Trial of War: The Blood Arena
The first trial began with Ares dragging me into his arena—an abandoned battlefield, stripped of time and mercy. The ground was dry and cracked, littered with rusted weapons, and the air hung heavy with the scent of iron and old smoke. The sky above was a bruised red, like the world was stuck in a permanent sunset. Everything about this place screamed war and bloodshed. A fitting playground for the god of war.
Ares sat on his throne of iron, leaning forward with a grin that promised pain. "Jackson," he said, his voice dripping with condescension. "You really think you can walk away from this? You think you can just be free?"
I met his gaze without flinching, fingers tightening around Riptide. It was all I could do to keep the nerves from showing. Ares wasn't interested in my fear or hesitation—he wanted me to bleed, to break. And he didn't plan on making this easy.
"But before we get to the main event," he continued, standing up with his spear in hand, "I've got a little appetizer for you."
The ground split open with a groan, and from the fissure slithered the Ethiopian Drakon, a creature straight out of ancient nightmares. Its scales were midnight black, its eyes glowing with a deep, menacing red. The Drakon's mouth opened wide, showing rows of teeth that gleamed like blades.
"Kill it," Ares said, almost bored. "Or you're not worth my time."
The Drakon lunged before I had a chance to process anything. I threw myself to the side, feeling its hot breath as its jaws snapped shut where I'd just been. Every movement was instinct—rolling, dodging, striking where its scales seemed weakest. And every time I swung Riptide, something inside me felt different. My strikes were sharper, more precise. And there was a subtle feeling deep in my chest—like something coiled tight, a wire straining under pressure.
The Drakon's tail swept towards me, and I leapt, calling up water to wrap around the beast's exposed scales. It obeyed my will effortlessly, like an extension of my own strength, coiling around the Drakon and locking it in place for a moment—just long enough for me to find its weak point. It wasn't a conscious thought, just a reaction, almost too fast to even register.
With a yell, I plunged Riptide into the creature's neck, feeling its thick scales give way under the force. The Drakon's roar turned to a gurgle, and then it collapsed, its massive form dissolving into ash. I stood there, breathing heavily, feeling the ground still vibrating underfoot.
"Well, look at that," Ares said, his grin vanishing into a scowl. "Maybe you're not completely useless after all."
He rose from his throne, twirling his spear. The earth seemed to tremble with his every movement, and the weight of his power pressed down on me like a storm. "But don't get ahead of yourself, Jackson. I'm going to remind you what war really means."
Without warning, he attacked. His spear cut through the air like a lightning bolt, and I barely had time to raise Riptide in defense. The impact sent a shockwave through my arms, nearly driving me to my knees. Ares pressed forward, his attacks fast and relentless, each strike carrying the force of a hurricane.
"Is this it?" Ares taunted between blows. "Is this the hero who defied the gods?"
I gritted my teeth, trying to hold my ground. But something was different in this fight. With every strike, every moment, I felt that coiled tension inside me growing tighter. It wasn't just exhaustion or anger—something deeper, almost like a knot in my core that was being pulled tighter and tighter, ready to snap.
I deflected another strike, summoning water to my side without thinking. The water lashed out, hitting Ares with enough force to make him stagger back. I advanced, landing a shallow cut on his side before he regained his balance. It wasn't a deep wound, but it was enough to change his expression from amusement to rage.
"You're getting bold," he growled, his eyes narrowing. "But boldness won't save you."
Ares came at me with renewed fury, his spear blurring in my vision. I dodged, countered, and felt that tightness in my chest intensify with every clash. A sharp pain, like a fault line inside me, ready to split wide open. I pushed the feeling down, focusing on the fight, but it lingered like a shadow.
Ares raised his spear for a final, crushing blow. But instead of retreating, I stood my ground. In a blur, I deflected his attack and closed the distance, driving Riptide forward. The tip of my blade stopped inches from his chest, the tension between us electric.
Ares stared down at the blade, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "You got lucky," he spat, voice dripping with anger. "But this isn't over, Jackson. Not by a long shot."
He vanished in a flash of red light, leaving me alone in the empty arena. I stood there, trying to catch my breath, my hands still shaking from the strain. The ground beneath me was silent, the remains of the Drakon long gone.
But even with the fight over, I couldn't shake the feeling in my chest. That tightness, like something straining against a barrier, something old and dangerous, waiting to shatter. I didn't know what it meant, or if it was just my nerves getting the better of me, but it left a lingering unease that I couldn't ignore.
The first trial was done, but whatever Ares had started was far from over. And the cracks inside me weren't closing—they were widening, waiting for the right moment to break open.