Hay was poking his back, wet and stinking of urine. Ulixes opened his eyes. A low, dark stone ceiling greeted him, not the familiar ceiling of his apartment. A sharp pain exploded in his ribs when he tried to move, followed by a wave of nauseating dizziness. His last memory was a flash of truck lights and the deafening screech of brakes.
The cell door creaked open, blinding his eyes. The silhouette of a large man in rough leather armor filled the doorway. "Get up, dog!" he barked, his voice hoarse like a grinding stone.
A kick slammed into Ulixes' already bruised ribs. The air was knocked from his lungs. He coughed, trying to get up on shaky elbows. The man—a guard—dragged him mercilessly through a damp stone corridor. Every pull felt like it was tearing his skin.
He was thrown into another cell. The iron door was slammed shut, leaving him in absolute darkness. Alone. His breath came in ragged gasps, a mix of pain and panic. This was not a hospital. This was not a normal kidnapping. The leather armor, the sword at the guard's waist... it all felt wrong. Too real.
Just as panic was about to consume him, something appeared.
A transparent blue panel floated in front of his eyes, casting a soft light in the cell's darkness. Sharp white text formed on it.
[LEGACY SYSTEM ACTIVATED]
[Host: ULIXES]
[Active Abilities:]
Power Surge (Available: 2/2 per day)
Subtle Influence (Available: 1/1 per day)
Subtle Regeneration (Available: 2/2 per day)
[Passive Ability:] Legacy: [Locked]
"What the hell is this?" Ulixes whispered. He tried to touch the panel, but his hand passed through the blue light as if it were just an illusion. A hallucination? An effect of the accident?
He closed his eyes, then opened them again. The panel was still there. He tried to think, commanding the panel to disappear. It flickered, then vanished. He summoned it back in his mind. The panel reappeared.
This was real. Somehow, this was real.
Before he could process it further, the cell door was slammed open again. Two guards threw a large body inside, then closed the door. The figure groaned, then slowly got up. A bald giant with scars on his face and the vacant stare of a wild animal. The man saw Ulixes, the only other object in the cell, and a hungry grin spread across his face.
"Fresh meat," he growled, spitting on the floor.
The giant lunged without warning. Ulixes rolled to the side, feeling a gust of wind as a fist the size of a rock narrowly missed his head. There was no time to think. No room for negotiation.
The man attacked again. Ulixes tried to parry, but his opponent's strength was overwhelming. A direct hit landed on his stomach, making him stagger backward. His back hit the stone wall. The giant approached, both hands raised, ready to choke him.
A cold panic spread up Ulixes' spine. He was going to die here, in this dirty hole, without even knowing where 'here' was.
The System. The thought flashed like lightning.
Power Surge! he commanded in his mind.
[POWER SURGE ACTIVATED. DURATION: 60 SECONDS]
A strange sensation coursed through his body. Not like adrenaline. This was deeper, more fundamental. His tired muscles felt tight, filled with raw power. The pain in his ribs subsided, replaced by a pulsating energy.
When the giant's hands gripped his neck, Ulixes no longer felt helpless. He planted his feet, his thigh muscles tensing. With a primal shout, he pushed.
The giant stumbled backward, his eyes wide in surprise. He had not expected his prey to fight back. Ulixes gave him no time. He darted forward, his speed feeling unnatural. His first punch hit the giant's jaw, creating a sickening cracking sound.
The second punch hit his nose. Blood spurted out. The giant roared in a mix of anger and pain, swinging his arms wildly. Ulixes ducked, his movements feeling fluid and efficient. He grabbed the back of his opponent's head and slammed it hard against the stone wall.
Thud!
The giant slid to the floor, unconscious. Ulixes stood gasping for breath, the strength from the system starting to fade, leaving his muscles shaking. He stared at his fallen opponent. In his original world, the fight would have ended here.
But here... the smell of blood and death felt so thick in the air. He knew this was not over. If this man woke up, he would attack again. There was only one way to ensure his survival.
Ulixes picked up a loose stone from the floor. Its weight felt right in his trembling hand. With held breath, he slammed it into the giant's temple. Once. Twice. Until there was no more doubt.
Warm blood soaked his hand. He dropped the stone, his stomach churning. He had just killed someone. But strangely, there was no regret. Only one cold thought pierced his mind: I survived.
The cell door opened. Two guards stared at the corpse on the floor, then at Ulixes, who was drenched in blood. One of them grunted, as if annoyed. "One less piece of trash."
They dragged Ulixes out of the cell, taking him to a vast training ground under the scorching sun. Dozens of shirtless men with bodies full of scars stood in ragged rows. In front of them stood a dark-skinned man with a whip in his hand and a stare as hard as steel.
