"This is the… the greatest battle of our lives." Joachim spread his arms wide, voice trembling with awe. "These are our human champions."
"Ehh?? You already have our people selected??!!" Bialorus stumbled back, nearly tripping over his own feet. "You're telling me this was planned the whole time?!"
Joachim didn't answer. His eyes were locked on the arena.
High above, in the gods' section, where the air itself felt heavier
"The roster is decided, King Zeus."
The Aztec god Patecatl stepped forward, bowing slightly as he passed a thin sheet of divine parchment into Zeus' skeletal hand.
"Let's see…" Zeus muttered, uncurling it slowly.
The names shimmered faintly, carved in gold and fire.
Gods:
Ares
Ra
Cu Chulainn
Heimdall
Perun
Yudi
Jupiter
Obatala
Thoth
King Enma
Marduk
Set
Mixcoatl
Humans:
Napoleon Bonaparte
Anaxagoras
Ogun
Mehmed II
Billy the Kid
Confucius
Spartacus
Skenderbeu
Yuri Gagarin
Julius Caesar
Sisyphus
Nicolaus Copernicus
Isaac Newton
Zeus' hollow eyes glinted.
"It seems…" he chuckled darkly, the sound like dry thunder rolling across mountains, "…I'll enjoy this one bit. Fufufu…"
"ALRIGHT WE ARE BACK, FOLKS!!!"
Mercury blasted into his horn, nearly shattering the air itself. "WE'RE HERE WITH THE FIRST BATTLE OF ARMAGEDDON! THE CLASH BETWEEN NAPOLEON BONAPARTE AND THE GOD OF WAR. ARES IS FINALLY APPROACHING ITS END!!!"
The crowd roared, gods shouting, humans screaming, the universe itself holding its breath.
"Ares looks serious now that he knows Napoleon will compete against him!" Mercury continued. "THIS IS NO LONGER A GAME!!!"
Ares cracked his neck, blood still trailing down his armored chest. His eyes burned. Not with mockery now but with respect and fury intertwined.
"Don't die on me, human," Ares growled, stepping forward. "I want to remember this fight."
He lunged.
A divine punch tore through the air, fast enough to shatter mountains.
Napoleon ducked low, weaving beneath it, boots skidding across the arena floor. Another punch came, then another, each one heavy with wrath.
Napoleon twisted, slipped, rolled.
Steel flashed.
The divine blade hummed louder with every movement.
"You gods fight with power," Napoleon muttered under his breath, breath ragged but steady.
He slid past Ares' guard, narrowly avoiding a blow that would've torn his head clean off.
"But humans fight with will."
He planted his foot and turned.
Napoleon raised the divine blade once more, its runes flaring violently as if responding to his intent. Ares' eyes widened, instinct screaming too late.
"Garder…" Napoleon whispered, locking eyes with the god of war.
"Trois. Deux. Un."
He vanished.
Not vanished like a god.
but like a man moving beyond what a god expected.
A shockwave ripped through the arena as Napoleon reappeared inside Ares' guard. Steel sang.
SLASH.
The divine blade tore across Ares' side, carving through armor and flesh alike. Golden blood sprayed into the air, hissing as it struck the stone.
Ares staggered back, roaring in pain and disbelief.
"I—?!"
Napoleon didn't stop.
"EN GARDE."
The words rang like a command to the universe itself.
His movements sharpened. Precise, elegant, deadly. Each step mirrored the discipline of a duelist, the mind of a general, the resolve of a man who had already lost everything once.
He struck again.
And again.
And again.
Blades flashed in a blinding pattern, slashes crossing, thrusts weaving, every strike aimed not with rage, but with calculated intent. The divine weapon howled, feeding on Ares' essence.
High above, gods leaned forward.
Hanuman looked surprised.
Perun's grip tightened until lightning burst from his knuckles.
Even Zeus' grin faded, just slightly.
Ares was driven backward, forced onto the defensive for the first time in millennia.
"Impossible!" Ares snarled, barely raising his shield in time.
Napoleon spun, leapt, and brought the blade down in a brutal arc.
ENGARDE. LA FURIE DE L'HOMME.
The final strike detonated on impact, a thunderous clash of divine and mortal will that sent Ares skidding across the arena, carving a trench through sacred stone.
Napoleon landed on one knee, breathing hard, blade still glowing, blood dripping from his chest.
He looked up.
Still smiling.
And for the first time. The god of war looked afraid.
The trench behind him exploded as he planted his feet, divine energy surging outward in violent waves. Golden blood evaporated from his skin, armor reforging itself in flashes of war-light. His eyes burned crimson now, no longer amused, no longer respectful.
Only wrath.
"You dare… YOU DARE PUSH ME BACK?!"
The ground shook as Ares launched forward.
Not a charge.
a cataclysm.
He smashed into Napoleon like a living meteor, shield-first. The impact shattered stone and sent a shockwave screaming through the arena. Napoleon was lifted clean off his feet, his body folding around the blow before being hurled across the field.
He slammed into the far wall.
Hard.
The sound echoed like a cannon firing.
