outdoor wrestling/fighting

The body lay quietly in the hospital bed. His breathing was calm, and if it had not been for the tubes and machines keeping him there, I could have believed he was only sleeping. The doctors had reassured me. The operation had gone well. He would wake up soon. I could be sure of it, and there would be no lasting damage. His strong physical condition had helped him. I could not stop seeing the scene again and again. And it was all my fault.

"Meretrus. Meretrus. Meretrus." Centuries have passed since that name echoed through a fight. Despite my wounds, I still feel the same pleasure. An excitement close to orgasm. My cock remembers the past, hard as a bronze sword, scented with my precum, ready to show its satisfaction. But another smell mixes with mine. A strong smell of sweat, testosterone, something chemical, almost like the stink of a cheese factory.

The blond bodybuilder stares at me, an ironic smile on his lips.

 He does not move. A mountain. He holds the sacrificial knife, but suddenly throws it, sending it deep into the wooden wall around the arena. 

If the mountain will not come to me, I have to go to the mountain. Fatigue weakens me. The wounds in my side, my shoulder, and my chest slow me down. But it is nothing. I have known worse wounds before, even some that should have killed me. But the gods, and above all the emperor's Medicus, have always saved me. I do not know if the gods still have that power. And as for my Medicus, he vanished on that fatal day when Pompeii was covered in ash and lava.

I walk toward him and drive a violent punch into his stomach. My fist hits a rock. I try to send a second blow into his sternum, but my movement is stopped dead by his hand. His fingers close around my fist, tightening like a python. I hear my bones crack. The pain is unbearable. My face becomes nothing but a grimace. He seizes my other hand and crushes my fingers, forcing me down onto my knees.

My body streams with sweat. The fabric of my tunic sticks to my skin. I feel miserable. Blood, sweat, and my cum mix into a foul stink that joins the reek of the blond German. I feel my stomach turn, and a wave of nausea rises in me. I have no time to recover my senses before his hand closes around my throat, crushing my Adam's apple. I feel myself lifted off the ground, dangling like a crayfish in a basket, twisting and kicking as I fight for air. I hear the murmurs of the crowd. Then some of them begin to insult me. I hear someone say in Latin: "Hicine est magnus Meretrus?" (So this is the great Meretrus?)

The German carries me around, making a full circuit of the arena. Then he suddenly stops in front of the loggia. My vision blurs. I feel as if my eyes are going to burst from their sockets, as if the tiny veins inside them are about to explode. Then I am thrown into the air. My back breaks against the corner of the marble pedestal bearing the statue of Mars. Tears fill my eyes. I do not know if they come from pain or humiliation. Objects fall around me. Beer cans. Glass bottles shattering on the stone. The remains of sandwiches. Meanwhile, my opponent shows off his muscles, moving from one pose to another. His muscles are gigantic, sharply defined, almost unreal. Today, he is Hercules. And I am the Nemean Lion.

I try to get back up. I lean against the gigantic pedestal. I cast a desperate glance at that god who wants me dead. I stagger toward the mountain, my eyes misty, my vision blurred. He turns and stares at me. He still does not move. I see his biceps swell, veins rising under his skin like thick ropes. I know what he is preparing. I know men like him: arrogant men who possess strength and believe it makes them invincible, men with no strategy, always repeating the same moves, the ones that brought them victory before.

When I am two steps away, he raises his arms, his hands joined, his feet planted wide and solidly into the ground, ready to bring them down on me like a club. That is when I crouch and slide quickly between his legs. I see him stagger. His hands fall to his groin as his cock and balls drop to the floor. I hold the bloodied shard of glass in my hand: a piece of a Coca-Cola bottle, my favourite drink since I arrived in this new world. I hear his animal scream. 

He turns around, but I am already at the knife stuck in the wooden palisade. I pull it free. He is upon me, a fantastic eunuch, his arms wide, ready to crush me in a colossal bearhug. He stinks of death. As his arms close around me, I drive the dagger into his stomach and open him from bottom to top like a fish. 

He steps back, his hands pressed against his entrails, his eyes empty. He takes one step toward me, then collapses across the channels as they fill with his blood. The statue of Mars shines like the sun. The cheers explode. I am Hercules again.

I remove my wet, bloodstained tunic. Then I realize I am wearing one of Adrian's briefs. Courage returns to me. I have to win for him. I am at the edge of my endurance. My body is bruised and broken. I have fought long and brutal battles before, but never several in a row. I wait for what comes next, my eyes fixed on the loggia - and above all on the man seated beside the prince.

