The sound of clashing steel echoed across the barren battlefield, the shouts of soldiers lost in a fog of bloodlust. Phobos and Deimos fought as one, graceful yet deadly, their movements the epitome of precision. A pair of fiery-eyed twins wielding identical spears, their muscles flexed through their white chitons, their beauty marred by a hint of blood. As they fought, their war cries echoed across the battlefield, their voices like the mournful cries of lost souls.
After the one-sided massacre was complete, the two noticed someone alive moving around the outskirts of the battlefield. The two blood-soaked figures rushed towards the stranger, the warm Greek sun beating down on the dark-haired youths.
Phobos observed from a cautious distance with narrowed eyes, sweat trickling down his forehead. "I've never encountered a deity quite like yourself," Phobos confessed, struggling to contain his curiosity. Deimos, on the other hand, approached the newcomer with unrestrained excitement, driven by an insatiable desire to touch and explore. "Who do I have the pleasure of addressing?" he asked.