I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

Nathan slowly approached, his sword still humming with residual dark energy, eyes like chips of ice.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said coldly.

Logan clutched his bloodied hand, crimson streaming between his fingers as he gritted his teeth against the sharp sting. The pain was undeniable, yet he bore it with a stoicism that surprised Nathan.

Despite the gruesome injury, Logan remained composed—his breathing steady, his eyes unshaken. He wasn’t just enduring the pain; he was mastering it. It was impressive, even by Nathan’s standards.

This wasn’t some green recruit or clumsy noble child pretending to be brave. Logan was the real deal—strong, disciplined, and calm under pressure. Nathan hadn’t expected any less. After all, Logan had been one of the so-called “Heroes” summoned by the Light Empire—the second wave, trained and groomed to be weapons.

Still bleeding, Logan made a sudden movement, his gaze flicking toward a cracked stone etched with glowing runes. A teleportation stone. He lunged toward it, desperation briefly surfacing in his expression—but he hesitated the moment Nathan stepped forward. That brief pause was all Nathan needed.

In a blink, Nathan closed the distance and, with a swift stomp, shattered the stone into useless shards.

“I assume you don’t have a spare?” Nathan asked with a cold smirk, his voice dripping with mockery. “Looks like your luck just ran out.”

Logan didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he turned his attention to his injury. Flames sparked from his palm and danced along the torn flesh where his hand had been severed. The fire seared the wound shut—primitive, but effective cauterization. The sizzling sound filled the air, but Logan didn’t so much as flinch.

He lifted his head slowly, meeting Nathan’s eyes. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.

“You’re strong,” he admitted, grinning through the pain. “Stronger than most I’ve fought. I’ll give you that. But it doesn’t change the truth.”

Logan’s body began to shimmer with rising heat as he continued, “I am a Hero—chosen by the gods themselves. And you? You’re nothing more than a fraud. A man hiding behind a mercenary’s mask.”

As his voice rose, flames burst from his body and shot into the sky, forming a blazing pillar of fire that split the heavens. The heat was intense—scorching even from several meters away. The air rippled violently, distorting the horizon.

Nathan took a step back and scanned the unfamiliar surroundings. The terrain was Roman in style—massive stone structures, pillars, and arched aqueducts—but this was certainly not Rome itself. Yet, he could feel the atmosphere, the divine energy, and the echoes of imperial power. It had to be somewhere within the Roman Empire. Perhaps this was where Aaron’s group had hidden themselves all these years… plotting, aligning themselves with Caesar himself for some greater plan.

Logan’s voice pulled him back to the moment. “I’ll show you what it truly means to be a Hero. Release!”

A blinding golden light exploded from Logan’s body, engulfing him in a fiery radiance. The air around him turned blisteringly hot, and the ground beneath him cracked as the sheer heat vaporized the moisture in the stone.

His body was now completely aflame—an avatar of fire and fury.

“Every Hero, once they break their limits, undergoes a second awakening,” Logan explained, his voice deeper now, almost resonant. “It allows us to tap into our true divine potential… even if only for a few minutes.”

Nathan’s eyes narrowed, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“But only for a short amount of time,” he said, casually finishing the sentence.

Logan faltered, clearly caught off guard. “How…? How do you know about the Second Awakening?”

“Let’s just say I’ve done my homework,” Nathan replied, his tone dismissive. “Now are you going to attack, or are you just going to keep glowing like a firework?”

That was all the provocation Logan needed.

With a flash, he vanished—leaving behind a trail of scorched earth and flickering embers. His speed was impressive. In an instant, he reappeared behind Nathan, his cauterized stump now transformed into a searing blade of condensed flame. With a shout, he drove it straight toward Nathan’s back.

BADOOM!

The ground exploded as Nathan was sent crashing down, his body slammed into the stone with tremendous force. A burst of fire erupted on impact, carving a smoking crater into the battlefield.

Flames danced wildly in the aftermath… but they didn’t last long.

From within the heart of the inferno, movement stirred.

Nathan rose slowly—unscathed, calm. His white hair blew in the heat haze as a surge of glacial air surrounded him. Frost curled from his shoulders, and with each breath, the flames around him were smothered. His ice was so cold, so absolute, that it devoured Logan’s fire like a predator.

“Wh..What kind of ice is that…?” Logan’s voice trembled with disbelief, his eyes wide as he stared at the frost spreading beneath Nathan’s feet.

He couldn’t understand it. His flames—his sacred, blessed fire—had been extinguished effortlessly. It wasn’t just countered. It was devoured.

The scorched earth hissed where the ice crept, silencing even the embers.

No ordinary elemental clash could explain this. No simple affinity duel. Logan had trained under archmages and priestesses of flame, learned incantations gifted by the gods of light and sun. Yet Nathan’s ice—cold and pure, ancient and otherworldly—had snuffed it out as though it were little more than candlelight.

And Nathan wasn’t even panting.

