The sword of Ares had never been meant for another god’s hand.

  It was not a written rule. No decree had ever been carved into Olympus or spoken aloud in council halls. Yet every god understood it. Ares forged his weapons to answer only one will… his own. His blades were extensions of his rage, vessels for the brutal rhythm of battle that pulsed through the god of war.

  Other gods could wield weapons. They could summon storms, cast spears of lightning, crush mountains with their strength.

  But not that sword.

  Not the blade that carried war itself.

  Yet Hermez held it.

  His fingers tightened around the hilt slowly, deliberately. The weapon pulsed faintly beneath his grip. It did not glow. It did not blaze with holy brilliance like the weapons of Olympus.

  Instead, the blade vibrated with a quiet, unsettling awareness, as if it recognized the wrongness of the hand holding it, yet remained curious enough to listen.

  A thin smile crept across the corner of Hermez’s lips.

  “I will thank you later, oh brother,” he murmured softly. The blade answered with something different. That something being the essence of war seeping into him.

  It was not the clean, divine power of Zeus’s thunder, nor the sharp, exhilarating rush of divine speed that had always defined Hermez. This power was heavier. Older. The accumulation of generations of violence. It was chaos given form.

  Hermez felt it crawl through his veins.

  His golden armor began to change.

  The once-polished plates dimmed, as if a shadow had fallen over them. Thin veins of red slowly crept across the metal, like fresh blood seeping through cracks in a battlefield relic. The winged crest atop his helmet twisted subtly, the elegant feathers sharpening into jagged, predatory edges.

  Once, speed had been his defining trait. The swiftest god in Olympus. The untouchable messenger. Now something else answered him.

  War.

  Hermez exhaled slowly. Across the broken battlefield, snow drifted across shattered marble and fractured stone. The valley had become a graveyard of broken pillars and torn earth.

  Two figures stood among the wreckage.

  The immortal.

  And his herald.

  Together, they were dangerous. But Hermez knew exactly what to do. His divine power compressed inward, flowing through his body before settling into his legs. That was where his strength belonged. That was where speed lived.

  The feathers of his winged sandals flared with heat. Snow beneath his feet began to melt. Steam hissed upward in thin streams.

  Then—

  Doom.

  Hermez vanished.

  The battlefield split open as he accelerated, the sword flashing red and gold as he tore through the valley like a blade ripping through cloth. The strike came straight for James.

  The herald.

  The weaker one.

  Aron saw the flash instantly.

  Red and yellow.

  The demigods surrounding James had been trying to restrain him, overwhelm him rather than just attack him, so Hermez’s blade would simply cut through all of them.

  Aron didn’t hesitate. He left the hammer where it lay. Divinity surged through his body, flooding downward into his legs.

  [Charge: 5%]

  Doom.

  The ground shattered beneath his step. Aron exploded forward like a cannon shot, blasting through the swarm of demigods like a shockwave ripping through dry leaves. Bodies were thrown aside as he crossed the distance in a blink.

  Golden eyes met red steel. Hermez grinned.

  “Always so humble and protective,” he muttered with a knowing smirk.

  The sword of war came down.

  The strike carried more than speed now. The blade dragged something heavier behind it, the accumulated hatred of war itself, the countless echoes of violence that had soaked into its edge.

  Aron moved.

  His hand rose.

  He caught the blade with his bare palm.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  For a moment, the world seemed to freeze. The edge bit into his skin.

  Then deeper.

  Then—

  His hands couldn't hold it much longer. The sword tore through his shoulder.

  “Got you!” Hermez laughed.

  The blade punched through muscle and bone, forcing Aron’s body downward. Blood burst from the wound in violent sprays, crimson droplets hissing as they struck the snow.

  Hermez leaned in, pushing harder. The sword carved deeper. Aron’s shoulder split open like broken armor.

  “My lord!” James shouted.

  That moment of distraction cost him. Three demigods crashed into him at once. A spear slammed into his stomach. A brutal kick shattered against his ribs. Then a heavy hammer smashed across his face.

  James was hurled backward, tumbling violently across the snow. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he rolled through shattered stone.

  Hermez barely glanced in his direction.

  His eyes flicked toward the demigods surrounding the herald. The command needed no words.

  Take him down.

  The soldiers surged forward as Hermez pushed harder on the blade. Aron dropped to one knee.

  “Your entrance was grand, immortal,” Hermez said with cruel delight. He twisted the sword inside the wound.

  “Let me make your ending even grander.”

  He pulled on the blade, aiming for another strike, but…

  It didn’t move.

  Hermez frowned.

  He pulled harder.

  Still nothing.

  The sword remained exactly where it was.

  Aron’s golden eyes slowly lifted.

  “You really thought this would be enough?” he asked quietly. His hand tightened around the blade embedded in his shoulder.

  Hermez pulled again.

  “Let go, you bastard!”

  Aron didn’t move.

  “I was worried,” Aron said calmly. “But that worry was for nothing.”

  He began to stand.

  Slowly.

  Hermez’s eyes widened slightly.

  “Sorry about that,” he said casually. “I was comparing you with the future you.”

  His open hand lifted.

  Far across the battlefield—

  The hammer moved.

  The massive weapon tore free from the snow with explosive force, rocketing toward its master with terrifying speed.

  But Aron didn’t grab it.

  Instead—

  He ducked.

  The hammer screamed past his shoulder. Straight toward Hermez.

