The flickering torchlight lit dark shadows on the rocky path as Drakon and Lucian stumbled forward, their hands bound tightly behind their backs. Lucian's eyes blazed with muffled anger above the filthy gag stuffed in his mouth.

Drakon glared at Damon's back, the young Spartan soldier strutting arrogantly ahead of them.

"You're the piece of shit who burned Lucian's wheatfield, aren't you?" he growled, breaking the silence.

Damon glanced back with a smirk. "Damn right I did. Payback for what that slave scum did to me."

"Because you're a fucking coward who gets off on bullying slaves."

He let out a harsh chuckle. "Oh please, like you never smacked around a few helots back in your training days."

The old man clenched his jaw. He had, to his shame, and the memories still haunted him. "I did. And I regret it. It was wrong."

"Regret is a weakness. And weakness is for slaves," Damon sneered. "We Spartans keep them in line, make us strong. It's the law."

Drakon's hands ached to wrap around the arrogant prick's throat. "Abusing slaves doesn't make you strong, you sadistic fuck. It makes you a bully and a pathetic excuse for a man. You want to be a real Spartan? Fight real warriors, not innocent people just trying to survive."

The veins bulge in Damon's neck. His eyes narrowed into cruel slits as he turned. "You're one to talk about real warriors. I heard about your first kill. Your little slave buddy, right? Must've been so hard to shove a blade through his throat."

Drakon stared resolutely ahead, his stomach roiling with ancient shame and grief. He would not give Damon the satisfaction of a reaction.

Undeterred, Damon pressed on, his voice dripping with gleeful devilry. "I bet it felt good, didn't it? That first taste of ultimate power over life and death itself. Like you were a fucking god."

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about, boy," Drakon ground out.

"Don't I? Every time my blade finds flesh, I feel that rush. The thrill of total domination. It's better than any cheap wine or quick fuck. I feel like Hades himself."

Revulsion curled in Drakon's gut. "You're sick. Getting your rocks off from killing."

Damon let out a barking laugh. "You hypocritical old drunk. Like you're any different. I've heard the stories. You've probably spilled more blood than half the garrison combined."

"I've killed plenty," Drakon conceded. "But warriors and soldiers. Men who could fight back. Not helpless slaves and farmers. And I’m sure as shit never got my ass handed to me by one like you did with Lucian. Twice." He nodded at the gagged man beside him, who glared at Damon with undisguised contempt.

Damon's face mottled an ugly shade of red. He whirled around and stomped up the path, his shoulders rigid with barely suppressed anger. "SILENCE!" he roared, flecks of spittle flying from his mouth. "I will not be insulted by some broken down, exiled fool who drowns himself in wine and spreads his legs for cheap whores!"

"At least I fuck women and not put my cock on other men’s asses!"

"You disgusting piece of shit!" Damon spat, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword. The steel sang as he drew it halfway from its scabbard.

Drakon remained unmoved, a small, almost pitying smile playing on his lips. "Go ahead, draw your sword. See how that'll end for you, boy."

But Damon just stared at him, waiting for a reaction. He was looking for any excuse to unleash his pent-up frustration, his need to assert control. For all his bluster, though, he hesitated.

"No, not yet," he said. "I must savor this moment in killing you. Your death shall be one to be remembered. I want to see your face scream when I throw you over the mountain. I want to hear you beg for mercy before the vultures tear your limbs apart for food."

"Empty threats from a coward who can't stand to be outdone. I've seen many like you. Men who preen and strut, but crumble when faced with their own mortality."

"That maybe," Damon sheaths his sword. "But not right now, old man. Right now, it is you who’s going to face your mortality."

"You have no idea how many times I’ve heard that."

"Well, this time, I will fulfill where others have failed."

Drakon exchanged a meaningful glance with Lucian as they trudged onward.

The wind whipped across the barren summit of Mount Taygetus as Damon surveyed his captives. "Well, here we are men. Who should we throw first?" He looked between Lucian and Drakon, savoring their helplessness.

Drakon met Damon's gaze. "You're making a big mistake, boy. I'm giving you one last chance to walk away from this while you still can."

Lucian grunted through the gag, his eyes flashing with alarm as he looked at the old warrior. What the hell are you doing? Don't provoke him!

Drakon glanced back and gave a subtle wink, as if to say Just trust me. I have a plan.

Damon let out a harsh laugh. "And why would I do that, old man? In case you haven't noticed, your hands are tied. You're not exactly in a position to be making threats."

"Is that your final answer?"

"Damn right it is," Damon motioned to one of his men. "You there! Drag this insolent fossil to the edge. It's time he took a little tumble."

As the soldier reached for Drakon's arm, the old warrior snapped his head forward, slamming his forehead into the man's nose with a sickening crunch. Blood spurted as the soldier staggered back and collapsed.

"Hey!" The other guard ran at Drakon, sword raised.

With surprising agility, Drakon charged to meet him, throwing his full weight behind a two-footed kick that caught the soldier square in the chest. The man's eyes bulged as he toppled backwards over the cliff's edge, screaming.

