"Y–you're telling me they're using Ra this early?" Joachim gasped, fingers tightening around the railing as if the arena itself might give way. His glasses slid slightly down his nose, reflecting the blazing halo at the center of the field. "I mean… I know we just heard them say it, but still. This is… this is completely outside my expectations."
Bialorus swallowed hard beside him. "They're not even hiding it anymore. They want to crush morale. Sending out the sun god in round two is a statement."
Down in the arena, Mercury's voice thundered out, amplified by divine force.
"NOW THEN! Our second match of Armageddon is set! ANAXAGORAS… VERSUS… RAAAAA!!! A match made in heaven itself! The first human to dare claim the sun was merely an object in the sky, against the Sun itself!"
The crowd erupted. Gods leaned forward. Humans held their breath.
Ra rose slightly from his throne, the solar disk behind his head flaring brighter as he stepped down onto the arena floor. The heat intensified instantly, stones beneath his feet glowing faintly red. He approached Anaxagoras slowly, deliberately, each step radiating overwhelming pressure.
Ra leaned down until his face was inches from the philosopher's.
"You know," Ra said calmly, his voice like rolling heatwaves, "without those god-killing weapons your kind seems so fond of… this ends before it even begins, kid."
His glowing eyes locked onto Anaxagoras', searching for fear. For doubt.
Instead. he found a smirk.
"I think it's already here, man," Anaxagoras replied casually, tapping the end of his bronze cane against the ground. Tap. Tap. "Just… not in the way you're expecting."
Ra straightened slightly, amused. "Hmm? And what would that be?"
Anaxagoras tilted his head, eyes bright with mischief rather than terror. "Tell me, Ra…"
He twirled the cane once in his hand, pointing it loosely toward the blazing solar disk behind the god.
"How do you feel about… comedy?"
A brief silence followed.
"Comedy?" Ra echoed, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest, equal parts curiosity and condescension.
Anaxagoras suddenly threw both arms wide, cane spinning wildly as he grinned like a madman.
"HELL FUCKING YEAH!!!" he shouted, voice ringing through the arena. "Alright folks, let's start with a very simple gag…"
He leaned forward, eyes gleaming with reckless confidence.
"…something that won't get me sued by the sun itself."
The gods blinked.
The humans stared.
And for the first time since stepping into the arena, Ra paused, not in anger, not in arrogance, but in genuine confusion.
Anaxagoras tapped his cane once.
Tap.
"Alright!" he announced brightly, pacing as though the arena were a stage. "Welcome everyone. Gods, mortals, cosmic egos to Anaxagoras' Completely Unlicensed Comedy Hour!"
The ground twisted.
The shattered battlefield smoothed itself into polished marble, then warped again, bending upward into exaggerated curves like a poorly built amphitheater. Columns sprouted, crooked ones, leaning at impossible angles, each carved with over-the-top heroic reliefs of Ra… except every carving showed him slightly wrong. One had his head comically too large. Another had his arms absurdly thin. One depicted him flexing in a mirror, winking at himself.
A ripple of stunned silence swept the gods' section.
"What. what is this nonsense?!" Perun snapped.
King Enma pushed his glasses up, eyes narrowed. "This isn't illusion magic."
"It's not divine either," Thoth muttered, rapidly scribbling. "He's not creating reality… he's reframing it."
Ra turned slowly, taking in the warped statues. His solar aura flared, heat spiking. "You dare mock the sun in its own presence?"
Anaxagoras gasped theatrically. "Mock? No, no, no, this is satire. Totally different. See, when you've been around for eternity, you gotta laugh at yourself, right?"
He flicked his cane again.
The sky above folded.
The blazing heavens snapped into a painted backdrop, like a cheap stage set. Clouds slid on visible tracks. A massive golden sun hung overhead… with a pair of crudely drawn eyes and a crooked smile scribbled across its surface.
The crowd lost it.
"What the fuck is happening?!" Bialorus shouted, half-laughing, half-horrified.
Joachim stared in awe. "He's weaponizing perspective…"
Ra clenched his fists. "Enough."
