"THIS IS TRULY A GREAT FIRST BOUT!" Mercury roared, wings beating furiously as he circled the arena. "GREECE'S GREATEST WARRIOR. ARES. VERSUS THE STRONGEST OF HUMANITY! THE GENERAL! NAPOLEON BONAPARTE!!!"
The human stands erupted.
A gate of blinding white light burst open.
Napoleon Bonaparte entered the arena astride his horse, galloping forward with thunderous force. Dust and sparks kicked up beneath the hooves as he rode in a wide arc, commanding the field as if it were just another battlefield to conquer.
He stood tall in the saddle, posture perfect, gaze locked onto Ares without a shred of fear. Bright blue eyes which stared deeply into Ares. His blond hair was neatly kept, shaved close at the sides, a faint slit cutting through one eyebrow, a scar earned.
He wore the uniform the world remembered him for: the colonel of the grenadiers à pied de la Garde Vieille. Dark blue coat. White trousers. Gold trim gleaming beneath divine light. The outfit of a man who bent Europe to his will.
"THIS IS TRULY AMAZING!!!" Mercury shouted, barely containing himself. "THE ATMOSPHERE IN THIS STADIUM IS ELECTRIC!"
High above, on the gods' tier.
"Thor," the Mesopotamian god of judgement Shamash muttered, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "please destroy this human in one hit."
From the human section, a very different voice exploded.
"NAPOLEON, YOU TWAT! GET OUT THERE AND TEAR THESE GODS A NEW ARSEHOLE!"
Napoleon didn't even glance back.
"How vulgar…" he muttered calmly.
his Mamluke bodyguard Roustam Raza, leaning back far too comfortably, raised a flask.
"A battle against gods?" Roustam slurred with a grin. "Perfect occasion for a little alcohol, no?"
Marshal Louis-Nicolas Davout folded his arms, eyes sharp as steel. "Ares isn't the strongest," he said coolly. "Ares relies on brute force. That makes him predictable."
Back on the main platform, Bialorus swallowed hard.
"Joachim…" he said quietly, eyes fixed on Ares' towering form. "Does Napoleon actually stand a chance against that?"
Joachim didn't hesitate.
"I say," he replied evenly, "we're about to fuck them seven ways to Sunday."
In the arena, Ares rolled his shoulders, the metal of his armor creaking softly. His grin widened.
"A man on a horse?" he sneered. "I've killed armies bigger than you."
Napoleon drew his sword slowly.
"Then today," he replied, voice calm and sharp, "you face a man who commanded them."
The entire arena fell silent.
Mercury hovered at the centre, horn raised high, divine energy crackling around it.
"ALLOW US TO BEGIN!!!"
He brought the horn to his lips.
"Hm… what are they doing?" Bialorus whispered, trembling. "They're just… walking?!"
"I saw this coming," Hanuman yawned, reclining across his throne as he popped a grape into his mouth. "Sizing each other up. Old-school."
The distance closed.
Five steps.
Four.
Three. Napoleon moved first.
In a blur, a second sword flashed into his hand—drawn from behind his coat as if summoned by instinct. He swung it downward with brutal precision, aiming straight for Ares' chest.
CLANG!
Ares reacted instantly, yanking a shield into place just in time. Sparks exploded as divine metal screamed under the force of the blow.
Before Napoleon could recover, Ares surged forward.
The shield slammed into Napoleon's body like a battering ram.
He flew backward, skidding across the arena floor before crashing hard onto his back.
Gasps rippled through the human stands.
"This is… amazing," Joachim said, unable to hide his grin. "I see it now… the might of humanity."
Napoleon groaned, spitting blood and saliva as he rolled onto his side. Slowly, he pushed himself back to his feet. His movements weren't frantic. They were calculated.
He bent down and picked up the sword he'd dropped earlier.
Now armed with two blades, he rolled his shoulders, eyes burning brighter than before.
"COME FOR ME, MORTAL!" Ares bellowed, laughter shaking the air itself.
Napoleon smirked.
"Coming right up." He burst forward.
Not a charge born of rage, but speed, timing, discipline. His boots pounded against the arena floor as he sprinted straight at the god of war.
Ares crouched, bracing himself, shield planted firmly in front of his body like an unbreakable wall. Too easy.
At the last possible second, Napoleon changed angle.
He slid low across the stone, one blade scraping sparks as it cut toward Ares' leg while the other feinted high, forcing the god to react.
For the first time, Ares' eyes widened.
Napoleon dragged both blades across Ares' armoured chest.
Metal screamed.
Sparks burst.
And then, Blood.
It spilled from beneath the god's breastplate, dripping onto the arena floor. The scent of death filled the air.
Silence fell.
Ares staggered back half a step, staring down at the wound as if reality itself had betrayed him. His laughter died in his throat. Slowly, he lifted a gauntleted hand, fingers trembling, and touched the blood.
It was real.
"No…" Ares whispered.
The arena erupted.
"NOT BAD FOR A FRENCHMAN, IS IT?" Napoleon smirked, chuckling as he rolled his shoulders, blades held loose and ready.