The first soldier struggled to his feet, blood streaming down his face. With a roar, Drakon rammed into him shoulder-first, the impact sending them both rolling and skidding down the steep incline in a tangle of limbs.

"What the--" Damon yanked his sword from its scabbard, but Lucian was already moving.

He sprinted straight at Damon and leapt into the air, slamming both feet into his captor's chest. As Damon crashed to the rocky ground, his sword clattering beside him, Lucian rolled to his feet. If he could just cut his bonds on that blade...

He lunged for the fallen sword, but Damon, already rising, anticipated him. The Spartan threw himself sideways, his charging bulk smashing into Lucian and hurling him to the ground.

Damon snatched up his sword and rose to his feet, glaring at Lucian. "You thought you had me there, didn't you?" He said. "Now you're going to pay for that, you half-breed filth."

Lucian pushed himself up, his bound hands making it awkward. The gag muffled his reply, but the defiant grunt he forced past it carried his meaning well enough. Let's get it on, you bastard.

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They circled each other. Damon smirked, casually tossing his blade from hand to hand. Then, without warning, he lunged, slashing viciously at Lucian's face.

Lucian jerked his head back, feeling the wind of the sword's passage. He dodged and wove as Damon pressed the attack, the Spartan's flashing blade seeking his flesh again and again. Lucian's heart raced, his world narrowing to the gleaming arc of steel and his own precise, desperate footwork.

He couldn't keep this up forever. Damon was fresh, and armed, while Lucian's arms ached from the unnatural angle of his bonds. He needed an opening, a chance...

Damon barked a laugh, his sword never slowing. "I know what you're trying to do," he panted. "Trying to tire me out. Well, I've got news for you, slave - I can keep this up all day!"

The Spartan chopped down toward Lucian's legs - but in his eagerness to land a blow, left his body open for a fraction of a second. Lucian saw his chance and seized it, driving forward off his back foot and slamming a kick square into his opponent’s gut.

"Oof!" Damon's breath whooshed out in an explosive grunt.

He staggered back, tripped, and sat down hard. His sword flew from his grip to clatter on the stony ground a few paces away.

Lucian didn't hesitate. He bolted for the blade. If he could just cut his bonds...! Ten steps, five...

But Damon had already rolled to his hands and knees. Even as Lucian reached for the sword, the Spartan scrambled forward and snatched the hilt.

Gritting his teeth, Lucian stamped down hard on the blade, pinning it to the earth. Damon snarled and heaved at the sword, trying to wrench it free, but Lucian threw all his weight onto his anchoring foot.

With a growl of mingled pain and anger, Damon released the sword and seized Lucian's leg in both hands. He sank his teeth into the boy's calf.

Lucian screamed around his gag and toppled sideways, his leg on fire. Damon surged to his feet, gripping his sword and slashed down at Lucian's prone body.

Biting back his cry, Lucian rolled. Sparks struck from stone as Damon's sword clanged against the ground bare inches from Lucian's face. Again Damon chopped down, and again, but each time Lucian writhed aside with inches to spare.

Heart thundering, breath sobbing through his nose, Lucian kicked out and caught Damon's knee. The Spartan stumbled with a curse, giving Lucian precious seconds to roll to his feet and put some distance between them.

For a long moment, the two men faced each other, chests heaving. Lucian's arms burned, sweat ran into his eyes, and blood trickled down his savaged calf. But he wasn't dead. Not yet.

"I have to admit," Damon panted, "you're not bad, slave. Even with your hands tied, you're still putting up a fight." He shook his head, grinning. "Breaking you is going to be a real pleasure."

The Spartan’s taunts rang in his ears, but he pushed them aside, focusing instead on Drakon. Was the old man alright? Had he survived his tumble down the mountainside? Lucian needed to end this fight quickly and find his friend.

Damon's mocking laugh cut through Lucian's thoughts. "You know what, slave? When I'm done with you, I think I'll pay a visit to that sister and mother of yours." He licked his lips, eyes glinting. "I won't kill them right away, oh no. First, I'm going to take my time with them, really make them scream. And when I'm done, when I've shot my load inside them, then I'll slit their pretty throats and watch them bleed out like the pigs they are."

Lucian's vision went red. He bit down on his gag until his jaw ached, his face contorting with pure, unadulterated rage. This bastard, this monster, dared to threaten his family? No. He would not let this bastard leave this mountain alive.

A snarl ripped from his throat, a sound of primal fury that needed no translation. Damon's grin only widened in response.

For a long, tense moment, the two men stared each other down, the wind whipping around them, carrying the distant howl of a wolf. At that moment, Lucian sent a silent prayer to Ares, the god of war. Let the god favor him in this fight. Let him have the strength to protect his loved ones.

Then, as if by some unspoken signal, they lunged at each other.

Damon struck first, thrusting his sword at Lucian's heart. But Lucian was ready. He leaped into the air, twisting his body in a powerful kick that connected with the side of Damon's head with a sickening crack.

Damon stumbled sideways, his sword falling from his grasp as he crumpled to the ground. For a moment, he lay still, stunned by the force of the blow.

