blood runs red ✓

VIII

'battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won'

- walt whitman

Ares

Below Ares stood the grave of Rhea. It had been eleven years since he saw her beautiful smile. In his hands, he carried a bouquet of sweet-smelling peonies, which he gently placed in front of her grave.

"Every fucking day I wish you were here with me." His index finger touched the top of her gravestone. "I turned 29 recently. I wish you were here though. I've been a shitty person and you're disappointed, I know it."

Ares sat still for a few moments.

"I love you mom."

He turned to leave without looking back. It had been almost two years since he had last visited her grave, or anyone in that matter.

-

Another fight commenced between Ares and Sean in the ring. Crowds cheering and the commentators narrating everything that was taking place. Ares felt different than he normally did; he was off his game. A lot had happened recently: being at his mom's grave, his father's appearance. What really got to him was Sean's side whore. The boy was in his mind every second of the day.

Ares leaped off the ropes on the side of the ring, throwing an immaculate punch to the side of Sean 'The Ravager's face, knocking him to the floor. Ares almost had him for ten seconds, that was until he noticed his fathers eyes standing in the VIP row of the audience. His body strength weakened, allowing Sean to get up and knock his ribs, slamming him onto the floor.

'7 8 9 10..' The audience roared.

Ares had lost. He had lost to his sworn nemesis all because of his stupid fucking dad. The look on Sean's face was euphoric, like he had been waiting for this moment for a long time.

Sean held his hand out to Ares, rubbing his defeat in his face, attempting to embarrass him. Ares harshly grabbed onto Sean's hand, pulling himself up, almost making the winner himself fall. Ares felt a sharp pain on the rib Sean had tackled him, but he wasn't going to let his defeat slide.

-

"Sean." Ares mumbled, half naked with a towel around his waist. "Who was the guy you were with at the party?"

Sean paused, his face turned sour.

"What guy?" He muttered

"You know, the one with those bright eyes and a sexy ass."

Ares could see the irritation in Sean's eyes, and it fuelled him with joy.

"He's nobody, just my physiotherapist. Now shut the fuck up." Sean growled.

"Physiotherapist huh?" Ares smirked. "Perfect."

Ares chucked on a shirt and joggers and left to call his manager.

"Florence, hello." Ares grinned over the phone. Florence didn't think she'd heard Ares so calm, or even somewhat excited before.

"Everything okay, Ares?" She wondered.

"I need you to look for the same physiotherapist Sean has."

"I can do that." She stated. "Any particular reason?"

"Yeah I've bruised my fucking rib cage."

"Right."

He hung up.

Ares knew that soon enough August would be screaming his name, and no longer Sean's. The thought of that made all his blood rush to his dick.

-

Sitting on his sofa, Ares was desperate for redemption. His game was seriously off. Usually before a match, Ares would find someone to shove his dick into, sometimes even more than one person. Lately, no matter how many women he fucked, he couldn't find the satisfaction to keep his motivation in the ring.

His phone rang, for the hundredth time that day. It could've been a friend or a supporter; they all said and asked the same things: why'd you let him win? Are you okay? Are you injured? The words hardly sounded real at that point.

Ares checked the display name, there wasn't one, only an unrecognisable number. He declined.

The phone rang once more and it irritated him.

"For fuck sake, who is this?" He picked up.

"Son."

Hearing his useless father's voice on the other end of the call almost made him hang up.

"I guess you could say I'm quite disappointed with you." Leonardo muttered.

"Fucking cry, old man." Ares spat

"Don't raise your voice at me, I'm getting fed up with your bullshit. I allow you to be on that ring, I allow you to indulge in all the fame and profit, and I can also take it all away. I'm not happy with the match, not at all. Listen to me boy, I want a clear match the next time you fight in a fortnight. You hear me?"

"I dunno, get me a good man I can fuck. Preferably sort of short and skinny as fuck, South American too."

Ares grinned at the sound of his father's disgust.

His phone buzzed, indicating that Leonardo had hung up. The man deserved to hear much worse, and Ares made sure it was to happen.