#halfnymph!reader

How truly magnificent. Technoblade thinks to himself. He strolls through the carnage you have left behind. Luckily, you chose the horse he left for you at the gate. He looks around at the blood soaked- well everything if he’s being honest. Yes, truly oh so truly magnificent. The power he gave you was a mere fraction of what he gives his most loyal soldiers and yet you did all this. He sees you’ve forgotten to take your buy out money in your haste to leave. Well that’s no good. The money is truly hers after all. Hmm, well I better return it. Yes, this way I may just get her to fight me. Plan in mind, an excited smile takes over his face. But, he has soldiers to train. He cannot devote all his time to thinking of fighting your beautiful form. Humming to himself, he begins to travel back to his home on Mount Olympus - scheming all the while.

It has been days since you’ve escaped the arena. You avoid heavily populated roads and large groups like the plague. Your only company is the horse you’ve stolen and the feeling of being watched that never leaves you. 

The horse you chose must be a born and bred war horse, you think to yourself. He was the largest and most beautiful of the horses you could’ve chosen when you made your escape. A beautiful chestnut brown coat and easily over 21 hands tall, reaching seven feet tall at his shoulder - a true work of art you decide to name Balius. 

Balius has carried your malnourished and exhausted body with no complaint - a fact you revel in as you had little to no experience with any sort of steed. Your past was only filled with the wild animals of the forest and streams. On occasion, Lady Artemis would bring her chariot pulled by four swift golden-horned hinds for the spring festival of Artemisia. Thinking about your past is a quick way to sour your mood however, so you quickly move on. You have no idea where to go or what to do with yourself. Being half-nymph you cannot re-join your sisters and you find the thought of doing so repulsive. Every night you hide yourself from Lady Artemis’s eye in the moon, you know in your heart you are no longer one of her daughters. 

You are miles away from the arena you fled from, and yet you feel you are not far away enough. Nightmares plague your sleep. The most common nightmare is of the arena, but instead of fighting the soldier you did before it is instead a man who easily dwarfs your form with the most piercing crimson red eyes you’ve ever seen. In the rare instances you stop for rest, you can only pray that the nightmare takes a break from harassing your sleep. Right now is one such time. As the sun is pulled down by Helios on his great chariot, you find a spot to rest by the stream. Hopping off of Balius you lead him to the stream and begin to set up your small camp.

When you had first fled the arena, you had not checked Balius for any supplies. Your surprise at the amount of provisions and supplies inside the saddle bags was great. It had a week’s worth of food, a small bedroll, flint and steel, and a small amount of kindling. You have been rationing the provisions to stretch it out further. You have never been to a village to trade for anything - the mere thought of coming into contact with more people makes you wary. 

Shaking the thoughts away, you gather firewood for a small fire. Using the flint and steel with a small amount of kindling you start a fire. Balius has returned from the stream after getting a drink and lays down behind you. Grabbing your bedroll and a small chunk of bread from Balius’s side, you unroll it and use Balius as a backrest. Breaking a small chunk off, you eat and begin to contemplate your next moves. 

I know no trade, skill, or really anything truly useful. You think to yourself. I’ve been in that arena for Zeus knows how long. Hell, everytime a traveler has crossed my path I am filled with lust for their blood. Ignoring such feelings leaves me with such a headache I can no longer steer Balius. It is strange, ever since that rush of in the arena left my thoughts have been disorganized. 

You think yourself to sleep, curled up against Balius your final thoughts realizing you haven’t felt the piercing gaze following you since you left the arena.

Arriving at his home, he is immediately accosted by Theseus - or Tommy as he likes to be called. “Techno! You promised me a spar days ago!” Technoblade blinks, oh right, whoops? “Oh right, sorry about that Tommy, I was preoccupied with some other things in the mortal realm.” Technobalde quickly explains. At Tommy’s responding pout, he sighs. Trying to placate him he quickly says, “I can spar with you now?” At Tommy’s quick grin, he resigns himself to a few hours of sparring with his favorite disciple. 

