The battlefield fell silent for a breathless moment…
All eyes turned to the center of the field, where the battered figure of Herios, King of Herion, stood shrouded in a radiant storm of white light.
It poured from his body like a second sun, wrapping his figure in blazing arcs of raw will. It is not magic, not divine blessing, it is something else entirely...
The unyielding will of mankind.
The power of dreams, the power of unity, the power of belief, all manifested into something tangible.
Into something divine.
The gods who were watching this war all couldn't look away, their eyes focused on the figure of the King of Humanity.
On Olympus.
Ares sat on his throne, his eyes firm and focus.
A warrior whose heart had known only the rhythm of battle, whose eyes had only ever sought out strength and victory.
His crimson armor, forged from the screams of dying stars, glistened beneath the heavenly light.
