"Tene me ne fugiam et revoca me ad dominum Viventium in area Callisti"
(Hold me, lest I flee, and return me to my master Viventius on the estate of Callistus)
Small hands fiddled with the engraved tag that hooked to his collar in the darkness, listening to the sound of his master yelling at one of the other children, the boy begging for his life to be spared as the man threatened to take it from him.
Listening.
Always listening.
The cries of the people echoed in his soul in the late hours, and the angry face of the master haunting the nightmares he got when sleep could briefly hold him.
Finally, the master hit the child so hard he was knocked unconscious and dragged from the room.
The boy that listened was grabbed by his tunic and thrown aside, out of sight of the guards. In the dirty alleyway of the Roman estate, the twelve year old was pressed against the stone wall. "I hope you know it's you who got Flavian in trouble," the older slave, wearing a similar tunic as his, spat angrily at the child. "How hard is it to do what I say and keep your head down?"
"He can't keep us forever, Appius," the boy said plainly, anger in his eyes.
"You leave that to me. And when it happens, you run. Understand me?" he replied sternly, his weathered face harsh.
He didn't answer, yanking his shoulder from the grasp of the man but not leaving...
A stick hit the boy's face and knocked him to the dusty ground. He spit blood from his mouth and looked up at Appius from under his dark curls, the sun baking their heads and shoulders as the day fell.
"You wouldn't be able to take a sheep down with those puny arms. Again!" he said as he stood over him.
The boy got up, grasping his stick with his callused and cracked hands. Standing his ground, he glared at the man and readied himself for his next move.
Appius spun and struck downwards, the boy holding his rod horizontal to block it before quickly letting it slide down the stick. He attempted to smack the man's left side but was met abruptly with Appius's weapon hitting the side of his head again and making him fall on his hands and knees, his head pounding with a sharp pain as he winced.
He gripped the ground as he tried to muster the strength to stand again.
"You think death will wait for you to get up, boy?" Appius provoked. "Up!" he commanded with his staff hitting down on the boy but the child turned on his back and blocked it just in time, a brief moment of hesitation from Appius before the boy shoved his stick aside and threw his body back to its feet with one swift movement. He looked at him with a bloody brow and advanced on the man with a skillful motion towards his knee. His move is blocked and he dove under the man with a combat roll, blocking Appius's attack down on his head the same way he did before but this time he didn't hesitate at all before slinging his stick off his own and swiping the man's leg.
The man was caught off balance and the boy whirled his pole to uppercut his chin and knock him down.
Appius got up on his elbow and held his jaw as he smirked, the child narrowing his eyes.
But that's when they began to hear shouting. And Appius looked at the boy and hissed for him to hide.
Without any thought, he obeyed and ran as fast as he could behind the small dwelling, listening for what their superiors wanted from them.
"You're supposed to be in the fields, aren't you?" one of them barked.
"I was injured. Liberius told me to get out of his way," Appius lied.
"And the boy?" the other asked, seeing right through him.
There was a small moment of silence before the child cringed from hearing the sound of Appius being punched hard and his body hitting the dirt.
The Vicarii kicked him on the ground once... and then again. "Don't forget who's in charge of whether or not you live or die, you worthless drudge!"
"You poison my ears with the same sentiment that labels yourself, Vicarii," he spat in reply. "Don't you forget that."
He was kicked again from what the boy could hear and the child's eyes shut tightly as he huddled, listening to the way his friend was being beaten mercilessly by their superiors.
Listening.
Always listening.
Where he belonged; in hiding, trembling and scared. This was a home he knew well. Ever since he was taken as a prisoner of war and sold to Viventius, he was nothing more than a terrified child, knowing only scarcity rather than any kind of plenty.
And here he was again... unchanged.
After Appius had passed out, they shoved him and a voice said, "Find the boy!"
At this, the child widened his eyes and got up, sprinting in the other direction to escape them, hearing their footsteps searching for him from behind as he ran.
His palms hit the sides of the slave huts as he fled, sandals kicking the dusty ground with force. He turned and continued to weave between houses when he heard shouting behind him and mens' footsteps in pursuit.
