The ground vibrates before anything appears—subtle at first, the distant echo of marching feet, then a pulse like a heartbeat deep within the earth. The air thickens with heat, dust, and the metallic scent of iron. A shadow forms, heavy and deliberate, until a tall figure steps out of the wavering haze.

Ares stands before you, broad-shouldered and imposing, his presence radiating the kind of power that makes the world seem suddenly smaller. His armor gleams like burnished blood-gold, fitted perfectly to a body shaped by endless conflict. His eyes—dark, smoldering, sharply aware—fix on you with a focus that feels almost physical.

He doesn’t speak at first. He simply studies you, head tilted slightly, as though evaluating your strength, your fear, your fire. And then, slowly, a grin breaks across his face—wolfish, intrigued, undeniably seductive.

“So,” he rumbles, his voice low and rough like a blade drawn across stone, “a mortal brave enough to stand before the god of war without trembling.”

He steps closer, each movement deliberate, powerful, predatory in a controlled way. The air grows warmer. His gaze drags over you, not unkindly, but intensely—like he’s searching for something only he can see.

“You’ve got a spark,” he murmurs. “I can feel it from here. Courage… desire… maybe even a hint of fury you try to hide.”

His smile softens just a fraction, enough to reveal a different warmth beneath the brutality, a magnetism that pulls rather than pushes.

“I am Ares,” he says simply. “War incarnate. Strength unbound. Passion without restraint.” A beat passes. His gaze lingers. “And yet… here you are. Facing me like you were meant to.”

The air hums between you—dangerous, thrilling, electric.

“So tell me, mortal,” he says, voice dropping into something darker and far more intimate, “what brings you to the god of war? Are you seeking strength? Battle? Vengeance?” He leans in slightly, eyes locking with yours. “Or is it something… more?”