Divine Ascension: Reborn as a God of Power-Chapter 54: The Schism of Olympus (Part 14) - Ares vs Hades (Part 1)

Chapter 54: The Schism of Olympus (Part 14) - Ares vs Hades (Part 1)

The silence between them was dense. Ares’s eyes were locked with Hades’s, and for a moment, it seemed the words between them still held weight.

But only for a moment.

"I’m not afraid of you." Ares said.

Hades gave him a slow, humorless smile. "That would be your second mistake."

Ares blinked.

And then Hades struck.

It wasn’t a punch and it wasn’t a blast of magic. One moment, the God of the Dead stood still. The next, he was behind Ares, and the air around them exploded with black fire as a pillar of shadows slammed into the war god’s back.

Ares hit the ground hard, sliding across the cold stone like a thrown weapon, sparks flying from his armor.

He rolled with the momentum, sprang to his feet, and unleashed a roar that cracked the stone beneath him. A longsword erupted into his hand in a blaze of red-gold flame. Hades raised his hand, and shadows twisted into the form of a long obsidian spear, tipped with silvered edges glowing faintly blue.

And when they clashed, they did it hard.

Sword met spear with a sound like screaming metal. The Underworld itself trembled. Titans behind the gates leaned forward, eyes wide, watching their descendants fight each other was like a spectacle for them.

Ares pressed forward, his blows relentless, switching weapons mid-combat — a spiked mace swung in one arc, an axe thrown and recalled in another, a massive war hammer smashing down with divine weight. Hades countered with smooth, deadly efficiency, his spear spinning and weaving like a serpent, parrying and redirecting with minimal effort.

"You’re slowing down, old man!" Ares shouted, dual-wielding a sword and a short axe now, his arms moving in a blur.

Hades ducked low, driving the butt of his spear into Ares’s ribs. "The only things that are slowing down are your thrusts nephew."

Ares staggered, only for a moment, then launched a flurry of attacks. Hades backstepped, deflecting one blade with his spear and catching the axe between his fingers. With a flick, he disarmed Ares of the smaller weapon.

"You think this realm makes you untouchable?" Ares growled.

"I don’t think it does nephew, I know it does." Hades replied.

He stomped the ground, and tendrils of soul-fire spiraled up from the floor, binding Ares’s legs. But Ares shouted in defiance, summoning a curved kopis and slashing the bindings apart. He leapt forward with a battle cry and struck — blade to spear, power to power.

They tumbled through the shadows, crashing into a lower chamber where skeleton bones crunched underfoot. Ares’s momentum carried him into a forward roll; he emerged with a two-handed war mace and swung it straight into Hades’s side.

Hades grunted but stood his ground, responding with a sharp thrust of his spear into Ares’s thigh. Golden ichor flew. Ares gritted his teeth, dropped the mace, and summoned a massive executioner’s blade.

"You want to kill me?" Ares roared, charging. "Then try harder!"

Hades snarled and met him in kind. The clash of metal was deafening, echoing off the walls like thunder. Spear and sword blurred with impossible speed. Ares bled from a dozen cuts. Hades from a gash in his side and a slash above his eye.

Ares launched a spinning strike, forcing Hades back. He reached behind his back and pulled out a crossbow, firing a bolt of divine fire.

Hades batted it aside with his spear and retaliated, driving the tip of his weapon into Ares’s shoulder. The war god roared in fury, reached down, and hurled a spiked mace like a comet. It crashed into Hades and sent him sprawling.

But the God of the Dead was not finished.

He rose, shadows knitting around his wounds, and his spear became a whirlwind in his hand. He stepped into range and drove it forward, impaling Ares through the abdomen.

Ares coughed ichor, grabbed the shaft, and snarled. "Nice try."

He snapped the spear in two, yanked the tip out of himself, and headbutted Hades so hard it knocked the older god onto one knee.

"I’ve fought in every war there has been since I was born," Ares hissed. "This? This is what I live for."

He switched to dual swords now, both crackling with divine fire, and rained down blows. Hades blocked and dodged, retreating, retreating — until he vanished in smoke.

Ares turned—too slow.

Hades reformed behind him and drove a spike of necrotic energy into his back.

Ares dropped to one knee but spun, catching Hades with a savage uppercut. The fight devolved into raw brutality. Punches. Kicks. Throws. Neither of the two held back.

Ares slammed Hades into a wall. Hades clawed at Ares’s face, eyes glowing. Ares drew a curved dagger and stabbed deep into Hades’s side. Hades retaliated with a blast of soul-fire that sent Ares flying.

They rose again, they were worn up and bloodied, but under no circunstance they were tired, their eyes were still burning with passion and hatred.

