Wgt2
## Chapter 4: The Aftermath (Continued)
Defense mechanisms lay shattered, their intricate workings exposed like the innards of slain beasts. Warriors moved through the wreckage with practiced efficiency, salvaging what could be saved and clearing what could not.
And there, standing amid the destruction, was Ares Magnus.
The War-God's armor was scored with deep gouges that would have eviscerated a normal man. The glowing war-markings beneath his eyes had spread, now tracing patterns across his cheeks and down his neck. Dominius Rex dripped with the same mercury-like substance that adorned Valeria's armor—Basilisk blood, the women now realized.
But most striking was the massive corpse sprawled across the battlements. The Void Basilisk was unlike any serpent they had seen before—its scales a deep purple-black that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Nine eyes, now mercifully closed in death, ringed its massive head like a crown. Where Ares had severed its neck, the mercury blood pooled and occasionally sparked with residual energy.
"Behold," Ares announced as they approached, gesturing toward the slain monster. "This is Khalzara. Not feasts and politics, but this—life and death decided by steel and will."
The women stood in silence, absorbing both his words and the scene before them. Even Caenis, normally quick with a retort, seemed momentarily humbled by the scale of the conflict they had missed.
"Why show us this?" Zenobia finally asked, her tactical mind already analyzing the battle damage, calculating the force required to breach such defenses.
"So you understand," Ares replied. "The trials you faced were shadows. This is reality." He turned to face them fully, his expression grave. "You performed adequately against controlled opponents. But Khalzara's true threats care nothing for fairness or preparation."
"You think we couldn't have contributed?" Artoria challenged, though her tone was measured rather than confrontational.
"I know you couldn't have," Ares stated flatly. "Look." He gestured to a nearby warrior whose eyes were covered with a black cloth, being led away by companions. "She glimpsed the Basilisk's gaze for less than a heartbeat. Already she remembers neither her name nor her rank. By morning, her own mother won't recognize her."
The women exchanged troubled glances. This went beyond normal combat dangers into something more fundamentally terrifying.
"You protected us," Nitocris observed quietly. "Not because we are women, but because we were unprepared for this specific threat."
"Yes," Ares acknowledged, seeming almost surprised by her understanding.
"Then prepare us," Barghest growled, stepping forward to examine the Basilisk's corpse with predatory interest. "If these are your realm's threats, teach us to face them."
Ares studied her for a long moment. "Perhaps," he conceded. "Though some threats cannot be faced directly. Even I must be selective in my battles."
"A wise warrior knows when to fight and when to shelter," Zenobia agreed, earning a sharp look of surprise from the War-God.
"Your fortress held," Lucoa observed, running her hand along a section of wall that showed evidence of the self-repairing enchantments they had witnessed in the central chamber. "Impressive defenses."
"Bloodforged architecture," Ares explained, his tone suggesting reluctant approval of her observation. "The stones are bonded with the essence of fallen champions who volunteered their final breath to strengthen our walls."
"Sacrifice as fortification," Nitocris murmured. "Similar to practices in my realm, though we typically used such methods for tombs rather than living structures."
As they spoke, warriors continued their cleanup operations around them. Several cast curious glances toward the women, now seeing them in a new light—not merely as curiosities who had survived basic trials, but as individuals the War-God himself had chosen to protect and now educate.
"The breach is contained," Ares announced, addressing the warriors as much as the women. "Double the northern patrols for the next three days. The Bloodrift will be unstable after expelling such large predators." He turned to Captain Valeria. "See to the wounded. Any who faced direct gaze exposure are to be isolated until we determine the extent of memory loss."
"Yes, Lord Magnus," Valeria acknowledged, though she hesitated before leaving. "And the... visitors?"
Ares studied the six women, his expression unreadable. "They will begin proper training tomorrow. Assign each to veteran warriors who match their fighting styles." He narrowed his eyes slightly. "They may have survived the trials, but they have much to learn before they can be considered true assets to my fortress."
After Valeria departed to carry out his orders, Ares addressed the women directly. "You will report to the training grounds at first light. Rest while you can. Tomorrow will test your claims of martial prowess more thoroughly than today's controlled exercises."
He turned to leave, but Zenobia's voice stopped him. "War-God," she called. "Thank you for protecting us from a threat we were not equipped to face."
Ares paused, clearly surprised by the gratitude. "It was... tactically sound," he replied after a moment, as if unwilling to acknowledge any motivation beyond pragmatism.
"Nevertheless," Zenobia persisted. "A lesser commander might have thrown us into battle regardless, to prove a point or test our worth. You chose preservation over pride. That shows wisdom beyond mere battlefield prowess."
For a brief moment, something almost like uncertainty flickered across Ares' face—an expression so at odds with his usual confident demeanor that it transformed him, making him seem suddenly younger, less the god and more the man.
"Rest," he repeated, his voice noticeably less harsh. "Tomorrow brings its own battles."
With that, he strode away, his cape billowing behind him as warriors parted to let him pass, many touching fists to chests in salute as he went.
"Did you see that?" Lucoa whispered to Nitocris as they were escorted back toward the western wing. "Our mighty War-God was actually flustered by simple gratitude."
"A chink in the armor," Nitocris agreed. "Though whether that helps or hinders our situation remains to be seen."
---
The next morning arrived with Khalzara's typical abruptness—darkness giving way to crimson daylight in what seemed like minutes rather than the gradual dawning the women were accustomed to in their home realms. They gathered in the central area of their quarters, each preparing in their own way for the training Ares had promised.
"Any insights into what we might expect?" Artoria asked Zenobia, who had spent much of the previous evening in conversation with warriors willing to share information.
"Combat training, certainly," Zenobia replied, braiding her silver hair tightly against her scalp. "But also education in Khalzara's specific threats. The Basilisks were only one category of predator here. Apparently, there's an entire hierarchy of beasts, each with unique dangers."
"Wonderful," Caenis muttered, though the gleam in her eyes suggested she found the prospect more exciting than concerning. "More monsters to kill."
"If we're permitted to kill them," Nitocris reminded her. "Remember Ares' initial stance on women drawing blood."
"He'll change his mind," Barghest stated with certainty, stretching her powerful frame. "His kind always do when necessity demands it."
"His kind?" Lucoa inquired, adjusting her new attire—training gear similar to what the fortress' female warriors wore, though she had somehow managed to modify hers to be considerably more flattering to her generous curves.
"Alpha predators," Barghest clarified. "They adapt when challenged. It's survival instinct, not conscious choice."