The man looked at Ulixes and the other new recruits with a look of disgust.
"Look at these poor dogs," the voice of Oenomaus, the Doctore, echoed across the field, cutting through the noise. "You came here with no name, no honor. You think you are men?"
He walked slowly in front of the line, his whip occasionally hissing in the air.
"Here, you are nothing. You are lower than the dust beneath my feet. You will learn, you will bleed, and most of you will die. But for those who survive... for those who prove their worth... they will be reborn."
Oenomaus stopped right in front of Ulixes, his eyes scanning the dried blood on his body.
"They will become Gladiators."
The Capuan sun burned his skin. Ulixes stood trembling among the other recruits, sweat mixed with dust and dried blood. Oenomaus paced back and forth like a panther, his whip occasionally cracking the air, creating a stomach-churning sound.
"What is under your feet?" Oenomaus roared at a skinny recruit. "Sand," the man answered, trembling. Hiss! Crack! The whip landed on his back, leaving a burning red mark. The man screamed and fell to his knees.
"Crixus! What is under your feet?" A massive, black-haired gladiator stepped forward from the veteran line. His posture was arrogant, his muscles glistening with oil. "Hallowed ground, Doctore," Crixus answered, his voice deep and confident. "Watered with tears of blood."
"Correct," said Oenomaus, his eyes sweeping over the recruits again. "This ground will drink your blood, your sweat, your tears. And in return, perhaps, it will give you life."
The training began. An unrelenting hell. They were made to run with heavy wooden blocks on their shoulders, push stone pillars until their muscles felt like they were on fire, and train with wooden swords against merciless veterans.
Ulixes was paired with a Gaul who was bigger than him. Every block made his arms shake. Punches from the wooden sword landed on his ribs, shoulders, and thighs, leaving painful bruises. He fell many times, only to be forced to get up by the tip of the Doctore's whip.
"Again!" Oenomaus shouted. "Weakness is death!"
During a short midday break, Ulixes slumped against the wall, out of breath. Every inch of his body was screaming in pain.
Subtle Regeneration, he commanded in his mind.
[SUBTLE REGENERATION ACTIVATED. REPAIRING MINOR INJURIES]
A soothing, warm sensation spread under his skin. The sharp pain from his bruises slowly faded into a dull throb. Not a total recovery, but enough to let him stand again.
"You move better than you look," a voice said beside him. Ulixes turned. A man with short brown hair and a friendly smile that looked odd in this place sat next to him. "I'm Varro."
"Ulixes," he replied, still panting.
"You're not a soldier," Varro said, his eyes studying the way Ulixes held the wooden sword. "Your stance is all wrong."
"How do you know?"
"I used to be one. Before debt brought me here," Varro shrugged. "You? War prisoner?"
"Something like that," Ulixes answered vaguely. He was not going to tell the ridiculous story about a truck and another world.
Across the field, Crixus was training alone, his movements deadly and efficient. He was the center of attention, the sun in this brutal solar system. The other gladiators looked at him with a mix of respect and envy.
"He is the Champion," Varro said, following Ulixes' gaze. "Everyone here wants to be him, or die by his hand. There's no in-between."
Suddenly, Crixus stopped and his gaze locked on Ulixes. A thin, contemptuous sneer curved his lips. He gestured with his chin, as if challenging him.
"Looks like you've caught his attention," Varro murmured. "That's not a good sign."
The afternoon training was more brutal. Oenomaus ordered the recruits to face each other. "Only one is allowed to remain standing!"
Ulixes was paired with a desperate Thracian, his eyes wild with fear. They awkwardly clashed wooden swords, both equally exhausted. But Ulixes had something his opponent did not: the remaining strength from regeneration and a modern mind that analyzed, not just reacted.
He saw an opening when his opponent swung too wide. Ulixes stepped in, using his body weight to take the man down, and pointed the tip of his wooden sword at his neck.
"Enough!" Oenomaus snapped.
Ulixes was out of breath, staring at the man he had defeated. There was no victory here, only a stay of execution.
That night, the recruits were thrown back into their filthy cells. Their food was just a bowl of bland porridge. Ulixes ate it quickly, hunger overcoming his disgust.
"You survived the first day," Varro said from their shared cell corner. "That's better than three others." Ulixes just nodded, too tired to speak. He stared into the darkness, his mind racing. He survived, yes. But for how long?
Suddenly, their cell door was slammed open. Not a guard. It was Crixus, standing tall in the doorway, flanked by two other veteran gladiators, Barca and Gnaeus.
Crixus' gaze was fixed directly on Ulixes. "I don't like the way you looked at me in the training ground, new recruit," Crixus said, his voice low and menacing. "Time for a lesson in respect."