Sunlight sliced through the canopy in blades of gold, painting Ares's path as he entered the forest.
Each step was deliberate. He moved like something that had already decided it ruled this land.
He never looked back at camp. Never second-guessed his direction.
He remembered how it went the first time.
The hundred would get comfortable. They'd laugh, waste daylight, fight over food.
Bellamy would preach rebellion. Clarke would try to play medic and leader.
Meanwhile the forest would close around them like a snare.
And the first Grounder would draw blood before they even knew they were prey.
Not this time.
His system pulsed faintly—an invisible heartbeat behind his eyes, aligning thought and instinct.
Leaves rustled too evenly.
A twig snapped—wrong angle, wrong weight.
He was being hunted.
SYSTEM ALERT:Hostile Intent Detected
New Passive Activated:Predatory Focus — Perception +50 % while targeted.
Ares didn't smile. Didn't slow down.
"You've been tailing me for five minutes," he said into the trees, voice low and edged.
"Either you're sloppy… or you want me to notice."
Silence.
Then a whistle—sharp, rising. A signal.
He moved.
A spear cut the air where his chest had been. He dropped, rolled behind a trunk.
Another hissed past—thunk—biting into bark at eye level.
Three shapes broke from the undergrowth. Faces painted in soot, bodies lean, movements disciplined.
Grounder scouts.
They expected panic.
What they met was evolution.
The first rushed him, blade low.
Ares stepped inside the swing. One hand caught the wrist; the other drove flat-palmed into the throat.
Crunch. Gurgle. Collapse.
The second froze.
Ares didn't.
He seized her mid-step, pivoted, and slammed her into a tree. Crack. Silence.
The third turned to flee.
Body of Steel amplified each stride. Agility 11 burned through the ground between them.
He caught the man, twisted, drove him down.
"Tell Lexa," Ares said, knee grinding into the scout's spine. "Tell her the sky sent a king."
Then his fist ended it.
SYSTEM UPDATE:First Combat Encounter — Victory
XP Gained: +600
Trait Earned:Brutality Recognized — Strength +1
New Passive:Executioner's Calm — Eliminating hostiles no longer triggers mental backlash.
LEVEL UP! Lv 2 → Lv 3
XP: 600 / 2000 +1 Skill Point +3 Attribute Points
He stood amid the bodies, breath even, blood cooling on his hands.
No tremor. No thrill. Only clarity.
The Grounders would come now.
Good. Let them.
The forest had teeth—but this time, so did the sky.
Back at camp, Clarke pressed a cloth against a boy's arm, Octavia fetched water, Bellamy barked orders over the noise.
Rations vanished, tempers flared, a crate already broken open and looted.
Cracks. Exactly as predicted.
Then Ares emerged from the treeline—coat torn, shirt streaked with blood, eyes steady.
Conversation died.
Bellamy stepped forward. "What the hell happened to you?"
Ares ignored him, facing Clarke.
"We're being watched," he said. "I left one alive to carry a message."
Her mouth parted. "You … fought them? Alone?"
"Yes." He scanned the camp. "We need defenses. Perimeter traps. Guard shifts."
Bellamy scoffed. "Who died and made you—"
Ares moved a single step closer, and the air seemed to tighten.
Even the birds stopped.
"No one here is ready for what's coming," he said quietly. "But I am."
His gaze swept them—cold, absolute.
"You can follow Bellamy and die… or follow me and survive."
The silence stretched.
Octavia broke it first. "I'll follow him."
Clarke's hesitation lasted a breath. Then she nodded. "He's right. We need order."
Someone in the back—the same kid who'd mocked him on the dropship—cleared his throat.
"You really killed three of them?"
Ares looked at him like the question was beneath notice.
"I didn't come back to prove anything," he said. "I came back to prepare."
He turned toward the forest again.
War was coming.
And this time, the king had already landed.