My Wives Are Seven Beautiful Demonesses-Chapter 154 - No. Ares Throwing Tantrum

[Location: Temple of Ares, Mount Olympus]

BANG!

Cracks spider-webbed across the crimson marble pillars.

BANG!

The floor of the Temple of Ares groaned, divine runes flaring and dimming as they struggled to contain the God of War’s fury.

BOOOOM!

"ARGGGGGHHH! HE ESCAPED FROM THE FRONT OF ME, AND I COULDN’T DO NOTHING EXCEPT STARE! I NEVER FELT SO HUMILIATED—!"

Ares’ roar tore through Mount Olympus like a war horn. His bronze armour rattled, blood-red aura leaking from every joint as if his divinity itself was bleeding rage. The spear in his hand slammed down again, carving a canyon through the sacred stone.

The temple shook.

Outside, lesser gods and attendants froze, none daring to approach. Even the winds circling Olympus had stilled, as if afraid to breathe too loudly.

Inside the temple, however, he was not alone.

"Quite a shame, you even invoke old accords, but that boy somehow impressed Zeus~"

Aphrodite said while lying on the long divan carved from moon-veined marble, one leg draped lazily over the other, golden anklet chiming softly as she shifted.

"...quite a shame indeed," she repeated, voice honeyed, amused. "The mighty Ares, stopped not by strength—but by rules."

Ares’ head snapped toward her.

His eyes were blazing furnaces.

"Do not mock me, Aphrodite," he snarled. "I will carve that smile off your face."

She laughed lightly, utterly unafraid.

"Oh? And break another temple?" she teased. "You’re already on thin ice. Zeus isn’t fond of collateral damage these days."

The God of War slammed his spear into the floor again.

BOOM!

The runes flickered violently.

"That thing," Ares growled, teeth grinding, "that demon—no, worse—that boy—"

"Dominic Nocturne von Morningstar," Aphrodite supplied sweetly. "Or rather... what’s left of him."

Her eyes shimmered faintly, something calculating hidden behind the veil of charm.

Ares spat divine ichor onto the floor.

"He should have died. He was dead. Sealed, stripped, hollowed out like a carcass. And yet—"

"And yet," another voice interrupted calmly, "he walked away."

The shadows near the temple’s inner sanctum twisted.

A tall figure stepped forward, draped in silver-white robes edged with celestial script. His expression was serene, eyes like still starlight.

Apollo.

God of Prophecy.

God of Light.

"And that," Apollo continued, "is precisely why Father intervened."

Ares turned on him, rage flaring hotter.

"Do not speak to me of Father’s whims!"

Apollo did not flinch.

"He invoked the Accords of Observation," Apollo said evenly. "A law older than Olympus itself. Once invoked, no god may directly interfere unless the subject ascends beyond the threshold—or invites judgment."

Aphrodite hummed.

"Which means," she said lazily, "our dear Dominic is now... off-limits."

Ares’ grip tightened until his spear began to crack.

"Off-limits?" he hissed. "You expect me to accept that?! That thing killed my avatar! Killed my Champion! Above all else, he dared to devour a fragment of my divinity!"

"A tiny fragment." Aphrodite chimed.

"Don’t test my patience, woman!" Ares roared, the last word cracking with enough force to split divine air itself.

Aphrodite only smiled wider, utterly unbothered.

"Oh, relax," she said, waving a delicate hand. "If a tiny fragment of your divinity was enough to send you into this tantrum, perhaps you should reflect on why it was so easy to take in the first place~"

The temperature in the temple plummeted.

Ares’ aura flared, red and violent, war intent manifesting as tangible pressure. Even the divine runes carved by Hephaestus himself began to scream under the strain.

Apollo sighed softly.

"You’re embarrassing yourself," he said.

That did it.

Ares turned fully, spear lifting, killing intent locking onto Apollo like a battlefield target.

"Say that again."

Apollo met his gaze calmly, light radiating faintly from his form—not aggressive, not defensive. Merely present.

"You lost," Apollo said simply. "And worse—you lost cleanly."

The words struck harder than any blade.

Ares’ knuckles whitened.

"He cheated," Ares snarled. "That boy was nothing. A hollow demon prince. A corpse wearing skin. And yet—"

"And yet," Apollo interrupted, "he endured divine pressure without breaking."

Aphrodite’s smile thinned, eyes sharpening.

"He looked at you," she added softly, "and didn’t beg."

Silence.

