Ares stopped pretending.
The laughter died first—cut off mid-breath, as though even amusement had become a luxury he could no longer afford.
Not replaced by taunts.
Not by boasts.
Only by a roar so violent it ripped the very air apart, tearing open wounds in reality that bled raw chaos.
He came at Atlas like a collapsing star—inescapable, burning, devouring everything in its path.
No finesse remained. No speeches. No measured cruelty.
Just annihilation—raw, relentless, and absolute.
Every step Ares took pulverized the ground beneath him. Heaven's sacred clay screamed as it fractured into massive slabs that tore free from their foundations, drifting upward like shattered continents caught in a reverse deluge. Golden dust and divine marble rained skyward, catching the fractured light in glittering storms.
Atlas barely raised the axe in time.
The impact slammed through him like a cosmic hammer.
Not mere pain—displacement.
