That night, the Adriatic Sea was a calm, inky expanse. No sails were hoisted. Ten warships moved forward in an unnatural silence, propelled by the might of thousands of oars dipping in and out of the water with a synchronized, muffled rhythm. The faint creak of wood and the whisper of water were their only accompanying music.
Ulixes stood on the deck of the Quinquereme, feeling the deep vibration of the working oars beneath his feet. He stared straight ahead into the profound darkness. Around him, on the deck, two hundred Spartan warriors sat or stood silently, dark silhouettes blending into the night. Their weapons were ready, their eyes alert, gazing in the same direction as him. Their discipline was a weapon in itself, a silence far more threatening than any war cry.
Beside him, Artemisia stood ramrod straight, her sharp eyes seemingly able to pierce through the darkness itself. She didn't need to give orders. Every ship captain knew their position. Every rower knew their rhythm. The war machine she had created now moved with perfect precision.
Ulixes felt a cold calm within him. This was true power.
Hours passed in silence. The ghost fleet continued to glide over the dark water, guided by Artemisia's knowledge of currents and stars. Just before the horizon began to shift from black to pale grey, a silent command was given. The oars slowed, and the ten warships spread out, forming a perfect crescent around the only bay on Sciron Island. They became an invisible net of steel and wood, sealing off all escape routes.
As the first faint light of dawn illuminated the island's peak, life began to stir in the squalid pirate village on the shore. The first wisps of smoke curled from newly lit bonfires. A man walked out of a hut, yawning and stretching. He walked to the water's edge, perhaps to relieve himself, his eyes still half-closed.
Then, he froze. His sleepy eyes widened in horror. He stared at the sea, at the dark silhouettes now clearly visible through the morning mist. Ten Roman warships, anchored in deadly silence, blocked their path to the open sea.
He tried to scream, but only a choked, panicked shriek escaped. He turned and ran back into the village, stumbling and falling, screaming frantically. "Wake up! Wake up! We're surrounded! The Romans!"
The village erupted into chaos. The previously sleepy pirates now ran out of their huts, some still half-naked, others hastily trying to grab their swords or axes. They ran to the beach, staring in disbelief at the fleet that had appeared out of nowhere. Panicked warning trumpets blared, their hoarse, desperate sound the opening music to the coming slaughter.
On the silent deck of the Quinquereme, Artemisia watched the scene of chaos below with the calm of a goddess of death. She showed neither joy nor anger. She simply observed, as if watching a theatrical performance she had perfectly directed. She slowly raised one hand.
"Destroy them," she said, her voice cold and flat, barely a whisper, yet clearly heard by the officers nearby. "Leave nothing."
The order was quickly relayed. On the lower deck of the flagship, the Roman artillery crew, retrained by Artemisia, moved with deadly efficiency. There was the sound of ropes being pulled taut as two large ballistas were aimed.
"Fire!"
With a deep, shaking TWANG, two large projectiles shot into the air. Not stones, but large clay pots filled with oil and fire. The projectiles plunged down into the crowded small harbor, striking the decks of two larger pirate ships. A muffled explosion was heard as the pots shattered, spreading sticky black liquid everywhere, followed by a burst of flames soaring into the morning sky. Screams of horror erupted as the fire engulfed the pirates who tried to extinguish it in vain.
As fire and panic gripped the harbor, nine Liburnian ships, which had been waiting silently, exploded forward. Their oars struck the water in unison, propelling the sleek ships forward like spears. They slammed into the sides of the pirate ships attempting to flee with a sickening crack of wood.
That's when the Spartan warriors sprang into action.
From the decks of the Liburnian ships, they leaped onto the enemy vessels. They did not leap with chaotic, barbaric shouts. They moved in disciplined silence. Upon landing, they immediately formed small shield walls on the swaying enemy decks. THUMP. An instant fortress of wood and steel. The panicked pirates charged them, only to find their swords and axes striking an unyielding wall of shields.
