endless regret.
The people called him a savior.
The innocent prayed to him. The guilty feared his shadow.
And the world—the world accepted him.
Until, one day…
The world turned against him.

The vision shattered. Aeryn gasped, stumbling back as if she had been burned.
Her body trembled. Not with fear.
With something deeper.
Dread.
Ares had not been a villain. Not in the traditional sense.
But he had been something far more dangerous.
A man who truly, deeply believed in what he did.
Aeryn had met cruel men before. She had seen warlords, tyrants, and monsters who reveled in destruction.
They were predictable.
But Ares?
Ares was different.
He did not torture out of joy. He did not break others for pleasure.
He did it because he thought it was right.
That… is the most terrifying kind of person.
Aeryn’s hands clenched into fists.
She had to say something.
Tell the other gods. Warn them.
But when she opened her mouth—
No words came out.
Her breath caught in her throat. An invisible force was choking her.
The divine laws—**the system itself—**was stopping her from speaking.
“…Why?” she whispered, barely able to breathe.
And then, she understood.
Someone—one of the gods—was protecting him.
One of them had erased his past from the records. One of them had ensured he would not be questioned.
And there was only one goddess who could do something like this.
Aeryn’s eyes darkened. Irkalla.

The next day, the chosen gathered in the grand arena.
The air was thick with tension. Today’s trial was simple in concept—but deadly in execution.
They would be subjected to the raw presence of the gods.
Some would collapse. Some would scream. Some would go mad.
The purpose?
To separate the weak from the strong.
The divine power would crush their souls, forcing them to endure the weight of the gods themselves.
Aeryn’s gaze found Ares among the crowd.
He stood there, calm. Unbothered.
As if he already knew.
As if he had already faced something far, far worse.
Aeryn bit her lip. “Will you survive this too, Ares?”
Or would this be the moment he finally remembered who he was?
Above them, the gods raised their hands.
And the trial began.
The divine presence descended like an unrelenting tide.
Mortals gasped, their knees buckling as the full weight of the gods' existence crushed them. Some screamed, clutching their heads as unseen forces tore at their minds. Others crumbled, their bodies convulsing as they collapsed beneath the overwhelming pressure.
Ares did not collapse.
But he felt it.
His body tensed. His breath came in slow, deliberate inhales as he clenched his fists.
Pain.
Suffocation.
It was as if the sky itself had turned into chains, wrapping around his limbs, his chest, his skull. His vision blurred, his skin prickled, and yet—he did not fall.
Instead, he listened.
The gods were not merely exerting their power. They were speaking.
Not with words, but with force. With authority. With existence itself.
Each god’s presence felt different.
Aeryn, the Goddess of Life, was like a warm but overwhelming flood—a presence that could drown or embrace.
Vhalzith, the God of Judgment, was heavy, suffocating—like iron chains binding the soul, demanding obedience.
And then, there was—
Irkalla.
Ares’s goddess.
The Goddess of Cruelty.
Her presence was sharp. Like a thousand needles pressing into flesh, promising pain not as punishment, but as play. It did not demand submission. It invited suffering.
Ares exhaled slowly, his body trembling.
He was at his limit.
His muscles screamed. His mind strained.
But then—
He heard them.
The other mortals. The survivors of past trials.
They were breaking.
Terror flooded the arena. Whimpers, prayers, desperate cries.
And as those emotions reached Ares—he devoured them.
The moment their fear touched him, it became his strength.
A ripple spread through his body. His pain dulled. His breathing steadied.
One by one, the weak fell.
And yet, Ares stood.
The gods noticed.
Eyes turned toward him.
Expressions shifted from amusement to curiosity.
Aeryn’s Suspicion 
The trial ended.
Aeryn watched Ares carefully.
He had endured longer than expected.
Not the longest—there were others who had lasted just as long.
But his method of survival was unnatural.
She had seen it in his expression—how his body was crumbling, how he should have collapsed, yet suddenly regained strength.
"That isn't normal," she whispered.
Her divine senses flickered, tracing back to the moment of his recovery. And what she found unnerved her.
He had absorbed their fear.
Not like a parasite. Not like a curse.
It was as if fear itself was fuel to him.
Aeryn's gaze flickered to Irkalla.
The Goddess of Cruelty was watching Ares with a pleased expression, a small smirk playing on her lips.
She knew.
She knew what he was.
Aeryn’s hands clenched into fists.
There was something deeply wrong with Ares.
And yet, for some reason—he fascinated her.

The air was still tense as the survivors recovered.
Some sat on the stone floor, clutching their heads. Others leaned against the pillars, breathing heavily, their minds still rattled from the overwhelming presence of the gods.
Ares, despite his endurance, was still shaking slightly. His fingers twitched. His breath was uneven.
And then—
A single blue butterfly fluttered past him.
It was a tiny thing. Delicate. Soft.
A stark contrast to everything in this place.
The gods noticed.
They did not speak, but they watched.
The mortals, still catching their breath, also turned their eyes toward him.
They expected him to crush it.
To hurt it. To test his power on something so fragile.
Instead—
Ares raised a hand, slowly.
His eyes softened, his usual smirk gone.
And then—he reached out.
Not to crush.
Not to harm.
To catch it.
The butterfly evaded him, fluttering just out of reach. Ares exhaled, then tried again, his fingers barely brushing against its tiny wings before it danced away once more.
A small chuckle escaped him.
A sound that did not belong to a monster.
The gods exchanged glances.
Vhalzith, the God of Judgment, narrowed his eyes.
Aeryn, the Goddess of Life, furrowed her brows.
And Irkalla—
She simply grinned.
Ares continued reaching, his expression almost… childish. He was focused entirely on the butterfly, as if it were the only thing that mattered.
The gods watched in silence.
And for the first time since his arrival—they felt doubt.
Could a man who admired something so delicate truly be evil?
Or…
Was he simply playing a different kind of game?
The butterfly landed briefly on his fingertip. Ares held his breath.
For a single moment—everything was quiet.
And then, the butterfly lifted its wings, taking flight once more.
Ares let it go.
A small smile tugged at his lips.
And the gods…
They didn’t know whether to feel relief—
Or deeper unease.