Ares moved first.
No hesitation. No warning.
He drove forward to meet Hercules again, axe forming mid-stride, the air tightening with intent—
And then—
Everything stopped.
Not the world.
Him.
Ares didn't see the moment it happened. One instant he was advancing, the next Hercules' hand had closed around him—absolute, unyielding. Fingers locked across his torso, crushing, lifting.
The ground vanished.
Ares was raised high overhead like something weightless.
Hercules' face twisted, something violent and ancient breaking through in his eyes. His grip tightened—
And kept tightening.
"I'll tear you apart…" Hercules growled, voice warped, barely human. "I'll split you open and bathe in your blood—"
The pressure surged.
Not just pain.
Rupture.
Ares felt it—his body beginning to give, bones threatening to fracture under raw force, his form pulled apart inch by inch. For a moment that stretched far longer than it should—
He could not move.
Could not counter.
Could not break free.
Helpless.
The realization didn't come as fear.
It came as something colder.
Something furious.
His thoughts sharpened violently, the distant sounds of war in his mind surging—louder, closer, crashing against him as if mocking the weakness in that single moment.
This is what it feels like.
To be helpless .
Below, Aphrodite's voice shattered the stillness. "Ares!"
Ignis didn't hesitate. "Forget him—take the caster!"
They moved together.
Magic ignited.
Ignis' sigils snapped into place, a focused blast tearing toward the cloaked magician. Aphrodite followed, roots erupting from the ground, lashing forward with desperate precision.
The pressure forced a response.
And Hercules reacted instantly.
Ares was dropped.
Not released.
Discarded.
Hercules turned mid-motion, slamming down between the girls and the caster, absorbing their magic, protecting the source of control without a second thought.
Ares hit the ground hard.
The impact cracked stone.
For half a second—
He didn't move.
The pressure still lingered in his body. The memory of it—of being held, of being unable to respond—dug into him deeper than any wound.
Then—
He stood.
Slowly.
His breathing changed.
heavier.
Colder .
He looked as a mad dog.
something beneath had shifted.
His head lowered slightly, eyes shadowed.
That moment—being lifted, nearly torn apart—did not leave him.
It settled.
And turned.
A weapon formed in his hand.
This time, it felt different.
He lifted his gaze.
Cold.
Focused.
Hungry.
He moved.
Faster than before.
He closed the distance in an instant, Hercules barely turning back in time before the axe came down—clean, brutal, carving across his torso with a force that could not be ignored.
The sound of impact was heavy.
Final.
Hercules staggered.
For the first time—
He was pushed.
Ares didn't stop.
He stepped in, seized Hercules by the neck , and lifted him—one-handed, with a violence that matched what had just been done to him.
No hesitation.
No pause.
His fist drove forward.
The strike detonated on impact, sending Hercules flying through stone, debris erupting outward as his body tore across the room.
Ares followed immediately.
Relentless.
No space.
No recovery.
Behind them, Ignis exhaled sharply. "Now!"
With Hercules forced away, the opening was clear.
Ignis and Aphrodite surged forward together.
Magic layered over magic—binding threads locking into place, Aphrodite's growth magic reinforcing every hold, tightening, restricting, crushing the magician's ability to cast.
The cloaked figure struggled.
He Collapsed.
The spell broke.
—
The change was immediate.
The pressure vanished.
The tension snapped.
Across the academy, the aggression faded like a storm finally ending.
And in the room—
Hercules stopped.
His body went still, breath slowing, eyes clearing as awareness returned. He looked at Ares—at the damage, at the blood, at the aftermath of what he had nearly done.
"…so that's what it took," he muttered quietly.
Ares stood across from him.
Still.
Silent.
But that earlier moment lingered behind his eyes—the memory of being held, of being close to breaking.
It hadn't faded.
It had settled.
And it would not be forgotten.
Footsteps approached.
Achilles entered, gaze sweeping the destruction, the restrained magician, the two standing warriors at the center of it all.
"…again," he said under his breath.
Ignis crossed her arms. "We handled it."
Achilles nodded once. "You did."
He signaled, and others moved in to secure the caster.
As they passed, Hercules stepped forward slightly, rolling his shoulder, testing the wound Ares had left behind.
He looked at him.
A moment passed.
"…thanks," Hercules said. "For stopping me."
Ares met his gaze.
No pride.
No response beyond a single, quiet nod.
But his grip tightened slightly at his side.
Not from anger.
From memory.
The room settled into silence.
The fight was over.
But for Ares—
That moment of helplessness still lingered.
Sharp.
Unfinished.