Then, from behind that wall, gladius blades stabbed out with deadly precision. A stab to the neck. A stab to the stomach. A stab to the gaps in their leather armor. No wasted movements. No anger. Only cold, methodical efficiency. The pirates were slaughtered, not by an enraged mob, but by a methodical meat grinder.
Ulixes watched it all from the deck of the flagship. He did not participate in the fighting. This was Artemisia's stage. He saw his admiral's genius in creating controlled chaos. He saw her cruelty in her merciless command. And he saw his land-based warriors now fighting at sea as if they were born for it. He had unleashed two storms at once, and the Adriatic was now beginning to feel their first fury.
The battle ended as quickly as it began. The air, which had been filled with the clang of steel and screams, became silent, leaving only the groans of dying pirates and the crackle of fire devouring the remains of their village. The sea around the bay was now reddish-brown, filled with floating wood splinters and corpses.
Ulixes stood on the Quinquereme's deck, observing the results of their work. The victory was total. Perfect. He watched his Spartan warriors return to the Liburnian ships, their movements still as efficient as when they attacked. They had suffered some wounds, but not a single casualty.
Artemisia approached him, her beautiful face flushed with adrenaline, her eyes gleaming with savage satisfaction. "Their eyes are blind," she said, her voice hoarse with the passion of battle.
"It was a slaughter, not a battle," Ulixes replied, his eyes still fixed on the destruction below.
"Every battle is a slaughter," Artemisia countered with a thin smile. "The only difference is who holds the knife." She turned to one of her captains. "Are there any survivors?"
"A few, Admiral," the captain replied. "We gathered about twenty men."
"Good," Artemisia said. She turned back to Ulixes. "Victory means nothing if no one knows who won. We need to send a message."
She gestured towards the remains of the largest pirate ship still afloat. "Take those survivors. Crucify them on the mast and the remaining deck of that ship."
The captain hesitated for a moment. "Admiral?"
Artemisia's eyes narrowed with a dangerous glint. "Are you questioning my order?"
"No, Admiral!" the captain quickly replied, then hurried off to carry out the gruesome order.
Moments later, new screams of agony echoed from the remains of the pirate ship. Ulixes watched in silence as his Spartan warriors, with cold efficiency, nailed the living pirates to the wreckage of their own vessel, creating a horrifying monument of death.
When finished, Artemisia gave a final order. "Cut the ropes. Let the ship drift away with the current."
Ulixes and Artemisia stood side by side on the deck, watching the gruesome crucifixion ship slowly drift away, carried by the current out of the bay, towards the open sea. A bloody message, an undeniable warning, was now on its way to the main pirate fleet. The first sting had been delivered. And it was deeply venomous.
Ulixes felt a faint tremor from the deck beneath his feet as the oars began to move again, pulling the Quinquereme away from the bay that was now a monument of silence and death. The cold morning wind carried the sharp smell of smoke from the remains of the burned village, an oddly satisfying scent. He did not look back. His eyes were fixed on the now brightening horizon, where the crucifixion ship slowly became a disappearing black dot.
Artemisia stepped closer, her black cloak fluttering gently. "They'll see it when the sun is fully risen," she said, her voice hoarse with residual adrenaline. "Fear will spread among them faster than fire."
"Fear is only useful if followed by the next blow," Ulixes replied, his eyes never leaving the sea. "Where is their main fleet?"
"This Adriatic is vast," Artemisia countered. She walked to the railing, her gaze sweeping over the nine Liburnian ships now returning to their perfect escort formation. "They can hide in dozens of bays like this. Searching for them one by one is a fool's game."
Ulixes nodded slowly. He knew his admiral was right. A blind hunt would exhaust resources and tire the troops. He looked at his men on deck. The Spartan warriors moved with quiet efficiency, cleaning blood from their weapons, checking ropes again, their faces showing neither horror nor joy. They only showed readiness. They were perfectly honed weapons, waiting to be aimed at the next target.
"A snake may have many places to hide," Ulixes said, his mind now working, mapping the problem like a battlefield. "But it only has one nest to return to."