The two quickly make their way to a small arena. Inside, there are training swords and dummies that line the walls. Tommy is clearly eager to begin as he runs in and grabs one of the wooden practice short swords. Technoblade follows at a more sedate pace and grabs a matching sword. After grabbing a sword, Technoblade shrugs off his red fur lined cape and adjusts his boar mask. While Tommy is certainly a challenge, he is still no match for the god of battle. 

Joining Tommy in the middle of the ring, he quickly begins the spar. As it is only a spar, Technoblade soon finds himself lost in the past. He acquired Tommy as a disciple after seeing his courage fighting the minotaur in the great labyrinth. When Tommy’s mortal form finally succumbed, Kristen offered to bring Tommy’s soul back for a fleeting moment, all so that Technoblade could ask if the mighty Theseus wanted to become a disciple for the god of war. Tommy’s soul was immediately interested in the proposition and agreed. And now, Tommy is as close to a brother as Techno has ever had.

Finally, after hours of sparring they finish. “That was a great spar,” Technoblade praises. Tommy is quick to beam his smile and say, “Yeah! Thanks Tech! We should spar more often.” Chuckling, Technoblade is quick to voice his agreement in turn. Turning, they both discard their training swords on the rack and Techno grabs his cape. As they make their way out of the sparring arena, they part ways. Technoblade heads down the mighty halls of Mount Olympus and arrives at his bedroom.

Deciding to turn in for the night. He quickly prepares himself for bed. He takes your bag of buy out money out of the pockets of his cape and sets it aside. His thoughts once again drift to the carnage you had wrought upon your enslavers. The thought is more than enough to make himself smile. A deep burning passion encases itself deep inside his chest and he finds his desire to see more of what you can do only growing. At the nearest opportunity, he will get you to fight him - no matter what stands in his way.

You awake on your fifth day a free woman to cold embers and dew on the grass you lay on. Your eyes blink wearily open and you stretch with a yawn. Balius gets up behind you and paces over to the stream. Looking at the stream, you quickly decide to bathe before continuing on your path to nowhere. 

After rinsing out your quickly growing hair and washing your body you pull yourself out of the stream. Dressing back up in your clothes makes you realize they are filthy and quite tattered. You resign yourself to stopping by a tailor to trade when you realize you forgot to take your buy out money. With a groan your thoughts spin, I cannot believe I forgot to grab the money. What am I supposed to do? Do I have to become a bandit?? Lost in your thoughts as you are, you do not hear the thud of someone dropping out of a tree behind you. However, at the alarmed neigh of Balius you swiftly turn around. Standing only ten feet away from you is the largest man you’ve ever seen. You look up, and the man’s eyes stop you right in your tracks. Those eyes have been plaguing you ever since you left. The feeling of his gaze is a familiar one but you’ve only ever seen this man in your nightmares. 

Before you can continue to stare in shock and confusion. He holds up a familiar bag. “Well, what do we have here? Does this look familiar to you?” The strange man says. Immediately on edge, you keep your mouth shut. This makes the man frown and before you can do anything he’s speaking again, “Now don’t be like that. We both know you know what this is. Don’t worry, I’m not here to take you back. Not that there’s even much to go back to anyways. I’m sure you know all about that.” Ignoring him, you dart your eyes around looking for a weapon. You will not give in to whatever demands this man wants. Irritated at being ignored, Technoblade throws the bag of coins to the ground in front of his feet and draws his sword. 

You panic, the man is between you and Balius with no way around. You have no weapon or means to get through him. Even then, your hair stands on edge at the image of this man. Perhaps man is not the correct term, he certainly doesn’t have the air of one. There is something about him putting your entire body on edge and yet you can’t figure it out. 

