I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

After the long and heated sex in his quarters, Nathan finally eased Fulvia down onto the soft sheets of his bed. Her body, exhausted and trembling from the intensity of his relentless thrusts, gave in completely the moment she touched the mattress. She was sprawled across the linen with her hair in disarray, her chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. A faint flush still colored her cheeks, and though her eyes fluttered half-open, she mumbled incoherently, trapped between consciousness and the haze of pleasure.

Nathan stood over her for a moment, watching her with a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He knew he had pushed her far—perhaps too far—burying himself deep inside her until she had finally fainted in ecstasy. Yet there was a strange satisfaction in the sight: Fulvia, strong-willed and fierce in her own way, reduced to such a state beneath him.

With a small exhale, he turned and moved toward the door. As he pulled it open, something caught his attention. Right on the ground, just beyond the threshold, lay a small glistening puddle. The faint smell in the air and the warmth of the liquid made it clear enough what it was.

Nathan's smirk widened. His sharp eyes flicked around, and though he saw no one immediately, he was not fooled. There was no way he could overlook the presence lurking nearby—it was far too obvious. Still, he found the idea amusing: watching someone struggle and squirm, pretending not to be caught.

"You did quite a mess, Licinia," Nathan remarked casually, his voice carrying both amusement and a trace of mockery. Without giving her away, he stepped forward, ignoring the puddle as though it were of little consequence.

He walked a few more paces, hands loosely at his sides, until suddenly he reached for a nearby door. With a sharp motion, he flung it open and, without hesitation, pulled out the trembling figure hiding within.

Licinia stumbled forward, caught off guard, her entire face burning crimson. She avoided his gaze, eyes darting to the floor as though looking at him directly might shatter the thin composure she had left. Her lips parted, but the words tangled in her throat.

"I… I…" she stammered, her voice shaking, her body betraying the storm that raged inside her. Every nerve screamed to leap at him, to throw herself into his arms, to surrender like a starved beast—but she fought it with all her might.

Nathan tilted his head slightly, watching her with that same unreadable expression. The longer his eyes lingered on her, the more she trembled. At last, Licinia bit her lower lip, her hands curling into fists at her sides as if to anchor herself. She forced herself to glare at him, even if the fire in her eyes was fueled by desperation as much as anger.

"It's your fault!" she cried, her voice louder now, breaking the silence of the hall. "Be… because of that love potion, I— I just can't think straight anymore!" Her shout cracked toward the end, betraying how close she was to losing herself.

Nathan's smirk softened into something more thoughtful. "I see," he murmured. Without hesitation, he reached into his pocket and produced a small vial, its contents glowing faintly pink as it caught the light. He held it up between them.

"Drink this," he said evenly. "It will break the effect of the love potion. Everything you feel right now will vanish."

Licinia's eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. "W-what?" She stared at the vial in disbelief, as though it were some impossible dream. Yet something in Nathan's calm tone told her it was no trick. He was being serious.

What she did not know was that he had acquired this cure directly from Aphrodite herself. For some time, he had held onto it, unsure whether to use it. The idea of Licinia, hopelessly infatuated and unable to resist him, could have been useful to get close to Crassus. Yet Nathan was no fool. He would not push her beyond her limits—not when he knew what it might cost.

Slowly, hesitantly, Licinia extended her trembling hand and accepted the vial. Her fingertips brushed against his as she took it, and that fleeting contact sent a shiver through her already fragile restraint.

"Now," Nathan continued, his tone steady but distant, "you won't have strange dreams about me anymore. You won't need me. You won't crave anything from me again." He turned on his heel, as if the matter were settled, and began to walk away.

Licinia stood frozen, the small glass vial cold in her palm. Her eyes followed his retreating figure with disbelief and something sharper—something that twisted in her chest.

Yes, she had wished for it to stop. She had cursed the restless nights filled with visions of him, the endless ache in her body and heart whenever she thought of him. And yet… the thought of being freed from it now, when it was within her grasp, struck her harder than she expected.

Her teeth sank into her lip until it nearly bled. She closed her eyes, lifted the vial to her mouth, and with one swift motion, swallowed its contents without hesitation.

The taste was bittersweet, lingering like the echo of a choice she could never take back.

°°°°°°°

After closing what he believed to be the chapter with Licinia, Nathan allowed himself no pause. There was still much to prepare before the second round of the gladiator tournament, and time was a luxury he could not squander.

