Ares stood amid the aftermath, his jaw clenched and fists trembling with barely contained fury. The silence in the school gym was deafening, broken only by the distant sounds of chaos echoing from outside. His eyes bore into Heimdall, the bodies of fallen soldiers lying between them, the stench of death and gunpowder thick in the air.
"This... this wasn't supposed to happen," Ares hissed, his voice low but furious. He pointed a bloodstained hand toward the lifeless forms on the ground. "If Zeus hears about this, if the All Mighty hears about this—"
Heimdall turned sharply, his cold gaze fixing on Ares. His voice was calm, almost eerily so, cutting through Ares' tirade like a blade. "They'll what?" he asked, his tone quiet but laced with a dangerous edge. "Cast me out? Punish me?"
Ares blinked, momentarily thrown off by the sudden shift in tone. Heimdall continued, stepping closer to Ares with an air of defiance, his voice steady and controlled. "I'm not sure if you've realized this, Ares, but they need all the help they can get. Zeus, the All Mighty, every one of them—they are not going to do anything to me. Do you understand?"
The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of truth. Heimdall's eyes were hard, unyielding, like stone. For a moment, the tension between them was palpable, a clash of two powerful beings standing on the edge of something far more destructive than any battle they had fought.
Ares clenched his fists tighter, his knuckles white with the effort of holding back. He was the god of war, but he understood restraint when necessary. Heimdall, however, had gone too far. "That doesn't mean what you did was right," Ares growled. "You killed humans, innocents—"
"They attacked us," Heimdall interrupted. "They were misguided, scared, manipulated by Lucifer's games. You think letting them kill us would've been the better option? They were already doomed."
Ares shook his head, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. "We're supposed to be protecting them, not slaughtering them. If we keep this up, we're no better than Lucifer."
Heimdall scoffed, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Lucifer doesn't care about protecting anyone. He thrives on chaos, manipulation, and death. You think mercy will stop him? You think sparing a few humans will change the course of this war?" His voice was rising, the calmness slipping away, replaced by an underlying bitterness. "They're already lost, Ares. If you want to win this, you better start seeing the bigger picture."
Ares stared at him, his heart pounding in his chest, torn between his loyalty to Zeus, the gods, and his own sense of justice. "You've forgotten what we're fighting for," he said quietly, the anger in his voice fading into something far more sorrowful. "The humans, the innocents—they're the reason we fight. If we lose them, we lose everything."
For a moment, Heimdall said nothing, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched out, thick with unspoken thoughts. Finally, he turned away, his gaze sweeping across the ruined gym, the broken bodies, and the fading shadows of the demons they had just slain.
"We fight for survival, Ares," Heimdall said softly, his voice carrying a weight of resignation. "And sometimes, survival means making hard choices."
Ares didn't respond. Instead, he let the silence settle between them, his mind racing with the implications of what had just happened. Heimdall wasn't wrong—the situation was spiraling out of control, and their enemies were growing stronger by the moment. But Ares couldn't shake the feeling that they were losing sight of what truly mattered.
The gods had always stood for something greater than themselves—for justice, for balance, for protection. But now, as the war against Lucifer escalated, it felt as though those ideals were slipping away, lost in the carnage and desperation.
Ares knew one thing for certain: if they continued down this path, the line between gods and demons would blur, and the very thing they fought to protect would be consumed by the darkness they were trying to defeat.
With a final glance at Heimdall, Ares turned toward the exit, his mind already racing with thoughts of what they had to do next. He couldn't afford to dwell on this moment for too long—there were bigger battles ahead, and they needed to be ready.
But as he walked away, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something had shifted between them. The unity they had once shared as gods was cracking, and the war was beginning to take its toll.
Ares could only hope that they wouldn't fall apart before they had a chance to finish what they had started.
Ares and Heimdall made their way out of the school, the air between them heavy with unspoken tension. They moved swiftly toward the hospital, both understanding that their mission wasn't over yet, but the weight of their earlier clash hung in the air.