Seeing your panicked form, the man smiles and unsheathes a sword from his back. The man throws the sword to your feet and you are quick to grab onto it. A standard broadsword like the ones you held in the arena, at least the weapon is familiar. Before you can rush forward the man speaks again, “Now listen, all I want is a little friendly fight that’s all. No need to get all huffy puffy.” His words confuse you, a fight? Is he crazy!? He’s twice my size! Still inwardly panicking, all you can do is nod. 

An excited grin overtakes the man's face as he rips off his cape from his back, tossing it behind him. You ready your body in stance in barely enough time as he closes the gap between the two of you. Your swords clashing together as you block his attack. The weight behind his slash quickly becomes too great and you retreat to the side. Bringing up your own sword to attack behind him - he quickly spins and blocks your own sword.

“Come on sweetheart, I know you can fight better than that.” He taunts you. But, it is the truth. You are only trying to get away, not fight him at your best. 

“Shut up you pig-headed bastard!” You scream.

The anger at being taunted brings you to start a slew of your own offensive attacks. Your biggest strength is your swiftness and against a beast like him - it's all you have. Aiming upwards towards his chest and his face your sword catches on the boarish mask clipped to his head. But, he sees through your attack too soon for it to do any damage. He retreats back. You spare a glance backward as you are finally within range of Balius and the bag of money. However, the man notices your inattention to him and takes his opportunity. Your attention is swiftly overtaken by the large slashes he’s aiming your way. Slashing directly down, you jump to the side and spin your body. Using your spin as momentum you manage a shallow cut along his side. In shock, the man quickly retreats, holding his side and inspecting the wound. Thinking this is finally over, you lower your sword in exhaustion. However, the sight of the blood only excites the man more.

Technoblade is more excited than he’s ever been. With a manic grin he thinks to himself, she is too perfect. She will surely be more than enough to satiate my boredom for a time. I need to end this quickly and take her to Mount Olympus to offer her a place beside me. 

Seeing the man only grin, you barely bring your sword back up to block the large slash he aims at you. You attempt to deflect to the side once again, but you are tired, hungry, and have been on the run for days. There is only so much you can do. Taking your exhaustion as an opportunity. The man in a swift burst of speed appears behind you. Your body is too slow to move as he brings down the hilt of his sword to the back of your neck. Before you know it, your body crumples and you are knocked out.

Panting with exhilaration, Technoblade calls over the steed he entrusted to you. Picking you up and slinging you over your own horse, he grins to himself. His thoughts are racing and the voices of the many he has slain are a cacophony in his ears. Shaking himself out of his excited stupor, he bends down to grab your bag of coins and calls over to his own horse. He quickly ties the reigns of your horse to the rope he has attached to his own. Everything ready, he grabs his discarded cape, swings himself up onto his own steed, and sets off to his home with palpable excitement.

Technoblade was a bored man. Well, not man per say. Though, it is a funny thought that those mortals think they can match him in skill. The smarter ones pray to him for protection in their battles and while, most of the time, he does not indulge them, he has been feeling bored with even those fools as a way to pass the time. The mortals have constructed an arena in his name and he presides over it for the free entertainment for when he is well and truly bored. He has not checked up on the arena these mortals have declared is his in quite some time.

“Heh?” Technoblade says in surprise. 

There seems to be a woman fighter with one of the most beautiful forms of fighting he has seen in quite some time. It is not uncommon for women to fight in his army. His brothers, annoying as they are, were not the only ones to join him in war. Looking closer, he realizes the woman is barely paying any attention! She is cutting down the man in front of her with a glazed out look in her eye. 

She seems to be a veteran of his arena. A fighter of that caliber going unnoticed by his attention is inexcusable. This arena is a far cry from the best he’s ever seen. Though, they do seem to treat her better than most of the other fighters in this pit. After disguising himself as a mortal man, he begins to make a circuit around the place. They serve her barely enough food, douse her in dirty water to “clean” her, and then she is dragged to her cell. That look in her eye remains all the same.

