Spartacus Khalos: Rebel King

I am Khalos. I was born Khalos, a Thracian, and next in the line as a tribal leader. I lived for the battlefield. I slaughtered countless Getae and warriors of vast backgrounds during my years. My tribe came to see me as a fierce warrior and adept leader. But my most important quality was my experience.

I had lived an entire life as a warrior. Fighting with a sword, shield, ax, spear, anything that I could get my hands on during the apocalyptic era of the 23rd century. And like many Roovers of my time, I had a hobby. I searched for historic vaults on the north and south American continent. During that time, I found what my ancestors called film.

I found a television series and movies. Pirates, Vikings, Romans, and greeks. The more violent, the better. I think it had to do with my life at the time. But I'm glad that I watched them because, among those films, I watched the entire series of Spartacus.

Spartacus was a Thracian man turned Roman slave who fought his way to freedom, led a rebellion against Rome only to die due to stupidity. But it was still a riveting show. So riveting I watched his documentaries as I did the vikings.

Now I find myself living as Khalos, the name that Spartacus apparently held before his capture by Rome. I figured this relation out when I met a woman named Sura, who became my wife. At first, I thought it a coincidence. Then the Romans came to ask for our swords in the fight against the Getae and my wife had delivered countless prophecies of the Gods.

At that moment, when I saw Gaius Claudius Glaber, I knew I had reincarnated into the world of Spartacus. I was thrilled to think of things that would come and the wars that would be held, for my life was nowhere near as vicious and horrid as my past life. I was insatiable and ready to be satiated.

So, I left Sura to follow the storyline but before I left, she spoke the words I longed to hear: You are destined for great and unfortunate things.

I now find myself in Capua. Bloodied and on my knees. I know, I must be a fucking mad man. But it was precisely where I wanted to be when I wanted to be there.

I picked myself up and did what I spent two lifetimes doing, killing. I killed six men, two with their own weapons, and avoided execution ad gladium. But a man had been watching, an ambitious man, Quintus Lentulus Batiatus. He is a dominus of Ludus, where gladiators are trained and sent to the arena to fight for the Roman people's amusement.

In the middle of the dusty ancient arena, I stood bloody and thirsty as the crowd cheered for me to live. I stared into the eyes of that fucking cock sucking weasel, Glaber, up in the pulpit. I could feel his rage and only wished he would jump into the sandy arena to face me.

I could see the Romans in the pulpit talking amongst each other as the crowd's cries to uphold my life grew louder and louder as they prolonged their decision.

Then I watched an old white hard bastard stand on his feeble old feet, dressed in long pretty robes like a whore calling a cock. He raised his and hands, and the crowd went silent.

'Come! Come for me and meet my blade!' I begged in my mind.

But the old bastard had other plans. Just like in the series, he said, " People of Capua! This man, this Spartacus!" as he did not know my Thracian name, "He has proven himself in the arena. For this, Legatus Claudius Glaber and I grant him -- life."

The old bastard held out a thumbs-up, and the crowd cheered so hard that the arena quaked like rolling thunder as the chanted "Spartacus! Spartacus! Spartacus!"

The chanting was nearly endless. Only to stop when I disappeared into the dark tunnel of the slave cages where the gladiators were kept, some awaiting their death in the very arena I had just seized victory.

At some point, I had passed out due to my wounds. I now found myself strapped to a table in a foreign room that smelt of shit and piss. Before I could gather my wits, a slender man came and cut my hair from my head. I promised myself to kill him when the kill started.

I was then taken to the bath where the gladiators were being shaved by lesser slaves and communed freely. I was pushed into the bathroom, but I did not stumble and stent a glare at the guard. I committed his face to memory as I wanted his life.

"Well, lick my hole. The pig-fucker is still alive." A voice spoke out about my arrival. I turned to find the source and found Crixus -- a Gaul and current champion of Capua.

"This is the one?" Another voice spoke. "The Spartacus everyone's been pissing about?"

I turned to see Barca, the beast of Carthage, been groomed under a docile slave as important as an ant.

"Spartacus?" I question, "My name is..."

