Percy Jackson: An Endless of All

I decided to start the search for my son once more and was going to summon Nimbus again. However, as I turned and walked away from Ares, he of course chose to follow me like a moth to a flame.

He trailed behind like a cocky egoist man full of confidence. Like he was a star of a film. His bloodstained shadow followed; he tossed out comments just to rile me up. To get a reaction out of me. His voice dripped with arrogance, amusement, and a minor sense of lust.

"You know," he said casually as he strode behind me, staring at my ass, for so long that he could have burned a hole through them.

"Your body's stunning. Especially when it's naked and trembling under me."He grinned at the thought of so. It was a fun night, but not the time to talk about it. Then goes on to add, "Gods, the way you took my massive cock... mm. I still think about it." 

Each word that fell from his mouth was like a pebble into a volcano—tiny things sparking waves of rising fury. Minute by minute, I gave him side-eyes that could stop time and kill kings. But he didn't stop. His mouth kept running a mile wide.

"Why not give up the search for your son?" he said at last. "He'll turn up one day. Just let fate do its thing."

That did it. It hit an obvious nerve. I would never abandon my son. I will do anything to find him and anything for my child. Plus, the addition of "let fate handle it" pissed me the fuck off even more. I don't like the fates already.

Without a word, I spun around as fast as possible and drove my fist square into his face—so hard the air cracked like thunder. Ares flew backward, smashing through a brick wall and skidding across the cobbled street. Dust and debris swirled around him.

He stood up from his indent on the street slowly, wiping blood from his lip. The ground beneath him had splintered and cratered. And yet, he grinned. That grin was full of lust, battle fury, and bloodlust.

"Now you're mad, Dream," he said, eyes glowing red. "This is going to be fun."

That smirk—that insufferable, war-hungry grin—was the last straw.

Then, my first fight was as Dream of the Endless with the arrogant muscle-brain Ares. Dream and War clashed that night of 1794.

The earth shook beneath us. The sky above churned as clouds twisted and wept ash. My power surged like a tidal wave, and I let it all loose. I struck like a storm of wrath and memory, dreams turned to blades and nightmares formed into chains. He countered with brute force, endless weapons conjured with every punch, every kick. Battle axes, burning swords, bone-crushing hammers—none of it saved him.

He laughed through it all, even as I tore into him."This is thrilling! By the Fates, you're making me hard as marble!" I went on to conjure spears to drive them into his body.

I didn't have to say anything. I focused on wiping that smile off his stupid, bloodied face until he couldn't stand anymore or even open that mouth of his.

We fought across ruined alleyways and broken rooftops, through memories of past wars long since buried. I saw the spark of joy in his eyes—this was ecstasy for him. But it was vengeance for me. It was also allowing me to release the pent-up anger I have inside my heart.

Finally, I left him broken on the ground—bruised, bloodied, and missing an arm and a leg. His divine form crackled with fading light, limbs dismembered but healing slowly with godly resilience. He will heal in time and back whole again. Not back anytime soon.

"Next time," I said coldly, voice like ancient frost, "keep your mouth shut."

I turned and walked away, my cloak flowing behind me like a shadow stitched from moonlight.

I had a son to find.

Ares lay in the wreckage, laughing through blood."Same time next century, Dream?"

I didn't answer.