The silence of the graveyard didn't last.
The two figures stood thirty paces apart, each a sun in their own right, though they burned with very different fires. Arc was a black hole—a dark, ominous void that seemed to swallow the light around him, the embodiment of every primal fear that had ever kept a man awake at night. Opposite him, Ares radiated a blinding, golden brilliance. He looked like a statue brought to life, a monument to divine arrogance.
Arc's voice broke the stillness, deep and resonant, vibrating in the marrow of Ares's bones. "Where are your sons?"
Ares didn't flinch, though a vein in his perfect forehead throbbed. He gave a sharp, mocking scoff. "I won't need Phobos or Deimos to take care of a pest like you. A god does not call for his children to help him step on a cockroach."
As if on a silent cue, both the Demon and the God shifted. They dropped into their combat stances simultaneously, and the world groaned. They released their auras at full capacity—two invisible tides of pressure slamming into one another.
The marble ground, which had survived eons of worship, finally surrendered. It spider-webbed beneath their feet, the stones grinding into fine white powder as the monstrous strength of the two entities reached its boiling point.
Arc's mind was a cold, quiet room. This isn't going to be easy, he admitted to himself. He could feel the heat of Ares's divinity trying to sear his skin. But no matter what happens, I will kill him. I will paint this temple with his gold.
Ares moved first. It wasn't a run; it was an explosion.
The God of War hurled his golden sword with the force of a falling star. The blade hummed, cutting the air so fast it created a vacuum. As Arc raised his obsidian blade to deflect the projectile, the air shifted. Ares wasn't behind the sword—he was already ahead of it. In a blur of divine speed, the God appeared in Arc's personal space, his spear leveled at Arc's throat.
Clang.
The sound was deafening. Arc caught the spear on the flat of his blade, parrying the strike by a fraction of an inch. The resulting shockwave was immense. It wasn't just a sound; it was a physical force that sent the remaining corpses of the angel army flying through the air like autumn leaves. The ground beneath them didn't just crack; it cratered, sinking three feet into the earth from the sheer kinetic energy of the clash.
They were no longer two men fighting. They were two disasters colliding.
Ares unleashed a flurry of strikes, his spear moving like a golden serpent. Every thrust was aimed at a vital organ—heart, throat, eyes—with the surgical precision of a master. But to the High God's growing frustration, Arc was there. For every thrust, there was a parry. For every feint, a counter. Arc moved with a jagged, monstrous efficiency that ignored the "rules" of war.
Ares's eyes widened. He had fought ten thousand wars. He had slain Titans and quelled rebellions. He expected a struggle, but he didn't expect to be matched.
Arc saw his opening. He stepped into the god's reach and slashed forward, the obsidian blade humming as it aimed for Ares's neck. At the last possible millisecond, Ares twisted his body, the wind of the blade ruffling his blonde hair.
How can he match my speed? Ares thought, a flicker of genuine doubt crossing his mind. His rage flared, and with it, his power surged. His golden aura doubled in size, the heat of his presence melting the nearby marble into glass. His strikes became faster, the power behind them heavy enough to level cities.
Arc felt the shift. This isn't good, he thought, his muscles straining against the increased weight of the god's blows. I need to end this fast.
Ares flickered out of sight and reappeared directly behind Arc. He drove his spear toward the center of Arc's back. Arc sensed the ripple in the air and twisted, but he was a heartbeat too slow. The spearhead caught the edge of his shoulder, slicing through the obsidian plate and drawing red, human blood.
Ares stepped back, looking at the crimson stain on his spear. He scoffed, his confidence returning in a rush. "Turns out I was worried for nothing. You bleed just like the rest of them. You're still just human, and a human could never match a god."
Ares adjusted his grip on the spear, ready to deliver the finishing blow. But as he looked at Arc, the air suddenly turned cold—impossibly cold.
