The Return Of the God Of War

Ares Kane bent over the battered hood of an old sedan, its engine coughing out the last sighs of life while sweat dripped from his brow into the grime below. He could smell burnt oil and stale coffee mixed with the sour reek of cheap cologne - the signature stench of men who thought they were better than him just because they never fought in a real war.

Behind him, Duke leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, pretending to inspect a spark plug but really just waiting to find something to laugh about. He didn’t have to wait long.

“Hey, soldier boy,” Duke barked, his grin crooked like the toothpick wedged between his teeth. “You gonna finish that carburetor today, or you need air support for that too?”

The other mechanics hooted, banging wrenches on metal benches just to make the sound echo longer than the joke deserved. Ares didn’t look up. He wiped sweat from his temple with the back of his forearm and kept his eyes on the rusted engine.

He’d seen men shot, bleeding in sand that burned hotter than hell itself. He’d dragged brothers back from places that didn’t have names. He’d tasted betrayal on the edge of his own tongue. But nothing stung quite like the petty cruelty of small men who thought a uniform was just something you wore at Halloween.

Duke stepped closer, his breath warm with stale beer. “Maybe you wanna salute me, huh?” He raised two fingers to his forehead in a sloppy, mocking salute. “What was it they used to call you? General? Captain? Hero?”

Ares didn’t flinch. He twisted a wrench, felt the bolt slip into place. His silence only made them louder.

“Maybe I should call you dog. That’s what you are now, right? Crawling under cars for scraps. Ain’t no medals in this dump.” Duke’s voice dipped to a low hiss. “Ain’t no one left to salute you now, Kane.”

For a heartbeat, Ares’s vision blurred. He could almost feel the desert heat again, smell the iron tang of blood and cordite, hear the ragged breathing of men who called him brother. Who trusted him to bring them home.

But that was years ago. Ghosts didn’t fix engines. They just watched the living ruin their own hands.

…

Break time hit around five. Ares sat alone on an overturned bucket near the back of the garage, the cheap instant coffee in his cup barely warm. The others clustered inside, laughing about some fight on TV last night, their voices bouncing off the concrete walls like distant gunfire.

He stirred his coffee with a bent plastic spoon, listening to the steady drip of oil from an old filter into a rusty pan. Each drop echoed in the silence he’d carved for himself—one place where no one barked orders, no one begged him for miracles he no longer believed in.

A gentle vibration in his pocket broke the quiet. He pulled out a battered flip phone—an ancient relic, like him—and flipped it open.

A single message:

“Call home. It’s Emily.”

His sister.

Ares stared at the words, the letters swimming for a moment as the world seemed to tilt under him. He hadn’t spoken to her in months, maybe a year. Not because he didn’t want to—but because he didn’t deserve to.

6

He remembered her as a kid—bright eyes, hair in braids, chasing him barefoot through their mother’s garden before the world turned savage. Before he became what he became.

He flipped the phone shut. Pocketed it. Finished his coffee in one bitter gulp.

…

By the time the sun dipped low behind the auto shop’s cracked sign, Ares had cleaned up the tools, mopped the oil streaks, and nodded politely at the others as they filed out to their cars and motorcycles. Duke lingered, as always, hoping for one last shot.

“Don’t forget to lock up, hero,” Duke sneered, tossing his greasy rag at Ares’s feet. “Wouldn’t want you to mess that up too.”

Ares didn’t answer. He simply bent down, picked up the rag, and dropped it in the trash. He’d learned long ago that some battles weren’t worth fighting - yet.

When the last taillights faded into the dusk, Ares stood alone in the hollow quiet of the garage. He pulled out the flip phone again, thumb hovering over the call button.

Emily.

He wondered if she’d even want to hear his voice. If she’d remember the way he’d promised, once upon a time, that no one would ever hurt her. A promise he’d broken the moment he let the world swallow him whole.

He hit ‘Call.’

The line rang once, twice. On the third ring, her voice - small, strained - answered.

“Ares?” she breathed. He could hear the tremor in her throat, the way she tried to hold herself together.

“Hey, Em.” His own voice cracked like old leather. “What’s wrong?”

A beat of silence. Then a sob.

“They’re trying to ruin me, Ares. They said I stole money - Dad’s old company - these people, they forged everything. They want me in prison. Twenty years. I didn’t do it, Ares. I swear - ”

His jaw tightened until his teeth ached. Memories of battlefields - real ones - flashed behind his eyes. He saw the traitors again, the false smiles, the men who patted his back while sticking knives between his ribs.

And now they wanted his sister.

“Where are you?” he asked, voice low, flat as a knife’s edge.

“The city courthouse. They’re dragging me in tomorrow. Ares - no one believes me. No lawyer wants to touch it. They’re all bought. I don’t - ”

“Emily,” he said, soft but steel. “Listen to me. Look around. See that door they’re trying to push you through?”

A sniffle. “Yes.”

“Don’t walk through it alone. I’m coming.”

“But - ”

He ended the call before she could finish. Some words didn’t need saying. Some promises didn’t break twice.

He took off his coveralls, wiped the grease from his hands, and stared at his reflection in the greasy window of the garage door. For a moment, he thought he saw a ghost staring back - ragged, tired, forgotten.

But then he caught it—the glint in his own eyes that once made enemies flinch in the dark. The God of War never really died. He’d just been sleeping, deep beneath skin and bone and grief.

Ares Kane turned off the lights. Locked the garage behind him. And walked into the night, the shadows bending to make way for something they’d thought was gone forever