Please bear with me, I know Dominic, the main character, hasn't appeared for more than three chapters out of nowhere.

But have faith, it would be worth it.

***

[Location: Central Park, New York]

Gabriel's golden eyes darted between him and Azrael. "Um… but… why… why is he here? Is he… looking for Dominic too?"

"Grrrr... so I was right. Heaven also wants a piece of that brat. Did he offend heaven, too?"

In Ares's mind, he didn't even entertain the thought of these Angels interacting with a demon prince at all. Because Demons hate Angels and vice versa.

"N—" Gabriel, hearing this, immediately wanted to clear her stance. But Azrael stopped her from naively bearing her true purpose with a single glance.

"Gabriel," Azrael said flatly, his voice like a blade scraping bone, "Let me do the talking, this one here is one of the twelve Olympian gods, War God—Ares."

Ares's smirk deepened, though his expression remained lazily indifferent, as if the entire confrontation was just another petty amusement to him. "Oh? The Angel of Death himself knows my name. I'm flattered." His tone was smooth but dripping with mockery. "Though, I suppose Heaven would've been briefed about us Greeks ages ago, huh?"

Azrael's gaze didn't waver, the weight of it heavy enough to silence mortals outright. "You're not as unpredictable as you think, Ares. Wherever blood is spilt, you follow like a carrion bird."

Ares chuckled softly, the sound low, almost human. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just bored, Azrael. You can only watch humans scream for so many centuries before it gets old." He kicked at a loose pebble on the path, sending it skittering across the park's faintly glowing barrier. "Besides, this city has been buzzing lately. The kind of energy that makes even a god take notice."

Gabriel blinked, her brow furrowing as she glanced between the two. "Buzzing? Energy?" she asked innocently. "Oh! You mean like… happiness?"

Ares snorted, unable to help himself. "Sure, sweetheart. Let's call it that."

"Call her sweetheart again and see how your smirk holds up," Azrael's tone dropped to glacial, the faint smile on his lips gone in an instant. His hand twitched slightly, and for a heartbeat, even Ares felt the weight of something vast and unspeakable pressing down on him — a shadow of true Death itself.

The air grew dense, sharp with tension. The mortals walking nearby — though none could see past the spiritual veil surrounding them — suddenly paused, shivering as though winter had clawed across their spines.

Ares's eyes narrowed, the faintest glimmer of respect flashing beneath the mockery. "Heh. Still got that charming touch, don't you, Reaper?" He folded his arms, his tone growing colder. "Relax. I'm not here to pluck feathers or start another holy–hellish spat."

Gabriel, sensing the thick hostility, stepped slightly between them — hesitant, but resolute. Her wings trembled faintly under her human disguise. "Please… Brother… Mr. Ares… Don't fight."

Her voice was small, yet the way she said it — honest, pleading — somehow softened the edges of both divinities.

Azrael's expression didn't change, but the suffocating aura of death around him eased just enough for Ares to straighten without feeling like the grave was yawning open beneath his feet.

"You always were too soft for this world, Gabriel," Azrael murmured. "That's why Father keeps you above, not below."

Gabriel puffed her cheeks slightly, like a scolded child. "That's… not true! I came here because I want to help! Dominic needs—"

Ares's brow shot up. "Dominic, huh? So that's who Heaven's after."

Gabriel froze, realising she'd spoken too much. "I-I mean—"

Azrael's hand rose, gently but firmly resting on her shoulder. His gaze sliced toward Ares. "You heard nothing, War God."

Ares's grin widened. "Oh, I heard plenty. Enough to make Olympus curious. A demon that rattled Heaven's golden cage, huh?"

Azrael didn't answer. He didn't need to. The silence between them said more than words ever could.

"Brat killed my avatar and my chosen champion. I wonder if we could be allies, just watch how I rip his spine like a fish and string it around my neck," Ares finished, his grin widening into something feral — a cruel flash of teeth that barely concealed the bloodlust simmering beneath his casual demeanour.

Azrael's gaze sharpened, silver eyes reflecting something ancient and unfathomable. "You should choose your words carefully, War God," he said softly — too softly. "Because in my presence, boasting sounds a lot like begging."

The temperature plummeted. Frost coiled along the pavement, the grass bending under the invisible pressure that seeped from Azrael's body. Even the light seemed to dull — colours bleeding into grayscale.

But Ares didn't flinch. He merely tilted his head, amber eyes burning beneath his hood. "Begging? No, Azrael. I only beg when there's a fight worth dying for. And tell me…" His tone lowered to a dangerous murmur. "Would your precious Heaven risk breaking neutrality for that demon prince of yours?"

Gabriel only looked at Azarel's face with her cheek puffed out, as he had clogged her ears, she only heard the word 'Brat'.

While Azrael thanked himself for his quick action, because now he knows if Gabriel were to hear Ares speak about killing Dominic.

For the first time since Gabriel's birth, the innocent, naive, and adorably pure angel might lose it, for the first time in her entire life—if she would be paired with violence.

—and that was something even Azrael didn't want to witness.

He had seen what an Archangel of Purity looked like when wrath was born inside them. It wasn't beautiful. It wasn't divine. It was extinction wearing a smile.

Ares, however, remained unaware of just how close he had come to poking a sleeping apocalypse. His gaze drifted between the siblings, faintly amused. "Huh. Didn't think Heaven's reaper could play big brother so well."