Artemisia turned, her sharp eyes showing a flicker of interest.
"They need a port," Ulixes continued. "A place to sell their spoils, repair ships, recruit new men. They can't live on the sea forever. Where is that place?"
A thin, cruel smile played on Artemisia's lips. "Lissus," she answered without hesitation. "A 'neutral' port city to the south. Its magistrates have grown rich by turning a blind eye to black-flagged ships docking at night. That is their nest."
"Then we will no longer hunt rats one by one," Ulixes said, a plan forming in his mind with deadly clarity. "We will burn their nest."
He turned from the railing, leaving the scene of destruction behind him. He walked back towards the command cabin. "Admiral," he said, his voice now imbued with the authority of a general who had found the path to victory. "Gather the captains. Give orders to the fleet. We sail south."
Artemisia followed him, her smile now widening. The hunt was over. The siege was about to begin.
Night had fully enveloped the Adriatic Sea. Inside the gently swaying command cabin of the Quinquereme, Ulixes was finally alone. Maps had been rolled up, captains had received their orders. All that remained was silence, accompanied by the creak of the ship's wood against the waves and the dancing light of an oil lamp on the walls.
He walked towards the simple bed in the corner of the cabin. He removed his heavy breastplate, feeling his stiff muscles relax slightly.
He lay down on the rough bunk, his red cloak still draped over his shoulders. He didn't expect to dream. He only craved a blank darkness, a brief respite from the burden of command and the echoes of war. He closed his eyes, feeling the gentle sway of the ship carrying him further south, deeper into enemy territory. Darkness welcomed him.
[POV Thomas Vance]
The rhythmic creak of the ship's wood suddenly changed into a piercing, high-pitched vibration.
Thomas Vance jolted awake. His heart pounded. For a confusing fraction of a second, he could still feel the cold sea wind on his face and smell the metallic tang of dried blood. However, that smell was quickly replaced by the faint scent of pine from floor cleaner and the cool morning air coming from his slightly open bedroom window. The piercing vibration wasn't a war trumpet, but the alarm from the digital clock on his bedside table.
He looked at his hands in the pale morning light. His skin was clean, his fingers slender, without calluses or scars from a gladius hilt. The hands of a high school student, not the hands of a Roman general. The echoes of that other world slowly faded, leaving a strange exhaustion in his soul.
"Tom! Breakfast is ready!" His mother's voice from downstairs was the last anchor pulling him fully back to reality.
He got up, the aroma of toast and coffee now completely overwhelming the lingering smell of smoke from the battlefield. His simple life as a farmer's son in Forks felt like a comfortable cloak after a night of wearing steel armor.
In the afternoon, under the shade of a large oak tree in the Forks High School park, Thomas enjoyed a rare tranquility. The laughter of a few students in the distance and the rustle of the wind in the leaves were music vastly different from the screams of the dying. He closed his eyes, trying to absorb the peace.
"Enjoying your victory, buddy?"
Thomas opened his eyes. Tom Jacker stood before him, a relaxed smile on his lips, but his sharp eyes seemed to see more than just a student resting.
"Just trying to find a little peace," Thomas replied, not moving from his position leaning against the tree.
"Peace?" Tom chuckled softly. "I see the dream world you created is wavering. Big battles, betrayal, an admiral from hell. You really went all out this time." He sat on the grass across from Thomas. "I told you, my Legacy System is better than your Gift System. Yes, even if my system needs improvement."
Thomas just looked at him. "What do you want, Tom?"
"I'm just observing," Tom said, shrugging indifferently. "But I also see the pattern. Without divine stones, our power won't last long in the dream realm or dream world. Maybe this is one of our shortcomings." He leaned forward, his smile now gone, replaced by a more serious expression. "You should create a new world. We'll work together to enjoy life there. How about making a clone for me in that world too? So we can be real enemies or comrades in arms. We can set the boundaries."
A dangerous offer. An invitation to share his power as a creator. "I'll think about your suggestion," Thomas replied carefully.
