I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

He roared through the inferno, pushing forward through force that would have atomized lesser warriors, barreling forward like fate itself refused to stop him.

His hand shot toward Nathan’s face—

—but Nathan caught it mid-air.

Their locked hands trembled in place. Sparks of aura flickered like caged lightning between their palms.

Spartacus snarled, forcing more power, pouring everything, body and soul, into a push that would not budge a single finger.

He was immovable force.

Nathan was immovable reality.

”Curia is safe.”

The words landed sharper than any blade.

Spartacus froze.

His pupils dilated, breath halting as if seized by invisible hands.

Nathan continued, calm, definite, almost gentle in contrast to the brutality seconds before.

”She is under my protection. Being treated. Sheltered. Octavius cannot reach her anymore.”

Spartacus’s lips parted, voice fracturing.

”W... what...?”

Nathan released him—with a smile.

Then planted a clean punch directly across Spartacus’s jaw.

It sent him skidding once more, though this time, Spartacus twisted mid-slide, boots grinding the stone until he stopped himself—less broken, more bewildered.

He looked up, eyes stormy but shaken, searching for dishonesty.

”You... you’re telling the truth...?”

Nathan sheathed nothing—not emotion, not intent.

”I have no reason to lie about this.”

He lifted one hand, palm open, the battlefield suddenly feeling far smaller than their conversation.

”So now you are free. No threats. No leverage. No invisible chains.” His tone dropped, iron-clad and absolute.

”What will you do now, Spartacus?”

Spartacus faltered.

For the first time in this coliseum soaked with blood and legend...

he looked lost.

”I... I...”

Nathan’s voice slipped low, silken, dangerous—like a serpent offering revelation in darkness.

He leaned in, close enough that Spartacus felt his breath like winter on his skin.

”Octavius... is right up there.”

His gaze flicked upward.

To the highest balcony.

To velvet, power, and entitlement.

Where Octavius sat beside Julius Caesar, wine in hand, garlands on head, utterly entertained.

Completely unaware that the animal he thought collared had just been given freedom.

”You have the power and freedom to kill him now, Spartacus.” Nathan’s voice was smooth, low, dangerous in the way calm waters hid sinking depths. ”He murdered your wife in the cruelest way imaginable... didn’t he?”

Something snapped.

A vein trembled at Spartacus’s temple.

His pupils shrank, drowning in crimson.

Nathan did not stop.

”And how many of your people died under his orders? How many lives crushed beneath his amusement?”

The air itself changed.

It grew heavier.

Darker.

Angrier.

Magic flared around Spartacus like a wildfire finally given permission to spread. The ground beneath him splintered in jagged cracks, dust trembling before rising off the earth entirely. Every breath he exhaled shimmered like smoke off molten steel.

Curia was safe.

Curia was alive.

Then what was left to fear?

Not pain.

Not consequence.

Not death.

Not anymore.

A thunderous silence fell over the arena—as if the entire empire collectively held its breath—when Spartacus turned.

He crouched.

Muscles expanded. Tendons hardened like siege cables, coiled to breaking point. The ground beneath him cratered inward.

Then—

BADAM!

The detonation hurled sand outward like a desert storm. Spartacus launched himself skyward, ascending like a burning comet, a blood-thirsted embodiment of divine vengeance rocketing straight toward the Imperial VIP balcony.

Gasps exploded throughout the coliseum.

Caesar dropped his goblet.

Wine splashed like spilled blood across marble.

Octavius staggered back, face drained of all color.

”PROTECT THE EMPEROR!” soldiers screamed, but their bodies moved in slow motion compared to the falling titan above.

It would have been a slaughter.

But then—

Nathan appeared.

Not moving.

Not running.

Not traveling.

He was simply there.

One moment Spartacus’ fist was inches from turning emperors into ruin.

The next—Nathan caught it in his palm.

No explosion.

No shockwave.

No recoil.

Total negation.

The collision of humanity’s greatest fury and an immovable god ended in absolute silence.

Spartacus blinked.

Caesar blinked.

Octavius blinked.

...Why did he stop him?

Nathan turned slightly—just enough for the shadows to shape his smirk—and met Caesar’s stunned gaze.

”It seems...” he said softly, sweet as poison, ”your time has finally come.”

Caesar’s face darkened violently, veins bulging along his neck, fists clenching tight enough to bruise his own palms.