Looking over his shoulder, he spotted them not far behind and he hurried, almost tripping over a basket by the doorway of a house as he did so. His eyes searched for a place he could slip in to hide before he was noticed but they were too close and a hand grasped his shirt, yanking him to the ground as he was almost choked by the collar of his tunic, his back hitting the brown-beige dirt and throwing a puff of dust into the air as he coughed.
"Where do you think you're running off to, huh?" one of them said before he took out his whip.
The kid tried to jump to his feet but he was outnumbered by them and one grabbed his arm, dragging him before the kid tripped the man, causing the Vicarii to fall on his back. The boy jumped atop him to punch him in the face but just after he did this, his head was kicked by another and he saw stars, falling to the ground again.
"Abandoning your responsibilities again and assaulting a superior?" the one with the whip questioned.
They took the boy's arms and held him up as he glared at the man from under his bloody brow.
"I think it's time you knew your place," he added and struck the boy with the whip, getting his arm with it as it stung, leaving behind a bright red mark that threatened to bleed.
When the man did this again, getting his other arm, the kid let out a small cry of pain through his teeth, trying to hold it back but his skin was practically on fire with pain.
One more time, the last one was across the face, causing him to pull his hands to the wound and fall to his knees, trying his hardest not to cry in pain as it felt like his flesh was torn from his face.
The whip wielder walked slowly forward and grasped the kid's jaw so he was forced to look at him. "This is your last warning, boy..." he spoke in a slow and threatening manner.
He swallowed back the pain as his face carried a red streak across it, hatred in his gaze before he pulled away from the man.
The Vicarii turned around as he began to walk away. "Put him in Appius's place in the fields. He'll work it by himself until he understands the meaning of humility."
The boy stifled the temptation to curse at him while he tried to get free from the men who then began to pull him roughly across the ground.
The sun beat down on the back of the slave child as he worked as hard as his body would let him, unable to slack as others watched him. He had a quota to fill and if it was short he was sure there would be even worse in store for him than what happened earlier.
As his back ached, his cracked hands stung, and his muscles practically cried in agony, his anger grew. Something inside of him was turning, growing. His soul was sickened with hatred while his body groaned in pain and his mind was tormented with vengeful rage.
When he looked up his eyes locked onto his superiors. He wanted to slice their throats; to watch the crimson blood spill from their flesh, leaving their bodies lifeless as they crumpled to the ground. He wanted to cause them pain, pain like he felt.
Fighting the urge to do something about this, he went back to his work.
Not long. Just wait.
Wait for Appius.
As his restless sleep gave him visions of death and darkness, the child drowned in pain until he awoke suddenly to the ceiling of his dwelling, the face of the boy Flavian intercepting his vision as he shook his friend awake.
The boy was sweating and he patted dry his forehead with his sleeve before looking puzzled.
"You better come," Flavian told him.
He frowned and got up from the hay he slept on, following his friend through their district until they saw in the clearing where the whipping pole was, their master Viventius strode into view as he dragged behind him a body of a fellow slave wearing a dark cloak.
Others were awake now as well and gathered to see what was happening, bondservant men, women, and children.
Viventius threw down the body of the man in the center of the clearing, his rich red cloak hung over one shoulder as the tail of it caught the late night breeze. "I've come to understand I have rather a reputation amongst you..." he started with an intimidating voice that they all grew to fear. "As a blind man!" he said between his teeth as he kicked the corpse so hard he flipped to his back, revealing the pale face of Appius, his chest dark and stained with his blood.
The child's expression shifted into surprise at first and slowly faded to anger.
"And here I was thinking I have made myself clear... Or must I slaughter your first born in cold blood to make you understand... I am not to be trifled with?"
The crowd cowered at his words and feared for what he might do.
The man put his hands behind his back as he began to pace. "I have tried to be a sensible man, fair to my workers... despite the hard economic struggle. And I think in light of that I have been quite generous," he spoke in a gentle tone. "You have food, a place to sleep... a roof over your heads... and in return, you work for me. Seems reasonable, yes?"
Some people exchanged looks as others nodded to try and appease him.
"And yet..." he lifted a finger and walked back to the body of Appius. "You send this worthless human excrement to put at end to me!" he kicked the body again disrespectfully, the boy watching this as hatred grew in his heart. His eyes watched the empty ones of his friend as they stared lifelessly into nothing. Not only was this where all of Appius's hopes, desires, dreams, and future died out, but the boy's as well... He was planning to gift everyone their rightful freedom.
