Ares looks nothing like his parents, the fair siblings Zeus and Hera.  He's a throwback to the older, darker gods, to gold-winged Chaos and black-breasted Night.   When he stalks the battlefield, a touch of his hand on their shoulder makes dying men come, while lovers say Ares smells of blood and has the softest hair they've ever felt.  When speaking of the war god, these men close their eyes to protect the memory, even as they brag of it.  There's a statue of Ares in Tenagra, depicting him beautifully naked, reclining on his throne.  Women creep from quiet houses at midnight to caress the god's marble thigh; on the third stroke, they vow, their wombs are filled.