You will pay with your blood for your defiance.
His father's final words resonated faintly within his mind as he stared dazedly up into the remorseless gaze of the Doctore charged with "cleansing" the obstinacy from his bones. Already, his frail, mortal flesh had yielded to the continuous and searing burn of the lash, parting to anoint the dirt with his divine blood. Though he ached worse than he had in near centuries, he would not utter the words necessary to free himself from his hellish torment.
Ares did not beg.
Instead, he spat on the ground and fixed his remaining eye, as the other was swollen close, upon the bulky man and demanded another take his place. The fallen god goaded the mortal into near madness with his harsh taunts and indifferent laughter, comparing the man's supposed strength to a child. He pulled against his constraints, causing the ceiling to creak with effort to contain him, and sought to punish those who thought themselves capable of rendering him acquiescent to their whims.
Of no doubt, he probably would have been killed, accidentally of course, if not for his prowess in battle being witnessed by the owners of the aspiring and struggling ludus. In him, the Lanista saw his opportunity to rise from the masses into prominence and the promise of coin within the empire of Rome. Additionally, there was an unlimited pleasure to be had in possessing power over one who had once thought themselves one of your betters.
That healthy dosage of disdain was served for the human, not the arrogance frequently displayed by the god.
Ares had neither the time nor desire to learn of the man's waiting secrets, the one whose life had stolen without guilt, but he immediately understood there was bad blood between the owner of the paltry establishment and him. By him, he meant Cato. He had been called the man's name enough in the past few days that he did not forget to respond when addressed by it.
Eventually, the Doctore left him to rot in his own urine, sweat, and feces, abandoning him to contemplate his disobedience in the silence of night. Rather than sleep, as his body demanded, Ares spent much of his night tugging against his restraints. A frustrated scream finally ripped from his mouth when his natural-born abilities remained noticeably absent.
Somewhere in the midst of his sleep-deprived delirium, he could hear soft laughter upon the winds and understood his punishment was not lost to his brethren. At some point, Hypnos took pity and forced sleep upon his unprotected mind, an action he would not have dare attempted any other time for fear of retribution.
Cold water stole him from his nightmares no more than three hours later. His eyes were sunken into his face but still sparked with defiance. This time, the Doctore had not come alone. Three gladiators stood beside him before they moved aside to permit the Lanista entrance to stand a few feet away from Cato. Apparently, he still feared the man even though he had him bound, beaten, and restrained.
"Look at me," he commanded sharply with a finger snap.
"Fuck off," Cato said dismissively as he started to close his eyes again, bored already of the man's unexpected presence in his prison cell. Yes, he was adopting the name rather than resisting it.
A harsh grip took hold of his jaw, powerful fingers pressing against his skin. When he still resisted, refusing to open his eyes, a hard punch to the side of his head forced compliance.
"Thank you, Hadrianus." The Lanista said to the gladiator who had intervened to ensure proper respect was provided. The thin man turned his attention back to Cato, clearly undisturbed by the closeness of violence to him. "Do you know who I am? Do you remember me, son of Ovidius?"
"Should I?" Cato asked genuinely as he took the time to search his memory, the mortals. Nothing came to mind. If he had met the man before, he had not much importance within it.
The Lanista released a laugh, though there was no mirth in the sound.
"You are right. There is no point in taking the pains to refresh your memory. In your pathetic state, you will not last the day. Avitus, prepare him."
He offered no fight as they took him down and stripped him of the loincloth that covered him. Rough hands scrubbed him clean, heedless of the wounds which protested it. He passed out somewhere in the midst of it and woke up to find himself in another cell. This one was much cleaner than the first. Outside, he could hear the cheers, the meeting of swords, and the final cries of those who failed to parry a blow. Regardless of the circumstances, the sound excited him, and he could feel the bloodlust rising within him. It was the difference between him and that bitch Athena. She took no pleasure in it, watching the battle with cold detachment. Ares wanted, no, needed to be in the thick of it. He had no desire to move pieces upon a map.
His cell was actually an open one where he could see his surroundings, including the ones nearest to him. Apparently, he was not the only noncompliant one. It did surprise him to find a woman in the cell nearest to him.
"Hey," he called to grab her attention from where he sat on the floor with only a black garb to conceal his cock from view. "Hey, you. Yea, you, Brown Eyes. Show a sentenced man your tits. Might be the last pleasant sight I have before I greet that sulking bastard." A lopsided grin formed at his mouth as he imagined her response would not be as acquiescent considering her hardened demeanor.