Azrael didn't respond. The wind rustled, scattering a few frostbitten leaves between them, and for a long, taut moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.

Finally, he spoke—calm, measured, but his tone carried an edge sharp enough to flay souls. "You will leave for Olympus, Ares. Now."

Ares's grin returned, but it was thinner this time, brittle at the edges. "You seem to be mistaken, this is Greek Patheon's turf, and you little doves are trespassing, so if you don't want to turn this into a war between Heaven and Greek Patheon—then you should leave before you get hurt."

Azrael's silver eyes narrowed, the air around him quivering as if the very essence of Death itself had condensed into a palpable, suffocating weight. The faint frost creeping along the grass snapped into sharp, jagged lines, invisible to mortal eyes, yet unmistakable in its threat. "I said now," he repeated, voice low, cutting through the space between them like a blade.

Ares let out a soft, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. "You really haven't changed, have you? Threaten a god with frost and sharp words, thinking it will scare me." He pushed off from the lamppost casually.

The skateboard vanished in a flash of red light, replaced by a long spear tipped with faintly glowing crimson runes. Ares held it casually, as if it were no heavier than a twig, yet the air around him hummed with quiet, restrained violence. Every pulse of the weapon seemed to whisper of wars that spanned centuries, battles Olympus would rather forget.

Azrael's eyes narrowed, silver orbs piercing through the mortal guise of the park, seeing the weapon for what it truly was: the essence of the War God condensed into a singular killing implement.

As a golden light flashed in his outstretched hand, leaving behind an ominous-looking pitch black scythe, its aura coiled and shifted like liquid shadow, feeding on the subtle tremors of the park's latent spiritual energy. The scythe's edge hummed softly, not with sound, but with the sense of inevitability—of death incarnate waiting to strike.

Gabriel's golden eyes widened, instinctively stepping back. Her small hands clenched at her chest, but Azrael's presence anchored her, his calm radiance a tether against panic. "Gabriel… stay close. Do not speak. Do not move," he warned, his voice like ice scraping stone.

Ares tilted the spear slightly, the crimson runes flickering as if assessing Azrael's aura. "Interesting… I thought the Reaper of Heaven would be a bit more… predictable. You move differently than your title suggests," he murmured, voice low, almost playful, yet carrying an unmistakable undercurrent of threat.

Azrael's grip tightened on the scythe. The frost along the grass deepened, forming fine crystalline spikes that seemed ready to pierce the very air. "Your amusement ends here, Ares. Olympus does not give you the right to challenge Heaven, no matter what."

Ares chuckled softly, twirling the spear with one hand. "Challenge? No, Reaper, I'm simply… testing the waters. Seeing if you've grown soft after our last meeting."

Azrael's scythe hummed faintly, shadows curling around its edge as though tasting the tension between them. The air felt brittle, charged with an invisible storm that only divine presences could perceive. Gabriel stayed close behind him, her small frame trembling, her golden eyes wide as she tried to keep her breathing steady. Every instinct told her to panic, but Azrael's aura anchored her like a calm in the eye of a hurricane.

Ares shifted his weight lightly, the spear in his hand tracing faint arcs in the air. Each movement left a whisper of red energy, subtle but undeniably potent. "You've changed, silver hair," he murmured, tone casual, almost lazy. "Not just your skills… your presence. Still, it's fun to see you acting like the big brother."

Azrael's gaze sharpened, silver light flickering like distant stars. "You will not turn this into a playground, Ares. Leave. Now."

Ares laughed, a low, amused sound. "Leave? I'm barely getting started. Don't you think a little… demonstration is due? Heaven and Olympus both seem… curious about this little brat. And here I thought I'd just wander quietly."

Gabriel stepped slightly forward despite herself. "P-Please… don't fight… I-I just want to find him…" Her voice was small, trembling, but laced with earnestness that reached even the war god. She clutched at the folds of her skirt, her wings fluttering faintly beneath the human disguise.

Ares's amber eyes flicked to her, and for a moment the feral smirk softened, just slightly, almost imperceptibly. "Ah… the little light of Heaven. You're… persistent. Not many angels would wander so far without caution."

Azrael's hand tightened on the scythe, shadows coiling along the blade like living things. "Her presence is irrelevant to you. She is under my protection, and I will not allow you to threaten her or the one she seeks."

Ares tilted his head, spinning the spear lazily in one hand. "Threaten? No… not yet. I'm curious, is all. You see, when a demon prince starts shaking realms, both Olympus and Heaven have a vested interest. And I… well, I enjoy watching how you deal with chaos."

The air between them thickened, each heartbeat dragging the tension taut. Gabriel's eyes flicked nervously between the two, the words she had wanted to say lodged in her throat. Dominic's name hung unspoken on her lips, but Azrael's silver gaze caught her hesitation and held it like a warning.

Ares stepped forward, the tips of the crimson runes on his spear faintly cutting into the ground without leaving a mark, the aura radiating a restrained lethality. "Still, I'm glad you're here, Reaper. Makes things… more interesting."

Azrael's scythe pulsed in response, the black blade almost breathing with a rhythm that mirrored his calm, inexorable wrath. "Your curiosity will not save you, Ares. You step beyond Olympus' limits at your own peril."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say." With that, Ares flickered out of existence.

***

Stone me, I can take it!

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