Camilla

The colosseum roared in frenzied excitement as the latest batch of criminals were torn apart by the joyous harpies. Their blood soaked the dusty sands that simmered under the oppressive sun above, the sun that should not shine and that would soon be extinguished.

Camilla watched amidst the horde of people who cheered in the stands, her cloak shrouding her face as she leaned against one of the arches that allowed for the crowds to disperse once the games were done. She had been calm up until this point watching the deaths of the men she did not know. It was all the more evidence that these structures of power needed to be dismantled.

Until the one she hated most was forced into the arena to thunderous applause.

The announcer proclaimed his name, how he and his bandits had been a nuisance to the Roman Empire, even killed the beloved Cetus, and how he was to meet his end today, given the royal audience. The bearded man remained calm, stoic even, as he was reduced to a mere pawn for Commodus’s games, walking out to the middle of the arena with only trousers and a gladius.

Bulla Felix.

The once great thorn in the Empire’s side was now being surrounded by three heavily armored gladiators, each with powerful weapons that glowed with power. The match was not supposed to be even. His ensured death was meant to be an appetizer for the larger games ahead.

Camilla relished the sight.

She could only see the hypocrisy of men like Bulla before her. How he fought for freedom against tyranny and oppression, yet at the same time callously allowing men like Horatius, whom she passionately slew protecting a servant girl, to satiate their own tyrannical lusts upon the innocent, all under the guise of plunder. Living with him and his bandits further solidified her allegiance to the Cult of the Eternal Night. All would be reborn once the empires and the entire world was cast into darkness, to rise to a new dawn.

“So many leaders have promised utopia throughout history,” Max had said, his brown eyes full of surprising wisdom. “Most of them brought war, oppression, and desolation instead.”

The thought of Max was a punch in the stomach.

Unconsciously, she fingered the pouch on her neck that contained a lock of his dark hair. She had cut it from him while he slept the night of her revelation to him, when he learned that she wasn’t Camillus, but Camilla. Vulnerability was something she wasn’t used to, and she wanted to remember that night when she could dispel her disguise and be real with him, this boy from the future. Her heart ached for him to join her in the vision of the cult. He knew countless things about history, entertaining her and Titus numerous occasions around the fire of his favorite leaders and battles. They could have changed the world together, brought peace and order that it so desperately needed.

Together.

Camilla blushed, the memories of how Max began to look at her the more time they spent together.

Yet, despite his wisdom, he was so utterly foolish, like the rest of the world.

It would destroy a piece of her soul to see him die in the arena.

Bulla’s sword clanged off of a gladiator’s armor, capturing her thoughts again. It was quickly followed by three successive strikes, two of which cut into the gladiator’s arm which held a large net. Each of Bulla’s attacks emanated with ferocity, a sign of his blessing from Mars. His opponent responded with a lunge from his trident, pronging the bandit in his ribs. Bulla staggered in pain as blood poured from his wounds. He barely dodged an attack from behind him as another gladiator cleaved his broadsword inches from his face.

The bandit leader evaded another attack from the trident gladiator, swinging his gladius down onto the man’s hand and severing it completely.

Another excited roar from the audience at the grisly sight.

Bulla snatched the net of his defeated foe. Just as the broadsword gladiator rushed to end his life, Bulla danced out of the way and threw the net over him, capturing him like a rat. The third gladiator wielding a gladius and shield was too late to help his brethren whom Bulla cut the Achilles’s heels from. The captured gladiator could do nothing about the sword that Bulla sheathed into his neck.

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

Now the odds were even.

Camilla’s bow rested in her hand, an arrow already notched. Bulla would not survive this day if she had anything to say about it.

Bulla spoke no words as he gaged his opponent, the two of them encircling one another. He was still gushing blood out of his stomach, more than likely fatal if it punctured his intestines. Yet he remained calm nonetheless.

The last helmeted gladiator, huge in size, roared before bashing his shield against Bulla, receiving a gash across his legs as he knocked the bandit off of his feet.

Camilla’s heart thumped with anticipation as he fell.

