I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

The dim torchlight flickered across the cold stone walls of the underground arena, casting long shadows that danced like ghosts of fallen warriors. The air was thick with the mingled scent of iron, sweat, and sand — the scent of men who had fought, bled, and died beneath this very roof.

In the center of the preparation chamber stood Spartacus, alone.

The muffled roar of the crowd above seeped through the cracks in the ceiling, a distant storm of voices impatient for blood. Yet, here below, silence reigned — heavy and suffocating. The only sounds were the slow, deliberate movements of a man preparing for war.

He reached for his armor — a battered chestplate bearing faint scratches from countless battles. His fingers traced the worn edges as if touching an old scar. He chose not to wear the heavier plating. He needed speed, not protection. His body was his true armor now — tempered by pain, hardened by betrayal, and sharpened by years of struggle.

Still, he fastened the chestplate over his chest. Habit, perhaps. Or superstition.

Rarely can anyone even wound me, he thought, lips curling faintly. But in this arena, anything can happen.

As he tightened the straps, his mind drifted — not to his opponent, but to Septimius’s words.

“Obey me, and Octavius’s head will be yours.”

The offer had burned in his mind like a brand. Revenge — so close he could almost taste it. But at what cost? Septimius had demanded that he attack the Senate Castle, to once again raise his sword against Rome.

And that was something Spartacus could not bring himself to do.

He had already tried rebellion once. He had seen men die for him — slaves, brothers, dreamers — all crushed beneath Rome’s iron will. They had followed him, believed in him, only to be slaughtered in the end.

How many graves lay on his conscience?How many names had he forgotten, because remembering hurt too much?

He stopped halfway through fastening the final strap, his hands trembling. The chestplate felt heavier than steel — it felt like guilt.

“Damn it…” he muttered, fumbling with the leather. “I can’t—”

“I will help you.”

The voice was soft, familiar, like the touch of a gentle breeze against a storm. Spartacus froze. He turned sharply toward the doorway.

Standing there, framed by the torchlight, was Curia — the young slave girl from the dominion. Her hands were clasped nervously before her, but her eyes, dark and full of light, met his with quiet resolve.

“Curia?” he breathed. “What are you doing here?”

She smiled faintly, stepping closer. “I told the guards you needed help preparing for the fight,” she said in a whisper. “They know me. They let me pass.”

“Why?” Spartacus demanded, his voice rougher than he intended. “Why would you do something so… useless?”

Her eyes widened. “This is not useless!”

The sharpness of her voice startled him — it echoed against the stone, trembling with something raw and real.

Blushing, she lowered her gaze and moved behind him, her small hands reaching to tie the loose straps on his armor. Her touch was careful, reverent — as though she were afraid to break something sacred.

“I’m happy to help you, Spartacus,” she murmured, her voice softer now. “And… I want to be with you. Always.”

He clenched his fists. Her words cut through him like a blade.

No…

He could not let himself feel that warmth again. He had once loved — and lost — and the wound had never healed. The memory of his wife’s death still haunted him like a curse. To care again was to open the door to pain he had barely survived the first time.

He said nothing. He stood still, letting her finish. The sound of her quiet breathing behind him filled the silence between heartbeats.

When she was done, she stepped around to face him. For a moment, her eyes lingered on his — wide, trembling, full of everything he refused to acknowledge.

Then, before he could react, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

It was brief, almost hesitant — yet it struck him harder than any sword.

“I know you’ll win,” she said, smiling through her blush. “I’ll be watching you.”

And just like that, she turned and hurried toward the door, disappearing into the corridor before he could say a word.

Spartacus stood there for a long moment, staring after her. His heart — once cold, armored, untouchable — felt uncomfortably warm.

He exhaled slowly, shaking his head as if to dispel the feeling. “Focus,” he muttered to himself.

He reached for his helmet, the metal gleaming dully in the torchlight. With one final breath, he lowered it over his head.

***

While Spartacus battled beneath the roaring coliseum, steel clashing against steel, another kind of silence settled elsewhere — in a secluded house tucked deep within the alleys of the old city.