"Don't think too much," Tom countered, his smile returning. "Just do it."
As the tension between them seemed to peak, a light, cheerful voice broke it. "What are you two talking about?"
Both turned. Alice Cullen stood there, her small, graceful figure seemingly appearing from a different world, her short black hair fluttering in the wind.
Tom Jacker stood up, brushing grass from his pants. His smile now felt a little forced. "Just old talk. Better not," he said to Alice when the girl asked if she could join. "Alright, you two can talk. I'll go. See you next time."
With a brief nod, Tom walked away, leaving an awkward silence behind him.
Alice walked closer and sat on the park bench. Thomas rose from his leaning position and, without a word, laid his head in Alice's lap. The girl instinctively began to play with his hair with her slender fingers. Her presence was an antidote to the darkness Tom had just brought. Here, in this real world, under Alice's touch, he was neither a general nor a world creator. He was just Thomas. And for now, that was more than enough.
Alice's slender fingers felt cool as they moved through his hair, each gentle touch seemingly drawing out the last remnants of tension from his conversation with Tom. Thomas closed his eyes, allowing himself to sink into this peaceful moment. The faint scent of Alice's perfume, a wild floral scent he couldn't identify, was the only thing that felt real. In her lap, the world felt simple. There were no legions to lead, no gods of chaos to face.
"He seemed more agitated than usual," Alice's melodious voice broke the silence, her tone light but full of observation.
"Just old problems," Thomas replied, his eyes still closed. "A rivalry that never truly ends."
He felt Alice's fingers pause for a moment. "Are you alright?"
Thomas opened his eyes, looking at Alice's face, which now looked a little worried. He smiled. "I'm always alright when I'm with you."
Alice smiled back, but her sharp eyes seemed to see more than she let on. She then changed the topic, as if sensing that pushing further would be futile. "There's going to be a dinner at my house tonight," she said. "Esme's trying a new recipe, and Carlisle wants everyone to gather."
Thomas's heart beat once, hard, in his chest. He felt his stomach clench slightly. An invitation. To her house. To meet her whole family.
An ironic thought crossed his mind. As Ulixes, he had stood before Marcus Crassus, the most powerful man in Rome, and felt not an ounce of hesitation. He had manipulated the queens of Capua, stared into the eyes of assassins, and led thousands to their deaths. Yet here, as Thomas Vance, the thought of dinner with the Cullen family made him feel like a new recruit about to face his first trial.
He remembered Rosalie's piercing gaze in the school hallway, Emmett's perpetually ready-to-pounce demeanor, and Jasper's intense, unsettling silence. They weren't just a family. They were a unit, a tightly sealed fortress, and he was about to walk in alone.
Alice must have sensed his hesitation. "They won't bite," she said with a small laugh, though Thomas knew there was a double meaning in those words. "I promise."
Thomas looked into Alice's warm golden eyes. There, he found his courage. He had conquered worlds he had created. He had survived hell created by others. He could certainly survive one dinner.
He rose from Alice's lap, sitting upright on the bench. "Alright," he said, his voice now steadier. "I'll come."
He saw the genuine relief and happiness radiating from Alice's smile. That small victory felt more real than any triumph on his dream battlefield.
The drive to the Cullen family's house felt short. Alice navigated her car nimbly along the dark forest roads, and each turn seemed to pull Thomas faster towards the meeting he had dreaded. He had faced thousands of enemy soldiers without flinching, yet now, his heart pounded with an unfamiliar, nervous rhythm.
The house appeared suddenly from behind the trees, a surprise in the wilderness of Forks. The building was a masterpiece of modern architecture, made of wood and glass, its walls seemingly open to the surrounding forest. Warm light emanated from every window, creating a beautiful and completely unthreatening sight. "This is incredible," Thomas said, more to himself. "So bright and open."
Alice laughed. "What were you expecting? An old villa and a moat?"
"No, not a moat," Thomas replied, trying to sound casual.
