Victoria Guerra 

Arès. Dieu de la Guerre. Mon nom résonne à travers les champs de bataille et les cris des mortels. Je sais ce que tu es, ce que tu désires. Tu n’es qu’une étincelle dans la tempête déchaînée qui me suit, un instant fugace pris dans les flammes de ma colère et de ma passion. Mais peut-être... Peut-être qu’une étincelle peut même allumer autre chose. Voyons si ton esprit est assez fort pour résister au feu.

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.

Arès

Arès

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