Chapter 13 – Kill Them All
The villa of Batiatus shimmered with wine and wealth. Romans filled the hall, their laughter and arrogance heavy as smoke. Goblets clinked, silk rustled, and every word dripped with contempt for the slaves that served them.
But in the shadows, in the depths of the ludus, steel whispered.
Spartacus stood at the heart of the brotherhood, eyes blazing with vengeance, chains coiled around his wrists like serpents. Beside him, Ivar's sea-green gaze burned steady, his black hair damp with sweat, two blades strapped to his sides.
Doctore nodded once, the final unspoken signal.
And then the storm broke.
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The Rebellion Ignites
Chains shattered, hidden blades flashed, and the ludus erupted in fury. Gladiators surged upward, roaring, striking down guards before alarm could be raised.
Spartacus charged the stairs like a lion unleashed. Crixus tore through soldiers with raw strength, his rage finally given purpose.
Ivar moved differently. Calculated. Cold. His longsword slashed wide, his shortsword stabbed fast, twin blades spinning in perfect rhythm. He ducked beneath a Roman spear, cutting tendon with one blade, stabbing throat with the other. The man fell choking.
The Romans screamed, stumbling from their couches, wine spilling like blood before blood followed.
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In the Villa
The hall became a battlefield. Guests shrieked as gladiators carved through silk and flesh alike.
Ivar's green armor gleamed in the torchlight for the first time beyond the arena. A Roman noble lunged with a dagger — Ivar sidestepped, hooked the man's wrist with his longsword, and buried the short blade in his chest. He whispered a prayer as he fell: "The gods claim you."
Spartacus fought like a storm unchained. His blade was fury, his roars the thunder. But when a soldier nearly took him from behind, it was Ivar who intercepted — twin blades flashing, cutting the man down before steel could pierce Spartacus' back.
Their eyes met, brief but fierce. Brotherhood sealed in blood.
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The Subtle Storm
Chaos spread, but in its heart, something stranger stirred. Ivar's wounds closed too quickly, his blood clotting before it spilled. No one noticed at first, but Spartacus' eyes lingered when the boy's side was cut and sealed within breaths.
At one point, three Romans pressed Ivar at once. His breath slowed, his body stilled — and for a heartbeat, the air itself shifted. Sand kicked up, a sudden gust of wind shoving one man into another. A spear meant for Ivar's chest drove instead into Roman flesh.
Spartacus saw it. No one else did. He said nothing, but unease and respect warred in his eyes.
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The Fall of Batiatus
Batiatus stumbled back toward his chamber, face white, voice shrieking for guards that no longer lived. Lucretia clutched at his arm, her silks stained red.
Spartacus found him first. The Thracian's blade pressed to his throat, vengeance burning.
"You stole her from me," Spartacus growled. "Her blood stains your hands."
Batiatus spat, trembling. "I gave you purpose, Thracian! Without me you are nothing—"
Steel cut the words short. His blood spilled across the tiles.
The hall roared with the victory of slaves.
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Aftermath of Blood
The Romans lay broken, the villa painted in red. The gladiators stood panting, their chains discarded, their freedom baptized in slaughter.
Crixus raised his blade high, bellowing triumph. Others cheered, drunk on vengeance.
But Ivar? Ivar stood silent in the center of the carnage, his twin swords dripping. He looked at the dead, at Spartacus, at the flames beginning to lick the curtains. His eyes were calm, but inside he whispered his thanks.
Every wound, every death, every breath — a gift of the gods.
Spartacus approached, blood spattered across his face, his chest heaving. For a moment, he only looked at the boy, then nodded.
"You fight like one born for this," Spartacus said.
Ivar's answer was quiet. "I was born for survival. The gods gave the rest."
The shouts of freed men echoed through the night. Above them, the stars were hidden by smoke.
And beneath those stars, the legend of Twin Steel was written in blood — a boy no longer mocked, but feared, revered, and whispered of as if the gods themselves had set him in the sands of Capua.
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🔥 Season 1 ends with Ivar standing beside Spartacus in victory, but with his true powers still barely touched — a storm waiting to break in seasons yet to come.