"No one gives a shit to who you are, Thracian." Crixus interrupts me. The pig-headed monkey's whore was trying to assert his dominance.

"I give no shit to who he is," Barca adds, and the gladiators chuckle lightly.

I chuckle with. "On you will," I tell Barca.

"My name is Khalos, and I am a Thracian like no other! That is why I am still alive, and they are dead."

The Gladiators look at me as was I now faced with the presence of two beasts.

"Where can I bath?" I asked the crowd and wholly ignored Crixus and Barca. However, no one answered.

So I walked to the bath and took my place in the water nonchalantly.

---------------

During the next morning, I was walked out to the training grounds as the gladiators of the Ludus shouted, spit, and cursed at me. Unfazed, I followed the line took my place.

If a second life was supposed to be better than the first, then in this life, I would be a king. But first, I would have to claim the army that Rome captured for me. So, with a dull face, I watched the brainwashed slaves until a dark-skinned bald man entered the training grounds with a whip in hand,

"What is beneath your feet?" he asked.

I knew the answer but did not speak.

"Answer!" the man shouted. "What is beneath your feet?"

"Sand." a man finally spoke, and the gladiators laughed.

"Crixus!" The dark-skinned man called out over his shoulder. "What is beneath your feet?"

Crixus stepped on to the training grounds, then replied, "Sacred ground, Doctore! Watered with tears of blood!"

"Your tears. Your blood. Your pathetic lives, forged into something of worth." Said Doctore, "Listen. Learn. And perhaps, live. As Gladiators! Now attend to your master!"

The Doctore raised his left hand and gestured behind himself, towards the balcony as the Dominus Batiatus appeared at the railing.

The first thing that came out of that man's mouth was bullshit. "You have been blessed!." he said.

I muffled my scuff in response.

"Each and every one of you, to find yourselves here, at the Ludus of Quintus Lentulus Batiatus! Purveyor of the finest gladiators in all of the Republic!"

The gladiators roared in the agreement of their master's well-rehearsed horse shit.

"Prove yourself in the hard days to follow. Prove yourselves more than a common slave—more than a man. Fail, and die. Either here where you stand or sold off into the mines. Succeed, and stand proud among my Titans!" Batiatus shouted.

The gladiators then chanted his name several times in response. The Doctore swung his whip, then cracked to silence them.

The Doctore looked over us recruits then said, "A gladiator does not fear death. He embraces it. Caresses it. Fucks it."

A recruit then chuckled openly and with complete disregard of respect.

The doctor continued as he walked towards the disrespectful recruit, "Each time he enters the arena, he slips his cock into the mouth of the beast. And prays to thrust home before the jaws snap shut."

The Doctore uses his rolled whip to pop the disrespectful slave in his unimpressive balls. The slave groans as the pain ripped through his body.

"None of you stray dogs would last a fleeting moment." he continued as he walked down the line, "except one," he spoke as he stopped in front of me.

"This sad, battered Thracian stood against six in the arena. Condemned to die, given nothing but a sword to wager his life upon. They came at him!" The doctor spoke, and flashes of my fight in the arena came to mind, "Again and again and again! He defied death! Fate! The Gods themselves!"

The memories didn't stop as I remembered every move I made during the fight and every limb I took from my enemies, and the splatter of their blood on the sand.

"Gaze at this man!" Said Doctore, "Study him. And realize... he is nothing."

The gladiators chuckled.

"A coward. A deserter from the auxiliary. His victory in the arena, as hollow as his courage. He fought against the ill-trained men of Solonius, your master's rival."

Batiaus then spoke from his perch, "If Spartacus had entered the arena with any Gladiator here... his head would have left the well in advance of his body!"

I lifted my head in response. My eyes were stern, and my challenge was clear. Batiatus could see it, and I could see his wavering in his eyes.

"The Thracian disagrees." said Doctore, " A demonstration, perhaps?"

Everyone looked towards Batiatus. The dominus gave a subtle nod, then the Doctore shouted for the Gaul, Crixus, and practice swords.

The Doctore said, "Prove us wrong, Spartacus." then tossed me a practice sword.

