I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

While the familiar sound of bickering echoed from the sky—Ishtar’s sharp tongue clashing once again with Sif’s measured but cutting responses—a more subdued but equally significant gathering was taking place in the ethereal sky that existed beyond mortal perception.

High above the Colosseum, in a dimension where time moved differently and space bent to divine will, the viewing platforms materialized like gossamer bridges of starlight. Here, gods could observe the mortal realm without interference, their presence masked from both human eyes and the rigid laws that governed divine intervention.

Amaterasu Omikami had chosen a position near the eastern edge of the platform, where the ethereal light naturally gathered around her like captured sunbeams. Her radiant presence was impossible to ignore—black hair that seemed to flow endlessly, eyes that held the warmth and intensity of the midday sun, and robes that shimmered between deep orange and brilliant yellow with every movement.

She was studying the arena below with apparent casual interest when a familiar voice made her turn.

“I never thought of seeing you here, Amaterasu.”

The sun goddess smiled, though something flickered briefly in her luminous eyes—surprise, perhaps, or was it calculation? Standing behind her, draped in robes of midnight blue adorned with silver symbols that seemed to move of their own accord, was Isis, the great mother goddess of Amun Ra. Latest content published on novel-fire.ɴet

Isis carried herself with the regal bearing of one who had ruled both mortals and gods for millennia. Her ebony hair was adorned with a crown that featured the distinctive horns and solar disk, while her silver eyes—ancient beyond measure—held wisdom that could unravel the secrets of creation itself.

“Likewise, Isis,” Amaterasu replied, gesturing gracefully to the space beside her. “Please, join me. The view is quite spectacular from here.”

As Isis moved to stand beside her, Amaterasu couldn’t help but admire the other goddess’s poise. Despite the eons that had passed since their last meeting, Isis moved with the same fluid grace that had once commanded the devotion of pharaohs and common folk alike.

The two powerful deities stood in companionable silence for a moment, both ostensibly watching the preparations in the arena below. The crowd’s roar drifted up to them, muffled by the dimensional barrier but still audible—a constant reminder of the mortal drama unfolding beneath their feet.

“Then what is the reason behind your presence here?” Amaterasu asked, her tone light and conversational, though her sun-bright eyes held a knowing gleam. She already suspected the answer—Nathan had, after all, told her about his encounter with Isis. But she was curious to hear how Isis would frame her interest.

Isis tilted her head slightly, a gesture that made her crown catch the ethereal light. When she spoke, her voice carried the measured cadence of one accustomed to choosing words carefully. “I was curious about this tournament for Pandora’s hand. The Olympian pantheon seems to be struggling quite significantly with her… situation.”

Curious indeed, Amaterasu thought, suppressing a knowing smile. But not about Pandora, surely.

“They are indeed facing challenges,” Amaterasu agreed aloud, her voice maintaining its warm, diplomatic tone. “But since it’s Athena herself taking charge of the problem, shouldn’t that provide some measure of confidence? The goddess of wisdom is hardly known for poor judgment.”

Isis made a soft sound—not quite agreement, not quite dissent. “Perhaps. But I find myself wondering if it was wise to leave Athena to handle Pandora alone. The stakes seem… considerable.”

“Oh? What makes you say that?”

“She’s still relatively young by our standards, and you know how stubborn she can be when she believes she’s right,” Isis said, sighing softly. The sound carried with it the weight of eons spent watching the folly of gods and mortals alike. “Perhaps Hera would have been the better choice for managing such a delicate situation.”

Amaterasu had to work to keep her expression neutral. The suggestion was so absurd—knowing what she knew about Hera’s current… circumstances—that she nearly laughed outright. The idea of the temperamental Queen of Olympus handling anything delicate was like suggesting a lightning storm for diplomacy.

If only you knew where Hera actually is, she thought, remembering the proud goddess’s current state of enslavement to Nathan.

“If Hera were available to return, perhaps,” Amaterasu said meaningfully, letting just a hint of something deeper color her words.

The comment had its intended effect. Isis fell silent, her silver eyes narrowing slightly as she processed the implication. Around them, the ethereal platform seemed to dim slightly, responding to the shift in the goddess’s mood.

