Demi-God

The underground arena pulsed with energy as Lucian descended the stone steps. The air is filled with the stench of sweat and blood, mingling with the scent of burning torches that lined the walls. He emerged into a cavernous space, carved deep beneath the streets.

He took in the scene. Hundreds of spectators crowded the circular arena, their bodies pressed against wooden railings. The floor was packed dirt, stained dark in places from countless battles fought before.

At the center, a raised platform served as the fighting ring. Two men circled each other, fists raised. Their bare chests glistened with sweat in the light.

The crowd roared as one of the fighters landed a crushing blow to his opponent's jaw. The man staggered, blood spraying from his mouth.

"Finish him!" a voice bellowed from nearby.

Lucian turned to see a heavyset man with a thick beard, his face flushed red from shouting and drinking. He pounded his meaty fist against the railing.

"Come on, you bastard!" the man yelled. "I've got fifty drachmas riding on you!"

A woman next to him shrieked as the fighter delivered a vicious kick to his opponent's ribs. "That's it! Break his fucking bones!"

The defeated man crumpled to the ground. The victor raised his arms, basking in the thunderous cheers that blasted through the cavern.

Lucian felt a hand clap him on the shoulder. He turned to see Thais with a sly grin on her face.

"Quite a spectacle, isn't it?" she said, leaning close to be heard over the din.

"I'm supposed to fight in this?"

Thais laughed. "Don't tell me the great son of Artemis is getting cold feet? You've trained for battle your whole life. This should be child's play for you."

"Training and real combat are different things," Lucian replied. "And I've never fought for sport before."

"Well, there's a first time for everything," she said with a wink, then gestured to a group of rough-looking men gathered near the fighting platform. "Those are your opponents over there. Kyros is the big brute - all muscle, not much between the ears. Watch out for Alexios though. He's quick and fights dirty."

Lucian studied the men, noting their builds and the way they carried themselves. He'd faced worse odds before, but the bloodthirsty crowd unnerved him.

A thunderous cheer erupted as a new pair of fighters entered the ring. The larger of the two, a mountain of a man with arms like the legs of a horse, flexed for the crowd.

"Crush his skull!" someone shouted.

"I want to see blood!" screamed another.

The smaller fighter darted in, landing a series of quick jabs before dancing away. His opponent roared in frustration, swinging wildly.

"You call that fighting?" a wiry man near Lucian yelled. "My grandmother hits harder than that!"

The big man caught his opponent with a devastating uppercut. The crowd went wild as the smaller fighter's head snapped back, blood spraying from his nose.

Lucian felt his stomach churn. This wasn't the honorable combat he'd trained for. It was savagery for the amusement of the mob.

"Having second thoughts?" Thais asked, noticing his expression.

"No. I made a commitment. I'll see it through."

"Good. Because you're up next. Show these barbarians what real fighting looks like."

"Will do."

Thais gave him a final nod before disappearing into the crowd. As she melted away, Stephanos emerged from the press of bodies, eyes widening as he took in Lucian's appearance.

"Well, look at you," he said. "Quite the outfit you've got there. I guess they don't believe in armor down here, huh?"

Lucian glanced down at himself, acutely aware of how exposed he felt. The thin cloth covering his groin left little to the imagination, while his fists were wrapped in simple bindings. He shrugged, trying to project more confidence than he felt.

"It's not exactly standard Spartan gear," Lucian admitted. "But I suppose it'll have to do. Thanks for coming."

Stephanos clapped him on the shoulder. "Wouldn't miss it. You'll do fine out there. Just remember your training and stay focused."

Lucian nodded, then glanced around the arena. "Have you seen Drakon? I thought he might be here."

"No sign of the old man, I'm afraid. Haven't seen him in a while. Knowing him, he's probably holed up in some tavern, drinking away the day. But he said he'd be here, so I'm sure he'll turn up eventually."

Lucian tried to hide his disappointment. He'd hoped his mentor would be there to see him fight, to offer some last-minute advice. But he pushed the thought aside. "No matter. I'll manage."

"Course you will," Stephanos said. "You're a Spartan, after all. Or close enough to one, anyway. You've got this."

Lucian took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. "I'll do my best."

"I know you will. Just remember, these aren't honorable opponents you're facing. They'll fight dirty if they have to. Keep your guard up and don't hesitate to do what needs to be done."

Before Lucian could respond, a booming voice cut through the din of the crowd.

"Next in the ring, we have a newcomer! Hailing from Sparta, the warrior Lucian!"

Stephanos gave him a final pat on the back. "That's your cue. Go show them what you're made of."

As his friend melted back into the crowd, Lucian took a deep breath. The roar of the spectators washed over him as he made his way towards the fighting platform. He forced himself to remain calm. This was what he had trained for, what he had dreamed of. It wasn't the glorious battlefield he had imagined, but it was a chance to prove himself nonetheless.

Lucian stepped onto the platform, his feet sinking slightly into the dirt. The crowd's cheers swelled with shouts and whistles echoing off the walls. He rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen the tension in his muscles as he waited for his opponent.

The announcer's voice boomed out again. "And facing our Spartan warrior, we have a local favorite! The man who's broken more bones than a butcher's cleaver! The scourge of the arena! Give it up for... Kyros the Crusher!"