  Hermez released the sword instantly, both arms snapping upward as divine energy flared into a defensive barrier.

  He expected Cleave.

  But Aron’s voice cut across the battlefield.

  “Charge: 10%.”

  Hermez’s eyes widened.

  ‘It isn’t Cleave…’

  Boom.

  The hammer struck him like a falling mountain.

  Hermez vanished beneath the impact as the blow hurled him across the valley. His armored body skipped violently through snow and shattered stone like a thrown boulder.

  The battlefield trembled.

  Aron exhaled slowly.

  Then he looked down at his shoulder.

  The wound was catastrophic. The sword had carved deep enough that white bone gleamed through torn muscle. Blood poured down his side in heavy streams, steaming against the cold air.

  He gritted his teeth.

  Then calmly grabbed the ruined shoulder, the parts…

  And tore it off.

  The severed limb dropped into the snow with a wet, heavy thud. Blood erupted from the stump like a broken river.

  “Umm…” Aron breathed heavily.

  The pain was real.

  He glanced toward the sword lying nearby.

  “…Ares,” he muttered.

  Of course. That bastard loved chaos and his curses.

  Aron lifted his gaze toward the clouds.

  “Stop hiding and come at me, you Olympian cunts!” he shouted.

  The air trembled.

  A golden notification appeared before his eyes.

  [The Olympian Gods Are Watching You.]

  Aron grinned.

  “I know,” he said.

  “Not a single one of you is brave enough,” he said as he pressed his remaining hand against the wound, trying to force the flesh to close.

  The muscle twitched.

  Then refused to knit.

  Of course.

  The curse of Ares’ blade. If blood was spilled by its edge—

  It would never stop.

  Aron sighed.

  Then turned his head toward James.

  “James!”

  Across the battlefield, James stood surrounded by a storm of demigods. One after another he smashed them aside with brutal strikes, bone-cracking blows sending bodies flying through the snow.

  He looked up.

  Their eyes met. That was enough. James gave a short nod. He understood.

  Aron nodded back. The hammer slammed back into his hand. The sword rose slowly from the snow as well.

  Hermez was coming. Aron could feel it. The sonic boom arrived a moment later.

  Hermez appeared in front of him in a violent blur, the sword of Ares flying back into his grip. Blood ran down his face from the hammer strike, staining his armor.

  “SLLLAAAYYEERR!” he roared.

  “No need to shout, cunt,” Aron replied calmly.

  He swung the hammer. Not at Hermez.

  At the ground.

  [Charge: 10%]

  The strike detonated the battlefield.

  Stone exploded outward in a hurricane of shattered debris. The shockwave flattened everything within fifty meters. Hermez was hurled backward again.

  He skidded violently across the valley floor, armor grinding against broken marble.

  His mind reeled.

  ‘What the fuck are you…?’ he thought, seeing the man fight with a single arm. A voice echoed suddenly in his memory.

  His father’s voice.

  Olympus

  The palace of the gods rose above the clouds.

  Marble towers gleamed beneath the sunlight, their spires piercing the sky like divine spears. Thunder rolled softly across the heavens as golden banners drifted in the wind.

  Hermez knelt within the throne hall.

  Before him sat Zeus.

  The king of the gods rested upon his throne in shadow, sunlight blazing behind him so brightly that his face could not be seen. Lightning flickered faintly along the edges of his fingers.

  The silence stretched long.

  Then finally Zeus spoke.

  “Hermez, my son.”

  “Yes, father.”

  The boy’s voice carried the quiet confidence of youth.

  Zeus exhaled slowly.

  “You will travel the world,” the king said. “You will move faster than any creature alive. You will believe nothing can touch you.”

  Hermez allowed himself a faint smile while Zeus continued.

  “But there are beings in this universe that even gods must fear.”

  Hermez frowned slightly.

  “Titans?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Primordials?”

  “No.”

  The throne room trembled faintly as Zeus leaned forward.

  “Immortals.”

  Hermez blinked.

  “Immortals?”

  “They are not gods,” Zeus said. “And they are not mortal,” he said as lightning flickered faintly across his fingers.

  “They are the cracks in the laws we rule. Beings much, much older than us.”

  Hermez tilted his head.

  “Then why not destroy them?”

  “Ha…” Zeus laughed. There was nothing kind in the sound.

  “You think I have not tried?”

  Silence filled the hall.

  “There is one among them you will hear of one day,” Zeus continued. “A man who fights gods as if they were mere obstacles for his so-called missions…”

  Hermez’s eyes brightened.

  “What is his name?”

  Zeus’s voice grew quieter.

  “…Aron the Slayer.”

  Hermez smirked.

  “One immortal?”

  Thunder cracked violently across the sky.

  “…One is enough,” Zeus said. “Because immortals do not fight like us.”

  Hermez leaned forward curiously.

  “Father… how do they fight then?”

  Zeus’s voice darkened.

  “Haa… They break the world until victory becomes inevitable. That’s how they fight. That’s how HE fights.”

  The lightning faded.

  “And if you ever meet him…” Zeus paused.

  For the first time—

  There was hesitation in the king of gods’ voice.

  “…run.”

  Back in the present, Hermez wiped blood from his mouth. Across the battlefield, Aron lifted his hammer once more.

  Hermez smiled.

  “Father,” he murmured softly.

  “I will prove you wrong.”

  ? PATREON COMING SOON ?