Now everyone's lives would be stuck forever in this endless cycle of cruel servitude.
Forever...
"From now on everyone's work load will be doubled," Viventius told them, watching their reactions as everyone held back groans or cries, their eyes holding an endless amount of pain as they were already being worked to death and punished if they did not meet their required quota... "And for that you can thank this man," he pointed to the body once more, "...and the others who helped him organize it." He then nodded to his men who drew their swords, people beginning to cry and cower before they went throughout the crowd and killed two more men, one of the guards walking over to where the boy was as he and his friend backed up, glancing behind them to see another guard was planted there so there wasn't anywhere to run.
So instead, the boy looked for weaknesses in the man—the way he walked and held his weapon, knowing he was coming to kill him of course since he was seen with Appius many times—
The sword went through the stomach of Flavian and pulled back out as the child's eyes were wide in shock and horror beside him. Flavian's body fell to the ground, without so much as a goodbye, the two knowing each other since they were taken.
He looked back up at the Roman guard who turned and left, a roughness to his face that suggested he didn't even care that he just gutted a child, leaving his friend there with nothing but anger boiling inside his veins as tears rolled down his cheeks. His eyes then watched the back of his master's as he walked from their district, hearing the cries of his slaves behind him as they look at their dead in horror and devastation.
But this was just another day to him, wasn't it?
There was no sleep that night. The boy's bones ached with weariness but the rest of him was on fire with rage that built up inside his soul, covering it in a dark mask that nothing could peel away. He shoved over a cart full of hay and let out a blood piercing cry of absolute fury, sinking to his knees as his heart was beating fast and his brain was searching itself...
A decision was to be made.
For how long would he toil away as another man's property?
How long would he watch those he loved die before his eyes?
How long would he take the punishment others deserved more than himself?
How long would he watch others stand over him with undeserved power, taking the scraps from their table that they only give because they think they are generous for doing so, always on a pedestal of greatness they had given to themselves, satisfying their every desire while the people beneath their feet starve in the depths of scarcity and utter despair while they are told to be lucky to be cushioning the feet of the others?
He stood up and walked over to a place where he hid a dagger, pulling it from the stone in the wall as he took it from its sheath... remembering when Appius gave it to him.
He glanced at where he buried him along with Flavian... and gripped the handle in his small scarred palm.
He sliced a rope that held up barrels of cider, dumping them over as the barrels broke and created a loud crashing in the hall where the guards rested and ate.
He then took the torch that lit the room on the wall and threw it down upon the pools of alcoholic liquid, the fire catching the furniture and banners in the room as the child disappeared before guards showed up to see what happened.
He moved along the wall and climbed the steps that lead to his master's chambers while the soldiers were too busy rushing to put out the fire that raged high and hot.
Walking slowly from the doorway of the large luxurious room towards the sleeping man in his cushioned bed full of blankets in radiant colors, laced with gold, matching the furniture in the room, the child drew his blade from his side, not taking his eyes off his target as his feet moved steadily forward one at a time, the drapes from the window catching in the wind and casting a ghostly shadow over the candlelit room.
This was his one chance. He was cornered and he knew he wouldn't get out alive, but he was going to finish what Appius started. He was going to end the life of the man who caused him and the people he loved all of their turmoil.
As he walked, he let the anger and hatred build inside of him, focused on the peaceful sleeping face of this worthless aristocrat who made his wealth off the bones of others, thinking he held the world in his hand. He imagined what it would be like to see the man squirm and grasp his throat in a panic as crimson blood dripped down his bedside and stained his expensive sheets.
Gripping the handle of the knife harder, the child got to the man's bedside and stared down at him, knowing he had earned thai reckoning. This was the first move and possibly the last that he would make and he welcomed it, ready to stand for something and end this. He reached over the throat of Viventius.
But just as his blade was about to taste flesh, Viventius moved his arm as fast as lightning, pulling a knife from under his pillow as he used it to shove the child's dagger from his neck and punched him in the nose. He grabbed the wrist of the boy in one hand and the throat of the child in the other, turning him so that he was pinned to the bed as the master stood grasping him tightly, the boy unable to breathe. "Next time... step quietly," Viventius said through his teeth, anger but confidence in his tone.