The house was small and unassuming, its walls thick enough to muffle sound and its windows shuttered tight. Dust motes floated lazily through narrow shafts of light filtering in through cracks in the ceiling. Here, far from the chaos of the arena, Elin, Freja, Ameriah, and Auria were being kept hidden.

Medea herself had placed them here — a sanctuary disguised as a prison — to protect them from Caesar’s men, who were still searching every corner of the city. It was, in theory, a place of safety. But safety, as the four of them quickly learned, came with its own price: boredom.

The same walls, the same murmuring wind, the same meals carried in silence by the attendants. Yet somehow, in their shared confinement, the four women had found something precious — conversation.

And that, more than anything, brought the lifeless house to life.

Elin and Freja were both humans from Earth — summoned heroes from another world. Ameriah and Auria, on the other hand, belonged to this world — both daughters of the Demon Race, though neither wore that title with pride. Their horns were delicate, their auras calm, and their smiles disarmingly gentle.

Naturally, the contrast between them invited endless curiosity.

At the moment, Elin was the one speaking most. Her voice carried a warmth that filled the dim room. “In Sweden,” she began, “the air smells different. It’s colder — cleaner somehow. In winter, the snow covers everything like a blanket, and even the trees look asleep.”

Ameriah and Auria listened, wide-eyed, leaning forward like children hearing a fairy tale.

Elin’s tone grew softer as nostalgia overtook her. “I miss it,” she admitted. “I miss home… the sound of the rivers, the lights in the city during Christmas. Even the way people rush to work — it all feels so far away now.”

Freja nodded beside her. “Yeah… I used to hate waking up early for classes, but now I’d give anything for one more morning like that.”

The Demon girls exchanged glances, smiling faintly. Ameriah’s amber eyes glowed with curiosity. “Earth sounds like a peaceful world,” she said, her voice gentle. “No wars? No endless battles for territory or power?”

“Not like here,” Elin said with a sad smile. “We had our own problems, but… nothing like this. Nothing so cruel.”

For a time, they spoke only of Earth — its oceans, its food, its strange inventions. Ameriah was fascinated by the concept of “cars,” while Auria couldn’t stop asking about “movies.” The room filled with laughter and wonder, a small oasis of warmth in the midst of a world that had long forgotten peace.

But then, the topic inevitably shifted — to him.

To the man who had somehow connected all their lives: Nathan, the Lord Commander of Tenebria.

Ameriah’s eyes softened when his name was spoken. The air around her seemed to change — quieter, heavier, touched by reverence.

Elin noticed immediately. “You know him well, don’t you?” she asked.

Ameriah hesitated only a moment before smiling faintly. “I do,” she said. “Longer than most. I met him when he was summoned by my sister… wounded, broken, barely alive.”

Her voice trembled slightly as she spoke, and even Auria looked down, remembering the story.

“He was covered in burns and blood,” Ameriah continued, her gaze distant. “When I found him, I thought he wouldn’t survive the night. But he did. He fought through the pain. Even when his body failed him, his will never did. Every day he trained until he could stand again — until he could fight again.”

Freja and Elin sat in stunned silence.

“Then,” Ameriah added, pride swelling in her tone, “he stood alone against the Heroes of Kastoria. One man against many… and he won. He protected Tenebria when no one else could.”

The two human girls exchanged looks — disbelief, awe, admiration all blending into one. They had always known Nathan was special, but hearing this was something else entirely.

Auria giggled softly, breaking the spell. “Our Lord Commander is truly amazing,” she said with a playful grin. “I don’t think any Hero could defeat him — no offense, Elin, Freja.”

The humans laughed despite themselves. “None taken,” Elin said. “Honestly, I don’t think we’d want to fight him.”

Their laughter echoed warmly through the small house. Over time, the walls didn’t seem so cold anymore.

Elin found herself smiling at Ameriah and Auria — two so-called demons who were more humane than many people she had met on Earth. Guilt pricked her heart as she remembered what she’d once been told: that the Demon Race was evil, merciless, beyond redemption.

But sitting here, hearing Ameriah speak with such purity, she realized how wrong that was.

“Maybe we were the blind ones,” she murmured under her breath.

Ameriah’s lips curved into a teasing grin as she looked at Elin. “Then tell me,” she said lightly, her tone laced with mischief, “do you love Lord Nathan too?”