Demi-God

Lucian surged forward, muscles coiled like springs. Kyros matched his aggression, both fighters converging in a blur of motion. The big man struck first, his fist whistling through the air. Lucian twisted, feeling the breeze of the near miss on his cheek.

Seizing the moment, he unleashed a flurry of jabs, his fists a staccato rhythm against Kyros' defenses. He followed with an uppercut, hoping to break through. But Kyros' arms were like iron bars, deflecting each blow with jarring force.

Suddenly, Kyros exploded into action. He advanced, unleashing a storm of punches and kicks. Lucian backpedaled, his feet dancing across the packed earth as he dodged and weaved. This was what he wanted - Kyros on the offensive, creating openings. But the big man's speed was unreal, his limbs were a whirlwind of destruction that left no room for counterattack.

Then, Lucian's back hit the arena's edge. He realized he was trapped. He feinted left, then right, but Kyros was there, cutting off every escape route. Panic flared in his gut. This was bad.

Without warning, Kyros unleashed hell. His fists became pistons, raining down on Lucian in an onslaught of barrage. Every part of his upper body became a target - face, chest, shoulders. The attacks came so fast like Zeus’ lightning, each one traveling like jolts through the air.

The crowd roared, a deafening chorus that fed Kyros' ego and drowned out Lucian's ragged breaths.

Lucian threw up his guard, arms crossed in front of him as each blow sent shockwaves through his bones. The force of Kyros' assault was overwhelming, each strike threatening to shatter Lucian's defense.

Gritting his teeth, he held on as his arms trembled with the strain. He could feel his guard weakening with each thunderous strike. Time seemed to slow, each second stretching into eternity as Lucian weathered the storm.

He needed to move, to create space, but Kyros' attacks left no room for maneuvering. Lucian's vision narrowed, focused solely on defense. He knew with grim certainty that if his guard broke, he wouldn't last long against his opponent's raw power.

As his arms began to falter, Lucian realized he was out of options. He'd have to risk everything on one desperate move, or be beaten into submission against the arena wall. So he made a desperate gambit.

He summoned every ounce of strength left in his battered body, focusing it into his arms. Gritting his teeth against the pain and began to push forward.

At first, it seemed impossible. Kyros' assault was brutal, each blow looks like its going to shatter Lucian's guard. But inch by excruciating inch, he advanced. His muscles screamed in protest as he forced his way through the storm of fists.

Kyros' eyes widened in disbelief as his enemy closed the distance. Caught off guard, the big man intensified his attack and became even more savage. But Lucian refused to yield.

In a burst of speed, Lucian's hands shot out, grasping Kyros' head. Before his opponent could react, Lucian surged forward, driving his forehead into the bridge of Kyros' nose with a sickening crunch.

Kyros staggered backward, dropping to one knee. Blood streamed from his face as he touched the injury, his fingers coming away crimson. Anger contorted his features. "You'll pay for that, you Spartan dog!" he snarled.

But Lucian wasn't about to let his advantage slip away. As Kyros began to rise, he charged. His knee connected to the giant’s weak spot, catching Kyros flush in the face. The big man reeled, eyes glazing over as he stumbled back.

Sensing victory within his grasp, Lucian pressed his attack, hammering his opponent's weakness with brutal power punches. Left, right, left again - each blow landing with a savage force. Kyros, dazed and disoriented, could offer no defense.

The crowd's roar became deafening as Lucian unleashed his combos. Kyros swayed on his feet, his once-immovable bulk now little more than a punching bag for Lucian's assault.

As Kyros swayed on his feet with his eyes unfocused and blood streaming down his face, Lucian saw his opportunity. He planted his feet, twisted his hips, unleashing a devastating right hook. His punch connected with a thunderous impact, snapping Kyros' head back.

For a moment, the massive fighter stood motionless. Then, like a felled tree, he toppled backward. Kyros crashed to the ground with a resounding thud that seemed to shake the entire arena.

The crowd erupted into a frenzy. The cavernous space filled with a deafening roar as spectators leaped to their feet, pumping their fists in the air.

"Holy shit!" a man near the front bellowed. "Did you see that? The Spartan took down Kyros!"

"That's impossible!" another shouted.