I looked at the wooden roman styled sword and left it in the sand. Break back? For who? I merely stared at the widdled toy, and it only served to enraged my spectator and amused me.

"Pick it up!" Doctore ordered.

I did nothing.

"Spartacus!" Doctore shouted. Such a willful slave he had never encountered before.

The doctor let loose his whip and intercepted it with my whip. As everyone held the breath, I twisted my wrist, then grabbed the whip to snatch it out of the Doctore's hand. The handle of the whip went free, then hit the ground. I quickly freed myself from the whip and tossed it to the sand in disgust.

The doctor ground his teeth but kept his cool as he looked to the balcony and said, "I can do nothing with this one. Send him to the mines."

The Doctore walked away, and I dived for the practice sword, picked it, and went for the Doctore's back just as I have seen in the sires, more or less.

Crixus quickly responded and disarmed me with a knee. I was too low, and he had the advantage, though it was far from finished.

Crixus kicked the wooden sword to me as he said, "Feeling rested, are we?"

Once I grabbed the sword, Crixus came for me. I blocked his sword and navigated the ground with expertise as I rolled, slid, and cartwheeled around Crixus to deliver a blow to the back of his calves and push myself to my feet.

Crixus looked at me with wide eyes because he and everyone else knew that after that one blow, Crixus would have been mine to fuck how I pleased.

We then both solidified our stances and then reengaged. It was a good, fluent sword fight until I glided along Crixus's blade, attacked his body with bare hands, and then pulled Crixus into a quick takedown.

The yard was silent as no one expected me to best Crixus. When the Gaul and I reset, we exchanged blows until the moment I gave in and allowed Crixus to get the better of me. I recalled that Batiaus acquired me to get close to Claudius Glaber. Even if Crixus won, I would not be at a loss.

I the end, I found myself on my backside as the Doctore made a lesson out of me.

"Two fingers. A sign of surrender. A plea of mercy to the editor of the games!"

Everyone watched as they waited for me to plea, but I never gave it to them. Man or woman, they could suck my cock, but I would never bend my knee and beg before them.

"Beg for your life, little rabbit," said Doctore.

But yet I still did nothing.

"Bash his skull." ordered the doctor.

Just as Crixus was about to do just that, Batiatus stopped him, and I was sparred. Knowledge of the future, no matter how minimal, is always a weapon to behold.

I spent the rest of the day in the scorching heat, training and sweating my balls off. But the heat was nothing compared to that of the apocalyptic world; water was for the weak and food for the weary. I was neither, and so I excelled as others fell victim to the Roman heat.

When lunch came, I sat alone until a curly blonde haired man sat in front t of me. "Shit-fuckin slaves and criminals, the lot of them," he said.

I chuckle and ask him if we are any better, for we were all in the same chains own by a shit-eating cunt.

The man brought my execution and my sheer dumb luck. All I could think is that the original Spartacus was lucky. I'm merely taking a calculated risk to further my gain.

I learned that man's name was Varro, and he had only been in chains to pay off his debt and feed his family. I was shocked to hear his name, as the Varro in the tv show was nowhere near the Varro's size sitting in front of me.

"You survived your execution." he spoked as he picked through his food, "Twice if you mark the Gauhl over there, not introducing your brains to the sand."

I look back at a jubilant Crixus.

"You are of a difference, Thracian." Said Varro, "Above this unfortunate collection."

I couldn't help but internally sigh as he spoke. Varro had delusions of grandeur and honor. If he were a smart man, he would have listened to his wife left Capua for a distant land for a fresh start.

Varro and I continued to talk, briefly speaking on his family but quickly moved to speak of rewards. Specifically, the coin is rewarded for victory in the arena.

When the day grew old. I rested in my cell with the other recruits as the sound of whores being fucked by one, two, and even three men filled the Ludus.

While others yearned to get their cock wet in some well-used cunt. I thought of my wife, Sura. In the original plot, Spartacus bargained to have his wife found and returned to him. He foolishly believed the man that own his chains, and Sura was murdered because of it.