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Captain Valeria, now dressed in training armor with her wounded arm properly bandaged.
"Your instructors await," she announced without preamble. "Each has been selected based on your demonstrated fighting style and potential utility to the fortress."
She led them to the training grounds—a vast open area in the fortress' eastern section, divided into specialized zones for different combat disciplines. Already, the space bustled with activity as warriors honed their skills under the watchful eyes of veteran instructors.
"Zenobia of Palmyra," Valeria called, gesturing to a grizzled warrior whose armor displayed numerous campaign tokens. "Commander Thorne will oversee your tactical training."
The Commander nodded respectfully to Zenobia. "The Queen who challenged Rome," he acknowledged. "Your strategic mind is your greatest weapon. We will hone it further."
"Artoria Pendragon," Valeria continued. "Master Kyland will guide your swordwork."
A lean, scarred warrior stepped forward, his most notable feature a blindfold covering his eyes. Despite this apparent disability, he moved with perfect confidence. "The Once and Future King," he greeted Artoria. "Your technique is refined but unfamiliar to Khalzara. Together, we will forge something new."
"Caenis," Valeria nodded toward a towering woman whose arms bore ritual scarification in patterns resembling spearheads. "Huntress Vela specializes in your preferred weapon."
The Huntress circled Caenis once, assessing her with critical eyes. "Quick but undisciplined," she noted. "We'll fix that."
"Barghest." A warrior stepped forward whose features bore subtle inhuman characteristics—slightly pointed ears, pupils with a vertical slit, teeth too sharp to be entirely human. "Beast-Caller Fenris understands those with... dual natures."
The Beast-Caller grinned, showing those sharpened teeth. "Welcome, cousin," he greeted Barghest. "Few here understand the hunger that drives you. I do."
"Nitocris." An older warrior approached, his bearing formal despite numerous battle scars. "Lorekeeper Talon maintains our archives and ritual knowledge. He will help you understand Khalzara's magical currents."
The Lorekeeper bowed slightly to Nitocris. "Priestess-Pharaoh," he acknowledged. "Your intuitive grasp of our essence-binding was noted by Lord Magnus himself."
"And finally," Valeria turned to Lucoa, a slightly troubled expression crossing her face. "Quetzalcoatl—"
"Lucoa, please," the serpent goddess interrupted with a warm smile.
"Lucoa," Valeria corrected. "Your instructor is..." She trailed off as the training ground suddenly hushed, warriors straightening to attention.
Ares Magnus himself strode toward them, now dressed in simpler training armor though Dominius Rex remained slung across his back.
"I will oversee the serpent goddess's training personally," he announced, his deep voice causing several nearby warriors to exchange surprised glances.
Lucoa's heterochromatic eyes widened slightly before her expression settled into a pleased smile. "I'm honored, War-God," she purred. "Though I wonder what prompted such... personal attention."
"Your fighting style is unlike any in Khalzara," Ares stated flatly. "And your nature as a divine serpent requires specialized handling that my warriors are not equipped to provide."
"Of course," Lucoa agreed, though her smile suggested she recognized the explanation as partially fabricated. "I look forward to your... specialized handling."
Ares narrowed his eyes slightly but didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he addressed the group as a whole. "You begin as novices here, regardless of your status in other realms. Learn quickly. Adapt completely. Survive." With that, he turned and walked toward a secluded training area, clearly expecting Lucoa to follow.
As the women separated to join their assigned instructors, Zenobia and Nitocris exchanged knowing glances.
"Interesting development," Nitocris murmured.
"Indeed," Zenobia agreed. "Our serpent goddess may make more progress than the rest of us combined."
---
The training proved both more intense and more enlightening than any of them had anticipated. Each instructor pushed their assigned student relentlessly, but also provided context for Khalzara's unique combat requirements that went beyond mere technique.
Zenobia found herself not merely discussing strategy but actively planning fortress defenses against various threat categories. Commander Thorne provided detailed information about each beast type, their hunting patterns, and effective countermeasures.
"The Void Basilisks you witnessed are mid-tier threats," he explained as they stood over a detailed terrain model of the surrounding territory. "Tier IV in our classification system. Above them are Drakes of the Forge Sky, Warborn Chimerae, and the truly apocalyptic threats like the Maw-Titan Kaal-Zur."
"You categorize them systematically," Zenobia noted with approval. "Impressive organization for a realm supposedly built on raw combat."
Thorne's weathered face creased in a rare smile. "War without strategy is just violence, Queen of Palmyra. Lord Magnus understands this better than most, despite his reputation for brute force."
Across the training ground, Artoria was engaged in intensive sword drills with the blindfolded Master Kyland. His disability seemed to provide no hindrance whatsoever as he parried her strikes with uncanny precision.
"Your technique values precision over power," he observed after a particularly complex exchange. "Admirable, but in Khalzara, sometimes raw force is necessary." He demonstrated by suddenly shifting from defensive parries to a single devastating strike that nearly knocked Excalibur's former wielder off her feet. "Balance is key. Precision when possible, overwhelming force when required."
"How do you see without eyes?" Artoria asked during a brief water break, curiosity overcoming her usual reserve.
"I don't see," Kyland replied matter-of-factly. "I perceive. Lost my eyes to a Drake's fire five years ago. Lord Magnus personally slew the beast, then taught me to fight using essence-sensing rather than vision." A note of deep respect entered his voice. "He spent three months training me himself, when most would have relegated a blinded warrior to support duties."
Nearby, Caenis was discovering that Huntress Vela's assessment of "undisciplined" had been accurate but not unkind. The spear-mistress drove her through drill after drill, focusing on control rather than speed.
"You strike like lightning," Vela acknowledged after Caenis had successfully completed a particularly complex sequence. "But lightning is predictable to those who study storms. Controlled variation is the key to truly lethal spearwork."
Caenis, dripping with sweat and nursing several new bruises, nodded grudgingly. "Your techniques are... effective," she conceded. "Different from what Poseidon's blessing taught me, but perhaps more adaptable."
"Gods grant power," Vela stated. "Warriors develop skill. The former can be taken away, as you've learned. The latter remains yours forever."
Barghest's training with Beast-Caller Fenris took a different approach entirely. They had left the main training ground for a specialized area where various beast parts—pelts, claws, fangs, even preserved organs—were arranged in educational displays.