He raised his hand, solar flames roaring outward and stopped.
The fire squeaked.
Literally.
The flames burst out in bright, exaggerated colors, forming the shape of a rubber chicken before popping harmlessly into sparks.
Dead silence.
Then.
"…Did Ra just get clown magic'd?" Mercury whispered.
Anaxagoras doubled over laughing. "Oh gods. okay, okay, that one caught me off guard!"
Ra stared at his own hand, jaw tightening. "What have you done to my power?"
"Relax!" Anaxagoras said, waving dismissively. "I'm not taking anything. I'm just… reminding the universe that meaning is flexible."
He pointed his cane at Ra.
"You are the sun because everyone agrees you are. I just asked reality what happens when we disagree… politely."
The arena shifted again.
Ra suddenly found himself standing under a massive spotlight. A red curtain dropped behind him. Somewhere, an unseen force played a drum sting.
Ba-dum-tss.
A sign appeared above Ra's head:
"APPLAUSE"
The human section erupted into laughter and cheers, unable to help themselves.
Ra's aura flared violently now, the temperature skyrocketing. "You think this is a joke?"
Anaxagoras grinned, pushing his glasses up with the tip of his cane.
"No," he said calmly.
"I think jokes are dangerous."
He tipped his imaginary hat to the crowd.
"And you, Ra… have never been laughed at before."
"Undo this," he commanded. "Before I reduce you to ash."
Anaxagoras blinked, tilted his head, and sighed.
"Oof. Tough crowd."
He tapped his cane again, tap. The spotlight widened, bathing both of them in a warm, theatrical glow.
"Alright, let's start small," Anaxagoras said, pacing in a lazy circle. "Ra. Mighty sun god. Creator, destroyer, eternal flame." He nodded respectfully. "Fantastic résumé. Really. But tell me—"
He stopped directly in front of Ra.
"Have you ever noticed how everyone worships you… but nobody ever asks how hot it is being you all the time?"
A pause.
Ra frowned. "What."
Anaxagoras gestured broadly. "I mean, think about it. You rise every day. Same route. Same sky. Same 'Ooo praise the sun' nonsense. No days off. No shade." He leaned in conspiratorially. "Ever wanted to just… not rise one morning?"
The painted sun above let out an exaggerated yawn.
A few gods snorted before catching themselves.
Ra's lip twitched.
He scowled harder. "This is beneath me."
"Oh, absolutely!" Anaxagoras beamed. "That's comedy. Punching up."
The arena shifted again. Suddenly, Ra found himself seated at a divine desk stacked with glowing tablets labeled SUNRISE REQUESTS.
"Let's see here," Anaxagoras narrated, flipping through invisible pages. "'Ra, please rise earlier for my crops.' 'Ra, it's too hot.' 'Ra, it's too cold.' 'Ra, why did you give me sunburn through armor?'" He winced. "Honestly, your inbox is a nightmare."
A chuckle escaped the gods' section.
Ra crossed his arms. "You mistake irritation for amusement."
"Then let's try physical comedy," Anaxagoras said brightly.
He snapped his fingers.
Ra's radiant cloak suddenly caught on fire—then immediately produced a small 'Wet Floor' sign, extinguishing itself with a hiss.
Ra looked down.
Paused.
"…That is not how fire works."
Anaxagoras shrugged. "It is when it's embarrassed."
Another beat.
Then.
A soft sound.
Barely audible.
Ra exhaled through his nose.
The smallest breath of a laugh.
Joachim's eyes widened. "Did, did he just—"
"I saw it," Ferbiris whispered. "That was a crack."
Ra noticed immediately.
His expression hardened, but something had shifted. The rigid perfection of the sun god wavered, just slightly. The weight of eternity pressed differently now, lighter. Stranger.
Anaxagoras seized the moment.
"You know," he said gently, voice losing its theatrics, "humans laugh because we know we're temporary. Gods don't… because you think you're finished."
He met Ra's eyes.
"But even the sun changes."
Silence fell.