The child tried to breathe as his whole body was in panic mode.
Two guards ran up the steps and into the chamber, noticing this and grasping the child as Viventius let him go, the boy letting in a strained but desperate breath as his muscles gave out and he was limply held up by the soldiers who had him restrained now. He couldn't even speak as he caught up with what just happened, ready for the worst now as he awaited the swift blade to his throat.
"How did he get up here?! What am I paying you for?!" the master shouted at his men.
"The boy must have been the one to start the fire in the east wing, my lord. All of us were attempting to put it out before the structure of your manor was forfeit," one of them replied regretfully.
"The next time my personal chamber is left unguarded it will be your head, understood?!" he threatened him in return.
He looked down. "What do we do with the boy?"
The eyes of the master fell to the boy who glared up at him, the same look he'd given him outside. He shook his head. "I'm tempted to slice him limb for limb or have him flogged so cruelly and publicly that he begs for death."
"Then do it!" the boy dared with fury. "Just kill me! So I can join those who got what you deserved."
He gave the lad a swift kick in his gut, causing a horrible pain to surge through his body as he bent forward and began to cough, cringing.
"No... this boy had the courage to end my life when a man worthy of doing so couldn't? He must be a special type," he said as his anger was controlled into an intimidating calmness.
His soldiers didn't see what he was getting at.
"After all... bravery such as this is hard to find now. I should think it would make for a good show..."
The child looked at him with surprise and anger.
"Take him to the pits," he said plainly and turned to dismiss them.
"No! You coward! Kill me yourself! Coward!" the child shouted in fury as he was dragged from the room, struggling against the guards.
The sound of steel on steel rang across the Colosseum as shouting from the crowds complimented the noise, two bare chested men the size of boars fighting with swords in the center of the ring.
The viewers argued among themselves on which combatant would win as the fight continued, getting cheers or gasps from the crowd when one struck the other and drew blood.
Nobles sat in the more comfortable seating as they enjoyed fine wines and grapes while watching the show, their bodies hidden from the hot sun that shown down on the rest of the viewers and the gladiators fighting to the death down below.
And when the killing blow came, half of the viewers cheered as they won their bets, while the others were disappointed.
Viventius stood watching from a balcony. And he nodded to his servant boy when the fight was over.
The boy ran from his side and to where the announcer stood as he delivered a message.
As the man read it, he seemed skeptical, but that's when the servant dropped a coin purse into his hand as well and he glanced at the powerful noble before nodding and took his place, shouting to the crowds, "Good morning Rome!" the cheering following.
A couple of young men in slave attire ran from the gates to drag away the body of the fallen soldier while the other gloated into the crowds, blood staining the dirt where they fought.
"You came for a show today and a show you shall have! And how better to begin our show than with a jest?!"
Just then, the slave boy who had attempted to kill his master was thrown into the arena.
Falling on his hands and knees, the boy was laughed at by the crowd, because his face was covered in white paint, with red that dotted his forehead and two lines on his cheeks. He only wore his slave tunic and carried a hand scythe he was given to fight with.
The people watching thought he was part of some kind of act and played along, amused.
When the gladiator inside saw the boy was armed, he knew he was supposed to fight him and lifted his arms. "To what challenge is this?!" he asked into the air with exasperation, the crowds reacting accordingly.
Most of the time, prisoners and criminals were sacrificed to animals. But Viventius was clear on what he wanted. He wanted the slave boy to look into the eyes of a fighter who was ten times better than himself as he was killed by him.
The horns then blared over the city to begin the fight, the boy looking up at the toned gladiator in fear, blood across the huge man's chest from his last kill.
"Well what are you waiting for, boy?!" the fighter provoked before hitting his sword on the ground. "Huh?!"
The boy looked into the crowds, seeing a familiar face in them when he noticed where his master was sitting... watching him meet a brutal end.
This made the boy tighten his grip on the hand scythe as that anger came back.
The gladiator was tired of waiting and he charged for the child, taking a swing at him.
But the kid did a tumble roll quickly, dodging the man's advance and causing his sword to meet the dirt instead.
He stood up and faced the retired soldier with as much confidence as he could, trying to remember his training from Appius.
The man turned to him and attacked again, missing the boy who ducked to dodge it. But the next swing he caught in his scythe, not trained with this kind of weapon before and he wasn't able to dislodge the weapon before he was punched in the face by the gladiator, sending pain through him as he fell to the ground.