“Do you truly believe she simply left because she was upset that Zeus failed to ensure Greek victory in Troy?” Isis asked finally, her tone making it clear that she found such an explanation woefully inadequate.

Amaterasu shrugged elegantly, the gesture making her golden robes ripple like captured sunlight. “It wouldn’t be entirely surprising, would it? I’ve witnessed Hera refuse to speak to Zeus for decades over far smaller slights. Most of the Olympians seem relatively unconcerned about her absence for precisely that reason—they assume she’ll return when her pride has been sufficiently salved.”

“Yes, but this time is different,” Isis pressed, her voice growing more intense. “No one—not even Zeus himself—has any idea where she is. That’s not like her previous… withdrawals. Hera has always been dramatic, but she’s never been mysterious.”

The silver-eyed goddess turned to face Amaterasu more fully, and for a moment, the Amun Ra deity’s true power was visible—ancient, vast, and currently focused with uncomfortable intensity. “I think something has happened to her, Amaterasu. Something significant.”

Amaterasu met that penetrating gaze with apparent calm, though inwardly she felt a flicker of concern. Isis was perceptive—dangerously so. The sun goddess knew exactly what had happened to Hera, could picture even now the proud Queen of Olympus bound by Nathan’s power, her divine arrogance stripped away along with her freedom. But revealing that knowledge would lead to her doom so she won’t say it obviously. Not like she would have said anyway, she was faithful to Nathan since he also had been faithful to her.

“It is strange, now that you mention it,” she agreed, allowing a note of thoughtful concern to enter her voice. “Hera has many faults, but disappearing entirely isn’t typically among them.”

“And then there’s the matter of Poseidon,” Isis added, her tone growing darker still.

Oh, if only you knew about that too, Amaterasu thought, remembering the sea god’s own defeat at Nathan’s hands with their help.

“Indeed,” she said aloud. “The Olympians are certainly experiencing their share of difficulties lately.”

Despite herself, Amaterasu couldn’t help but chuckle softly at the understatement. The sound was like wind chimes made of sunbeams, beautiful and unsettling in equal measure.

Isis’s expression softened slightly at the sound, and she managed a small smile. “I just hope we aren’t next on whatever cosmic wheel of misfortune seems to be spinning. How is your kingdom faring these days?”

“Very well,” Amaterasu replied, perhaps a bit too quickly.

But Isis was far from finished probing. “Even despite being forced to form that alliance with the Tenebria Kingdom? I heard that was the price demanded by the Hero of Darkness for freeing Kaguya.”

The question hit closer to home than Amaterasu liked. Though Isis hadn’t been present during that moment, news of divine defeats traveled swiftly through the celestial networks. The story of Kaguya’s capture and subsequent rescue had become something of a cautionary tale among the pantheons—a reminder that even powerful divine beings could find themselves outmaneuvered by sufficiently clever mortals.

“I heard you were quite… limited in your response options,” Isis continued, her silver eyes watching Amaterasu’s face with uncomfortable intensity. “The laws governing divine intervention in mortal conflicts and all that. Such situations can be… frustrating for beings of our stature.”

Amaterasu felt the weight of that scrutiny but maintained her composure with the skill of eons of practice. She had learned long ago that the key to deception was to stay as close to the truth as possible while revealing nothing essential.

“Kaguya’s safety was my primary concern,” she said, her voice carrying the warmth of genuine emotion—because that much, at least, was completely true. “I would have made any reasonable accommodation to ensure her return. If you found yourself in a similar situation with your beloved Cleopatra, wouldn’t you have done the same?”

The redirect worked perfectly. At the mention of Cleopatra, Isis’s expression immediately softened, the calculating intensity in her silver eyes replaced by something warmer and more vulnerable. The Goddess’s love for her chosen pharaoh was well known among the divine community—a weakness, perhaps, but one that made her more relatable to her peers.

“Yes,” Isis admitted, her voice carrying a fond warmth. “You’re absolutely right. Cleopatra’s well-being supersedes any political considerations.”

Perfect, Amaterasu thought, allowing genuine warmth to enter her own expression. Shift the focus to her emotions, her attachments. Keep her thinking about anything except the inconsistencies in my story.

