The Forsaken Hero

I stumbled back, staring at the bloody puddle beneath the space where Soltair fell. I could still see him gasping for breath, clutching at the bloody spear and looking at me with those eyes dulled by defeat. How could he have survived something like that? I frantically scanned the colosseum, but was unable to see anything but the shocked faces of the audience. Where did it teleport him to? Was he healed in time? Would I be next, or would they conveniently forget to teleport me out?

As questions cluttered my mind, I was dimly aware of Ronin moving forward. He walked casually, embracing the scattered cheers with relaxed waves. He didn’t seem to care as I scrambled away, only laughing at the futility of my cause.

Where had we gone wrong? I had tried so hard to support him, bled and suffered more than I thought possible, but now my own failure was walking toward me, grinning and relishing my defeat. Still mindlessly retreating, I ran against the wall of the colosseum with enough force to knock the wind out of me, and fell to my knees. I gasped for air, looking up as a gleaming pair of boots stopped in front of me.

"Nowhere to run," Ronin said. He twirled his spear around a bit, and then the point was at my throat. Unconsciously, I gulped, wincing as the point drew out a bead of blood. "To think a pathetic slut like you was summoned with the same high calling of a hero, even as a Slave Hero. Honestly, I was looking for more women to add to my harem, but you just aren’t my type. A little young, flatter than a farm, and scarred with those hideous horns. The tail might be nice, as it at least gives me something to grab when you start bucking."

He spat, the warm gob of spittle landing on my cheek, and continued with n a tirade of insults. I barely noticed, staring blankly at the pools of blood where Soltair had vanished. The cold, gleeful light in Ronin’s eyes when he struck him down seemed far more vicious than any of the disparaging mockery he gave now.

Ronin grabbed and sheathed his sword and grabbed me by one horn. He raised my head and grinned, continually spewing abuse. Beyond his shoulder, I could see the Pope. He watched calmly, a small smile on his lips, which grew even wider as we made eye contact.

"Hey, are you even listening?" Ronin asked, frowning. "If you were my slave, I’d beat some obedience into you. You know what? No one’s here to tell me not to, so I think I’ll do just that."

He grunted and tossed me over his shoulder. As I hit the ground, something broke. I felt like screaming, but it wasn’t my first time losing a rib. What scheme had the Pope set in motion? What were those spells Ronin entered the Colosseum with?

"He said you were a fairly talented mage, and I respect that. How about I give you a chance? I’m a warrior, with barely a lick of magic in me, but I feel bad bullying you like this. Why don’t we exchange spells?"