Shattered images flashed behind Ares's eyes. Cosmic dust, swirling nebulae, and the chilling echoes of a voice that wasn't his. Valerius’s words, "You are a seed," clawed at his composure. A fragment. A piece of something vast, ancient, and terrifying. His reflection, a multi-eyed alien staring back, still burned in his mind.
He needed distance. He needed space. Immediately.
"Stay here," Ares commanded, his voice raw, barely a whisper. He didn't look at Elara or Kael. He couldn't. The fear that they might see the monster lurking beneath his skin, the alien peering from his eyes, was too potent.
Elara reached out, her hand hovering. "Ares? What's wrong? You're pale."
Wrong. Everything was wrong. He recoiled, a sharp, almost imperceptible movement. "I need to be alone." His tone was colder than he intended, a brittle edge that pushed them away more effectively than any direct command.
Kael stepped forward, his brow furrowed. "We're with you. Whatever happened, we face it together."
Together? Ares almost laughed. How could they face *this* with him? This wasn't a beast to slay or an enemy to defeat. This was himself. Or what he feared he was becoming. A tool. A vessel.
"No," he snarled, the word ripped from his throat. His knuckles whitened as he clenched his fists. "I can't. Not now." He turned, walking away from the camp, from the worried faces, from the fragile illusion of companionship he had started to build. He didn't know where he was going, only that he had to get away.
Hours passed. He walked until his legs ached, until the familiar hum of the forest faded into an irritating buzz. He found a secluded clearing, overgrown and forgotten, nestled deep within the whispering woods. Perfect. No one would find him here. No one would see.
Silence descended, heavy and absolute. He closed his eyes, forcing his breath to slow. The fragments of memory still pulsed, a relentless headache behind his temples. What was real? Was he Ares, the one who had awakened in this world? Or was he merely an extension, a puppet, a 'seed' waiting to germinate into something truly monstrous?
He focused. Tried to remember his past life, the one before this rebirth. Nothing. Only the chilling void. The emptiness. Yet, Valerius spoke of cosmic power, of a greater entity. Was his emptiness merely the space waiting to be filled by that entity? Was his purpose not his own, but a predetermined destiny set by some alien will?
Anger flared, a hot, bitter wave. He was *his own*. He wouldn't be a tool. He wouldn't be a puppet. He would find the truth. And if he was a monster, he would be a monster on his own terms.
He extended his hand, palm open. Tendrils of shadow energy coiled from his fingertips, blacker than midnight, absorbing the faint light of the distant moon. This was *his* power. This was the Reaper within him. But was it? Was this raw, destructive potential truly *his*? Or was it the ‘seed’ flexing its nascent strength?
He concentrated, pushing the limits. The shadows thickened, swirling around him like an inky storm. They pulsed with an unnatural life, craving something. Destruction? Devouring? He felt a thrill, cold and sharp, as the power surged through him. It was intoxicating. Terrifying.
Shadow claws ripped through the earth, tearing gashes in the forest floor. Ancient trees groaned as their roots were exposed, withered instantly by the touch of the abyssal energy. He felt no remorse, only a grim determination to understand. To control.
"Come forth," he whispered, testing another aspect. From the torn earth, skeletal hands clawed their way out. Bone constructs, devoid of flesh, their empty eye sockets burning with a faint, malevolent glow. They were manifestations of death, his loyal servants. Were they? Or were they merely echoes of the ‘seed’s’ true power, a glimpse into what he could truly become?
He pushed harder. The skeletons grew in number, a small army of the dead, their clattering movements an eerie rhythm in the silent clearing. He commanded them to destroy, to tear, to rend. They obeyed, mindlessly, without question. His will. Was it truly his will? Or was the 'seed' within him driving this dark display, reveling in the destruction?
Disturbing whispers snaked through his mind, not just the echoes from Valerius's vision, but new, insidious suggestions. *More power. Unbind. Consume.* He recognized the temptation, the lure of absolute might. But he also felt a subtle disconnect, a sense that these thoughts weren't entirely his own. They felt… parasitic.
He slammed his fist against a spectral tree trunk he’d conjured, the phantom wood shuddering. "What are you?" he roared, the question aimed at himself, at the power, at the unknown entity that claimed him. His voice cracked with frustration, with fear.
Understanding began to dawn, cold and sharp, like a blade. This power, the power of the Reaper, was immense. Limitless. It wasn't just about controlling shadows or raising the dead. It was about *ending* things. About erasing them from existence. He could feel it, a deep, primal urge within the energy itself, a hunger for oblivion.
He focused on a massive boulder at the edge of the clearing. He channeled the shadows, not just around it, but *into* it. The stone began to crumble, not from physical force, but as if its very essence was being unwoven, dissolved into nothingness. Particles of rock vanished, leaving not even dust. Complete annihilation.
His hands trembled. This was beyond anything he had conceived. This wasn't merely killing; this was deletion. This was absolute destruction. The cold indifference he usually felt was replaced by a profound unease. This was a force that could unmake worlds, shatter realities. And it resided within him.
He had always seen his power as a tool, a means to an end. Now, he saw it as an entity, a potential, a terrifying destiny. Was he merely meant to be the avatar of this raw, annihilating force? Was this his true nature? A harbinger of nothingness, devoid of purpose save to destroy?
Fear, true, visceral fear, tightened its grip on his chest. Not fear of dying, for he was immortal. Not fear of pain, for he endured it constantly. But fear of what he was, and what he could become. A force of nature, unthinking, uncaring, consuming everything in its path. A monster, not by choice, but by inherent design.
He pushed the shadows further, desperate to understand the full scope, to find a boundary, a limit. He needed to know if he could control it, if he could truly differentiate his will from this encroaching, ancient hunger. The power swelled, threatening to overwhelm his senses, a cacophony of whispers and dark promises.
He channeled all his frustration, all his fear, all his desperate need for answers into a single, massive surge of shadow energy. It ripped through the clearing, a silent, all-consuming wave of darkness, obliterating everything in its path.
As he unleashed a wave of shadow energy, it ripples back, momentarily solidifying into the distinct, terrifying outline of a massive, shadowy figure standing directly behind him.