Gods Reborn: Ares

 

  

Ares. Mars. Call him what you will, the title was always the same: The god of war. He wasn’t mad. He wasn't angry. He was fucking pissed. All of his power was confined and frozen in a small statue of his visage. Strong, powerful, spear-ready, armor shined: Pure masculinity. At least his form of it. He was sure Apollo’s version was either surfer or fuckboy. Ares knew at least that much about this era. His divine-self, turned statue, had been discovered and lauded as a lost artifact, where he was promptly put on display at a museum. All the god could do was watch people come in and out, families, couples, tourists, students. All day, every day. Funny what gods learned about humans when forced to spend time observing them.

Despite the many men who passed by, young, old. None ignited the spark of Ares’ soul. He waited patiently, watching and learning. The soul of THE Ares would surely command attention. However, no man in his presence could commandeer others the god desired. There were family men, cheating boyfriends, jocks, and athletes. But where was the fighting spirit? His patience got chipped away, a god of war, a god of action could only be still for so long. If the fates would not deliver his soul, he’d find it himself.

It was a Friday, when the class came to tour the museum. Loud, and bored as the many classes before them. Blank faces. Zero interest in Greek culture. Ares' godly vision spotted one of the teens in the back, tripping a smaller classmate on the ground. Now that was worthy of the god of war. The teen was a jock, perfectly built, muscles showing through his clothes. A tight black shirt that read ‘Just let me do you.’ with a white check under it. A sexual innuendo no doubt even if Ares couldn’t decipher the cultural meaning. The kid he had put on the ground got up limping his way to the front. The limping student looked a bit younger than his peers, as if he’d skipped a few grades. It mattered not; Ares knew his time was coming. The class passed him by, but he knew he’d see the jock again.

20 minutes later the students had broken out into groups to explore the museum, no one was coming by the Ancient Greek section, just as Ares had intended, subtly compelling them away.

“So cool,” He heard a high pitch voice whisper out. The student who had been knocked to the ground earlier had come back. No muscles, no height. This was a boy, not a man. Ares couldn’t believe how muted his power was, unable to keep such a weak individual away. The student approached him, eyes locked on his form, studying him with interests beyond aesthetics.

“There you are, you little shit.” The jock had his arms on either side of the door frame. His biceps were bulging, ready to pounce, he cracked his finger with a smirk on his face. Ares couldn't believe it. The boy had led the jock here like a fly to honey. The jock came charging in, a blitz to get to the boy before the teacher could know. The boy ducked, swerving past the jock more limber than the young man expected. Speed over power Ares could respect that. But thinking was for Athena. Ares had what he wanted. He summoned all his power and raged against the tricksters’ spell, it fought well to hold him in, but he was the god of war and just needed a crack. The spell gave ever so slightly and Ares stuck. A facsimile of his helmet appeared over the jock's face as Ares began to pour his divinity into it.

“What the?” The jock tried to pull it off, but Ares wasn’t letting go. He wanted out! The tiniest sliver of his divinity poured into the jock. Ares was immediately infused; he could sense the struggle to get the helmet off. Divine power flowed into the bicep feeding them a diet of Ares’ aggression. The jock’s body eagerly sapped it up, as Ares divinity went to reclaim his soul. The young man’s body stretched to a taller height. His biceps inflated. Ares’ best gift was flooding into the jock’s cock, stretching it further and swelling his testicles. A strained gurgle came from the jock’s stomach. Ares sensed it. The jock wasn’t processing the divinity correctly. The young man couldn’t handle even a fraction of Ares. The six pack abs the jock had earned bowled out into one unified belly. Divinity, converting into layers of fat on the muscled body. His jeans split open as thighs quaked out. His shirt no longer existed from his upper body’s savagery upon emerging. A split red fabric appeared over him, a mockery of Ares’ own uniform and not properly hiding the gift Ares had bestowed, very evident in the shrinking green briefs.

 

This wasn’t his soul. 

And fate was punishing him for trying to forge an escape. Especially one so ungraceful.

The smaller student hadn’t left the room when Ares made his move. He watched the whole thing happen. He ran back up to his enlarged bullying trying to assist with the helmet. Ares could not believe how foolish the small student was. If even the jock’s arms couldn’t remove it, how would he.

“Matt, I think it’s the statue!” the small student stated.

“Please, just help me, Harland.” A husky voice asked as the student nodded. With a strange look of determination, Harland seized the statue in his hand. Ares felt the flare of his soul. The god had no chance to pour his divinity into the boy because his divinity was being sucked out. Harland, the fucking smallest attendee, was manipulating, Ares’ divinity with ease. That was Ares' soul alright. Harland forced Ares’ divinity into his body, even taking it from Matt’s thought his form remained. Filled to the brim, a light erupted from Harland.

The young body bulked life; it depended on it. Ares' power stamped his strength into the form by making Harland’s musculature rise to that of Warriors. His pecs became powerful slates, hair covering them and swirling around his nipples. Down it flowed into the gutters being carved to form his abs. Markings appeared across his body, he was the man of a new age. His boyish features melted with the aid of Ares’ divinity, revealing the fighter buried underneath. Follicles traversed his face to give him a proper beard, sealing his new manly form into place. He pulled his sword from the ether as a stephanos formed on his head. His beloved blood lust red wrapped around his nude waist perfectly.

Ares, the god of war, was back.