Chapter 181: Unlikely Alliance
The palace of war was not like the others of Olympus.
Where Apollo’s halls were lined with light and song, and Poseidon’s chambers glittered with salt-stone and pearl, Ares’s domain stood like a fortress carved from iron and fire. Spears jutted from its walls. Shields, blackened by countless battles, hung as trophies. The air itself carried the stench of smoke and blood, as though war had seeped into the stone.
Within, the god of war sat slouched across a massive chair of bronze, his spear resting beside him, his armor half-fastened as if he had no patience for ceremony. The glow of his eyes was dim, but his jaw twitched with restrained fury.
The great doors slammed open.
Athena stormed inside, her cloak whipping behind her like a blade through smoke. The guards braced their spears, but she cut them aside with a glare. Her gray eyes burned, fixed straight on Ares.
He did not rise. He only smirked faintly, though his brow arched. "Sister. To what do I owe this storm?"
"To you," Athena snapped, her voice carrying like steel over stone. "To your arrogance. To your cruelty. To your games that have turned a mortal into a beast bent on vengeance."
Her voice rang through the hall, sharp enough to echo off the iron walls. The soldiers outside stiffened, listening, though none dared enter.
Ares leaned back in his chair, feigning boredom, though the fire in his eyes sharpened. "You mean the Spartan."
"You know his name," Athena said, stepping closer, her hands tightening into fists. "Kratos. He is not a hound for you to leash and cast aside when it amuses you. You made him. You bound him. You broke him." Her voice cut deeper with every word. "And now his wrath tears through mortals who never wronged him. Athens lies in ruin because of you."
Ares’s smirk widened, though his fingers curled around the arm of his chair. "I gave him what he begged for. He wanted strength, so I gave him chains. He wanted victory, so I gave him war. And when war consumed him, he blamed me. That is not my cruelty, Athena. That is his weakness."
Athena’s cloak snapped as she spun toward him fully, her gray eyes blazing. "Weakness? You call grief weakness? You tricked him into slaughtering his own family. You cut the very heart from him and left him to rot. And now you sit here laughing while he carves his vengeance into the world."
The smirk faltered. Ares’s jaw clenched, his voice lowering, harder. "He cursed me. He dared scream my name as if I was the one who failed him. He forgets he was nothing before me. I made him into a weapon feared across Greece. Without me, he would have died nameless on some forgotten field."
Athena stepped closer, her voice raw with contempt. "Without you, he would still have his wife. His daughter. His soul."
The words hit like a spear. The silence that followed was heavy. Ares’s eyes flared with fire, but he did not strike.
Athena leaned over him, her voice sharp but steady. "And now Father shields him. He calls him son. He forbids you from killing him. Do you see what your games have wrought? You toyed with a mortal, and now Olympus itself bends around him."
Ares rose at last, his full height towering, his spear in hand. Fire licked around his armor as he glared down at her. "Do not lecture me, gray-eyed one. I am war. Mortals are meant to bleed at my hand. They are meant to serve. If one screams my name in vengeance, then so be it. Let him come. I will break him as I have broken countless before."
Athena did not flinch. She stood firm under his shadow, her voice unwavering. "No. You will not break him. Not alone. Not while Father watches. His rage is not like the others you have faced. He is driven by pain even you cannot imagine. If you strike him as you are now, you will lose more than your pride."
Ares narrowed his eyes. "Then what do you suggest?"
Athena’s gaze sharpened. Her words came slow, deliberate. "I will help you."
The fire in the hall flickered. Ares blinked, suspicion flashing across his face. "You?"
"Yes," Athena said, her tone like stone. "Because this is not only your mess. His fury has touched Athens. My people. My city. His vengeance does not stop with you—it spreads like fire, consuming whatever lies in its path. If Father wishes to shield him, then so be it. But I will not sit idle while mortals suffer."
Ares barked a laugh, sharp and bitter. "So now the goddess of wisdom lowers herself to fight alongside me? To save her mortals, she bends her knee to war?"
Athena’s eyes narrowed. "Do not mistake this for bending. This is strategy. You are reckless. You charge with flame and roar, and you think that is enough. Kratos will not fall to brute force. He has already faced worse and lived. If we are to stop him, it will take more than your spear."
Ares studied her, his fire dimming slightly, though pride still burned in his stance. "You would stand beside me against him?"
Athena crossed her arms, her jaw firm. "I will. But not for you. For the world he threatens to tear apart. For the mortals who bleed in your shadow. For the balance Father pretends to protect while he toys with fate."
Ares’s grip tightened on his spear, his voice low. "And when Father finds out?"
"Let him," Athena said. Her tone was calm, but her eyes burned cold. "He may call Kratos brother. He may shield him as son. But I am not blind. I see what Kratos becomes if he is left unchecked. He is a storm that will not stop at you, Ares. He will come for Olympus. And when he does, it will be too late for Father’s wisdom."
The hall fell silent.
Ares’s fire flickered, then steadied. Slowly, the smirk returned, but it was thinner now, edged with something darker. "Then perhaps we are not so different, sister."
Athena’s lips pressed into a thin line. "Do not mistake necessity for kinship."
Ares chuckled, turning away, his spear tapping against the marble as he walked toward the brazier burning at the edge of the hall. "Still, I find it amusing. The goddess of strategy and the god of war, standing against Father’s will. Perhaps the Spartan should tremble after all."
Athena’s voice followed him, sharp and final. "Do not revel in this. Kratos is not a game, Ares. He is the proof of your cruelty, and the price of your arrogance. If we fail to stop him, the world will know your name not as war, but as ruin."
She turned, her cloak snapping as she strode back toward the great doors. The sound of her footsteps echoed heavy against the bronze walls.
Ares watched her leave, fire curling faintly around his shoulders. For once, the smirk slipped, replaced by something heavier—a weight he would not name.
When the doors slammed shut, the hall fell silent again. The flames crackled. The iron walls groaned.
Ares lifted his spear, the fire burning brighter. "Let him come," he muttered. "Brother or not, storm or not... let him come."
And somewhere below Olympus, Kratos walked on, the chains rattling softly behind him.
The storm that bound them all was still gathering.