Ares Mangal-grah leaned against the cold, jagged edge of what had once been Vallis's central dome, his lungs burning with each ragged breath. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, nearly drowning out the distant searing hiss of plasma fire and death cries. The brief respite from combat was a luxury he could barely afford, but his body screamed for recovery.

The ground vibrated with approaching enemies before he could catch his breath. From the shadowed ruins, the K'tharr emerged, minions of the World Enders, their bodies stretched to skeletal proportions.

The K'tharr moved in long, bounding strides, their skeletal forms covered by sickly pale skin. Their mouths, filled with jagged, venomous teeth, were like shards of glass, each tooth glistening with deadly poison.

The skeletal K'tharr with venomous jaws moved with fluid grace, their limbs bending at impossible angles as they swarmed forward. Their hisses, chilling the blood, filled the air like steam from broken pipes.

Killing them wasn't the issue—he was more than capable of that. Ares had already destroyed countless of these grotesque beings, his weapon spitting death with each controlled trigger pull. But the problem wasn't skill or strength; it was their endless numbers. With each creature he felled, another emerged from beyond the central dome ruins as if spawned from shadow itself.

Sooner or later, Ares knew his strength would fail, the adrenaline would fade, and his body would betray him. The relentless tide of K'tharr would eventually overpower him.

This was their true strength—not only their individual might, but their inexhaustible numbers. This was why nobody could stop them. Why the once-proud colony of Vallis now lay in ruins, its inhabitants either dead or fighting a losing battle against these alien horrors.

Ares checked his gun, the display flickering with an ominous red warning—the council's latest innovation, designed specifically for these horrors, was failing at the critical moment.

He searched for options, for strategy, for any miracle that could turn the tide. But exhaustion and fear dulled his usually sharp mind, leaving him with dwindling choices.

Cursing, he readied his weapon. Each shot now precious, each blast drawn from an almost empty well. He aimed, jaw clenched with determination.

His first shot caught a K'tharr dead center in its skull. The creature's head exploded into fragments, exposing their key vulnerability. But hitting their heads proved challenging—the monsters darted erratically as they advanced.

Battle lust sharpened his senses, time seeming to slow. His failing gun became an extension of his will, his salvation. Planting his feet wide, he faced the oncoming horde. As they charged, he unleashed his counterattack with lethal precision.

A K'tharr leapt from the shadows. Ares's shot struck true, disintegrating the creature's head mid-leap, its body crashing like a marionette with severed strings.

Ares moved with lethal precision, each shot dropping a K'tharr, their heads exploding in a grim display. His gunfire echoed through Vallis's ruins, each shot a defiant blast against the chaos, his weapon glowing with its last charge.

The beasts fell before him as he stood sentinel, unyielding. But as his final shot found its mark, the gun's display flashed once and died, its charge depleted.

Ares swore as his weapon clicked empty. A K'tharr seized its chance, charging with devastating speed, its maw gaping wide, venom dripping from its teeth.

In a burst of desperate inspiration, Ares rammed his useless gun into the creature's open mouth, creating a makeshift barrier. The beast clamped down, momentarily confused by the obstruction.

With the K'tharr's head now close, instinct took over. Ares's fist shot forward, driven by desperation and fury. His punch connected with devastating force against the creature's skull.

The impact was devastating; the creature's skull shattered under the sheer power of Ares's blow, its body crumpling to the ground in a heap of broken alien anatomy.

Standing over his fallen enemy, Ares gulped air into his burning lungs, his hand throbbing from the impact. He'd won himself a moment's reprieve, but at a steep cost—he now stood truly weaponless.

He scanned his surroundings, calculating his next move. His survival now dependent on raw strength and endurance, he wondered how much longer he could hold out without his weapon.

Two K'tharr swarmed Ares, their movements a blur of hunger and malice. In Mars's low gravity, he launched himself skyward with explosive force, his body arcing through space in a trajectory impossible on heavier worlds.