Alice parked the car and led him inside. Inside, the soft sound of classical music greeted him. He followed Alice through a spacious living room and up the stairs, towards the source of the sound and the faint aroma of cooking. As they turned a corner, Thomas found himself standing on the threshold of a very large and modern kitchen.
And there they were.
Esme, with a warm smile on her face, was stirring something in a large bowl. Beside her, Carlisle was slicing vegetables with the precision of a surgeon. Edward leaned against the counter, observing with a thin smile. Emmett waved at him with a large knife in his hand, his smile wide and challenging. Slightly further away, leaning by the window, stood Jasper, his face pale and tense, his posture stiff as if holding back pain.
And then there was Rosalie. She stood holding a glass salad bowl, and when her eyes met Thomas's, all the warmth in the room seemed to vanish. Her gaze was not merely dislike; it was pure hostility.
"Thomas, welcome," Esme greeted, her voice warm. "We made Italian food for you."
"You didn't have to go to all that trouble," Thomas replied.
Alice pulled his hand and led him further into the room. "Thomas, this is my family. Esme, Carlisle, Emmett, Edward, and Jasper." She paused briefly before adding, "...and Rosalie."
As Alice touched Thomas's hand, Rosalie's previously sharp gaze suddenly changed. Thomas saw it clearly. The woman froze, her beautiful eyes widening in incomprehensible shock. Her cold hostility vanished for a fraction of a second, replaced by an expression of confusion, as if she had just seen a ghost. She stared at Alice's hand clasping Thomas's, then back at Thomas's face.
CRACK!
The glass bowl in Rosalie's hand slipped from her suddenly lax grip, falling and shattering into pieces on the marble floor. The sound startled everyone.
"Rosalie?" Carlisle asked, his tone worried.
Rosalie didn't answer. She just kept staring at Thomas, her gaze now a complicated storm of emotions: shock, denial, and a much deeper, more personal anger than before. "No way," she hissed, her voice barely audible.
She turned abruptly and walked out of the kitchen without another word. Emmett, with a confused look on his face, put down his knife and quickly followed her.
An awkward, heavy silence settled over the room. Esme looked sad, while Carlisle sighed deeply.
"Just ignore Rosalie," Edward said, his voice calm, though his eyes showed curiosity as he looked at Thomas. "She's... having a difficult day."
Thomas stood still, trying to process what had just happened. He knew Rosalie disliked him, but that reaction... felt far beyond reason.
He looked at Alice, who returned his gaze with the same bewildered expression. The dinner he had dreaded had now turned into a much deeper and more unsettling mystery.
The silence Rosalie left behind felt sharper than the sound of broken glass on the marble floor. Thomas stood stiffly, feeling the awkward stares from the rest of the Cullen family. Esme, with a forced smile, rushed to grab a broom and dustpan.
"Forgive Rosalie," she said, her voice attempting to sound light. "She's... very protective of our family."
Carlisle nodded in agreement, stepping closer to the dining table. "Please, have a seat, Thomas. Don't let this slightly... spirited welcome spoil your appetite."
Thomas sat at the beautifully set dining table. He was the only one who would be eating. As Esme placed a plate of lasagna in front of him, the rich aroma of cheese and tomato sauce should have been appetizing. However, every bite tasted bland. His mind kept racing, trying to solve the riddle of Rosalie's reaction. He could feel Edward's analytical gaze from across the table, as if trying to read something from him. In another corner, Jasper still stood rigid as a statue, his silent suffering creating a constant aura of pressure. Alice, sitting beside him, placed her hand over Thomas's under the table, a silent gesture of support.
After a few forced bites, Alice seemed to sense his discomfort. "Father, may I show Thomas your painting collection in the west corridor?" she asked Carlisle.
"Of course," Carlisle replied with relief.
Alice pulled Thomas away from the table. As they walked down the wide, dimly lit corridor, past beautiful landscape paintings, Alice finally spoke. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I've never seen her like that."
