Crimson God Of Mars

POV - PERSEUS MANGAL-GRAH

Perseus ran out of the hangar, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He wanted to look back, to catch one last glimpse of his family, but he knew he could not. His resolve would have crumbled if he did.

He always felt a deep, gnawing shame about abandoning Mars, even when he had devised the plan to escape to Earth.

He had taken an oath, one that bound him to protect and defend Mars and its people until his last breath. Though he was no longer a soldier, having left that life behind when he married Elysia and took on the role of an instructor at the academy, the weight of that oath still hung heavy on his shoulders.

Running away had always felt like a shameful choice to him, a betrayal of everything he once stood for. Yet, he knew it was the only way to safeguard Mars's future.

But now, he saw a chance to protect the planet's future without dishonoring himself. Ares was on the brink of death, having traded his life force for immense power. Perseus could not allow that to happen.

Ares had always felt a profound sense of responsibility; it came as naturally to him as breathing. That was a quality essential for a leader. Ares could not die; he was the future of Mars.

Perseus felt deep regret; he was the reason Ares invoked that ancient power.

He had told him, no, ordered him to clear a path for his mother and siblings, no matter the cost. Ares took that literally, must have thought it was the only way to fulfill the order. Perseus smiled; his son, despite knowing the full extent of the cost of using that forbidden technique, did it anyway. The boy was strong-willed.

Perseus broke into a sprint, or at least something akin to one—his movements were limited due to his injuries, but he ignored the pain and pushed forward.

"I'm coming, son," he muttered, "I'm coming."

As he got closer to the source of the streaking lightning, the intensity hadn't diminished one bit since he and Athena had passed by earlier. He wondered how much life force and willpower Ares possessed to remain in that state. This had to be the longest anyone had ever sustained the technique in known history.

He pondered how many K'tharr Ares must have killed by now—thousands? Tens of thousands? As he got closer and closer, his questions were answered.

He saw before him a landscape turned into a macabre tapestry, colossal heaps of dismembered K'tharr littering the ground like fallen leaves after a storm of death. Each step he took was a squelch through a sea of gore, the crunch of bone and squish of flesh underfoot, the air thick with the stench of decay.

This carnage wasn't just tens of thousands; it was hundreds of thousands. The sheer scale of destruction sent shivers down Perseus's spine as he pressed forward, awed and horrified by the raw, untamed power his son had unleashed.

He arrived close enough to see Ares, and his jaw dropped in awe at the sight before him.

Ares stood, or rather, transcended, like a deity amidst chaos. His hair, now an inferno of red, stood upright, a crown of flames that would have made even the sun envious. An aura of such dominance emanated from him that it compelled Perseus to kneel, as if before a deity of ancient legend.

Around Ares, mirages of him flickered and danced, an illusion of omnipresence; he was everywhere, all at once, a pantheon of one.

He moved through the sea of K'tharr like a storm passing through the night, unstoppable, unyielding.

Lightning did not just follow him; it was commanded by him, a herald of his divine might, each step he took accompanied by thunderous strikes that sang of his dominion.

Every gesture, every strike, was accompanied by the sky's fury, reducing the K'tharr to ashes and smoke, their forms disintegrating in the wake of his divine wrath.

As if spotting Perseus, Ares turned his gaze upon him. The weight of that stare hit like a physical blow, rooting Perseus to the spot with an intensity that felt like the heat of a thousand suns boring into his very core.

It was as if the gaze of Ares flayed him open, exposing every fear, every doubt, every ounce of his mortal frailty, leaving him feeling as vulnerable as a man stripped bare before the relentless, unforgiving scrutiny of a god.

Then Perseus heard Ares's voice in his mind, like thunder, each word a shudder through his bones.

"Hold on, Father. I've located the realm from which these things spawn. I aim to close it."

Ares focused, ceasing his onslaught. The K'tharr, sensing their imminent doom, swarmed him frantically, but they couldn't breach his aura. Pure heat radiated from him, eviscerating them into ashes before they could even touch him.

Ares ascended into the darkened sky, his figure a blazing contrast against the pitch-black canvas of Mars.

With a motion that seemed to halt time itself, he brought his hands together in a celestial clap- The clap closed the realm.

In that single, moment, every K'tharr on the field collapsed, their life extinguished as if by the divine decree of this deity, their bodies falling in unison, an eternal army felled in the blink of an eye.

Ares, having executed his divine clap, now stood amidst the silence that followed the cataclysm. The echo of his power still vibrated through the air, but the immediate threat of the K'tharr had evaporated into nothing more than a memory.

The ground was littered with the remnants of countless K'tharr, their forms no longer recognizable, reduced to mere ashes and charred fragments.

Satisfied with the outcome, he relinquished the power, his body no longer bolstered by the ancient force.

The fiery aura that had enveloped him faded completely, his hair returning to its natural state, the glow in his eyes dimming to a human's.

He fell to the ground, and Perseus dashed to catch him.