The massive figure stepped into the firelight, each movement deliberate and powerful. His black armor had an otherworldly quality - not like any historical pieces I'd ever studied. The metal seemed to drink in the firelight rather than reflect it, and strange symbols flickered across its surface like living things.
The warrior's presence made the air feel thick and heavy, like the moment before a storm breaks. Even the night sounds of the forest had gone silent. My scholarly mind noticed these details even as Hercules' instincts screamed warnings about the power radiating from our visitor.
"Well, well," the stranger said, his voice carrying the weight of centuries. "If it isn't my favorite half-brother."
Those words hit me like a physical blow. Half-brother? My mind raced through the pantheon of Greek deities, and cold realization dawned - this was no ordinary warrior. The black armor, the overwhelming presence, the casual reference to divine kinship... I was standing before Ares, the god of war himself.
Years of studying ancient texts about him hadn't prepared me for this moment. The descriptions of his terrifying presence hadn't done justice to the reality. Every movement he made carried the promise of violence, every gesture reminded me that I was in the presence of something far beyond mortal.
"Ares," I managed to say, trying to keep my voice steady while my inner scholar was having a complete meltdown at meeting an actual Olympian deity. "What brings you to our little camp?"
Beside me, Iolaus sprang up with his sword ready, but Ares dismissed him with a casual wave, like shooing away an annoying insect. The ground smoldered where the god's feet touched the earth, leaving small scorched prints in the grass.
"Can't a god visit his dear brother?" Ares began circling our camp with predatory grace. His armor made no sound as he moved, which was fascinating from an archaeological perspective but terrifying in person.
"Especially when he's been acting so... strange lately."
I felt sweat bead on my forehead despite the cool night air.
"Strange? Me? No, I'm just being regular old Hercules. You know, breaking things, fighting monsters..."
I nearly launched into a comparison with historical accounts of Hercules' feats before catching myself.
"Definitely not spending time reading ancient texts- I mean, who would do that?"
Ares stopped directly in front of me, his eyes as dark and turbulent as storm clouds. The details of his armor were incredible - layers of divine craftsmanship that no mortal smith could hope to match.
"Really? The Hercules I know wouldn't waste time reading old scrolls or planning battles. He'd just charge in and start fighting."
Haha, the scrolls sprawled around gave away my lie!
"Maybe I'm trying new things," I said, immediately regretting my words. "You know, becoming an even better hero. More heroic. The most heroic." I sounded like a nervous student trying to bluff through an oral exam.
"Oh, is it?"
Ares said with a smile. I swear I saw a flicker of flames in his eyes before they disappeared without strength.
But he continued.
"Then, Show me," Ares said, and suddenly a sword materialized in his hand, its blade darker than the night sky.
"Let's see these new methods of yours.
Before I could protest, he attacked.
The sword came at me in a perfect arc - textbook offensive form, but faster than any human could move. Thank goodness for all the practice I'd had with Iolaus, and for Hercules' natural combat instincts.
I managed to dodge the first strike, my mind automatically analyzing his fighting style while trying not to get killed.
I immediately reached out to the Xiphos sword and swung it!
Our weapons met with a clash that sent sparks flying.
But Ares didn't stop, nor could I!
Swing after swing, we continued - Ares was clearly paying with me, while I was just trying to stay alive!
Each exchange was like a deadly dance - Ares moved with the fluid grace of someone who had invented the art of combat, while I combined Hercules' strength with everything I knew about historical fighting techniques.
"That's an interesting way to move," Ares noted as our blades crossed again. His attacks came in patterns I recognized from ancient military treatises, but with a speed and power that made them nearly impossible to counter.
"Looks more like something from a school in Athens than a battlefield."
I ducked under a swing that would have taken my head off, using a defensive technique I'd only read about in classical texts.
"I like to learn new things!" The words came out breathless as I parried another strike. "A good hero should know lots of different ways to fight!"
Our sparring intensified.
Ares' blade was everywhere at once, testing my defenses from angles that shouldn't have been possible. I found myself falling back on my academic knowledge - analyzing his moves, predicting patterns, and applying theoretical principles I'd studied but never actually used in combat.
"A good hero?" Ares laughed, and it sounded like metal breaking. "You sound more like a teacher than a warrior."
"Why not be both?" The words slipped out before I could stop them, almost costing me as his blade whistled past my ear.
We continued our deadly dance around the fire, my face hot from exertion while his remained eerily calm. Without thinking, I started muttering observations about combat mechanics - "using circular motion for better sword swings" and "finding the right angle for attacking." It was like giving a lecture while trying not to die.
Ares stopped mid-attack, his expression showing genuine confusion. "Did you just explain how sword fighting works... while we're fighting?"
"No?" I tried to backtrack, painfully aware of how scholarly I must have sounded. "That was just... a battle cry. A very smart battle cry."
The god of war stepped back, studying me with unsettling intensity.
"You're different, 'brother.' The way you fight, the way you talk, everything about you... it's like you're not really yourself." His sword disappeared as mysteriously as it had appeared.
He seemed to be content with what he saw!
"What? No! I'm completely myself. Totally Hercules. Just thinking more about how being a hero actually works." I was babbling now, like a student caught unprepared for an examination.
"How being a hero works?" Ares said with dangerous softness.
"Who are you really?"
For one terrifying moment, I thought he'd seen through everything - the displacement, the deception, all of it. But then his face twisted into a cruel smile.
"Whatever game you're playing, 'brother,' it won't help you fight the Nemean Lion. Some problems can't be solved by thinking and planning."
I sighed inside!
"We'll see about that," I said, trying to sound braver than I felt.
Ares smiled, revealing teeth that seemed too sharp and numerous to be natural. "Yes, we will. And when all your clever ideas fail, when you're facing a monster that no weapon can hurt, remember - sometimes you just have to fight."
He vanished in a flash of dark light, leaving behind a smell like ancient battlefields - metal and blood and death.
Iolaus finally released the breath he'd been holding.
"What the hell was that!!?? And…since when do you talk about fighting theory with Ares?"
"Starting today, I guess," I said, still trembling slightly from the encounter.
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