The blade cuts through.

Aphrodite stares blankly. He reaches up and touches the silvery gash where his arm had been. He stares in disbelief.

And then he starts to cry.

Not graceful, dignified tears as befitting the God of Love. This is an angry, screaming tantrum. A howl of outrage and pain at the utter indignity of not getting a thing that he wanted. He falls to his knees, clutching the wound, howling at a world that should have sworn never to harm him. The howl starts to find breaks, stuttering in the splinters of wood from the forest dissolving into toothpicks from the vibration, intention forcing its way into that raw emotion:

KILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEM

It is language that Mars understands. He puts his thumb to the Shogun's brow and gives her his mark. The demon flame already empowering that silver sword doubles and redoubles; all the bloodshed and sacrifice that soaks this half-burned planet concentrating into a single point. Wreckage begins to lift from the battlefield, shattered metal giants and broken suits of Ceronian armour flowing with ladybugs and songbirds. It collects above the body of the Shogun, War's own halo, metal wings for sin's dragon. She howls in exaltation. 

It's a hell of a sight to wake up to.

The sky is chaos. Great ruptures are spreading through the Nemesis ring, enormous crimson fissures in the sky. Ceronian warships swarm the collapsing megastructure, docking to fill their holds with as many evacuees as possible. The heavens light up with new fires as desperate Ceronians launch drop pods or simply just planet jump to escape their collapsing space station. They are met with renewed fire from the inheritors of the Knights, furiously erupting from concealment in a thousand places to avoid letting this impossible victory slip through their fingers.

And amongst the rain of metal from the sky comes the [i]Plousios[/i]. Its sleek Azura wings cut through atmosphere without friction and as it descends it targets the demonic Shogun with a full broadside of solid projectile shells. The area for ten kilometers around is blasted with a shattering eruption of toxic gas and smoke. An army would not have survived.

A crimson fire continues to burn deep in the heart of that pitch-black hell.

It is not clear if she has slowed down at all.