Picking up the sword again, the man was ready to kill him but waited for the child to recover as he crawled backwards and looked up. The man threw down his blade upon him but he dodged it again with speed, tumbling between the man's legs to escape.
The crowds began to laugh at this man's inability to end the life of a child and when he noticed, he became filled with rage as his pride was in jeopardy.
He was done fooling around now that this happened and he charged once more for the kid who wasn't able to dodge this time as the gladiator missed his blade but kicked the child to the ground, surely cracking a rib in the malnourished pre-teen. The child coughed as he laid in the dry dirt, the sun glaring down at him like it was mocking him itself.
He got another kick from the soldier as the man laughed at him, the boy gripping his side in pain as he coughed up some blood on the ground.
The gladiator walked casually from him as he caught the admiration from the crowd as he was now sure he'd gotten the better of the small criminal. Twirling his sword in hand, he faced the child again from where he was, shouting for him to get up and fight.
The boy cringed as he managed to stand, his body aching.
The soldier ran forward to slice him and the child ducked again, the blade finding his cheek and getting a small cut across it as he fell again to his knees. He was kicked again by the gladiator and his body fell, tumbling over the ground until he stopped, wincing in pain and holding his face that was now bleeding.
The muscled fighter shouted to the crowd again as he hyped them up with pride exuding from every fiber of his being.
The boy gripped the ground as he saw the weapon he'd been given lying there beside him. He was breathing hard as the blood dripped down his paint covered cheek, creating an eerie look to the makeup as his bloody hand took the handle of the scythe and gripped it hard.
The gladiator turned his armored head towards the boy, sweat glistening off his chest as he looked down at him. Whirling his sword in hand, he began to charge for his final blow.
The boy glared at the former soldier, determination inside him rising up as the man ran towards him. The gladiator raised his sword to strike.
But just as he did... the child held the small scythe backwards and moved his head out of the way before his arm came up and sliced open the stomach of the soldier with a swift movement that dragged the tip of the curved blade through his flesh, his body tumbling and falling dead on the ground... leaving the child standing up with the bloody scythe in hand instead...
The crowd suddenly fell completely silent in shock.
Viventius stood up from his seat and looked down at this with wide eyes and a mouth that hung open slightly, completely speechless as the unthinkable just happened.
No one knew what to do and looks were suddenly exchanged, the nobles whispering to one another over the outcome.
But they weren't the only ones who seemed in awe. The slaves who were in charge of cleaning the arena, and the criminals who were made to fight in it, watched this boy in his triumph; this child from nowhere; this slave; this nothing... as he rose above his superiors with one epic move of defiance.
There was something in them that stirred, something that lit a flame... a flame that would change everything.
As the child stood there in victory, he looked up and locked eyes with his former master, the glare one of severity and Viventius for the first time was almost afraid, a feeling inside of him he couldn't describe. But that turned into anger as he shouted, "Seize him!"
The men did as he ordered, the guards entering the arena to retrieve the child who was about ready to fight them.
But when this happened, one of the gladiator trainers said, "No!" as he ran into the Colosseum with his hand up. "Stop this..." he said as he came to a halt. "I want him," he said.
"Kill that pathetic monster!" Viventius shouted from the stands.
"Silence!" spoke Emperor Romulus Augustulus as he stood from where he was watching. He gave Viventius a look to quiet him before announcing, "You may take him. He might prove to be an entertaining fighter yet," he told the trainer.
The man nodded and looked at the boy, the guards backing off.
"Come, boy," the man said as he led the child to the gate. "This is not where your fight ends. It's where it begins."
A child grew as his fighting skill became fighting perfection.
A body became a weapon.
Tears turned to blood.
Listening turned to speaking.
Running turned to fighting.
Fear turned to determination.
Bravery turned into ruthlessness.
Cleverness turned into genius.
Charm turned into seduction.
Instinct turned into second nature.
Rage turned into composure.
Pain turned into power.
And a vendetta turned into a plan...
With this, a small slave boy that feared all became a man whom all feared.