Lucian wasted no time. He dove for the fallen sword, his bound hands scrabbling for the hilt. His fingers closed around the warm leather, and he brought the blade to his ropes, sawing frantically.

The fibers parted with a snap, and Lucian tore the gag from his mouth, gulping in deep lungfuls of air. He tossed the tie aside and turned to face Damon, ready to finish this once and for all.

But Damon was already stirring, one hand clutching the back of his head as he staggered to his feet. His eyes widened when he saw Lucian standing free, the sword with him.

"You think killing me will solve anything, slave?" Damon spat, blood flecking his lips. "You kill a Spartan, and you and your whole fucking family are dead."

Lucian fell into a fighting stance, the blade rock-steady in his hands. "Then I'll make damn sure the vultures feast on every last piece of you."

Damon's face twisted with anger and fear as he spun on his heel and sprinted down the mountain, making for the cover of the forest below.

Lucian tore after him. He couldn't let Damon escape, couldn't risk him bringing the wrath of the Spartans down on his family. He had to end this, here and now.

Damon zigzagged through the trees, leaping over fallen logs and ducking under low-hanging branches. But Lucian matched him step for step, his breath burning in his lungs, his muscles screaming with every stride.

Then, up ahead, Damon vanished into the shadows of the forest, swallowed up by the dense foliage.

The inky darkness swallowed Lucian, his senses straining for any hint of Damon's presence. He slowed his pace, his breath rasping in his throat, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow.

A twig snapped to his left. Lucian whirled, sword at the ready, but saw only the swaying branches of an ancient oak. Then, a flicker of movement to his right caught his eye. He spun just in time to see Damon's retreating form, a ghostly silhouette in the gloom.

Lucian surged forward, his focus narrowing to the fleeing figure ahead. He leaped over gnarled roots and ducked under whipping branches, never letting Damon out of his sight. The gap between them closed with each pounding step until Lucian was close enough to see the whites of Damon's eyes as he glanced back over his shoulder.

With a final burst of speed, Lucian launched himself at Damon, tackling him to the ground. The sword flew from his grasp as they tumbled in a tangle of limbs, fists and elbows flying.

They rolled across the forest floor, grappling for dominance. Damon's fingers clawed at Lucian's eyes, but he batted them away, slamming his forehead into Damon's already bloodied face. The Spartan's head snapped back, but he surged forward again, his hands closing around Lucian's throat.

Lucian bucked and twisted, black spots dancing before his eyes as Damon's grip tightened. With a last desperate effort, he brought his knee up hard between Damon's legs. The Spartan howled in pain, his hold loosening just enough for Lucian to break free.

They scrambled to their feet, chests heaving, fists raised, circling each other like snarling wolves. The sword lay forgotten somewhere in the darkness, leaving them with nothing but their own strength and skill to decide the outcome.

"You think you can beat me, slave?" Damon panted. "I've been training for this, practicing on worthless scum like you. I'll break you with my bare fucking hands."

Lucian didn't waste his breath on words. He shifted his stance, feet wide, fists up, ready to end this once and for all. Damon mirrored him, a feral grin splitting his bloodstained face.

They clashed like titans, fists and feet blurring in a deadly dance. Lucian's first punch whistled past Damon's ear as the Spartan twisted away, retaliating with a flurry of jabs that Lucian barely blocked. They traded blows in a brutal staccato, each searching for an opening, a weakness to exploit.

Damon's taunts rang true - his time spent honing his skills on helpless slaves hadn't been wasted. His fists snapped out with vicious attacks, finding gaps in Lucian's defense, each blow a fresh burst of pain. But Lucian weathered the storm, holding on.

Then, as Damon pulled back for another strike, Lucian surged forward, launching a blistering volley of attacks. His fists pummeled against Damon's guard like a blacksmith's hammer on an anvil, each blow fueled by a lifetime's worth of anger and pain, of being treated as less than human by men like Damon.

The Spartan's defenses crumbled under the onslaught, and Lucian pressed his advantage, raining down punches on Damon's bloodied face, his fists hammering away years of humiliation and injustice.

With one final, thunderous blow, Lucian slammed his foot into Damon's chest, sending him crashing to the ground in a crumpled heap. The Spartan lay there, unmoving, his rasping breaths the only sound in the sudden stillness of the forest.

Lucian stood over him, his chest heaving, his knuckles raw and bleeding. He had won. Justice had been served.

"Hey, boy," a voice behind him shouted.

Lucian spun around, fists at the ready, only to see Drakon standing a few paces away, one arm clutching his wounded chest. "You ok?"

"Yeah, and you?"

"Nothing I can handle," said the old man as he saw the body of Damon lying on the ground. "Wow, you beat him. And you got yourself free in the process."

"Yeah, I know."

"That’s pretty impressive."

"What shall we do with him?"

"I don’t know," Drakon said, his eyes studying the beaten man. "The smart thing would be to leave him. Let nature take its course."

"I can’t. He threatened my family."

"Oh, that’s bad…I have an idea."

"What is it?"

"Trust me. Help me up with his body."