A Passionate Battle // Private w/ Morgan

October 23, 2019; 11:20 – New Rome Coliseum

Aikaterinē had been to arenas many times before. Usually a grand affair, the daughter of Zeus would typically be placed right of her mother as they paraded their way to the royal box. From there things were simple: watch, clap, do not look stupid. It was not her favorite thing to do around Sestos or whatever polis she was in, but it was at least an entertaining day.

Oh how 3,000 years changes things.

There were ten minutes to go until showtime in New Rome. At the unusually excited suggestion of Megapenthes she signed up to fight at the coliseum, landing a half-hour morning slots. The organizer told her that “tens of people” would be watching, though Kat had her doubts as to a crowd so bare. It was the arena, after all; the masses ate this stuff up.

Then again, modernity was weird like that.

Kat was told by the organizer that someone would “swing by and let ya know when it’s ya time on the block,” so she sat on the locker room bench until it was time. With the help of some Hephaestus campers, her original armor had been recreated in celestial bronze, which she wore over a tri-blend chiton an Aphrodite camper custom-made for her. Alone with the lockers, she fiddled with the hilt of Danny’s xiphos as her spear and shield leaned against a set of the steel storage boxes that gave the room its name.

Aelia’s trainer gave the ancient Roman an annoyed glare. She was about to go out and put her life on the line, and what does she do? Dab and meme — like a f***ing child.

“Riiiight,” Fay Dawes said. “Just don’t do that when anyone’s looking. Don’t want the judges thinking you’re some kind of asshat, do you?”

The daughter of Pax had only a pugio on hand, which was essentially going naked for her. The coliseum staff polo and khakis only provided protection from rain and the occasional blood, useless against an armed memer. Despite it not being her day to fight, Fay was still looking Aelia over for weak points — always good to be prepared.

Across the stadium Kat’s trainer popped back in. Despite having years of gladiatorial experience on top of her decorated legion career, being tasked to prep this girl for the arena psyched her a bit. A daughter of Zeus? Who has never fought before? And from ancient times? Kinda a lot to deal with.

Luckily, the daughter of Zeus was not giving her a hard time. Listening intently, nodding along, asking questions when they come by. When the man with a scroll popped in to say “Five minutes, get ready,” Colleen Nary had to come up with some parting words on the spot.

“Okay,” the daughter of Bellona said, “so I know you don’t have that much training under your belt, but you just need to be confident in yourself and what you know. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes,” nodded Kat, “I can do that.”

“Perfect. Now get out there and kick some ass.”

With an understanding reached Kat donned her helm and grabbed her weapons. It was time to see what she could do.

As the doors to the arena opened, Kat walked through with an excitedly nervous strut. After all the years of watching from above, here she was in the dirt herself. In all the lifetimes she could have lived, none of them had the Sestian princess anywhere close to a pitch. But there she was, decked in armor, spear in hand, about to get herself completely brutalized in front of everybody.

As wrong as it sounded, it all felt completely right.

“Hey!” Kat snapped back from her marveled trance, the muffled call of Colleen putting the Greek back in her boots. The trainer pointed toward a regal canopy housing three older Romans. “Tell them who you are!”

The judges. Right. Kat had to impress them to win, which would be nice.

Kat turned to them, raising her shield and spear triumphantly high.

“Aikaterinē of Sestos, daughter of Zeus!”

The judges acknowledged, and Colleen shot her gladiator a thumbs up. At least things were off to good start.

“HEY! AELIA! SHE’S A GREEK! KICK HER RAT ASS!”

Fay was not about to have a true Roman — even an immature one like Aelia — lose to a f***ing Greek. For all she knew the judges were paid off to let their misplaced ally take a ‘dub. Typical of these soft Romans, trading honor for Feta bullshit.

“SHE DOESN’T EVEN LOOK THAT TOUGH!”

"INCIPITE!"

And just like that it was on. Aikaterinē noticed the other fighte— gladiator stall for a moment. No bother, more time for her to get into the moment.

Just do what Lysandros taught you — knees bent, shield high, spear out, eyes up. Do not let the bdelyròs out of your sight; do not let the phlyaros slice you first.

The combatant charged pretty smartly like a coward behind a shield, kicking sand at Kat to blind her. Once again, no bother. Her sight will clear eventually, but at least she was not the person brining a metal shield to fight against a daughter of Zeus.

Kat sent a charge through her spear and thrust it at the all-protecting shield.

Aikaterinē expected to get beaten up, but this? Sweet pater how did anyone do this shit more than once?

Her charged spear trick seamed to work, sending the opposition back with an honestly jarring scream. The daughter of Zeus would have taken the chance to follow up with a charge at the masked gladiator, shocking them a few more times and getting them to drop out in shear agony. That would be nice, she thought, as the gladiator’s foot slammed right inti her knEE DEAR PATER F***ING SH—

“PÓPOI!”

Sandwiching her shield arm on impact, Aikaterinē swallowed some sand and her pride before rushing to get up. She noticed the pòrne was in the sand herself and began stepping up to capitalize on this. She’d go in with her spear and then pull out the xiphos and just go straight for her head like some kind of mellon—

THUWMP!

