82 B.C. – Calenum, Roman Republic
Like all men,
Billy Travers thought about Ancient Rome several times a week.
Today—2,000
years ago, that is—Billy finally got a chance to experience it for himself.
Unfortunately, he was about to experience it at the hands of the absolute
unit of an armored gladiator, thrusting his spear forward to skewer Billy
like a piece of chicken satay.
Sadly,
this was not a euphemism. He was literally trying to kill him.
The
vibrant crowed roared their blood lust. Sand, heat, and golden sunlight bled
together, forming a portrait of classical, gladiatorial combat. Billy focused
on keeping himself alive, but he was peripherally aware of other armored
combatants clashing swords in his near vicinity. As for the crowd…well, the
last time Billy had taken center stage like this was an underwear contest down
at The Wet Rooster, and the less said about that occasion, the better.
By
the sheer grace of the gods (one god of love in particular) Billy managed to
gracelessly dodge his opponent’s attack by falling backwards onto his bum.
Lucky, there was plenty of cushioning to be had there. The gladiator’s spear
embedded itself into the sand between Billy’s legs like a hot knife through
butter…or a spear through a human body.
I really shouldn’t have skipped cardio day this week. Billy could barely catch his breath, let alone comprehend how he
had landed in Rome. Only one day in Billy’s life had passed since his bet with
Eros (yes, that Eros), and though Billy had triumphed over his first
challenge, successfully taming a caveman in the Stone Age, he had no inkling as
to what awaited him in the next time period.
Only
five minutes earlier, Billy had stood in Auru’s cave, wishing his prehistoric
playmate a fond farewell. Then, in a blink, a whole limestone vomitorium had
risen around the hapless grad student. Of course, Billy hadn’t realized it was
a vomitorium until, following the sound of shouts and clanging metal, he was
properly vomited out into the middle of an arena…
Where,
it turned out, he was now ‘fair game.’
The
armored goliath looming above Billy wore a helmet cast in the image of a
wide-mouthed sea monster. Billy’s knowledge of history reminded him of the wide
variety of gladiators, all who carried different weapons and played distinct
roles. None of that mattered, of course, now that they were all trying to
kill him.
The
monster-man tore his weapon from the sand in the hopes of driving it into the
prey he’d missed spearing the first time. In an act of desperate thinking,
Billy tugged his backpack around his chest, hoping it would serve as a
makeshift shield…but also hoping it wouldn’t destroy his Switch and assorted
snacks in the process.
Billy
resorted to the last remaining weapon in his arsenal—flirting. “Y-y-you
wouldn’t happen to be into guys, would you? Because I could suck your cock so
wicked hard that it’ll make Pompeii look like a fuckin’ water balloon fight.” Wait,
the eruption of Mount Vesuvius hasn’t happened yet; he doesn’t know what that
is. Or a water balloon fight, for that matter. Also, people died in
Pompeii, Billy, show some decorum!
“HYAGHHHH!”
the monster man snarled. Needless to say, he was not down for a good
time.
“He’s
not into men! But I AM, my cock-sucking friend!”
Billy
turned his head away, mostly to avoid a face-full of sand kicked up by the
intervening gladiator who’d managed to put himself between Billy and his
attacker. With a loud PLINK of his shield, the large, agile man
in the breechcloth and helm deflected the spear with such force that its tip
snapped off. While his opponent was still stunned, the armored fighter took a
page from his Greek cousins and Spartan-kicked him in the gut, knocking him to
the sand.
The
crowd erupted into cheers and applause. Billy shielded his eyes from the bronze
sun to better look upon his savior. The warrior was armored in a pauldron,
padded sleeves, shin guards, and an impressive helmet. Everything else was
exposed skin. He was bare footed and bare chested. And what a chest it
was—like two mountains covered in a forest of thick, black fur.
Maybe
it was from the adrenaline rushing to his head, or the hypnotic way the
gladiator’s pectorals jiggled with each broad stride, but Billy was starting to
grow dizzy.
The
big man approached Billy, who accepted his death at the hands of the meaty
Roman (a fine way to go out). Instead of the edge of the sword, however, the
gladiator extended his hand—large, calloused, and rough. Billy looked at it in
awe, using it as a point of reference to gauge the man’s other
proportions, before it yanked him by the wrist, off the ground, and onto his
feet.
“The
editors are getting creative with these new gladiator types,” the Roman warrior
said through the echoing metal of his helmet. It took Billy a painfully long
second to understand he was talking at him. “They didn’t give you a weapon at
all, small friend! And yet, if you were a noxii, methinks you’d have
been dispatched with the others earlier…during the lion feeding. Hmm. How
EXCITING! Welcome to the arena, handsome one. Hope you survive…”
The
gladiator pivoted to confront the armored opponent rising up from the sand. Yet,
before he charged back into battle, he tilted his helm towards Billy. “…Because
buttocks such as yours would be a terrible thing to waste.”
With
the strength, grace, and roaring of a lion, the gladiator dove forward, sword
in hand, leaving Billy to melt into a pile of goo and hormones.
Oh man, I hope he’s not ugly under that thing. It’s okay, he can
just keep the mask on when we…
Billy
interrupted his own horny, deciding it was wiser to assess the situation—not
assess the asses of the gladiators. This isn’t the famous Colosseum, which
must mean this is still the time of Roman Republic. And, judging
from the style of armor, and garments of the audience, we’re still least a few
decades prior to the Roman Empire, and centuries before the release of Belgian
techno anthem, ‘Pump Up the Jam’…
Still,
there was little point in Billy’s attempts at temporal location—
not
while half-naked men were trying to split him in half (and not in the fun way).
Billy shook the sand, sweat, and dirty thoughts from his head and slunk off
towards the arena exit.
“And
where does this little fox think he’s running?”
The
cold, hollow voice came from Billy’s left. He froze, forcing himself to turn
towards its origin point. His first thought was: How on Earth do they keep
BIGGER? His second, “Actually, my fursona is a bull, not a fox HOLY SHIT,
THAT SWORD IS HUGE!”
Even
more terrifying than the sea monster man from before, this full-metal
tank of a walking-catastrophe wore a helmet with the unmistakable snake hair
and grimacing visage of the medusa. He also carried a comedically large
broadsword, the kind Billy had only seen in anime and role-playing video games.
Unfortunately,
Billy was severely under-leveled…
“Now
you DIE at the hands of The Gorgon, interloper!”
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