There is something about her that screams of rivers, mountains, and fields. 

“Hmm, she must be at least part nymph. Though, it is not enough for the mortals to pick up on.” Technoblade mutters to himself. 

You have thoroughly captured his attention. Bored no longer, he eagerly awaits your next fight. 

Technoblade has never taken much interest in mortals. While he has come across those of whom that slightly impress him, he’s never found one of your strengths. To be able to fight completely on auto pilot. Barely giving any attention to the fellow fighters you cut down without mercy. The blood you spill, the hatred you feel for those who keep you there - it fills him with the strength of a thousand. 

He knows he is not your god. You have the markings of Artemis, but they have faded. It seems you no longer worship her. All the better for him. Though, he cannot make such an important decision, to bring you under his godhood, lightly. He will need to see more of the strength you hold. See you actually try during a fight. If the whispers he has heard around this arena are any indication, it seems your owners are orchestrating your “final” fight - one that is designed for you to lose. 

“Perhaps I could get her to devote herself to me. One divine blessing certainly couldn’t hurt. She will not be allowed to win unless I step in. Hmm, a talk with Lady Kristin is in order.” 

The domain of the Keres are ever changing. They slip between war torn villages, battlefields, and gruesome epidemics. But, being the God he is, they are more than easy to find. Technoblade has been well acquainted with these goddesses since he first entered godhood, perhaps even before then. There is one Keres, however, that presides over them all. Lady Kristin. It is a good thing that they have been friends for a very long time. For what he is about to ask of her would not be accepted if they were not old friends. 

Arriving in her domain, he is immediately hit with the image of Lady Kristin atop her throne of thorns and bones. At her right side is one of the oldest and most loyal of her servants - Philza. 

“Techno! It has been quite some time since you last visited us.” Kristin greets him excitedly. The Keres are always quite fond of him, for the wars he causes empower their divinity.  They feed on the bloodshed and death he causes, their existence goes hand in hand. However, Kristen is more than just any Keres. She guides those who die a violent death into the underworld - a fate he is trying to stop you from suffering. 

“My apologies. I have found myself a bit bored lately. I thought a visit between friends could break my boredom.” Technoblade drawls. While he did come here to get Kristen to leave your soul to him, he has missed his friends. Kirstin laughs, “You hardly ever crawl out of that domain of yours unless it's for war, or something equally exciting. Not that I’m not happy with you here.” Kristen has always had a way to see through his bluster. For all that he is proud of who he has become, he will never be a people person. He is the epitome of bloodlust, after all. 

“Yeah mate, we usually have to visit after one of your battles.” Philza speaks up from beside the throne. Technoblade tries to defend his poor social life, “Well, I am a busy man.” Kristin and Philza laugh. “You did just tell us that you’ve been feeling bored. A “busy” god such as yourself rarely make time for social calls, Techno.” Kristin speaks with words full of mirth, and at his expense. 

Feeling a slight bit attacked, Technoblade quickly switches the subject. “Well, I am here to ask a small favor, on top of getting to see my dear friends.” Technoblade is not a man who asks for favors. To do so, in his mind, implies weakness. But, he has known these two for nearly his entire time as a god. They will not prey on his weakness, this he is sure of. 

 “Oh, a favor?” Kristen is quickly intrigued, as is her loyal crow. “You almost never ask us for favors, Tech. Certainly not since that time in the Trojan war.” 

“Well, you see, there is a mortal woman who has caught my attention. Her swordsmanship is truly magnificent and she hardly has to think while fighting against her opponents. I fear she will have the odds stacked against her in an upcoming fight. I ask of you to not take her soul.” Technoblade explains. Kristin and Phil quickly exchange surprised and startled glances. “You have not expressed any interest in mortals outside of their wars, what could have possibly brought this on?” Kristen asks, Phil still standing there trying to process such an unlikely request from his oldest friend. 

