Summary: Strife and Deimos train, and Discord observes.

Notes: This is an excerpt from a WIP I'm writing that's posted over on AO3 called "The Opposite of Amnesia." These flashbacks take place during my weird XWP/HtLJ series "An Eternity in Cheese Country," a ludicrous epic in which Discord, Deimos and Strife have been reincarnated in 1998 Wisconsin.

Like in the original Greek myth, Aphrodite and Ares are the parents of Deimos and Phobos, even though Deimos is explicitly their cousin in TV canon. Phobos is not a character in the TV series.

2,500 Years Ago

Discord materialized just inside the towering stone entrance to the Halls of War and followed the clang of metal and labored grunts to her brother Ares' training room. It served partly as an armory - along each wall stood racks of weaponry, from long spears to the smallest of knives. Bows and crossbows hung above, ordered by size, with quivers of arrows and bolts. Another wall was entirely covered in shields, and some wooden cut-outs stood at the far end, dotted with holes and nicks from past fired projectiles and axe-throws.

Ares had painted a circle in the center of the room – not covered in straw or dirt to cushion his student's falls, just the same hard, grey stones as the rest of the building – and was mid-lesson when she sauntered in to watch, casually leaning against the doorway.

Two gods battled fiercely – one skinny, messy-haired and constricted in a skin-tight black leather suit, his teacher Ares of a similar height but broad-shouldered, wearing an open leather vest. The sweat on Ares' bare muscular arms gleamed in the candlelight, his long hair flowing free, untied and falling in his face. Discord could see every flex of his bicep as he tightly gripped his iron shortsword in one hand - not a blunt, wooden practice stick, but not his fine-crafted steel blade either. His student held an iron xiphos as well – a straight, doubled-edged, leaf-shaped blade about 20 inches long. Nothing fancy, just good enough for last resort one-on-one combat.

The blade was still pretty sharp though, and she winced when Ares slashed across the younger god's chest, tearing through the leather.

"Again."

The student was her son Strife, and Discord knew he was a vicious cheat who could win any unfair fight, but a full-frontal attack by the God of War himself - who was not holding back his strength – roughly pushed Strife out of the training circle each time.

It was hard to tell who was meant to be attacking and who was defending - Strife or Ares. The two gods reset their starting positions, and any stab or slash by Strife was immediately deflected by the older god. It seemed the goal was to remain within the circle, but Ares took graceful steps to dodge Strife's attacks, parrying his blows and stepping forward to edge Strife out of bounds.

"Again."

Strife changed up his moves this time, more familiar with Ares' footwork, managing to swap places. It seemed he had Ares on the defense now, Strife's blows coming faster, his expression intense, eyes wild.

Ares ducked his head, Strife's sword whooshing past his ear. The God of War crouched and swung his leg around in a kick that knocked Strife off his feet. Ares stood above the younger god, stepping on his stomach. Strife groaned in pain.

"Too slow. Again."

The pair returned to starting positions, with Strife slashing just as fiercely but more aware of Ares' feet. He was paying so much attention to Ares' feet and the thrusts of his sword arm, that he didn't track the position of Ares' free hand, until his fist socked Strife in the gut. Punched with the god's full strength, Strife cried out in pain and doubled over, crumpling to the floor.

This time, he struggled to sit up. Ares pointed his blade at Strife's neck, saying, "Too slow and you're dead."

Strife scoffed.

"Gods can't die."

Ares returned his sword to its scabbard. Strife held out his hand for Ares' help getting up, but the older god tucked his arms behind his back, slowly circling Strife like a carrion bird.

"A cocky attitude like that allows your opponent to cripple you. You don't want to be crawling around trying to reattach your head. Any lost time is a lost battle."

Wincing, Strife pushed himself upright, clumsily rising to his feet. Ares tutted in disapproval.

"Showing pain is weakness, and gods don't feel pain."

"Tell that to my gut."

"The intensity fades with age. Soon a blade through your belly will feel as painful as a pinprick."

Clutching his abdomen, Strife replied, "Yeah, I doubt that." Hands on his knees, Strife wheezed, raising one finger in a gesture saying to give him a minute.

Ares stepped closer - probably to whisper in his ear what a failure he was - when Strife suddenly drove his elbow backwards into the older god's stomach. Taken by surprise, the blow pushed Ares back slightly and he hissed. Strife spun around quickly – showing no signs of pain, lip quirked in a subtle smirk - raising his arms defensively to combat any retaliation by the God of War. Then he looked past Ares' shoulder and smiled. Clutching his side and scowling, Ares followed his gaze to see why.

