<div class="floatleft">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v252/HlySd/Aresherc-2-1.png)</div><strong>Name/Alias</strong>: John Aaron / Ares<br/><strong>Origin</strong>: Olympus<br/><strong>Location</strong>: Weapons Cache and concluding in the Hangar<br/><strong>Tagged</strong>: Domino, Captain America, and Deadpool (mentioned)…the table…<br/><hr/><br/><br/>Ares paced between the two horizontal aisles and each time he walked by, he had a new weapon strapped to his person. The two mini-guns were slung across his back with the hex-barrels pointed at the ceiling. Pistols were holstered at his hips, and two SMGs dangled from slings snug in the crook of his arms. He’d find a place for them. He’d make it work!<br/><br/>The only obstruction, hassle, and hindrance he found was the damn table in the center of the room. To reach the back of the room, he had to shove past the table once more and with the bulk he was carrying, it wasn’t such an easy task. The god irritably growled as he managed to bend and twist around it as two ropes of brass-colored ammunition belts trailed along the floor behind him. Ares arrived at the back of the room where an assortment of melee weapons was locked away.<br/><br/>There was one particular weapon that had caught his fancy. The locker doors hissed open, parting around an ax. It wasn’t as big as the one Hephaestus had made him, but a battleaxe was a battleaxe. Grinning darkly, Ares removed the ax from the case and directed its curved edge upward as he dragged his thumb along it. Thin, bloody streams tumbled like hairs about the wedge’s head, earning the war god’s mark of approval.<br/><br/>He turned to leave, but paused upon noticing a wicked, six-inch knife—another item that could come in handy. The god turned, smashing his thumb against the print sensor. The locker opened and Ares removed the knife, flipping it expertly before his fingers locked about the hilt. He held the blade up before his blue eyes, inspecting its serrated edges. Opening his mouth, his tongue curled about the knife as he dragged it along. Blood spilled from between his teeth, welling over his bottom lip to drizzle freely down his chin. Bringing his teeth together in a crimson grin of satisfaction, he grabbed the knife sheath and turned his head to the side to crudely spit a wad of blood upon the floor.<br/><br/>Tossing his head back, the war god once again roared with excited laughter as he started for the door.<br/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: impact;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;">THE MORTALS HAVE GIVEN ME AN OFFERING - A BOUNTY OF DEADLY INSTRUMENTS! I SHALL USE THESE WEAPONS OF DEATH TO CAST THEIR ENEMIES INTO THE ETERNAL DARKNESS! TO RACK THEIR BODIES WITH AN AGONY FELT UNLIKE ANY OTHER WAR! FOR I AM AR-</span></span><br/><br/>Ares instantly fell silent. He had cleared the table, but…he threw his shoulders forward, feeling a resisting tug. The god’s face contorted menacingly, his eyes illuminating with a red fury.<br/><br/>“Who dare halt the God of War?” he questioned gruffly.<br/><br/>The war god was stuck three meters from the exit. He turned his head to try to see who the fool was, but couldn’t see past the wide barrel of the mini-gun. Ares smirked. He could only imagine it being the blond-headed Steve or the naked woman known as Domino for the mercenary was outside.<br/><br/>“You are brave mortals for…” He tried to turn around, but the minguns were making the aisle incredibly snug. Grunting in his difficulty, he tried easing his shoulder against the wall, putting his body at an incline might have allowed him to turn enough to be able to stand sideways, but again, the barrel of the minigun pressed against the side of his face. It had been the perfect trap, getting him in such a narrow corridor. How could he have fallen for such a plot? He had gotten so carried away with collecting weapons that his greed may just be his demise. No, it couldn’t end this way!<br/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: impact;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;">YOU CANNOT CONTAIN THE WRATH OF ARES!</span></span><br/><br/>In a fit, the god elbowed and kicked at the walls until he finally decided to undo the slings on the weapons. The miniguns and the SMGs clattered to his feet, and the god wildly turned upon his assailant, his gleaming eyes following the long belt of ammunition to see it caught beneath the leg of…the table. The war god stared in disbelief at the table Domino was seated on and the belt that happened to get stuck beneath it. His nemesis was…a table. It hadn’t been an ingenious plot to ambush him. It was just the damn table!<br/><br/>Ares’s right eye twitched as the ammunition belts slid haphazardly from his shoulders to chime upon the floor. That had been the last straw. Wielding his new ax, the god lunged at the table with a mighty roar.<br/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: impact;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;">HUARAAAAAAAAAGGH!</span></span><br/><br/>The incident had him reconsider his weapon choice. He had returned the second minigun and the two SMGs. He was packing light: one minigun, dual pistols, a knife, and his ax. Ares finally stepped out of the weapons cache, dragging the mangled skeleton of what had once been an innocent table. He angrily slammed the piece of furniture against the wall before dropping it, leaving it in the hallway for some sort of custodian to clean up. He was finished. Spartan kicking the doors open, Ares entered the hangar.