Third Person -
Ogun stood like a mountain at the edge of the battlefield, unmoved by the storm of blood and steel that raged before him. The clang of weapons, the screams of the dying, the crackling rhythm of war—it was the rhythm of his people, of his legacy. He had seen many battles. But this was different.
Ares was carving a path through his warriors.
Not with skill alone, but with sheer, unrelenting fury.
From the ridge, Ogun watched.
He watched as Ares drove his spear through the chest of a warrior blessed with earth magic. Watched as he twisted and hurled the man's body into another, toppling them both. When they rose again, headless—if they rose—Ares was already moving, faster than the eye could follow.
The moment the heads hit the dirt, the warriors fell for good.
Ares had discovered it. Beheading. A way to break the resurrection.
Ogun's grip on his blade tightened. His expression hardened. He didn't blink.
The battlefield was a red blur of chaos, but Ares was unmistakable—his presence a crack in the sky. Blood dripped from his hair. His armor was in tatters. He looked like death in motion.
Ares turned suddenly and threw his spear. It tore through two warriors at once.
Ogun's knuckles cracked.
He exhaled slowly, then stepped forward. One foot. Then another. His blade gleamed with old purpose as it slid from his back.
He was already moving.
And then—
"Baba!" Ogunyemi.
A voice cut through the noise.
Ogun paused and turned slightly.
His son scrambled toward him, soaked in blood that wasn't all his own. He slipped once, caught himself, and grabbed his father's arm. "You can't go in there," he said breathlessly. "He's not human—he's tearing through them like leaves!"
Ogun didn't look at him.
"He is not human," he said quietly. "But neither am I."
Ogunyemi stared at his father, wide-eyed. "Let me come with you—"
"No." Ogun finally turned. His voice was thunder wrapped in calm. "You lead. Hold the line. Protect our people. This—" his gaze cut toward Ares, who split another man in half "—this is mine."
Ogunyemi hesitated, muscles taut. His mouth opened, but no words came. He knew better.
Ogun nodded once and stepped forward.
The earth seemed to shift beneath his feet with each step, as though even the land recognized what walked upon it. He moved slowly, deliberately, each stride a death sentence written in iron.
Blood sprayed the air.
Bodies dropped.
And Ares, wild-eyed and grinning, turned toward the weight in the wind.
Ogun walked.
Toward the storm.
Toward the god of war.
And the world braced for the clash of gods.