Ruthless Mars was drawing the battle out, dead even now, equaling out the grief, the mutual slaughter. Victors and victims killing, killed in turn: both sides locked, not a thought of flight, not here. The gods in the halls of Jove are filled with pity, feeling the futile rage of both great armies, mourning the labors borne by mortal men… Here Venus, over against her, Juno gazing down, 900 as Tisiphone seethes amid the milling thousands, that livid, lethal Fury.
