I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

Amidst the noise and the dim glow of campfires, her gaze settled on a solitary figure, standing apart from the other Greeks. Unlike the boisterous soldiers who had tried to get her attention, this man radiated a silent, strong presence. He was dressed in the unmistakable armor of a Spartan.

He stood alone, framed by the roar of the forest fire. The flames licked the sky with hungry tongues, casting a pulsating orange glow on his figure, but he didn’t flinch. His eyes, icy blue and piercing, were locked onto something hidden in the chaos of burning woods. His mouth was obscured by a rough cloth, but there was no mistaking the cold intensity in his gaze.

Aisha couldn’t tear her eyes away. He felt it, she could tell. His attention shifted. Slowly, he raised his head and their eyes met, icy blue against the dark brown of hers. The world around her seemed to still, her breath caught in her throat. A heat stirred in her chest, something she couldn’t explain—was it the fire’s reflection in his gaze, or something deeper, darker, pulling her in?

He held her gaze for only a second longer, then turned his back as if uninterested, walking away into the heat haze, leaving her in a moment of quiet confusion. What was it about him?

Before she could gather her thoughts, rough hands grabbed her. Her arms were seized from both sides, the sharp bite of calloused fingers digging into her skin. She twisted her head around, heart racing, to find three men leering at her, their faces twisted with ugly grins. Their clothes were stained with the grime and sweat of battle, their breath sour as it hit her face.

“Wh..what are you?” she hissed, glaring at them, eyes flashing with defiance.

“You’re coming with us, woman,” one growled, his voice thick with lust. He grinned wider, enjoying her expression.

“Let me go.” She said coldly.

They didn’t bother to respond. One of them slapped a hand over her mouth, muffling her protest as they dragged her across the camp. She struggled, kicking and thrashing, but their grip was iron, and her strength meant nothing against their sheer size. Within moments, they had forced her into a tent, tossing her roughly to the ground like a trophy claimed after a long hunt.

Aisha hit the floor with a grunt, quickly spinning around to face them, her hand instinctively reaching for her blade—but before she could draw it, a shadow loomed over her.

A massive hand shot out, wrapping around her throat with the force of a vice, lifting her clear off her feet. Her eyes widened in shock as she was pulled up, her body dangling in the air as she clawed at the hand gripping her neck.

She quickly saw the identity of the man.

Ajax the Great, King of Salamis.

His body was a monument of muscle, broad and scarred, his chest bare save for a deep, jagged line running from his collarbone to his navel, a mark of countless battles survived. His abs were carved from years of bloodshed, each muscle defined in brutal perfection.

His eyes roved over her, the cold blue heating with something else. His lips curled into a lewd smirk beneath his mask of indifference. She was armored, but even through the layers of protection, he could see the beauty beneath. The way her body curved, the defiance in her stance—it thrilled him.

From the moment Ajax’s eyes first landed on her, Aisha had sealed her fate in his mind. He had already decided: she would be his to ravage, his to break. A woman like her, with foreign beauty so rare in this brutal, blood-soaked world, couldn’t just walk by unnoticed. She stood out, like a prize begging to be claimed, and Ajax had never been one to deny himself anything.

Aisha, feeling the rough press of his calloused hand around her throat, tried with all her strength to wrench his arm away, her fingers digging into the thick muscle, but it was futile. He was immovable, a mountain of a man, each muscle rippling with the kind of strength that came from a lifetime of slaughter and conquest. It wasn’t just skill—it was something primal.

The blood of Zeus ran in his veins, a divine force behind every brutal swing of his sword, every enemy crushed beneath his feet. He wasn’t king by title alone.

Her eyes flashed, a last desperate surge of power as she summoned her lightning. It crackled around her, arcs of blue electricity snapping through the air and wrapping around Ajax’s massive frame. His muscles tensed, his expression twitching as a brief dizziness flickered across his face. She was strong, but he was beyond strength.

His body absorbed the lightning, barely phased, the grip on her neck unyielding.

“Ungh!” Aisha’s breath hitched, her vision dimming as his hand squeezed tighter. She could feel her power slipping away, mana no longer responding to her call. A faint glow pulsed around Ajax’s fingers, some kind of ancient magic, binding her abilities, cutting off her strength. Her body was her own no longer.

“Don’t fight back, woman,” Ajax growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “It will only hurt more.” His hand flexed around her throat, lifting her effortlessly before slamming her onto the table behind them. Her body hit the wood with a sharp thud, the air knocked from her lungs, and still his hand remained tight around her neck, keeping her pinned, keeping her helpless.

Aisha gasped, struggling to breathe, her legs thrashing weakly beneath him. Every attempt to summon her mana was met with that same resistance, the glow in his fingers sapping her strength, leaving her powerless beneath him. Her heart pounded in her chest, the fight draining out of her as the reality of the situation pressed in.

“Ajax! Don’t forget to share when you’re done!” one of his men called out from the entrance, leering as they peered inside, their laughter crude and filled with anticipation.

“Yeah! We want a turn too!”

“Save some for us, will ya?”

Ajax’s men jeered, their voices thick with lust. They were already imagining the ways they’d use her, already hungry for the spoils of their king’s conquest.

Ajax threw his head back and laughed, a deep, booming sound that made the tent walls shudder. “Gahahaha! Maybe when I’m done with her! If she’s not broke by then!” His eyes, blazing with lust and cruelty, turned back to Aisha as he towered over her, the smirk on his face widening. “But I doubt she’ll last that long.”

His men backed out of the tent, closing it behind them, the sound of their laughter fading into the night.

With his free hand, Ajax gripped the front of her armor, his fingers curling around the leather and metal like it was nothing more than paper. He pulled hard, ripping it apart with a brutal strength, the sound of tearing fabric and snapping straps filling the air.

Now only the white cloth a bit torn was visible showing a glimpse of her cleavage making Ajax’s narrowing further in excitement.

Ajax’s smirk widened as his fingers dug into Aisha’s soft cheeks, twisting her face up towards him. Her beauty, even in distress, captivated him. “What a face you have,” he growled, voice dripping with lust. He leaned in close, his breath hot and heavy against her skin. “I’ll fuck you all night. Scream as loud as you want, no one will come.

They’ll just think I’m breaking in another one of my rewards.”

The camp outside was filled with men who’d done just that—conquered and claimed. Women’s screams had long since lost any meaning, reduced to background noise in the victory of war. Ajax’s tent was no different. To anyone who passed by, it was just another conquest, another woman to be used.

His impatience grew, his hand sliding lower to the waistband of his loose skirt, fingers curling around the fabric. His cock, hard and throbbing, strained against the cloth, eager to claim the woman beneath him. But just as he moved to free himself, something cold and sharp pressed against his neck, freezing him mid-motion.

The blade’s icy tip bit into his skin, a chill crawling up his spine.

“Move, and I’ll pierce your throat.”