Ares' power begins to grow.
Slowly at first—
then violently.
He cuts through the goblins one by one.
Steel meets flesh.
Bone cracks.
Blood sprays in hot arcs across his skin.
One falls.
Another loses its head.
A third is split from shoulder to hip.
But it changes nothing.
For every goblin that dies—
two more crawl over its corpse.
Then five more.
Then ten.
They pour over him like a living tide.
Endless.
A crude blade hacks into his side.
A jagged spear punches through his shoulder.
Rust-coated metal scrapes against bone.
He does not flinch.
He only guards what would kill him.
A throat strike.
A stab toward his heart.
Anything else—
he lets it land.
Pain becomes background noise.
He keeps moving.
He rips a blade free from his own flesh—
and drives it through a goblin's skull.
He tears another apart with raw force, splitting its jaw open as it screams.
They climb him.
Latch onto his arms.
His legs.
His back.
He slams himself into the ground—
crushing them beneath his own weight.
Then rises again.
Higher now.
Standing atop a mound of corpses.
The ground beneath him is no longer earth—
but meat.
Bone.
Blood turned to mud.
Still—
they come.
Their numbers do not shrink.
It is not a battle.
It is consumption.
And Ares—
is being devoured.
Not by teeth—
but by war itself.
His mind begins to slip.
The bloodlust returns.
Heavier than before.
Thicker.
Hungrier.
It wraps around his thoughts.
Whispers.
Pushes.
Rage answers it.
Not controlled.
Not measured.
Pure.
He feels himself losing the edge—
the part of him that still chooses.
But he resists.
Barely.
He forces one thought forward—
again and again.
Find them.
Aphrodite.
Ignis.
Find them before it's too late.
So he moves.
Every step forward is carved through bodies.
He no longer fights to survive.
He fights to advance.
Weapons remain buried in him.
A spear lodged through his side.
A blade stuck between his ribs.
He leaves them there.
His body adapts around them.
Moves with them.
Ignores them.
Then—
he sees it.
A deep cavern.
From its mouth—
goblins flood outward.
Screaming.
Howling.
An endless source.
Inside—
Aphrodite kneels beside a wounded woman, her hands glowing as she heals torn flesh.
The woman is pregnant.
Weak.
Barely present.
"How long have you been here?" Aphrodite asks. "Is it always this… empty?"
The woman's voice trembles.
"I… don't know…"
Her eyes drift.
"…No… they're always here… always moving…"
A shaky breath.
"…but today… they all rushed out…"
Aphrodite's expression softens.
A quiet certainty settles in her chest.
Ares.
Back in the cavern—
Ares enters.
He looks feral.
His body torn open in places.
Blood running freely.
And yet—
he grins.
Not human.
Not restrained.
He shouts as he fights.
Laughs between strikes.
His voice echoes off the cavern walls like something unchained.
He cleaves through a cluster of goblins—
their bodies folding around his blade.
Another lunges—
he catches it mid-air—
and slams it into the ground so hard its spine snaps audibly.
He moves faster now.
The bloodlust surges.
It takes him.
For a moment—
he is gone.
Nothing remains but violence.
Then—
a flicker.
Aphrodite.
Her face.
Calm.
Kind.
It cuts through the storm.
Just enough.
He falters.
And is punished.
A blade drives into him.
Deep.
Another follows.
He grits his teeth—
and tears them free along with the goblins holding them.
He kills them without pause.
And continues forward.
The cavern expands endlessly.
Walls carved by time.
Floors layered with bones.
A kingdom beneath the earth.
Then—
he sees them.
Bodies.
Women.
Still.
Broken.
Their forms tell everything.
Bruised.
Torn.
Used until nothing remained.
Ares stops.
For one second.
Then—
something inside him fractures.
Rage erupts.
Not the cold, controlled fury of battle—
but something deeper.
Something raw.
This—
was meant for Aphrodite.
For Ignis.
His breathing changes.
Slows.
Then deepens.
His grip tightens.
And when he moves again—
It is different.
He is faster.
Stronger.
Every strike now carries intent.
Limbs fly.
Heads roll.
Bodies collapse before they even register pain.
He is no longer fighting.
He is erasing.
Inside the cell—
Ignis jolts awake.
Her eyes sharpen instantly.
She hears it.
Not just fighting—
but slaughter.
She looks toward the cavern.
"…He's here."
Aphrodite looks up.
They understand.
Relief floods them both.
They smile—
and embrace.
Around them, the other women watch, confused.
Afraid.
Aphrodite turns gently.
"…It's alright."
"You're going to be saved."
Then—
the battle reaches them.
The walls shake.
Bodies slam against the cell.
Goblins crash into it, crushed by unseen force.
But the structure holds.
And then—
they see him.
Ares.
Walking through the swarm.
Not untouched—
but unstoppable.
Weapons pierce him from every angle.
A spear through his side.
Blades buried in his arms.
Claws tearing at his back.
He ignores all of it.
He moves through them—
like a blade through water.
Every step leaves bodies behind.
He is covered in blood.
Not all of it his own.
His eyes—
empty.
Cold.
And yet—
burning.
The goblins throw themselves at him in waves.
Screaming.
Desperate.
It does not matter.
They are too slow now.
Too weak.
He cuts them down faster than they can reach him.
The pile of corpses grows.
Higher.
Wider.
The cavern fills with the sound of tearing flesh and breaking bone.
Ares stands alone—
at the center of it.
And the slaughter—
does not stop.