Suddenly, I hear roaring beneath my feet. I see two men with whips rushing toward the arena. They look like animal tamers. Grates rise from the floor, surrounding the stands and the spectators' loggias. Then the ground opens, and a lift appears. I step back, disgusted by the smell. It is worse than the stables of Augeas. A cage. And inside the cage, a tiger. The cage opens. The whips crack. The beast comes out roaring. Then the cage disappears back into the ground. I am alone, facing that monster of muscle.

The beast first circles around, ignoring me. It moves toward the tamers, who crack their whips in the air. One of them is struck by a paw, and his side opens, torn by a deep wound. The smell of blood drives the beast mad. The other tamer disappears, dragging his colleague away as the man screams in pain and terror, bleeding. Now there is only the beast and me.

The tiger licks the blood from the floor. Slowly, it turns around. Its muzzle is red with blood. Its eyes shine and flash like cruel arrows, making me fear the worst. An incredible roar sends a shiver through me. For the first time, I feel fear. It takes its time, shaking its head, showing its long, sharp fangs. The foul stench of its breath hits my nose and enters my mouth. I step back slowly. Like a fool, I left the dagger in the German's body. With horror, I notice that it has already been removed.

Suddenly, the tiger moves forward, slowly at first, then with terrifying speed. It leaps, and I feel the air shift above me. By instinct, I duck and roll to the side. It lands on all four paws, but its head strikes the wooden wall. Now it is furious. I barely have time to stand before it falls on me, crushing me under its fabulous weight. I feel its claws sink into me. I feel my flesh open, warm blood running down my body. Its jaws are only a few inches from my face, ready to disfigure me. I grab its jaws with both hands and pull, trying to break them apart. It growls with pain and rage. Its stink wraps around my body.

I put the last of my strength into this bare-handed fight. Now I know what Hercules felt before the lion. I hear bones crack, its jaw stretching despite all the strength with which it resists. And then it gives up. I do not understand why. It turns toward the grates and leaps at them. The metal shakes with a deafening noise. The audience screams in terror, then laughs in relief when they see that the steel wall holds. I use this pause to stagger toward the statue of Mars. It shines with a supernatural glow. I am at the end of my strength. My blood runs from my wounds into the channel. "Why, merciless god, did you save me only to deliver me today to this cruel death?"

The ritual is coming to an end. I collapse with my back against the marble pedestal. The cold stone feels good. I know the tiger's next attack will be the end of me. I see the prince rise. I see the man in the black mask rise as well. And suddenly, he pushes the prince into the arena. The prince lets out a scream of terror. The tiger does not hesitate. It throws itself at this piece of meat offered to it, used to its daily feeding.

 Then the man jumps into the arena too. He comes toward me. He lifts me in his muscular arms. I know that scent. Fig. "Adrian?" My words are nothing but incomprehensible whispers.

The crowd howls with rage. Women faint. Some people flee the place. I have just enough time to see the statue of Mars slowly fade. The man moves toward a door opening in the wall of grates. Some men try to stop him, but they do not have time to act. The tiger has caught the scent of freedom and crosses the threshold. Seized by murderous madness, it throws itself at everything in its path, tearing bodies open, disfiguring faces. I lose consciousness, rocked by those screams of pain and terror.

MARCUS MERETRUS

The cool night air, the scent of the orange trees, brings me back to myself. My body is nothing but an open wound. Then that voice. Strong and gentle at the same time. The comforting warmth of that body gives me courage again. We have reached a parking lot. Adrian’s car. Am I dreaming… or… I place my hand on his biceps. I feel it hard, swollen, tense. I relax. He sets me down with my back against the hood. I try to hold myself up. He searches for his keys. And suddenly, a red dot slides across my chest.

ADRIAN DUVAL

I carry him. He is heavy, but in this escape, he feels light to me. His hard muscles press against my tuxedo. He smells terrible — of blood, sweat, and rotten flesh. But I do not care. I have finally saved him from that hell. Behind me, I hear the screams of the massacre. The tiger deserves its name as a man-eater. I have blocked the door so no one can follow us. None of those monsters deserves to live. At last, the car.

I set him against the hood. He is like a child who has just woken from a horrible nightmare. I reassure him by removing my mask. “You are safe, my love.” He looks at me, surprised, worried too. I do not have time to explain why I was there. I search nervously for my keys. Then I see the red dot marking his chest. For one second, the world becomes silent. I no longer hear the police sirens in the distance, the waves below the cliffs, or Marcus’s broken breathing. I see only that red dot on his chest. I step in front of him. Then comes the pain near my heart. My knees give way. He catches me, and we both slide to the ground. Me in his arms, him holding me tightly, silent and panicked. I see shadows running toward us, voices shouting, detonations. Soon everything turns dark, and I faint with a faint smile on my lips, relieved.

