Blood soaked the battlefield, painting the ground in streaks of crimson as the chaotic sounds of war thundered in every direction. Gunfire cracked through the air, drowning out the cries of soldiers locked in a desperate struggle for survival. The acrid stench of gunpowder mixed with the metallic tang of blood, creating an atmosphere thick with death and despair.
Amid the chaos, a lone soldier in a faded blue uniform raised his rifle, his hands steady despite the pandemonium around him. He took aim at an opposing soldier, a grim grin spreading across his face as he prepared to fire.
But before he could pull the trigger, a hand like iron clamped down on his arm.
The soldier's grin turned into a gasp of pain as his arm was wrenched to the side with bone-shattering force. His rifle clattered to the ground, useless, as the attacker—a man clad in battered, otherworldly armor—emptied the weapon of its remaining bullets. The soldier stumbled backward, clutching his broken arm, his face pale with fear as he stared at the man who had stopped him.
Alex stood over him, his expression unreadable. His presence alone was unnerving, the faint flicker of blue energy dancing around his fists like an unnatural flame.
"You…" Alex said, tilting his head slightly, his tone more curious than accusatory. "You remind me of a painting I once saw—an 18th-century French soldier."
The man's fear deepened, his face draining of color. His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the blood-soaked ground, trembling. "Who… who are you? What are you?" he stammered, his voice shaky.
Alex crouched down, a faint smile breaking across his face. He extended a hand toward the soldier, his demeanor shifting from intimidating to almost gentle. "Calm down. I'm not here to hurt you," Alex said softly. "What's your name?"
The soldier hesitated, his eyes darting between Alex's outstretched hand and his piercing gaze. Despite the terror that had gripped him moments before, something about Alex's expression—an odd mixture of strength and kindness—put him at ease. He reached out tentatively, taking Alex's hand.
"Claude," the man said, his voice steadying as Alex helped him to his feet. "My name is Claude. My mother gave it to me—she said it means 'strong-willed.'"
"Strong-willed, huh?" Alex mused, brushing dirt off his armor. "I can see that, Claude. So… where exactly am I? This is a battlefield, obviously, but what war is this?"
Claude blinked, momentarily thrown off by the question. "You don't know? We're on the border of Italy, my friend," he said cautiously, his eyes narrowing. "We're fighting under General Napoleon Bonaparte. Surely you've heard of him?"
Alex's expression darkened slightly as he processed the words. "Napoleon… Bonaparte," he repeated, the name stirring faint memories from his school days. His history teacher's voice echoed faintly in his mind, recounting the life of the French Emperor. The memories felt like a lifetime ago, another world entirely.
"If you help us," Claude continued, interrupting Alex's thoughts, "Napoleon himself might want to meet you. Maybe he'll even put in a good word for me."
Alex chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "Alright, Claude. I'll help. And I'll make sure to mention you to your general."
Claude smiled, relief evident on his face. "Thank you. By the way, those powers of yours… I saw it earlier. It was like a blue flame, burning off of you."
"Yeah, about that," Alex said, his voice dropping slightly. "I'm… not exactly from around here. Let's just say I have a unique skill set." He paused, his gaze shifting toward the horizon where the battle raged on. "But enough about me. Let's get back to it."
Before Claude could respond, a sharp crack rang out—a rifle shot. Alex's eyes narrowed as his heightened senses picked up the whizzing sound of the bullet slicing through the air. Without hesitation, he grabbed Claude by the back of his uniform collar and dragged him to the ground, narrowly avoiding the shot.
"Stay down!" Alex barked, his tone firm but protective.
Standing tall, Alex's fists ignited with an eerie blue flame. The energy pulsed and crackled as he raised his hand, aiming toward the enemy line. With a sharp motion, he slammed his fist into the ground. The flames erupted outward in a devastating wave, racing across the grass like a living entity. Soldiers screamed as the blue fire consumed everything in its path, reducing the ground to scorched earth and ash.
In the distance, the Italian soldiers began to retreat, their general shouting orders that were drowned out by the chaos. "Retreat! Retreat!" the cries echoed across the battlefield as the surviving soldiers fled in terror.
As the dust settled, Alex stood in the center of the destruction, his breathing heavy. The flames around him flickered and dimmed, leaving only faint wisps of smoke curling in the air. In his thoughts, he grimaced. I'm out of practice. I shouldn't feel this drained.
"Alex! Alex!" Claude's voice broke through the haze, pulling Alex back to the present. He turned to see Claude sprinting toward him, his face alight with excitement.
"It's him!" Claude exclaimed, pointing behind Alex. "It's Napoleon!"
Alex turned slowly, his eyes landing on a man who seemed almost out of place amidst the battlefield's chaos. He was shorter than Alex expected, his sharp features framed by a military uniform that was both immaculate and imposing. The man stepped forward, his gaze fixed firmly on Alex.
"I am Napoleon Bonaparte," the man declared, his voice carrying a mix of authority and curiosity. "You don't seem to be from around here, stranger. But I must thank you for your assistance. Now, bow before me."
Alex raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting to one of bemused disbelief. "Bow? Who's lost child is this?"
Napoleon's face reddened, and he stomped his foot in frustration. "I'm not a child! I'm an average-sized man!"
Alex couldn't help himself. He burst out laughing, clutching his sides. "Alright, alright," he said between breaths, wiping a tear from his eye. "Whatever you say, Your Magnificence."
Napoleon scowled, but before he could retort, Alex straightened up, his expression softening. "Sorry about that. I'm Alex. And I promised to put in a good word for Claude."
"Claude?" Napoleon repeated, looking genuinely confused. "Who's Claude?"
Alex sighed, grabbing Claude by the arm and pulling him forward. "This is Claude. He's the one who convinced me to help. A good man, like myself—well, maybe better."
Napoleon studied Claude for a moment, then nodded curtly. "Very well. But now, I'd like to make a proposal to you both." His eyes gleamed with ambition. "Join me. Help me conquer these lands."
Alex's expression darkened, and he turned his gaze skyward. The weight of Napoleon's words hung heavy in the air. "Conquer, you say?" he muttered, his voice low. "I don't conquer lands, Napoleon. Hurting people… it's not my style."
Napoleon stepped closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "If you help me, I can give you what you seek. I can get you back to where you belong."
Alex's eyes widened slightly, his mind racing. He glanced at Claude, who looked equally confused, before returning his gaze to Napoleon. "Alright," Alex said slowly. "You've got my attention. But don't think for a second I'm doing this for your glory."
Napoleon smirked, satisfied. "Then let's begin."
And with that, the battlefield fell silent, the echoes of war replaced by the promise of a new, uncertain alliance.