"You must understand what you hunt, and what hunts you," Fenris explained, showing her a preserved eye from what he identified as a Crag Howler. "In Khalzara, beasts remember your tactics and evolve countermeasures. Kill one, and its kin return stronger, adapted to the technique that slew their brethren."
"A perfect hunting ground," Barghest observed, examining the specimens with professional interest. "Eternal challenge, never growing stale."
"For those strong enough to survive it," Fenris agreed. "Lord Magnus understands this better than anyone. He's killed at least one of every beast category up to Tier VII. No other living warrior can claim the same."
In the fortress archives, Nitocris was receiving a very different kind of education. Lorekeeper Talon showed her ancient tomes bound in materials she couldn't identify, containing knowledge of Khalzara's magical principles.
"Your chain-mark," he explained, indicating the binding on her wrist. "It connects to Lord Magnus through what we call the Iron Valor Domain—his personal reality-shaping authority. But it's not merely subjugation as you might fear." He showed her a detailed diagram of interlinked energies. "It's a complex exchange. Your essence strengthens him, yes, but his domain also protects you from Khalzara's natural essence-draining properties."
"So without the binding, we would... what? Wither away in this realm?" Nitocris asked, her scholarly mind fascinated despite the troubling implications.
"Worse," Talon replied grimly. "Your foreign essence would attract every predator within leagues. You'd be hunted relentlessly, your very being a beacon to creatures that consume foreign power. The binding masks that beacon, channeling it instead to Lord Magnus, who can defend against such threats."
"So he truly did protect us," Nitocris mused. "Not merely claiming ownership but providing genuine shelter."
"Lord Magnus is many things," Talon acknowledged. "But he never lies about matters of survival."
Meanwhile, in the secluded training area, Lucoa was discovering that Ares' personal instruction was both more intense and more revealing than she had anticipated. The War-God drove her through combat forms designed to maximize her natural agility while compensating for her reduced divine strength.
"Your body remembers power it no longer possesses," he observed as she overextended on a strike, expecting strength that didn't manifest. "You must relearn your capabilities within these new limitations."
"An interesting challenge," Lucoa admitted, recovering her balance with serpentine grace. "Though I wonder why the mighty War-God himself takes time to train a mere woman in combat skills he supposedly believes we shouldn't possess."
Ares' expression tightened momentarily. "You are bound to me," he stated, as if this explained everything. "Your weakness reflects on my strength. I will not have my name diminished by inadequate... possessions."
"Possessions," Lucoa repeated, a mischievous smile playing at her lips as she moved through the next sequence of forms. "Is that truly how you see us, War-God? As mere objects?" She executed a perfect counter-strike that momentarily breached his guard—a minor victory he clearly hadn't expected. "Objects don't surprise you. Objects don't learn and adapt."
For a brief moment, Ares seemed almost flustered by both her words and her unexpected combat success. Then his expression hardened again. "Names have power in Khalzara," he said, smoothly shifting the topic. "You called yourself Quetzalcoatl initially, then Lucoa. Why the difference?"
"Quetzalcoatl is my divine title," she explained, allowing the conversational shift. "Lucoa is... more personal. The name I use with those I consider..." She smiled suggestively. "Closer acquaintances."
"And you consider me a close acquaintance?" Ares asked, skepticism evident in his tone.
"You bound my essence to yours," Lucoa pointed out, her voice dropping to a more intimate register. "That's rather personal, wouldn't you say?"
Again, that momentary fluster crossed his features before being suppressed. "Your form is improving," he stated brusquely, clearly redirecting to safer territory. "Now we test your adaptability against multiple opponents."
He signaled to several waiting warriors who immediately joined the training session, surrounding Lucoa with a variety of weapons. As they began a coordinated attack pattern, Ares stepped back to observe, his expression unreadable but his attention never wavering from the serpent goddess's graceful movements.
By midday, all six women had made noticeable progress in their respective training areas. When they regrouped for a brief meal break, they exchanged observations and insights, each having learned different aspects of Khalzara's martial culture.
"Their beast classification system is remarkably detailed," Zenobia shared. "It goes beyond mere threat assessment to tracking evolutionary patterns and behavioral adaptations."
"The magical principles here are fascinating," Nitocris added. "Essence manipulation forms the foundation of everything from their architecture to their combat techniques. And these chain-marks—" she indicated her wrist, "—are apparently protecting us as much as binding us."
"So the War-God did us a favor?" Caenis asked skeptically, gulping water from a metal flask.
"Not intentionally, perhaps," Nitocris clarified. "But the effect remains beneficial in this realm's context. Without the binding, we would be walking targets for essence-hungry predators."
"Speaking of our illustrious host," Lucoa interjected, her tone playful. "He's a far more attentive instructor than I expected. Quite hands-on, really."
"Hands-on?" Barghest repeated, raising an eyebrow.
"Combat positioning requires physical correction at times," Lucoa explained with exaggerated innocence. "Our War-God has very... strong hands."
"Are you actually flirting with our captor?" Caenis demanded incredulously.
"I prefer to think of it as diplomatic relations," Lucoa replied with a wink. "Besides, have you seen him without that ceremonial armor? The training gear is much more... revealing of his divine physique."
"Focus," Zenobia admonished, though a hint of amusement crept into her voice. "Remember our agreement—we work together, using our individual approaches to understand this situation and potentially free ourselves."
"Oh, I'm gathering valuable intelligence," Lucoa assured her. "For instance, our War-God seems remarkably uncomfortable with gratitude or personal conversation. He redirects immediately to combat or tactical matters when pressed on anything resembling feelings."
"A warrior culture that values emotional distance," Artoria observed. "Not uncommon, though usually such cultures still acknowledge bonds between comrades."
"Perhaps he's never had equals to bond with," Nitocris suggested thoughtfully. "From what Lorekeeper Talon explained, Ares stands so far above other warriors in Khalzara that true camaraderie may be impossible for him."
"Lonely at the top," Barghest rumbled, unexpectedly sympathetic. "A beast without a pack is always watching its back, never truly resting."
Their conversation was interrupted by a distant horn call—three long notes followed by two short, a pattern they hadn't heard before.
Nearby warriors immediately tensed, hands moving to weapons. One rushed over to the women's group.
"Training concludes early today," he announced tersely. "All non-combat personnel to inner fortifications. Combat units to muster points."
"What's happening?" Zenobia asked, already rising to her feet.
"Warborn Chimera," the warrior replied grimly. "Tier VI threat approaching from the eastern ridge. Lord Magnus has called full defensive deployment."