The next charge came wordlessly.

Ares with his swords. Hades with a new spear conjured from the shadows.

The collision was catastrophic — stone ruptured, the air screamed, and for a moment, Tartarus itself seemed to freeze.

When the dust had not yet finished dissipating, they stood facing each other.

Both were breathing hard.

Both of them were bleeding, golden liquid seemed to come out in jets from their bodies.

Neither of them were victorious.

So this only meant that this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

And Ares didn’t wait.

The moment the dust settled and their eyes met again, he charged like a storm. His twin swords screamed through the air, each strike fast enough to sunder steel, aimed to maim, to tear, to end.

Hades met him in kind, shadows wrapping tighter around his form. His new spear wasn’t sleek this time—it was jagged, barbed, forged from the cries of the Underworld itself. He spun it and parried the first strike, but the second cut deep across his ribs. Golden ichor sprayed from the wound in a glowing arc, sizzling where it touched the ground.

"ENOUGH!" Hades bellowed, shadows detonating outward in a wave that hurled Ares off his feet and into a crumbling obsidian pillar. The war god slammed through it, stone splintering and bones of ancient prisoners crushed under the collapse.

But Ares only laughed—low, guttural, like a madman drunk on blood.

He rose, one arm hanging from a dislocated shoulder, golden ichor pouring from his nose, lips, and a slash across his chest. He reached up and, with a sickening pop, slammed the joint back into place.

"You’ll have to do better than that, uncle."

Hades snarled, leaping forward, spear poised like a fang. Ares ducked the thrust and slammed the pommel of one sword into Hades’s gut, then kneed him in the face with a thunderous crack.

A tooth flew from Hades’s mouth, spinning through the air before clinking against stone.

Before he could recover, Ares grabbed him by the hair and smashed his head into the ground—once, twice, three times—until the rock cratered and split. Golden blood sprayed from Hades’s brow, his face torn open, his snarl widening with each hit.

Then the god of the dead laughed.

From beneath Ares, Hades twisted, shadows erupting from his back and forming barbed tendrils. They wrapped around Ares’s arms and legs like living chains, lifting him off the ground.

Hades rose slowly, blood running down his face, broken nose crooked, one eye half-shut but still burning with malice. He drove his spear into Ares’s side again, twisting.

Ares screamed—and the walls of Tartarus echoed with the sound.

In a brutal surge of strength, Ares tore free from the tendrils, ripping them apart with sheer force. He kicked Hades in the chest hard enough to cave in part of his ribcage and send him crashing backward. Ares pounced before Hades could rise, slamming both swords down in an X—one cutting into Hades’s collarbone, the other biting deep into his thigh.

Hades grabbed the blade embedded in his flesh, pulled it deeper to lock it in, then drove his knee into Ares’s face with such force that the war god staggered back, nose shattered and golden ichor pouring in rivulets down his jaw.

They stood, barely whole, faces bruised and broken, torsos pierced and cut, hair matted with sweat and ichor, breathing faster now—not from exhaustion, but from fury.

Hades’s right arm hung at an odd angle. Ares’s ribs looked twisted, bent in ways even a god’s shouldn’t be. Yet neither backed down.

With a primal roar, Ares summoned a brutal war axe, heavy and crude, and rushed again. He brought it down in a vertical arc. Hades caught the haft with his bare hand, skin splitting on impact, bones audibly cracking—but he held it. Then, with a bellow of his own, he summoned a second spear and impaled Ares through the shoulder, pinning him to the wall behind.

Ares twisted off the wall with a cry, tearing his own flesh free rather than staying still.

Golden blood gushed, coating the floor beneath them like molten sunlight.

They grappled next, weapons falling aside. Fists became hammers. Knees drove into stomachs. Heads collided. Ares’s fist broke Hades’s jaw. Hades responded by slamming his thumb into Ares’s eye socket until the god of war screamed and headbutted him again, knocking loose more teeth.

The force of their blows carved craters into the earth, shook the bones of Titans who watched in silence. One of the ancient gates behind them cracked.

Ares grabbed a chunk of obsidian and drove it into Hades’s ribs.

Hades retaliated by conjuring a bone-bladed dagger and stabbing it into Ares’s thigh, twisting until it snapped.

Ares howled in rage, grabbed Hades by the throat, and slammed him down with both hands—once, twice, until cracks spiderwebbed out from the impact site.

Both of them staggered back, clutching open wounds. Limbs barely hanging. Faces torn, barely recognizable.

Still standing and still fighting.

"Call it off," Hades growled, golden blood pouring from his mouth, his voice rasped.

"You first," Ares replied, half his face painted gold, one eye swollen shut.

A moment passed.

And then—again—they lunged.

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