The Forgotten Story.

Chapter 3

The reign of the gods was vast, from the land of the people of the East to the hostile lands of the West, and even to lands yet unexplored or invisible to the eyes of Greece. Mortals feared their powers, and the gods took advantage of that. These human beings knew one thing well: they were nothing compared to the gods, or worse, a mere distraction in the eyes of the immortals.

So, when the rain violently struck the ground and the lightning tore through the sky, mortals prayed and trembled. The earth needed water to live, but when Zeus's anger manifested in the heavens, fear reigned below. But the wrath of the king did not frighten certain gods.

Ares stood there, on that darkening battleground dampened by raindrops. His bare chest, bulging and tense muscles, a sword in hand, a gaze reddened with rage behind his wet strands of hair—enough to send chills down the spine of any soldier.

His bare feet sank into the earth under the power of his body, and he lunged at his opponent with such speed, delivering a powerful punch. The opponent had only time to protect himself with his forearms, unable to dodge the blow. He found himself propelled a few meters away, in a cloud of dust, under the earth's howl provoked by the impact. Pain electrified him and took his breath away, but he didn't want to give up. So, despite the weight of this dreadful sensation, driven by a bestial will and a will to conquer, he tried to get up. However, it was too late; the cold of metal was felt on his neck. Ares stood there, towering over him, fixing him with his deadly blood-colored gaze. Behind him, the imposing dark gray clouds thundered, the light of the lightning and the cries of the sky accompanying Ares, making him even more towering and terrifying.

The defeated one resigned and let his head hit the ground, exasperated to have lost to the god. Ares extended his hand, and the young man took it without hesitation but with a defeated look on his face.

— You fought very well; you've made a lot of progress lately.
— No. I couldn't land a single blow on you.

Ares's eyes returned to their brown color, and his gaze no longer bore any signs of rage. After running a hand through his tousled chestnut hair, he slapped the young man's back quite abruptly, unintentionally causing him pain.

— Your speed is increasing, but something is missing. An essential thing that will make the earth bend with every step you take.
— That's a bit exaggerated, father.

In response, the god of war walked away from the young man. He stopped in the middle of the vacant lot, facing away from his son. He waited for a moment, breathed, and suddenly, an aura of hatred surrounded Ares. Without warning, without movement, the earth began to crack and collapse under his weight into several large pieces. The young son of the god of war, surprised and destabilized, tried to remain standing as the ground shook. He retreated as best he could, and, miraculously, the cracks stopped just at his feet. He stared at them, swallowing his saliva with difficulty. His father was so powerful that even without moving, he could kill someone.

— You can have this power too. You are a demigod.

His son jumped and turned around; his father was behind him, and he hadn't even heard the sound of his footsteps.

— You lack rage, anger, hatred—the thing inside you that you must awaken to be truly powerful. Find that thing missing in you, nurture it every day, and release it under pure rage. The world will kneel before you, Timios, son of the mighty Ares.

The immortal moved away from his son and began to run until he disappeared.

Timios watched his father walk away in the stormy uproar caused by his grandfather. The torrential rains beating down on him didn't seem to bother him. He walked a few meters in the ruins of this land mutilated by his father and found his sword. He picked it up and leaped out of the wasteland. A pain electrified his left leg, and he grimaced. He never held back in combat, especially not against his father. The latter occasionally trained him; he rarely saw him since, after all, he was a god. So, the few times he had this chance, he gave everything he had to try to touch him at least once and, especially, to make him proud. But so far, he had not achieved such a feat. His father did not spare him, and despite his self-imposed intensive training, he didn't feel like he was progressing, and it made him ashamed.