He felt it over two entire states. An armed robbery was about to occur at a convenience store near a small town, somewhere in Oklahoma. It didn’t take long for the show to start, as after about half a minute of waiting, a scrawny looking man entered the store. He was bald, dressed in all black, somewhere in his late twenties, looked like he hadn’t slept in days. The man appeared nervous as he looked around, either trying to asses his chances of success or psyching himself up.
The clerk at the front counter, a relatively obese man with circular glasses, was eyeing the washed up looking man, likely anticipating something. He must have seen his fair share of suspicious characters over the years, thus indicating he knew the deviant that entered his store wasn’t there simply to buy some Doritos and a bottle of Mountain Dew.
After two minutes of looking around, the man in black approached the front counter, arousing a response from the clerk:
-Can I help you with anything, sir? - asked the clerk.
-Hands in the fucking air, fat-ass! - yelled the man after he pulled out a pistol from his jacket, which he started swinging around wildly in an attempt to be appear menacing. - Nobody move a fuckin’ muscle, or I’m gonna waste your fuckin’ asses!
As the man turned his back briefly to scream his orders at everyone in the store, the clerk pulled a handgun from under the counter. He looked as the clerk, despite being so near the robber with his back turned, missed several shots, alerting the robber.
Everything after that happened in a flash. The robber ducked behind some shelves, opening fire on the clerk as he did so. Both men fired wildly, trying to hit each other, as bullets ricocheted around them. One bullet shot a man in the leg, another struck a woman in the neck, while another one busted a light fixture above the robber. This distracted him long enough for the clerk to deal several deadly hits.
By the end of this scene, only the robber and a woman died. He was a little disappointed, as he was hoping for something more prolonged to keep his attention. The only thing which entertained him here was when that woman got a bullet thru her neck, but nothing else.
He sensed another possible point of interest all the way in Minnesota. An untreated schizophrenic was about to ram his car into a densely packed mall, which was certainly going to be more entertaining than this. Manifesting there, he observed as people walked in and out of the building, unaware of the oncoming tragedy. Several people noticed a moment too late the vehicle heading straight for them.
Crashing thru the window frame, glass flew everywhere as people started running and screaming. The car continued moving thru the crowd of people, running some over and sending others flying over itself. Emergency services were being called incessantly, some were tending to the wounded, others were fleeing for their lives. One man, who was either particularly brave or insane, had pulled out a gun and was pointing it at the crazed lunatic’s car.
After several minutes of this shitshow, the car became so damaged it could no longer be driven. Exiting the damaged vehicle, the schizo pulled out a machete which he started swinging at anyone unlucky enough to cross his path. He found it especially fun when the lunatic started hacking up a pregnant woman, putting a particular emphasis on her enlarged stomach. He chuckled a little at the thought of the lunatic thinking that the unborn fetus was actually an alien parasite. These creatures always found a way to amuse him.
After nearly half an hour, the cops finally showed up, ready to finally end this killing spree. But he wouldn’t have his fun end just like that. He was left disappointed after the armed robberie’s lackluster conclusion, and he would not have this performance, born of one man’s madness, end because it violated some temporal laws or because it came at the expense of other living creatures. He will have his fun and his thirst for blood and mayhem will be satiated.
He leaned in towards the lunatic, and blew a gust of ether into his mouth. The ether was going to revitalize his body, giving him strength and stamina equivalent to that of five men. It wasn’t anything impressive, at least not by his standards, but it should be enough to prolong the carnage just a little longer.
A police officer came behind the lunatic and fired several shots into his back. To his shock and horror, the rounds simply bounced off the lunatic’s skin. Gaining the madman’s attention, the officer fired many more rounds with increasing confusion and desperation. Is his aim off? Is he high or something, so he can’t register the injuries? Did someone replace the bullets in his gun with blanks? That last one may sound ridiculous, but it made sense for a moment as a seemingly bulletproof maniac came running at him with a machete.
The officer was split in half as several vertical strikes came his way at superhuman speed. The ensuing battle was a delight to watch, as heavily armed and trained members of law enforcement were killed by the dozen, all the while their weapons didn’t even seem to faze the lunatic. After a while, maybe a couple of hours, police became increasingly desperate to stop the rampage which had spread far outside the mall and into the city streets.
They seemed quite terrified of facing death, which always confused him. After all, didn’t they, too, war against each other like all other peoples. Didn’t their ancestors toil in cramped mines and barren fields for most of their lives, wondering if today was the day their village got sacked by a band of marauders; or if two kings, separated by entire oceans, would decide to march their armies thru their lands, burning and pillaging all who came upon them?
It would make sense for the humans of today to fear violence, knowing how pampered and risk free most of their lives are, but you would think some of the vigor their predecessors had would remain. His eyes glanced over to a machine of repression the enforcers had brought to end the carnage, one armored car with a gunner on top. He wondered for a moment whether the lunatic would be able to destroy the metal contraption; after all, he was strong enough to tear thru it with his bare hands, or at least strong enough to kill the soldier driving it, and he was fast enough to dodge oncoming projectiles.
