Ares kept his distance.
Not out of fear—out of calculation.
He circled Hercules, boots grinding against fractured stone, never letting the space collapse fully between them. Every instinct in him screamed to close the gap, to test strength against strength—but he suppressed it. That path led to defeat.
Across the arena, Apollo was in pursuit, flames licking at his heels as Aphrodite ran—her breath uneven, her voice breaking.
"Ares!"
He heard her.
Ares moved.
He broke from his pacing and surged forward, faster than before, crossing the arena in a blur. There was something unsettling in the way he ran now—focused, predatory. Apollo saw it.
And stopped.
For the first time, felt fear.
Ares leapt.
High.
Axe raised overhead, shadow swallowing the light as he came down toward Apollo—
—but midair, he was intercepted.
A violent collision.
Hercules crashed into him, forcing the strike wide.
"We're not done yet," Hercules growled.
Ares twisted midair, planting a foot into Hercules' chest and kicking off, creating space again before landing cleanly. No pause. No wasted motion.
He resumed.
Not brute force.
Precision.
His axe carved in tight, controlled arcs—small, deliberate cuts, each one placed to wear Hercules down piece by piece. A war of attrition. A dismantling.
But Ares did not forget Apollo.
A flick of his hand—
A massive hammer formed above.
It dropped without warning.
The impact echoed as it struck Apollo squarely, driving him into the ground and knocking him unconscious in a single decisive blow.
Aphrodite stumbled to a stop, turning back, relief flooding her face. "Thanks Ares!"
He didn't answer.
He was already moving again.
Back to the center.
Back to the fight.
Hercules met him head-on.
This time, there was no grin.
Only focus.
They clashed—and Hercules broke through.
A single punch.
Clean.
Devastating.
It drove into Ares' guard and through it, sending him skidding across the arena as blood spilled from his mouth.
Ares steadied himself.
Wiped the blood away.
And stepped forward again.
Across the field, Aphrodite reached Ignis, who was still locked in combat with Athena. Their battle was precise, controlled—magic against strategy.
Athena had not noticed.
That was her mistake.
Aphrodite struck the ground again.
Vines erupted—faster, thicker than before—wrapping around Athena's arms, legs, torso. They coiled and tightened, reinforced by layered growth, binding her before she could fully react.
This time—
She did not break free.
The crowd erupted.
Ignis exhaled sharply, glancing at Aphrodite. "…nice timing."
Aphrodite nodded, though her eyes were already shifting back toward the center.
Now—
Only those two remained.
Ares.
And Hercules.
The arena seemed quieter around them, as if everything else had fallen away.
The fight had gone on too long.
Hercules knew it.
He could feel it.
Ares was still getting faster.
Still getting sharper.
Each exchange left less room to breathe, less space to think. The strikes no longer came in single lines—they overlapped, layered, unpredictable.
It felt—
Wrong.
Like fighting more than one opponent.
Hercules exhaled once, steadying himself.
Then he saw it.
An opening.
Small.
But real.
He surged forward, arms wide, committing fully—aiming to trap Ares in a crushing hold, to end the movement, end the momentum—
But Ares was already gone.
A shift.
A step.
A disappearance.
Hercules' arms closed on empty space.
A cold edge touched his neck.
Behind him.
Ares stood there, axe poised, breath steady despite the blood and strain.
"Surrender," he said.
Silence.
Then—
Hercules exhaled.
"…yeah."
The tension broke.
Ares lowered the weapon.
Hercules turned slightly, a grin returning despite everything. "You didn't go all out, did you?"
Ares met his gaze. "Neither did you."
Then Hercules laughed—low, genuine. "Fair enough. Next time—no holding back."
Ares gave a slight nod.
Around them, the rest of the teams regrouped.
Athena was released, brushing off the remnants of the vines, her expression calm but thoughtful as she studied Ares again.
Apollo stirred, groaning slightly as he pushed himself up, casting a sideways glance toward the others.
Respect had replaced tension.
Not friendship.
But something close.
At the center of the arena, Achilles stepped forward once more.
His eyes moved across both teams.
Measured.
Evaluating.
Then he spoke.
"Match concluded."
A pause.
Then—
"Victory goes to Ares' team."
The arena erupted again.
But this time, it wasn't shock.
It was recognition.