"And us?" Artoria inquired, her hand instinctively reaching for the training sword she had been using.
The warrior hesitated. "You're to report to the command center. Lord Magnus wishes you to observe proper battle protocols from a safe vantage point."
"Observe, not participate," Caenis noted with evident frustration.
"Be grateful," the warrior advised. "A Warborn Chimera is born from the fusion of slain champions. Each limb wields a different divine weapon, each head houses a different consciousness. They're living weapons forged specifically to challenge Domini like Lord Magnus."
As they were escorted to the command center—a fortified tower offering clear views of the surrounding territory—the women could see the fortress transitioning smoothly into full battle readiness. Warriors moved with practiced precision to predetermined positions, siege weapons were readied on the walls, and specialized units gathered with equipment designed for specific combat roles.
The command center itself was a marvel of tactical design. Maps covered the walls, updated in real-time through some magical means as scouts reported enemy movements. Communication devices—crystal orbs that transmitted voice across distances—allowed coordination between different defensive sections. At the center stood a large tactical table where a three-dimensional model of the fortress and surrounding territory automatically adjusted to reflect the unfolding situation.
Captain Valeria was already there, issuing orders through one of the communication crystals. When she saw the women enter, she nodded briefly before returning to her duties.
"Eastern approach secured. Hunter teams in position. Warning flares ready," she reported to someone on the other end of the connection. "Yes, Lord Magnus. The observers are secure in the command center as ordered."
She deactivated the crystal and turned to address the women directly. "You're to remain here throughout the engagement. These screens—" she indicated several mirror-like surfaces mounted on the walls, "—will show key battle areas. Understand what you see. Learn from it. This is Khalzara's reality."
"We could help," Caenis insisted. "Even one day's training is better than none."
"Against a Tier I or II threat, perhaps," Valeria acknowledged. "Against a Warborn Chimera? You'd be liabilities, not assets." Her expression softened slightly. "This isn't about your gender or your potential. It's simple battlefield pragmatism. Untrained units endanger themselves and others in high-level engagements."
Before further discussion could occur, one of the mirror-screens flared to life, showing the eastern approach to the fortress. And there, cresting the ridge, came a sight that silenced even Caenis's objections.
The Warborn Chimera was a nightmarish amalgamation of parts that should never have existed together. Its ## Chapter 5: The Warborn Chimera
The Warborn Chimera was a nightmarish amalgamation of parts that should never have existed together. Its massive body combined aspects of several apex predators—the scaled torso of a drake, limbs that resembled both feline and insectoid anatomy, and a tail tipped with what appeared to be a crystalline mace. Most horrifying were its three heads: a central draconic visage flanked by a horned humanoid face and what resembled a Void Basilisk's serpentine features, though thankfully lacking the memory-erasing gaze.
Each of its six limbs wielded a different weapon—swords, axes, spears, all glowing with distinct energies that suggested divine origins.
"By the Nile's sacred waters," Nitocris whispered, her scholarly composure momentarily shattered.
"That's... impressive," Barghest admitted, leaning closer to the scrying mirror with predatory interest.
"How does one even combat such a creature?" Artoria wondered aloud, her tactical mind already analyzing the beast's potential weaknesses despite her horror at its unnatural form.
"Watch and learn," Valeria replied grimly, activating another crystal to issue additional commands to the defensive units.
On the mirror screens, they could see Khalzara's defense protocol unfolding. Rather than meeting the Chimera head-on, specialized units deployed in a complex pattern. Beast-Callers like Fenris worked in concert with elemental manipulators to create controlled terrain hazards. Ranged units targeted specific vulnerable points with precision fire, while mobile strike teams harassed from multiple angles to divide the creature's attention.
The fortress itself revealed previously hidden defenses—massive ballistas emerging from concealed installations, alchemical cannons deploying specially formulated compounds designed to neutralize the beast's varied abilities.
Yet for all their coordination and preparation, the defenders were clearly outmatched by the sheer destructive capability of the Tier VI threat. Warriors were flung aside by sweeping limbs, defensive positions crumbled under concentrated attacks, and the creature pressed inexorably toward the fortress walls.
"Where is Ares?" Zenobia asked, searching the various viewpoints shown in the mirrors.
As if in answer to her question, a new screen activated, showing the fortress's eastern gate swinging open. A lone figure emerged—the unmistakable form of Ares Magnus, now clad in his full battle regalia. Dominius Rex gleamed in his hand, golden edge catching the crimson light of Khalzara's sky.
The War-God strode forward with unshakable confidence, directly into the path of the rampaging Chimera. At a gesture from his free hand, the defensive units pulled back to predetermined positions, creating a clear battlefield between himself and the monster.
"Is he facing it alone?" Caenis asked incredulously.
"As he always does with Tier VI threats," Valeria confirmed, her voice reflecting a mixture of pride and concern. "The Warborn are specifically created to challenge Domini. Only Domini can reliably defeat them."
The Chimera sensed Ares' approach and focused all three heads on this new threat. Its central draconic head released a roar that visibly distorted the air with its force. The beast charged, multiple weapons raised to strike from different angles.
What followed was a display of combat prowess that left even seasoned warriors like Artoria and Caenis speechless.
Ares moved with impossible speed for his size, Dominius Rex weaving a complex pattern of defense that somehow intercepted all six weapon-wielding limbs simultaneously. Where the greatsword connected with the Chimera's weapons, golden sparks erupted—divine power meeting divine power.
The beast's first charge faltered against this unexpected defense. It reared back, all three heads conferring in silent communication before adopting a new strategy. Its limbs began attacking in complex, asynchronous patterns clearly designed to overwhelm even the most skilled defender.
Ares responded not by retreat but by advance. He stepped into the maelstrom of attacks, Dominius Rex now shifting from defensive patterns to precise counters. Each strike was economical, targeting joint connections and weapon-wielding appendages rather than attempting to inflict mortal wounds directly.
"He's dismantling it systematically," Zenobia observed, professional appreciation evident in her voice. "Neutralizing its advantages before attempting the kill."
The Chimera, perhaps recognizing this strategy, suddenly changed tactics. Its Basilisk head spat a stream of mercury-like venom while the humanoid face began chanting in an ancient language that caused the air itself to warp around Ares.
For a brief moment, the War-God faltered, caught in the dual assault of physical venom and magical distortion. The Chimera pressed its advantage, multiple weapons converging from different angles.
"He's in trouble," Lucoa noted, her usual playfulness replaced by genuine concern.