The God of War’s breathing grew heavy.

Apollo’s gaze did not waver.

"Tell me," Ares growled again, voice low and lethal, "why the hell are you here? Don’t forget—your sister tried to shield that boy from me. She went against the old accords for him."

A faint breath escaped Apollo’s lips.

Not a sigh of irritation.

A sigh of inevitability.

"Artemis did not shield him," Apollo said calmly. "She delayed you."

Ares’ eyes narrowed.

"There is a difference," Apollo continued, folding his hands behind his back, posture almost priestly. "One is rebellion. The other is... mercy."

"Mercy?" Ares spat the word as if it were poison. "For that thing?"

Aphrodite shifted on her divan, chin resting against her palm, watching the exchange like a play she had already seen the ending to.

"Careful," she murmured. "You’re sounding threatened."

The air cracked.

Ares’ divinity surged, crimson war intent spilling outward in violent waves. Columns groaned. The divine runes along the temple walls ignited, then flickered dangerously.

"I am not threatened," Ares roared. "I am insulted!"

Apollo finally turned his head fully toward the God of War.

"You are wounded," he said quietly. "And not in the way you understand."

That was worse.

Ares lunged forward, spear halving the distance between them in an instant—only to halt inches from Apollo’s throat.

The light around Apollo flared—not as defense, but as law.

The spear stopped.

No force.

No resistance.

Just... refusal.

Ares trembled with rage.

Apollo’s voice remained level. "You are a god of conflict. You understand battle. But this—" his eyes flicked briefly, knowingly, "—was not a battle you could win."

Ares’ teeth ground together.

"He humiliated me... ME! And what did father give me? A ’warning’ he said, A ’precedent’, instead of what I am owed! He let that brat walk away."

Ares’ voice cracked—not with weakness, but with something far more dangerous.

Restraint forced upon a god.

The spear in his hand trembled, divine metal screaming under the pressure of suppressed violence. Cracks crawled along its shaft, glowing red like exposed veins.

Apollo did not move.

Aphrodite watched with naked interest now, her smile gone, replaced by a look sharp enough to cut.

"He didn’t walk away," Apollo corrected softly. "He was permitted to leave."

Ares’ eyes burned.

"That distinction means nothing to me."

"It should," Apollo replied. "Because it means Father saw something you didn’t."

The God of War laughed then—harsh, broken, echoing off the ruined pillars.

"Saw what?" Ares demanded. "A cripple? A sealed husk? A demon boy who should have rotted into nothingness over a thousand years ago?"

Apollo’s gaze flickered—just once.

"Inertia," he said.

The word fell into the temple like a stone into still water.

Aphrodite raised an eyebrow. "Inertia?"

"Yes," Apollo said. "Something that should not move... beginning to move again."

Ares snarled. "Spare me your riddles."

Apollo stepped closer, light pooling faintly beneath his feet. "You felt it too. Don’t deny it."

The God of War stiffened.

For the briefest instant—so brief even Aphrodite nearly missed it—Ares’ expression faltered.

"...I felt nothing," he growled.

Apollo’s eyes softened. "Then why are you shaking?"

Silence.

The question hung there, heavy, merciless.

Aphrodite leaned forward now, interest fully captured. "Oh? Is that true, Ares? Did our mighty God of War feel... fear?"

The pressure spiked violently.

Aphrodite’s hair fluttered as the aura lashed out—but she did not retreat. Her smile returned, slow and knowing.

"I felt resistance," Ares snarled. "That is all."

Apollo nodded. "Exactly."

That only enraged him further.

"What nonsense are you spewing?"

Apollo gestured lightly with one hand. "Divinity resists what it does not recognize. You pressed down on him with godly intent—"

"And he should have shattered," Ares interrupted.

"And instead," Apollo continued calmly, "your divinity... stalled."

Ares’ breath hitched.

Aphrodite’s eyes narrowed.

"Ah," she murmured. "So that’s what this is about."

Apollo glanced at her. "You sensed it too."

She laughed quietly. "Of course I did. Love, fear, obsession—those are my domains. And that boy..." her lips curved faintly, "...is becoming a focal point."

Ares slammed his spear into the ground again.

BOOM!

"Enough!" he roared. "Enough talk of potential! He is nothing now. Weak. Ignorant. He doesn’t even know the hell he’s standing on!"

Apollo inclined his head. "Correct."

That answer caught Ares off guard.

"...What?"

"He is weak," Apollo agreed. "Ignorant. Unaware of the wider stage."