Discord gave Strife a brief nod of approval, then gestured for him to come closer. She slapped his right hand with hers, in what Aphrodite called "high-five."

"Nice work, kid."

Seeing no threat, Ares relaxed his shoulders. He rolled his eyes and huffed in exasperation.

"Discord," he said sourly.

"Ares."

"Don't dole out too much praise. I thought you believed in negative reinforcement."

"And I thought you believed in five-minute breaks. You spend enough time with your leg looped over that stupid chair doing fuck-all."

"I'm working my ass off training your brat to be a warrior!"

As they argued, Strife remained pressed to Discord's side, and when she approached Ares, trailed just behind her. A little cowardly, perhaps, but Discord thought it understandable, considering what a beating his uncle had given him while sparring.

"I thought I'd take a turn today."

Ares shrugged. "Your skills aren't exactly useful on a battlefield."

Discord bristled at that.

"Oh no? And what about torturing prisoners to gain information? Executing traitors?"

Discord pulled a small knife from her sleeve – she wore a bracer on each wrist and covered one arm completely in a blend of lace and leather and used this extra fabric to hide weapons. She handed it to Strife, who gleefully took the blade and slashed the air. He looked a bit silly with nobody there to cut, but could still effectively demonstrate the quick, clever moves she had taught him.

"Shall I find you a subject suitable for such a lesson?" Discord asked Strife.

"I dunno," he said, gesturing towards the door with the knife. "Maybe we could go out in the field today instead?"

Smiling, Discord clapped her hands together.

"Excellent idea. Ares? Got anybody you need killed?"

Ares shook his head, returning their swords to the weapons rack. With a snap of his fingers, his damp skin and hair were clean of sweat. A pity, Discord thought. The effects of physical exertion looked good on him.

"I need no one tortured today," he said. "Nor do I wish you to flay anyone alive. I have a simple assassination that needs to look like a human did it. Over the years, Strife has gotten better and better at torture thanks to your sadistic instruction. Now you must teach him how to foment chaos with subtle actions. That's your bread and butter, isn't it Discord?"

"Sounds exciting," Strife said. "When do we start?"

"Immediately."

Ares waved his hand, manifesting a map in the air between them. He pointed at a specific spot, explaining who they sought and where to find him. Discord nodded along, elbowing Strife to pay attention when he played with her knife, distracted. He was grown now, and even his vessel appeared a few years older than Discord. The apparent age difference was small, and they could be mistaken for siblings. It made her son's childishness all the more embarrassing, but with each deadly trick learned and dark impulse encouraged, Strife's role as war god was progressing nicely.

During their mission, the pair couldn't act quite so impulsively as they sometimes did. Discord spent a long while merely observing the guards, staff and residents of their target's castle to see who could take blame for the murder. Strife grew antsy, and Discord could relate to Ares' frustration.

"Quiet!" she said more than once. Though the pair stayed outside the realm of mortals' perception, Strife occasionally required reminding.

"You ever consider using dream magic?" Strife asked, when night fell, and the pair watched their target prepare for bed.

"That's Morpheus' jam," Discord replied. "He knows more about that stuff than I do."

"I want to learn. Do you think you could put a good word in?"

Discord scoffed. "You think Morpheus talks to me?"

"I'm just lookin' for a letter of recommendation."

Discord smiled slightly. "I think he'd take an apprentice like you." After a beat, she added, "I don't talk to Morpheus because I don't think he likes me much."

"Why ya say that?"

"He gives me bad dreams."

"Guess that's why you don't sleep."

She shrugged. "Don't need it."

"Don't want it, neither."

"No." Discord sighed, shaking her head. "No, I don't."

Many Decades Later

"He's just not…quite…"

"Right?"

Standing alongside her loathsome sister Aphrodite, Discord observed her nephew Deimos from afar, watching him and his fraternal twin Phobos awkwardly interact. Discord kept her distance because Phobos was teaching his brother how to manifest people's fears, and the idea of either young god getting to reveal her own deep secret made Discord's heart beat fast, filled with the overwhelming desire to flee the room. No, she couldn't be afraid of insects or heights like a normal person, she had to be struck by the terror of death, a silly fear for a goddess to hold.

Deimos reached out his hand, and after a few minutes of concentrating so hard he broke into a sweat, a fuzzy, friendly-looking spider the size of a small dog appeared, blinking its eight beady eyes curiously. Deimos pumped his fist, pleased with his success. He looked to Phobos for a reaction, whose red eyes betrayed nothing, but Phobos nodded slightly in approval. He waved his own hand, swiftly summoning a larger, more disgusting nightmare creature - its eight legs the size of saplings, covered in coarse black hair with sharp, dripping mandibles. Deimos' shoulders slumped in defeat.