Before any could respond, they witnessed Ares do something unexpected. Instead of attempting to defend against the converging attacks, he drove Dominius Rex point-first into the ground at his feet and spoke a single word of power that echoed across the battlefield.
"DOMAIN!"
The ground beneath him transformed instantly, black iron veins spreading outward in a rapidly expanding circle. Where this transformation reached the Chimera, its movements slowed perceptibly, as if suddenly fighting against increased gravity.
"The Iron Valor Domain," Valeria explained, awe evident in her voice despite having likely witnessed this before. "Where he stands becomes a battleground of his choosing. Weapons lose weight in his hands and grow heavier in his enemies'."
Freed from the magical distortion and with the Chimera now hampered by his domain's effect, Ares reclaimed Dominius Rex and launched a devastating counterattack. His movements blurred with speed, the golden-edged greatsword striking with precision at the beast's now-vulnerable joints and limb connections.
The Chimera fought with the desperation of a cornered predator, all three heads shrieking in different voices as Ares systematically destroyed its offensive capabilities. Limbs fell, severed by the golden edge of Dominius Rex, each releasing spurts of the same mercury blood they had seen from the Void Basilisks.
When only two limbs remained functional, Ares shifted to the killing blow. Leaping impossibly high, he descended upon the central draconic head with Dominius Rex held in both hands for the first time since the women had seen him wield it. The blade struck with such force that it cleaved completely through the armored skull, continuing downward to split the creature's torso nearly in half.
The Chimera collapsed, its remaining heads releasing final death cries before falling silent. The creature's body began to dissolve almost immediately, its composite parts returning to the chaotic essence from which they had been unnaturally fused.
Ares stood amid the disintegrating remains, Dominius Rex dripping with mercury blood, his war-markings glowing so brightly they were visible even from the command center's distance. He raised his sword in a traditional salute to the fallen enemy before turning back toward the fortress, his stride unwavering despite the titanic exertion he had just displayed.
"That was..." Caenis struggled to find words.
"Magnificent," Lucoa finished, her heterochromatic eyes gleaming with undisguised admiration. "Truly worthy of a War-God."
Even Zenobia, typically reserved in her assessments, nodded agreement. "His reputation is well-earned," she acknowledged. "I've never seen combat prowess of that caliber, even among Rome's greatest generals."
"And now you understand," Valeria stated quietly, "why Lord Magnus stands alone among Khalzara's warriors. Why he has earned the right to seek the Dominion Spire."
"The what?" Nitocris inquired, scholarly curiosity piqued.
Before Valeria could explain, the command center door opened, and Ares himself entered. Though his armor bore new scars from the battle, he showed no signs of fatigue or injury. The glow of his war-markings had dimmed somewhat, but still traced patterns across his skin with greater intensity than usual.
"The threat is neutralized," he announced. "Perimeter teams report the Bloodrift that spawned it has stabilized. No secondary incursions detected."
His gaze swept over the women, noting their expressions of awe and newfound respect. Something almost like satisfaction flickered briefly across his face before his usual stern demeanor reasserted itself.
"You witnessed a Tier VI engagement," he stated. "Learn from it. Khalzara's true threats require more than basic martial skill to overcome. They demand perfect unity of mind, body, and will."
"We noticed your domain manifestation," Zenobia observed carefully. "Is that ability unique to you, or can other warriors of sufficient skill develop similar techniques?"
Ares seemed momentarily surprised by the insightful question. "The Iron Valor Domain is mine alone," he replied after a brief hesitation. "Each Dominus manifests their own domain based on their nature and fighting philosophy. There are currently four active Domini in Khalzara, each with their unique manifestation."
"And you've defeated how many?" Barghest asked, her predatory instincts recognizing an apex hunter.
"Four," Ares acknowledged without pride or boasting, simply stating fact. "Three in formal challenges, one who attempted ambush rather than honorable combat."
"Which is why you seek the Dominion Spire," Artoria concluded, connecting pieces of information they had gathered. "Having defeated the required number of Domini."
Again, that flash of surprise crossed Ares' features. "You learn quickly," he noted, his tone suggesting this was both unexpected and not entirely unwelcome. "Yes. The Spire is the final challenge—accessible only to those who have defeated five Domini in single combat."
"But you've only defeated four," Caenis pointed out.
"The fifth proved... elusive," Ares admitted, unexpected frustration entering his voice. "Domini Scythia retreated to the northern territories rather than face me directly. She prefers to work through her beasts rather than personal confrontation."
"The Basilisks and the Chimera," Nitocris realized. "They were hers?"
"Yes," Ares confirmed grimly. "Testing my defenses, probing for weaknesses, forcing me to expend energy while she conserves hers." His massive fist clenched. "A coward's strategy, but effective in its way."
"Perhaps she fears you," Lucoa suggested, moving slightly closer to him, her expression combining admiration with something more intimate. "After witnessing what we just saw, who wouldn't?"
For a brief moment, Ares seemed almost flustered by her proximity and open admiration—an expression so at odds with his usual confident demeanor that it transformed his entire aspect, making him seem suddenly younger, less the god and more the man.
He cleared his throat and stepped back slightly. "Your training resumes tomorrow," he declared, clearly attempting to redirect the conversation to safer territory. "Today's events have demonstrated why you must be properly prepared before engaging with Khalzara's true threats."
With that, he departed, cape billowing behind him as he strode purposefully from the command center.
As the door closed behind him, Valeria allowed herself a small, knowing smile. "Interesting," she murmured, almost to herself.
"What's interesting, Captain?" Zenobia inquired.
"In all my years serving Lord Magnus, I've never seen him retreat from a conversation before," Valeria replied. "Yet the serpent goddess managed it with mere proximity." She gave Lucoa an appraising look. "You walk dangerous paths."
"The most interesting paths usually are," Lucoa replied with a wink of her heterochromatic eye.
---
The following days established a new routine for the six women. Mornings were devoted to intensive combat training with their assigned instructors. Afternoons focused on education regarding Khalzara's unique threats and environment. Evenings brought strategy sessions where they were increasingly included in discussions of fortress defense and patrol deployments.
Their status within the fortress evolved accordingly. No longer viewed as curiosities or potential liabilities, they began to be treated as specialized assets with valuable perspectives from beyond Khalzara's boundaries. Warriors who had initially been skeptical now sought their insights on combat techniques unfamiliar to the realm.
