Gloomy Convictions

Remained contemplating by the window, Ares heard a knock on the door and stoicly said, "Enter."

When the door opened, in came Pantelis with a piece of news that the god waited to hear. 

"Good morning, Your Grace." The elderly right-hand man bowed. "I bear news—his body was offered into the waves. In addition, everything you ordered has been complied with."

Ares chuckled before turning towards Pantelis. "Well, that is good news. Never thought such menace would die like a fish bait."

"Their villa was nothing but ruins. The furnace you have smote onto them erased them on the face of the earth." The advisor added, satisfied with the penalty the god had sentenced. 

"When I learned of the family history, it infuriated me. Merchants, who only did what they had to do to put food on the table, were plundered by greedy clans. I heard of the atrocities they had committed, heard of the malice they set down on their servants. It is better that their line would end and be gone for history to forget."

Pantelis nodded with hands relaxed on his back. "Such vile creatures. Bastards were born from their seeds, as one maternal keen had told a soldier. Some servants never find their way out, for some would say that when one enters Paphnoutios's villa, death immediately welcomes them. 

I may have been retired from the military, but it could not be helped sometimes to set an attack on this kind of person. Such injustices should not prevail. But forgive me if I pry on this matter, Your Grace, but how did you set the villa ablaze when Anubis is from the north?"

Ares walked towards a cabinet full of scrolls. He took one, laid it on the table as he sat, and narrated, "The old trick." He grinned maniacally. "Prior to killing Anubis, I paid a little visit to his family in the north—by no means in my true physique. Under an unsuspecting nobody—of robes adorned with dirt and holes. With a long white beard and wrinkly skin—I lighted the whole land with flames and left no one alive. The fire engulfed both structure and flesh, letting the souls of the damned free, and the offender led straight to the pits of Tartarus.

After the sentence, I returned for Anubis's turn and—" He paused, remembering that what happened between him and Athena was only his resolution. 

Click-clack—his finger pounded on the table, fighting back the rising warmth when the image of a titillated Athena flashed in his vision. He was stunned—taken aback by the suddenness causing his right-hand man to wonder. 

"Everything all right, Your Grace?" Pantelis's eyes widened. 

Ares was shamed for a while before he went back to normality. "Uh, yes. All is fine." He stammered. "I—I just remembered something."

"Do you want me to call for a drink, Your Grace?"

"No, it is fine Pantelis. Last night was just—long." The god hardly excused. 

His mind began to spin—circling with reality and the poignant apparition of Athena in his head. He wondered where she went, knowing she left the room bare and vulnerable. 

Then, there were her sobs that reverberated in his ears. Her slurred cries bantered him as if she pleaded for something, though he could not quite understand the underlying framework. 

"I have to praise you for your mercy, Your Grace. Not only did you bring justice, but you also spared the sufferers from more damnation. I know that in the eyes of others, your ways were remorseless—but growing up in an upbringing where harsh discipline was all the same with unconditional compassion, I understand. You should be given merit, for you also spared Lady Athena from such violation. At least you had proven you had much grace and benevolence as she has." Pantelis's words alerted his master. 

Ares's silent monologue rattled with the old man's warm sentiments. Poor Pantelis could only have known that the truth of tasting the purest flesh was both invigorating and vicious. 

She lingered on his skin—crawling like a slither who wanted his blood.

Her smell reeked in his nostrils, suffocating him with deep passion. 

Her nails that burrowed deep on his back were still panging as if it was only just from seconds ago. 

Athena was a phantom. A living plague that beset him from skin to bone and heart to soul. His gaze on the written scroll could not decipher an inked statement as her possession of him grew more ominous—more profound than the deception he effectively subjected themselves to. Concentration left his body as he began to think blankly and only read a word without knowing its meaning and the context it gave. 

Something about the whistling breeze of the rain—a wandering moan that beguiled him. 

Was it her? Did the dead Anemoi want to let him know of the anguish the former wise goddess suffered under what he believed to be an actual act of grace and forbearance? 

His morale was incoherent, balancing on a scale with the feather showcased in lighter weight. 

"Ye—yes. It was a prudent decision to spare her from the chaos and Anubis's sexual appetite. She is useful to me."

"Eris said the same thing about the lady being useful, Your Grace," Pantelis recalled. "I forgot to mention that her servant, Appolonia, wanted to see Athena. We crossed paths on the way here and asked about the former goddess's whereabouts. I said nothing as you ordered, knowing that Lady Athena's rest must be respected. I just told her I would give information once I knew something."

Ares faced him for a second, then returned to his scroll when his sight turned fine. He sensed some kind of nuisance already. Knowing the two goddesses, Athena would be in another bone-breaking torment. He was also frightened that they would immediately learn what had happened between him and Athena. 

"I received reports from the new land and do not know of Eris's business." He bluntly said as he carefully read the scroll that preserved an inked message of one of his architects, stating about the progress of his megaron. "Do you think it is for goodness or another shenanigan?" He then asked.

Pantelis laughed, prompting an understanding perception of the god. Ares followed suit—laughing, for they both knew of his inquiry's answer. It was clear as day as to who Eris and Enyo were. The tricks on their sleeves were already a familiar act to them ever since the dawn of the gods' era. 

"Well, Your Grace, I think we already know the answer. But I must admit, I was downhearted by Lady Athena's state. I have a daughter, and I cannot fathom to see her in that treatment. I might risk facing death just to save her."

Pantelis's statement—the words of a father stupefied the god, contemplating with the warm emotion persistent in the old man's tone. 

He, too, pitied her—longing to comfort her sorrows though he knew not how to. His hands were created for destruction, to cause a riot. His skin bore the insignia of various scars from his raging battles, and when consolidated with hers, it was like the friction of fire and water. 

Athena's scarred body flashed once more. He remembered the feel of those soaring wounds. With every brush of his finger, he recalled her whimper. Ares was humbled all of a sudden. 

"If you came across Eris's confidant, tell her that her mistress should need not worry of Athena—she will be a servant under me from now on."

Pantelis only bowed, preventing himself from saying more. 

"Very well then, Your Grace. I will do what you said." 

"And by the way, Pantelis—" Are reached out before the right-hand man turned around. "if—if you—" His words were rolling on his tongue before he continued, "if you also see Athena, tell her about her position." 

The loyal Spartan bowed, acting on his compliance. 

Once the elderly Spartan closed the doors behind him, Ares was left alone with his thoughts. As the rain slowly subsided, the vision of the former goddess of wisdom dwindled along. 

When the fog also vanished, he stepped out from his study and returned to the cabinet as he plucked out a small scroll with a poem written on it. 

Fashioned in secrecy, he murmured the lyrical sentences and oddly painted a curve on the corner of his lips. It was Athena's—an unfinished craft that entertained him. A piece he managed to sneak before the pantheon crumbled.