The tunnel stretched endlessly before them, its damp walls swallowing the echoes of their footsteps. The stench of blood lingered heavy in the air, metallic and suffocating, mingling with the musk of sweat and burnt torches. Dead gladiators lay sprawled across the uneven ground, their lifeless eyes staring blankly into the oppressive dark. Yet neither Nathan nor Spartacus spared them a glance. They walked with deliberate calm, as though the corpses were nothing more than discarded obstacles on a forgotten battlefield.
"You say you want to kill Octavius," Nathan's voice broke the silence, low but cutting. His pale eyes gleamed faintly in the dim light as he turned his head toward Spartacus. "But tell me… don't you feel anything against me?"
Spartacus's brow furrowed. His broad shoulders shifted uneasily as he cast Nathan a sidelong glance. "What do you mean?"