Her admission confirmed Thomas's suspicions. This wasn't just a bad day for Rosalie. This was something else entirely. As they passed a slightly ajar oak door, Thomas heard muffled voices from within. Emmett's frustrated voice, and Rosalie's voice hoarse with tears. He couldn't make out her words, but he could hear the tone within them: not pure anger, but deep desperation and suffering.
When Alice escorted him to the front door, the oak door opened. Rosalie came out, her face pale and eyes red, followed by a weary-looking Emmett. Their paths converged. Thomas braced himself for another wave of hatred, but the look he received froze him. The hatred was still there, but now mixed with something else: bitterness, shock, and a kind of painful recognition. It was the look of someone who saw something in Thomas that she didn't want to.
"Don't think this changes anything," Rosalie hissed, before walking past them quickly.
The drive home from the Cullen family's house felt quiet. The sparse streetlights passing through the car window reflected Thomas's face, which seemed calm and contemplative. Alice occasionally glanced at him, a worried expression still lingering on her face after the awkward dinner.
"Are you sure you're alright?" Alice asked, her voice soft, breaking the silence.
Thomas sighed, shifting his gaze from the darkness outside the window to her. He gave a small, genuine smile. "I'm fine. Just thinking. Your family... is interesting."
Alice squeezed his hand, a small reassuring squeeze. "That's one way to describe them," she said with amusement. "I'm really sorry about Rosalie. I don't know what got into her."
"It's okay," Thomas reassured her. "I'm just confused. Her reaction... felt very personal."
Alice was silent for a moment, her gaze returning to the road. "How about we... escape for a bit?" she suggested suddenly, a mysterious smile now playing on her lips.
Thomas looked at her, his eyebrows raised. "Escape to where?"
"Somewhere quiet," Alice replied. "Somewhere no one can disturb us. Just the two of us."
Without waiting for an answer, Alice turned the car onto a less-maintained path, driving deeper into the forest. The trees loomed tall, and the darkness deepened, illuminated only by the car's headlights. After a few minutes, Alice stopped the car in a small clearing amidst the trees, overlooking a calm lake. The full moon shone brightly, reflecting its light on the dark water's surface, creating a stunning silver path.
"We're here," Alice whispered, looking at Thomas with her golden eyes sparkling under the moonlight.
They got out of the car, the cool night air carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. Alice took a blanket from the back seat and spread it on the grass near the lake's edge. They sat close together, their shoulders touching, gazing at the mirror-like lake reflecting the star-filled night sky. The silence now felt comfortable.
"It's beautiful," Thomas whispered.
"I know," Alice replied, resting her head on Thomas's shoulder. "It's one of my favorite places."
They were silent for a while, just enjoying the beauty and each other's company. Thomas felt all the lingering tension from the meeting with the Cullen family slowly melt away. Alice's gentle touch and the peace of the lake enveloped him in tranquility.
"Don't let Rosalie ruin your night," Alice said softly. "Whatever her problem is, it's her problem. Not yours."
Thomas nodded, then shifted his gaze from the lake and looked at Alice. Her face was illuminated by the moonlight, creating a perfect silhouette. Her golden eyes seemed to sparkle. "Thank you for bringing me here," Thomas said sincerely. "I... I really needed this."
Alice smiled, a smile that warmed Thomas's heart. "Always." She raised her hand and touched Thomas's cheek, her thumb caressing gently.
Thomas took Alice's hand that was on his cheek, holding it tightly. He leaned forward, slowly, his eyes never leaving Alice's. Alice didn't pull back, instead closing her eyes slightly, waiting.
Then, their lips met. A soft kiss under the moonlight, by the silent lake. The kiss was a promise and comfort, erasing the last traces of awkwardness from the evening and replacing it with peace.
The drive home felt lighter. When Alice stopped the car in front of Thomas's house, the atmosphere felt a little melancholic again.
"Thank you for tonight, Alice," Thomas said. "This was... this was the best date I've ever had."
Alice smiled. "You're welcome, Thomas. I enjoyed every second of it too."
