ARES MANGAL-GRAH
Two of the K'tharr swarm Ares, their movements a blur of hunger and malice. With the low gravity of Mars, Ares propels himself upwards with explosive force, his body ascending in a long, soaring arc that would be unimaginable on a world with stronger gravity.
As he reaches the apex of his jump, he looks down and sees only one K'tharr on the ground, its companion nowhere in sight.
Floating momentarily in the thin Martian atmosphere, suspended against the hazy, butterscotch sky, Ares scans the ruins of Vallis from his elevated vantage point, searching for the missing creature and assessing the dwindling number of his comrades amidst the distant flashes of energy fire.
Ares strains his eyes against the swirling red dust kicked up by the carnage, searching for any sign of the missing creature, but none emerges.
Deciding to focus on the immediate threat, Ares shifts his attention back to the lone K'tharr below.
As Ares descends from his lofty jump, he twists in the air, his body aligning like a spear aimed at the creature below. With every second, his velocity increases, the thin Martian atmosphere doing little to slow his fall, turning his descent into an unstoppable force.
Ares clenches his fist, his knuckles whitening with the force of his grip. The K'tharr below senses the impending doom and attempts to dodge, its body moving with desperate agility. Its attempt at evasion is futile against Ares's rapidly approaching fist. Ares's fist connects squarely on the beast's skull with a sound like thunder echoing through the thin atmosphere.
The impact is cataclysmic; the K'tharr's head doesn't just shatter—it explodes under the force, fragments of bone and flesh dispersing in all directions like shards of glass from a shattered window. The beast's body, momentarily suspended by the force of the blow, then crumples.
A shockwave ripples through the ground, collapsing the creature into a grotesque heap with limbs splaying out at unnatural angles.
Ares hits the ground hard, a cloud of red dust erupting around him. Before he can even straighten, a chilling hiss of escaping steam tears through the air, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
He whirls around, scanning the swirling red dust.
Empty.
Then, compelled by an instinct of dread, he looks up. His eyes widen in horror as he sees the K'tharr that had vanished earlier.
It hangs impossibly high above him, a distorted reflection of his own attack stance. Ares's breath hitches. These creatures can learn incredibly fast. The thought chills him to the bone. Knowing escape is impossible, Ares plants his feet, steels himself for the impact. He raises his arms in a desperate shield against the falling beast.
It's too late to run, so he braces for impact. He takes a defensive stance, bringing his arms up to shield his vital areas, preparing for the imminent collision as the K'tharr descends upon him with lethal intent.
The K'tharr slams into Ares's forearm with a sickening crunch, the impact breaking his arm. The force of the collision sends a shock through his body as the creature's momentum carries it into Ares's chest, knocking the air from his lungs and sending him crashing to the ground.
The pain is immediate and overwhelming, radiating from his shattered forearm like waves of fire through his entire body, a sharp, piercing agony that seems to scream from every nerve ending. The blow to his chest compounds the torment, a suffocating pressure that steals the air from his lungs.
Each heartbeat sends fresh throbs of torment through his broken arm, matching the frantic rhythm of his pulse. As the shock of the injury spreads, the edges of Ares's vision begin to blur, the pain giving way to a strange, numbing cold. His head feels heavy, his thoughts scattering like leaves in a storm.
As his consciousness begins to fade away, images flash through Ares's mind, reminders of why he is here, of the mission that must be completed no matter the cost.
With a desperate clench of his jaw, he bites down hard on his lip. The sharp, new pain jolts through him, blood following, the taste metallic and grounding.
Then, from the depths of his being, a visceral scream erupts from Ares, his defiant scream cutting through the din of battle, reverberating across the desolate landscape, as if issuing a challenge to the red planet itself.
Amidst the pain, through gritted teeth, Ares forces himself to his feet. His body screams in protest, but he ignores it. The K'tharr, previously emboldened by its advantage, now takes a step back, its stance shifting from aggressive to cautious. A primal dread washes over the K'tharr. Its malevolent eyes show a flicker of fear. It understands this Martian will not be broken—he is Mars will made flesh.
Ares's broken arms sway uselessly in front of him, the limbs now more of a hindrance than help. He staggers forward, each step a victory wrested from the jaws of defeat.
Yet, with each determined step forward, the K'tharr cowers, stepping back in response. The creature's retreat is not just physical. It's born of pure terror; driven back by the sheer force of Ares's will, a power more terrifying than any weapon.
Then out of nowhere, more of the beasts surround him, drawn by his scream like moths to a flame. Ares finds himself encircled, his eyes scanning the perimeter. The numbers blur—too many to count, too many to fight. The truth slams into him, cold and hard. Useless limbs, a ravaged body, an overwhelming horde—there is no path forward. He cannot win. Not like this.
Ares remembers his father's order, the words echoing in his mind: clear the way forward for his mother and siblings, and survive. But standing here, surrounded by enemies, he realizes he cannot do both. With this realization comes a new resolve, one born of desperation and duty. The path will be cleared. Even if he has to pave it with his own life.
Closing his eyes, Ares reaches deep within himself, touching upon that forbidden power, the one he swore an oath never to use, knowing full well the cost it might exact.
The power he taps into is voracious, consuming his life span with ruthless efficiency. His body begins to age rapidly, the sands of time pouring through him like an hourglass turned on its side. Even with his eyes closed, the universe opens to him—threads of fate, flows of energy, the very soul of Mars now entwined with his.
A wicked smile forms across his face.
He opens his eyes, and the crimson god of Mars awakens.