Meanwhile, Raiden, Zohar, and Kaito lay battered and broken in the holy infirmary of the gods. Golden light filled the air, illuminating their injuries and giving the place an ethereal, dream-like quality. Valkyries, the divine warriors of the heavens, moved silently around them, tending to their wounds with precision and care. Their wings fluttered softly as they worked, a mixture of elegance and power.
Raiden's eyes flickered open, his body aching with every breath he took. His vision was blurry, and the unfamiliar surroundings made him feel disoriented. His voice was weak as he mumbled, "Am I... dead?"
A Valkyrie standing nearby, her eyes filled with kindness but her stance as firm as a warrior's, leaned down to meet his gaze. Her silver armor shimmered, and her long, braided hair flowed like liquid gold. "No," she said softly but firmly. "You are not dead, young warrior. You are in the realm of the gods. The holy infirmary."
Raiden blinked, trying to make sense of her words. "The realm of the gods?" he repeated, his voice hoarse.
The Valkyrie nodded. "Yes. You and your companions were gravely injured in battle, but the gods saw potential in you. You were brought here for healing. This is a place where the divine touch can restore even the most broken bodies." She smiled gently. "I am Valkyrie Astrid, one of many who serve the All Mighty."
Raiden swallowed hard, his mind racing. The last thing he remembered was facing Lucifer, the chaos, the violence—and then darkness. "Lucifer... what happened to him? And my friends... Kaito, Zohar?"
Astrid placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, her touch calming and reassuring. "Your friends are here, resting and healing, just as you are. As for Lucifer, he fled after your battle. He is still out there, but you are safe now. The gods are preparing for what comes next."
Raiden exhaled slowly, his body finally relaxing as the weight of her words sank in. The pain was still there, but knowing that Kaito and Zohar were alive and that they were in the hands of the gods brought him a small sense of relief.
He glanced around the room, taking in the other Valkyries moving gracefully between the beds. Their presence felt protective, like angels of battle rather than mere healers. "Valkyrie... I don't understand. Why us? Why did the gods choose us?"
Astrid's expression became more serious, her gaze steady as she looked into his eyes. "The gods see what others cannot. They see potential, strength, courage. You and your friends have proven yourselves in battle, even before you were chosen. That is no small feat."
She paused, her voice softening. "There is a war coming, one that threatens not just the gods, but all of existence. The gods need warriors who can stand against Lucifer and his forces. That is why you were chosen, Raiden. You, Kaito, and Zohar will play a vital role in this war."
Raiden's head spun with the weight of her words. Chosen by the gods, destined to fight in a war that would determine the fate of humanity and the divine. It all felt so surreal, but as he lay there, he knew there was no turning back.
He glanced at Astrid again, her calm and strength giving him hope. "And what about you? You're a warrior too, aren't you?"
Astrid smiled, a glint of pride in her eyes. "Yes, I am. We Valkyries are both healers and warriors. When the time comes, we will fight alongside you."
Raiden closed his eyes for a moment, letting her words sink in. Despite the pain, despite the fear, he felt a surge of determination deep within him. He had been chosen for a reason, and now, more than ever, he had to be ready.
Opening his eyes again, he nodded. "Thank you... Astrid."
She gave a slight bow, her wings fluttering softly behind her. "Rest now, Raiden. You will need your strength for the battles ahead." With that, she turned and continued her work, leaving Raiden to process the gravity of what lay before him.
As Raiden closed his eyes, exhaustion and pain gave way to a hazy dream. The golden glow of the holy infirmary faded, replaced by the darkened sky of the military checkpoint where he last saw his father. His father's voice echoed in his mind, replaying the words that had been haunting him since their last conversation.
"You're naive, Raiden," his father had said, his tone firm but filled with the weariness of a man who had seen too much. "You think you can bring order to this chaos? That you can make sense of all this death? The person responsible for your mother's death is beyond anything you can understand."
The words stung as much now as they had then. Raiden had felt small in that moment, powerless against the tides of destruction swirling around him. He had been filled with anger, but also a deep sense of confusion. His mother's death was an open wound, and the chaos that followed had only made things worse.