A woman's shrill voice cut through the din. "Pay up, you bastards! I knew the newcomer had it in him!"

The announcer's voice boomed over the chaos, barely containing his excitement. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner! In a stunning upset, our Spartan warrior has defeated the undefeatable Kyros the Crusher!" The man paused, letting the crowd's cheers swell before continuing. "Let's hear it for Lucian of Sparta!"

The noise intensified. Coins changed hands as bets were settled, and arguments broke out over the unexpected outcome.

"Lucian! Lucian! Lucian!" The chant started in one corner of the arena and quickly spread, until it seemed the very walls were shouting his name.

Lucian stood in the center of the platform, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His body ached, and he could feel bruises forming where Kyros' blows had landed. But as the crowd's adulation washed over him, a strong pride swelled in his chest.

He had done it. Against all odds, he had proven himself in this underground crucible. As he raised his fist in victory, basking in the moment, he couldn't help but scan the crowd one last time, hoping to see Drakon's approving nod. But his mentor was nowhere to be seen.

Lucian limped off the platform, his arms wrapped around his battered torso. Thais materialized from the crowd.

"Well done, Spartan," she said, falling into step beside him. "You've certainly made an impression. There's a bit of a break before your next bout - a couple of fights to keep the mob entertained."

Lucian nodded, wincing as the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through his body. "Good thing. I’m going to need that break."

"The next one's with weapons," Thais continued. "You'll need to wear some armor. Don't worry, we'll get you geared up."

"Understood."

She smirked. "Oh, and that little upset you just pulled off? It netted you quite a tidy sum. Seems a lot of people lost money betting against you."

Despite his exhaustion, Lucian felt a flicker of satisfaction. "That's good to hear."

"Indeed. Rest up, and good luck in the next round."

"Sure."

With that, Thais melted back into the crowd.

Lucian hadn't gone far when Stephanos appeared, clapping him on the shoulder.

"By the gods! That was something to see. You really showed that brute what a Spartan can do."

"Thanks to your tip. How did you know about Kyros' weak spot?"

Stephanos shrugged. "I've seen a few of his matches."

"You did? When was that?"

"A few nights ago. I was curious about this fella that you’re fighting so I watched him fight."

"And?"

"There was this one fight where his opponent caught him with a lucky shot right between the eyes. Kyros was dazed for a good while after that. Figured it might come in handy."

"Well, it certainly did," Lucian said. "I owe you one, Stephanos."

"Nah, you don't owe me anything. Just glad I could help. But listen," Stephanos leaned in, "be careful in the next round. Weapons change everything. These arena fights... they're not like regular combat. Some of these bastards fight dirty."

"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks for the warning."

Stephanos gently took the boy’s arm. "Come on, let's get you to the armory. You need to rest before the next round."

"Sure."

The noise of the spectators faded slightly as they entered a corridor leading to the fighters' preparation area.

In the armory, weapons of various types lined the walls, and pieces of armor were scattered on rough wooden tables. Stephanos helped Lucian lower himself onto a bench, his muscles protesting with every movement.

"Alright, you just sit there and catch your breath," he said. "I'm going to fetch you some water. Don't even think about moving, you hear me? Just rest up."

"Okay. Thanks, Stephanos."

As his friend's footsteps receded, Lucian leaned back against the cool stone wall, closing his eyes for a moment. His thoughts drifted to Drakon. Where was his mentor? He had expected to see the old warrior's grizzled face in the crowd.

A sudden eruption of cheers and shouts from the arena interrupted Lucian's musings. The next fight must have begun. He could hear the muffled roar of the crowd, their bloodlust seemingly unquenchable.

Lucian scanned the armory, assessing the weapons available for his next bout. Swords, spears, shields - tools he had trained with his master. But which one will he use in the next fight?

His fingers trailed over the array of weapons before him. The familiar weight of a sword and shield called to him, but he hesitated. Thais' words about Alexios went in his mind. A dirty fighter. Unpredictable. Dangerous.

He needed something versatile, something he could recover quickly if disarmed. His hand settled on a small axe, its blade glinting in the light. Perfect as a secondary weapon, easy to conceal and retrieve.

For his main armament, Lucian's instincts drew him to the spear. It would give him reach, keep Alexios at bay where his tricks would be less effective.

