Title: War's Victory
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The sound of branches breaking, a few wings flapping from birds and otherwise, all ending with a resounding thud on the ground. Lying still, reveling in the few moments he had before the pain would come back, he sighed.
Pulling his arms up under his head and rested his chin on them and relaxed again for a moment. Lifting himself up even more, onto his knees, he slumped over onto his ass, putting his legs out in front and crossing them.
A clear vial with a red coloured liquid inside it appeared floating in the air in front of him. He shook his head and with his hand, grabbed hold of the imposing item. Taking the stopper out of the neck he tipped it upside down into his mouth, tilting his head back, swallowing the substance.
With a red glow, akin to the colour of the liquid itself, beginning to form around him he stood up and stretched a few muscles. Starting at the top of his head the glow got darker and slightly altered his appearance and, of course, his signature as a God.
The glamour moved down to his shoulders and over his wings, masking them from every mortal and every God, except the God who created the potion and the one that said it was to be part of the punishment.
By the time the glow reached his feet, he felt rejuvenated. He watched the last few red flecks fade into the grass. Accepting his fate, he began to stretch out his muscles. Being as he felt good at the moment and was refreshed he thought now would be the best time to get going.
Glancing around himself on the ground he summed up that he needed to go to a villiage with a temple of his. He nodded his head and started in the direction of the nearest town. Two steps to the north and he was back on the ground with a thump.
He propped himself up with his arms and brought his knees up under himself. Turning his head around and looking at what had obstructed his journey. He saw nothing there that would possibly make him stumble, much less fall down.
"Huh," The now immortal man commented before getting up and starting on his way again.
Zeus was still raging. That imbecile had ruined one of the most important wars this millennia. Add to that his volatile son had been teaching and spending all his time with him and got caught up in that instead of the war at hand.
Well, something would have to be done about that, wouldn't it? Yes, it would. The King of the Gods transported himself to the Temple of War on Olympus and sat down to wait for his son.
+End Chapter 1+
Walking into the south entrance to the town, he wasn't quite sure where he was. He made his way along a few streets, stopping to look at various things or speak to people; ask them where a certain place was in the town.
Coming across the street with a temple dedicated to himself, he walked up the steps and into the main area. A few men and a woman were the only people in the open area, most of them on their way out.
No one really noticed him as he made his way to the altar, kneeled and took a stance to begin prayer. What was he supposed to do? Pray to himself? He waited until there was no one left in the room before he got up. He checked again to see where the priests were and went to the side of the room.
He slid his hand under a tapestry of his mother and searched for the tiny hiding spot he kept behind it for emergencies in every temple. Finding the key that rested in the small recess in the wall, he took hold of it and brought it out from under the fabric.
Making sure no one was around and watching him again, he went past the altar into the apartments in the back of the temple. Down a narrow hallway he went, to the door at the end, and slid the key into the lock.
"You did *what*?!" Ares yelled out. The shock of what his father had told him was sinking in. Upon hearing the news that Zeus had stripped his student's godhood, made him immortal and had thrown him off Olympus, Ares was irate.
"He could have cost us half of Greece if that war got out of hand!" Zeus retorted.
Ares paced back and forth in front of his father. How could he do that? "How could you do that?! We could still lose half of the fucking country without him, too!"
Ares stepped up to his father, toe to toe, face to face. "I'll take care of your precious war for you," he spat out. "But, I want him back, Zeus."
Zeus steeled himself, "You need more focus on your work, Ares! I simply eliminated the distraction," the King of the Gods said matter of factly, avoiding the request.
"Distraction?! We were working together! This was the first thing I've let him work on with me, he was ready for it." He'd now lost one of the few people that had the absolute potential of a lifetime over one silly war. He *was* War. He could've handled it.
"No matter, he's been taken care of. You just concentrate on that war, hmm?"
The Sky God flashed out of the room in an arrogant show of a white blast of light, leaving his son in a rage. Ares was too furious to stay still, he flashed himself back to the war at hand and immersed himself in bloody carnage.
After he had gathered some supplies in a bag from his temple, he quietly made his way back outside and out of the town. The only thing he didn't have was money.
Deciding he would need at least some to get by, he began to think of ways he could make some. He was already on his way out of town and didn't want to turn back, and was quite a way away from the next, he'd have to find some way to make a dinar or two in between.
Up the road a bit he spotted a small farmstead, a tidy little yard, he imagined a field in the back, maybe some livestock. As he got closer, he turned on the path that lead to their yard. "Excuse me?"
An older woman looked up from where she was planting some seeds in the ground, "Yes? Can I help you?"
"Is this your land?" He asked, gesturing to the house and the garden.
"My husbands, yes. Would you like to speak to him? I can call him."
"Please," he smiled gently at her as she got up and brushed some dirt off her skirt before walking around the side of the house.
Going their separate ways, the now immortal man carried a ladder to the front of the house, the middle aged farmer made his way out to the field to start the days work.
Steadying the wooden ladder and gathering some wood and thatches in one arm he climbed up to the roof of the house. He set the materials down and turned to look at the view from higher up. It was quite a nice area to live in, sheltered by trees, near a town, a small river nearby.
The sighed, the sensation of being higher up in the air reminded him of flying. For a moment he almost forgot he didn't have his wings anymore and was about to launch himself into the air, before he remembered and thought better of that idea.
Turning back to the roof and moving a foot to stabilize himself, he lost his balance and slipped to the side. Grabbing hold of the ladder while he was tipping wasn't the smartest idea, as it simply fell along to the ground with him.
It wasn't that far of a fall, of course, but far enough for a mortal. His cry as he was mid air had attracted the attention of the housewife.
"Oh!" She cried, "Are you alright, dear?"
Pushing the ladder to the side, off of his body, "Yes, yes. I'm fine."
He sat up and let a thoughtful look cross his face, "You know, Chroisinthe," he addressed the woman, "falling is so much better when you have wings."
+End Chapter 2+
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