I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

Nathan lifted his eyes for a moment, catching the faint silhouette of Athena as she ascended into the night sky. Her body shone cutting through the darkness as she abandoned her throne without hesitation. She moved with purpose—swift, cold, relentless—straight toward the chaotic surge of the Beasts of Rome rampaging in the distance.

Pandora’s head turned slightly, her gaze following the goddess for a brief heartbeat. A subtle flicker of concern tugged at her expression… but she remained where she was.

Nathan tightened his grip around the hilt of his sword. The familiar leather pressed against his palm, grounding him. His gaze rose slowly to the VIP balcony where Julius Caesar stood like a conductor orchestrating the madness he had unleashed.

Caesar was speaking rapidly to Octavius and several armored soldiers, gesturing sharply as he issued new orders. His expression hadn’t faltered—it held the same cold ambition, the same calculating gleam—as if unleashing two nightmarish creations upon thousands was simply another strategic move on his board.

Nathan wasn’t surprised. Of course Caesar wouldn’t remain on the battlefield after summoning monsters born from Rome’s darkest legends. Men like him sparked disasters from a safe height, never intending to stand in the flames they set.

Just as Nathan exhaled, he felt something—no, sensed it. A massive presence hurtling toward him. Not approaching… being thrown.

His lips curled into a knowing smile.

He didn’t hesitate. With a swift step he leaped backward, his hair fluttering in the rising wind. Spartacus reacted at the exact same moment—eyes narrowing, muscles tensing—before he also sprang back instinctively, the instincts of a seasoned warrior screaming at him.

A colossal shadow dropped over the arena, swallowing the moonlight whole.

Gasps rippled through the Roman spectators. Heads lifted. Eyes widened. Their breath caught all at once in a collective silent scream.

Something enormous—alive, heavy, furious—crashed into the center of the arena.

BA–DOOOOM!

The impact shook the entire coliseum. A thunderous boom echoed off the stone walls, sending tremors through the stands. Dust, sand, and chunks of rubble burst upward in a violent cloud, engulfing everything in a thick, suffocating haze.

Screams erupted. Cries of confusion and terror overlapped in a chaotic wave as Romans scrambled to understand what nightmare had just been dropped before them.

Nathan squinted through the choking dust, but before he could move, the swirling sand began to settle unnaturally fast—gathered and swept aside as if pulled by invisible strings.

And then Nathan saw him.

Hovering above the arena, Hermes floated with casual elegance, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. His hand was extended outward, palm glowing faintly. He looked as if he were enjoying a theatrical performance only he fully understood.

The dust parted completely.

And the arena trembled with silence.

A creature—no, a giant of a beast—stood before them.

A wolf.

A monstrous wolf with fur like burning white fire, each strand shimmering with divine brilliance. Its eyes glowed a deep, furious crimson, blazing like twin suns ready to devour the world. Every breath it exhaled sent waves of heat rippling outward.

It was enormous—so colossal that it occupied a majority of the arena floor. The coliseum was vast, built to contain armies… yet even so, the beast seemed almost too large for it. Its head rose, towering high enough to nearly brush the upper edge of the coliseum walls. If it stood on its hind legs, it might even eclipse them.

“W-… what is that…?”

The horrified whisper spread like an infection among the civilians, their voices trembling as they stared up at the titan wolf.

Romulus.

Up in the sky, Dionysus leaned back lazily on his floating throne, swirling his wine with a grin tugging at his mouth. His eyes sparkled with amusement, as though this was the best entertainment he’d had all night.

“Ohh? Now that’s interesting,” he chuckled, clearly delighted by the escalating chaos.

Several gods shifted in their seats, some intrigued, others surprised. But none were worried. Why would they be? They were Gods. It wasn’t their lives on the line.

Sif narrowed her eyes. “Isn’t that Athena’s wolf?” she asked, confusion creasing her brow.

“Indeed it is,” Ishtar replied with a lazy grin. “Did she set them loose just to make the games more exciting?”

“There’s no way Athena would do that,” Sif sighed, clearly exasperated.

The goddess of wisdom despised unnecessary bloodshed. War was a tool for her—never entertainment. She strategized, calculated, ended battles swiftly and decisively, never prolonging suffering for amusement. This entire gladiatorial spectacle, Sif suspected, was something Athena disliked profoundly… but tolerated because she needed a suitable challenger for Pandora.

Sif folded her arms tightly.

Whatever was happening… this was not Athena’s doing.

Down on the arena floor, Spartacus could only stare, dumbfounded—struck silent by the sheer scale of the beast towering above them. Even as a hardened gladiator, a man who had faced starvation, torture, and countless battles, he felt his neck strain painfully as he craned upward to see the giant wolf’s full form.

“What in Jupiter’s name…” he muttered, barely recognizing his own shaky voice.

“You must’ve heard the name,” Nathan replied calmly, as if they were simply chatting on a quiet road rather than standing before a god-forged monstrosity. “Romulus. One of Rome’s two most lethal weapons.”

“Romulus…?” Spartacus echoed. His eyes whipped to Nathan, then back to the towering creature, disbelief twisting his expression. “That Romulus?”

The giant wolf growled, the sound shaking the air like rolling thunder. It shook its massive head with irritation, clearly displeased after being tossed into the arena like a toy by Aphrodite. White flames flickered faintly along its mane as it sniffed the air.

Its crimson eyes slowly swept across the stands.

