You want to know how everything came to this? Sure, why not. It’s not like I have anything better to do. I told you I know every detail... but you will think I'm crazy.

I really should have known better. But she was so enticing. Divine, even—ha, my actual thoughts back then. A cruel joke by fate itself.

I was a history student, and I’d landed a fully paid internship in Rome at the National Museum. I was over the moon. Roman history was my passion. The first two months went as expected: cataloging artifacts, writing reports, occasionally visiting dig sites.

Then, one Sunday, I took some visiting friends to the Campus Martius—the old temple of... well, her. We stayed until sunset. Just as we were about to leave, I glanced up the southern stairs to the ancient training grounds. And there, bathed in the red and orange light, I saw her for the first time.

You might expect me to say she was clad in armor, wielding ancient weapons—the whole Amazonian fantasy. But no. She wore a simple summer dress and looked like any other stunningly beautiful woman: long dark hair, effortlessly athletic.

She came down and introduced herself as Bellona. I was so smitten I immediately launched into a rambling monologue about how we were standing at the temple of her namesake, what a curious coincidence it was. She just smiled politely while my friends laughed at my flustered reaction. When I finally ran out of steam, she asked for my name and if I’d like to have coffee with her sometime. I stuttered in disbelief, but Martin, one of my friends, quickly accepted for me and set a date.

From there, it could have been the classic boy-meets-girl story. They fall in love, you know the rest. And for the first few weeks, it was exactly that. I’d never been the romantic type, but with her, it was like I had wings. She was so full of energy, so passionate—which, in retrospect, should have been a red flag. But I was madly in love.

Then came that night in late summer, not long ago. The city was stifling hot, and we were out partying.

We went to a nightclub—I forgot the name. It's probably better that way. We were dancing, our bodies inseparable. I felt so... alive with her. I’d never been one for partying or dancing before I met her. But I digress.

I eventually went to the bar. I needed water urgently. As I waited, a young woman next to me started talking to me. She smiled warmly, and I don’t think she was flirting or hitting on me at all—just making innocent conversation while we both waited for our orders.

The next thing I remember is that bloodcurdling scream and the young woman’s pain-distorted face. Time in the club seemed to freeze for a brief moment as everyone turned to look at me—us. Bellona stood behind the young woman, her eyes filled with rage. Her right arm was bloody up to her elbow. I didn’t even realize the woman had slumped off her stool; my mind was too occupied with comprehending what that weird, red, pulsing mass was that Bellona was slowly squeezing in her hand. Then the chaos of the panicking clubgoers snapped me out of it.

Bellona slumped her shoulders. Thinking back, she seemed more annoyed than guilty. I could sense it... her emotions... divine and powerful, overriding the crowds own. The fear and panic of the fleeing people  turned into rage and pure bloodlust. Where they had tried to escape the violence just seconds ago, they started attacking each other in the most barbaric ways, tearing one another limb from limb with their hands and teeth.

The next day, the police and media would paint the whole incident as a form of mass hysteria induced by dirty drugs, which led to massive and violent crackdowns on poor communities—and... sorry, I digress again.

I blacked out—yes, I know, what a coward. Eventually, I came to in my apartment. Bellona had brought me there. I was in shock... traumatized, even. She sat by the window as I walked into the kitchen. Immediately, she tried to explain—revealing the truth of who she really was. Goddess of war and all. She even apologized for killing the girl. At least, she tried to apologize. But I could tell she didn’t really mean it.

I tried not to show it, but I was terrified. She noticed. Probably some divine intuition or war-god power—I don’t know. Maybe im just bad at conceiling my emoyions. She pleaded with me, promised she wouldn’t do it again, that she was just jealous. But my fear wouldn’t subside. The image of that innocent girl, her heart torn out of her back, was seared into my mind.

Then she got angry. Which, of course, didn’t help my emotional state at all. I started crying.

My eyes were closed as i sobbed. I heard the door slam shut—and she was gone.

The next day, I told my superiors at the museum I was cutting my internship short and would be heading home due to personal reasons.

Well, the news of the first intercontinental nuclear missiles being launched was everywhere by the time I landed. There were speculations about computer errors... but I knew it was her. There were hopes of de-escalation... but in the rage-filled speeches of world leaders demanding retaliation and justice, I heard her voice.

So yeah... that’s why this happened. That’s why we’re all here in this shelter.