In the dream, Raiden found himself back at that checkpoint, standing amidst the rubble and devastation. Soldiers rushed by, their faces grim, their eyes hollow. The scent of smoke and blood hung heavy in the air. Raiden watched the scene unfold, but this time, it felt different—like he was an outsider looking in.
He saw his father again, standing beside the wreckage of a helicopter, his face lined with stress and sorrow. Raiden felt the pull to go to him, but his feet wouldn't move. He was stuck, watching his father turn away, disappearing into the chaos. He hadn't thought much about him since that moment, too caught up in the battles and survival. But now, as he relived it, something felt off. Something was missing.
"Dad," Raiden called out in the dream, his voice echoing into the void. "Where did you go? What happened after the crash?"
The memories became foggy after the helicopter crash. He couldn't recall seeing his father after that moment. In the chaos of demons and destruction, everything had become a blur. But now, in the stillness of his dream, Raiden's mind tried to piece it together.
He remembered the explosion, the fire, and then... nothing. His father had vanished, leaving Raiden with unanswered questions. Where had he gone? Was he even alive? Raiden clenched his fists, frustration building inside him.
The dream began to shift. The scene of the military checkpoint started to blur, and now Raiden found himself standing in a darkened field, illuminated only by the faint glow of distant lightning. In the distance, he saw a figure—a shadowy silhouette, tall and familiar. It was his father.
Raiden began to move toward him, desperation driving his every step. "Dad!" he called, but the figure remained still, unmoving, as if trapped in time. "I need answers! What happened to you?"
Just as Raiden was about to reach him, the figure began to dissolve into mist, fading into the darkness. His father's voice, soft but clear, whispered through the dream.
"I'm sorry, Raiden. I couldn't protect you... or her. But you can still make things right."
Raiden jolted awake, his heart pounding, sweat clinging to his skin. The dream faded, but the questions lingered. He hadn't seen his father after that crash. Could he still be out there? And if so, why hadn't he tried to find him?
There were too many gaps, too many pieces missing. But Raiden knew one thing for sure—he couldn't rest until he found out the truth.
Raiden, shaken from his dream, got up from the bed, his muscles protesting with every step as he made his way over to where Zohar lay. Zohar's breathing was shallow, and his skin was pale, but he seemed to be stable for now. Raiden's gaze traced the bandages wrapped around Zohar's chest, where he knew the hell poison had spread.
Turning to the Valkyrie who was tending to Zohar, Raiden asked, "Is he going to be okay?"
The Valkyrie looked up, her expression calm yet sympathetic. "He's suffered some serious injuries," she said, her voice soft but steady. "The slashes on his chest were deep, and the hell poison has taken root. But he was lucky."
Raiden's fists clenched at the mention of the poison. "Hell poison... So it's already affecting him?"
The Valkyrie nodded. "Yes, but you brought him to us in time. And he's fortunate that he had already been chosen before Lucifer attacked him. The powers given to him helped slow the poison's spread. It's still a dangerous situation, but he's in good hands here. We're doing everything we can to cleanse him of it."
Raiden exhaled, feeling a mixture of relief and worry. He didn't like leaving Zohar's fate in anyone else's hands, but seeing the Valkyrie's confidence eased him slightly.
The Valkyrie continued to adjust Zohar's bandages, her movements precise and gentle. "Rest assured, young warrior," she said, glancing back at Raiden. "Your friend is safe here. We'll make sure he recovers."
Raiden gave her a grateful nod, but as he looked back at Zohar, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease. He was thankful they had made it this far, but he knew the road ahead was still full of unknowns. With a final glance at Zohar, he took a step back, letting the Valkyrie work as he turned to face whatever challenges lay ahead.
As Raiden walked back to his bed, he felt the weight of their journey settle heavily on his shoulders. They were in the realm of gods, fighting battles that stretched far beyond anything he could have imagined. Yet, with every new struggle, he felt himself grow stronger, more determined.
He took one last look at Zohar, his mind set. They'd survive this—together. And they'd find the answers they sought, no matter the cost.
With a quiet resolve, Raiden lay back down, ready to face whatever came next.