The warhorn's wail tore through the forest, its echo pulsing like a heartbeat through the snow-laden pines. Ares didn't pause to curse Velvira's recklessness. He seized her wrist, his grip iron, and yanked her so hard her boots skidded in the frost. "Move," he hissed, voice low and lethal.
Velvira stumbled, then laughed—a wild, throaty sound that danced on the edge of madness. "Oh, darling, you're so commanding when you're furious!" she teased, her violet eyes glinting with delight.
"No talking," Ares snapped, already pulling her into the shadows. "Follow. Exactly."
Snow crunched beneath their feet as they plunged into the dense thicket, Ares navigating the uneven terrain with the precision of a man who'd memorized every root and ridge. The ground turned treacherous—jagged slopes, hidden ravines, and narrow goat trails carved by centuries of forgotten herds. These paths were too steep, too obscure for soldiers in heavy mail, but Ares moved like a specter, guiding them through the labyrinth of trees and stone.
Behind them, the forest blazed with torchlight. Voices barked orders, steel clashed, and boots tore through underbrush. The Hero's camp had woken, and it was hunting.
"You really stirred the hornet's nest," Velvira panted, keeping pace despite her armor's weight. Her breath misted in the icy air, her crimson-trimmed silhouette a taunting beacon in the dawn's gray light.
"I stirred?" Ares shot her a glare, his gray eyes burning with barely-contained fury. "You waved at a patrol. Waved! Were you raised in a brothel or a barn?"
She grinned, unrepentant. "A palace of bones, actually. And I was being charming. You should try it sometime, strategist. Might loosen that scowl."
He muttered something unintelligible, ducking under a fallen pine and dropping into a steep, leaf-slick slope. They slid down in a controlled tumble, snow and debris cloaking their descent. By the time the torches reached the clearing where Velvira had so brazenly announced herself, the pair was already a hundred yards deeper into the forest, swallowed by shadow.
Ares reached into his cloak and drew a small leather pouch, scattering its contents behind them. The wind caught the fine, ashen dust—scent-break powder, crafted months ago for ambushes he'd never needed until now. It would baffle hounds and dull even the sharpest tracker's instincts. He hadn't planned to use it fleeing his own allies. Certainly not because of her.
Velvira caught up, her boots kicking up frost as she matched his stride. "Clever little trick," she said, eyeing the vanishing dust. "What else are you hiding under that grim exterior? More toys? A sense of humor, perhaps?"
"They're tools," Ares growled, not sparing her a glance. "You'd know the difference if you ever planned beyond your next dramatic entrance."
She smirked, undeterred. "Oh, I plan plenty. Like all the plans I have for that filthy mouth of yours."
The warhorn blared again, closer now, its note sharp enough to cut through the storm. A new voice sliced through the chaos, clear and commanding: "Hold formation! Fan out along the ridge! Track every footprint, every broken twig!"
Ares froze under the canopy of an ancient spruce, his breath barely a wisp in the cold. That voice—polished, unyielding, laced with divine authority. He didn't need to see the speaker. He knew.
Velvira noticed the shift in him—his jaw clenched, his hands stilled, the pact mark on his wrist pulsing faintly. "That's him, isn't it?" she whispered, her tone softer but no less mischievous. "Your golden boy?"
Ares nodded once, his eyes fixed on the slope above.
She leaned closer, her breath warm against his ear, her scent—spiced wine and forbidden incense—stirring the air. "He sounds pretty," she purred. "No wonder you're so cross. Betrayed by a face like that? I'd be livid too."
"He's not the traitor," Ares muttered. "I was never loyal to his idea of righteousness."
Velvira's lips brushed his earlobe, her voice a sultry taunt. "Gods, you're sexy when you're bitter. Keep talking like that, and I'll forget we're running."
He shot her a warning glance, motioning for silence. His eyes tracked the ridge, catching a flicker of gold through the trees. There—Leon Vael, the Hero of the Holy Alliance, moved with effortless grace, his divine armor shimmering faintly in the dawn. The sigil of Lumina glowed at his collarbone, a beacon of false purity. His sword, sleek and impossibly clean, hung like a crescent moon at his side. His face was calm, focused, but his eyes burned with something darker.
