"I, Ares Valentine of the Valentine family, ask the God of War to bless me with power and vengeance."
As the words left his lips, Ares raised his greatsword and charged toward the oncoming army. He stood entirely alone. Behind him, his castle burned, reducing his family's lives and his own dreams of greatness to ash. Marching toward oblivion, his golden right eye flared with a vengeful light. Before him stood thousands of soldiers, marching with the sole purpose of striking down a single boy armed with nothing but a greatsword and an unbreakable resolve to kill.
But before he could even claim a single enemy's head, the world tilted. Suddenly, he was lying on the ground, a violent cough tearing a fountain of blood from his mouth.
"I should have trained harder..." he muttered, the metallic taste of failure heavy on his tongue. "I should have..."
As his vision began to blur into darkness, a single detail pierced the fading light: a streak of golden-red hair belonging to the enemy who struck him down.
If there is a third life... or anything like it... I will surely come for you.
He swore this final vow with his last, ragged breath. Brief flashes of his first death in a world of glass and concrete merged with the burning ruins of his current home, and Ares closed his eyes for the second time.
He swore this final vow with his last, ragged breath, and closed his eyes for the second time.