MARCUS MERETRUS

Adrian jumps in front of me and collapses. I hear detonations, as if someone were throwing firecrackers. I slide down with him, holding him in my arms. I see a dark stain slowly spreading across his jacket and over his white shirt. I am dazed and panicked at the same time. Police officers surround me, weapons in their hands. I recognize them now, far from my virginal ignorance of this world. Other men, dressed in white and red, take care of Adrian first, then me. My heart tightens. I feel so exhausted and soon I’m, losing consciousness once again.

ADRIEN DUVAL

I remember barely anything There is pain.Then cold.Then voices above me.Someone presses hard against my body. Someone tells me to stay with them. I want to answer, but my mouth is full of iron and night. I turn my head.Marcus is still alive.That is enough. I let the darkness take me.

MARCUS MERETRUS

I had lost all sense of time. But I woke up in a luxurious hospital room. I learned that we were in Naples. My wounds had been bandaged and stitched up. “No scars,” a handsome doctor boasted, a man I would gladly have fucked under different circumstances. The pain, however, returned with every movement. I refused the pills meant to calm it. The pain reminded me of that horrible ritual, and of the man I had been — the man I wanted to forget. I asked to see Adrian. They avoided answering me. Was he dead? NO ! I would not let it be.

One cute inspector came to question me. I learned that Adrian had joined the cult of Mars Ultor at the request of the FBI. Its members were planning to seize power across the world as soon as the god Mars awakened. Adrian had been forced to watch my fights without reacting. The police were outside, waiting for his signal before moving in. Then he achieved to  save me.  He also told me that they had arrested the most important members of the organization. Unfortunately, the mastermind behind that madness was Prince Palavici, who was found dead, his body sliced into pieces.

But by bad luck, our path crossed that of the bodyguard — the one from the yacht, the one whose face I had disfigured. He did not hesitate. Ready to kill, he aimed his weapon at me. Adrian stepped in front of me. The man was shot down by the police. And now we were both in this hospital that looked like a luxury hotel.

ADRIAN DUVAL

I had entered the cult with a lie. I had smiled at monsters, drunk with them, listened to their madness, and pretended to admire their god. I had worn their mask. I had watched their rituals. I had waited. But nothing had prepared me for seeing Marcus in that arena. Every blow he received struck me too. Every time he fell, I had to hold my body still. I had to remain seated beside the prince, silent under that golden mask, while the man I loved was being broken in front of me. The FBI wanted proof. Names. Networks. The full structure of Mars Ultor.I wanted Marcus alive. When the prince sent his bodyguard away, I knew there would never be another chance. So I chose Marcus. I would choose him again.

MARCUS MERETRUS

Soon, a nurse told me that Adrian was in the room next door. The bullet had missed his vital organs, but he had lost a great deal of blood. He was still being kept in a coma so he could recover.

The days passed.

I rented a room near the clinic and came to see him every day. I read him passages from the Iliad, his favourite story. Cards of support came from all over the world. Chocolates too, which I devoured without shame.And even a small ancient bronze statue of the god Mars.

ADRIAN DUVAL

Sometimes, through the fog of the drugs, I heard his voice. Marcus. Reading to me. Badly, with his rough accent and his impatience, but with a strange tenderness that made me want to come back. He read the Iliad as if he had known Achilles, Hector, and Patroclus personally. Perhaps, in some impossible way, he had. Sometimes he stopped reading and only breathed beside me. Sometimes I felt his hand on mine. I could not move. I could not speak.

MARCUS MERETRUS

Then one morning, he smiled at me, sitting up in his bed. My heart leapt with joy. I approached slowly, carefully, and kissed him. He smelled of fig again, but also of medicine. He forced me to bring my ear close to his mouth. I loved that strong arm pulling me toward him.

ADRIAN DUVAL

 I pulled him closer. His hair brushed my cheek. His skin was warm. He smelled of soap, hospital sheets, and the stubborn life that refused to leave him. I had almost lost him. So I asked the only question that mattered. "Marcus… will you marry me?”

MARCUS MERETRUS

I blushed like a girl. My heart was pounding. I felt as if its dull beats were filling the whole room. I sat on the bed and laid my head on his chest, letting myself be wrapped in the warmth and scent of his skin. My cock hardened. I put my hand on his crotch, and his sword was hard as steel. I whispered as I caressed him: 'Yes. I want to, my Hercules saviour"

MARCUS MERETRUS BOOK : THE LAST GLADIATOR BOOK, Part I  II  & III

https://mars.chatfighters.com/book/137

Published: 2026-05-25, viewed 54 times.