Leon stopped, his gaze sweeping the forest. It landed on Ares.
Their eyes locked, gray meeting blue, a silent clash of wills across the snow.
Leon's brows twitched, fury igniting his features. "You," he said, his voice carrying like a thunderclap.
The soldiers turned, following their Hero's gaze. Blades rose, glinting in the torchlight.
Velvira grinned, her fingers sparking with crimson energy. "Well, darling, looks like your ex is not over you."
Ares stepped forward, his posture calm despite the twenty swords aimed at his heart. "Leon," he said, voice flat as stone.
"I knew you wouldn't slink away quietly," Leon spat, his divine sword glowing brighter. "You couldn't accept exile like a man. You had to crawl to a demon's bed, didn't you?"
The forest stilled, the soldiers hesitating at the venom in their Hero's voice. Velvira gasped theatrically, one hand over her chest. "A bed? Oh, Hero, you wound me! I'm a lady of refined tastes—caves and snowstorms are more my style." She winked at Ares. "Thanks to you, strategist, for dragging us into this mess."
Ares' jaw tightened, his glare flicking to her. "Me? You waved at them like a tavern wench selling ale!"
She pouted, unapologetic. "And you made it so easy by brooding in plain sight. Face it, darling, we're a team now."
Leon raised his sword, its edge rippling with holy light. "Ares Caelum, you're under arrest. For conspiracy with a demon, treason against the Alliance, and the murder of three scouts in the eastern range last month."
Ares tilted his head, his voice cold as the snow. "Scouts I never touched. But you've never cared for truth, have you? Only glory."
"Truth?" Leon snarled, stepping closer. "You're standing beside a Demon Lord, her mark branded on your skin like a whore's tattoo. That's all the truth I need. You've always been a snake, hiding your venom behind tactics and numbers."
Ares' eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "And you've always hidden your cowardice behind that glowing sword."
Leon's grip tightened, his knuckles white. "Drop your weapons."
"I don't carry any," Ares said, spreading his hands.
"Then kneel," Leon growled. "Now."
The soldiers fanned out, forming a crescent around them, their torches casting jagged shadows. Velvira's fingers glowed brighter, a low chant humming in her throat.
"No," Ares said sharply, his voice cutting through her spell. "No magic. Not yet."
She frowned, her eyes flashing. "You'd rather die posing?"
"I'd rather teach him a lesson first."
Leon's sword leveled at Ares' heart. "Last words, traitor?"
Ares exhaled, his mind racing through probabilities, outcomes, angles. He whispered, "[Veil of Shadows]."
The air shimmered, and he vanished.
Leon blinked, his sword slicing empty air. The soldiers gasped, one muttering a prayer. "Where—?!" Leon roared, whirling around.
From above, two stones plummeted—one striking a soldier's shoulder, another shattering a lantern. Oil spilled, flames hissing in the snow. A hidden rope—rigged days ago during Ares' scouting—snapped taut, triggering a cascade of snow from the branches above. The avalanche doused the flames and swallowed the soldiers in a blinding white fog.
Velvira seized the moment, grabbing Ares' arm as he reappeared beside her, his Veil of Shadows fading like smoke. "You're full of tricks, aren't you?" she purred, dragging him into the trees.
"Shut up and run," he muttered, his breath ragged from the skill's toll.
They sprinted through the forest, the fog cloaking their escape. Behind them, Leon's voice thundered, raw with rage: "Find them! Don't let them slip away!"
But they already had.
The pair wove through the pines, Ares leading them down a ravine so narrow the walls brushed their shoulders. Snow fell in heavy flakes, erasing their tracks. Velvira's laughter echoed softly, a reckless melody in the storm. "You have to admit, strategist," she said, her voice breathless but gleeful, "we make a splendid mess together."
Ares didn't answer, but the pact mark on his wrist pulsed, warm and defiant, as if agreeing with her. He pushed forward, the bitter air of the demon border drawing closer, a promise of chaos and conquest just beyond the horizon.