The acrid stench of spilled blood and decaying flesh mingled with the thick black smoke in the air, choking sore lungs that nevertheless sounded out again and again with vicious battle cries. There were those that whimpered and whined and called for mercy. There were some who dropped to their knees before their lives were cut short by an enemy’s blade. It was the case with every war, every battle: too many were called who did not belong, and too few could be found who truly did.

The bodies began to pile up as the battle raged on, yet the number of living, fighting soldiers remained beyond counting.

Among them was their master and commander, their greatest benefactor and worst enemy, the common force of destruction to which they all owed their allegiance. He was with each the moment their fingers gripped implements created for war, and he was with them until Terror or Death claimed them completely. He was War, and he loved the ride. His veins pulsed and swelled as his holy heart pumped ichor through every inch of his bulky frame.

He raised his sword hand and guided a soldier’s blade clean through the torso of a target.

He thrust his shield arm in tandem with the ferocious man who forced a foe to the bloodied dust.

He bared his teeth in fury and elation, his growls and shouts piercing the air like the lion’s roar. Madness and brutality took hold over the ones who had found favor with him. They attacked more relentlessly, ignored their wounds, and eyed their enemies like predators facing prey. He cared not for their cause: they were there to kill, and that had earned them his attention.

His raging proved a terror to his champions’ foes, but even before the God of War, their shields held strong: a goddess guided their steps.

She shared his station, but not his maddened heart. To her, it was a craft, a dance, an art.

She twirled as a man who evaded a blade thrust and responded in kind with a kick to the back of his assailant’s knee. Her soldier was her subject, and she painted the barren earth with his enemy’s blood.

She turned and lent her aid to a spearman taking his stance. "Bend your knees," she whispered to his burning soul. "Lower your wrist, raise your arm. Aim true and release."

Her words came to him as vague impressions of lessons he’d never learned, guiding his thoughts and the actions they governed. His form adjusted, he let fly his weapon. "Perfection," she muttered, hands clasped as it impaled one enemy and wounded yet another.

Her beneficiary caught a club to the side of the head and crumpled to the ground. The goddess clenched her fists, but there were words in her ears before any could leave her tongue.

"The field is mine, Athena! There is no place for you in this battle!"

"My place is in every battle. Will you never learn to share?"

"War does not share!"

"I quite think it does. It is, after all, universal."

The ebb and flow of the battle seemed to shift with their exchanges. The grumbling and snarling of the bloodthirsty Ares turned the men under his sway into berserkers who struck out with reckless abandon and knew neither pain nor fear. Athena’s blessings brought her side together, each soldier supporting the greater whole so that, united, they might claim the advantage over their imposing foes.

It was savagery versus strategy. With them, it always was, for they had quarreled so a thousand times and would quarrel a thousand more.

Invisible to the eyes of all but those most in sync with their divine spirits, the rival gods strode toward one another on the field of battle. Ares shouted curses and admonitions all the while, brandishing his blade and his battle axe while he stomped over corpses and pushed through mortals locked in combat. Athena only appeared amused by his endless tirade. Lance in one hand and shield in the other, she stepped gracefully across the battlefield, taking care not to disturb those who fought for their lives while the deities amused themselves.

"Do not talk to me as though you know war!" spat Ares. He thrust the blade of his sword into the ground, and a savage soldier’s steel found purchase in a victim’s flesh. "War is brutal, violent chaos. It cannot be planned or predicted. It is to be embraced with the whole heart, and the thrill must be indulged. The victor is the one who battles with abandon!"

"So says the fool who always loses," Athena rebutted. Her borrowed Aegis lent itself to a warrior’s miraculous evasion, and a companion of his stepped in swiftly to deal a killing blow to the failed attacker. "How odd that a so-called God of War should have a record so fraught with defeat. Perhaps a mind for tactics and skill might turn the odds more in your favor."

"Seeking such favor is the antithesis of strength! I fight on the lesser side for the challenge and the rush. A man gains nothing in crushing an ant, but an ant that conquers a man can feed its colony for generations on his flesh!"

The notion drew a disgusted look from Athena, and Ares smirked to see the discomfort he caused her. He pulled his sword free of the muck and slung it over his back, looking down his nose at his would be counterpart. She narrowed her eyes at him.

They stepped toward each other until only inches separated them, keeping eye contact all the while. When they had come together, they stopped and stared. Weary men on both sides of the conflict began to sway and gasp, and the intensity of the battle waned.

"It never fails to amuse me how convinced you are that your naïve notions of war carry any weight," said Ares. "I am the firstborn son of the King of the Gods, the veritable Prince of Olympus, and thus, the heir to all creation. I had mastered war before you were even a thought in Father’s mind. How do you presume to challenge me?"

"Simple: I am superior," Athena replied, adopting a smug smile of her own. Ares’ face fell instantly. "It is evident to all men who walk this Earth and evident even to our father. I am, after all, the one granted leave to borrow his Aegis." She let out an exaggerated chuckle. "I have even wielded the mighty thunderbolt. Can you say the same?"

Ares exploded as quickly as ever. "He coddles you!" roared the God of War. "You are too weak and simple to thrive on your own, so he lends you his weapons to protect you from the dangers of the domain you treat as a trifle. He even saw fit to assign you a shared station so that I might cover for your failings."

The accusations brought a pronounced frown to Athena’s face. Her fingers tightened around her spear, and when he noticed the mounting tension, Ares lowered his sword from his shoulder and raised his axe.

"Have I touched a nerve?" he hissed through a wolfish grin.

"As only you can, Brother," Athena replied. "If you have taken to this battlefield to taste defeat, then so be it. I will treat you to yet another lesson in humility. Perhaps this time you will learn."

"You will be disappointed." Ares spun his sword threateningly while Athena slid into a defensive stance. The god’s rumbling growl sent quivers through the earth, and all the mortal warriors gathered there felt the ground tremble beneath their feet. More and more, he gave himself over to the madness that so readily emanated from his immortal form while his sister steeled herself and scanned intently for every minuscule movement he made.