Isis’s silver eyes narrowed faintly. In truth, she was not in the mood for deep speculation. Her thoughts drifted again and again toward one man—the one who now walked the earth under the false name of Septimius.

She had come here for him.

Nathan had made her promises, promises she had not forgotten. He was to remove Caesar, to force the Roman Empire to divert its greedy eyes from Amun-Ra, and to liberate Arsinoe, Cleopatra’s sister. Those were not trivial favors, but crucial acts that would secure the stability of Amun Ra’s divine order. And yet… he had done none of them.

Instead, here he was, parading himself in the heart of Rome, fighting for Pandora’s hand as if this tournament were the center of the world. Isis’s lips pressed into a thin line. Was this truly the same man she had bargained with?

Had he forgotten his obligations? Or was he simply… indulging?

Everywhere she turned, it was the same. Women whispering, sighing, even screaming his name as though it were a sacred hymn. He was not merely competing—he was basking in adoration.

Isis’s musings were cut short as the atmosphere of the arena shifted. A booming cheer rolled across the colossal amphitheater, the sound like waves crashing upon stone cliffs.

From the elevated VIP box, Caesar himself rose to his full height, resplendent in his imperial robes, a laurel crown resting proudly upon his brow. His presence alone silenced the anticipation for but a heartbeat before he stretched out his arm and addressed the masses with a voice both commanding and theatrical.

“Civilians of Rome!” Caesar’s words thundered, amplified by the architecture of the Colosseum. “I see your impatience, your hunger for spectacle! And so I will not waste another breath of your time. Today begins the second round of the greatest gladiator tournament ever held! Open the gates! Call forth the gladiators!”

At his command, heavy iron gates groaned and creaked open, one after another, until the tunnels beneath the Colosseum poured forth their champions.

One by one they entered the sand.

Spartacus—the strongest Slave Gladiator.

Benjamin, the biggest and tallest Gladiator.

Ethan, the mysterious fighter wearing an helmet.

And Isak, one of the Heroes of Amun Ra summoned by the gods to this world!

The masses erupted in recognition, their roars cascading like a storm. But as fervent as the cheers were for these men, there was no mistaking it—none of them were the one the people waited for.

No, the arena belonged to a single figure.

He stepped forward with unhurried confidence, each stride deliberate, the sunlight catching on the strands of his striking white hair. Crimson eyes glowed beneath his brow, sharp and merciless, and in that instant the Colosseum seemed to lean toward him, as if the world itself acknowledged his presence.

He was already infamous—already revered. Before he had ever touched the sands of this tournament, the whispers had followed him. The killer of Ptolemy, Kingslayer. His reputation alone had ignited the crowd’s curiosity, but after his first display of strength in the tournament, that curiosity had transformed into worship.

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When Nathan stepped onto the arena floor, the world shook. The people of Rome rose as one, and the chant of his false name spread like wildfire, deafening and relentless.

“SEPTIMIUS! SEPTIMIUS! SEPTIMIUS! SEPTIMIUS! SEPTIMIUS!”

The Colosseum itself trembled, its ancient stone vibrating under the thunder of the masses, as though Rome itself bent to acknowledge him.

Isak’s jaw clenched at the sight. The cheers that once swelled for him had been stolen, consumed by the white-haired gladiator who now commanded every eye. A sharp scowl twisted his features, bitterness surging through his veins.

“Tch,” he spat, though his smirk quickly returned, cruel and full of pride. “Let them scream his name. Soon they’ll be chanting mine. I’ll crush him here, humiliate him before every Roman eye. Then they’ll see who the true strongest is.”

But Nathan paid him no mind. Not Isak, not the crowd, not even Caesar’s pompous display. His gaze was fixed elsewhere—on the figures seated beyond the reach of mortal adoration.

His crimson eyes searched the sky until they found her: Athena, seated beside the veiled Pandora.

He could not read Pandora, the thin veil concealing any flicker of expression. But Athena… Athena gave him the smallest of nods.

Nathan nodded in return.

Then, without a word, he stepped forward and took his place among the other gladiators.

The Second Round was about to begin.