Warning: This chapter contains some graphic elements

Milo panted as he watched Corvus, waiting for any missteps. For his part, Corvus seemed to know he was fighting a professional, and he was exercising admirable caution. He was standing a few feet from Milo at the moment. Both of them were completely tensed and searching for the perfect moment to strike. Corvus broke the silence.

"I suppose you think you can just burst in here and save your precious Cassia from being deflowered." He said, and grinned as if Cassia was under him. "Did you think I would wait that long? You're too late."

Milo lunged forward and swung brutally at Corvus' throat. Corvus ducked aside and slashed at Milo's hand, nearly knocking the sword from it. Milo instinctively gripped harder, bending over as if overcome with pain. Corvus raised his sword to strike at his back. Milo swung around, his sword slamming into Corvus and sending it flying across the room.

Corvus didn't hesitate for a second. He grabbed Milo like a wrestler and threw him to the ground. At such close quarters Milo couldn't get leverage for his sword. He struggled to throw Corvus off of him and get to his feet. Then Corvus grabbed his sword arm and bit his bleeding hand as hard as he could.

Milo shrieked in surprise and pain. He could feel his grip failing, and he flicked his wrist as he let go. The sword clattered to a stop a few yards away. At least Corvus wouldn't have it either. While Corvus was still locked on his hand, Milo brought his leg up and slammed it into Corvus' crotch. Corvus squealed, releasing his hand. He curled up, allowing Milo to throw him off and regain his feet. He stepped toward his sword, but Corvus pounced from his crouch and tackled him to the ground. He grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head into the ground.

Milo felt blood welling on his forehead and wasn't sure if he could stand even if Corvus wasn't there. He wasn't used to fistfighting. If a gladiator was disarmed he never had time to defend himself with his hands. In addition to that, Milo's build was light and wiry, suitable for riding a horse. Corvus was solid and tall- the ideal soldier.

Milo figured Corvus would take the advantage and continue to batter him until his skull was shattered. With that in mind, he went limp as soon as Corvus slammed his head into the ground a second time. He felt Corvus rise to his feet and knew he was going for the sword to make sure the job was done.

Milo flew to his feet before Corvus could take another step. Corvus heard the noise and turned back just as Milo drove his fist into his throat. Corvus made a choking noise and his hands flew to his throat. That just meant Milo's next strike was directed at his nose. There was a loud crack and blood spurted down Corvus' face.

Milo knew he would have to be bold and keep Corvus engaged to have any hope of winning the fight. Swords were his element, not fists.

Corvus must have known that as well, because he shrugged off the broken nose and threw his entire body into a punch that connected with Milo's jaw and knocked him backwards until he hit the edge of the bed and nearly fell into it. Corvus followed after him and backhanded him savagely, knocking him to the ground. Milo drew back his foot and kicked at Corvus' knee. Something crunched and Corvus crumbled to the ground next to him. Even as he fell he grabbed for Milo's throat.

Milo felt the breath being throttled from him as he kicked and battered at Corvus. He landed multiple blows, but Corvus was locked on like a python. He squeezed harder, bearing down with his entire weight and crushing Milo's chest. Milo pressed his hand into the ground to try to force his way up when something pricked his finger. He reached out and grabbed it.

It was a shard of pottery.

Milo brought his other arm up and pressed against Corvus' chest, pushing him backwards slightly. It was enough.

He gripped the shard and slashed it across Corvus' throat. It ripped into his flesh raggedly and blood erupted profusely. Corvus reared back defensively and Milo stuck the shard into his lower neck as far as it would go, twisting it as it went.

Corvus tried to gasp. The blood bubbled in his throat and no sound came out. Blood pulsed from his would like a stream, spilling onto Milo and puddling on the floor. Corvus pressed his hands against his throat to hold in it, but it just streamed between his fingers.

Milo threw Corvus away from him and got to his feet. Corvus made no move to resist him. He knelt on the ground, trying to hold himself together. He wavered and fell forward on one arm as Milo retrieved his sword.

He knew when he got back to Corvus that he wouldn't need it. He was curled on his side, still weakly trying to stem the flow. Milo heard footsteps and turned to the door.

Cassia and Helena stood in the doorway holding spears. Helena was dragging hers behind her, but Cassia held hers firmly in both hands, angled outward to attack.

"Milo, are you all right?" She asked urgently.

"I'm fine." Milo mumbled, distracted by seeing Cassia and seeing her with a spear.

Cassia hardly listened. When she saw Corvus huddled on the ground, she cautiously approached him, still holding her spear. She knelt by him.

"He's dying." Milo helpfully commented.

Cassia didn't acknowledge him. She silently watched as Corvus dazedly looked up at her. He tried to sit up and reach for her, but a fresh flow of blood sent him back to his crouch. He continued to stare at her.

Cassia didn't say anything to him. She found Milo's hand and pulled him to his knees next to her. She looked into Corvus' eyes for a long moment. Then she turned her head away from him and pulled Milo into a kiss.