The two illusionists had been at this all day. Discord patiently remained a spectator because both Aphrodite and Ares had requested her opinion which vocation Deimos should pick, and the goddess had been curious herself. Discord still wasn't sure. Deimos had a boorish personality unsuitable for a love god like Cupid – whose rebellious streak served as complication enough - but Deimos also lacked the edge the son of Ares should have.

Her son Strife had displayed hints as early as infancy - first destroying property, which was frustrating to repair, and hurting small animals, which was disturbing to witness. But Discord was delighted because these things also proved Strife had potential to be a successor to the God of War. So, Discord slowly introduced deadly tricks into Strife's early schooling, first as games and later as proper lessons - in weaponry, then magic, and finally in con artistry.

Early in his childhood, Aphrodite and Ares named their son Phobos the God of Fear. He didn't require much training, naturally gifted, a dark presence in any room without trying. Every horrifying vision the silver-haired, crimson-eyed Phobos conjured – his specialty being psychological manipulation – Deimos could replicate but in a cuter form. Deimos snapped his fingers in frustration, struggling to change his magic's color as well. With time, his golden sparkles gradually turned orange, then red. His brother Phobos didn't use hands at all, he could silently imagine what he wanted to create. Phobos had formulated hand gestures to match each spell for his brother's benefit.

"You spent too long trying to shape him into his brother," Discord told Aphrodite, meaning Cupid. Aphrodite exhaled, sounding exasperated.

"Stop reminding me," the love goddess said testily, and Discord could see she felt guilty enough without the constant reminder.

Discord scoffed. "Look at this pathetic display. If you had given him to us earlier—"

Aphrodite cut her off, "No! Absolutely not. You had taken Phobos from me. I wasn't going to—he's not—He wasn't like—"

"Strife?"

Aphrodite turned, walking away from the painfully slow lesson. Phobos was easy-going and patient with his brother. Unlike Ares, the fear god knew that skills took time to master. The two young gods would continue tweaking Deimos' illusions until they were less embarrassing, and gods did not grow tired, so they may be at this all night, if not all week. Discord followed her sister outside.

Aphrodite took a deep breath in and smiled. There were trees, birds and flowers outside the dank castle, brightening the love goddess' mood considerably. Discord decided to pop her happy bubble by continuing her line of questioning.

"You don't see the resemblance?"

Aphrodite rolled her eyes. "Of course I do. Everyone does, and nobody shuts up about it!"

She was growing frustrated, and the anger had been building for some time, especially now her son and Strife's vessels looked the same age, like a human in his mid-twenties.

"They look nothing alike, Discord. He's not—he isn't—"

"You've never been at such a loss for words, Sister."

Aphrodite's sputtering almost-sentences were unusual, the bubbly goddess known for her blunt honesty, at times for self-indulgent chatter.

"Pale, gaunt, dark-haired and creepy. All sunken eyes, sharp teeth and bloody grin." Aphrodite gave Discord a disgusted once-over. "Ugly, like his mother."

Discord laughed. "You've not spent much time with the boy, have you?"

Strife was only scary when he tried, and most of the time he was giggling with glee at the stupidest things. Strife had a wide, friendly smile that contrasted his eerie appearance, to the point it had become a problem. Discord tried to school him in frightening faces, but it was slow-going, even after centuries of practice. Strife loved sickening violence, but he also loved beer, comedy and music. Discord and Strife sometimes took a break from bloodshed by watching foolish humans throw concerts or plays and zap them with pranks that sabotaged their shows without killing anyone. If it started a fight and the mortals hurt each other, all the better. It was fun. They had lots of fun, when no one was watching to judge them.

"Let's see," Discord said, ticking off each point with her fingers. "Blonde, arrogant, annoying, effeminate, with a terrible fashion sense and sparkly magic. I can see your point. Deimos is a male clone of you."

Discord approached Aphrodite, leaning closer to the taller goddess.

"But have you looked in his eyes?"

Aphrodite frowned.

"Have you seen the way his face lights up when he watches forests burn?"

Aphrodite squirmed uncomfortably. Discord had pitched her voice low, taunting.

"The shape of his skull, his jaw, his brows. Features so similar they could be identical twins. All these things are merely superficial." Discord smirked. "But what about their sick delight when someone's hurting?"

"Stop it," Aphrodite snapped.

"Cupid is petulant, impatient and rude, and Phobos is a quiet monster. You have no children like you, do you? Or are they? Is there something there from your side after all?"

