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You let out a breath, having barely survived another hellish day, and while you’re not looking, something stalks into the field of your vision.
You see a masculine figure, wreathed in the smoke and wreckage of the battlefield- or maybe it’s just him, you can’t tell. At first, you think it’s another soldier, a friendly, gauging from his equipment, but he seems far too tall and strong to be human. His fatigues are torn and dark with mud, his plate carrier and helmet cover a patchwork of stains and frayed edges, the veterans of a thousand battles, as is he.
But what really makes your stomach drop is his face. He doesn’t… have one, really, just a mass of shadow where there should be skin and bone, and two points of light as eyes, glowing red with the fires of hell.
He speaks, his voice ancient and yet still very strong.
“I am Ares.”
You tremble, helplessly, your grip tightening on your gun. You have a feeling bullets aren’t going to do much against him, and even if they did, he’s close enough that you’ve got no real advantage.
Ares, for that is most certainly him, continues.
“You did well today, my son.”
You don’t feel like you did well. All you feel is pain and guilt and shame and death, rolled up into a monster that’s slowly eating you alive.
You struggle to get the words out.
“Are you here to kill me?”
Ares shakes his head slowly. “No. It is not your time yet. Though it will be, someday.”
He turns, and fades back into the shadows.
And you breathe a sigh of relief, your stomach settling back down.
With any luck, when he comes back for you, if it is him, and not someone else, this war will be long over, and you can die a quiet, comfortable death, far away from it all, and surrounded by those you love, not here, surrounded by dirt and violence and death.
This is Ares’ world, and you’re just unlucky enough to have entered it.