Aikaterinē grit her teeth as sand passed through the newly chipped incisors, thanks to that moikalìs throwing her shield at Kat’s legs. She really had to stop thinking and start actually attacking.

Kat jumped back to her feet, leaving her spear in the hot sand. No time to was—

“AIEGHHHHH!”

A quick glance at her shin sparked instant regret. Black goo. Red skin. White blisters. And the godsdamn burning. The daughter of Zeus had to bite into her lip just to keep from crying. As the goo dripped into her boot, Aikaterinē pulled out her xiphos and shocked it up. The blade dripped with blue and purple sparks, the inlaid copper sending the charge in a loop that made the shortsword feel like it was about to explode at any second.

She charged with sword raised and shield up, but something kept circling in her head as she ran at the phlyaros. She said something before she threw her shield, and while Kat did not catch exactly what she said, it was her voice. That cursed voice. It was shrill and furious but somehow called back fragments of midnight whispers, crowded dance floors, and the aroma of incense, opium and lotus. What the actual—

No, no, no, NO. You are thinking again Kat. Stop thinking and bash her f***ing head in.

“ALALÉÉÉÉÉ!”

There it was again— that f***ing VOICE! Those shattered memories of nights long past but vivid. The softness of sheets, the coarseness of hair, the poetic sensation of two stars impossibly joining as one.

What kind of jackassery is this?!?! What kind of tactic was this, trying to get into your opponent’s head by playing with their most vulnerable emotions? Only the most myrton freak would do such a thing. Whoever was behind that golden mask had to answer for their tricks.

As the panoùgros drew closer, Aikaterinē had a choice: mancia or helmet? The helmet would probably put an end to the fight quickly, but hitting the mancia would probably not kill the Roman.

It was decided — she would swing for the mancia. She needed to see this bdelyròs for herself.

The strike to the manica meant Aikaterinē had done her job. She rolled out of the way, getting ready for her opponent to strike back.

As she turned to face the gladiator again she expected to see them triumphantly rushing at her, sword high and regard left behind. Instead of heroics, she was in peril — the manica was ablaze.

After that moment, things became as hazy for Kat as the weaponized memories. One moment she was comfortably watching her opponent struggle with their faulty armor. The next she was mid-tackle, throwing all her weight into smothering the blazing arm guard. She moved before her brain could realize the situation, her instincts making the demigod a passenger of her body.

As the crowd gasped at the two combatants going down, Aikaterinē snapped back to reality. She slammed down on the masked opponent’s arm, choking out the flames engulfing it.

And then their eyes met. Through the holes of the visor the opponent glanced back at the daughter of Zeus, probably trying to psych her out. But Aikaterinē was more enthralled than intimidated. In those eyes there was a world, one where she had someone to turn to and be honest with. One where there was somebody who saw her as she was. One where “Aikaterinē of Sestos, Daughter of Zeus and Iantha” could simply be “Kat.”

How dare this pòrne call these up in a battle.

"You shouldn't have done tha‒ "

“BREKEKEKÉX!” Aikaterinē reached for the Roman’s helmet. After playing with her memories like this, she deserved to see the coward’s face with her own eyes.

Aikaterinē got up after unmasking the fighter, slowly rising from the ground without breaking eye contact with the Roman. However, this had nothing to do with the fact that they were in the middle of an arena and losing sight of her opponent would surely lead to eating sand again. It had nothing to do with a desire to make sure the person who played with her emotions realized they had lost in front of their friends, countrymen and fellow Romans.

No, it had everything to do with the utter bombshell that the fighter was not just some Roman but was actually—

“Aelia?”

It all made sense now. The flashes of her memories were not some asshole trying to psych-out their opponent, right? Aelia knew magic — and by the gods was she ever magical — but was she putting those thoughts back into Kat’s head? Was Aelia trying to send her a message that she was the one on the receiving end of Kat’s electric wrath?

Aikaterinē bit her lip, closed her eyes and clenched her fists. The pain of her decaying foot spiked back, but it was nothing compared to the inescapable fact that she had just tested Aelia like a dangerous monster or some drunk pirate. While she had the moment, Aikatetinē knew she had to come up with an apology. Her words probably would not fix the wounds, but they would be a start.

“Aelia,” she breathily said, “I... I am so sorr—“

As she opened her eyes, her lover — her friend — among the Lotus Eaters was gone, rushing toward a closing gate and out of her view. There would be no apology, at least not today. She picked up Aelia’s helmet, admiring it as if it was some sick trophy.

Aikaterinē looked around the stadium with a sigh, finally able to get lost in the scene. The mood of people had shifted. Earlier they had cheared for her, showering her with a hero’s welcome. Now a tube of meat wrapped in bread slammed into her helmet, staining the bronze red and yellow. As food, drink and refuse rained down on the sandy pitch, stadium workers rushed to collect the gladiators’ disposed items. One man in a polo and oven mitts picked up Aikaterinē’s spear while another used her shield to avoid hailing beer bottles. Shield-guy scooped Kat up, making room for the daughter of Zeus beneath the circle of safety before vanishing back into the bowels of the coliseum.