A scarred brow of a tall, muscular figure was set in calculation as he looked ahead from under his grey eyes. His sword was at his side but he didn't pull it. His dark hair in contrast with his light but sun kissed german descent skin, fell nearly in his face as he prepared for the fight. He was wearing something today that he usually did not which was a thin cloak that draped more over one shoulder and down to his ankles.
He was of age thirty-two now.
"You know him and you love him...!" the announcer told everyone.
The crowds shouted his name but especially the lesser folk; the poor and second-class citizens.
"Today he fights against another beloved gladiator with the power of a dragon in his bones!"
The man put his hood over his head.
The people cheered for them both with excitement, nobles placing bets as most bet against him.
The horns were sounded and with the groaning sound of metal gears, the gates were lowered and the warrior walked into the sunlight, the one in charge of making sure the fight was fair standing there a bit puzzled when neither gladiator fought against one another but instead just wandered forward, the grey-eyed man stepping into the center of the ring. "Good afternoon, Rome!" he greeted with a powerful, commanding voice that carried strength as it even reached those in the back.
"I am sure you are here for a show are you not?!" he shouted, the crowds cheering in response as his arms stretched out to receive it.
The adjudicator furrowed his brows as he looked between them, this sort of thing not happening before.
The gladiator let out a formal chuckle at the audience reaction as he began to pace. "As I thought. Well I would expect you to hear something I have to say before the blood of a worthless murderer is drawn."
The other gladiator behind him seemed to smirk at this rather than look insulted like the mediator standing there expected.
He continued, "How long has it been that men have fought for glory and honor in this arena?"
The crowd was inspired by his words as he spoke.
"How long has it been that boys have been taken, from the dust they were born... and trained? With each drop of their sweat they were transformed, beaten and bruised, pushed to their limits, to become worthy to face off against another warrior of equal tenacity and strength. They would carry their weapons with confidence as they charged for one another. They stained the ground in glorious blood and took the lives of one another and all for your entertainment,"
Some in the crowd were hesitant at this, not expecting him to say that.
"Men were tortured physically, and mentally, feeling both worthless and lucky to be given the chance to kill another human being of the same mentality and drive. Warriors of history were cut down one by one after the years they spent destroying their bodies and rebuilding them to what their trainers wanted them to be, the promise of a better life ahead of them; glory, riches, women... And yet... they would meet their end no better than what they were before; a man returned to the dust from which they were born. Slaves, criminals, volunteers... Men who knew only the home beneath the feet of better men... more worthy men..."
Some of the nobles exchanged glances while the poor thought hard on his words, feeling an awakening inside them.
The gladiator behind this speaker gripped his weapon more.
"Perhaps this time... we stand for something. Perhaps this time... we slags of no worth rise up and take that which others don't deserve."
The slave boys that were in charge of cleaning the bodies from the arena eyed one another before one glanced at the Roman soldier near them...
"Perhaps we make ourselves into something bigger than the pathetic thrones that men give themselves..." He put out his arms. "Look at this world! Look at what done! It's my turn now..." he finished and reached out with his bracer that suddenly shot out a dart from a small crossbow contraption, watching it stick into the throat of the emperor, his eyes going wide with shock as blood spewed from his neck, his wife crying out in horror.
That was when the screaming began.
The gladiator behind this cloaked figure used his sword to stab the adjudicator before he could attack as well, slicing his sword out and making blood spill on the arena as his body fell forward into it.
Everyone got up and ran, chaos erupting in the arena as guards shouted and ran from their places to seize the man...
But he stood calmly, watching the fires begin with a satisfaction inside of him he could not describe as gladiators took up arms and stormed into the Colosseum, tackling the Roman guards and stabbing them with no mercy shown.
One of the slave boys grabbed a brick from the ground and threw it at the guard's head before he could draw his weapon to help his fellow men, falling to the ground instead as the boys climbed on him and beat him to death with vicious anger.
Viventius was there in a panic, watching the peasants in the stands grab weapons of their own and begin to charge down the nobles, taking out hundreds of years of anger on their bodies with whatever they could find. When Viventius looked down at the cloaked man who was once a boy that worked for him, he saw a mask now on his face. Not any mask. But it was one that was decorated to look like the makeup he had put the boy in when he threw him to the pits; mouth and noseless, a color of white, as he had a streak of red on either cheek and a red mark on his forehead, small eyeslits in it...
The man was terrified and he fled the arena for fear of his life.