Using Mars's low gravity, Ares launched himself skyward, arcing in a trajectory impossible on worlds with heavier gravity. At the top, he saw only one K'tharr below, the other having vanished, while he surveyed the ruins against the butterscotch Martian sky.

At the apex of his jump, he looked down to find only one K'tharr remaining, its companion nowhere in sight.

Suspended in the thin Martian atmosphere against a hazy, butterscotch sky, he surveyed Vallis's ruins. His gaze swept across the battlefield, seeking both the missing creature and his comrades among the distant flashes of energy fire. The red dust storm birthed by combat obscured his vision, offering no trace of the vanished K'tharr.

Deciding to focus on the immediate threat, Ares locked onto his lone target below.

He twisted as he fell, transforming his body into a living spear. Each heartbeat accelerated his descent, the thin atmosphere offering no resistance as he became a force of pure destruction.

His fist tightened, knuckles white with purpose. The K'tharr, sensing death from above, writhed to escape, its desperate agility futile against Ares's calculated trajectory. 

The impact didn't merely break the creature—it obliterated its skull, spraying bone and flesh outward like shards of glass from a shattered window.

Ares landed, red dust erupting around him. Before he could rise, a serpentine hiss cut through the air, raising every hair on his neck. He spun, piercing through the crimson haze.

Nothing.

Primal instinct dragged his gaze upward. Horror froze his breath as he spotted the missing K'tharr suspended at an impossible height, mimicking his own deadly descent.

The revelation struck him like a physical blow: these creatures adapted with terrifying speed. Escape impossible, he planted his stance and raised his arms, a final shield against the plummeting monster.

It was too late to run, so he braced for impact. He took a defensive stance, bringing his arms up to shield his vital areas, preparing for the imminent collision as the K'tharr descended upon him with lethal intent.

With devastating force, the K'tharr struck. It smashed through his forearm, shattering the bone, momentum carrying its mass into his chest. The impact drove the air from his lungs and slammed him into the Martian soil.

Agony exploded through him—his shattered arm screaming with each heartbeat, his chest crushed beneath an overwhelming pressure. The pain radiated outward like waves of fire, every nerve ablaze. His vision darkened at the edges, thoughts scattering like leaves in a storm as consciousness threatened to flee.

As darkness crept in, memories flashed through his mind—his mission, its vital importance, the cost of failure. His teeth found his lip, the sharp new pain and metallic taste anchoring him to awareness.

From deep within his core, a primal roar erupted. His defiant scream cut through the battle's chaos, echoing across the desolate landscape—a challenge to the red planet itself.

Through grinding teeth and searing pain, Ares forced himself upright. His body rebelled, but determination won. The K'tharr, previously triumphant, retreated a step. Its aggressive stance faltered, malevolent eyes flickering with newfound fear. It recognized a terrible truth: this Martian would not break—he was Mars's will made flesh.

His ruined arms hung useless before him, now burdens rather than weapons. Each step forward marked a victory against defeat, yet with every advance, the K'tharr withdrew. Its retreat wasn't tactical but primal—driven back by raw willpower that transcended physical weapons.

More beasts emerged from the chaos, drawn by his battle cry, like moths to a flame. They encircled him, their numbers beyond counting, beyond fighting. He realized the cold truth: with broken limbs and a battered body, against such odds, victory was impossible.

His father's order echoed in his mind: protect his mother and siblings' escape, and survive. But surrounded by death, he realized he couldn't achieve both. This understanding birthed a new resolve, forged in desperation and duty. The path forward would be cleared—even if he had to pave it with his life.

Ares reached into himself, accessing a forbidden power he swore he'd never use, knowing its cost. It surged through him, consuming his life. Blind to the physical, he felt the universe's threads, the essence of Mars intertwining with him.

A savage smile split his face.

He opened his eyes, and the crimson god of Mars awakened.