His thoughts came to a halt as he saw the lunatic running straight at it. He probably should have expected that from the insane. The bullets tore thru his body with ease, with not even his hardened bones being able to protect his vital parts. The gunner at the top of the armored vehicle kept firing for about half a minute after the lunatic had already been killed, which was quite understandable at that moment.
Figuring the fun was over here as well, he went off in search of more potential bloodshed and mayhem; and he had to do it on a timer, too, since the others would probably notice him abandoning his divine duties again. He chose to go up north, into Canada. He practically never went there, so the possibility of surprise was very high. He focused in on some small mountainous town, where he felt a particularly brutal event was about to happen.
His senses tingled as he approached a family home. Moving in to see what it was all about, he was greeted by the scene of a man and a woman arguing:
-Dammit, Sheila, I know you’ve been fucking him! I’ve known since last week! - screamed the man.
-You don’t know what you’re talking about. - yelled back the woman.
-You think I’m stupid or something, bitch?
-Are you seriously surprised someone else is getting some from me when you’re calling me a bitch to my face?
-I’m calling you one because you are one.
The married couple continued this exchange for some time, throwing insults at each other and revealing all manner of nasty secrets about one another. The wife rambled on about how he was never home and how he barely interacted with his kids, while the man started listing every guy the harlot had slept with. As this went on, he could feel the bloody climax nearing:
-I don’t even know why I’m here with you, being called every synonym or variant of whore. I’m leaving and you can bet your sorry ass I’m taking the kids with me.
-Don’t you fucking dare try pulling that shit on me! - as the word’s left the man’s mouth, he went into the kitchen and picked up a knife from one of the drawers.
Lunging at the woman like a filthy animal, the man began to stab her manically. After she fell on the ground, he brought the knife to her throat and started cutting at her neck. She gurgled blood from her mouth and open wound as she swung her arms wildly, first in an attempt to get him off of her, then as an instinctual response to her life violently coming to an end. Seconds later, the man held her severed head above her body, proud of himself for a moment, before realizing what he had done.
-Oh shit, oh fuck, oh shit, oh fuck, oh shit, oh fuck! What did I do?! What the fucking hell did I just do?! - he tried to remain quiet and think of what to do next. At that moment, he was probably regretting ever being born.
The man went quiet for a moment, as he turned his attention down a hallway, towards his children’s bedrooms. He crept quietly towards them, knife in hand, likely anticipating them to be awake from all the yelling. He was partially relieved to see his first child fast asleep; they must have either gotten used to their parents’ bickering or were just strong sleepers.
What happened in those children’s rooms were far cleaner acts than the previous one. He honestly didn’t mind that all too much, as the mere severity of this act was enough to satiate him. The denizens of this little community will no doubt talk in quiet whispers of this event.
After having dealt with his offspring, the man went into his bedroom, opened a drawer and pulled out a small pistol. He loaded the weapon, sat at the foot of his bed, put it in his mouth and fired. Standing there, he admired the dreadful scene; the absence of sound contrasting with the morbid aftermath of one couple’s argument.
After taking it all in, he figured it was finally time he returned to the others. He didn’t like doing it, but they would probably send Hermes to get him if he didn’t report every so often himself. He wasn’t even entirely sure why he had to report to them; they haven’t done anything important for the past 200 years.
Olympus was a boring place compared to the human realm. Walking thru its expansive halls, Ares encountered the artist:
-Reporting to Mother and Father on your own? My, my, what kind of madness is this? - he said sarcastically.
-Fuck you too, Apollo. - said Ares with a wide smile, as if insulting each other in passing was a normal thing for them. - Figured if I report now I’ll have more time to have fun later, without any disturbances.
-Fun? Your definition of “fun” has been consistently shown to be extremely underdeveloped and uncivilized.
-Does it look like I care about your opinion? You artists never understood the glory of war and bloodshed.
-You would call those senseless acts of violence in the human realm glorious? I would have expected higher standards from a war god. And why does a war god enjoy minor acts of lawlessness and insanity; wouldn’t the Middle East or Africa be more interesting to you.
-Those senseless acts of violence are a part of something greater, Apollo. Something an isolated intellectual like you would never comprehend. As for why I enjoy those “minor acts of lawlessness and insanity”, I’m currently going thru something of a faze. - and with that, Ares continued walking down the halls, already imagining the glorious carnage he would get to witness. It didn’t matter to him that he wasn’t the one causing it; just the fact that they were still killing each other, even without his influence, made him feel like he was back in Hellada. The realms of the gods had become so boring in the past few centuries, so he had to indulge his bloodlust in some other way.
His official “job”, if you could even call it that, was to travel from battlefield to battlefield, gathering ether that generated around him when violent acts were being committed. In practice this only served to prolong the inevitable disappearance of the gods. Ares didn’t really mind that fact all too much. He was an idealist in a way, being satisfied with the knowledge that, even without gods to shape the destinies of mankind, his essence, that innate aggression, would remain.
Another shooting was going to happen in a few hours in New York; a plane flying over India was going to explode mid-flight; a car being driven by some drunk teenagers was going to get hit by a truck; protesters in some random African country were going to fight against police in the streets. There simply wasn’t going to be an end to the carnage, nor to him.