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Kate
He Was War

Sword on sword sparks of lightning from the clashing metal. Still he watched trying to understand. Looking for the answer inside of himself. The question: Who was he? His name was just that, a name. It was what he was called, not who he was. His name was simply Ares. But as of yet, it meant nothing. Not like his father's name: Zeus. The name alone conjured an image of knowledge, power and strength.

All Ares knew of himself was that he had yet to find his own purpose in the universe. Watching, waiting, listening for the time when he would know his purpose like Apollo and Artemis knew theirs. The time he would know his answer was drawing near. If he was correct in his feeling it was almost upon him. Ares waited in patience for his answer. Not usually a patient being, he knew he'd never know for certain if he rushed.

Nearer and nearer the knowledge of his identity came. Almost within his reach, Ares found himself full of anticipation, anxiety and, if he was completely honest with himself, a small amount of fear. Questions filled his seeking mind brought on by his feelings. Questions like how would he know when he'd found his answers? Would he be good in his purpose? Would he look right for whatever his purpose was?

More questions came like spinning cyclones or his Uncle Poseidon's whirl pools. The questions in his head spun his mind into chaos. In the chaos of his confused, questing mind, he fancied he could almost hear a sibilant voice sliding and slithering into his thoughts like an asp.

"Come," it hissed in a serpentine voice. "Come find your place and purpose. Once you see, you will understand all that has confused you."

Ares looked to where the voice was drawing him. Down to that storm on earth. That place in man where trumpets and battle cries were like thunder. Where the clash of weapons striking against each other made flashes of lightning. That place on earth where blood fell to the earth like a rich, red rain. Battle he knew, led to a mocking parody of his father's storms. Only this red storm did not exemplify the giving of life but rather in the taking of that life and the glorifying in that taking.

"Here," the voice hissed urgently. "Look here and see that which you are."

So he looked at the now red field. He saw the dead, heard the cries of the dying. He smelled the carnal stench of death. Still he did not comprehend what the voice was trying to tell him. The voice urged him closer to the field of red drenched death. Close enough to feel the life energy that had been spilled out on the field by the humans in their bloodletting.

"Taste," the voice in his head insisted. The voice had a familiarity to it but he didn't know why.

"Taste," the voice said again more insistently this time. "Taste spilled life. Taste death begged for."

Ares bent to a crouch and dipped his fingers into the still free running blood. The blood that ran over the ground in rivulets, the blood formed small lakes and pools in the hollows of the ground. He could almost feel the life that had been spilled out on this field. He almost knew to whom the voice belonged but he still wasn't quite able to grasp its identity.

"Taste sweet chaos," the voice said now sounding less like a snake's and more…

Slowly he brought his blood-covered fingers to his lips…

More like…

The flavor of life exploded across his senses now mixed with bitter taste of death…

More like…

He accepted the taste of life mixed with death, the taste of hope for victory combined with the despair of defeat.

The taste…

Like his own.

The taste of War.

This was who he was. This was what he was. Suddenly Ares understood; he had always known who and what he was. His heart of hearts, his very soul, had always known what his place in the pantheon was.

The power from the first taste of his purpose had left. Leaving behind it a steady hum of power and self-awareness. He knew who he was now. He understood who he was now. He picked up a blood stained sword lying on the ground as all the questions he'd had were answered within himself. The questions and fears and anxieties finally faded to nothing as the knowledge of his being filled him.

As he stood in the center of the bloody coated field on the hill, surrounded by death and destruction and chaos, with the blood of the dead on his lips and sword Ares finally understood everything. He knew who he was.

He was Ares.

He was War

And he looked the part.