I could follow this line and reap the benefits of a man who deludes himself by thinking he is my master. Or I could leave Sura to knew fate and hopefully free her during the rebellion.

Whatever I choose, I must achieve the optimal outcome. But my thoughts were soon snuffed out by Doctore's arrival. He had once again called us to train.

"Up!" he shouted. "You will sleep when you prove yourselves men."

So under the full moon, the other recruits and walked in circles carry massive logs to train our endurance. Every time one lost pace, Doctore would crack his whip upon the naked backs. I already had more scars than I could count, I didn't plan to add more, so I kept the pace.

On the balcony, Batiatus watched. Every time I could, I made eye contact with me. I knew what was coming the next day. But I wanted Batatius to see I was a fighter. If the plot changed for some reason, I would fight until my body was cut to minced meat.

Morning came, and still, I walked happily, keeping pace. I was only getting more robust, and I knew someday I would be a king because of it.

"Halt!" Doctore ordered. "The day's training would begin shortly. Eat!"

One by one, we dropped the hell sent log and caught our breath.

"Ahh." Varro groaned as he dropped his log, "Jupiter's cock." he cursed.

"Now we train all day?" Varro complained to me. As I said, he was a fool to choose this life.

I looked around at all the men now sitting on their asses. I then look to Varro and say, " We do what we must to survive. Embrace it, Varro. Let it sculpt you into a beast the Romans could never hope to match."

Varro and I began to move toward our meal as I spoke. "Batiatus paid for these men."

"Very little by the looks of it.."

"The roman way. Lives for coins." I sneer.

"Some deserving more than others." Varro replied, " I heard a certain Thracian was quite the price."

I turn to Varro with a smirk, " A fact I plan to use to my advantage."

"What is this foolishness you speak of, Spartacus."

"It is Kahlos, friend. And stick close to me, Varro. We are destined for great and unfortunate things. Or so my wife told me." I reply.

Together Varro and I get in line for our meal and meet a grunting Baraca. "I remember the hardship of The March when I was a recruit." the brainwash fool spoke with amusement, "You must be mad with hunger. Fill your bellies!"

Baraca took a big spoon of porridge then pushed the pot onto the floor. The gladiators laughed at our misfortune. Barca hoists his fist into the air victoriously. Unfortunately, he had no idea he had won himself a beating.

I chuckle with the gladiator as Barca walks around the table. "Barca!" I joyously call out.

The beast looked at me with a mean mug and replied. "What! Little man!"

I answered with my fist in his solar plex. His eyes went big as he gasped for air. My left fist went to his ribs and leaned to the left; finally, I caught his chin with my right and put the beast to bed.

The Ludus went quiet as he walked over to Baraca's table and took his bowl overflowing porridge. Crixus was tense with anger as he watched me take the bowl across from him.

I pay the Gaul no mind as I walk to Varro and push half of the porridge into Varro's bowl. "Great and unfortunate things, Varro."

Varro stared speechless as I walked away to find a seat to eat.

As Doctore signaled the guards to take Baraca away. A slave named Ashur approached. I knew the man was a spineless snake. But I planned to make him my spineless snake.

In the series, Ashur was the only slave to match the Doctore in his standing in house Batiatus. But unlike Doctore, Ashur had astronomical freedom for a slave. This snake of man limped around with a brace on his right leg and a scared left arm. Most importantly, he handled all of the gambling and pleasures for gladiators of house Batiatus.

"My apologies for the porridge. Barca finds the jest amusing. At least he didn't piss in it this time. Adds an unpleasant bite." Ashur rambled as he tried to get me to bite down on his hook. The crippled man then stepped into my path.

"The days will be hard. Without food, more so. Next time the brothers will band before they let you drop another of theirs." he said as he but a lof in my hand.

Obviously, I had a bowl full of porridge. Ashur was just trying to gain my favor. So I played along.

"You would give me your bread?" I asked.

"Mine, no." Ashur replied matter of factly, "I move things from here to there, this hand to that. Even from outside these walls. Whatever your needs, Ashur provides."

I chuckle to myself. "Take payment from next winnings. But when I call, you must answer. I require a man with your... abilities."