The gods' stands exploded into chaos.
"That's impossible—"
"He cut him!"
"A mortal drew divine blood?!"
Hanuman sat upright, grape forgotten as it fell from his fingers. "Huh… that's new."
Shamash adjusted his glasses, eyes wide, calculations shattering in his mind. "Divine armour breached… by human steel?"
On the human side, Ferbiris slammed both fists into the railing. "YES! THAT'S IT!"
Bialorus could barely breathe. "He—he hurt him. Joachim… he actually hurt him."
Joachim's grin faded into something heavier.
Something dangerous.
"Not luck," Joachim said quietly. "That was planning."
In the arena, Ares straightened slowly, rage and disbelief warring across his face. His aura flared violently, war-energy rippling outward like heat waves. He tightened his grip on his shield, knuckles whitening.
"You bleed like the rest of us," Napoleon said calmly. "That means you can fall."
High above them all, Zeus rose from his throne.
The chamber of gods grew deathly still.
Lightning crackled faintly around his skeletal form, but he did not speak. His hollow eyes remained locked on the blood staining the arena floor.
For the first time in thousands of years—
Zeus did not look bored.
He looked… interested.
"So," he murmured, voice carrying across the pantheon, "humans are not insects after all."
A slow, crooked smile formed across his skeletal face.
"They might actually have a chance."
Ares clutched his chest.
His breath came sharp and uneven, each inhale burning as divine blood slipped between his fingers and sizzled against the stone. The god of war. Who had slaughtered titans, razed cities, and drowned worlds in blood, was bleeding because of a human.
His knees bent slightly.
Across from him, Napoleon straightened.
He raised both blades high, steel catching the celestial light as if the universe itself were aligning behind him.
The arena held its breath.
On the gods' tier, whispers turned into shouts.
"ARES, FINISH HIM!"
"DO NOT FALL TO A MORTAL!"
"UNLEASH YOUR TRUE FORM!"
Zeus did not speak.
He leaned forward.
Napoleon stepped in, boots scraping stone as he closed the distance. His eyes never left Ares.
"Wars aren't won by strength alone," Napoleon said quietly. "They're won by those who adapt."
Ares looked up.
For the first time, fear flickered behind his fury. The blades came down.
And just before they struck…
Ares roared. Not in pain. In wrath.
A shockwave erupted from his body, cracking the arena floor in a violent ring. energy exploded outward, flinging Napoleon back mid-swing as the god of war surged to his full height, blood evaporating into smoke.
Ares' eyes burned crimson.
"YOU DARE TRY TO END WAR ITSELF?" he thundered.
Napoleon looks at him, With power in his eyes. "I'm Napoleon Bonaparte, I've conquered France, I've Conquered Europe. You think I will struggle in this fight?"
The god of war rolled his shoulders, bones cracking like distant thunder as the last traces of disbelief burned away, replaced by pure, murderous focus. Divine blood steamed where it touched the ground, his wound already beginning to seal—but the humiliation remained.
He lowered his shield.
Then he ran.
The arena shook under his charge. Each step was an earthquake, each breath a war drum. Ares lowered his head, shield locked in front of him, body angled like a living siege engine aimed at one target.
Napoleon barely had time to react.
"Now," Joachim whispered.
Ares closed the distance in an instant.
The shield hit first.
A brutal, bone-shattering impact slammed straight into Napoleon's chest and face—head first, shield and god crashing into him with the force of a meteor. The sound echoed across the arena like a cannon firing at point-blank range.
Napoleon's blades flew from his hands.
His body was launched backward, lifted clean off the ground before smashing into the stone floor in a violent roll. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he skidded to a stop, armor torn, coat shredded.
Gasps tore through the human stands.
"NAPOLEON!" Ferbiris shouted.
Ares roared in triumph, skidding to a halt as cracks spiderwebbed across the arena behind him. He turned slowly, chest heaving, shield dripping with blood that was no longer his.
"That," Ares growled, "is what war looks like."
Ares didn't hesitate.
Seeing Napoleon still move only sharpened his rage.
With a snarl, the god of war reached behind his back and pulled.
From nothingness, a spear tore its way into existence. Long, brutal, and laced with ancient runes that glowed the color of fresh blood. The weapon hummed with endless conflict, forged from every war humanity had ever fought and every one yet to come.
Ares stepped toward Napoleon.
Each step echoed like a death sentence.
Napoleon lay on one knee, one hand pressed to his chest, the other clawing uselessly at the cracked stone. Blood ran freely now, staining his uniform, soaking into the arena floor.
Ares loomed over him.
He raised the spear high above his head, muscles coiling, shadow swallowing Napoleon whole. The point of the weapon aimed straight down.
"History remembers victors," Ares snarled. "And gods do not lose."
On the human stands, Bialorus froze.
"Joachim…" he whispered. "This is it."
Even Ferbiris couldn't speak.
The arena fell silent.
No cheers. No laughter.
Only the low hum of divine power as Ares tightened his grip and prepared to drive the spear down through Napoleon's body—through the man who had dared make a god bleed.