“Finish it,” she whispered, anxious to see his fate.

Bulla rolled to avoid the next attack. The gladius sang in the air, sticking into the sand mere inches from where his heart was. The gladiator grunted in frustration as his body grew faintly red with the power of Mars, his attacks hitting with tremendous power as Bulla scrambled to his feet and dodged the blade. In a move too quick to see, Bulla snapped his blade against the gladiator’s exposed knee as he moved. Blood exploded from the wound. The man yelled in agony as he threw himself onto Bulla, removing the bandit’s advantage of working legs.

It was impossible to tell who had the upper hand as the two punched, kicked, and scrambled to strangle each other on the sand. This final death struggle seemed to please both the cheering crowds and the royals who laughed from their theater box at the display.

The airy voice of Elagabalus as he joked with Nero and Commodus made Camilla cringe with fury. What he did to her and Octavia… The cult had promised she would get to personally destroy him once they had fulfilled their goals with Rome. Camilla counted the days with zeal.

A gasp stifled the crowds. Bulla screamed with rage as he rolled away from the other gladiator who lay still beside him. It was hard to tell from here, but it appeared he had one in his death match, perhaps strangling him.

He was not supposed to have lived.

The crowds muttered in confusion before being silenced again by the hand of Commodus, the Western Caesar, who had thrown these games for Elagabalus and the System.

“Quite impressive, this bandit king. Wouldn’t you say?”

The crowd cheered with approval now that they were allowed to.

“However, this dog has caused Rome too much trouble as of late. Cetus lies dead because of him and his thieves!”

An angry boo poured out from the crowds, though it was doubtful they actually were upset.

“Let us treat him like the dog he is, and let the games begin! The prizes are enormous, including this beautiful Cleopatra!” The crowds cheered in a frenzy as Commodus yanked a young courtesan to the front of the box. She was indeed beautiful, but she was merely an imitation of Cleopatra. The real one had been tortured to death by snakes for the Emperor’s amusement. Camilla felt a twinge of sorrow upon seeing the slave girl who was being awarded to the victor.

“We will avenge you, sister,” Camilla said beneath her breath.

“Quite a beauty!” Commodus said, handling her inappropriately before moving her off to the side. “Let us start with a dedication to our Emperor and System! Farewell, Bulla Felix, and thank you for the show!”

A wicked smile flashed across the young Emperor’s face who sat behind the Caesar.

Gates opened simultaneously around the arena. Dozens of wild dogs were let out, pushed out in some cases as they snapped their teeth at their masters. They were hungry.

Bulla shook his head. He would die, torn apart by beasts, as he was in his previous life. History would repeat itself for him.

“Death smiles at us all; all we can do is smile back,” Bulla said, quoting Marcus Aurelius who had died by Commodus’s hands after Camilla betrayed their group to the Emperor.

Though Camilla looked forward to watching his death, she couldn’t help but feel anger at Elagabalus who pleasured himself with such sadism. She even surprised herself as she drew her bow in the shadows, an arrow already notched.

A strong hand darted from the shadows and pushed it down back into her cloak.

“Now is not the time, sister,” a soft but firm voice said.

“Forgive me, Octavia,” Camilla said to her older sister.

Octavia emerged from the darkness in her black robes, her stature taller than Camilla as she stared with zeal at her. She displayed natural beauty being in her late twenties, long dark hair kept in a ponytail, and hazel eyes like Camilla that were filled with dedication. Though she was clothed, Camilla knew of the rippling muscles beneath and the series of tattoos that colored her skin. And though she rarely smiled, she gave Camilla a slight grin and rubbed her shoulder in love.

“His time will come soon enough,” she said, both of them returning to watch the bloody scene unfold. The dogs had descended on Bulla and were tearing him apart.

“Did you find Max?” Camilla said, her words hopeful.

Octavia shook her head. “He must still be on Medusa’s Island or he escaped whenever the ships arrived. We will continue on as planned. I confirmed the presence of the prisoner within the gladiator slaves. We will use him for what’s to come.”

Camilla nodded, but a storm brewed in her mind. Where are you, Max?