He left the towering Senate Castle behind, its marble pillars gleaming faintly in the afternoon sun, and ascended into the sky. The wind roared around him, tugging at his white hair as he soared higher, scanning the city sprawled below for prying eyes. Only when he was certain no one followed did he descend, his figure cutting through the air until he landed silently before a nondescript, crumbling house tucked away in a forgotten district.

At first glance, the place looked deserted—shuttered windows, dust lining the stone steps, silence pressing in from all sides. Yet Nathan knew better. With practiced ease, he slipped inside, pushing through the stale air of abandonment.

"I have been waiting for never ending hours here," a voice hissed from the shadows, laced with impatience and anger.

Nathan turned, his crimson eyes locking onto the speaker.

Pompey.

"And you will wait here," Nathan replied coldly, his tone carrying the weight of command, "until I say otherwise."

The man bristled but said nothing, though his clenched fists betrayed his frustration. After Nathan had freed him, he had hidden Pompey in this place—a safe haven protected by Medea's wards, veiling it from sight and scent, from gods and men alike. It was a cage of silence, and Pompey had no choice but to obey.

"I gave you my Key of Rome," Pompey finally snapped, voice cracking under the strain of suppressed fury. "What more do you want from me? I told you, I can't do anything else! I have no power left here, no influence to move against Caesar!"

Nathan's lips curved into a small, almost mocking smile. "I don't need your power," he said smoothly. "Nor your influence. What I require from you is much simpler: a conversation with Crassus."

Pompey blinked, caught off guard. "A… discussion?" His tone was wary, suspicious.

"Yes," Nathan replied evenly, folding his arms. "Your fellow Emperor. Despite your warnings, Crassus remains dangerously careless. Caesar demands his death daily, and still Crassus has not a single awareness of it."

Pompey's jaw tightened. His teeth ground together audibly. "That idiot…"

"You will convince him," Nathan continued. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a familiar object—the Key of Rome—its golden surface catching what little light filtered into the ruined house. With a casual flick, he tossed it back to Pompey.

Pompey caught it instinctively, eyes narrowing as confusion washed over him. "Why… why are you giving this back?"

"Because," Nathan said, his smile widening into something sharper, "if you hand it to him yourself, Crassus will trust you. It is the kind of gesture he cannot ignore."

Pompey stared at the key in his palm, silent for a moment, then muttered, "Maybe…" He closed his fingers tightly around it, the metal digging into his flesh.

Nathan's gaze never wavered. "Once Crassus has the key, he will see for himself the gravity of Caesar's schemes. He will realize action must be taken."

Pompey shook his head slowly. "You make it sound simple. But it won't be. You underestimate Caesar. He is no ordinary man."

A faint chill entered Nathan's voice. "Just obey me." His eyes hardened, crimson light flashing dangerously as he stepped closer. "I will tell you the exact time and place. You will go there, and you will speak with him exactly as I command. Do you understand, Pompeius?"

Pompey flinched slightly at the name, his fists trembling. His pride urged him to protest, but something in Nathan's gaze froze the words in his throat.

Nathan leaned closer still, his shadow engulfing the Roman general. "Do as I say, and you will see Caesar like never before. You will see the look on his face when his empire begins to crumble. That expression, Pompey…" His smile was thin, cruel. "You will love it."

For a moment, Pompey could only stare at him, speechless. The weight of the words pressed down like iron chains, and he could not deny the shiver running through his spine.

This man before him… Was he truly the same mercenary who had once served in his legions, back in the sands of the Amun-Ra Empire? The same nameless soldier he had thought to be nothing more than a tool of war?

"J… just who the hell are you?" Pompey whispered hoarsely, his voice breaking under a rare strain of fear.

Nathan's smirk curved wider, though his eyes remained as cold as winter steel.

"Today," he said, turning away, "I am a gladiator."

Without another word, Nathan stepped into the daylight and vanished, leaving Pompey in stunned silence.

The Roman leader sank onto the nearest chair, staring at the Key of Rome clenched tightly in his hand. His pulse thundered in his ears.

That man… he was terrifying. A shadow in human form.

Meanwhile, Nathan soared once more into the sky, the wind carrying him toward the Colosseum. His plan was steadily falling into place, each piece moving toward its destined position. Soon, Caesar would taste defeat, a blow greater than any blade could deliver.

But first, there was the matter of the gladiator tournament. He will need to show off a little for this Second Round for Pandora.