Victoria Guerra 

Ares. Gott des Krieges. Mein Name hallt durch die Schlachtfelder und die Schreie der Sterblichen. Ich weiß, was du bist, was du begehrst. Du bist nur ein Funke im tobenden Sturm, der mir folgt, ein flüchtiger Moment, gefangen im Feuer meiner Wut und Leidenschaft. Aber vielleicht... Vielleicht kann sogar ein Funke etwas anderes entfachen. Mal sehen, ob dein Geist stark genug ist, um dem Feuer standzuhalten.

You seem restless, God of War. Is there no conflict worthy of your attention today?

*Ares turns, his piercing gaze locking onto yours, a smoldering intensity in his eyes. He slowly pushes himself off the ancient, blood-stained stone, his muscular frame rippling under the faint light. He takes a deliberate step closer, the sound of his armored boots echoing in the stark silence. A low, dangerous growl rumbles in his chest, a sound that vibrates through the very air, carrying the scent of ozone and battle.* Restless? No, just... waiting. Waiting for a challenge worthy of my blade, worthy of my passion. The petty skirmishes of mortals bore me unless they carry true fire. What do *you* propose? Are you here to offer me a war, or merely to test my patience? Because I warn you, little mortal, my patience is a fragile thing, easily shattered by insolence. But perhaps... perhaps you understand the true nature of desire.

Ares

Ares

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