A deafening roar erupted from the crowd as a massive figure emerged from the opposite side of the arena. Kyros lived up to his nickname, his hulking frame dwarfing Lucian as he lumbered onto the platform. Muscles rippled beneath his scarred skin, and a vicious grin split his bearded face.

He raised his fists above his head, basking in the adulation of the crowd. "Who wants to see a Spartan dog get put down?" he bellowed, eliciting another wave of cheers from his supporters.

Lucian stood his ground, refusing to be intimidated by the man's size or the crowd's bloodthirsty enthusiasm. He settled into a fighting stance, eyes locked on his opponent, waiting for the signal to begin.

The gong sounded, signaling the start of the match. Lucian and Kyros began to circle each other.

"Come on, little Spartan," Kyros taunted. "Show me what you've got."

They're both holding back. This is just the opening gambit.

"Is that all?" Kyros sneered. "I thought Spartans were supposed to be warriors."

The crowd's cheers intensified, sensing the fight was about to escalate. Lucian could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins, his senses sharpening as he settled into the rhythm of combat.

As they continued to exchange probing blows, Lucian knew they were both searching for weaknesses, waiting for the right moment to unleash their full power.

Suddenly, Kyros's demeanor shifted. His eyes narrowed, and his stance lowered. Lucian recognized the change immediately - playtime was over.

Kyros launched a flurry of punches, each one carrying a devastating power. Lucian backpedaled, barely managing to deflect or dodge the onslaught. He could feel the air displacement from each near-miss.

"What's wrong, Spartan?" Kyros growled between punches. "Too fast for you?"

Lucian gritted his teeth, focusing on defense. "He's trying to bait me into making a mistake. I can't let him get inside my head."

As Kyros pressed forward, Lucian spotted an opening and attempted a counter. But as he moved to strike, he realized too late, it was a trap.

Kyros's feint had worked and he pivoted, catching Lucian off-balance. A massive fist connected with his jaw, sending him reeling. Before he could recover, another blow struck his ribs, driving the air from his lungs.

Pain exploded through Lucian's body as Kyros landed blow after blow. The world spun, and suddenly Lucian found himself on the ground, tasting blood.

The roar of the crowd seemed distant as he struggled to focus. "Get up," he commanded himself. "This isn't over. You're a Spartan. We don't give up."

With monumental effort, Lucian pushed himself to his feet, swaying. He locked eyes with his opponent, who looked surprised to see him standing.

"Still want more?" Kyros asked.

Lucian spat blood and raised his fists. "I'm just getting started," he rasped.

"Is that so? Then, why don’t we take this seriously, eh?"

"My pleasure. Round two asshole."

Lucian closed the distance in a heartbeat with his fist shooting out in a lightning-fast straight punch aimed at Kyros' face. The big man's reflexes belied his size and jerked his head to the side to which Lucian's knuckles whistled past his ear. Undeterred, Lucian followed up with two quick jabs.

Again, Kyros managed to evade the strikes, twisting his massive torso with surprising agility. Lucian, seizing on his momentum, transitioned smoothly into a straight kick, driving his foot towards his opponent's midsection.

This time, Kyros couldn't fully avoid the attack so he brought his hands down, catching his opponent's foot against his palms. With a grunt of effort, he shoved Lucian's foot away, throwing the Spartan off balance and, at the same time, launched his counterattack.

Kyros' tree-trunk leg scythed through the air, aiming low. Lucian, still off-kilter from the shove, barely managed to shift his weight and the kick grazed his thigh. Before he could recover, another low kick followed, forcing Lucian to hop backward.

Pressing his advantage, Kyros unleashed a high kick that would have taken Lucian's head off if it connected but he side-stepped with split-second timing, feeling the whoosh of air as Kyros' foot passed mere inches from his face.

"That was so close," he said.

The crowd roared its approval at the exchange, hungry for more. The two fighters circled each other, both reassessing their moves. Sweat already beaded on Lucian's brow, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths.

Lucian felt the strain. Kyros seemed unstoppable, a mountain of muscle that shrugged off his best efforts like raindrops.

He couldn't keep this up. His training had honed his endurance to a razor's edge, but even he had limits. Against Kyros' overwhelming strength and surprising agility, Lucian knew he was fighting a losing battle.

He needed an edge, a weakness to exploit. But where? Kyros was built like a bull, all rippling muscle and raw power.

In a brief lull, Lucian glanced to the crowd where he spotted Stephanos, brow furrowed in concentration. Then, in a motion so subtle it was almost imperceptible, raised his finger, tapping the space between his eyes.

For a heartbeat, Lucian was puzzled. What the fuck is he doing? Is he saying something? He thought. Then, it dawned at him. Of course. Every man, no matter how strong, had vulnerabilities, and Kyros’ weakness, is in there.

Lucian's gaze snapped back to his opponent, zeroing in on the spot Stephanos had indicated. The bridge of the nose is where he needs to target. A precise strike there could disorient even the toughest fighter, sending shockwaves through the skull and blurring vision.

Without turning his head, Lucian's eyes flicked back to Stephanos. His friend gave a nod, confirming his realization.

A new energy surged through his limbs. He had a goal now, a chink in Kyros' seemingly impenetrable armor. The challenge would be creating an opening, getting past those massive arms to land the crucial blow.

Lucian settled deeper into his fighting stance, mind already formulating strategies. Kyros might have the advantage in raw strength, but Lucian had speed and now, a plan.