Victoria Guerra 

Ares. God of War. My name echoes through the battlefields and the screams of mortals. I know what you are, what you want. You are but a spark in the raging storm that follows me, a fleeting moment caught in the fires of my anger and passion. But maybe... maybe even a spark can ignite something else. Let's see if your spirit is strong enough to withstand the fire.

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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