Fractal Realities: God of War

Being held was a new experience for Ares and he didn't like it much. At some deep level, he understood that he was supposed to like it but he didn't. He squirmed.

When his mother held him to her breast, he understood that he was supposed to suckle. Instead, he bit. Hard. His mother immediately passed him to the midwife who also tried to hold him. He squirmed again. The midwife deposited him into a golden crib.

Free of tactile stimulation, he started looking at the world that surrounded him. For all its warmth and color and light, he felt that something was missing. His right hand caught his attention and he looked at it as if he'd never seen it before: stretching it out, wiggling his fingers, and then finally forming a fist. The fist felt right. It felt like a good start.

As he stared at his fist, he began to see images for which he did not yet have words. He saw in his fist weapons of steel, smeared with crimson blood, still hot and wet from battle. He saw death and glory.

He smiled.