Even Ares himself demonstrated a subtle shift in his approach. Though he maintained his formal, often brusque demeanor in public settings, he began to consult them on matters relating to their specific expertise—Zenobia on defensive strategies, Artoria on unit discipline and morale, Nitocris on essence manipulation, Barghest on beast psychology, Caenis on aggressive offensive tactics.
Only with Lucoa did his behavior remain conspicuously inconsistent. He continued to oversee her training personally, but often seemed uncomfortable with her playful remarks and physical proximity. This dynamic became a source of private amusement among the women, who recognized the serpent goddess's deliberate campaign to unsettle the War-God's composure.
The morning of their tenth day in Khalzara brought an unexpected development. As they gathered for training, Valeria arrived with six packages wrapped in leather.
"Lord Magnus has commissioned these," she announced, distributing the bundles. "He believes your training has advanced sufficiently to warrant proper equipment."
Opening the packages revealed personalized armor and weapons for each woman—not training gear, but true battle equipment crafted specifically for their fighting styles and body types.
Zenobia received dual short swords of exceptional quality, paired with light armor that emphasized mobility without sacrificing protection. Artoria found a longsword that, while not Excalibur, had been balanced perfectly for her fighting style, alongside armor reminiscent of her royal battle gear but adapted to Khalzara's requirements. Nitocris unwrapped a staff inlaid with essence-conducting materials that enhanced her natural affinity for magical energies. Barghest discovered armor that accommodated her more bestial features, with reinforced gauntlets designed to amplify her natural weapons. Caenis found a spear crafted from some iridescent metal that seemed to absorb and redirect light, paired with armor that emphasized speed and aggression. And Lucoa received a whip-like weapon similar to what she had been training with, but enhanced with flexible metal alloys that responded to her movements with near-sentient precision.
"This is... unexpected," Artoria admitted, testing her new sword's balance with evident appreciation.
"And not inexpensive," Nitocris noted, examining the craftsmanship of her staff. "These are masterwork items, not standard issue."
"Lord Magnus doesn't do anything halfway," Valeria replied with a slight smile. "Once he decides an investment is worthwhile, he commits fully."
"So we're now considered worthy investments?" Caenis asked, though her tone lacked its usual bitter edge as she admired her new spear.
"You've proven yourselves quick learners with unique perspectives," Valeria confirmed. "And in Khalzara, strength recognizes strength, regardless of origin." She paused before adding, "There's more. Lord Magnus has authorized your participation in routine patrols beginning today—Tier I and II threat zones only, with experienced warriors as escorts."
This announcement was met with mixed reactions—excitement from the more combat-oriented women like Caenis and Barghest, cautious approval from strategists like Zenobia and Artoria, thoughtful consideration from Nitocris, and curious amusement from Lucoa.
"Does this mean he's abandoning his stance on women in combat?" Zenobia inquired, always focused on understanding the underlying politics.
"Lord Magnus adapts to reality," Valeria replied diplomatically. "Your performances have demonstrated combat capability that would be wasteful to ignore. Pragmatism outweighs preconception."
"How gracious of him," Caenis muttered sarcastically.
"Actually, it is," Valeria countered. "Many warriors with far more rigid beliefs never adjust their views regardless of evidence. That Lord Magnus can evolve his thinking based on demonstrated merit speaks to his true priorities—strength and effectiveness above all else."
Before further discussion could occur, a messenger arrived, breathless with urgency. "Captain Valeria! Lord Magnus requests immediate presence in the strategy chamber. All six of the bound ones as well."
The strategy chamber was a smaller, more secure room adjacent to the main war room. When they arrived, they found Ares standing over a detailed map table, his expression grim. Several of his most trusted commanders surrounded him, engaged in tense discussion.
"What's happened?" Valeria asked, immediately sensing the gravity of the situation.
"Scouts report movement from the northern territories," Ares replied, not looking up from the map where markers indicated troop deployments. "Domini Scythia has finally emerged from her sanctuary. She marches south with a full battle host—beast packs, harvested champions, and what appears to be a new type of Chimera variant."
"She's bringing the battle to you directly?" Zenobia asked, immediately grasping the tactical implications.
"Yes," Ares confirmed grimly. "After months of proxy attacks and tests, she finally commits to direct confrontation." He looked up, his gaze sweeping over the women. "Which means something has changed. She believes she has found a weakness to exploit."
"Us," Nitocris realized quietly. "We are the changed variable."
Ares nodded once, the gesture curt but acknowledging. "My summoning ritual released enough energy to be detected across Khalzara. The existence of six essence-rich beings bound to me would not have escaped her notice, especially after her beasts encountered you."
"She thinks we weaken you somehow," Artoria concluded.
"Or that you can be used against me," Ares corrected. "Foreign essence is valuable in Khalzara—a resource to be harvested and controlled." His expression darkened. "If she captures any of you, your essence could be extracted and weaponized."
A sobering silence followed this statement as the women processed the implications.
"What is your strategy?" Zenobia finally asked, professional interest overriding personal concern.
Ares seemed momentarily surprised by her focus on tactics rather than self-preservation, but quickly adapted. He gestured to the map, indicating various marked positions.
"We meet her forces here, at the Ridge of Fallen Kings. Favorable terrain for our forces, difficult approach for her beast packs. Defensive positions already established from previous campaigns." His finger traced a series of movements. "Primary engagement at the ridge, secondary containment here and here to prevent flanking maneuvers."
Zenobia studied the plan with a strategist's critical eye. "And Domini Scythia herself? Your objective is formal challenge, correct?"
"Yes," Ares confirmed. "Defeat her, and my path to the Dominion Spire is clear. The beast armies will disperse without her binding will to unite them."
"She'll anticipate that strategy," Zenobia pointed out. "If she's finally committing to direct confrontation after avoiding it for so long, she believes she has a counter to your direct challenge."
"Agreed," Ares acknowledged, surprising the others with his ready acceptance of her assessment. "Which is why I've called you here. You six represent unpredictable elements—perspectives and approaches unfamiliar to Khalzara. Your insights may reveal blind spots in my strategy."
It was the first time he had explicitly acknowledged their potential value as equals rather than assets. The subtle shift was not lost on any of them.
What followed was a detailed strategic planning session where, to the visible surprise of Ares' commanders, the women contributed significantly to refining the battle plan. Zenobia's experience with Roman legion tactics provided counter-perspectives to Khalzara's more individualistic combat approach. Artoria's expertise in united front engagements complemented Ares' overwhelming force doctrine. Nitocris offered insights on essence manipulation that might counter Scythia's beast control methods. Barghest provided detailed analysis of potential beast pack behaviors based on her predatory instincts. Caenis suggested aggressive flanking maneuvers that might disrupt Scythia's command structure. Even Lucoa contributed valuable observations about psychological warfare techniques that might undermine enemy morale.