"NAPOLEON!!!" Joachim shouted, gripping the railing.
Ares didn't let up.
In a blur of motion, he crossed the distance again, spear forming in his hand mid-stride solidified from pure divine will. He drove it forward.
Napoleon barely raised his blade in time.
CLANG!
The force ripped the divine weapon from his grip, sending it skidding across the arena. Ares followed with a brutal elbow to Napoleon's jaw, snapping his head sideways, then a knee straight into his chest.
Bones cracked.
Napoleon gasped, blood spraying from his mouth as he collapsed to one knee.
"Your technique is beautiful," Ares growled, looming over him. "But beauty doesn't win wars."
He raised his fist, divine symbols blazing across his arm.
"THIS DOES."
The punch came down like the fall of a god.
Napoleon crossed his arms just in time, but the impact buried him into the arena floor, stone exploding outward in a crater. Dust and debris swallowed the battlefield.
Dust rolled across the arena like fog after a cannon blast.
Napoleon dragged himself from the crater, one knee on the ground, one hand pressed against shattered stone. His breathing was ragged, every inhale scraping his lungs raw but his eyes were still sharp.
Still defiant.
Ares stared.
For the first time in his eternal existence, the god of war hesitated.
"…Why?" Ares asked, voice low, almost confused. "Why do you keep standing?"
Napoleon wiped blood from his mouth, forcing himself upright inch by inch. His shoulders trembled, his legs screamed in protest but he stood.
"Because," he said, voice hoarse yet steady, "men like me do not choose how they fall."
He glanced toward the humans' section, towards Joachim, toward history itself.
"We choose how long we rise."
Ares snarled and charged again, faster than before, spear crackling with divine energy. He thrust straight for Napoleon's heart.
Too fast.
Too precise.
Napoleon twisted at the last possible instant.
The spear tore through his side instead with blood spraying as he screamed but his hand closed around the shaft
.
The arena gasped.
"You missed," Napoleon growled, teeth clenched.
With a violent twist, he wrenched the spear sideways, dragging Ares off balance for a split second.
That was all he needed.
Napoleon lunged, grabbing the fallen divine blade from the ground and slashing upward.
SHRRK.
The blade carved across Ares' shoulder, divine blood exploding into light. Ares staggered back, roaring in fury.
"ENOUGH!" Ares thundered.
He slammed his foot down.
The arena fractured.
Divine chains erupted from the ground, wrapping around Napoleon's limbs, yanking him to his knees. His arms were forced wide, chest exposed, blood dripping freely.
Ares approached slowly now, spear reformed in his hand, tip glowing with lethal intent.
"You have surpassed expectation," Ares admitted. "You have earned respect."
He raised the spear.
"But wars are ended by those who strike last."
Napoleon lifted his head, eyes burning despite the pain.
"…Then," he whispered, "strike like a god."
The spear descended.
For what seemed like the final time, Napoleon smiled again.
"Damn it… he's pushed a god this far."
Marshal Davout clenched his fists, knuckles white. His usual calm was gone, replaced by raw tension. "Typical Bonaparte. Even death has to earn him."
Rama Roustam leaned forward, eyes wide, wine forgotten at his side. "He's smiling again…" he muttered. "That's the smile he had before Austerlitz."
Joachim swallowed hard. "He's not smiling because he's confident," he said quietly. "He's smiling because he's decided.
"
Bialorus shook his head, voice trembling. "No human should still be alive after that. No human should still be thinking."
Ferbiris folded his arms, a slow grin spreading across his face. "And yet he is. That's why they chose him."
Before Ares could drive the spear down,
A sound cut through the arena.
A sharp, powerful neigh.
Clear. Commanding.
Every head turned.
From the far end of the arena, where shadows pooled against the broken stone, a horse stepped forward.
Napoleon's horse.
Its coat was dark, almost black, streaked with scars earned in wars long past. Its eyes burned with intelligence unnervingly so as if it too understood the weight of this moment. Steam rose from its nostrils, hooves striking the stone with slow, deliberate force.
Clop. Clop. Clop.
The divine chains around Napoleon trembled.
Ares' brow furrowed. "A horse?" he scoffed. "You summon a beast now?"
Napoleon lifted his head.
For the first time since the chains bound him, his smile returned, not crooked, not desperate.
Confident.
"He's not a horse," Napoleon said quietly. "He's been with me through empires."
The horse stamped its hoof.
The arena floor cracked.
A ripple of unfamiliar energy surged outward, not divine, not mortal, something born of loyalty, battle, and shared bloodshed.
High above, eyes widened.
"That's…" Joachim whispered. "That's not normal."
Even Ares hesitated.
The horse lowered its head and charged.
The chains snapped.
One by one, they shattered like glass under a hammer.
Napoleon surged forward at the same instant, rolling beneath the falling spear as his horse skidded to his side. With practiced precision, muscle memory from a thousand battles, Napoleon leapt onto the saddle in a single fluid motion.
He turned the horse sharply, blade flashing back into his hand.
Ares spun around just in time to see it.
Man and beast.
United.
"War," Napoleon called out, voice strong despite the blood, "has never been fought alone."