The painted sun overhead slowly erased its cartoon face… leaving behind a real glow. Softer. Warmer.
Ra's mouth twitched again.
Then against his will, A smile formed.
Small. Tight. Unpracticed.
The arena held its breath.
Ra covered his mouth with one hand, stunned.
"…That," he said quietly, "was… mildly amusing."
The human section erupted.
Anaxagoras threw his arms wide. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WE GOT HIM."
Ra lowered his hand, eyes narrowing but this time, there was something dangerous beneath the heat.
"Careful, philosopher," he said. "If you make me laugh again… I may let you live longer."
Anaxagoras tipped his cane like a microphone.
"Encore?"
The cane tapped once.
Tap.
The world peeled.
Stone melted into white tile. Pillars flattened into sterile walls. The roar of the crowd collapsed into the steady beep… beep… beep of a heart monitor.
The arena was gone.
In its place,- hospital room.
Fluorescent lights hummed overhead. A single bed sat in the center, curtains half-drawn. On the bed lay a patient.
A fish.
Not a majestic one. Not divine.
A small, sad-looking goldfish, lying on its side in a hospital gown far too big for it. A tiny oxygen mask was taped over its mouth, bubbling uselessly.
Ra blinked.
Once.
Twice.
"…What," he said slowly, "is this."
Anaxagoras was already wearing a white lab coat. His cane had transformed into a clipboard, and a stethoscope hung crookedly around his neck.
"Welcome to modern medicine," he said gravely. "Where nothing makes sense, everything costs too much, and the patient's already dead."
The heart monitor let out a flat beeeeeep.
Ra looked down at himself.
He, too, was in a lab coat, gold-trimmed, pristine. His sun disk now doubled as a surgical cap.
"I am the sun," Ra said. "I do not perform… check-ups."
Anaxagoras peered at the chart. "Patient name: Fish." He nodded. "Age: unclear. Cause of injury: existing."
Ra pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why is it not in water."
"Budget cuts," Anaxagoras replied instantly.
A murmur of laughter rippled through the gods' seats.
Ra sighed, deeply, like a god who had endured millennia of prayers and had finally been handed paperwork.
"Very well," he muttered. "What is the diagnosis."
Anaxagoras leaned over the fish, listening with his stethoscope.
"Hm." He frowned. "I'm afraid it's terminal."
Ra crossed his arms. "Then why are we here."
"Because," Anaxagoras said solemnly, "the family insists we try everything."
The fish's eyes slowly rolled.
Ra stared at it.
"…It mocks me."
Anaxagoras gestured to a tray. "Scalpel."
Ra picked it up. It immediately melted.
"…Your tools are inadequate," Ra said flatly.
"Tell me about it," Anaxagoras groaned. "Back in my day, we just blamed the gods and moved on. Now there's forms. So many forms."
The heart monitor flatlined again.
BEEEEEEEEEP.
A nurse's voice echoed from nowhere: "Doctor, we're losing him!"
Ra snapped. "He was never found."
Anaxagoras clapped his hands. "Alright, last resort."
He pointed dramatically to a machine beside the bed.
A defibrillator.
Ra's eyes lit up. "Ah. Violence disguised as healing."
He grabbed the paddles, electricity crackling between them like bottled lightning.
"Wait—wait—wait," Anaxagoras said, holding up a hand. "We're supposed to clear the patient."
Ra raised a brow. "Clear?"
Anaxagoras gestured vaguely. "You know. Say something. It's tradition."
Ra looked down at the fish.
"…Clear."
He slammed the paddles down.
BZRAAAKKK.
The electricity surged and arced sideways.
Straight into Anaxagoras
.
The philosopher stiffened, eyes wide, skeleton briefly visible through his body like a cartoon X-ray.
"—I specifically said—"
BZRAAAKKK.
He flew backward, crashing into a rolling tray, limbs twitching.
The fish did not move.
The heart monitor flatlined harder, somehow.
Silence.
Ra stared at the paddles.
Then at Anaxagoras, smoking slightly on the floor.
"…Modern medicine," Ra muttered, shaking his head.