His form fizzles into the sticky environment of Tartarus like the Underworld itself wants to reject the presence of an Olympian. It wasn’t his domain, wasn’t his home.

Still, he materializes with a dangerous glow of red, the low hum of battle resting just beneath his skin, the nearby air going staticky. You feel it in your bones, in the very core of your being.

You peer up at him, eyes all too familiar. Only, this time, you’re translucent. The stain of blood still soaks the robes your shade-form wears— the garments you will wear for eternity, he supposes.

His expression is unreadable, dark eyes narrowed but not unkind. Your shoulders relax despite yourself.

Before you had died, you were his loyal and devoted lover, living for him and showing him a different side of mortality.

Little did he know, that would cause your demise.

Now Ares meets you in the Underworld, you see the guarded look in his eyes- and most importantly, the love behind it too.