Turning his attention to armor, he surveyed the options before him. Mismatched pieces were scattered across tables and hanging from hooks on the walls. There were leather jerkins scarred with use, dented bronze breastplates that had seen better days, and even a few ornate pieces that seemed more suitable for parades than actual combat.

His eyes swept over patchwork mail shirts, studded leather gauntlets, and greaves of varying quality. Some looked sturdy enough, while others seemed likely to fall apart at the first solid blow.

Then, Lucian's gaze locked onto a sight that made his breath catch. Mounted on a wooden frame was a Spartan cuirass, its bronze surface hammered into the shape of a muscled human torso. Beside it, propped against the wall, was a large round shield. Its surface bore the unmistakable Theta symbol, the mark of Laconia - of Sparta itself.

His hand reached out, almost of its own accord, to touch the familiar armor. Questions raced through his mind. How had these Spartan arms found their way to this underground arena? Were they genuine, or clever forgeries meant to lure fighters like himself?

Regardless of their origin, he felt a powerful urge to don this armor, to carry the shield of his people into battle once more. It was more than equipment; it was a piece of his identity, a connection to the warrior culture that had shaped him.

Lucian lifted the Spartan cuirass from its stand, feeling its familiar weight in his hands and slipped it over his head, adjusting it to sit comfortably on his shoulders. The bronze chest piece molded perfectly to his torso, as if it had been crafted for him.

He fastened the leather straps at his sides, cinching them tight. The armor settled into place, a second skin of gleaming metal. Lucian rolled his shoulders, testing his range of motion. Despite the beating he'd taken earlier, he felt stronger, more confident with each piece of armor he donned.

Next came the greaves, strapped securely to his shins. The vambraces followed, protecting his forearms. Each component of the panoply felt right, awakening muscle memories from countless drills and battles.

Finally, he reached for the helmet. The Corinthian style was instantly recognizable, its cheek guards and nasal bar designed to protect while still allowing visibility. He paused for a moment, holding the helmet in his hands, then placed it on his head. The familiar weight settled onto his brow, completing his transformation.

As he was making final adjustments, Stephanos returned, water bottle in hand. He stopped short, his eyes widening as he took in the sight before him.

"By the gods, Lucian. You look... you look like you just stepped out of the pages of Homer. A true Spartan soldier if I ever saw one."

Lucian turned to face his friend. Stephanos grinned and tossed the water bottle, which he caught mid-air.

"Thanks," he said, his voice slightly muffled by the helmet. He removed it for a moment to take a long drink of water. "It feels right, wearing this. Like I'm carrying a piece of home into battle with me."

"Well, you're certainly going to make an impression out there. Just remember, impressive as that armor is, it won't make you invincible."

"I know. But I'm ready for him. Let him try his tricks – he'll find this Spartan more than he bargained for."

Stephanos' expression grew serious as he leaned in closer. "Listen, don't underestimate this opponent. Armor or not, Alexios is dangerous."

"Have you seen him fight before? Any tips you can give me?"

He shook his head. "I'm sorry to say, I haven't. Alexios is a total mystery to me. I've heard rumors, but nothing concrete."

"How do I defeat an opponent I know nothing about?"

Stephanos placed a hand on his shoulder. "Keep your distance and your defense up. Watch everything he does. Every movement, every feint - it could reveal something about his fighting style. Stay alert and adapt quickly."

"Right. Stay vigilant, be ready for anything."

Just then, a slave appeared at the entrance to the armory. He darted between the two before he spoke. "Master Lucian, you're up next," he said. Without waiting for a response, the slave disappeared back into the corridor.

"Well," Lucian said, reaching for his chosen weapons, "I guess this is it."

"Remember your training. Remember what your mentor taught you. Whatever tricks Alexios has up his sleeve, you have the strength and skill to overcome them."

Lucian gripped his spear tightly while the small axe was secured at his waist. He took one last deep breath, centering himself.

"Thank you, Stephanos," he said. "For everything."

"No problem."

"I mean it. You’re not like other Spartans who don't give a shit about slaves like me."

"Don’t mention it. Now, let’s go. Don’t you worry. I’ll give you a sign if I see a weakness in your opponent’s body."

"Ok, got it."