"You know of my role?" Ashur asked with a raised brow.

"I do. And I would like to place a wagger." I tell him.

It was simple enough. Slaves talk, and that talk could easily explain my knowledge of Ashur.

"What are my odds?" I ask him

"Twelve to one. Factoring the mines. Higher towards your death." Ashur looked left then right, "Crixua stands to lose a sum if you defy the numbering. I would see it so."

"Loan me three Denarius, and I will see the loan repaid with my winnings," I told him.

Ashur looked at me with wild eyes. "I heard you were mad, Thracian. But this.."

"Three Denarius on me. And Crixus will lose a significant sum."

Ashur nodded in agreement then limped away. And so the game beyond the arena began, and I planned to be the last champion of Capua.

Not a moment after Ahsur left, I was grabbed by a group of guards and dragged away to be put in chains.

Sometime later, a man I looked forward to killing walked into my cell.

"Glaber."

"You will address me by title of Legatus," he said. I wanted to laugh in his face.

Instead, I pulled at my chains, and he said, "Yet the animal. The mark of your kind."

"Where is she?" I barked. No matter how good my memory was of this show, Sura's location eluded me.

"Who?" Glaber asked.

I titled my head at the idiot.

"Oh, that little wife of yours."

"Where?" I shouted again.

"Where I please!" Glaber shouted and took please in the misery he assumed I felt.

"It isn't right to play with a man's wife. She has shown you no grievance, Glaber."

The Legatus face turned pinkish in anger. "But you have! You grieved me! By stirring the auxiliary to dissertation!."

"By of words broken !" I snapped.

Calling my command into question!"

"Because commanded sacrifice for your own gain!" I retorted.

"And you grieve my Still! By not dying, knowing when to die!" Glaber was fuming at this point, and I wanted his head just as much as he wanted mine.

"My life then!" Glaber would never take something offered by a slave. And he was sadistic. By offering my life, he would refuse it. "In exchange for hers, take my life."

"Your life is no longer yours to bargain!" he said, "If I wished it cease, I have but to whisper, and good Batiatus will command it!"

"Then tongue the words in his ear," I begged with faux sincerity.

The glimmer in Glaber's eye then changed. He was a sadist with big arms and no strength.

"You mistake me, Thracian. True. I once sought death in repayment for your slights. But I see the error of that now. Wishing for an end too quickly. No. my desires have turned to blood. Spilled by the drop over time, until you are drained. I told you Rome's shadow is vast. And you will yet die under it. Sliver by sliver, to the roar of the crowd."

Globe made his way to leave when he suddenly stopped and offered a parting gift of the band of cloth I tied around Sura's thigh before I left for the war.

Glaber told me many unpleasantries of how his men raped Sura then sold her to a Syrian for half a coin. Of course, I was raged. Then I stopped as I remembered things must be sacrificed in order to become King.

Glaber dropped the clothe and left amused by the display of rage.

------

As Batiatus kissed ass, I was taken back to the training ground with focus elsewhere. Doctore pounced on my divided mind pitted me against Kerza, a recruit of class.

His strikes were sloppy by mind elsewhere. I knew what had to be done, what been done, but yet I foolishly clung to memories of Sura.

Pah!

Kerza's wooden sword swiped across the face and brought to one need. At that moment, I saw Glaber once more and flew into a rage. Everything the chain kept me from doing, I dumped on to Keraz and nearly beat him to death.

I soon felt Doctore's whip around my neck. Then I was taken to the air. As I landed with a thud, Sura's purple strip of clothing was carried away by the wind. I crawled for it as the guard came to beat me like a wild animal.

But still, I fought to make it to the ribbon.

Then I stopped fighting as the Doctore picked up the purple ribbon.

-----------------------

Later I was brought to Batiatus for the meeting I had been waiting on. The discussion would be the pivot point in my plan to become the rebel King that the first Spartacus could never. To win the third servile war and change the history books. It is what the gods wanted; if not, I wouldn't be here.

In chains, I stood before Batiatus as he asked, "Why are you here? In the place. Under my hospitality. Do you know why?"

