Yaay, new chapter. And seriously, all your reviews have been amazing. I really can't express how incredible it makes me feel to read all your responses. *hugs all of you*
Warnings: Basically same as the first, but there is some serious violence in this chapter (to be fair it's the Colosseum, what else can you expect). Also at the end there is a reference to the liberties they took with slaves. You've been warned.
Disclaimer: Still own nothing, although I'm sure you can imagine how much I wish I did.
Erik P.O.V.
It was weeks before I had healed enough to pick up a sword and start training. My fellow gladiators were slaves and petty criminals, the lowest of the low. I had slipped into their ranks with ease, just another thug with Stryker's crossed-swords branded on the inside of his arm.
I had meant it when I told Stryker he could go to hell, I really did. But the swords felt familiar in my hand and really, anything was better than the mines.
My first fight had come almost exactly five months after my failed execution. Standing in the dim passageway underneath the arena, surrounded by a dozen others, I swore to myself that I would not fight for Stryker. But once I had been pushed outside, surrounded by the roaring crowds, blinded by the unforgiving sun and facing the tall Thracian I had been paired with, the animalistic rage inside me uncurled itself and stuck out.
The next thing I knew I was standing on that godforsaken sand, covered in another man's blood, with the crowd's cheers ringing in my ears as they threw down coins and rose petals in appreciation.
That night I drank myself into a stupor, throwing my mug at anyone who dared approach me with congratulations for my fight.
"We'll get you a real fight next time, a solo one," Stryker had told me, as he patted my shoulder appreciatively. "Something in the upcoming games, if I can convince Marko." Which was why I was now walking, once again, into the arena of the Colosseum, this time on my own.
As I entered under the arches the games announcer shouted, "From the far off wilds of Germania, I give you Magneto, playing the part of Achilles, the world's greatest warrior!" I pushed down my visor and began slowly releasing my furious bloodlust from its cage.
"And, from the kingdom of Amazonia, I give you Achilles' challengers, the Queen of the Amazons and her champions!"
I faltered. The gate on the opposite side of the arena opened and I found myself facing a group of five women. They were bare-breasted, no doubt for the audience to leer at, dressed only in simple leather kilts with gold anklets and plumed helmets. All holding bright swords and crescent-shaped shields, their mouths set into hard, determined lines.
What rage I had quickly fled, leaving me cold and shaking. Dropping my sword point, however was a mistake, as the leader immediately let out a battle cry and launched herself at me, catching my shoulder, the others falling into line behind her.
"God damn it" I muttered.
I picked them off one by one, killing the smallest one first. She couldn't have been older than fourteen. They struck more with desperation than skill, and I put them down as quickly and painlessly as I could. They fell in slow motion, each stroke lasting to me a millennium.
The leader, on the other hand, knew what she was doing, and if she had rallied them and charged as one, they might have brought me down. Her sword clashed against mine again and again, and I saw through her visor that her eyes were huge and wild.
I finally knocked her sword from her hand and slammed my shield up against her unprotected chest. Her neck and back arched in agony before she crumpled to the sand like a rag doll.
But she wasn't dead. Not yet. As I stepped forward, sword raised in preparation for slitting her throat, a cry rose from the stands.
"Mitte! Mitte!"
I froze, looking around almost dumbly. The audience's chanting assaulted my ears, every single voice calling for the same thing: mercy for the last of the Amazons.
Paying them no more attention I turned and crouched next to the broken woman, sliding my arm behind her shoulders and pulling her up, trying desperately to ignore the all the blood. Her eyes, which I could now see were incredibly blue, roved around us, before finally landing on mine.
"Please," she gasped, clutching at my arm.
Choking on her own blood, she asked again, "please." I finally realised what she wanted.
Picking up my sword, I placed it against her neck, and while starring into those now soft and desperate eyes, I drew my arm swiftly across.
From the stands there was a moment of dead silence, as I placed the cold body on the ground and rose to my feet. I pulled off my helmet and threw it aside, glaring up at the crowds, still covered in blood.
Then, like a wave of sound, a great roar rose from the stands. Thousands of Romans were getting to their feet, all of them applauding. They shrieked out my name and threw coins and flower petals down into the arena.
It was then, surrounded by thousands of people crying my name, and the bodies of five dead women, that I wept.
Charles P.O.V.
"Did you see him Charles?" Cain asked me. "He was incredible, he way he just mowed those Amazons down. And he doesn't do it for the glory, I could tell. The way he looked so disdainfully at the crowds. No, he does it because he enjoys the killing, even women. Far more interesting than Belleraphon let me tell you. He was always too civilised. Did you know they're calling him Magneto the Barbarian? I'm going to convince Father to hold a feast, and invite Stryker and his gladiators. They're bound to be more interesting than his usually guests."
Yes, I had indeed seen him, the slave who had taken down more than a dozen guards, was saved by the Emperor and was now the star of the arena. But I saw far more than Cain did. Magneto, as everyone was now calling him, clearly hated the praise the crowds had heaped on him, but he certainly didn't enjoy killing those women. He had made those women's deaths as quick as possible and when the crowd had been calling for mercy for the leader that is what he had given her.
"Do you find him handsome Charles?" Cain's question startled me out of my musings.
"Oh don't give me that look. I saw your face while he was fighting. It's no surprise really, rough types always appeal to those with lower instincts, and I know for a fact you spread your legs for my father easily enough" he laughed. "Well maybe you'll get a chance to meet the great Magneto in person once I manage to convince father and Stryker."
For some reason, I didn't like the sound of him name in Cain's mouth.
A.N – There were rules in the gladiatorial games that would have prevented fighting against women, but it was such an incredible image in the book and was mentioned in the kink meme prompt that I had to include it.
Mitte-mercy.
Anyway, please review and more coming soon.