Chapter 18: The Weight of Time

Zohar sits against the wall of his chamber, his head tilted back as he tries to catch his breath. His body is bruised, his muscles sore, but there's a faint smirk on his face. The chamber walls echo with the voices of Raiden and Kaito from their adjoining cells.

Raiden, always quick with a remark, calls out, "That was some crazy move, Zohar! I mean, lightning knee? Who even thinks of that?"

Kaito adds, his tone more measured but still impressed, "You took down Connor. Not just anyone can say that. But seriously, are you good to keep going? You look like you just got hit by a train."

Zohar chuckles, though the movement sends a jolt of pain through his ribs. "Don't worry about me. With this hyper speed, my healing's kicked into overdrive. By the time the next round starts, I'll be fine." He pauses, glancing toward the glowing arena outside. "But, can I ask you guys something? Do you ever think all this training is... pointless? Like, shouldn't we already be down on Earth fighting the demons? What's the point of wasting time up here?"

Before either Raiden or Kaito can respond, a deep, resonant voice cuts through the air.

"Time in the heavens acts differently than time on Earth," Thor announces, standing tall above Zohar's chamber. His figure is illuminated by the faint glow of lightning crackling across his armor. "A month spent here is but a day and a half on Earth. What feels endless to you is nothing more than a fleeting moment below."

Zohar straightens, his expression shifting to one of respect mixed with frustration. "But why does it have to be this way? Earth is burning, and we're stuck here playing gladiators. Shouldn't we—"

Thor raises a hand, silencing Zohar. "You are not yet ready to face what awaits you down there. The demons are no mere rabble to be felled by strength alone. You will need to master yourselves—your powers, your will, your very essence—or you will fail. This 'training,' as you call it, is not a waste of time. It is the forge in which true warriors are made."

Raiden, leaning against the wall of his chamber, interjects, "So basically, we're on some kind of divine crash course? Makes sense, I guess. Still feels like we're the ones getting burned in the process."

Thor chuckles, a low rumble that vibrates through the chambers. "Better to burn here and emerge stronger than to fall like ash in the face of the enemy. Trust in the process, mortals. We chose you for a reason."

Zohar looks down at his hands, flexing his fingers as faint sparks of electricity dance across his skin. "Fine. I'll trust it. But just know, when it's time to fight, I won't hold back."

Thor smirks, his eyes glowing faintly. "Good. You'll need that resolve. Rest now. The next round will be upon you before you know it."

As Thor turns and walks away, his heavy footsteps fading into the distance, the trio falls silent. The weight of his words settles over them like a heavy blanket.

Kaito finally speaks, his voice quiet. "Guess there's no turning back now."

Raiden, ever the optimist, grins. "Nope. But hey, at least we're not alone in this. We've got each other."

Zohar nods, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah. We do."

The scene shifts abruptly from the celestial arena to the desolate streets of Earth. The air is heavy with an eerie silence, broken only by the occasional gust of wind that kicks up ash and debris. Shadows stretch long across the cracked pavement as the moon casts an ominous glow over the ruins of a once-thriving city.

Ares and Heimdall move cautiously through the wreckage, their weapons at the ready. Ares's crimson armor gleams faintly in the moonlight, the intricate engravings of past battles etched into its surface. Heimdall, with his golden blade slung across his back and his sharp gaze scanning their surroundings, exudes a calm readiness.

After several minutes of quiet, Heimdall speaks, his voice low but firm. "You can't still be upset about those humans back at the school, can you?"

Ares doesn't respond immediately. He slows his pace, his gaze fixed on the ground as if the weight of the question presses down on him. Finally, he grunts, "They were innocent."

Heimdall raises an eyebrow and glances at Ares. "You're the God of War, Ares. You should be used to killing innocents. It's been part of the cost since the dawn of—"

"Enough!" Ares snaps, his voice sharp and cutting through the stillness of the night. He stops walking and turns to Heimdall, his blazing eyes filled with anger and something deeper—regret. "That's not us anymore. Not since we made our vows. Not since we swore to protect the realms against the demons and the fallen angels."

Heimdall studies Ares for a moment, his expression unreadable. "The humans would have died anyway. You know that, right? If not by your blade, then by the hands of Lucifer's forces. We don't have the luxury of being sentimental."

Ares exhales sharply, turning his gaze to the ruined cityscape. "Maybe not. But that doesn't mean we have to abandon what's left of our humanity." He clenches his fists, the veins in his arms bulging. "I don't fight to destroy anymore, Heimdall. I fight to protect. And every innocent life lost on my watch is another failure. I can't ignore that."

Heimdall shrugs slightly, his tone softening. "I'm not saying you're wrong. I'm just saying we can't let it weigh us down. Guilt won't win this war."

Ares doesn't respond, but his silence speaks volumes. The two continue their journey, their boots crunching against the rubble-strewn streets.