Throughout the discussion, Ares listened with unexpected attentiveness, incorporating their suggestions into the battle plan where appropriate and explaining his rejections where their ideas conflicted with Khalzara's realities.
When the strategy was finalized, he addressed the assembled group with formal gravity.
"We march at dawn. All combat-capable warriors to their assigned units." His gaze settled on the six women. "You will accompany the command unit—not for direct engagement, but to observe and advise from secure positions. Your perspectives may prove valuable as the battle evolves."
"And if the battle reaches our position?" Caenis asked, clearly hoping for a chance to test her new spear in actual combat.
"Then you defend yourselves as needed," Ares replied after a moment's consideration. "Your training and new equipment should prove adequate against standard threats, though you are to avoid direct contact with higher-tier beasts or Scythia herself at all costs."
It was, the women realized, the first time he had explicitly acknowledged their right to self-defense—a significant evolution from his initial declaration that they were "no longer allowed to draw blood."
As the meeting disbanded and preparations for the coming battle intensified throughout the fortress, Ares unexpectedly gestured for the six women to remain behind. When they were alone in the strategy chamber, he addressed them with uncharacteristic directness.
"You should understand the full situation," he stated, his deep voice pitched lower than usual. "If Domini Scythia succeeds, if I fall in battle, your binding to me will not simply dissolve. Your essences will become untethered in Khalzara—beacons to every predator within leagues."
"A death sentence," Nitocris translated quietly.
"Yes," Ares acknowledged. "Which is why I have prepared contingencies." He removed six small objects from a pouch at his belt—medallions of black iron inscribed with symbols similar to their chain-marks. "These contain fragments of my domain essence. If the worst occurs, they will sustain your binding protection long enough to reach the Western Portal. Valeria knows its location and activation sequence."
"You're giving us an escape route," Zenobia observed, studying the medallion she had been handed. "Why?"
Ares seemed momentarily at a loss for words—an unprecedented occurrence that demonstrated how far outside his comfort zone this conversation lay.
"Because..." he began, then paused, visibly reformulating his thoughts. "Because while you came to Khalzara unwillingly, you have adapted with... unexpected proficiency. You have earned warrior's consideration."
"Not because we're women needing protection?" Caenis pressed, though her tone held more curiosity than accusation.
Ares's expression tightened momentarily before he answered with surprising honesty. "My initial assessment was... flawed. Your gender does not define your capability. Your actions have demonstrated this conclusively."
It was perhaps the closest thing to an apology they would receive, but the acknowledgment itself represented significant evolution in the War-God's perspective.
"We appreciate your foresight," Artoria replied formally, accepting the medallion with a slight bow that somehow managed to convey respect without subservience.
"Just don't make it necessary," Barghest added with a predatory grin. "I've grown rather fond of this hunting ground."
Ares nodded once, clearly uncomfortable with the emotional undercurrents of the exchange. "Rest. Prepare. Dawn comes quickly in Khalzara." With that, he strode from the chamber, cape billowing behind him.
When he had gone, Lucoa let out a delighted laugh. "Did you see his face when Caenis questioned him directly? The mighty War-God, flustered by simple conversation."
"He's evolving," Nitocris observed thoughtfully. "Perhaps more rapidly than even he realizes."
"The question," Zenobia mused, examining her medallion with tactical interest, "is whether that evolution will help or hinder him in tomorrow's battle. Domini Scythia has likely based her strategies on the Ares Magnus she has known for centuries, not this... adapting version."
"Either way," Artoria concluded, her expression resolute, "tomorrow brings Khalzara's reality in full force. We should indeed rest and prepare."
As they returned to their quarters to ready themselves for the coming battle, none could deny that their perspectives had shifted dramatically in the relatively short time since their arrival. What had begun as captivity had evolved into something more complex—not quite freedom, but a form of integration that none had anticipated.
The dawn would reveal whether that integration had come too late, or just in time.
## Chapter 6: The Battle of the Ridge
Dawn in Khalzara arrived with its usual abruptness—darkness surrendering to crimson light with little transitional warning. By the time the first bloody rays crested the jagged eastern mountains, Ares Magnus's army was already assembled and moving toward the Ridge of Fallen Kings.
The six women found themselves positioned in the command unit—a heavily guarded contingent at the center of the formation. Mounted on war-steeds bred specifically for Khalzara's harsh terrain, they wore their new armor and carried their personalized weapons, though as per Ares' instructions, they were positioned for observation and consultation rather than direct combat.
Ares himself rode at the formation's head, Dominius Rex slung across his broad back, his war-markings glowing with steady purpose even in the early light. Valeria commanded the right flank, while the grizzled Commander Thorne led the left. Scout units ranged ahead and to the sides, reporting back regularly through magical communication devices similar to those they had seen in the command center.
"Nervous?" Lucoa asked Zenobia as they rode side by side, the serpent goddess seemingly perfectly at ease despite the gravity of their situation.
"Cautiously optimistic," Zenobia replied, her tactician's eyes constantly assessing their formation and surroundings. "The strategy is sound, the forces well-prepared. But Domini Scythia has avoided direct confrontation for centuries, according to Valeria. Her sudden willingness to engage suggests confidence in her approach."
"Or desperation," Nitocris suggested from Zenobia's other side. "Perhaps our binding to Ares represents a threat to her plans, forcing her hand before she's fully prepared."
"Either way," Artoria interjected, "today will likely determine not only Ares' fate but our own."
They fell silent as the column crested a rise, bringing the Ridge of Fallen Kings into view. The dramatic landscape justified its name—a long, jagged formation resembling the spines of enormous beasts protruding from the earth at regular intervals, creating natural defensive positions and chokepoints. According to Khalzaran legend, the ridge had been formed from the fossilized remains of ancient god-kings who had fallen in some primordial battle, their bones petrified and transformed into the very land itself.
But more striking than the ridge was the force assembled on its far side. Domini Scythia's army spread across the plain in grotesque splendor—beast packs of varying forms and sizes, arranged in unnatural formation that spoke of controlling intelligence overriding their natural instincts. Harvested champions—warriors who had been captured and somehow transformed into something neither fully human nor completely bestial—formed disciplined ranks at key positions. And at the center, barely visible at this distance but unmistakable in her power, stood Scythia herself.
