The debate in the Grand Council Chamber came to an abrupt halt as a familiar green portal tore through reality itself. The ornate chandeliers swayed, their crystal formations tinkling ominously as emerald energy crackled through the air. Several nobles stumbled back, their faces draining of color as the massive figure they'd just been discussing stepped through.

Shrek's heavy boots left cracks in the polished marble floor. His massive frame seemed even more imposing in the enclosed space, his head nearly brushing the twenty-foot ceiling. The ogre's presence filled the chamber with an earthy smell that made several of the perfumed nobles gag.

"Well, well, well," Shrek drawled, his Scottish accent echoing off the vaulted ceiling. "What do we have here? A wee gathering of the space fancy-pants, is it?"

Count Raffia, who had been so vocally denying Shrek's existence moments ago, promptly fainted. His ceremonial sword clattered to the ground, the sound sharp in the terrified silence.

"Now listen here, you lot," Shrek continued, cracking his knuckles as green energy sparked between his fingers. "I've had just about enough of your invasion nonsense. I was in the middle of my mud bath when I had to come sort out your mess on Earth."

Count Orga, despite his trembling, managed to step forward. "We... we are the nobility of Mars. You can't just-"

"Can't just what?" Shrek's voice dropped dangerously low as he leaned down, his breath making the count's impeccably styled hair wave. "Can't just pop in and stop you from killing innocent people? Can't just wreck your fancy space castles? Can't just threaten to reduce your entire civilization to rubble if you try this again?"

Countess Rafia clutched her ancient texts to her chest. "Please," she whispered, "Mars has stood for thousands of years-"

"And it'll fall in about five minutes if you don't do exactly what I say," Shrek interrupted, straightening up. A cruel smile spread across his face. "Now, I'm feeling generous today. I'll let you keep your civilization, your technology, even your fancy titles. But there's a price."

The assembled nobles held their breath. Count Yacoym had stopped his praying to stare in horror. Count Selkinas had finally stopped laughing, though her eye was still twitching.

"You all have to learn... the sacred dances."

Confusion rippled through the chamber. Count Mazuurek blinked rapidly. "The... sacred dances?"

"Watch carefully now," Shrek commanded. He moved to the center of the chamber, shoving the massive conference table aside with one hand. "This first one is called... the Floss."

What followed would be burned into the memories of Mars' nobility forever. Shrek, the destroyer of their invasion force, began swinging his arms and hips in alternating directions. The movement made his belly jiggle rhythmically, his massive frame somehow maintaining perfect timing.

"Come on then! Everyone join in!" he bellowed.

The nobles stared in horror until green energy crackled around Shrek's eyes. Then, with the desperate energy of the damned, they began to floss. Ceremonial robes swished, medals clinked, and centuries of aristocratic dignity crumbled as Mars' elite attempted to mimic the ogre's movements.

"Not bad, not bad," Shrek nodded, though Count Zebrin was clearly out of sync and Baron Trillram had somehow managed to tangle his arms. "Now for the next one..."

Shrek shifted his stance and began performing the default Fortnite dance, his massive frame bouncing with surprising agility. The nobles, already sweating from the Floss, stared in renewed horror at the more complex movements.

"Well?" Shrek's hands began to glow ominously. "I'm waiting..."

What followed could only be described as a massacre of choreography. Count Orga, the mighty military commander, stumbled through the movements like a drunken giraffe. Countess Rafia dropped her precious ancient texts trying to maintain balance. Count Maryclian's brother, who had been ready to die for his honor minutes ago, was now crying quietly as he attempted to swing his hips in the correct pattern.

"These dances," Shrek announced as the nobles flailed about, "are your pledge of peace. If I ever have to come back here - if you ever think about invading Earth again - I won't be teaching dances. I'll be redecorating Mars with a lovely shade of crater. Understand?"

"Yes!" the nobles chorused, still dancing with desperate intensity.

"And every year on this day, you'll perform these dances in the royal square. All of you. In public. As a reminder."

Several nobles looked like they'd rather face death, but none dared object.

"Good!" Shrek clapped his hands, the sound like thunder in the chamber. "Now, I've got a mud bath getting cold, so I'll be off. Remember..." He pointed to his eyes, then to the nobles, "I'm watching you."

The green portal reappeared behind him. Shrek backed toward it, still maintaining eye contact with the dancing nobles. "Oh, and one more thing - this meeting room could use some onions. Really tie the space together." With that, he stepped through the portal, which closed with a sound like a bellowing laugh.

The nobles continued dancing for several more minutes, too terrified to be the first to stop. Finally, Count Orga collapsed from exhaustion, and the others gradually followed suit.

They lay on the floor of their grand chamber, their finest clothes soaked with sweat, their dignity in tatters, but their civilization intact. From that day forward, Mars never again contemplated invading Earth. And every year, in the royal square, the highest-ranking members of Martian society would gather to perform the Sacred Dances of Peace, their faces set in grim determination as they flossed and default danced their way through another year of guaranteed survival.

The chamber remained quiet save for the heavy breathing of exhausted nobles. Count Selkinas had resumed her hysterical laughter, but this time, a few others joined in. What else could they do? Their entire martial culture, their dreams of conquest, their technological superiority - all had been reduced to a dance recital by a green ogre who treated their mightiest weapons like toys.

Baron Trillram, still tangled somehow, spoke for them all when he muttered, "Perhaps we should have stuck to terraforming."