Chapter 7 – Mors Indecepta
Snow dusted the peaks, white against the blood-dark sky. The rebels marched through narrow passes, carts creaking, women clutching children, men weary from endless war.
The mountains promised safety. But Rome promised death.
And Rome struck first.
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The Ambush
Arrows rained from the cliffs, cutting men down before they could raise shields. Legions poured from hidden paths, shields gleaming, horns blaring. The narrow pass became a slaughterhouse.
Panic spread. Rebels screamed, carts overturned, civilians trampled. Spartacus roared for order, but the walls themselves seemed to close in.
Crixus charged the front line, hacking wildly, but every step forward was met with Roman steel pressing tighter.
And then Ivar saw it — the trap. The pass had been chosen not for battle, but for burial. Rome meant to seal them in and crush them like rats.
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The Storm Breaks
Blood ran down his arm where an arrow had grazed him. His healing factor burned, closing the wound even as more arrows fell. His sea-green eyes narrowed, storm flashing within.
He sprinted up the rocks, twin blades carving a path. Romans stumbled, cut down before they could block. He reached the edge of the cliff — and dropped both swords into the snow.
The rebels below gasped. Twin Steel had set his steel aside.
Ivar pressed his palms to the frozen earth. His breath came slow, steady.
And the mountain answered.
Snowmelt surged, water rushing unseen through stone. He called it forth in torrents, bursting from the cliffs, washing Roman archers from their perches. Wind howled through the pass, tearing torches free, whipping sand and snow into a blinding storm.
Lightning cracked across the peaks, searing the night sky.
Romans screamed, stumbling as the earth itself trembled, avalanches crashing down to seal their flanks.
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The Escape
"Through the storm!" Ivar's voice carried, sharp as steel.
Spartacus seized the moment, rallying the rebels into motion. They charged through the gap Ivar had carved, cutting down what Romans remained. Civilians stumbled after them, guided by freedmen carrying children on their backs.
The mountain shook, snow and water roaring like gods' fury. Behind them, the pass collapsed in a thunder of stone, burying the Roman advance.
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Aftermath
The rebels huddled in a sheltered valley, fires dim, faces pale with shock. They whispered of what they had seen: not blades, but storm.
Spartacus approached Ivar, who sat apart, blades once again in his lap, face calm despite the storm he had unleashed.
"You saved us," Spartacus said.
Ivar's sea-green eyes flicked up. "The gods saved us. I was only their hand."
Spartacus frowned. "And yet, I fear the gods gave us a weapon we cannot control."
Ivar said nothing. He only thanked the gods silently for another scar to carry.
Behind them, children whispered his name not with fear, but reverence. Twin Steel. The storm in flesh.
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⚔️ Do you want me to go straight into Chapter 8 (Episode 8 – Separate Paths), where the split between Spartacus and Crixus becomes permanent and Ivar chooses his side, or pause for a short interlude showing Crassus' reaction to reports of the mountain storm?