Chapter 11: Blood on the Sands

The morning sun cast a golden hue over the Colosseum, its towering walls echoing with the roars of thousands of Romans. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, dust, and the metallic tang of blood. Vendors shouted, selling roasted meats and watered-down wine to spectators eager for the spectacle of death and glory.

James stood in the private viewing box, watching the crowds gather below. His golden eyes scanned the arena, where the Venatio—the grand beast hunt—was already underway.

Down in the sand-covered pit, a group of lesser gladiators fought against starving lions, their screams blending into the roar of the bloodthirsty audience.

Angela stood beside him, her face pale. "This is madness…"

James smirked. "No. This is Rome."

Then, from the VIP section across the arena, he spotted Marcus Domitius watching him, a smug grin on his face.

James's jaw tightened. "That bastard is planning something."

But first—Varro had to win.

A loud horn blasted, silencing the crowd. The beast hunt was over. The main event was about to begin.

The announcer stepped forward, his deep voice booming across the arena.

"PEOPLE OF ROME! YOU HAVE WITNESSED THE GLORY OF THE HUNT! NOW… WITNESS THE BATTLE OF TITANS!"

The crowd erupted.

"IN THIS CORNER—THE UNDEFEATED CHAMPION OF THE ARENA… A WARRIOR WHO HAS SURVIVED FIFTY BATTLES! THE MONSTER OF ROME! THE TITAN—GAIUS SEPTIMUS!"

The gate on the far side of the Colosseum rattled open, and a giant of a man emerged.

Gaius Septimus was a walking fortress—his scarred chest bare, his muscles thick as iron. He carried a massive two-handed sword, its blade already stained from past kills.

The crowd chanted his name, shaking the very foundations of the arena.

James narrowed his eyes. "He looks stronger than I expected."

The announcer raised his arms again.

"AND HIS CHALLENGER! A RISING WARRIOR FROM A NEW HOUSE! HE HAS COME TO CLAIM GLORY! WILL HE STAND OR FALL? I GIVE YOU… VARRO!"

The second gate opened, and Varro stepped into the light.

He was calm, and focused, his gladius in one hand, his shield in the other. Though he was smaller than Septimus, his eyes burned with the hunger of a predator.

The crowd was unsure. Some cheered, others booed. They didn't know him yet.

But they would.

James leaned forward, his heart pounding.

This is it. Win… and we rise. Lose… and we die.

The announcer raised his hands one final time.

"LET THE BATTLE… BEGIN!"

Septimus moved first, charging like a raging bull, his massive sword swinging down in a brutal arc.

Varro sidestepped, barely avoiding the blade as it slammed into the ground, sending up a cloud of dust.

The crowd gasped.

Septimus grinned. "Fast. But not fast enough."

He swung again, forcing Varro to dodge left, then right, then back. The sheer power behind each swing was terrifying—if one hit landed, Varro would be split in two.

James's fists clenched. "Stay patient… wait for an opening…"

Then—Septimus overextended, his massive blade sinking too deep into the sand.

Varro struck.

CLANG!

His gladius slammed into Septimus's exposed ribs, drawing first blood.

The crowd erupted.

Septimus grunted in pain but grinned through bloody teeth. "Good. I like it when they fight back."

Then he kicked forward—slamming into Varro's chest with brutal force.

Varro stumbled back, coughing, his breath knocked out of him.

James cursed. "Damn. He needs to keep his distance."

Angela gripped his sleeve. "Master, can he win?"

James didn't answer. Because even he wasn't sure.

As the fight continued, James noticed something strange.

Septimus was moving differently now—his attacks were slower, and his stance… off.

James narrowed his eyes. "Wait. No… something's wrong."

Then, he saw it.

Near Domitius's viewing box, a shady figure signaled to one of the arena attendants.

Seconds later, a second gate opened.

Angela's breath caught. "Master… they wouldn't…!"

James shot to his feet.

They're cheating.

A massive gladiator stormed onto the field—a second opponent.

The announcer hesitated before declaring, "BY DECREE OF MARCUS DOMITIUS… THIS BATTLE IS NOW A TWO-ON-ONE!"

The crowd roared, loving the unfairness of it.

Angela's voice trembled with fury. "This wasn't part of the rules!"

James gritted his teeth. "Domitius, you snake…"

But down in the pit, Varro only smiled.

Septimus cracked his neck. "Two against one. Tough luck, slave."

Varro rolled his shoulders. "It's fine."

Septimus laughed. "Fine?"

Varro gripped his gladius tighter.

"I was getting bored anyway."

The second gladiator rushed forward, aiming a spear straight for Varro's heart.

Varro pivoted, dodging just in time.

But Septimus was waiting.

His sword came crashing down—

Varro blocked with his shield, but the sheer force sent him skidding backward.

James's heart raced.

"He can't fight two at once forever."

Varro needed to end this fast.

Then—he made his move.

As Septimus raised his sword for another swing, Varro threw his shield away.

James's eyes widened. "What is he—?"

Then—Varro charged straight at Septimus, closing the distance faster than anyone expected.

Before Septimus could react, Varro ducked under his swing, spun behind him, and—

SLASH!

The gladius cut deep across Septimus's hamstring.

The Titan staggered, roaring in pain.

The crowd erupted.

Varro didn't stop. He grabbed Septimus by the hair, forced his head downward, and—

CRACK!

He drove his knee into Septimus's face, breaking his nose.

Blood sprayed onto the sand.

James grinned. "Yes! Keep going!"

The second gladiator lunged with his spear—

Varro grabbed Septimus's fallen sword, turned, and—

SLASH!

The spear-wielding gladiator's head hit the sand before his body did.

A single heartbeat of silence.

Then—

The entire Colosseum erupted into chaos.

James stood, his smirk widening.

"That's it. That's the moment Rome will remember."

Septimus, bleeding and dazed, fell to his knees.

Varro lifted his sword—ready to end it.

James turned toward Crassus, who was watching from the noble stands.

Crassus simply smiled. A knowing, approving smile.

James knew what it meant.

"You have proven yourself."

Varro brought his blade down.

Septimus's head hit the sand.

And with that—James's name was written in the history of Rome.