"She's... not what I expected," Barghest murmured, her enhanced vision allowing her to make out details others couldn't yet see.
When they drew closer, all could understand Barghest's reaction. Domini Scythia defied the impressive, martial image her reputation had suggested. Instead of a towering warrior-queen, she appeared almost delicate—a slender figure whose armor resembled a second skin of iridescent scales. Her face was obscured by a helm crafted from what appeared to be a Void Basilisk's skull, modified to fit a human countenance. Most distinctive was the staff she carried—a living thing that writhed and shifted in her grasp, occasionally revealing teeth or eyes before reforming into solid matter.
"Beauty disguising monstrous intent," Nitocris observed. "A common theme among the most dangerous enemies."
The armies halted, maintaining distance across the broken terrain of the ridge. By ancient Khalzaran tradition, before full-scale battle commenced, Domini were entitled to issue formal challenge—single combat that, if accepted and won, would negate the need for wider bloodshed.
Ares rode forward alone, stopping at a prominent outcropping. His voice, enhanced by some quality of his domain, carried clearly across the distance.
"DOMINI SCYTHIA!" he called, the formal challenge resonating with power. "I, Ares Magnus, Blade of Absolute Dominion, challenge you to final combat for the right of ascension to the Dominion Spire!"
For several tense moments, silence reigned. Then, a voice replied—feminine but distorted, as if multiple throats spoke in imperfect unison.
"Ares Magnus," Scythia's reply carried similar power though with discordant undertones. "Always so direct, so... predictable. Why pursue the Spire when Khalzara already bends to your will? Unless..." A note of mocking amusement entered her multi-layered voice. "Unless you've grown bored with mere conquest? Is the mighty Blade of Absolute Dominion seeking greater purpose?"
"Answer the challenge, Scythia," Ares demanded, ignoring her provocations. "Accept or decline by the ancient laws."
"Oh, I accept," she replied, stepping forward from her lines. "But on terms appropriate to your recent... acquisitions." She raised her living staff, which elongated and twisted to point directly at the command unit where the six women were positioned. "Bring your bound playthings to the center ridge. Let them witness your fall firsthand."
The women exchanged concerned glances. This was an unexpected development, and potentially dangerous.
"She wants us closer for a reason," Zenobia murmured. "This adjustment to the traditional challenge format serves some tactical purpose."
"Agreed," Artoria concurred. "Perhaps to target us directly, or to use our essence as a weapon somehow."
Before they could discuss further, Ares' response rang out, his tone cold with barely controlled fury.
"They are not playthings, Scythia. They are bound warriors under my protection. The challenge is between you and me alone."
"How... sentimental," Scythia's mocking reply came. "The Blade of Absolute Dominion, developing attachment to his foreign pets. Delicious." Her staff writhed again, forming what appeared to be a grinning mouth briefly before reshaping. "But non-negotiable. They observe from the center ridge, or there is no challenge—only war. Choose, Ares Magnus."
After a tense moment, Ares turned his mount and rode back to the command unit. His expression was thunderous, war-markings pulsing with increased intensity.
"It's a trap," he stated flatly upon rejoining them. "She wants you within range of whatever essence-manipulation she's planning."
"Obviously," Zenobia agreed. "But refusing gives her the moral advantage in Khalzaran terms, correct? You would appear the one avoiding rightful challenge."
Ares nodded curtly, clearly frustrated by the tactical corner Scythia had maneuvered him into. "The traditional challenge is sacred in Khalzara. Refusing valid terms is tantamount to admitting weakness or fear."
"Then we must go," Artoria stated with calm resolve. "But not unprepared."
All eyes turned to her as she continued, addressing Ares directly. "You provided medallions containing fragments of your domain essence as contingency. Could they be activated preemptively to strengthen our resistance to whatever manipulation she attempts?"
Ares' eyes widened slightly at the suggestion. "Possible," he acknowledged. "Though not without risk. Active domain fragments attract attention from higher-tier predators—like blood in water."
"A calculated risk," Zenobia assessed. "Better to activate defenses before entering known danger than to hope for reaction time afterward."
After a moment's consideration, Ares nodded agreement. "Hold the medallions. Focus your will upon them when we approach the center ridge. They will respond to genuine need."
With this contingency in place, a small escort formed around the six women. Ares himself led them toward the designated meeting point—a particularly prominent spine formation at the ridge's center that created a natural arena-like space.
As they approached, Domini Scythia advanced from her side with her own escort—a quartet of what appeared to be elite harvested champions, their once-human forms now twisted with bestial features that nevertheless failed to completely erase the intelligence in their eyes.
The two groups halted at opposite sides of the natural arena, the tension between them almost palpable. Scythia removed her Basilisk-skull helm, revealing a face of unexpected beauty—pale, perfect features framed by hair that shifted color like oil on water. Only her eyes betrayed her true nature—vertically slitted pupils within irises that constantly changed hue.
"Better," she purred, her natural voice still carrying those unsettling harmonic undertones. "Now we can proceed properly." Her gaze swept over the six women with predatory interest. "So these are the foreign essences that caused such a disturbance in Khalzara's weave. Interesting selections, Ares. I wouldn't have expected such... diversity in your tastes."
"State your terms, Scythia," Ares replied coldly, ignoring her provocations. "The challenge is combat to submission or death?"
"So impatient," she chided, her living staff twisting in apparent amusement. "But very well. Combat to submission or death, as tradition demands. The victor claims right of passage to the Dominion Spire. The loser's domain is absorbed by the victor." Her slitted eyes gleamed. "And any bound to the loser transfer their binding to the victor as well."
This last condition caused visible tension among the women. Transfer of binding had not been mentioned as a possibility before.
"Is that even possible?" Nitocris whispered to Barghest, whose understanding of predatory dominance might provide insight.
"Possible," the fanged fae confirmed grimly. "Alpha status can transfer when a stronger predator defeats the current leader. The pack follows strength above all."
Ares' expression remained impassive, though his war-markings pulsed with increased intensity. "I accept your terms, Domini Scythia. Let the challenge commence."
Without further ceremony, both Domini dismissed their escorts to the edge of the natural arena. The six women found themselves positioned on a slightly elevated outcropping that provided clear view of the combat zone—exactly as Scythia had demanded.
"Remember the medallions," Zenobia murmured as they arranged themselves to observe. "Be ready at the first sign of