Chapter 1 THE SHATTERED CROWN

The sky above the divine realm was burning. Ares stood in the middle of a vast, red battlefield covered in the bodies of fallen warriors. Golden blood ran down his armor, dripping onto the stained ground.

His hands shook as he gripped the shaft of the weapon pierced straight through his chest.

It was a divine spear, and the person holding it was Lysandra, the Goddess of Light.

“Why?" Ares asked, his voice thick with blood. His throat burned with every word. He never believed that Lysandra would ever betray him, it tore him just as the blade cut deep.

Lysandra looked down at him, her beautiful face completely cold. There was no pity in her eyes, only a deep, endless greed. Beside her stood Ares’s own brother, smiling as he watched the great God of War fall to his knees.

"You were too powerful, Ares," Lysandra said softly, her voice echoing across the empty battlefield. "The heavens only need one ruler, and your blind trust made this too easy. Your divine core belongs to us now."

Ares looked from his fiancée to his brother. A low, bitter laugh started deep in his chest. The laugh grew louder, turning into a roar that shook the very foundations of the sky.

The golden light in his eyes began to flicker and die, his body slowly turning into dark ash that drifted away in the wind.

"You think this is the end?" Ares snarled, his voice cracking with immense fury. He gathered the remaining strength in his fading soul, channeling it into an ancient, forbidden spell he had hidden away for centuries. "I will return.

Even if it takes a thousand lifetimes, I will find my way back to this realm, and I will tear your throats out myself."

Lysandra stepped back, her eyes widening in sudden alarm, but it was too late. Ares’s body shattered into a cloud of black dust, and his vision went completely dark.

Pain.

It hit him all at once, heavy and agonizing. Ares gasped, but instead of clean air, his lungs filled with the sharp, choking smell of old garbage and gasoline. He tried to move his arms, but a sharp ache flared in his side, telling him his ribs were broken.

He opened his eyes. The sky above wasn't radiant or gold; it was a dark, muddy grey. Heavy rain poured down, washing over his face and soaking through his thin, wet clothes.

He tried to call upon his divine aura to heal his wounds, but there was nothing inside him. His body felt small, fragile, and completely human.

Ares looked at his hands in pure shock. His fingers were thin and pale.

There were no battle calluses on his skin, no glowing war runes running up his arms. The massive muscles he had spent ten thousand years tempering in the celestial fires were completely gone.

What is this place? he thought, panic mixing with his confusion. He looked around, taking in the towering boxes of concrete and steel that stretched up into the gray sky. Strange metal carts zoomed past the opening of the small alleyway, making loud, rumbling noises.

Where are the temples? Where is the magic? This is not the divine realm. This is a world of mortals. Before he could even raise his head further, a heavy leather boot slammed violently into the back of his neck.

The force drove his face straight into the cold, wet floor. He groaned, the rough ground scraping his cheek.

"Look at you, still trying to get up," a mocking voice laughed from above him.

Ares squinted through the rain. A young man in an expensive gray suit stood over him, holding a large umbrella. Around him stood four large men dressed in matching black suits, their faces expressionless.

"Julian," Ares muttered. The name left his lips automatically, drawn from a strange rush of foreign memories that suddenly flooded his mind. This body belonged to a mortal named Ares Vane, and the man standing above him was his half-brother.

"Don't speak my name with your filthy mouth," Julian said, his eyes filled with absolute disgust. He pressed his boot down harder, grinding Ares’s neck into the pavement. "You are a stain on the Vane family name. A penniless bastard who thinks he can breathe the same air as the legitimate heirs of the empire."

Ares did not beg. He merely stared up at Julian, his dark eyes fixed on the man's face with a cold, terrifying intensity that made Julian pause for a fraction of a second.

Julian frowned, annoyed by the lack of fear in the bastard’s eyes.

He pulled his foot back and delivered a brutal kick directly into Ares's broken ribs. Ares curled inward, gasping for breath as the pain threatened to make him pass out. He has not felt this much pain being inflicted on him in a long time.

"Let’s go," Julian said, turning away and wiping a stray drop of rain from his expensive sleeve. "Leave him here. Let the trash rot where it belongs."

The thugs followed Julian down the alley, the sound of their footsteps fading into the heavy downpour.

Ares lay alone in the dark, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. His vision began to blur at the edges, and he could feel his life slowly slipping away from this weak, mortal frame.

He clenched his fists in the mud, his mind screaming against the unfairness of it all. He was a god, and he was being left to die like a dog in the street.

Suddenly, a strange sound echoed directly inside his head. It was a flat, clear voice that sounded neither male nor female. At the same time, a pale blue, semi-transparent light flared in front of his eyes, floating in the rainy air.

[Warning: Host physical condition is critical. 5% lifespan remaining. Activating War God System... Re-stamping Divine Soul... Core Conflict detected. Do you wish to bind?]