Aphrodite hummed. "A babe wandering among gods and devils alike. How quaint."

"And that," Apollo continued, "is precisely why Father intervened."

Ares stared at him.

"You think Zeus protected him because he’s weak?" Ares scoffed.

"No," Apollo said. "Because he is early."

The words sank in slowly.

"He has not yet chosen a direction," Apollo elaborated. "Not truly. Heaven, Hell, something else entirely—his path remains undecided."

Aphrodite’s eyes glinted. "Which means... influence."

"Which means volatility," Apollo countered.

Ares clenched his jaw. "So Father shields him from us while he grows?"

"No," Apollo corrected gently. "Father shields us from what happens if we interfere too soon."

The temple creaked.

Aphrodite went quiet.

Ares’ rage dimmed—not extinguished, but focused into something sharper.

"...You’re saying," he said slowly, "that if I had killed him—"

"You might have triggered something irreversible," Apollo finished.

A long silence followed.

Then Ares laughed again—but this time, it was low, dangerous.

"You expect me to believe that boy holds some kind of calamity?"

Apollo did not answer immediately.

Instead, he looked toward the open side of the temple—toward the mortal world below Olympus, toward realms layered atop realms.

"He is not the calamity," Apollo said at last. "He is the junction."

Aphrodite exhaled softly. "Oh, that’s troublesome."

Ares’ eyes burned anew. "Speak plainly."

Apollo turned back. "Very well."

He raised one hand, light coalescing above his palm—not an attack, but a projection. Images shimmered into existence.

A vast, ruined infernal city.

Seven thrones, cracked and bleeding power.

A silver-haired demoness standing alone against the heavens themselves.

A coffin of black crystal buried in a sanctuary of broken vows.

And finally—

A boy.

Standing amid gods and demons alike.

Not dominant.

Not radiant.

But unbowed.

"That boy," Apollo said, "is the last remnant of a failed convergence."

Ares stared at the image, breathing heavy.

"...Explain."

"Long ago," Apollo continued, "forces beyond Olympus and Hell attempted to birth something new. Not a god. Not a demon. Not an angel."

"A mistake," Ares growled.

"A compromise," Apollo corrected. "One that collapsed under its own contradictions."

Aphrodite tilted her head. "Lilith’s blood. Daemon’s crown. Lucifer’s shadow. Yes... I remember whispers."

Apollo nodded. "The child was meant to be a vessel. Instead, he became a liability."

"So they hollowed him out," Ares sneered. "Good."

"And sealed him," Apollo added. "For over a thousand years."

Aphrodite’s smile faded slightly. "Seals aren’t meant to be broken."

"They weren’t," Apollo said. "Grayfia Lucifuge was the one who sealed him."

!!!

The name landed like a thunderclap.

Even Mount Olympus seemed to recoil.

Ares’ pupils shrank. Aphrodite’s lazy posture stiffened. The divine air inside the Temple of Ares rippled, reacting to a truth spoken aloud.

"...Grayfia Lucifuge," Aphrodite repeated slowly, tasting the name. "Now that is a name I haven’t heard spoken so casually in a very long time."

Ares’ grip tightened around his spear.

"Lilith’s Executioner," he growled. "The Queen of Annihilation. The one who froze entire infernal legions into nothing but regret and silence."

Apollo nodded once. "That same demoness."

Silence followed.

Then—

Ares laughed.

Not a roar this time.

Not a tantrum.

A cold, humorless laugh.

"So that’s it," he said. "That’s your grand mystery? A relic of the old hell guarding a broken prince?"

Aphrodite didn’t laugh with him.

Her gaze was distant now, sharp, calculating.

"You’re underestimating her," she said quietly. "Grayfia Lucifuge doesn’t do anything without reason. If she sealed him instead of killing him, it wasn’t mercy."

Apollo’s eyes met hers. "Correct."

Ares scoffed. "Then what? Nostalgia? Loyalty to a dead bloodline?"

"No," Apollo replied. "Insurance."

The word echoed.

Ares’ laughter died instantly.

"...Explain."

Apollo gestured, and the projection shifted.

The image of the black crystal coffin returned—but this time, it zoomed closer. Runes layered upon runes, seals braided together in impossible complexity. Infernal glyphs intertwined with something older... colder... more absolute.

"Grayfia’s seal was not meant to suppress power," Apollo said. "It was meant to preserve."

***

Stone me, I can take it!

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