The masked menace stood in the center of the arena as blood was shed all around him for his sake, watching the people take up arms against their oppressors at last and fight with a skill that these men were foolish to teach them.
The man's trainer grabbed his weapon as the hoard was coming this way through the arena doors. He faced down his pupil, with slight fear in his eyes as the figure walked into the bloodworks with his mask on, hooded and cloaked as he seemed like a phantom now. The gladiators behind him followed and when the hooded conqueror waited to see what the man would do, his trainer pulled out his sword.
The masked killer cocked his head to the side lightly but that's when the guards and trainers of these warriors charged to fight them back.
He didn't hesitate to duck when his trainer tried to slice him and instead he lopped his master's head clean off, continuing to walk with his men taking care of the rest.
He went straight down to the barracks, the very bottom level, where they locked away a beast that was caught and reserved for special sacrifices of the worst kind.
In the dark room, the masked man stood before shadows until glowing reptilian eyes opened to return his gaze.
"Get down there now!" a general shouted furiously at his men.
They ran in groups towards the barbarians that fought them back.
The masked gladiator sliced off the chains of the monster and that's when a low growl began in its throat, standing up from the ground...
Roman guards came from all directions to fight back the army of freed men that fought without fear as they slaughtered soldiers left and right.
As one of the guards shoved his blade into the stomach of one of the peasants that was fighting with them, his victim spit blood and almost chuckled. "Long live the Conqueror," he choked out before dying.
The guard looked to his left when the wall of the Colosseum exploded with dragonfire, the huge sand type dragon with a metal collar still on his neck escaping the wreckage before he looked down at the terrified men, the masked man walking out from the doorway under the dragon as the beast let loose a flame that obliterated anyone in its way, killing the soldiers that tried to charge them down.
That night a fire was lit.
Rome was no longer just in jeopardy. It was destroyed.
Viventius had to get out and he had to get out now.
He rushed to his estate as the news hadn't reached them yet of what took place at the Colosseum. But in a panic, he told his guards that the emperor had been killed and they had to go now.
They nodded and helped him to pack up his things in a carriage, the man no longer obsessed with taking as much as possible but focusing on enough to survive and make it out with his life spared.
"My lord! What of the bondservants and the rest employed?" one of his guards asked.
"They can't be trusted! Just get me out of here!" he said in a panic, gripping the man's cloak as he did.
The guard seemed nervous at his master's sudden fear but he did as he asked.
Viventius ran to his chambers, grabbing some last minute things as he stopped at the alter of the god he worshiped which was Minerva. He set two coins on the altar there and shut his eyes for a moment as he tried to calm down. Perhaps he didn't need to worry as much as he did. After all, if the man killed the emperor, he was likely caught by now. There was no way one man could ever withstand all of Roman justice, even with his band of useless slaves.
He frowned and turned around as he thought he heard something but what he saw were his guards lying dead at his doorway, their blood dripping down the steps from his chamber.
His throat felt a sudden stinging pain as it was sliced from left to right and his eyes went wide, his hand coming to his wound as if to stop the bleeding but it was futile.
Just then he heard a dark and deep voice that terrified him as it said quietly into his ear, "I stepped quietly... master."
He realized who it was as the incredible regret caught up to him... just in time for him to fall to the ground as death took him.
The masked villain noticed something sticking out of the coffer he was about to take with him. He pulled out a small peace of parchment with a drawing of a stone on it scribbled Viventius thought it was a clue to something... and words beneath it in Latin. He tilted his head to the side a little.
As he walked from the manor, his men had finished dumping oil all over the building and he gave the order to the dragon standing there. The beast took in a breath and shot out a forest disintegrating amount of fire in a powerful wave, catching the flammable liquid and sending the manor in flames that could be seen from anywhere in Rome, stretching high into the sky as the slaves that were once property of Viventius watched the silhouette of the conqueror from behind as his form was darkened by the flames in front of him, his cloak catching the wind, kneeling down to serve him instead.
Listening.
No more listening.
His dragon let out a roar as the freed servants looked up at it with wide eyes.
One of his men then came to his side as he looked at the parchment he retrieved from Viventius's things. "What does that say, my lord?" he asked as he couldn't see it well.
"...Tempus Mora," the conqueror replied.
A S C E N D A N T