Percy Jackson's Greek Gods (Percy Jackson and the Olympians companion #5.5) - Rick Riordan Page 0,92

Adonis’s body, and he dissolved into bloodred flowers. They were called anemones, after the Greek word anemoi, which means the winds. Whenever the breeze caught them, the red petals fluttered away with a sweet smell that reminded Aphrodite of Adonis’s fragrance.

Aphrodite was sad about his death for almost a whole day. Then she went back to her godly boyfriend Ares—the very one who might have been responsible.

Was Aphrodite mad at him? Nope. That’s just the way Ares was.

If you want to meet the dude, he’s in the next chapter. But bring your flak jacket and your assault rifle. Ares takes no prisoners.

ARES, THE MANLY MAN’S MANLY MAN

A RES IS THAT GUY.

The one who stole your lunch money, teased you on the bus, and gave you a wedgie in the locker room. The one who breaks other kids’ bones in varsity football and makes a D- in every class, but is still popular because it’s so funny when he gives the scrawny kids swirlies in the toilet.

If bullies, gangsters, and thugs prayed to a god, they’d pray to Ares.

As soon as he was born, his parents knew he was bad news. Hera and Zeus wanted to love him, because he was their first child. But instead of being cute or saying goo-goo or even crying for mama, the baby came out raging and shaking his little fists.

Hera could hardly keep hold of him as she held him up for Zeus to see. “My lord,” she said, “your newborn son.”

Zeus reached down to tickle the baby’s chin. Ares grabbed his dad’s finger with both hands and twisted it. SNAP! The baby pounded his tiny chest and yelled, “RARR!”

Zeus examined his immortal finger, which was now dangling at a funny angle. “You know…perhaps we should get the boy a nanny.”

“Good idea,” Hera said.

“A large, strong nanny. With lots of patience…and good medical insurance.”

They hired a lady named Thero. She must’ve been like a mountain nymph, or something, because she was tough and strong and nothing bothered her. She took Ares into the land of Thrace, a harsh, rocky place just north of Greece, full of snow and jagged mountains and warlike tribes—the perfect spot for a baby combat god.

As Ares grew, he never cried for his bottle or his binky. He roared for blood. Early on, he learned to chuck rocks at birds and knock them out of the sky. He pulled the wings off insects to practice his fine motor skills. He would laugh and laugh as he learned to walk by stepping on flowers and crushing small animals. Meanwhile Thero sat on a rock nearby, reading her Olympian gossip magazines and yelling, “Keep it down, ya little delinquent!”

Yes, those were happy days.

Eventually Ares grew up and returned to Mount Olympus to take his rightful place on the Olympian council. Of course, he became the god of war (and just a friendly warning: if you ask him whether he’s that dude from the video game God of War, he will rip your arm off and beat you over the head with it). He also became the god of violence, bloodlust, weapons, bandits, pillaging, leveling cities, and good old-fashioned family fun.

He was the god of strength and manly courage too, which was kind of funny, since the few times he actually got into one-on-one combat with another god, he ran away like a coward. I guess that’s typical of bullies. Ares was the first one to flee when the storm giant Typhoeus came knocking. Another time, during the Trojan War, he got stabbed in the gut by a Greek mortal’s spear. He roared so loud, it sounded like ten thousand men. Then he fled back to Mount Olympus, crying and moaning to Zeus, “It’s not fair! It’s not fair!”

Zeus told him to shut up.

“If you weren’t my son,” the sky god grumbled, “I’d have stripped away your godliness and kicked you to the curb years ago. You’re nothing but trouble!”

Heartwarming, how the Olympian family got along.

Despite his occasional cowardice, Ares was a bad dude to make angry. When he went into battle, he wore golden armor that burned with harsh light. His eyes were full of flames, and with his war helmet on, he was too scary for most mortals to look at, much less fight. His favorite weapon was his bronze spear. His shield always dripped with blood and gore, because that’s just the kind of friendly guy he was.

When he didn’t feel like walking, Ares rode a war chariot pulled