AN: Hey guys; ok, so this is part two from Milo's POV; it's not very long but I am intending to write a few more entries for this little fic.

Yes, the ending is a cliffhanger. He he

Hope you guys like it, enjoy it and please read and review.

Milo's Diary

I am a slave; I have no life; I know not the taste of freedom and no not the taste of love. I live a life that none could understand, only the ones that live the same life as I could understand the bitter taste of slavery.

All my life, I have been chained; manacled, beaten and told how worthless I am; at first, I found it hard to accept the bitter sting of higher born's words, they would look down upon me as If I was nothing; eyes that would stare in to my soul and see nothing; only as if I was dirt, pointless, a mere vehicle for their pleasure; nothing more.

But the harsh reality of their words? What they would whisper in dark corners when my back is turned is true. I am nothing but a trained assassin; born to kill and trained to survive; I am a weapon for those who deem it fit not to fight their own battles; I use my body and strength to defend a high born's honour when they are too afraid to fight. In that alone; they have no honour, they are all weaklings who can only fight with words and run behind their mothers skirts when challenged with Steele and not tongues.

This has been my life ever since I was a child; I grew up with Steele in my hand and vengeance within my heart; I yearn for nothing but revenge and for the blood of the murderer who slew my family twenty three years ago.

Every night when I am lying in my cell and my eyes are staring into the darkness do I openly dream for the blood of my family's killer. Every morn that I awaken and am thrown into a battle do I release all the anger that I harbour; I succumb to it when battling in that sandy arena; I refuse to yield until the blood of my enemy stains the sands red.

Pompeii was no different; I was traded and sold, locked in a cell ad left to the darkest part of my mind. Being a slave, we are used to however our masters see fit; but it was my journey to Pompeii that made me realize that no matter how dark I let my heart get, there was a light within that blackness; and it was her beauty that made me believe.

She was a noble's daughter, young and beautiful and clad in the finest silk dresses with hair of dark curls that cascaded down her back in thick tendrils. Upon her head, a tiara of silver graced her youth, a crown for the princess of Pompeii. And she wore it well.

I knew that I should not have looked upon her, but I could not deny my heart such purity. She was so innocent and had not witnessed what true death brought to her land for her heart could not take the pain; she believed in peace and not bloodshed; the way of the sword was not meant for such a timid heart.

She was my polar opposite; she was the light and I was the dark; she good and I evil; evil for what I craved yet innocent in my reasons.

In secret I had watched her on my journey; stole glances at her within her wheelehouse when she was not looking, and for a long time my advances went unseen, until the day that her eye caught mine.

Her eyes were of emerald fire and when she looked at me it was as if she could see into the deepest part of my soul; and for a brief I moment I believed that she could, but I was no match her, I had no right in conjuring up such things; I was a slave, a gladiator, I was born with only one purpose; and that was to destroy.