|halfway to fifteen|

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CONTENT WARNINGS: TORTURE, MURDER, VOMITING, BLOOD AND GORE, DEATH

There was something deeply satisfying about the feel of blood on skin

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There was something deeply satisfying about the feel of blood on skin. It was soothing and relaxing. Even if she looked like something straight out of a Stephen King novel. But she relished the feeling of blood on her skin.

Because Livia was knee deep in blood.

It was such a shame that it wasn't just a figure of speech.

They were in the Colosseum, getting rid of the last of the traitors that hadn't been sacked. It had been a long process taking almost 300 active and reserved members from the Legion. That was not counting the ones that ran while they still had the chance.

No matter. They'll get them soon enough.

But for those left behind, the Senate had the wonderful idea of letting the ingrates fight for their life instead of just sacking them or strangulation in the Tullianum. They weren't even permitted exile in case they ran to the Titans. No need to give them more warriors.

And now here she was demolishing any that came across her blade.

Blue eyes had darkened considerably as if looking into the eye of a storm. Her body moved with fluidity that none could process. The ground ran rampant with blood and gore and waste.

Livia enjoyed this more than she cared to admit. Her sword dragged across the ground as she stalked across the colosseum. Her eyes were locked on to Archie as she prowled forward. She hoped this kill wouldn't make her lose favor with Mercury and Venus as he stumbled away from her.

She wondered how she looked to him. Eyes alight with danger... with power... with promise... blood streaking her face and arms and legs... gore decorated her hair like glitter. She bet he wished he had been chosen for Jason's week. As if the son of Jupiter was not as viscous as her.

They were children of Rome.

They were children of nature itself.

They were beings of nature. The high winds of a roaring typhoon. The calamity of an electrical storm. Jason was kind, but he wasn't nice. It would take a blow to the head or amnesia in its entirety to make him nice to their enemies.

The sea was not forgiving. It was not merciful.

And lightning?

It never made a sound when it struck.

"Please," Archie whimpered. He was stumbling back and back and back and ba– there was nowhere else for him to go. "Spare me. Please."

Her laugh was both dark and brittle. "Now why would I do that," she mocked.  His hand clenched around the dirt. She smiled and it was not kind, "Try it and you'll be dead before it leaves the ground."

His hand loosened. "Please. I'll tell you everything you want to." Her hand whipped out, grabbing him, and she threw him to the ground as she spun around.

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