Arc didn't fall. He didn't even wince. Instead, a surge of dark energy erupted from his frame. His aura didn't just grow; it mutated, becoming thicker and more domineering. The pressure became so intense that the very air began to scream.
Ares rushed forward, desperate to kill Arc before the transformation finished, but Arc met the charge with a casual, brutal flick of his wrist. He parried the spear and, in the same movement, let go of one of his swords.
Ares expected another blade. He didn't expect a fist.
Arc's gauntleted hand slammed into Ares's chest. The god had blocked at the last second, but the force of the punch was so overwhelming it didn't matter. Ares was launched backward like a cannonball. He soared across the battlefield, his body smashing through a nearby mountain with a sound like a thunderclap. The entire side of the mountain crumbled, burying the God of War in a tomb of stone.
Arc didn't wait. He disappeared, reappearing amidst the dust and falling rocks.
Ares burst from the rubble, his face twisted in a snarl. He met Arc with a heavy, desperate blow that forced Arc to stagger back. They traded slashes and punches in the ruins of the mountain, neither side gaining the upper hand. Both were wounded now. A thin line of golden Ichor ran down Ares's forehead, while Arc's shoulder continued to leak red.
Then, the tide shifted.
Arc found a gap in Ares's guard. He feinted with his blade and landed a clean, bone-crushing punch to Ares's side. The god was thrown back again, landing at a strange, jagged angle.
Ares scrambled to his feet, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He looked down at his hands. They were shaking. Not from fear, but from something worse.
What's happening to me? Ares thought, his vision blurring. I'm a god. I shouldn't feel tired. My heart shouldn't be slowing down.
But he realized it too late. Arc was upon him again.
Arc was a whirlwind now, switching seamlessly between his blades and his fists. He was a monster, a creature of pure destruction. He landed a deep, slicing blow across Ares's shoulder, drawing a fresh spray of golden blood.
Ares roared, a sound of pure agony, and pulled away, creating distance. He was struggling to breathe. Every movement felt like he was dragging his limbs through thick mud.
"What did you do to me... you vile wretch?" Ares struggled to get the words out.
Arc stopped. He stood perfectly still, his obsidian armor dripping with a mixture of red and gold. He let out a cold, hollow laugh that sent a shiver through the divine realm.
"It's funny that you gods think nothing can ever harm you," Arc said, his voice like grinding stones. "Look at you. You look like a beggar in the streets of the realms of men. You thought you were immortal, didn't you?"
Arc stepped forward, the shadows at his feet lengthening. "Let me tell you something, since you're going to die anyway. The power I inherited from the Ancient Beast... it carries a poison. And guess what? That poison was made to kill gods."
Arc's laughter grew louder, more mocking. "I was happy when I found out. I guess it was destiny. I never knew it would be this easy to destroy the so-called 'immortal' lords of this world."
Ares tried to lunge, a final, desperate act of defiance, but his body betrayed him. His muscles wouldn't fire. His divinity was being eaten from the inside out.
Arc appeared in front of him, faster than the eye could follow. He didn't use his sword. He pulled back his fist and drove it straight into Ares's solar plexus. The golden armor shattered like glass. Arc's fist tore through the god's chest, exiting through the center of his back in a spray of golden Ichor.
The God of War gasped, his eyes wide as he looked down at the arm buried in his chest. Golden blood streamed down Arc's gauntlet, steaming as it hit the cold air. Ares tried to raise his hands, to fight back, but the poison had reached his heart.
When Arc pulled his arm back, Ares fell. The impact of his body hitting the ground felt like an earthquake. The entire divine realm shook, the golden pillars of the sanctuary trembling as the news of a god's death rippled through the fabric of reality.
Arc stood over the fallen deity, his expression unchanged. He looked at the body of the "High Angel" on the ground, then turned his gaze toward the grand temple on the horizon.
"Now the rest of them shall fall as you have," Arc whispered to the corpse. "God of War."
Without looking back, Arc began his walk toward the temple. The hunt had only just begun.