The fighter lunged, his blade slicing through the air toward my chest.
I twisted to the side, the edge of his sword grazing my ribs as I dodged. Pain flared, sharp and hot, but I ignored it. His momentum carried him forward, and I used it.
I threw myself at him, slamming my shoulder into his chest. He stumbled back, his balance faltering, but he was too big to go down easily. His elbow shot out, catching me in the jaw, and I tasted blood as my head snapped to the side.
The crowd roared again, their cries blending into a deafening wall of sound.
The fighter recovered quickly, his sword swinging toward me in a wide arc. I ducked under the blade and surged forward, grabbing his wrist with both hands. He was strong, stronger than I expected, but I didn’t let go. I twisted his arm, forcing his blade down, and drove my knee into his gut.
He grunted, his grip loosening for a fraction of a second. It was enough.
I wrenched the sword from his hand and drove it downward, aiming for the gap in his armor at his shoulder.
Pain exploded through my side as his fist collided with my ribs, the force of the blow knocking me off balance. The sword slipped from my grasp, clattering to the ground.
He was on me in an instant, his massive hands closing around my throat. I clawed at his wrists, my vision blurring as he squeezed. My knees buckled, and the sand shifted beneath me as he forced me down.
This was it.
My strength was fading, my body screaming in protest as I struggled against his grip. The edges of my vision darkened, and for a brief moment, I thought about letting go. About giving in. But then I heard it.
A gasp from the crowd, louder than the roar that had filled the arena.
My opponent stiffened, his grip loosening slightly as his head turned toward the source of the sound.
And then I saw her. She was at the edge of the arena, her sandalled feet already stained with the sand’s blood and grime as she ran towards me. Panic filled me. What was she thinking?
“No,” I rasped, the sound barely escaping my crushed throat.
The fighter above me loosened his grip further, distracted by the crowd’s collective gasp. His head turned fully now, following the direction of their gaze. It gave me a fraction of relief, enough to gulp down a desperate breath of air, but my chest was still burning, my body too weak to take advantage.
She didn’t stop. I thought at first she’d tripped, but she dipped down as she ran, scooping up an abandoned sword from one of the fallen.
“Livia,no!” I bellowed, my voice hoarse and raw.
The fighter turned back to me, his face twisting into something between confusion and amusement. He looked at her, then back at me, as if asking,What is this?
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My chest tightened as she closed the gap, the gladius gleaming in her hands.
She was fast—faster than I expected—and before he could react, she raised the blade and swung. The sharp clang of metal rang out as she struck his sword mid-swing, deflecting the blow meant to end me. Her arms trembled under the force, the muscles in her shoulders straining as she locked eyes with the fighter towering over her.
I couldn’t believe it. She wasn’t just standing there—she was fighting. Her stance shifted as he swung again, his blade coming down in a deadly arc. She braced herself, her legs steady in the sand, and raised the gladius to block. The impact reverberated through her body, but she held firm, her knees bending slightly to absorb the shock.
My mind raced as I watched her. This wasn’t instinct. This wasn’t some desperate, flailing attempt to save me. She knew what she was doing. Her movements were deliberate, calculated. She wasn’t just trying to survive—she was trying to win. How had I never seen this before?
I forced myself to move, my body screaming in protest as I dragged myself to my hands and knees. My gladius was gone, buried somewhere in the sand. I needed to find another weapon,anythingto help her, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
The gladius in her hands was too heavy, I could see that much. Her strikes were precise but lacked the power to do real damage. The fighter quickly realized this, his attacks becoming more aggressive, more relentless. He wasn’t just trying to kill her—he was trying to break her. Her breath came in sharp gasps, her arms trembling more with each block. She was holding her own, but only just.
The crowd loved it. Their cheers and shouts grew louder with every clash of blades, their bloodlust feeding off the sight of her defiance.
I hated it.
I hated every second of watching her fight, knowing she was one mistake away from being cut down. She was strong—stronger than I’d given her credit for—but she wasn’t invincible. And she was tiring.
Her opponent saw it too. He pressed harder, his strikes faster and more brutal, driving her back step by step. She stumbled slightly, her footing faltering on the uneven sand.
“No,” I growled, forcing myself to my feet.