“They have not engaged in any, truly, invigorating fights. Their meagre wars no longer sate my desire for warfare. Something to keep my attention is badly needed. This boredom is akin to the feeling I had before the war I started with Kronos and his potatoes.” Technoblade explains. Kristin and Phil both pale. That war had lasted centuries and they barely ever got to see their friend, let alone feed on his exploits. “Well, we can certainly help with that. I will appoint Phil to watch over her and give the order to leave her soul to you. I truly hope you will find what you are looking for in this mortal woman.” Kristen replied with enthusiasm. She has watched her friend keep himself at arms length with most of the other gods. Philza and her are the only ones to ever make him feel at such ease. To have another, someone closer, would truly make her excited for her friend. 

“I truly appreciate it, Kristin.” Technoblade says to her. “Let us know if you need any help with anything more, especially considering this lady.” Philza insisted. He knows his friend, perhaps better than anyone else, and knows he is not much of a converser. “I will, Phil, thank you.” “Anything for you, Techno.” The two chorused together. He could not ask for a better pair of divines in his corner. 

After saying goodbye, Technoblade arrives at his home on Mount Olympus. His palace is large and rugged, a reflection of the god himself. The other gods avoid his domain like the plague - and his all the happier for it. Though, having some company to keep him preoccupied during his bouts of boredom would not be objectionable, not in the least.

The sunlight filters through your small barred window. Your cot is oh so conveniently placed where the light lands right into your eyes. You can hear the arena hands waking everyone up for the day. With a grunt, you roll off your poor excuse for a bed into a standing position. You have waited three days for your final fight, it is not one you want to miss. You do not know how long you have been here for. All that you know is that, today, you will either live or die. One more tortuous day in this pit will be enough to throw yourself at the guards. 

An arena boy arrives before your cell door. He shakily unlocks and opens the door, gesturing for you to present your arms. With a chain, he links your arms together and begins to lead you down the hallway. The cells that line the walls are filled with pitiful sights of other fighters. No one is free here, but you’re about to be the closest you’ll ever get to it. You are under no delusion that you will. Yes, there is a chance, however little. But, for each final fight they bring in a real soldier. A soldier with real training, medical supplies, and food. You have none of these things. You are an enslaved fighter - seen as no better than an animal. There have been times where you have been put against animals with nothing but a short dagger. After killing all the animals they had thrown at you, they learned you are better suited for fights against other slaves of your caliber. 

You are led through the hallway out into a bigger space. The ongoing fight just outside in the arena seems to be drawing out. The boy leads you to your waiting area. You take on the floor against the wall just as your owners arrive before you. After they bought you in the slave auction and placed you here, you have refused to say a word to them. They used to whip you for your disrespect - they eventually learned there was no point. 

“The next fight is yours. We will miss the money you have brought us throughout your time. There was truly no better place than here for you.” They too do not think that you will win. There was only one man to have won against his final opponent, and he succumbed to his wounds soon after. You still remember the golden blonde hair on the man as he doubled over and fell into the hot sand. 

The fight in the arena has stopped. You peer through one of the small windows and see the victor is badly wounded. You know he will not make it, you have inflicted the very wound that will kill him many times. It is a killing blow and he shall soon fall, just as you will. 

The air is hot as you step out onto the sand. You have been armed with a shortsword and a large shield. Shields are not your specialty, you are much more suited to having a shortsword in each hand. But, there is nothing you can do about it now. They have refused you food and only given you small amounts of water to keep you weak. They have done everything they can to ensure you cannot buy your freedom. But, in death, you could have your freedom regardless. 

Your steps towards the middle of the arena are mirrored by your opponent. He is a tall warrior, easily towering over your form. The feeling of being watched that has followed you throughout the past four days has become almost piercing. You cannot tell where it is coming from, and will not let it distract you from the fight of your life. 