Of course, the ice wasn’t entirely his. Nathan knew that. It was not as overwhelming or divine as Khione’s, but it was derived from hers—refined through relentless practice and tempered by her guidance. Khione, the one known across the lands as the most powerful Ice God in existence, whose control of winter could silence storms and whose heart had once frozen entire battlefields. Nathan had trained under her shadow… and now that shadow loomed behind him, terrifyingly vast.

“Is that all?” Nathan asked, voice calm yet laced with mockery as he raised his eyes to meet Logan’s. His words hit harder than any spell.

A dangerous anger sparked within Logan’s chest. His pride, wounded and humiliated, surged to the surface.

With a growl, he raised his remaining hand high toward the sky. Fire erupted from his palm like a geyser of raw energy, and the air shimmered with intense heat. Above him, flames gathered rapidly, condensing and churning until they formed a massive, burning sphere—a miniature sun, blazing with oppressive brilliance.

Nathan narrowed his eyes as he looked up, his expression unreadable.

“A shame,” Logan said with a cold tone, though a twisted smile crept across his face. “I wanted to keep you alive.”

Nathan kept his gaze fixed on the fireball. So this was the strength of a second-wave Hero of the Light Empire. He had to admit—it was impressive. More impressive than he expected.

Stronger, even, than Courtney’s flames—at least the ones she had wielded back during the Trojan War. This wasn’t the fire of emotion or raw power. It was refined, divine, weaponized. If that thing touched down, it would obliterate the area, leave a crater the size of a city block… and the shockwaves might even reach Rome itself.

That couldn’t happen.

“I’ll turn you to ash!!” Logan roared, and with a furious cry, he brought his hand down.

The blazing sun descended, roaring as it hurtled toward Nathan with apocalyptic force.

Nathan didn’t flinch.

He calmly reached behind his back and drew a sword sheathed in ominous black metal—the Demonic Sword. Dark veins pulsed along its blade, emitting tendrils of shadowy energy that licked the air like serpents.

When Logan caught sight of the weapon, his pupils shrank in horror.

“That sword…!” he gasped, his composure cracking.

He had seen it before. Not once. Not twice. Too many times on the battlefield, in the hands of a being feared across the world—the Demon King. That sword was unmistakable, unforgettable. It was cursed steel wrapped in hatred and sorrow, and now it was in Nathan’s hands.

Nathan didn’t spare him a glance. He simply raised the blade high and, with one clean motion, brought it crashing down.

BA-DOOOOOOOM!

A titanic shockwave burst forth. Darkness surged like a tidal wave, meeting Logan’s fireball head-on. The two collided violently—and yet there was no contest.

Nathan’s dark magic ate the flames.

The burning sun was consumed piece by piece, devoured by writhing shadows that coiled upward like starving beasts. The fire hissed and sputtered, trying to hold form—but it was too late.

“No… No…!” Logan gasped, watching helplessly as the spell he poured his soul into vanished into smoke.

Darkness reigned once more.

The sword. The magic. The eyes.

It all made sense now.

“Y-You’re… Samael,” Logan whispered in disbelief, the name falling from his lips like a curse. “The Hero of Darkness… the one summoned by Tenebria…”

Nathan’s eyes gleamed briefly—a demonic gold flickered within his usual crimson irises. He didn’t deny it.

Instead, more darkness surged from him, spreading outward like a stormfront. It reached and smothered the remnants of fire, leaving only silence and cold in its wake.

Logan’s heartbeat pounded in his ears. He recognized this magic. Too well. He had heard stories, fought the creatures Tenebria once sent… and swore never to cross paths with that abyssal power again.

Yet here it was.

In the flesh.

“This is bad…” he muttered, backing away instinctively. He began firing off massive spheres of fire—dozens of them, each capable of reducing a man to ashes. But Nathan dashed forward, his Demonic Sword cleaving through them like paper, his movements impossibly fast.

“Who—who the hell are you?!” Logan cried out, but he already knew the answer.

He turned to flee—but Nathan was already there, appearing before him like a ghost.

Without hesitation, Nathan’s hand closed around Logan’s throat.

He slammed Logan into the ground with a thunderous impact. Stone shattered, and a deep crater bloomed beneath them. Logan let out a choked gasp, coughing blood as searing pain shot through his body. Ribs cracked. Maybe more.

Nathan descended beside him like a shadow given form, his boots landing softly on the fractured earth. He looked down at the trembling Hero with absolute indifference, the Demonic Sword now resting casually on his shoulder.

Logan winced, blood running down his chin. Yet, even through the agony, he let out a breathless laugh.

“You… You’re a Hero… too.”

It was incomprehensible. Unacceptable.

And yet true.

This wasn’t just some mercenary. Not a rogue. Not a demon in disguise. This was Samael—the forgotten one, the threat the Empire had chosen to ignore.

The Hero of Darkness.

They had dismissed the rumors. Treated the tales as myths. Logan now realized how fatal that arrogance was.

Aaron might still be stronger, yes. But at this moment, right here and now, Nathan was the greatest danger they had ever underestimated or rather not even taken into account.

He had to absolutely warn Aaron and Caesar.

“What do you want…?” Logan asked hoarsely, glaring up at him despite his pain.

Nathan’s expression remained cold, his voice like ice.

“Everything.”