"Because I roman put me in chains over his hurt ego," I reply.

"You are here because of my grandfather." Said Batiatus. "He built this Ludus. He believed that no man is without worth. That even the vilest among us could rise to honor and glory. He instilled these beliefs in my father, who in turn passed them to me."

Batiatus rose from his seat walked to face as he continued his speech. "I am a lanista like my forefather—a trainer of gladiators. I see things in men that they have lost. A small spark. An ember."

Batiatus paused for effect then said, "I give it breath, tinder. Until it ignites in the arena."

I scoff at the lanista. "I burn for no cause but my own."

"And what might that be? Money? You've cost me enough on that front. No, not so base a cause for this one. Position, then? Power? Love?" Batiatus looked at me as if waiting for a sign to betray myself.

So I gave him precisely what he wanted. I eyed him.

"You have a woman, Thracian?" he asked.

"I have a wife," I replied. "Sura, whom I love. Taken from me, by your Legatus.

"Legatus Glaber? He has her?" asked Batiatus.

"He sold her to a Syrian," I say.

"Who do you know she still lives?"

I had to make him want to find her for me. So I packed it on heavy. " How do you know the heartbeats beneath your chest? Or the air you breathe will sustain your life, and the world you see with your eyes is real."

"Most days, I don't." Batiatus sighed, "I'm just a simple Roman trying to make his way against the whim of the Gods, the politicians, the miscreants, though often you can't tell one from another. But you, you are the most dangerous of animals. The beast born of the heart."

Batiaus came in for the kill shot. He began to reel me in with enticing questions of what could be. And I answered by telling him I would burn the world to ashes just to see her face once more.

Batiatus liked that answer as he put Sura's ribbon in my hand and told me to fight, kill, conqueror, with him as my dominus, and he would reunite us. He had no idea what kind of promise he had made. He let a demon in his house and thought himself the better.

Oh, but he was wrong. And after I passed the final test tonight, no one would be able to stop this fire.

Night came quickly. Varro was before as he fought Gnaeus, a fucking Gaul that only knew how to grunt and swing a sword. Varro held his own and battle the man to draw.

"Varro had stood to draw! The test is passed!" Batiatus proclaimed, and the gladiators chanted in celebration of a new brother.

The next match was Barca and a slave named Marcus. To say the least, it was an execution, as Barca deleted his blad and cut him down in one blow.

"Crixus! Spartacus! Positions!" Doctore ordered.

I planned to make quick work of the Gaul. I had money riding on my victory, and tonight would be the start of my raise—the true beginning of earned reputation.

I climbed the wooden ladder and step on onto the raised stage. I take my sword and shield as the gladiators chants Crixus's name. They have no faith in me, but I would show them all.

"One final lesson, before I send you to the afterlife," says Crixus as he picks up his shield and sword.

"Begin!" says Doctore.

Crixus took his stance, and I stood there to take in the moment. I had fought two lifetimes, died by the sword once, and never planned to do it again.

Crixus came for me. I used my shield to block, then countered. Our exchange created a symphony of metal clanking. Pound for pound, we fought. Then my attacks rapidly changed tempo as they became brutal.

I pressed Crixus, and with every blow, Crixus pushed his shield forward to meet my strike as to not be pushed back. On my final strike, I twisted my blade to the outside of Crixus's shield, guiding it across his body to shed the block.

My blade twisted again, cut blood from his arm. I quickly stepped in, then came down on the back of his knee, and my sword promptly found his throat as I held his chin up to expose his jugular with my free hand.

Bataitus nearly over the balcony as he shouted for me to stop. The Ludus was quiet in disbelief, and the Doctore scrutinized me as I showed skill well hidden.

"You have passed the test," said Batiatus.

I sighed, then whispered loud enough for only Crixus to hear me, "This is just the beginning. You and I are destined for great and unfortunate things."

Then release and look up to Batiatus. I could tell he waited for obedience, but I wait for a sign that he would keep his word. Batiatus gave me a slight nod, and I said what he wanted to hear for all to listen to it, "Dominus."

And so my journey to become Rome's most feared rebel King began!