#finally them

🐸💚🐍

Ares, Ares, manslaughtering, blood-stained, stormer of strong walls, is there no way you can go and hold back this man from the fighting, Tydeus' son, who would now do battle against Zeus father? Even now he stabbed in her hand by the wrist the lady of Kypros, and again, like more than a man, charged even against me.

Ares eyes are suffocation, a cataclysmic cyclone of unshed ichor and the white of his eyes nearly swallowed by the deep dark of his pupils. His anger had branded a seam into his side, a hot knife steadily dripping his indignation in a telltale trail of puce on the floor behind him with each step. In fact, he is practically spuming at the mouth like a dog, burning burning burning in his fury, only no— something is not quite right.

There is not rage left when he loads his weight against the threshold of Apollo's domain, steam billowing off his shoulders and the treble of his lower lip, though sewn into a snarl betrayed a deeper agony. He hopes Apollo knows the difference.

"I have done as you asked."