"Get out of my head, Discord."

Discord stepped back, hands up in innocent surrender. "Alright, fair enough. You're right, it's not my place. That's Phobos' job."

Aphrodite bit her lip, looking over her shoulder at the door, no doubt imagining what horrors Phobos was teaching his brother inside.

"He's not a bad kid," she said, meaning Phobos. "It's just who he is."

"So let Deimos be himself too."

"But who is he?" Aphrodite asked, and Discord had no answer. "I loathe saying this, but you may be right. I waited too long to push him. Do you think Ares would still take him?"

"Not like this," Discord said. "He's not ready. Besides, Ares likes Strife better." Discord frowned, grumbling, "He likes Strife a little too much, if you ask me."

"Mm," Aphrodite replied neutrally, Discord's implication unspoken. Ares had too many solo sessions with Strife for Discord's comfort, but her son was grown now, and fucking the God of War was a mistake he was old enough to make. Discord wished it didn't enrage her so much. She just didn't want the boy hurt.

"I suppose Phobos is a better teacher, anyway," Aphrodite said.

"But Phobos can't fight. Deimos is better at punching and kicking and tearing out hair than he'll ever be at fear magic, and he needs someone to show him proper form."

"Strife, maybe?"

Discord shrugged.

"Eh."

"Eh?"

"Strife doesn't really have the patience to teach anybody anything."

Aphrodite thought for a moment, then snapped her fingers and said, "Enyo!"

Discord's brow furrowed, forgetting who that was.

"Enyo?" said Aphrodite incredulously. "You don't know Enyo, the war goddess? You're practically the same!"

Discord felt the faintest stab of confused fear. The idea she had a doppelganger somewhere was startling.

"She has a different territory," Aphrodite explained, "and she isn't—Ares hasn't really been speaking to her lately, so—"

"We have another sister?"

"Not exactly, she just…lives over there." Aphrodite gestured into the distance unhelpfully, in a northwest direction. "She's not Hera's daughter, and I'm not sure she's Zeus' either."

"When the fuck did this happen?"

"She's old," said Aphrodite. "Very old."

"How have we not met?"

Aphrodite shrugged. "You tend to stick to the same circles, Discord, and you don't like working with other gods."

Her sister had a point. Discord worried so much about her place in the Pantheon that she didn't reach out for help with anything. She knew from working with Strife and Ares that she could succeed if she worked on a team, but the idea of sharing credit turned her stomach.

"Go seek Enyo out and see if she will instruct Deimos in fighting. She's killer with a shield and spear. It's impressive watching her fight, and she's really good with horses, too."

Discord was good with knives, but not with swords or fists, and certainly not spears or horses. Aphrodite's clever idea made Discord ashamed she hadn't thought of it sooner.

"I will let Ares know."

"No!" Aphrodite snapped, then said more calmly, "No, just take him to Enyo yourself. I don't want Ares to see Deimos fight until he's more skilled. I worry he may dismiss our son entirely."

"Honestly, Sis, it may be a long time before he mentors anyone but Strife," Discord said. "Strife has…unique qualities that Ares finds useful."

Aphrodite rolled her eyes. "Let me guess, Strife is good with his mou—"

Discord cut her off, saying, "Yes, and so Deimos is at a disadvantage. Ares isn't quite so deviant as that."

"I hear he isn't very good anyway," Aphrodite said. "I get complaints."

Discord cringed. "Gross! People actually told you—?"

"Love god, remember? I can hear people's thoughts."

Discord laughed. "Well I don't envy that power! Hmm, maybe Enyo can teach him that too."

"A bit inappropriate, don't you think? Besides, Enyo doesn't swing that way."

"Someday Deimos will make you proud," Discord said. "He just needs some unlucky soul he can practice on."

Aphrodite laughed. "That poor woman!"

"Or more likely, some unfortunate man."

"Perhaps you can take on such a challenge."

Discord gagged. "I'm not taking your son's virginity, Aphrodite. Not even to spite you."

The sickening scenario was making Aphrodite giggle. Like son, like mother.

"Hmm, that might be pretty funny, actually."

Discord side-eyed her sister, who wouldn't be opposed to casting a spell on another goddess. Pointing a sharp nail at her, Discord said threateningly, "Don't even think about it!"

Suddenly, the sisters heard a deafening roar from inside the castle, followed by Deimos whooping in joy – no doubt at his success conjuring a new horrific creation. His triumphant shouts were soon cut off by his own screams of terror.

"And that just about says it all," Discord said, crossing her arms.

Aphrodite nodded. "Sure does."