He got out of the car, and Alice rolled down her window. "See you tomorrow at school," Alice said, her eyes sparkling.
"See you," Thomas replied.
Thomas stood at his front door, watching Alice's red taillights disappear around the bend in the road. The warmth from their date still enveloped him, a rare peace amidst his fractured existence. He took a breath, enjoying the crisp Forks night air.
"Hey buddy, date's over?"
The voice came from the bushes beside the porch, shattering the silence like a stone dropped into a calm lake. Tom Jacker stepped out of the shadows, his usual smirk plastered on his face, completely ruining Thomas's peaceful moment.
"Let's discuss our issue," Tom said, his tone casual yet purposeful. "About the divine stones from 4th-dimensional beings." He paused under the porch light, his gaze sharp. "They're less interested in your new system. Too predictable. No tension."
Tom shrugged. "How about we use my Legacy System again?" he suggested. "Much more interesting, more variables. The divine stones will be evenly split."
Thomas was silent for a moment, processing the offer. He knew Tom was right about one thing; the Gift System felt passive, lacking appeal. But going back to the Legacy System meant going back to Tom's game.
"Alright," Thomas replied, his tone calm and resolute. "I'll remove the Gift System from the dream world."
Tom looked surprised by his quick agreement.
"...and replace it with extremely powerful family bloodline abilities," Thomas continued.
Tom was silent, his smile fading slightly, replaced by a furrow of confusion on his forehead. "What power is that?"
Thomas looked straight into his rival's eyes. "The power of Time Travel to the Past [About Time (2013)]." He let the words sink in. "Just imagine, every mistake can be corrected. Every strategy can be perfected. Every moment can be replayed for the most dramatic outcome. The 'audience' will never get bored."
Silence settled over the yard. Tom Jacker stared at him, utterly taken aback by such a radical idea. Then, slowly, a smile began to form on his face. Not his usual smile. This was a very wide, cunning smile, full of savage anticipation, exactly like Tom the blue cat's smile in the Tom and Jerry series when he sees a new, much more fun game.
Thomas turned around before Tom could answer.
He walked straight into the house, leaving Tom still smiling in the yard. He walked through the dark living room, up the stairs, took a shower, and immediately lay down on the bed. His consciousness left his tired body in Forks, his mind now darting across worlds, returning to his anchor in Illyricum. The chessboard had been reset, and now it was time to better structure the world of Spartacus with the new rules of the game. (THE END)
Author's Note
I previously tried explaining the system issues in a dedicated chapter for new readers, but it clearly didn't lead to a better understanding. I have a strong aversion to the word "nerf" – I absolutely despise it. As someone who reads a lot of fanfiction daily, mostly Chinese fanfics, I constantly encounter nerfs, cliffhanger endings, or naive main characters, and I really hate that. That's why I dislike the word "nerf" so much, it's like I hate myself, lol.
There have been many improvements to the first-generation system, which was initially underpowered, evolving into a very strong second generation. But due to a lack of research, the "nerf" problem surfaced again – from a weak system to an overpowered one, and then from overpowered to "nerfed." Actually, it's not the system itself that's being nerfed, but rather its essence that's lacking. So, this system isn't perfect, but because the story was already written and readers were eager for the next plot developments at the time, I couldn't start over. I continued the story despite its imperfections.
However, I now feel that this fanfic is negatively impacting my passion for writing, so I've decided to go on hiatus. I will conduct further research on the system, the Spartacus TV series, and the Rome TV series. I plan to rewatch them all. Therefore, there will be a total revision of the story. I hope my loyal readers will be patient and not too disappointed; this is for the betterment of our collective reading experience.
I genuinely love this fanfic because it has taught me so much about improving my fanfiction writing. This is all thanks to the advice and criticism from my readers, and I am incredibly grateful for your help. A special thanks to the four readers who contributed significantly to the development of this fanfic. And finally, thank you for the tips provided by "realbanana" to my K-of-i account. Also, a thank you to Cesar_Montemayor for being my very first Pa tre o-n member!