The battlefield that had once been Olympus' sacred court now burned with chaos and broken stone.
Pillars lay shattered. The statues of the Muses lay decapitated. Once-golden domes were now split and crumbling, and rivers of divine ichor mixed with soot and dust, trickling through the cracks in the floor like the slow bleeding of Olympus itself.
Among the fallen columns, a crater lay freshly born, still hissing with smoke.
And in the middle of it, Ares stood up.
He groaned, cracking his neck and wiping blackened dust from his face. His armor was dented, and blood traced a line down his temple, but his grin never faded.
If anything, the pain only excited him.
The Giant who had slammed him into the ground loomed above, a brutish figure made of jagged obsidian and muscle, his massive fists still pulsing with energy.
Ares spat blood and chuckled.
"Before we do this properly," he said, rolling his shoulders, "Tell me your name."
The giant flinched, surprised.