Tens of thousands of Roman spectators locked eyes with the beast—and froze. Every breath in the coliseum died at once.

Terror spread like a wildfire.

They had seen lions. Tigers. Armed gladiators even a large wolf. Even mythical beasts summoned by the gods during festivals.

But never something like this.

Romulus’s snarl rumbled through the stone foundations of the coliseum. The cries and screams rising from the crowd seemed to irritate him further. He lifted his head—and then unleashed a roar so violent that the wind it produced knocked loose debris off the upper terraces. A few spectators collapsed, clutching their ears.

But before the echo faded, something else cut through the night.

A sound—sharp, fast, approaching.

Romulus’s ears twitched. He turned his head sharply, gaze locking onto a small blue glimmer streaking across the sky.

A tiny dot.

No— a projectile.

And then—

BADAAAM!!!

The shockwave rippled through the arena. The blue streak slammed straight into Romulus’s muzzle with enough force to shove the giant wolf’s head sideways. The impact echoed like a hammer striking a mountain.

Silence.

Absolute, stunned silence.

Every spectator stared, mouths open, trying to understand what they had just witnessed.

When the dust dispersed, they saw the blue “dot” standing proudly atop the wolf’s massive muzzle—balanced effortlessly despite the beast’s enormous size.

Him.

The figure who had become Rome’s obsession.

The new champion of the people.

Septimius.

Nathan—Septimius—looked down into Romulus’s burning red eyes as the wolf glared furiously back at him.

“You’re pretty tough,” Nathan said casually, as though greeting an old friend. “I didn’t hold back on that punch.”

A rumble of heat surged beneath his feet. The wolf’s white flame-like fur began glowing brighter—too bright.

Nathan reacted instantly. He jumped back, flipping off the creature’s muzzle and skidding across the sand until he rejoined Spartacus.

Romulus’s focus was now entirely locked onto him. Those crimson eyes dripped with murderous intent.

Nathan smirked.

Good. Exactly what I want.

“You’re… really planning to fight that thing?” Spartacus asked, completely baffled. His voice cracked. “You’re strong, but this is madness!”

“Don’t you have anything better to do, Spartacus?” Nathan said, not taking his eyes off the wolf.

“What?” Spartacus blinked in confusion.

Nathan jerked his chin slightly upward—toward the VIP balcony.

There, Julius Caesar and Octavius were rushing to leave the box, surrounded by soldiers shouting orders and guiding them away.

“There’s no better moment to claim your vengeance,” Nathan said quietly, but firmly.

Spartacus stared at the balcony—at the men who destroyed his freedom, his family, his life. His fingers tightened around the hilts of his twin swords until his knuckles turned white.

He understood.

This chaos… this fear… this distraction…

There would never be a better moment.

Then something else struck him.

A memory.

Earlier, when he had rushed toward the balcony to kill Octavius, Nathan had stopped him—forcefully. At the time Spartacus thought the man was simply reckless or obstructive… but now?

Now he wondered.

Did Nathan anticipate something like this?

Had he known this chaos would erupt?

Had he been waiting for this exact moment?

Spartacus looked at Nathan—standing before the colossal wolf, fearless, composed, almost amused— and an indescribable feeling twisted in his chest.

Who was this man?

And just how much did he truly know?

But Spartacus quickly shook his head, snapping himself out of the spiral of questions.

No. He had no time to wonder about Nathan—not now.

This was it.

The perfect moment to sink his blades into the despicable Octavius.

At last.

He took one step toward the stairs leading upward—but then paused, glancing back at Nathan as the man stood boldly before the colossal wolf.

“I… owe you,” Spartacus said quietly, voice low but sincere. It wasn’t easy for him to admit such a thing. “A lot.”

For Curia.

For stopping him earlier.

For this opportunity.

For everything.

Nathan didn’t turn to face him. He kept his eyes trained on the towering Romulus as he answered with a soft, almost careless tone:

“Yeah. But you’ll have plenty of time to repay me.”

The words were ambiguous—cryptic, even—but Spartacus didn’t push. He didn’t understand what Nathan meant… but he felt no deceit behind the statement, only a strange confidence.

He nodded once before breaking into a run.

The coliseum was pure chaos now—panic erupting through every corridor, every stand, every entryway. Spectators shoved past one another, screaming, praying, desperate to escape as the giant wolf loomed above them. Roman soldiers, trained for discipline, were scattered everywhere, trying—and failing—to maintain order.

But Spartacus was a gladiator who had survived far worse.

And now, even the guards were distracted, focusing their efforts on protecting the noble class that fled in terror from the VIP balconies.

As expected of Caesar’s men—they didn’t spare a single glance at the common citizens suffering in the stampede. Their sole duty was to escort the nobles and high-ranking officials to safety.

Which meant Spartacus slipped past them with ease, moving like a shadow toward his target—toward Octavius—toward vengeance.

Meanwhile, Nathan stood firm in the arena, lips curving into a smirk as Romulus growled down at him, hot gusts of breath swirling the sand around his feet.

A Beast created to kill demigods.

Athena had told him that much.

A creature engineered for the sole purpose of hunting divine-blooded warriors—unrelenting, merciless, built to overpower the strongest of Rome’s enemies.

Nathan’s eyes hardened, a strange excitement flashing in them.

“Perfect,” he murmured as the wolf lowered its head and locked onto him.

The ground trembled beneath its weight.

And Nathan welcomed it.