The horn blares, and he is upon you. He swings his sword down almost too quickly for you to dodge. The lack of food and water is taking its toll as you dodge and roll out of the way of his sword. The warrior doesn’t even have a shield on him, just his great claymore. As you struggle to stand, the feeling of someone watching is suddenly increased to an unbearable degree. The eyes of what feels like thousands of - not people - something are locked on your form. It is not the audience that you are sure of. Their eyes are not this hungry, not ever this interested. 

Suddenly, your ears are filled with what feels like screams of gibberish. You clench your eyes from the sharp sting the screams cause. But, the second your eyes close, it almost feels like lifting your sword is that much easier. You feel better than you have in ages. More present, more there. You do not feel the heat of the hot sand. Not from the sun. Not from the dozens of cuts lining your form. 

You feel the blade coming down before it even hits you. A quick parry, and you are upon him. You do not know what is happening. All you know is that the warriors blood would make a fine addition to the dozens you have already spilled on this sand. You feel like you could keep fighting for ages, something that the warrior you are fighting cannot mirror. The fight has gone on for much longer than anyone had thought it would.You are beating the man they have sent to end your reign of terror, and they do not like it. 

You hear the arena boys running around and yelling. But for what, you don’t know. Your eyes are locked on the bloody man in front of you. And when you easily block and counter attack him, you swear you feel a sense of pride coming from the voices in your ears. You cut him down, and the voices cheer with you. The audience, however, is almost dead silent. You stand before your owners with a sick smile upon your face.

They start talking, but you cannot hear them over the buzz in your ears. They throw down the money at your feet. You do not look at it, merely still looking at them. You could buy yourself out, you could be free from them. But what fun is that? If you leave peacefully, they will simply find another way to drag you back. No, that money is better spent elsewhere. They watch on in horror as you slaughter the guards at the gate. There are men rushing you, but they are mere ants in the power that has overtaken you. It is madness, you should be scared for your life, for your sanity, but all you can feel is a sense of awe-inducing surprise at the fact that you’re having fun. You are having fun gutting the people that have kept you enslaved for years. You are starting to crave the blood that seeps out of their pathetic bodies, and so, you cut down more. 

By the time you are done, the arena is a mess. You are surrounded by bodies that are barely recognizable. All, with a smile on your face and a fire in your veins. Slowly, you make your way out of the arena. The power that has pushed you forward is retreating, as are the voices that have given you company. You feel oddly sated but empty with the retreating power. 

There are horses tied up outside. You choose one with chestnut brown hair and set off. Freedom will suit you well.

The steady grip on the hilt of your sword is the only thing that grounds you. In the roaring cheers of the audience, it is much too easy to lose yourself. 

Racing feet. Your blood mixes with the sharp rocks that line your path away from your pursuers. Your sisters cut down and captured one after another. Tears down your cheeks, blood on your feet, you looked every bit the fleeing half-nymph you were.

Your mind lingers on the hot sand underneath your feet. It holds the hot fury of the noon sun. So much so, you almost imagine the blood that has soaked into it to evaporate. 

Slippery sand. You crash into the river bed and make a break for it. You are strong for a half mortal. Though, it truly wouldn’t have made much of a difference. Not in any way that matters.

Just like the sand, the sun beats down on your form. You do not raise your sword in victory, you never have and never will in such a bastardly place. You were supposed to be living by the river with the kin you have always felt closest to. 

Artemis was not enough to protect you. She could retrieve your sisters, the full nymphs, but for ones with mortal blood? There was nothing she could do. Not as you were dragged kicking and screaming into a slave wagon.

The hot iron shackles burn as you’re dragged back to your cell. Your weapon taken, there is little you can do. It would be futile to think otherwise. You have seen what they have done to those who do not listen. It takes all your self-restraint not to join the brutish display they have turned into. 

Tossed into a wagon with bars made for animals. You do not see any of your sisters nearby. One final cry, and you realize they have all been struck down or captured. All your sisters had been under the tutelage of Artemis. An inspiring goddess. She is, perhaps, the only reason you had gotten so far in the first place. 

A solid kick to the back of your knee and you find yourself brought to your knees. Cleaned with buckets of water, your wounds are also seen too. Bandaged and tired you are finally allowed to rest on your meager cot. You do not know how long you have been fighting in this arena, and to be honest, you don’t really care. 

Watching your God prepare for a hunt was one of the most exciting parts about serving under her. To hear her wisdom, to feel her confidence, it was one of the most honorable things to experience. If only she had stayed a bit longer, there was nothing she could do from her eye in the moon. 

Your cot is stiff as a board as you lie down. You have been here long enough to require your own cell and actual provisions. Having never lost a fight, you have gained a bit of a reputation among the slaves that have lasted long enough to see you in action. There is no sense of kinship or camaraderie in this place. All the better, you do not need to become attached to someone who will eventually die by your hand. 

She was a thing of beauty and chastity with the way she held herself. You and your sisters looked up to her. Striving to hold a small fraction of the confidence and beauty she inspired. Her teachings had always left you feeling accomplished. Her wisdom with the bow creating a small army of followers all armed. Those bows hadn’t saved you from the fire those men had caused. Hadn’t saved you from their dogs as they snapped at your ankles through the wagon. 

You are told that, eventually, you will have enough funds to buy yourself out of the ring. It's almost funny that your owners don’t realize you already know what happens to those who are close to leaving. Always struck down just before being able to. Every single time without fail they fall. And then, they have the gall to tell you that you only have a few more fights to go. At least they let you know of your soon to be death, perhaps you will see Keres, Lady Kristen, as she guides you to the otherworld. You will welcome her with open arms. There are many tales of her being beautiful. Her loyal crows are seen as harbingers of death if they linger too long. A ca-caw outside your barred window causes a rare smile to grace your lips. You used to think that crows were startling with their cadence. Now, you think of it as the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.

You had taken pride in your long flowing hair. The care and maintenance it required made you quite vain about its beauty. Those men had paid no heed to your screams as they cut it shorter than it has ever been. Once long hair rendered down to barely an inch. The sight of it on the floor collected around you only causes more righteous anger. They eventually tied a strip of cloth around your mouth just to shut you up.

The moonlight gazes in from your barred window. You make no move to show yourself to a god you know is not watching. You lost your hope she would come long ago. Lost it in the first blood you spilled into the sand of that hell pit. While it is hell, it has become your new home. If these people denied your right to a death in your old home, they will be forced to accept your death in this new one.

You cannot speak, cannot eat, and cannot drink - as they have made sure of it. The fight you had put up against your captors wasn’t worth it. They have denied you meager offerings of food and water. The other women captured in the slave wagon get your portion. They do not look at you while they fight over your food. Reduced to nothing, all you can do is watch. 

You have watched many other slaves come and go from the arena. Many of those you cut down yourself in a bitter attempt to survive. Their features all blend in together and meet you for their revenge in your dreams. Sometimes, when you’re well and truly tired after a match, it's almost like you can hear them.

“Will we ever meet any other gods and goddesses, Lady Artemis?” One of your sisters asked. You and your sisters have only ever met Lady Artemis. Artemis stops attending to her bow, looking up you see a pensive look has overtaken her face. “Other gods and goddesses can be fickle. They can be much more cruel than I have ever been and ever will be. I would not seek out those you have not met before. Especially the gods who live and breathe violence. They will not be kind to you.” The garden goes quiet with her words. The sister that asked looks like she just bit into a lemon. Violence and bloodshed scares all of your sisters equally. They have not had to watch mortals be struck down by swords or illnesses, not in the way you have. 

With a bone deep weariness, you force yourself to stop thinking of the past. You think of these memories every day. Fighting for your life cannot even take away your attention from what was. There is no god that can save you - no peaceful one anyway.